The Woodcutter by Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia
Authors: Kate Danley; © Lolloj / Fotolia
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obeyed the faerie rules of allowing true blue bloods to find their way. He had obeyed the rules and the child dressed in a red cape was dead. He would not be haunted by another corpse. He looked up at the darkening sky, “There are things that walk in the night that you should not face alone.”
The boy’s face drained of color. A stick fell noisily from a nearby tree and the boy spun as if a ghost was at his back. The Woodcutter shook his head at the tree and the tree shifted apologetically for the dramatics. The Woodcutter held out his pack and the boy grudgingly took it, falling in step behind the Woodcutter as they continued deeper into the Woods.
The wind tasted of rain.
The Woodcutter raised his nose to the air and inhaled the scent of the trees as they opened themselves for a cool evening drink.
The forest in this part of the Wood was different than elsewhere. Moss and ferns grew abundantly. The pulp of the trees was rust colored and the trees grew so tall they almost disappeared in the clouds.
The wind scolded him like a wizened mother, pushing at the Woodcutter’s back and telling him that he should find shelter.
The Woodcutter’s eyes fell upon a hollow in one of the trees. Struck by lightning, the inside had burned away, but had left the exterior intact and alive. There was just enough room for two.
The Woodcutter crawled in and the boy followed just as the first drops began to fall.
The Woodcutter took a blanket his wife had rolled in his pack and handed it to the boy. Then he tucked up the collar of his coat and settled in for the night.
The boy just sniffled.
Chapter 23
The Woodcutter was awake in an instant.
The rain had stopped.
The boy was fast asleep, his head tilted back at an awkward angle.
But something was wrong.
The Woodcutter could feel it in his bones, even before the trees began to whisper, Quiet…quiet…
He crawled to the entrance and tried to see out into the night.
He could hear the snuffing grunts of an animal, a large creature tracking something through the brush.
The Woodcutter looked at the boy sleeping behind him. He placed his hand upon his final Ax. He waited as the footsteps grew closer.
A creature of silver stepped into the clearing. His ears were pricked and his mastiff-like snout tasted the air. He muscles rippled like mercury. Walking on four legs, his shoulders stood as tall as a man’s chest. A halo of blue radiated from him. His eyes were mirrors, lacking pupils, and shone gray in the night.
Odin’s rogue hellhound.
The Beast.
The Woodcutter felt the boy behind him wake with a start.
He reached back and grabbed the boy’s ankle, hoping he would understand to stay silent.
The hellhound’s head jerked in their direction. The Beast lowered his nose to the ground and began creeping their way.
The Woodcutter placed his hands upon the opening of the tree and closed his eyes. He whispered a wish to the tree and the spell took hold.
The Beast leapt, attracted by the movement, but when he reached the base of the redwood, all he found was wood and bark.
The Woodcutter still stood at the opening, mere inches from the Beast, but the spell had created a mirage that the hollow tree was solid. The spells he used were elemental, not the wild magic of the dark knives or unclaimed hearts that seemed to call the Beast.
The Beast snuffed and dug at the tree, but the spell did not give up its secret. The Beast let out a sneeze before padding away. As the last of the hellhound’s blue aura disappeared deep into the Woods, the Woodcutter relaxed.
“What was that?” the boy asked.
“A hellhound,” said the Woodcutter.
The boy shifted uncomfortably, “Can you kill it?”
“I shall try sometime when I am by myself.” The Woodcutter looked back at the boy, “I would hate to leave you alone with it.”
The
The boy’s face drained of color. A stick fell noisily from a nearby tree and the boy spun as if a ghost was at his back. The Woodcutter shook his head at the tree and the tree shifted apologetically for the dramatics. The Woodcutter held out his pack and the boy grudgingly took it, falling in step behind the Woodcutter as they continued deeper into the Woods.
The wind tasted of rain.
The Woodcutter raised his nose to the air and inhaled the scent of the trees as they opened themselves for a cool evening drink.
The forest in this part of the Wood was different than elsewhere. Moss and ferns grew abundantly. The pulp of the trees was rust colored and the trees grew so tall they almost disappeared in the clouds.
The wind scolded him like a wizened mother, pushing at the Woodcutter’s back and telling him that he should find shelter.
The Woodcutter’s eyes fell upon a hollow in one of the trees. Struck by lightning, the inside had burned away, but had left the exterior intact and alive. There was just enough room for two.
The Woodcutter crawled in and the boy followed just as the first drops began to fall.
The Woodcutter took a blanket his wife had rolled in his pack and handed it to the boy. Then he tucked up the collar of his coat and settled in for the night.
The boy just sniffled.
Chapter 23
The Woodcutter was awake in an instant.
The rain had stopped.
The boy was fast asleep, his head tilted back at an awkward angle.
But something was wrong.
The Woodcutter could feel it in his bones, even before the trees began to whisper, Quiet…quiet…
He crawled to the entrance and tried to see out into the night.
He could hear the snuffing grunts of an animal, a large creature tracking something through the brush.
The Woodcutter looked at the boy sleeping behind him. He placed his hand upon his final Ax. He waited as the footsteps grew closer.
A creature of silver stepped into the clearing. His ears were pricked and his mastiff-like snout tasted the air. He muscles rippled like mercury. Walking on four legs, his shoulders stood as tall as a man’s chest. A halo of blue radiated from him. His eyes were mirrors, lacking pupils, and shone gray in the night.
Odin’s rogue hellhound.
The Beast.
The Woodcutter felt the boy behind him wake with a start.
He reached back and grabbed the boy’s ankle, hoping he would understand to stay silent.
The hellhound’s head jerked in their direction. The Beast lowered his nose to the ground and began creeping their way.
The Woodcutter placed his hands upon the opening of the tree and closed his eyes. He whispered a wish to the tree and the spell took hold.
The Beast leapt, attracted by the movement, but when he reached the base of the redwood, all he found was wood and bark.
The Woodcutter still stood at the opening, mere inches from the Beast, but the spell had created a mirage that the hollow tree was solid. The spells he used were elemental, not the wild magic of the dark knives or unclaimed hearts that seemed to call the Beast.
The Beast snuffed and dug at the tree, but the spell did not give up its secret. The Beast let out a sneeze before padding away. As the last of the hellhound’s blue aura disappeared deep into the Woods, the Woodcutter relaxed.
“What was that?” the boy asked.
“A hellhound,” said the Woodcutter.
The boy shifted uncomfortably, “Can you kill it?”
“I shall try sometime when I am by myself.” The Woodcutter looked back at the boy, “I would hate to leave you alone with it.”
The
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