My hand stays dry, though. And, as I go still, cocking my ear to search for the source of that sound, I realize something. That’s… that’s not thunder. It’s growing louder, coming closer, and even if I want to pretend those aren’t hoofbeats pounding the hard ground, the whinny splitting the still air makes it undeniable.
It’s a horse. And, in my experience—especially in Faerie, where I was dragged to Siúcra in a horse-drawn caravan—where there’s a horse, there’s a rider.
Ah, hell.
Forget careful. With the rhythm of the hoofbeats thudding in sync with my thumping pulse, that’s my cue to get the hell out of Dodge.
I just go forward, figuring that so long as the rider stays behind me, I’m heading in the right direction. I don’t even know if he’s coming for me, but I do know that I’d rather not stick around and find out. I dash through the eerie trees, my apples banging against my thigh, my knee, my ass as it bounces in time to my sprint. It’s hard to breathe, every gasp a struggle as sudden fear races through me, but I pour on the speed despite the obvious.
No way I can outrun a horse. Here’s hoping I can lose it.
There’s no path. No light. If I can zigzag enough, find a spot to hide where the horse could never reach me, I should be alright.
At least, that’s the plan.
A stitch forms in my side. It feels like I’m being stabbed, the pain growing more intense with every other footfall. I’d like to think I was in shape, but I just spent weeks locked in a cell. I’m lucky I can even move this fast.
At first, when I notice the faint, pale blue flash of light ahead of me, I think I’m seeing things. Like “I haven’t gotten enough oxygen to my brain” kind of seeing things. I wince, then blink rapidly, all while still pumping my arms and pushing my legs. A moment later, my eyes tell my brain that it’s really there and I come up short, staring in disbelief.
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It’s about three inches long, though the way it shimmers and floats about two feet off of the ground makes it hard to tell what shape it really is. It flickers like a flame, and it looks like a super hot one, too; the inside is pure white, framed by varying shades of blue.
What the…
My free hand is already reaching for the nearest wisp of light before I even realize I’m doing it.
No, Helen, I tell myself. I clench my fingers into a tight fist, pounding it at my side as I rip my gaze away from the wisp. Don’t even think about it.
It’s not the only one. Now that I’m not stuck on the nearest wisp, I notice that there are countless others, each spread a good distance apart, a long line disappearing into the darkness.
They have to lead somewhere. Probably not anywhere good, but as another whinny sends a shiver coursing up and down my spine, I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care.
I take off toward the wisps.
And, yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that I’m probably making a mistake. When I was younger, my mother used to tell me stories about Faerie, about the magic in a mythical realm where every fairy tale creature, every myth, every legend I’ve ever heard of made their home. I know what I’m looking at. These are will o’ the wisp, straight out of one of my mom’s stories, and they’re known for leading travelers astray.
Shoot. I don’t even think it’s possible for me to get any more lost. And the mysterious horseman coming up from behind me would never guess I’d be so stupid as to run toward the light, right?
I almost turn around. When the wind picks up, followed by a childish giggle that is somehow worse than the rumble of the horse closing in on me, I almost turn around. Only the fact that, as I pass them, the wisps wink out, has me continuing to run forward.
The gaps between the wisps widen, but the floating lights grow brighter; either that or I’m growing accustomed to the shadows because I’m able to see a little better now. The trees don’t look so threatening, though the branches are eerily bare and the bark seems to be closer to burned charcoal than live wood. My footsteps begin to crunch the further I go. When the wisps reflect off the ground, I see a crusted layer of old snow and ice covering some of the dirt. Desperate not to slip and fall, I slow a bit.
And that’s when I realize that, except for my heavy breathing and my boots cracking the frozen ground, it’s quiet again. No more galloping. No trotting. No clip-clop or even a snort.
I did it. I freaking did it.
I managed to lose the rider and keep a hold of my apples.
Oh, yeah. I call that a win.
2
My lips curve, a small, satisfied smile coming to my face. Despite the chill in the air, my run through the woods left me sweating along my hairline. I wipe it away with the back of my hand before shoving the loose strands of hair out of my face.
I needed one thing to work in my favor. Even if it’s the satisfaction that, just this once, things have gone my way, I’ll take it. Lately, everything that can go wrong for me has. With my luck, I’d expect the rider to be one of Siúcra’s guards come to track me down or something. Sure, it could also be my overactive imagination, but in Faerie? Who the hell knows?
Better safe than sorry.