Fantasy Your Nature (Moss x Haunts)

[Haunts]

Music Craft and Musicians' Guild. The words were etched in stone above an intricate oaken door, and groups of finely-dressed people chattered excitedly as they gathered towards the building. All of them carried matching paper: an invitation written in fine, shining purple ink. Faron had an identical invitation in his pocket, told that there would be extra traffic for some kind of musical performance. He went into the towns sometimes, but never for an event. But he was chosen for his talent in sleight-of-hand, and told that his visit there would be short and simple. All he had to do was place an envelope underneath a door inside, and leave without being noticed.

Today, Faron was dressed in borrowed clothes. They were plain, but enough to make him feel as though he wasn't underdressed. A heavy gray cloak flowed with him as he walked, somewhat distracting, as the papers inside his pockets were always on his mind. His hair was neatly braided, and he even wore a flowery oil as a perfume. The air was hot and humid. The first days of autumn were upon them, but the summer heat still lingered. He nearly wiped a sweaty brow on his sleeve, but caught himself in time to correct this mistake and use a kerchief, instead. He stopped briefly to collect himself and take the invitation from his pocket, and slipped in the door between two groups. A man met them at the door to inspect their invitations, and Faron's gloved hand felt for the paper inside. His interaction with the doorman was brief, and elevated his confidence.

It was not unlike deliveries he'd made in the past, but this one felt... significant. He did not care much for the intricacies of politics, but even Faron understood that things were in a delicate state. His only hope was that taking on significant duties would easier relieve him of his debt. Human politics were even lesser known to him, but as he looked about the crowded room before him, he was certain there were many important people there. All around were beautiful dresses and professionally-made fashion. It might have been a pickpocket's dream, if it weren't for his sense of urgency. The longer he lingered, the more it seemed people might notice he was an outsider.

As he wove his way through the people and down a hallway to his left, he noticed the faint sounds of music coming through from other rooms. Candles everywhere lit the halls, showing off art pieces decorating the walls. Skilled depictions of strange-looking instruments were hanging everywhere, and Faron pretended to admire them, gaining more and more distance from the group of people who were far more interested in the music. He kept looking at them out of the corner of his eye, but his mind was focused on a more modest door. There was no light coming from inside it, to his relief, as he had been worried the intended recipient would notice it immediately and come looking for him. Faron took another quick look at the people, to see if anyone noticed. Within a few seconds, the blank parchment envelope was out of his pocket and under the door, and no one gave him a second look.

Perhaps it was the music that was leaving him in a better mood than usual. Faron smiled and meandered his way back towards the more energetic parts of the room, thinking that he might just take a few more moments to observe before he ran off.

 

[moss]

Savel Hanessett had been inside the guildhall only once before in her life: when she had accepted her apprenticeship thirteen years ago. The building hadn't changed much since then, but she certainly had. Gone was the awkward, reedy girl with wood shavings in her hair who could barely play a violin, let alone make one. In her place was a young woman, known not only as the apprentice of a master luthier, but as a skillful crafter in her own right. It was because of her blossoming reputation that she'd been invited to the Music Craft and Musicians' Guild a second time.

All she had to do was get through the exhibition. She would reveal her work, the finest instrument she'd ever created, and demonstrate its sound. The guild masters would appraise her skill, and if they deemed her worthy, she would rise to the rank of artisan and earn all the prestige that entailed. Simple.

As gentry and peers swirled around her, enjoying the music while sizing each other up, Savel felt abuzz with anxious impatience. She kept her back to the curved wall of the music hall, clutching her teardrop violin case in one hand. She stood stock-still, summoning a façade of calm while also hoping someone fluttering by might stir a breeze with their summer-weight finery. The room was warm, made warmer still by the ever-growing crowd.

She had tied back the sleeves of her robes (a mulberry hue several shades deeper than the birthmark cast across the left side of her face) so her alabaster arms were exposed, which was as much relief as her own attire could provide. Though she wore the plain apprentice's band around her forehead, it was customary for apprentices to wear the robes of their trade while inside the guildhall, lest someone mistake them for a page or attendant.

"Playful, this," said a gentle, wooly voice next to her.

Savel blinked, then focused on the music filling the hall. It was playful, a horn and flute duet frolicking through a springtime melody. It made her want to run through wildflowers and spin with giddy abandon under a cloudless sky. She could lose herself in a song like that, but she had hardly been listening.

"No need to be nervous," her companion said, watching her. "You're here as a luthier, not a musician."

Turning to look at him, she said, "I'm not nervous."

Gaveris Hanessett smiled a funny smile, hidden by his graying beard and mustache. "So you say." He clapped as the music faded to enthusiastic applause.

Her father could have been a musician had he not fallen more in love with making instruments than playing them, but Savel was loath to admit her talents were not so broad. She knew her work was impeccable. Her playing, however, was only serviceable. Having an audience, and an important audience at that, would not improve her performance.

One of the guild masters, a rotund woman draped in flowing sapphire silk, called for attention as she crossed the half-moon stage at the center of the hall. In a rich, smoky voice she announced the start of the crafters' showcase.

"Off you go then," said Gaveris with a nod.

Savel nodded back and began weaving her way toward the stage. As she edged around the room, someone barreled into her right side, knocking her into a guest by the entrance. Savel staggered, clutching the person's cloak for balance as a shock of cold spread through her arm. Shouts of indignation trailed in the runner's wake, but quickly abated.

"My apologies," Savel said as she righted herself. She barely glanced at the stranger before continuing her way toward the stage.

Something wasn't right. The tingling cold was fast turning into a freezing burn, blistering across her body. Savel looked at her arm, but it hadn't a mark on it. She began to shiver, which made no sense in this heat. Her vision blurred. She tried to blink away the dizziness, but the room tilted and she tilted with it. Her hand flung out for support and grasped for the nearest person, landing on the bare arm of a woman in some gauzy gown.

Suddenly, Savel's head was clear. The chill under her skin had vanished. When she looked up, she found alarmed faces all around her. She was about to reassure them when she realized there was no concern in their eyes for her. They were focused on the woman Savel had grabbed. She had collapsed and wasn't moving.

"Madella!" shouted a guild member.

"She must have fainted from the heat," said someone else.

"Get some water," said another.

"Out of the way," said a fourth person, a ruddy-faced man of middling age. He tried to push Savel to the side. Reflexively, she pushed back. But as soon as his hand touched her skin, she watched his eyes roll back as he too fell unconscious to the floor.

"It's you," said a young apprentice who was staring directly at Savel. "It's her! She's killing them!"

Savel backed away, her mouth agape. Killing? No, that wasn't true. She couldn't have caused this, could she? More cries of alarm erupted around her, rippling through the hall. The music stopped. A wide berth had formed around her.

"She's killing them!" the apprentice shouted, hysterical. "She's--" Savel couldn't think what else to do. She clapped one hand over the apprentice's mouth, whose whole body immediately went slack. Savel dropped her violin case to catch them.

She wasn't sure which was louder: the smack of the case against the polished floor or the stunned silence of the crowd when they realized what she'd done.

 

[Haunts]

There was something about the music that caught Faron's attention. It was so well-rehearsed, so poised, but at the same time there was an element of fun to it. He found his eyes drawn to the stage to watch the performers, even further entranced by how carefully their bodies moved with their instruments. He found himself merely drifting towards the exit door, without so much urgency as he had before.

Faron's immersion was broken abruptly as he saw someone running, and then felt someone come grabbing onto him. His first instinct was to be annoyed, and he opened his mouth to express it, but when he looked at the girl and saw her begin to shiver, he furrowed his brow. He took a quick check of his pockets, just in case she had tried to sneak something from him, and started to move with more conviction towards the door. He took another glance at the woman that had bumped into him, but stopped in his tracks when he saw her fall.

The rest of the action happened so quickly, it was difficult to process. Suddenly, everyone was moving back, pushing towards the edge of the room, all unable to take their eyes off of the strange young woman. Faron watched one after the other as their eyes rolled back in their heads before going fully still, slumping to the floor. It was so rapid that he could only liken it to magic. The deathlike sleep. It was among the many rapid thoughts swimming through his head. He had only heard accounts of this folk magic, where people fell asleep so quickly with only a touch, as though they had merely dropped dead.

Then the woman touched the third person. There was a moment when all things were silent except for the heavy instrument case thudding against the polished floor. Then panic began to spread throughout the room as people scattered towards different exits.

"—black magic—"

"—unnatural, you heard what—"

Disjointed conversations were fragmented all around, but they all shared a common theme. Almost everyone was fleeing the scene, but among the few who stayed, one started to approach the source of the commotion. Pulling back his coat, a blade could be seen at the man's belt. More were approaching the woman, all of them with hesitation, but unwilling to let her leave.

Faron knew this was the time to act, and snap out of his stupor. No matter what the cause was, he knew he needed to side with fae. He took a quick look around the room and gravitated towards the only distraction that he could think of. He pulled at a tapestry, a knot loosening and sending the fabric straight into the path of one of the torches on the wall. The fire caught and began to spread at a steady pace. This time, Faron took only a brief glance to make sure that no one had seen his actions, but those few who stayed only had eyes for the woman and her trio of victims.

The man had pulled the blade from his belt, and pointed it in the direction of the young woman. "Don't move," he said in a voice that boomed, but betrayed fear. Even with a weapon, he lingered a few feet away, and seemed to be working up the courage to approach her.

"Fire!" Someone shouted. The fire was hindered by the stone architecture, but creeped along the tapestry. The worst was the smoke. It was growing, billowing through the room, which was filling with a stuffy heat.

Faron did not make for the exit. Instead, he decided to make his way back to the woman. He pulled at his sleeves and his gloves to make sure his hands and arms were entirely covered. The only exposed skin was above his neck. He had the clarity to note that she didn't seem aggressive, but Faron still felt uneasy about getting too close to her and giving her any chance of touching him. His only thoughts now were to see where she would go, and try to get in the way of anyone that might impede them.

 

[moss]

"Let them go," the man said, a snarl on his lip.

Somehow, his menacing voice cut through the chaos of the crowd. Unlike the other guests, he did not balk at the cry of fire. Back to the exit, he inched toward Savel, blade raised as if to duel. Savel's traitorous body froze to the spot. She wanted to scream, to plead, to run, but when faced with the point of a glittering dagger, all she could do was stand mute. The blade was beautiful, polished to a mirror finish. It was a rich man's blade, a vanity weapon, one that had probably never cut so much as hair, but Savel well knew that would hardly dull its edge.

The man, she noticed, had the same wide nose and bushy eyebrows as the young apprentice in her arms. Not just a patron, but family perhaps. Like Gaveris was to Savel, but by blood rather than circumstance. She held the man's gaze, eyes stinging from the smoke, and gently lowered the apprentice to the floor. Slowly, she backed away.

After a moment of hesitation, the man reluctantly sheathed his dagger before scooping up the apprentice and bolting for the exit. Were it not for the fire, Savel had the uneasy feeling he would have stepped right over his kin's unmoving body to gut her. The intent was written in the pure hate of his scowl. The thought made her stomach roil.

"Savel!" Gaveris plowed his way toward her, elbowing through the press of people still trying to evacuate.

When he was feet from her, Savel leapt back. "Don't touch me," she said, hands splayed to the sides. Something was deeply wrong with her. She had hurt people, with but a touch. She hadn't meant to, hadn't even known she could, but she did and that was all anyone would remember of this day. Maybe she had started the fire too, she thought sardonically.

Gaveris stopped. He had tied his handkerchief around the lower half of his face, but Savel could still see the worry in his doleful eyes. "Are you hurt?"

Savel shook her head. The wave of dizziness she felt earlier had passed. Everything that followed, however, was unquestionable destruction. She twisted around to look for the woman--Madella--and the man, but they were gone. They must have been carried off to safety. It was a good sign, she assured herself, that no one thought they weren't beyond saving. They weren't dead. At least, she hoped they weren't dead. The apprentice wasn't. She had felt the their steady breathing. Surely the others were alive too?

"Good," said Gaveris, though he didn't sound consoled. "Time to go."

His words somehow alerted her to the full rage of the fire, now lashing the ceiling, its heat hitting her square in the face. Sweat dripped from her temples and dampened her neck. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, her throat and lungs burned. They'd be roasted alive if she didn't pick up her feet. Savel hastily followed Gaveris out of the music hall. Unexpectedly, he led them away from the crowd to a plain, inconspicuous door on the opposite side of the corridor. After producing a small brass key, Gaveris unlocked the door and hurried inside. Savel nearly tripped over him as he crouched to pick up an envelop from the floor, which he hastily tucked into his breast pocket.

"What was that?" Savel asked, eyes narrowing. "Is this your office?" Gaveris never worked outside their shop. The guildhall was so far away, he said, and scoffed at the idea of taking up a room, despite that being one of the many benefits to which he was entitled as a master of his craft and member of the guild. Yet he had a key.

"No, this is not my office," he said as he rushed to the other side of the room where he pulled a heavy-looking bookcase away from the wall. It barely scraped the wooden floor, and swung out with ease as if hinged on one side. When he saw the bewildered look on Savel's face, he said, "Quickly now," before descending into the wedge of darkness once concealed behind the bookcase.

The passage was narrow, with steep, uneven steps winding down to a cool, stone cavern. Tunnels radiated in every direction. The walls were wet and it smelled of damp. Beside them was a canal, full of dirt and detritus from the streets above, lit only by the waning sun bleeding through some opening beyond a curve in the tunnel to their right.

Savel kept silent as they padded along the ledge of the canal, wending through the maze of passages. They walked and walked, passing small outlets where the sun streamed in. A loud, echoing drip accompanied the rapid beat of Savel's heart. Sound traveled so easily here. There was no one else in sight, but the shadows were too deep and too many for Savel to feel they were alone. And she had questions whose answers were probably best said in absolute secrecy.

Eventually, they reached the mouth of the tunnel. It released them into a muddy ravine at the edge of the city. A warm breeze blew past, carrying with it the smells of roasted game and hearty stews, of honey bread and sugared nuts. They were near the lower markets, which meant they were near home. They climbed the side of the ravine, hidden from street view by a row of wooden houses and a smattering of trees. Before stepping onto the main road, Gaveris turned to Savel and gave her a hard look.

"Listen carefully," he said. "You must do exactly as I say."

Under different circumstances, Savel might have said, "I'll take your direction under consideration, sir," or "Only if I can't think of something better myself." She would have said it teasingly, lightly, because she always listened to Gaveris, but her quips were too quick by half and they often spilled out as soon as they occurred to her. But this time she said nothing.

"Someone will have sent the Watch to the shop," Gaveris said, speaking rapidly. "They'll be looking for you. I'll draw them off."

"I'm not leaving you," Savel said, shaking her head furiously.

"Go to the Wood," Gaveris continued, as if she hadn't spoken at all. "Follow the white moss until you hit water. Then go downstream until you reach a lake. There you will find a house. The one who lives there can help you, keep you safe."

Savel frowned. She knew what the Watch would do to her, shuddered to think of how they'd try to scour the corruption, the magic, out of her. Horrid magic she hadn't asked for in the first place. Home wasn't an option, but that didn't mean they had to split up.

"You can't go back," she said. "They'll hold you accountable if they can't find me. Everyone knows I'm your apprentice. We should leave now, together. The Golden Forest is just over the river." She pointed past Gaveris' shoulder, to the trees in the distance.

"That's not the wood I was referring to," said Gaveris, as though pained to admit it.

"You mean the..." Savel trailed off, looking over her shoulder instead.

Gaveris nodded. "Aye."

Gillore was river-locked to the north, east, and south. Beyond the river was the Golden Forest: a friendly, predictable grove of oaks and ashes and pines that stayed firmly in the ground, whose lush canopy was full of birdsong, whose thickets made way for the wide and well-trodden Market Road that connected Gillore to the city of Leep, a day's journey away. To the west, with nothing between the tree line and Gillore but rolling fields and a forty-foot high wall at the edge of the city, was another forest. A vast, gaping maw that stretched from horizon to horizon, where great, shadowy beasts hunted and devoured each other and anything else that moved, where haunting voices lured foolish travelers to grisly deaths, where it was always twilight, no matter how brightly the sun shone above. The tree line undulated, like a restless tide. It was a fae forest, one the people of Gillore would call, in hushed, fearful whispers, the Wood.

"I'd rather face the Watch," Savel said, feeling faint.

Shouts sounded nearby. Gaveris peered around the corner of the house, then quickly ducked back out of sight. "If you wait any longer, you won't have a choice. Take this." He retrieved the envelope he pocketed at the guildhall and held it out to Savel, pinching it carefully by the corner. She took it, frowning. "Now go."

"What is this?" asked Savel, turning over the parchment, but Gaveris quickly held out a hand just shy of hers.

"It's important," he said. "Just keep it safe for me."

"So I am to see you again?" she asked, hopefully.

Gaveris smiled. "I dearly hope so, my daughter." Then he screamed.

Savel was so startled she nearly dropped the envelope. The Watch would be on them any second, so she turned to run. That was when Gaveris reached out and clasped her hand, a gentle squeeze. It was so brief, almost as if he hadn't meant to, but amid her own horror she could see the resolve and affection in his eyes before he crumpled at her feet.

Throat constricting and tears hot in her eyes, Savel shoved the envelope down her robes and sprinted away from the city, cursing Gaveris with every breath.

"Look, there!" someone shouted behind her. "She's headed for the trees!"

Savel wasn't the fastest runner, but the yelling at her back was already fading. She didn't dare turn to look, lest the Watch had only stopped shouting to overtake her. With every step she imagined the tips of their fingers just grazing her hair or her robes. Her lungs were going to burst. A sharp pain pulsed up her side, knifed under her ribs. She was nearly there, though the trees seemed so much farther away before. Now she could make out the texture of their bark, the shape of their leaves. They were surging forward to meet her, making space for her to as she raced past the tree line, swallowing her in silky darkness.

Her toe caught on a root or a rock or maybe just a clump of dirt and she crashed to the forest floor. She skidded and rolled to an undignified heap on a scatter of damp, decaying leaves. She lay prone, chest heaving, her forehead pressed to the dirt, until she could control her breathing. Only then, did she fully realize where she was. Creeping dread coiled around her. But, miraculously, her eyes were adjusting to the dark. She could make out the shape of trees and shrubs. When she turned around, she could even see Gillore in the distance, bathed in evening sunlight. It was so far away. Had she really run that far? It certainly felt like it, but it was more likely the forest had reached out to meet her, if only to eat her quicker.

All in due time, she thought, right as the ground began to quake and an anguished screech pierced the silence.

 

[Haunts]

Faron only witnessed the woman disappearing into the smoke, led away by another man. Feeling a great uncertainty, Faron felt he had no choice but to flee the scene. Everyone else had gone, the fire too great to ignore. There was a heavy ache in his lungs as he made it to the front door, and he gasped for fresh air.

There was little chance to recover his thoughts as there was a bombardment of questions as Faron burst out. "Where did she go?" the man demanded, holding the lifeless body of his kin still in his arms, a rage in his eyes. A crowd of people began to huddle around them. "Was anyone else inside?" another asked. "Gaveris, where's Gaveris?" "Did you see which way they went?"

"I don't know," said Faron, coughing, taking a few shaky steps away from the building, blinking tears out of his eyes and wiping sweat from his face. "I didn't see." A few persisted with questions. All the attention on him made him panic, and he began pushing against the wall of people, repeating these same answers to anyone that asked anything of him. The Watch would be coming at any moment, and he ran the risk of being recognized. He needed to get away from everyone, and quickly. As he caught his breath, he became more and more forceful as he weaved his way through the crowd. He retraced his steps in the direction of where he'd come, shoving at anything that got in his way.

He stepped into an alleyway and began to make his way through the streets, only thinking to get as far away as he could. He could hear shouting, carriages making their way through the streets. The smoke from the guild could be seen from a distance, and Faron found himself less and less certain that he'd done the right thing. What had the courts been planning? What if he had helped someone of the wrong affiliation? He didn't even want to know what had happened to the building, or whether the message he'd delivered had survived the flames.

Finally, Faron stopped walking, and looked behind him. No one was around. He peered at a few windows, seeing only curtains. After a moment of caution, the man in the cloak disappeared, leaving no trace of him behind as the sparrow hawk flew above the buildings and turned to go back to the forest west.

-

Flying made the journey into the Wood much quicker. It felt like no time had passed when Faron arrived back at his home. Like most who lived their lives in the Wood, he was accustomed to the dark. The insect songs and creature calls were a small comfort to him after all that had happened, and he focused on that noise to try and calm his thoughts. Faron took to pacing outside his house. The elegant robes he'd been loaned now stunk of smoke and hung over a tub to be scrubbed later. He'd changed into a plain tunic and trousers and built a small fire, awaiting a long and sleepless night. He thought of writing a message to the Eventides. Sitting tight and waiting for the answers was going to be torturous.

The house was a rather modest one, built years before Faron was born. The roof was made of red clay shingles, and the windows and walls had been mended plenty of times over the years. The land was not made for fertile gardening, but he had made space with a few herbs, and the flowers and overgrowth surrounding everything added to the natural beauty. One of the taller trees nearby housed a lookout point, unused and shrouded in vines. A hammock and some seating surrounded the fire. It was all separated from the rest of the Wood by a large circle of mushrooms and foxgloves. His allies used a complex magic to keep it hidden from intruders, and Faron was worried now more than ever that he might have damaged these relations beyond repair.

He had lived there for almost five years, now. People who had escaped from the Watch, those on the run from the courts' enemies, dozens of visitors had stayed there with him. The glamour magic had saved Faron's hide plenty of times. It was the favors that made him discontented. As the seasonal courts grew more unstable, he became more determined to get on their good sides and stay out of the real conflict. In the moment, helping that fae girl had seemed like the perfect opportunity. He had the feeling that things were only going to get more complicated.

A shriek pierced the air, enough to stop the shapeshifter in his tracks. It was a sound he recognized, belonging to one of the ominous creatures that wandered through the Wood. A ghoul, a creature said to feed off the fear of lost travelers. Harmless to some, sinister to others. Or a trick of something else... the thought did cross Faron's mind. For a moment, he tried to ignore it. He heard the sound again, as though closer.

Another sigh of frustration, and he took hold of an oil lantern, and started in the direction of the noise. Stepping over the circle's edge, he started at a near-run, lantern bobbing out in front of him as he went. There was a rumbling sound, and he caught sight of the creature. The ghoul looked as though it might once have been a man. It was almost skeletal, sinewy pale flesh and bone, and eyes that were clouded over like the dead. The air around it was hazy and it seemed to radiate a heat. Some told tales that a ghoul could bring one's most personal fears to life, but Faron had never been close enough to one to see for himself— and besides that, maybe all too foolhardy to be threatened by one in the first place.

The creature inched forward, standing taller and taller, and began to raise its arms. It was after something. At first, Faron did not see the other person. He only followed the white eyes of the ghoul to the person, collapsed weakly on the ground and covered in dirt and leaves. There was another wail, longer, more drawn out. This time, it sounded to him almost as though it was speaking real words, but not to him— nothing that Faron could make out for himself. The ghoul had eyes only for the other, reaching out at them with ghostly, grimy hands as it made its haunting noises.

With a great confidence, he approached them at a steadier pace. He held his lantern high above his hand and turned his eyes to the ghoul, who did not yet seem to notice him. "Go!" he yelled, with as much volume as he could muster. A ghoul was easy to dispel, repelled by light. It did not notice the lantern until he spoke, and it broke its eyes away from its victim and turned to the light with another piercing shriek, close enough to hurt his ears. It began to back away, and Faron only closed the distance. Only when the ghoul began to move away with a vehemence did Faron even think to look at the person that was crumpled on the ground.

"Are you alright?" Faron asked, softening his voice. He lowered his lantern. It was a woman, and on closer inspection, she looked as though she might be hurt. He got closer to her until the light shone on her face, and reflexively, he took a step back. He had been ready to offer a hand to help her up, but withdrew it abruptly when he recognized the birthmark on her face.

It was the girl from the guildhall. Faron thought it might be a trick of magic, and he took another step back, blinking in disbelief. He furrowed his brow, a small frown appearing on his face. He finally found words to speak. His voice came out unsteady and suspicious. "Who are you?"

 

[moss]

"Sloppy." Gaveris sneered as he inspected Savel's work. "Disgraceful. Congratulations, foundling, you're no longer the ugliest thing in this workshop."

For a moment, Savel thought he'd lost steam, that he might leave her to lick her wounds, if not in peace then at least in silence. But then he abruptly swung the violin above his head and smashed it against stone floor of the workshop. "Useless," he spat and stomped on the shards. "I should have left you to die where I found you."

Savel was too stunned to cry. In the twenty years she'd lived under Gaveris' roof, she'd never known him to be cruel. Every affront squeezed her lungs, crushed her heart. The room went out of focus. How had she been so wrong about him? How had she been so wrong about herself? Hadn't she been making progress? Hadn't she risen to the rank of artisan? No, that wasn't right. She wasn't an artisan, had been passed over because she was a talentless waste of space. All the work she'd ever done: garbage. Gaveris would surely toss her onto the streets. The whole city would know of her failure. She'd have to leave Gillore, the region even, to build a new life. But with what money?

As the edges of her world disintegrated, she paused to stare at her shattered violin. Bone white wood varnished to a porcelain shine. The severed scroll, carved into the head of a nodding rose, its delicate petals caught as if in a breeze. The hollow thunk it made before bursting apart still echoed in her ears: a rich, round sound. It was, she was amazed to think, good work. Better than good. It was superb.

Gaveris hadn't moved. He stood a few paces away watching her with mist gray eyes.

His eyes should have been brown.

"You are not Gaveris," Savel said, confusion and horror warring in her mind.

"Oh, but I am," he said, smiling slowly. "Don't you recognize me?" He kept smiling as his skin burned away. It curled back like blistered bark, trailing thin tendrils of acrid smoke, searing away every trace of Gaveris. What remained was a towering human-like figure, but with limbs that were too long and a jaw that opened too wide. Its milky, translucent skin stretched thin and taut over its bony frame. With every exhale, hot, ashy smoke billowed from its mouth and nostrils, settling around them like a heavy, suffocating fog.

Savel lurched back, stumbling over her stool. The creature began to advance, its hands outstretched, grasping. Its mist gray eyes pinned her to the ground. She couldn't move, couldn't blink, couldn't breathe.

"It's been so long since I've feasted on folk," it said in a wheezing voice.

Then it turned away suddenly, breaking eye contact, and Savel was no longer in the workshop on a stone floor covered in wood shavings. She was sprawled on hard, lumpy dirt. The smell of damp and decaying leaves filled the air. She ached everywhere, and the pain more than anything else reminded her where she was. The Wood was dark save for the warm light of a lone lantern held aloft by a stranger, unexpectedly human.

This revelation was less of a comfort than Savel had hoped. The people of Gillore did not venture into the Wood. Those who did were desperate, like Savel, or delusional, believing the forest would provide miracles when all it ever promised were monsters. The stranger did not seem desperate or delusional, so maybe that made him a monster. He appeared human, but so had Gaveris in whatever waking nightmare that creature had conjured. Would this man shed his skin too?

But when his light illuminated her face, Savel saw panic flash in his eyes. She blinked, surprised, as he retreated, backing away as through she were some rabid animal about to lunge. It wasn't a new experience, strangers shooting her wary looks, pressing away when they saw the birthmark on her face, but in Gillore she was known and many had gotten used to her. It had been a long time since someone had reacted so strongly to her appearance. She flushed to think how much it still made her boil.

Gingerly, Savel picked herself up and brushed the dirt and leaves from her clothes. The sting in her palms was ebbing, but her right knee throbbed something awful. With a limp, she turned to the stranger, back straight, and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"I could ask the same of you," she said, studying him. He was tall, lean, unshaven. His clothes were modest, nondescript. He could have been any commoner in Gillore, a popular one with those cheekbones. Or maybe he was from one of the cities on the other side of the river, Leep or faraway Bridden. It was no use guessing and Savel wasn't sure she wanted to find out. "It's not contagious, you know," she said instead, tilting her head. "It's just a birthmark."

 

[Haunts]

Faron kept distance. Back in the moment, it had been easy to side with fae over those pompous rich villagers attending their concert, threatening her with that gaudy knife and spouting their ignorance. It had reminded him all too much of his past conflicts with the non-magical world, and he had acted on impulse and emotion.

When it was just the two of them, things felt all the more real, all the more dangerous. Outside of the cozy circle that encompassed his house, he felt more vulnerable. There was noise all around them, as though all the small creatures in the forest had gathered just to listen in on their conversation. Even the wind seemed to pick up, the leaves on the trees looking lively as they blew around. Faron turned his feeble lantern in all directions around them, as though he might find any evidence they weren't alone. He saw no one else around, but knowing the magic some of these folk possessed, that was no great comfort to him.

The stranger's birthmark was distinctive enough, but out of the village, she looked completely different. She was dirty. She looked hurt. She was in the same robes as she had been before, albeit now with noticeable wear. Her clothes suggested that she was well-off. She had no inhuman features, but that could be the work of glamour magic. She looked out of place in the Wood, but collected. Maybe it was shock. No self-respecting member of the high courts would ever fall victim to a ghoul, nor would they come so deep into the woods with no source of light or self-defense. She didn't seem to carry anything with her but the clothes on her back.

When he had first seen her, she had carried the case of an elaborate instrument. She would have fit right in at the concert hall, and he would never have noticed her if nothing had happened. The magic had seemed out of her control... He was screwing up his face in thought, biting the inside of his cheek. He wanted desperately to believe that she was no evil figure in all of this, that he had made the right decision to help her. As she swayed and struggled to get to her feet on her own, it was difficult to imagine her as a calculated political aggressor. It was her words that gave him pause.

Faron was frustrated when she brushed off his question, and indignant at the comment about her birthmark. He'd just saved her life, and those were her first words to him? Any attempt to give her the benefit of the doubt fell through immediately, and he was quick to retort. "I'm not dumb," he said with a scoff, standing up straighter. "And I'm the one that just saved you, so—"

He wanted to boast that he had saved her hide at the guildhall earlier that day, too, but stopped himself just short.

He took a deep breath and made a visible effort to regain his composure, relaxing his body language. In the past, there were usually others around him to handle talking. People often joked that he was no diplomat, and so Faron had made it his personal mission to avoid those roles. When something was asked of him, he asked few questions. Now, he was cursing himself for not getting more information about a delivery that had seemed so unusual from the very beginning.

More words spilled from his mouth. "I saw you today at the Music Craft and Musician's Guild." It came out more anxious than he meant it to, but it was important that this was said. He wanted his answers. He realized, though, that he should speak with more decorum. He softened his tone, more meaningful now, but just short of apologetic. "I just want to know what happened. Why were you there?"

Faron took a moment to look over his shoulder again, if only out of habit. Far off in the shadows, he could see the silhouette of his house, and worry began to creep up on him. It seemed no mere act of chance that she was wandering close. They were a distance from human and fae folk alike, away from both action and business matters. He was finding it increasingly difficult to keep himself from continuing the interrogation. After they had crossed paths earlier that day, it could not be a coincidence that they found each other again. "What are you doing in this part of the Wood?"

 

[moss]

Savel took a wobbly step back, pressing her eyes closed for a moment. All bubbling irritation at the stranger's impertinence vanished, replaced by shock and disbelief. He had seen her at the guildhall. He had seen what she'd done, what she could do. That explained his hasty retreat a minute ago. But what was he doing here of all places? Given her impromptu flight and the fact she had crossed into the fiercely avoided Wood, she hadn't expected to meet anyone so soon, especially someone who had also been at the guildhall that day. Respectable people didn't even think about traveling into the Wood. And yet, here she was.

And here too was this stranger, but was he a stranger? Savel looked at him more closely, trying to discern whether she'd met him before. She had a good memory for faces, when it suited her, but her mind was drawing a blank. He wasn't dressed like a guild member, so she didn't think him a crafter. His clothes were too plain and common for a patron. Perhaps a page? No, too old. Too young to be an appraiser. He could be a steward who had accompanied his employer, but if he were, he would know she was an apprentice by the cut of her robes and the band around her head. Shouldn't it have been obvious why she was at the guildhall?

It occurred to Savel that if the stranger meant to hurt her, he would have done so already. As it was, he kept a wary distance. How fitting, she thought wryly, that the magic putting her life at risk in Gillore was protecting her in the Wood. She tilted her head, watchful.

"An answer for an answer," she proposed, in the direct, steady voice she used when negotiating a sale. "I'm an apprentice, as you can see." She pointed to the band, now slightly askew, around her forehead. "I was invited to audition for the rank of artisan. That's why I was at the guildhall today." Then she laughed, but it came out like a huff, a single puff of bitter humor. "At least, I was an apprentice." She paused and looked at her hands. They were dirty and scratched but otherwise perfectly familiar. "I'm not sure what I am anymore," she said under her breath.

Perhaps she belonged in this forest of horrors after all. She shivered. A freezing chill had settled around the trees. Frost crept across their trunks, glittering in the lantern light. Savel could see her breath, even though she knew a late summer sun was shining beyond the tree line. How could it suddenly feel like the dead of winter? She spun around, but night met her in every direction. With dread, she realized the Wood had pulled her deeper into the darkness and she had no clue which way led back to Gillore, to Gaveris.

"More foul magic?" she asked, glaring at the trees while wrapping her robes tightly around her. The stranger, mercifully, hadn't moved or appeared in any way different than he was before the cold set in. It was a strange comfort, so she focused on him, praying nothing more would change. "As to your third question," Savel said, teeth chattering, "I'd prefer to answer it someplace where I won't freeze to death. Or die in a number of other colorful ways. Might you know of a place like that?"

 

[Haunts]

The sudden cold was almost welcome, if only for an excuse to get back home and think over what everything meant. At his house, things were much more private, and there were fewer unusual occurrences to distract them. The feeling seemed to be mutual, so when she returned with a question of her own, he nodded. It seemed safe to assume that she had nowhere else to go, and there was no other choice but to let her come with him if he was going to solve these mysteries.

There wasn't much of a path back to his house, but if you squinted hard enough in the darkness you could see where the twisted growths of bushes made way for travelers. It wasn't long a distance before they hit the small clearing, and Faron could see his breath in front of him as he went. The lake was beginning to emit a cold vapor, the rocks around it creeping with frost as he watched. The frost ended where the curved line of mushrooms and flowers separated his house from the rest of the Wood. "Watch your step, here," Faron instructed her, gesturing down at their feet. He braved getting closer to her so that the lantern would better light her way, hating that he felt so jumpy around a young woman who looked so unthreatening.

The fire he'd started before had puttered out, now barely smoldering and providing no warmth. He hung his lantern on an iron post before stepping into the doorway. He reached for the door handle, stopping himself just short of opening it. "I wasn't really expecting anyone..." He pulled open the door and stepped inside. There was only a sparse candlelight to light the room. Faron turned left and further in, where he set to work at making a fire in the hearth.

The room was cluttered and cramped with low ceilings, but it was warm, and Faron liked to consider it cozy. Chairs surrounded an oaken table in the center, strewn about with papers, ink and pens. Two other walls into another room, the one in the back with a rickety ladder leading to a loft overhead that served as a small bed area. Wooden cabinets sat on one wall, shelves on the other, lined with disorganized sets of books and supplies. There was a weathered tan couch to sit on, along with a soft rug near the hearth. A couple gray and white feathers could be seen here and there around the room, along with dust and bits of cobwebs. There were some old, dirty boots at the doorway, along with a few of their tracks on the floor. On the back wall was a hand-drawn map of Gillore, some smaller papers depicting Leep, Bridden and a few other locations scattered around the extra space. It was clear that he spent a lot of time outdoors, with several tools scattered about for things like gardening, hunting and woodcutting.

The fire caught and started building nicely. Faron straightened up, trying to think of the next step. It had been a while since he'd had visitors, and he'd never had anyone like her staying at his house before. "I think I should have some old clothes that will work for you, at least for now," he said. Hospitality was not something that came naturally to him, but he had hosted enough people on short notice to have a routine set in place. "Hold on." He disappeared into the side room, shutting the door behind him quickly so that she wouldn't try to peek inside. It wasn't long before he reappeared with a set of clothes. He had some plain cotton trousers that might be a bit big for her, and a heavy woolen sweater. He set those on the couch for her, along with a cream-colored quilted blanket, figuring it'd be a moment before the house really warmed up.

"My name is Faron, by the way, to answer your question," he said as an afterthought. Finally, he sat down at the table and made to take off his boots. He felt much more relaxed now that they were inside, as it had become clearer that she intended no harm for him. He was not content to relax for long, too many things on his mind. "Care to enlighten me on your magic, then?"