SONG of EMBER

7

THE VISION AT THE STOOP

🙜

There is no escaping

From a demon in the night,

For it lives in shades of shadows

And we live in shapes of light;

Fly beyond the hills and fields,

Fly beyond the moors,

It will find you, it will come—

Through fastened bolts and doors…

🙜

Bits and pieces of a rhyme Ember had once heard flashed through his mind as he scaled the twisty hillocks behind his house, hopping over tangled tree stumps and knotted roots. Brambles tugged at his clothes and scraped his bare ankles.

The single verse kept time with the blood pounding in his ears, a drumbeat from a fireside recitation long ago, and he held onto that rhythm.

It drowned out the echo of the voice.

That creature's voice.

Ember ducked under a branch, loamy earth shifting and sliding underfoot. No sooner had he overcome one barrier in his path than another presented itself: hidden twigs in the grass, rocky protrusions, a gnarled root, all threatening to make him lose his footing. If he only lifted his hands from his ears he could regain a sense of balance.

But, cowed by his terror of a siren's tongue, Ember's resolve did not waver. Far better to stumble along and be clawed to death by a black-eyed monster from the river than succumb to the waking nightmare of its enchantments. At least he would die a sane man.

A hasty backward glance revealed a shifting paleness—more a ghost than a shadow—darting in and out among the brambles. At first it appeared to be advancing on his right, but when next he stole a glimpse it was weaving in and out of the bushes to his left. Whatever it was, it kept well under cover, veiling itself in the stippled shade of the branches.

Bile rose in his throat as he understood…

It could easily outpace him. Instead it chose to follow, never coming quite close enough to touch or see in detail, but always keeping just in his periphery.

He heard a muffled voice call out again and shoved his fingers deeper in his ears, yelling whatever gibberish came to the tip of his tongue in a vain effort to blot it out—haunted by the sound of his own name. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide from such an intangible lure.

Stricken, Ember risked another look.

It was that third glance which felled him. For scarcely an instant he took his eyes off the ground, but in that instant, he tripped. Something was in his path. A root, a downed limb, it didn't matter. Whatever it was snatched at his legs and sent him toppling.

Ember pitched forward, yanking his hands from his ears—

Too late.

His elbows scraped over pebbly dirt and the ground rushed toward his face. A burst of light scattered across his vision like the sun flashing on the river’s surface. His next impression was one of warm fluid trickling down his forehead and along the bridge of his nose. A heavy silence pressed in around him, all the sounds of the forest muffled by his own heartbeat.

He lay quietly for a moment, stunned.

Then a faint cry startled him into awareness—a single breathy note which plucked at his soul, echoing through the trees. It reverberated a thousand times in a thousand different crystalline tones until it was lost to the ringing in his ears.

Ember, he thought, his mind adrift in a fog, you're a fool.

The grass rustled behind him and a soft spring-like scent swept through the forest musk, refreshingly sweet. Like river crocuses.

He struggled to open his eyes, dragging himself up on his knees and feeling around in the grass with both hands. More blood pattered on the leaf-strewn turf. His elbows tingled from the sudden impact but he forced his arms to move, searching frantically with numb fingers for some sort of weapon before it was upon him.

Fly beyond the hills and fields,

Fly beyond the moors.

A footstep.

Ember rested in the prickly grass, eyes wide and staring straight ahead. The entirety of his being stilled against his will—he could not so much as draw breath, nor shift his gaze. In that moment, he was no longer a man, or even a boy; he was a common cony frozen in the woods, praying to its maker that the fox in the bushes passed by.

It will find you, it will come…

Something wet and soft touched the back of his neck.

Through fastened bolts and doors.

The forest darkened, birdsongs stilled, and the last remnants of light faded into a haze of already half-forgotten visions: shadowy reeds and green stones, sunshine dancing on the surface far above, broken shells gleaming among polished pebbles, and the murky depths of rivers and lakes where fish with glittering scales swam and mudbugs lurked along the shoreline.

❧

Ember nosed deeper into the straw mattress, enjoying the simple pleasures of closed eyes and undisturbed repose. He was warm and cozy, and happy—as if he had just awakened from a particularly splendid dream, though in truth he couldn't remember dreaming anything at all. A wild floral scent blanketed the cabin.

Taking a deep breath, he yawned, squeezing his eyes more tightly shut. His head was throbbing, and when he lifted a finger to his brow a bit of dried, crumbly blood flaked off.

Strange.

He scrunched up his face, trying to remember what had happened—but whatever it was had been so unpleasant, and he was in such a pleasurable state at the moment, that Ember decided he'd rather not think too hard about it just then.

The door creaked slightly as it always did when it was open, and a faint breeze blew in from the river…

The door was open?

Ember yawned again, annoyed, and cracked one eyelid to stare at the white blur of light. He never left the door open. Why was he taking a nap in broad daylight? And why did his musty old cabin smell like a woodland flower patch?

The cabin interior seeped into focus.

His eyes were drawn to a set of wet footprints on the floor.

Memories crashed back like a shock of thunder. Ember sat up, reaching under his pillow for the knife. Gone. It gleamed at him from the table, resting beside his wooden cutlery. The fishing spear leaned beside his bed, however, and he grabbed it just as a shadow crossed the doorframe.

He stiffened, struck by the vision before him.

A slender woman stood on his front stoop.

Light shifted through the trees overhead, gleaming on wet black hair and pale bare arms. Her face was shadowed but two familiar eyes shimmered darkly at him, black and green. She wore men's trousers which had been torn off at mid-calf, loose threads clinging to her damp skin, and the patched leather jerkin which covered her bosom looked as if it were meant for a young boy.

She held one of his rough woven baskets, and a bit of sunlight caught and yellowed the leaves of fresh edibles from his garden. A pair of translucent ears glowed in the afternoon light. The left ear was partly hidden by head and hair but the right one was entirely visible, fanned and ridged with delicate cartilage such that it almost resembled a compact bat wing. It was larger than a human ear, but parchment-thin, and like the rest of her features seemed somehow both refined and feral.

One ear twitched errantly, as if bothered by a tiny insect.

Ember swallowed hard and blinked twice, waiting for the vision to disappear. Instead, it entered the one-room cabin without so much as a pat of a foot on the floorboards and carefully placed the basket on the table. "Hello, Ember…"

Hello.

Barely a whisper.

The air itself shivered at her breath.

He found it shocking that this fantastical being spoke a language he knew, though he wasn't sure why. Only one thing was plain to him, and that was the power in her greeting, loosely bottled—if she uncorked that bottle and let flow the fullness of her power, he had no doubt she could ensnare any villager of her choosing.

Or all of them, if she wished.

Her voice was like spring rain on river water, leaves rustling softly in an autumn wind: music thrummed within it, a deep and ancient music. And Ember could not fathom a reply; the sound of his own crude voice would shame him.

There was no point covering his ears, even had he wanted to. The fate which had so appalled him that morning no longer seemed so bleak, nor so likely. Emboldened by the spear, Ember took a deep breath and slowly rose to his feet. The floor creaked.

A refreshing breeze wafted through the door, stirring her long black hair.

At length, he muttered, "Who are you?"

She stared at him and smiled.