Page 62 of Sharpen Your Claws

“Nicholas, son of Laurent Darkmoon, Fearworn’s successor,” The One Who Waits laughed, if an eldritch beast could laugh. The ground shook and branches creaked. Soil and bugs rained upon them, then all went still once more. “Are you arrogant enough to try to trick me?”

“No, but I am arrogant enough to ask you to set us free,” Nicholas replied, keeping passive.

Nicholas’ eyes took on a faint fuchsia hue as they had once been. The calmness dared to spur another sense of hope that this meant Nicholas could be spared from following Fearworn’s destructive path. Like a wound on the battlefield, if William could cauterize it, snip out the infection before it took hold, then Nicholas may have a better life. He would have laughed at his own thoughts that consistently toiled with this possibility, but he hadn’t the energy to do more than stand there and pray to whatever may be listening to spare them.

“None have left my woods. None will,” said the beast.

The pale hands descended. William sank. The soil went soft, dragging them lower, lower. Mud pooled into his boots, weighing heavier than stone. He struggled to no avail. The hands held tighter and tighter, ripping fabric and drawing blood. Nicholas’ grip on him tightened. He didn’t meet William’s eyes, but he wasn’t panicking. He spoke without speaking, telling William to remain as calm as he could, so he took breaths, slow and deep.

“I hunger. So long it has been since one such as yourself crossed my woods,” The One Who Waits growled. “Why should I deny myself fresh meat?”

“Because you would have killed us already if that is truly what you wanted.” Nicholas had a confidence about him, unwavering even as the forest consumed them up to their knees.

Bugs slithered beneath their clothes. William shut his mouth when a spider crawled across his cheek. He dared not shake it off, worried The One Who Waits would react to the movement.

“Something is wrong in Faerie, isn’t it?” Nicholas asked. “You, out of all of us, must know this. You sense it as I do, and if it is enough to worry you, it should worry all of us.”

He couldn’t sense what Nicholas and The One Who Waits did. He hadn’t seen outside The Lost Woods, which was worse than he could have imagined, but he wouldn’t expect anything to be wrong with Faerie. It was twisted, as he had been told Faerie would be, but not what he perceived to be wrong. However, Nicholas said something to convince the forest because the hands stopped tugging. Those pale fingers paused at their waists, still as the dead.

“We’ve come to Faerie with a purpose,” Nicholas explained. “We’re searching for shadowed disciples once belonging to Fearworn’s ranks. We believe they are at fault. When we find them, we will put an end to their schemes, whatever they may be.”

“If you find them,” The One Who Waits countered. “If you can end what they have begun.”

“Do you know what they are doing?”

The One Who Waits blinked its many eyes, casting them in momentary darkness. “They are corruption. They are rotten. They are wrong and they will break all we have ever known.”

“We can stand against them,” Nicholas said sternly. “You need not leave your forest or fear your forest abandoning you. Free us and we will do the work for you.”

The One Who Waits breathed, its leaves shuddering beneath a corrosive breath that tasted of metallic waste. “And if you fail?” asked the beast.

Nicholas hesitated, his confidence wavered. He looked at William, who couldn’t imagine another way out. They were at the whims of the beast unless Nicholas lost control. In that case, it may end even worse.

The One Who Waits yearned to strike a deal. William didn’t need to ask what it wanted should they fail, but Nicholas wanted his permission. With no other options, he nodded.

“Should we fail, you will have your feast upon what is left of us,” said Nicholas.

“And your allies,” said the beast.

He jerked without meaning to. The hands clawed up to his abdomen. The forest groaned in warning. Nicholas shivered in his arms. William held tighter, hoping to ease him. They were buried up to their chests and Nicholas couldn’t bring himself to look down, realizing they were being slowly buried.

“Our allies?” Nicholas repeated at last.

“The ones who search outside my borders. Three of them, a fae and two mortals. I want them, too. After all, if you fail, Faerie may fall. I should like a good meal before then.” The One Who Waits laughed, that same guttural sound of utter horror.

William’s lungs constricted. Henry, The One Who Waits would take Henry, too. He knew he should have forced Henry to stay, no matter what that meant. He should have told Nicholas to enchant him, send him back to the estate and kept him there.

“It is unfair to make a deal when the entire party isn’t here to agree,” Nicholas countered.

“How unfortunate for them. Make your choice.”

The One Who Waits wasn’t as patient as its name implied. The hands yanked. Their nails scraped against William’s cheeks. His blood stained their fingertips, causing them to shake, like they hadn’t been fed in ages. Goose feathers broke out across Nicholas’ arms. Though higher, the fae panicked from the earth, threatening to devour them. The promise of a burial he so feared urged him to shout, “Fine! Should we fail, you will have all of us. Now, release us.”

The ground spat them out like spoiled fruit. Branches snapped loose to curl toward them, tightening around their limbs. Then The One Who Waits vanished as they were yanked through the forest. Leaves cut into William’s cheeks. The air whistled in his ears. His world became a blur of colors interrupted only by The One Who Waits’ laughter, ominous and promising.

He fell onto smooth grass, peering up at a cloudless blue sky. The air tasted of wildflowers and sun. His empty hand shifted through the grass, fingers shaking the longer he went without finding Nicholas until their fingers caught.

They survived, but at what cost…

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