Read Hollow by Caroline Peckham Chapter 31 – We’d taken a day and a night to recover from our encounter with the Lost Children. The morning after meeting with them in the dark, I’d woken to find my pack and all the possessions we’d left at the mill waiting for me on the doorstep. I could only assume that Rissa had been responsible for returning our things to us but there had been no sign of her among the trees.
The time that had passed had felt like we were holding our breaths, pretending the forest and the curse and everything beyond this house weren’t there at all. I hadn’t read the diary – which I now suspected had been written by some past version of myself – I hadn’t ventured out into the trees to seek the Cursed One who still had my face either.
But as the sun rose on the second day, I knew I couldn’t continue to ignore the questions which had arisen over my past, my future, and everything in between.
If I’d been born time and again, come to this forest over and over, then there had to be a reason for that. I had to be here for more than just Rissa.
The thought alone stung. I’d dedicated years of my life to this task, my only goal being her. But if I really allowed myself to think about it, I had been drawn to the forest before she’d been taken by it. We both had.
We’d snuck down the trail through the meadows behind our house as children, creeping as close to the cursed trees as we dared before running, shrieking, back to the safety of our parents. We used to play make-believe as Champions, pretending to sneak through the woods and capture the spirits.
I’d been humming the songs of the Lost Children to myself since I was too young to recall, and in all truth, I’d never found their call as chilling as all of my peers had claimed.
And now everything about that made sense. Right down to the way I’d never felt like I fully belonged in my village. Because I wasn’t like the rest of them. The truth had been looking me in the face every time I’d peered into a mirror at my unnaturally violet eyes.
There was something other about me. Rissa too. It was why I’d been so utterly lost without her. Not just because I pined for and mourned the loss of my sister. But because she had been the only one to ever truly understand me. The only person I’d never felt slightly out of step with.
I loved my mother and father dearly, but I wasn’t like them. I didn’t yearn for a simple life away from the threat of the wandering trees and the fear of the Hollows. I’d always imagined up adventures for myself, always sought out the tiny spirits of the land and obsessed over their larger, more powerful brethren who had been all but a myth until I’d finally set foot in this place.
But if I was born from the forest, even if it was only in part, then what did that make me? Was I human? Or was I something… else?
“You are something which has never been before and will never be again,” the Dragon rumbled inside my own head, and I flinched at the invasion to my thoughts.
“What does that mean? If I’ve lived twelve times before this, then isn’t that the opposite of what I am?” I asked the spirit, drawing Hendrix’s attention as he ate his breakfast.
His eyes bore into me where I sat by the window, but instead of turning to meet his curious gaze, I looked out into the depths of the trees and focused on the words of the spirit that came in answer.
“You are so literal,” it scoffed. “But aside from the chances you have had at this life before, there will never be another such as you. Each incarnation has been you, Ferris. No other. You have one foot in each plane. The spirit world and the mortal one. Human, yes. But also, not entirely so.”
“Is that why you chose me?”
The Dragon chuckled, its presence shifting around my thoughts and then receding.
“Perhaps.”
I knew it was gone without needing to ask another question which would go unanswered and I sighed.
“What did the monster have to say to you?” Hendrix asked as the silence stretched and I finally turned to look at him.
The hatred I knew I should still harbour wasn’t there as my eyes roamed over his features, snagging on the ink which curved around his eye before settling on the depths of his green gaze. We’d been through too much in this place for me to be able to claim the animosity which had once come so very easily.
I knew it made me a fool, but I wanted to trust him. Wanted to put my faith in this male who had risked his life for mine in the darkness of this place.
“We should head back out today,” I said firmly, ignoring his question. “It’s been twenty-seven days, and we have less than a fortnight left to break the curse of this forest or become doomed to perish in its hold.”
“Says the woman who has lived countless lives,” he noted, and I stiffened at the accusation.
“I have no memory of ever having lived before now,” I told him plainly, though he knew this already. “And I consider losing all memories of who I am and what I love to be the same as death, even if this flesh might return in some form. Besides, if the forest has given me a chance to succeed here during each Great Hunt, then I don’t believe I have any more chances left to me. The forest has encroached across all lands and chased both humanity, the Fae and even the Necromancer to the very edges of Rathian. This is the thirteenth Great Hunt and it will be the last, one way or another. We don’t have fifty years after this. The forest will consume the land in that time and everyone still clinging to life at that point will either be devoured by it or be forced to leap into the sea, which is just as certain of a death.”
“Then what is it you suggest?”
“That we head out,” I said firmly, as though I hadn’t been mulling over all those things and had always been making this plan. “There are still spirits unaccounted for. The map says the closest one to us is the Stag, so I say we go hunt for it.”
Hendrix gave me a smirk which made my stomach knot, then stood fluidly. “Then by all means, lead the way.”
I made to grab my cloak, then paused, a frown pinching my brow as I looked to the enormous Fae warrior once more.
“So we’re really working together now then?” I asked slowly. “Truly, I mean. As a… team?”
“Is that what I am to you, little lightwing? A teammate?” he asked, his tone low and making my skin prickle.
“I don’t think there’s a name for what you are to me,” I muttered, tugging my eyes from his before I became snared in them.
We were running out of time to break this curse, and whatever pull I may have felt towards Hendrix, I refused to let it distract me from what I’d come here to do. I may have found Rissa, but she was still trapped in this forest, still locked in the magic of its curse. I needed the boon to free her from it. I needed the curse to end to free the whole of Rathian from its poison so that we might live to enjoy her freedom too. Anything else, everything else, would have to wait.
I led the way outside, eyeing the paths between the trees with suspicion, though not with the same fear I’d had when first entering this place of curses and chaos.
Perhaps that made me a fool, but I had come to think of this forest as more of a lost soul than a vicious one. The Great Elm was in pain, she needed her children back, and I knew well the ache of yearning for a reunion with lost loved ones.
It was several hours of trekking through the undergrowth to get to the predicted position for the Stag on the map and I steeled myself for the day ahead. We would have to keep an eye out for another form of shelter or make certain to leave ourselves enough time to return to this little secluded house if we didn’t find one.
Hendrix moved to my side, not taking the lead for once but instead walking with me as we strode out into the trees.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
His hand brushed against mine, my fingers flexing automatically as if to snare his, before I forced them still again. Hendrix peered down at me with that infuriating smirk of his as if he knew precisely how my body reacted every time he got close to me the way he was now.
“I’m well aware the forest favours you, lightwing. The trees bow as you pass, the brambles twist out of the way of your boots. So why make my own path through this desolate place any harder than it needs to be? If I stick at your side the trees will make a road for me too.”
I rolled my eyes at his assessment, certain that he was placing far more importance upon my presence in this place than the trees themselves did, but I couldn’t deny the ring of truth his words held.
The forest did move for me at times, especially when I asked it to.
My steps faltered as I considered that, and Hendrix took a few more paces before realising I’d fallen behind and turning to face me.
“What is it?” he questioned but my focus was on the wood, not him.
I glanced from trunk to branch, vine to leaf, then I took a deep breath and raised my chin as I put my theory to the test.
“I wish to travel to a glade several miles to the west of here, where I believe the Stag may linger in the shade of twin chestnut trees. Would you make the path a little easier for me… please?”
Hendrix scoffed, looking at me like I was insane. “You can’t seriously think that the forest will…”
His words trailed off as a gust of wind swept around us, setting the leaves in the tress rustling with that hissed laughter which made my arm hairs stand on end.
Before Hendrix could mock me any more for asking a favour of the woods, the trees in front of us quaked, leaning back and shifting aside. Brambles and bracken slithered across the dirt, disappearing to the sides, taking small stones and leaf litter with them until an unnaturally perfect pathway lay there between the ancient trees.
“You were saying?” I mocked, my grin big and beyond hope of reigning in.
The Dragon rumbled a laugh in the back of my head and I strode forward with a spring in my step as Hendrix muttered curses and jogged to catch up to me while the trees shifted back into place behind us.
Despite the forest making our journey much easier, it was still a long and tiresome trek to reach the glade where we suspected the Stag might have been lurking.
As we walked, I toyed with the amulet at my throat, rolling my thumb over the carved Dragon there.
“Of course you just ask nicely and the forest jumps to attention,” Hendrix muttered, almost to himself.
He’d been making a fair few of those comments ever since realising that the path the forest had gifted me refused to remain clear for him alone. He couldn’t wander ahead of me nor trail behind without roots tripping him and trees shifting into his path.
Better yet, he couldn’t get the forest to grant him the same favour as it had done me. I’d greatly enjoyed watching him suck up his pride and say ‘please’ to the trees when asking them to create a pathway he could follow to a private spot where he might take a piss, only for them to do the opposite and plant more obstacles in his path instead.
I was definitely smug about it. And why not? As a Fae, he had been granted every advantage in this place from the moment the Champions had entered the forest. He was faster, stronger, more powerful, older, supposedly wiser – though I drew the line at admitting to that – but he wasn’t favoured by the forest. And it was driving him mad to endure it.
I reached out to the Dragon as we walked, asking it nicely if it would like to leave the amulet. It obliged me instantly, swirling around us in a rush of wind before darting up towards the sky where it set the clouds roiling overhead.
Hendrix huffed.
“What?” I taunted.
“It’s just ridiculous. And you know it,” he grunted. “The spirits I captured are well in hand. What’s to say your Dragon will be of any help when you need it to be? If you are asking in place of demanding, then you’re open to the very real possibility that the answer you get will be ‘no’ when the time comes that you need it to be a ‘yes’ the most.”
“Green may be your colour, Hendrix, but jealousy doesn’t suit you,” I teased.
He looked ready to argue his case, but a flash of movement caught our attention further up the path, the kick of hooved feet a brief visage before they sank away into the trees.
“The Stag,” I gasped, breaking into a run, but Hendrix was faster, bounding ahead of me easily, drawing his sword from its sheath as he went.
I cursed him, my mind not going to my weapon but instead to all I knew of the Stag and what I might need to do to lure it to me.
The Stag’s domain was the moss, lichen, fungi and soil, all things which cloaked the forest floor and provided nutrients to the air and earth. The spirit itself was said to be taller than two men, its antlers hung with draping moss, their span so wide the trees had to shift aside to allow it passage between them.
It valued nourishment and longevity, its job to maintain all plant life here and be certain that the trees thrived under its care.
I dropped to my knees, hauling my pack from my shoulders and scrambling to open the strap securing it.
Hendrix’s footsteps pounded away from me until they were lost in the depths of the forest, his pursuit of the Stag taking him from the path we’d been traversing. I could only hope he wouldn’t chase my spirit so far that it was unable to smell the gift I’d brought it.
I dumped the contents of my pack onto the ground, shoving clothes, books and food aside until I found the jar of brown sludge which I’d kept wrapped in the heart of my belongings.
I twisted the lid, the ripe scent from its contents filling my nostrils as I opened it at last and held it out before me as I stood.
The concoction was a mixture of seaweed, leaves and eggshells, my own personal recipe for some highly nutritious tree food which I’d sourced and fermented as part of my preparations for coming to the forest. It was basically a tree feast all wrapped up in a jar, and hopefully it was exactly the bribe I needed to woo the Stag.
“Come on,” I muttered, turning on the spot, my ears straining for any sound of the Stag as I hunted the spaces between the trees for a sign of my quarry.
My hope began to dwindle as I took off in the direction Hendrix had taken, but before I could leave the path the trees had created for me, there was a great crash of hooves and the huge Stag leapt between the trees.
I gasped as the beast almost trampled me, my jar spinning from my fingers and thumping down in the dirt.
The Stag snorted, lowering its antlers at me as it pawed the ground with its hoof, and my heart sank.
Though this creature was beautiful, it was no spirit. Its coat was a tawny brown, dappled along its flank and its horns, though impressive, were nothing more than the horns of a wild deer just like those which had stolen a taste of my mother’s roses whenever they got the chance.
Hendrix’s pounding footsteps rang out in pursuit of what he believed to be the spirit and the creature bolted, turning towards the path and fleeing on thundering hooves.
The Fae burst onto the trail a beat later, almost colliding with me and making me curse as he kicked my carefully prepared offering.
I scrambled to retrieve it, scooping the nutritious mix back inside where it had spilled and securing the lid with a sigh.
Hendrix made to take chase again but I caught his arm to halt him. “That’s no spirit,” I said.
“I see that,” he growled, irritation coating his words as he dropped his arm in frustration and we were left watching the stag as it raced away into the distance.
