Willow didn’t let Annabelle’s impromptu visit throw her off. The next morning, head pounding from a hangover, she dragged herself to the washbasin and cleaned up as best she could for the day ahead. She heard others moaning in the dormitory and she quickly got dressed in her workclothes and made her way out to the staging yard. The carts were already waiting, attended by the drivers.

She chopped trees, then drank that night, then slept. Woke, did it all again. Every day she tried to use her muscles as much as she could, but she tired quickly and had to switch to her unnatural abilities. When she did, she was one of the faster woodsmen on the team.

A week passed this way, then two. She saw Leopold once out in the staging yard looking around. Willow hid until he ambled away and she hooded her face as she helped load the wagons. He hadn’t been looking hard for her there. That meant he still didn’t know where she was. Annabelle hadn’t told.

Willow didn’t look at the top of the wall as they passed underneath in the mornings and evenings for fear that she’d see a familiar shape staring down at her. She didn’t look at the Arcanum, standing proud upon the highest hill in the city. She kept her eyes down and her hands grew hard and calloused. She drank heavily and soon found she could withstand the first pint without keeling over. Even the men who’d had to carry her back to her rooms never made any comment about the shape of the body they felt under her woodsman’s outfit.

It was… normal. Normal beyond anything she expected. She was just another apprentice, just another woodsman, chopping and sawing and hauling and drinking and sleeping. The days bled into each other and she welcomed the abyss into which her old memories fell.

Days, weeks, then a month passed since she’d cast her last spell. She didn’t miss magic. She’d found what she had always wanted.

Purpose. Usefulness.

It all seemed to be going so well.

🜛

It wasn’t until the convoy exited the warded tunnel and approached the stand of trees that Willow felt something was off. Something in the air almost like rain. Like thunder. But when she scanned the horizon there were no dark clouds in the chill bright sky.

Frost crunched under her boots as she abandoned her cane by the wagon once again and followed Tyrone into the treeline. It was getting colder every morning as winter approached and she’d added a heavy canvas jacket stuffed with chicken feathers atop her uniform. It kept her warm enough for now, but she’d have to do something else by the time winter really settled in. Not using her muscles to move left her susceptible to frostbite if the temperature dropped too low.

Tyrone silently appraised each tree, mentally measuring diameters and sometimes even knocking on the bark, while Willow leaned up against a trunk and watched. These things would be what she’d learn for her journeyman exam, but Tyrone had said that wouldn’t be for another few weeks. He was advancing her in the schedule because she was so adept with the ax.

She should be. To her it was like being adept with her fingers or hand. There was no separation between her body and the wood when she took up the handle now. It was a part of her.

A tree sprite peeked out from behind a trunk a few paces away.

“Tyrone,” Willow said, and nodded over to the sprite. It surveyed the scene, taking them both in for a long while, and then crouched down on its four equitorial legs like it was waiting. For what, she didn’t know.

“Mark it,” Tyrone said, and continued tapping at a trunk. Willow walked using the ax as a cane until she was alongside the sprite.

“You know the drill,” she said to the sprite, and deftly cut an ‘x’ into the trunk—a symbol meant to represent the sprite’s splayed legs. It would warn off woodsmen from selecting this tree and possibly gaining its ire. When they could avoid magical creatures in the stand of trees, they did.

Willow smiled down at the sprite, then the corners of her mouth dropped as she noticed the thing was shivering. Willow slid down the trunk of the tree until she was on her knees and bent closer to it.

It gripped the tree with its four identical arms, each terminating in a little hand with three fingers. The central node of the sprite had a single dark hole through which it observed the world. It was quivering against the tree, almost shaking hard enough to lose its grip.

The sight brought unpleasant memories to Willow’s mind, and she shoved them down. What could be affecting the creature so much?

“Tyrone—,” she said, but something interrupted her. The sound was horn-like, but way deeper. It seemed to be coming from the treeline back toward the city.

The blast went on for a handful of seconds, then stopped. She turned toward Tyrone.

“What—,” she said, but was cut off by the look on his face. His mouth was open, eyes wide. She turned instinctively toward what he was staring at, but nothing was there. Just the bright light from the near edge of the forest.

“Get back to the caravan,” Tyrone yelled, and Willow heard a clatter. She looked back and saw he’d dropped the ax he’d been holding—unheard of. The axes were precious to the woodsman’s guild, and he’d just dropped it in the loam.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

He rushed toward her and scooped her up over his shoulder. Only the thick jacket saved her from intense pain, and her surprise was so great that she dropped her own ax. It hit the ground, shuffled a little ways towards her as she reached out for it, but fell for good as Tyrone sprinted faster away.

“What,” Willow managed to gasp between Tyrone’s hurtling steps.

“Home call. Durum’s sent up the home call.”

They burst through the trees and Tyrone dropped her roughly beside the lead wagon. He immediately went to work with a half-dozen other woodsmen who were unlatching the final two wagons which were still empty.

“Get in the wagon,” Tyrone shouted when he saw Willow was still staring at him working the pin.

“But the tools—”

“Leave them,” he yelled. “Just get in the wagon!”

Willow turned and climbed up the stairs to the back of the lead wagon which had just been unhitched from the other two. The driver and two other woodsmen were quickly gathering the horses and ushering them back to the front from their grazing. Willow slid down the bench until she was pressed up against the canvas.

She was the only one inside for almost a minute before the rest of the woodsmen poured in all at once. They jostled and shouted as they crammed into the wagon and she saw Tyrone near the end of the tide, just barely grabbing a seat on the bench at the canvas’s edge.

The wagon moved with a lurch and headed back toward the city at a much faster clip than they usually used. Willow looked around the wagon and saw fear in the faces of not a few woodsmen.

“What’s the home call,” she asked a grizzled man with a beard sitting beside her. She remembered that he’d passed her a new mug at her celebration just a month ago.

“The city sends it out to recall everyone outside the walls. It means they’re going to shut the gates.”

“Shut the gates? But why?”

The man shook his head. “I don’t know, but if you’re not in by the time the gates shut, you’re locked out. We’re close enough with the horses that we can make it in the standard period of time.”

“And if you’re not,” Willow asked.

“Flee in the other direction,” the man said. “It means something’s coming. Something to threaten the city.”

They made the hour-long journey in thirty minutes. When Willow recognized the delta of churned earth she breathed a sigh of relief. They’d made it to the warded tunnel.

“Look,” one of the woodsmen said, and pointed out through the back of the wagon. Willow was so far back she couldn’t see anything save the low piedmont in the distance.

“Gods have mercy,” one of the woodsmen began feverishly praying, bowing his head above his hands over and over again. None of the others stopped him.

There was something on the horizon. With enough time focusing Willow could see it. It was moving and even as she watched, it grew larger. She was reminded of the deathworm and clenched her fists. No, it wasn’t like that. Not this time. This time she was with others. This time she’d be within the city walls.

She heard the driver give a shriek of surprise and suddenly a shadow blotted the canvas overhang. An enormous beast leapt over the wagon and the warded tunnel both, then skidded in the churned earth as it righted itself to continue its headlong rush. For a moment Willow saw vaguely canine features and strange slippery tentacles. A miasma of rot passed over the wagon and Willow nearly gagged.

Was that Durum’s warbeast?

“Gods,” several other woodsmen cried out, and joined the first in prayer. Willow locked eyes with Tyrone at the front of the wagon and saw real fear in his eyes. He really had never seen anything like this before in all his years.

As they raced down the warded tunnel the thing in the distance grew closer. It moved in a strange shuffle almost like it was crawling, and it was surrounded by a purple haze. The warbeast rushed to meet it, little flecks of flesh scattering on the ground behind. In a matchup between such terrifying beasts, she wasn’t sure which she wanted to win.

The cart gave a lurch forward as it slowed abruptly. The shadow of the wall passed over them as they trundled through the gate. A thick sea of onlookers parted to either side of the wagon as it came through just as the two creatures met in furious battle. Durum’s warbeast rose up and pounced on the encroaching thing, and the newcomer swatted the warbeast to the side. The dog-thing turned end-over-end before springing to its feet to make another charge.

The onlookers crowded the gate as if they were watching a sporting event. Willow doubted whether she would get that close even with the walls protecting them. The wagon, now at a leisurely pace, rolled through the sea of bodies toward the woodsman guild’s staging area, which still left them with a clear view to the churning carnage outside.

One thing was clear: the creature wanted to get closer to Durum, but the warbeast was upsetting its progress with its incessant attacks. Each time the creature flung the warbeast to the side it rushed toward the warded tunnel as if it knew where the arcane structure was. The warbeast pounced on its back and began to tear at its head.

The creature grabbed hold of Durum’s warbeast with its overlong arms and tossed it into the air. For the first time Willow saw the creature’s outline plainly against the bright sky: vaguely humanoid, hairless, with a shortened torso and long legs and arms. The nimbus of purple light brightened around the creature for an instant and a bolt of lightning caught the warbeast as it flailed in midair.

Willow blinked, not believing what she’d just seen. The warbeast tumbled to the ground and landed in a boneless, smoking heap. The creature didn’t even take a moment to relish its victory, turning to scramble toward the warded tunnel.

The home call sounded once more, almost overwhelming so close to the city gates, and the great doors began to close. As they hinged shut, Willow saw enormous bars and chains of bright silver strung across the studded wood.

These doors were meant to protect Durum from threats both mundane and arcane.

The home call trailed off, leaving a heavy silence. It was Willow’s turn to leave the wagon now, and she stepped out onto the step.

“Willow?”

She looked down at the familiar voice. Leopold was there, disbelief in his eyes, like he couldn’t fathom seeing her in the staging area. A riot of emotions clashed inside her, from shame and anger to embarrassment. She took the steps slowly to give herself time, and because she’d left her cane back at the wagons near the forest.

“Leo—,” Willow managed to choke out before he was upon her, wrapping her in an embrace. She hesitated for a moment, then wrapped her arms around his back. She pressed her face close to his ear in the chaos of the crowd.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Leopold shook his head. He broke the embrace and stepped back, but didn’t let her hands go.

“I’m sorry I ran away,” she said.

“No, its me who should be sorry. I didn’t know. Still don’t know how much its affected you. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you your space.”

“Oh,” Willow said, and tears blurred her vision. She dug her fingers into his blouse and pulled him closer.

That’s when the world exploded.