The tall, twining trees of the Ashenwood Thicket finally came into sight as Amara and her faithful stallion trotted along. Through their matted branches came the gentle dapple of sunlight casting onto the ground an ethereal dance of shadows.
The closer they drew, the thicker the air felt as it constricted around them, tightening like a noose. It had an otherworldly stillness to it, a frighteningly palpable magic that seemed to seep out through the trees from the centre of it all.
She tightened her grip on Shadowmere's reins as fear cascaded over her like a shroud. The horse moved with a quiet determination, pressing on despite the dangers that lay before them.
The outer rim of the forest greeted them with an eerie silence as she climbed down from her mount, fingers still holding tightly onto the worn reins.
"It's just a few trees, how dangerous can it really be?" she asked as she petted the horse beside her, praising him for keeping so calm.
Shadowmere huffed in reply, standing steadfast in the face of danger.
Only then did she hear it. The faint rustle of leaves, distant calls of mystical creatures and gentle murmur of unseen streams — a great, quiet symphony of nature.
Her gaze fell on the treeline, scanning it for even the tiniest of movements or chill of danger. She caught the occasional glimmer of elusive, twinkling lights from deeper into the Ashenwood Thicket. Just how far did the stretch of trees span before moulding into Veilstorm, she wondered. How much of the dimly lit thicket would she be able to pass through before encountering one of the creatures waiting inside?
Despite the dark, oozing shadow trailing out from the very heart of the forest, it held a timeless allure. In front of her was the start of something new. The true beginning of a perilous adventure to find the princess's lost and weary heart. What wonders were there to be seen? The treacherous beauty of a long ancient magic and creatures unlike any she had seen before.
She sucked in a deep breath and pulled lightly against the reins, guiding Shadowmere forward into the mass of bushes and trees.
Amara could feel a subtle resistance pushing against her with every step she took, as if the forest itself was warning her to go no further. She was afraid. She was in awe. Mostly, though, she was lost in the thrill of adrenaline as it began to flood through her veins.
Her trusty steed, feeling the same urge to retreat that had settled into the pit of her stomach, pulled back against her guiding hand with a defiant neigh.
"Woah, calm down. It'll be okay." Her actions betrayed her words as her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice.
So many had come before her. Soldiers and adventurers alike, all with their own uniquely trained skills.
Lady Seraphina Stormheart was one of the first to venture out in search of the princess's heart. A noble knight of many years and warrior of more. She had seen countless battles and once, it was said, even faced down a dragon. She was also one of the first to be lost to the depths of Veilstorm.
Sir Thaddeus Lightfoot was another. A young knight enthralled by the princess's beauty. He sought honour and glory but, most of all, he wished to capture the princess's heart. Her hand in marriage was to be his prize, a prize the desperate king had agreed to with little hesitation. Nearby farmers heard his strangled screams only minutes after he disappeared into the foliage that Amara herself now found herself venturing through.
Then there was Finnian and Gideon Thornhill, confident twin adventurers who had travelled the world together. Days after they left for the forest, Gideon returned. He had suffered wounds, but he was alive for the most part. Missing half his right arm and blind in one eye — a fresh scar etched deep into his skin. His only concern, however, was Finnian as he cried out his name over and over. Weeping so loud that it shook the very Earth. No one knows what became of Finnian, but they prayed whatever death he had met had been a swift one.
With countless others sharing similar fates, Amara knew that there was nothing which could quite prepare her for what she was going to face. And she wasn't like all those adventurers you hear about in stories — the ones that marched into danger without a care in the world. She was afraid. Afraid of what she would face and what she would have to do to get out of the forest alive, but she was sure she would find herself in just about once piece on the other side.
Her parents were watching over her, just as they always had been, and they had prepared her to survive in a world that was crumbling away. Even after they died, she memorised their teachings. The way her father taught her how to fight, the dance of her feet as she parried and struck at her foes. The endless pages in the monster books her mother had read to her as a child, detailing weak points and noting the threat level of each creature.
With Eldoria in ruin, evil will take root and fester. You must be prepared, Amara. You must be ready, and you must fight. Above all else, you must survive.
She could still hear her mother's voice. Still feel the weight of her father's sword in her tiny, little hands. Hands that had grown and could now grip the sword properly, holding it up with ease. She had defended Eldoria and its people as best as she could, travelling through the surrounding villages to protect the people from whatever evil tormented them.
The vampire nest in Stonevale. Trolls wreaking havoc at Verdant Ridge. Harpies festering in the Moonlight Glade.
She had faced evil before and she would face it again. No matter what Veilstorm had in mind for her, she knew she would survive it. She had to, there was no choice in the matter. Even if the odds were certainly not in her favour.
With a deep breath, Amara urged Shadowmere onward, piercing through the veil of dread that hung around the forsaken forest.
They walked for only a handful of minutes before she began to question her resolve. She was already hearing things, a muffled chatter of noise in the distance. She looked back to find that the trees seemed to have thickened and tangled, twining together as if trying to mask the way back, trapping her inside. Then her ears twitched and shadows crept up her spine when she realised the distant chattering that she believed she had been imagining was getting closer.
She tugged her horse behind a wall of bushes and trees, hoping to stay out of sight until she could decipher what it was that was coming toward them.
An inexplicable unease settled in the pit of her stomach as she silently drew her father's sword, holding it steady before her. To her side, Shadowmere's ears flickered back and forth as if trying to discern the source of the unsettling noise.
The shadows deepened, and from the foliage emerged the faintest twinkle of twittering light.
"Fairies," she said under her breath, careful to not yet alert them of her presence. Shadowmere nudged her slightly in response, urging her to make herself known to the small beings.
Their muffled chatter turned to discernible whispers of a language both ancient and unfamiliar to her. Unlike that spoken by any fairy she had met before.
With cautious steps, Amara left behind the comfort of her hiding place and stood before the small group of colourful fae. They were quick to jump back, their wings flapping furiously as they drew their tiny swords.
She raised her hands to show she meant no harm and lowered her blade to the ground, her eyes not once leaving the small creatures that hovered above her.
"I don't mean you any harm. I am here to find Princess Rosalind's heart. Can you tell me how much further until these woods merge into Veilstorm?"
The fairies stilled and turned to one another, whispering once again in that language Amara could not understand. After a short moment of conferral, the group turned back to her and her horse with a shrug.
"Of course. You don't understand me, do you?" She sighed, knowing few people ventured into these woods. There was little reason for any of the creatures here to speak the languages of men.
As if pulled to her voice, the smallest of the three fairies seemed to float towards her. He was no larger than her thumb and had two glittering blue wings that were as thin as silk.
Amara watched closely as his hand — the size of a pinhead — disappeared into a tiny satchel sitting at his side. When it emerged, he brought his hand to his face and blew.
The young adventurer coughed and spluttered at the foul taste of the powder that had immediately wafted up her nose and into her mouth.
"Turn back," a voice she did not recognise spoke, "Leave this place and do not return. If you venture into Veilstorm you will die."
Fairy dust — the powder she had just been assaulted with — had many properties. One of which, she recalled, was to give the gift of communication. Fairies used it to commune with others when there was not a shared spoken language between them. By the time she realised that the fairy had spoken to her, he had already turned his back to her and was once again beside his companions as they prepared to leave.
"Wait!" she called after him, "Please, I cannot turn back. Not without the heart. If you know anything—"
"We do not!" the same fairy replied, swinging around in the air to face her once again, "Leave. The heart is already lost. There is nothing for you here."
A fairy's warning was always to be heeded — most importantly when in its own forest — but Amara had no other option and refused to be deterred. "I appreciate your concern, but I cannot turn back. Not when my search has only just begun."
The fairies exchanged three wary glances, their porcelain features furrowed and strained. The smallest of them once again hovered closer to her, his azure wings curling in the air around him.
"You do not understand, human," he reiterated, his voice seeped in deep sorrow, "Even we do not dare venture far into Veilstorm. Its magic is ancient, its trials unforgiving. The stolen heart is lost to you, to all your kind. You cannot retrieve it."
Amara squared her shoulders and met the fairy's gaze with a steady stare. "I am willing to face the dangers. I must find the heart and break the curse. If you possess any knowledge about the heart or where it is, I beg of you, tell me."
Again, the blue fairy turned to his peers and the three of them conferred once more, their wings fluttering in indecision.
Finally, the fairy turned to her once more. "We hold no knowledge of the heart's whereabouts, but we can sense a disturbance in the forest. A great darkness that stirs, waking from a deep slumber. Woken by the endless ticking of a mechanical heart. Beware of Veilstorm and the darkness within."
With those final, awfully cryptic words, the fairies retreated into the foliage as though their luminous forms had never been there to begin with.
Ignoring the lingering taste of fairy dust, Amara retrieved her sword from where it lay on the ground and put it back into its sheath. With her hands on her hips, she turned back to Shadowmere.
"Well, fat lot of help that was," she muttered, "If anything, I've only got more questions than I had before. Damn fairies."
The steed snorted softly, as if sharing in her exasperation, and Amara shook her head. "Well, it's not like this was going to be easy. All we can do now is press forward."
As they ventured further, the air around them only seemed to grow darker — the foliage shifting and whispering in a language only the forest could understand.
Amara's thoughts, however, lingered on the fairy's words. A waking darkness — that is what he said — only she had no idea what he could mean. If anything, it only meant she was getting herself into more trouble than she'd first anticipated.
As the woodland grew denser, Amara knew they were nearing the edges of Veilstorm Forest. The trees seemed more twisted than before, as though they were turning to watch them with an unwelcoming glare.
Overhead, there was not even a sliver of the sky, though she knew the sun should still be shining. The thick canopy of crooked branches and deep olive-coloured leaves cast a shadow so heavy that the forest seemed to be locked in an endless night.
The air had grown thick with the scent of moss and damp earth, and the only sounds she could hear were the soft crunch of leaves beneath her boots and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush. For a forest supposedly so evil, it seemed so full of quiet life.
She couldn't help but wonder if the reason she hadn't seen a single creature since parting with the fairies was because they were hiding away. From her or something else, however, she did not know, nor was she sure she wanted to.
The trees were not the only thing which seemed to be watching them either as an unsettling awareness had settled over her quite some time ago. An awareness that at least one pair of preying eyes were upon her, lingering like a whisper in the wind. An intangible gaze that bore into the back of the soul.
Even Shadowmere had begun to grow skittish, and the ageing steed flicked his head back and forth to keep a close eye on their surroundings.
Following suit, Amara peered around them, her dark hazel eyes desperate to pierce through the shadows between the gnarled trunks which seemed to lengthen and coil the longer she looked at them. She knew there was nothing there — not in the immediate space around them — but that didn't stop her eyes from playing tricks on her, catching on to the elusive shapes that seemed to tiptoe just beyond the edge of her perception.
A shiver ran down her spine as a thick, black mist crept out from the trees before her, shadows solidifying in a murky, swirling gloom.
In the mist, not too far from where she stood, emerged a luminous pair of yellow eyes. Their colour was almost pretty against such a dark backdrop, but they were far from friendly. The mist around them held an eerie glow as another pair of the same insidious golden eyes revealed themselves at a short distance from the other.
She had already frozen in place, her eyes jumping from one of the figures to the other as she carefully drew her sword.
A guttural growl echoed through the mist, followed by another at her flank, and the shadows finally took the form of three massive wolves. Their fur was a black as the mist from which they had emerged, as though they were a part of it.
The air crackled with an unnatural tension as the wolves encircled Amara and her faithful mount, their eyes fixated on their prey. With a snarl, they revealed their blood-stained fangs and continued to creep closer, toying with her.
Shadowmere snorted and hooved at the ground, as though trying to warn the wolves to keep away, but they did not falter. Saliva oozed from their mouths in anticipation of their next meal.
Amara, with her hand firmly gripping her sword, spoke to him in a low, reassuring tone, "Easy, boy, easy. We'll face this together."
The leader of the pack, distinguishable by its much larger size, lunged forward in one swift, calculated movement. Amara was quick to react and raised her sword to parry the wolf's snapping jaws. The clash echoed through the forest, and the other wolves closed in, their feral growls testing their prey's resolve.
Shadowmere reared on his hind legs, his powerful hooves striking out at the wolves that dared to encroach upon the ground around him. He was old, but he was a fine and fearsome stallion and would not succumb to a pack of measly wolves.
While her horse fended off the other two wolves, Amara was locked in a deadly dance with the leader. She felt the weight of each strike as she slashed and drove her sword forward, trying desperately to defeat the nimble wolf as it jumped to-and-fro, avoiding her attacks.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as the battle unfolded, listening intently to the gnashing of teeth, and clanking of her blade.
As the skirmish continued, Amara's sword found its mark, slicing through the air with precision. The wolf cried out — howling in pain as its blood splattered across her sword — but it was far from defeated.
In the midst of chaos, one of the wolves behind her had managed to slip past her ebony steed and pounced, lurching for her shoulder. His sharpened fangs sunk deep into her soft, umber skin, staining it red with blood.
The young adventurer winced at the sudden, searing pain that shot through her, but adrenaline fuelled her resolve. With a swift and forceful motion, she twisted her body — bringing the wolf along with her — and reached with her free hand for a concealed dagger that hung at her side. In a desperate counter, she thrust the blade up into the side of the attacking wolf.
With a high-pitched yelp, the beast released its grip on her shoulder and fell to the ground with a thud, cowering back towards the mist from which it came.
Shadowmere reared once more, his powerful hooves plunging down onto the third of the wolves as it dared cast its vicious glare on Amara. The force of the impact sent the wolf rearing, its form disappearing into the shadows once more.
Amara, now facing the wounded leader, adopted a defensive stance and backed up next to her horse as it circled her once again.
One of the wounded wolves returned, regaining its footing as it joined its leader in a synchronised attack. She was quick to parry their strikes, her senses heightened and alert by the pulse of pain from her injured shoulder. Each movement had to be made with great precision as they each struggled for survival.
The forest, once a silent observer, seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy as a strong wind swept through the trees, moving with it the fog that now surrounded them completely.
In the darkness, it was difficult to see their opponents, so she searched for the glow of their yellow eyes and — with a resolute thrust — managed to pierce the side of the leader once again. The wounded wolf, sensing the tide turning, hesitated for one small moment which allowed Amara to press her advantage.
Summoning what strength she had left, she delivered a final, decisive blow and put an end to the leader's relentless assault. The wolf crumpled to the forest floor and the glow of its once luminous eyes faded to an endless black.
The two surviving wolves, seeing their leader defeated, retreated into the shadows to lick their wounds.
Breathing heavily, Amara stood amidst the lingering mist and finally lowered her sword. The battle was over, for now.
Shadowmere approached and she reassured him with a gentle pat. They had survived the first trial and the ancient forest, having witnessed the great clash of blades and teeth, returned to its silent vigil.
©StoryWriterKato2024 . 3326 words