The Hushing [#ONC2022]

Chapter Two (part 1)

Marion's lungs burned and her legs ached but she kept going. Everywhere she looked, there was nothing but black forest, fading into the gray ashfall. Nowhere to hide. No refuge in sight.

Those creatures were so close, Marion could smell them. Not the too-sweet, cider-scent of overripe apples that she'd smelled before. This was fetid and sour – like rotten fish and sewage and the gut-churning stench of roadkill after days in the summer heat, blistering on the pavement.

She didn't even know what they were. Ghosts? Goblins? Monsters like this were only supposed to exist in books and horror movies. All she had to do was turn the page or shut off the television and she was safe. But she'd been running for what felt like hours now and the nightmare didn't seem to be ending anytime soon.

What would they do if they caught her?

Marion didn't have an answer for that either. And she didn't want to find out.

Her sneaker hooked on a tangle of tree roots, hidden by a powdery layer of ashes. She hit the ground on her hands and knees hard enough to send a jolt of pain up her wrists. Then her fingers brushed against the rough bark of a branch, half buried in the slurry of mud and ash. She snatched it up, scrambled to her feet, and turned, ready to swing.

A sea of monstrous faces surrounded Marion – the smear of their features rendered a gray blur, the unnaturally wide stretch of their black mouths hollow and hungry.

Then the cold slammed into her. Searing through her chest. The branch slipped from her fingers.

Marion glanced down. One of the creatures had slashed its crooked, dark claws across her sternum, leaving three gashes behind. The thin fabric of her t-shirt, now shredded, clung to the gaping wounds. The cuts were so deep, she could see the stringy wet pull of muscles and tendons, the pale gleam of bone amid the bright red of blood.

It should have hurt. The pain should have been blinding.

But Marion felt no pain. Only the cold that crackled across her skin. The slow creep of it slithered and crawled its way across her collarbones, up her throat. Icy needles scratched at her lungs with each breath.

Marion opened her mouth to scream. No sound emerged. Only a puff of frosted air, dissipating into the drift of falling ashes.

"Enough!"

The bellowing command sent a shudder through the earth. The creatures quailed, shrinking back with heads bowed and wings folded together. For the first time since Marion had spotted them, their screaming quieted to rustles and whispers. She slid to the ground, wheezing. The cold was burning now, locking her fingers into spasms, seizing her body until she couldn't move.

Marion barely registered the hulking beast of a man who strode through the dark mass of cowering creatures. A plate of black armor was strapped to his chest and a sword nearly the length of Marion's body hung at his side.

Help, she wanted to say.

Cold, was all she could think.

The man came to a stop in front of Marion. He reached out, placed his palm against her cheek and his skin was so warm, it made Marion whimper. Something deep in the pit of her stomach snarled over that warmth. She wanted to clutch the delicious heat and protect it, shield it, claim it. The cold could never touch her with heat like that.

"Breathe," the man said.

Marion gulped at the air, choking it down as if she'd never tasted it before. Gradually, the cold abated. When she brought her hand up to touch her sternum, the wounds were gone. Her skin was smooth and unmarked by scars. Had the creature cut her open in the first place? Or had she imagined it? The cold felt like only a bad dream already...

Finally, with a hoarse voice, Marion found her words.

"How did you...?"

"A gift from Lady Ingrid," the man replied.

He stepped back, resting his hand on the pommel of his sword and gestured to the trees. A woman seated atop a large dark horse trotted out of the forest. Her eyes were white as pearls. Her black hair was swept up and pinned back, accentuating the gaunt sharpness of her face – all rigid angles, cutting cheekbones, and pointed chin. She wore black breeches, tall boots, and a close-fitting jacket in the deepest, darkest shade of plum.

"Cat got your tongue?" Lady Ingrid said, her tone lofty. "I believe when someone has just saved your life, it's proper to show a little gratitude."

"Where am I?" Marion rasped. Her voice felt brittle and rough in her throat.

Lady Ingrid raised an eyebrow. "The Hushing. It's a realm belonging to spirits that have no home anywhere else."

Spirits. Am I dead? Marion wondered. No, that wasn't right. She could feel her heart in her thundering in her chest and a moment ago, she had nearly stopped breathing. She must still be alive.

"I'm waiting on that gratitude by the way," Lady Ingrid said.

"Th-thank you," Marion stuttered.

The armor-clad man held the horse's bridle and offered his hand to the Lady Ingrid as she dismounted. The moment her boot heels touched the ground, the creatures flinched. Their whispers turned to nervous chitters and clicks. Lady Ingrid tugged off her gloves, revealing bone-thin, spindly pale fingers with oil-black nails.

"That's a little better," she said. Her voice was smooth, crisp, pronouncing every letter and biting it off with finality. "What's your name, girl?"

The way she said it wasn't a question. It sounded more like a command that she expected to be obeyed.

"Marion Price," Marion replied.

Lady Ingrid grasped Marion's chin in her hand with a proprietary grip. She was warm, too, Marion realized. But something about it felt...strange. As if the warmth didn't come from her skin. It preceded her, like a halo or a protective shield.

"How old are you?" Lady Ingrid said.

"Sixteen."

Lady Ingrid tilted Marion's head up. "Look at you. I suppose the mirror let you in and then shut you out again. Is that right, pet?"

Marion struggled to her feet.

"You know about the mirror? Can you take me to it? Do you have any idea where it went?"

Lady Ingrid patted Marion's cheek as if she were a small child who needed the simplest explanation spelled out for her slowly.

"Marion. Darling. The mirror is a mystery. No one can understand it. No one can know when or where it will appear again."

Marion's stomach dropped. "But...I have to get home. I can't stay here."

Lady Ingrid waved her off with impatience.

"Nonsense. You've my guest now. I'll see to it that you have everything you could wish for at my home in Valecroft."