Into the Twilit Gloom (2022)

3. Emerald Twilights

Twigs and branches immediately tried to shove themselves in her face, but she forced herself forwards, trying to reach for where the light was brightest. They snapped under her heavy boots, snagged at her shirt, tried to slice at the skin of her cheek. But she was making progress, ducking under the larger boughs, and she could have sworn that the ground underfoot was becoming softer. With one final push, she broke through the treeline, her boots thudding onto a mossy path, and she pulled a couple of twigs free before looking up.

What a sight! Frankie had seen Faerieland in pictures, had received a couple of postcards from Emyr when he holidayed with his dad's family, but nothing touched on the sheer beauty of this place. The winding path was lined by plants of all kinds, in every shade of green she knew and then some. Ivy twirled its way up tree trunks, boughs draped with strings of golden flowers dipped just above her head, and bushes and flora and gleaming fungi all fought for space in their shadow. The scents of a thousand flowers all clamoured for her attention, and some of them she could spot amongst the greenery: fluffy sprigs of traveller's joy, florid runners of honeysuckle clinging to mossy bark, crimson flecks of campion dotted on the forest floor. She even thought she could see a gossamer wing peeping out from amongst the petals. It was a beautiful haven for nature lit by flickering fireflies.

Now this was more like it.

The moment was broken by a loud snap and some swearing, and then Meg had pulled herself free of the thicket. Twigs had caught in her long red hair and scratched along her vambrace, and she had to duck below the golden chains of petals swinging above.

"Ew, laburnum." She was already dusting glittery pollen from her shoulders. "Isn't this stuff in poison draughts?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. At least Meg hadn't suddenly and suspiciously come down with hay fever, that really could have ruined the moment. "You got something there." She pointed up to her scalp, where a couple of loose twigs still sat, wrapped in fine ginger strands.

Her friend's free hand plucked at the strips of wood. "Ugh. I am trying not to think of all the ticks that are probably drinking my blood right now." She pulled them free, tossing them aside, and unfolded the map once more, squinting in the light of the fireflies.

"Maybe we should just follow the path?" Frankie jabbed an impatient finger along the moss-lined trail. In the dim, hovering glow of the fireflies, she could see it snake off up some old, jagged steps as it disappeared amongst the trees.

Meg shrugged. "I just wanted to be clear on what landmarks there are – you can never be too careful, with a welcome like that."

Typical Meg. Always seeing problems where there probably weren't any. Frankie scuffed her boots on the verdant moss while she waited for her friend to announce her approval, ears open to the sounds of the forest: insects buzzing, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze. Was all Faerieland as lovely as this, or was it just this little corner of Kent? She'd have to ask Emyr when term started. And what on earth could a faerie mean by treasure...

"Okay, I think I've got it." A crinkling noise made Frankie look over – the map was being slotted back into Meg's belt, alongside her daggers. "We can keep following the path –"

"– you mean, like I said –"

"– if you'd just let me finish, until we reach the giant oak." Meg was gesturing now, waving her hand towards the trees. "Which I assume we'll notice, and then take a left – hey!"

A shadow sprung from the bushes and latched itself onto Meg's hand. Frankie blinked in shock for a second.

"Get off me!"

She fumbled for the shortsword at her hip. When she glanced back up, hilt in hand, Meg was trying desperately to shake whatever it was off her fingers. It clutched on with long, knife-like claws and flailed about with Meg's swinging arm, like some sort of freaky puppet.