When Traveling a Shady Trail

Madeline pressed on through the forest, Corbin following not far behind.

This wood wasn’t like the ones back home; there, the trees were old, but passive. They didn’t feel like they were watching. They didn’t creak and shiver as you walked past.

There, the path didn’t change as you walked it.

But Madeline had long ago learned to follow the advice of the folk tales. “Listen for the song,” they’d said. “Seek the Lady with respect, and you will not lose your way.”

The rest of the relevant folk tales tended to describe those who didn’t heed the warnings. Madeline tried not to think about it.

“Listening for the song” was harder than it sounded. It was less of a sound and more of a feeling, a sensation of life, of vibrancy. Still, after she grew accustomed to it, Madeline understood why they called it a song.

It all had a rhythm: her footsteps, the trickling brook, the clacking of branches in the wind. It had a tune: the birdsong, the rustling leaves, the howling wolves. And it was one. All the separate parts and pieces of the song slowly seemed to blend and merge until the forest was less a landscape, and more of an orchestra hall.

After that, listening for the song wasn’t so hard.

Corbin, of course, complained the entire way. Even now, he fiddled with a map. “Slow down,” he repeated. “I’ve got to mark it.”

“Don’t bother,” Madeline breathed, only half paying attention. She didn’t want to lose the music. “No one else will find this way again.”

He grunted in response, leaning against a tree to prop his map up on a knee. As he scribbled notes, he kept up his usual chatter. “You’ll thank me in a day or two when you finally admit that we’re lost.”

“We’re not lost.”

“You’ve been picking random directions and just… walking,” he said, distaste smeared across his face. “Once our water’s halfway out, that’s it. We’re turning back. And that’s what this is for. To get us home.” He held up the map proudly. It was wrinkled, folded, and weathered, but doubtless worth dozens of gold pieces. Corbin was professionally trained, after all.

Ignoring him, Madeline took a deep breath, savoring the earthy scent. The air felt wonderful in her lungs, like it was making her a part of it. Weeks ago, she would have been horrified at the notion. All she wanted was to be cured, then to return home and continue on with her life.

Still, with each passing day, the feeling of rightness here was beginning to seem more alluring than working in the mill. Not that she could work at the mill much longer. The tremor in her hands worsened the more she thought about it, so she focused on the song once again, then turned to Corbin in alarm.

“We need to go.”

“Why?”

“It’s fading. The song. We’ve waited here too long.”

He rolled his eyes, marking another location on his page. It was the tree with the half-burned frame of an enormous nest. They’d taken care to pass it by quietly, hoping to avoid waking whatever made it. “Fine, I just need five more minutes.” He cocked his head and reconsidered the map. “Actually, ten. I forgot to shade the elevation changes, and—”

“Corbin, I’m serious. We need to go now.” Madeline reached for his wrist to tug him along, but he broke free of her grip.

“What’s gotten into you, Mads? You’ve been acting… I don’t even know what to call it. But you’re not like yourself.”

Madeline made an effort to slow her breath. Frustrating as it was, Corbin was right, and there was a real element of concern in his voice. He couldn’t help that he didn’t hear the song.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the only way forward.”

“How do you even know that? We can just find our way back again, or—”

“No!” Madeline barely avoided yelling. The song was faint now, barely audible. The woods felt duller and darker. “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But the song is there now, and it won’t be if we don’t keep moving.”

“Fine, fine, whatever,” Corbin made a face, stuffing his map back into his bag. “I’ll trust you.”

The moment she resumed walking, the music came back in force, and Madeline was swept along like a leaf in a river. If not for Corbin’s reminders, she wouldn’t have even remembered to break for food and water.

Briefly.

As they walked, the music changed. Already one, it coalesced farther, more profoundly, until it sang with a perfect, united harmony.

Eventually, even Corbin paused. “I hear something.”

Madeline started. She’d forgotten he was there.

Then she found herself grinning uncontrollably. It felt like when a friend read a book you recommended, or enjoyed the same minstrel’s song that you had. In sharing, the joy became more complete. “Do you hear it? The song?”

Corbin frowned. “I hear a woman’s voice… is that what you mean?”

Now that he mentioned it, it did sound like a woman’s voice. Funny. Madeline hadn’t noticed it before.

The next steps couldn’t pass quickly enough.

Then, breaking through into a clearing, Madeline froze.

In the center of the clearing was a woman. Her hair was blonde and adorned with both a ram’s horns and a woven-wood crown that blazed with autumnal fire. Across her shoulders was draped a long, flowing mantle, like a cape of leaves and moss as supple as silk. In one hand she held a staff with a small candle atop it, and with the other she gently stroked the bark of a young tree.

Even as Madeline watched, the tree shifted. It grew taller and older until it matched its peers, then its branches began moving, too. The tree leaned and wove itself until it shielded the woman from the sky, offering a shady shelter that Madeline wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t seen it take shape.

“The Moss-Hag,” Corbin breathed. “I didn’t think she was real.” His hand began to twitch toward his case of sample vials, but Madeline didn’t have time to tell him off.

The Lady looked at them, and Madeline’s breath caught.

Her features, on anyone else, could have been described as “beautiful,” but there was something about the Lady that was far too alien to be attractive. The depths of her eyes seemed to blaze with the same autumnal fire as her crown.

The Lady was very, very old. And whatever lay in her eyes—or maybe beyond them—was far more ancient still.

“Have you come to listen to the song?” she asked. Her voice was… surprisingly normal. Human, even.

Corbin’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but Madeline knew what she wanted to say.

“I have, Lady. And to seek healing.”

The Lady smiled, and Madeline wanted to whoop in exuberant laughter. “Listen, and you may have it,” the Lady said, before turning to Corbin. “And you?”

“I… uhh… I can stay awhile. I guess.”

The Lady frowned, and Madeline felt herself wanting to cry. “You may stay for now.”

“Thank you?” Corbin managed.

“The fool,” a derisive, whispered voice came from the side. Abruptly, Madeline realized that the Lady wasn’t alone in the clearing. A crowd of several dozen stood. Some seemed spellbound by the Lady, like Madeline. Others were simply listening appreciatively. Some few glared at Corbin, disgust evident.

Once again, The Lady began to sing, and the greenery intensified. Nothing more grew—for this forest was old and mature—but what was there became more.

As the song continued, she began to pass through the crowd. Some onlookers reached out to run their hands through her staff-candle’s flame, while others withdrew respectfully.

When the Lady drew near Madeline, she looked at Madeline closely, then smiled sadly. Tears filled her eyes, and she caught one drop on a finger, offering it. “A gift,” she said, her song uninterrupted. “For one who wishes to join.”

With a hand that trembled from more than her illness, Madeline accepted the teardrop. She felt it sink into her skin, and rejuvenating warmth began to spread up her arm.

Then she noticed Corbin crouched down behind the Lady, cutting a tiny piece of the Lady’s long cape as it dragged past.

Madeline’s eyes widened, but the Lady merely gave a sad smile. She’d never even looked in Corbin’s direction. “He is not welcome here,” she said.

And the trees took him, screaming, away.