Page 4 of WitchBorn

My wobbling legs steadied as I emptied my bladder then followed the sound of water to a stream, studied it for several minutes, my heart racing, and throat clenching to drink. The fae could corrupt anything. I took a few hesitant steps toward the shore, expecting it to lunge at me, but it tinkled and danced as a normal stream should.

I couldn’t wait any longer and bowed my head to drink, the water tasting clean and fresh, slightly cool. The gentle breeze blew through the trees a soft caress rather than biting cold or stifling heat. I drank my fill and sank into the water, letting it pool around me, washing away the filth with the memories.

Had I found my way back to the mortal realm? It couldn’t be part of Winter; it was too warm. But the trees, a mix of oak, pine, and fir, were common to the mortal world and without blight. Layers of green moss crawled up the trunks of the thick trees and the grass grew tall enough to sway in the wind. The leaves high up danced with a soothing rustle, but the dark made it hard to define their color.

Movement caught my gaze, and my attention snapped toward a distant bush. Shadows hid a slinking darkness. It stilled, trying to blend, but in this form, I saw the outline of the beast. Too small to be the dragon. Was it the Hunt? I had thought Spring took control of those monsters, stealing them from Winter.

I got to my feet, ready to run. Another curse or blessing, perhaps, as none could catch me unless I allowed myself to be caught. Even tired as I was, I’d run until my heart gave out and the wild magic between worlds took back my soul to birth another White Stag.

The beast slid from the bush, muzzle darkened, wet with crimson in the bright moonlight, and dropped something at the shore’s edge a dozen yards from where I stood. Our gaze met for several seconds, but it slipped back into the shadows and vanished. I hesitantly inched forward to see what it had left.

A rabbit. Fresh kill.

I sighed, my mortal mind reminding me of meals that included the flesh of creatures. Not all bad, but the Stag hated it. We would be happier with mushrooms, or soft moss. Was this some sort of courting dance? The dragon turned to a wolf-like creature? Or something else?

I wandered away from the kill, determined to find a place to settle for the night that wouldn’t leave my back exposed, nibbling moss until a spread of clover sprouting between trees drew me in.

Gorging on the clover, I couldn’t help but settle into the thick spread of it and roll around. If this was a dream, it felt real.

The trees towered overhead, a canopy to ease the glowing light of the over-sized moon. Clover, a thick mat beneath me, and the distant sound of the stream, I lay down to rest. Would the beast return? Fed and warm for the first time in ages, I didn’t care. I’d have bowed to the Summer King and promised him anything for this moment, as fleeting as it might be.

Only the absence of bird chatter hinted where I was. Not the mortal realm, even though I’d been brought a rabbit and saw fish in the stream. The stretching silence, a lack of bugs, birds, or any movement beyond the water, made me search the trees for a sign of the spirits that haunted the mortal world.

There were two possibilities, either I had fallen into the purview of the earth spirit, or Green Man, as the mortals called him, or this was a fae realm. The presence of the beast, meant likely the latter, but I’d worry about it when I woke in the morning and found myself still curled up in the clover instead of chained to the floor of the Winter court.

Three

WESLEY

Days of wandering and searching for a way out left me frustrated. The realm spread wide, but repeated. A new realm with an unestablished king. Not the little King and his sorcerer wolf mate with their growing Summer court as I had hoped, and not Spring with his sarcasm and wit, which drew the remaining fae to him, not because of his power, but because his servants helped him craft a welcoming home of wakening buds and wild energy storms to recharge their fading power.

After exploring in long circles led back to the stream, I wondered if any other beings existed in this realm. The dark beast hadn’t returned, nor had I glimpsed the dragon, though twice I’d been left fresh kills of small creatures, various offerings of fish or fowl, which I ignored in favor of clover and moss.

Often when I slept, I’d feel watched. Uneasy, but also protected.

The silence added to my loneliness. Long years of learning to be independent from other fae meant great survival skills, but survival didn’t equal joy or even peace. I’d rest a few hours, then get up to wander again, looking for a change, finding boundless forest and a stream that meandered in replicating bends, but never had a beginning or an end.

I followed the water, drenching my hooves in it as if defiant, petty and willing to ruin the pretty peace of the landscape. The evenings got cold enough to force me to seek shelter in a thicket of trees, which often magically appeared as though my wish were tied to the realm. During the day, the warmth of the sun on my back and cool touch of water at my feet kept me moving.

Circles, only never truly around. Fae realms were maddening places. I’d come to love the material comforts of the mortal world, wealth, shelter, and the fine couture. Fae simplicity, and how their magic warred with the mere idea of modern items, drove my irritation, much like the ever-flowing stream.

The water never got past my knees, and I longed to soak in the cool spread. I traveled the stream until the sky colored with the painted pink, orange, and gray of dusk.

A small pond emerged as I rounded a bend thinking I’d stop for the night to eat and rest. That pond had not been there, though I’d passed that annoying stretch of birch trees a dozen times, having nibbled at the moss near the roots.

With a heavy bit of apprehension, I approached the pond. The gurgle of water soft and soothing, still silent of bugs, birds, or frogs. I gazed into the pool from a respectable distance, waiting for movement, or a sign of danger. Fae traps and bodies of water went hand in hand. Even with Underhill destroyed, the last threads of power scattered among the mortal world as seeds to be gathered and grown within new realms, my anxiety over being eaten by some wild selkie or brazen water nymph kept me from moving closer.

I kicked a few stones into the water, watching them skip a time or two and sink, the water resettling, and looking… normal.

My Stag form could outrun anything that might pop up from the depths, though my human side begged for a soaking bath.

The sun vanished behind the trees, leaving the sky washed in pretty colors as the moon rose, the remix in the sky worthy of a painting. Was a bath worth death? An end was an end, wasn’t it?

I stepped into the pool, carefully letting my hooves find purchase in the sandy bottom. Nothing moved as I climbed deeper, soaking all the way over my back, and until I had to lift my head nothing moved beyond me in the small pool. Though I waited a long while before shifting into my human form and finding a spot to sit that left me neck deep.

I could wish for a heated spring, but the soothing chill of the water helped ease some of the ache of still healing flesh, my mortal body slower to repair itself than the Stag.

I washed, gaze half-blinded by the brightness of the moon, still a perfect orb of blazing brightness above after days inside the realm. I could feel my ribs, and the lack of muscle tone was concerning. How long had I been in locked in Winter? Sometimes the realms ate years, though it seemed less and less so as the modern world merged with the magic remains of Underhill.