The Game

Freezing bark scraped against my face as I balanced two-thirds of the way up an oak tree. Winter had made the branches brittle, and the rough wood cut into my bare feet. A gust lifted the branch beneath me. I dug my fingers into the trunk and pressed closer. I could hear the scratch-tap of the beetles inside the bark. An old tree.

Energy swelled deep within the trunk of the oak. Most of the younger trees had pulled their magic, retreating and binding it deep underneath the sleeping earth. But the oak was holding on, fighting the bite of cold with its size and deeper magic.

Winter howled and came again through the branches. I saw the wave of trees bend to its will and shifted my weight before the gust hit. The wind clawed at the thin cloth of my tunic, trying to pull me from the tree. It knew I didn’t belong there.

I gritted my teeth. Whoever said “steady as an oak” never had to find their food at the top of one.

I glanced up. Four branches up and two over. That’s where I’d seen the squirrel go. The wind dropped into a keening whine between the gusts. My stomach let out an answering roar. It had been two days since I’d eaten. I could already feel my body growing sluggish. And not only from the cold.

Time to move.

I let go of the trunk and pulled myself up to the next one, my eyes tracking the best path through the branches. I crouched, battling the sway of the tree and trying to time my movements between the angry lashes of the wind.

There. Up onto the next one. I was getting close.

The branches were getting thinner the higher I went, but most were clustered close together this high up, making for an easy climb. Or it would be without the wind.

I reached for the next branch. An awkward angle. I leaned around a bulge in the trunk for a better hold. Almost there.

A sharp gust tore the branch from under me. My fingers locked. One hand clawing at the bark of the trunk, the other barely holding onto the branch above me. For a second, I hung suspended. The wind smashed into the sail of my clothing and slammed my body into the trunk. Twigs clawed at my arms and face. I heaved in a breath and scrabbled for purchase with my feet. Ivy and bark rained down into my face. I kicked, and my feet found a knot in the trunk. It was enough. Keeping my eyes slitted against the debris, I kicked against the knot and managed to heave myself up and over the next branch, pressing as close to the trunk as I could. I felt the bark split the skin on my shin as I hauled myself into a messy crouch, one arm hooked around the trunk.

Three steps, and it was over. My hand found the opening in the tree.

Magic cracked across my hand and seared through the scar on my right palm. I gathered it, forming the forks of magic into a shape, an intention in my mind. My fingers brushed fur.

Break.

I felt the tiny bones snap in the squirrel’s neck. A quick kill. I was getting better.

The branch beneath me cracked.

Of course, there was always room for improvement. My hand closed on the squirrel.

I fell.

Twigs and branches whipped at me, slicing across my freezing arms and face. Winter howled its victory.

I smashed into a large branch. What little breath I had exploded from my chapped lips.

I landed badly. My right arm smashed into the frozen ground with a sickening crunch, I felt through my chest and back. I was lucky there wasn’t breath enough left to scream.

There were hungrier things than me in the forest.

A biting, seeping cold crept from my elbow up to my shoulder and neck. I moved slowly, testing my left arm, pushing myself up until I was half sat, half slumped. Every fraction of movement drew a whimper of pain, no matter how hard I tried to keep my mouth closed.

I glanced down. Broken.

Again.

Nausea washed against the back of my throat. The trees sharpened, their dull winter grey taking on a sickly green. Too bright and starting to stretch.

I closed my eyes and breathed hard through my nose. Too far to safety and too open where I was. Every move sent a jolt of broken glass skittering down my arm. My heart was beating too fast. Not good.

I heard my mother’s voice, scratching underneath the wind. You’re lucky that young bones heal quickly.

I let my head fall back against the oak. Breaking things was easy. Mending them was the hard part.

The cold from the ground seeped into my legs, my stomach. Rough bark pressed into my spine. I held still and let my heartbeat slow.

The throb in my arm slowed, matching my pulse.

Slow.

Slower.

I reached for the cold seeping from the wet ground, the rough bite of the tree, and willed it to be more.

I pulled the magic to me. The ground beneath me grew instantly, uncomfortably hot.

The tree resisted.

It was always harder to take from living things. The closer they were to life, the harder it was to draw from. I concentrated and pulled harder.

A barrier broke, like dawn frost under a boot, and then I could see.

Roots tangled in the hot black soil. The last of the stubborn leaves brushed against each other in the gale. The tree reached in its search for light, and its strength seeped into the sky, changing it, filtering the air, branches scraping the clouds.

There was a moment of vertigo where I could feel myself against the tree. A small form, part of it all and yet… apart.

I pulled away and focused higher up the tree. There. I felt my lips quirk in a grimace. I would take a branch. Magic liked balance after all. I condensed the flow of my will and wrapped it along the length of the branch.

The scar on my left palm prickled, grew hot. Pressure built in my arm, and my fingers curled. I placed the scar gingerly against the swelling of my right arm, right at the elbow.

“Bind.”

I released the magic.

As a branch high above me snapped, the bones in my right arm crashed back together.

Now, I screamed.

I hissed air through my teeth. It was a while before I could open my eyes. The soil around me was black ash. Any water had been driven from the area, and blades of grass lay desiccated and shriveled along the outline of my legs.

Two branches and the squirrel lay next to me. One branch was barely more than charcoal, splintered and broken beyond repair. The other was covered in new growth. Shoots and new leaves sprouted amongst a thick layer of lichen. There had been a small colony of mushrooms by the base of the branch, and these had sprouted and now thrived, spreading out along the entire length.

A balance to my breaking.

I didn’t look at the other branch.

Carefully, I flexed my right arm. Much better. Carefully, I got to my feet, picked up the squirrel, and grinned.

Worth it.

Mother had said not to catch the squirrels. It wasn’t worth the danger. My smile slipped as I felt the echoes of pain dance across the outline of the scars on my palms.

Mother had been wrong about a lot of things.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

A low growl brushed the air behind me. The kind you feel in your chest.

It had found me.

I flattened against the trunk of the tree, tucking the squirrel quickly into my belt. I was pretty sure it couldn’t smell me, or it would have caught me by now.

I bit my lip.

It had been the scream.

Another growl. Closer.

I glanced upward to the branches of the oak. It would take too long. The creature was taller than me, and I knew it could climb faster. Its arms were unnaturally long. The last thing I needed was to trap myself at the top of a tree.

I pressed my back to the bark, willing the shadows to swallow me.

My only chance was to run. I knew this part of the forest and would be faster than it through the brush. The ancient trees stood too close together, and the tangle of undergrowth would slow it down. My mind traced every deer path and foxhole from me to the hide. As long as I avoided the open ground of the meadow, I could make it.

The scrape of claws over wood. A huff of a breath.

It was behind the tree.

I ran.

The creature howled. The sound ripped through the trees, flushing birds and rodents from their homes. The skin across my back prickled. I could almost feel its claws in my spine. It was close.

I flew between the trees. Feet high to avoid the tangled ground.

Faster.

The beast’s clawed feet ripped at the ground behind me. It was getting closer. I could smell it. An overpowering musk of raw animal, and something underneath, something sour that licked at the back of my brain. Decay.

There. An opening in the undergrowth. Not much. Just enough to squeeze through.

I felt the pounding rhythm behind me change pace and knew it was going to pounce.

At the last moment, I threw myself sideways and into the hollow. Branches scraped my arms and face as I wiggled through.

There was a crash and a resounding roar. The thicket shook. I yelped and covered my ears, wriggling deeper into the briar.

The creature roared and swiped at the brush with one huge claw. Debris rained down, getting in my eyes and mouth. I coughed, choking and kept going, pushing through until I was out the other side. I scrambled to my feet and ran for the cave.

I called it the cave, but it was more like a crack. Two huge pillars of stone from some ancient hall had crumbled against a short cliff face, leaving an enclosed hollow that was the closest thing to a home I knew. The entrance was hidden in a cascade of ivy, appearing more like a fissure in the rock than anything welcoming, but it opened into a mostly dry space with room for a fire and cracks for the smoke.

Home.

I took the squirrel and a knife from my belt and crouched beside the blackened circle of stones. My fingers touched the twigs left ready in the pit.

“Burn.”

A large part of my lower back pulsed, and grew warm as the wood caught fire. Magic tracing the rune in my scarred skin. Sometimes I forgot where some of the scars were, but not this one. This one I hated more than any of the others. This one I would carve from my body if I could reach it. This one had kept me alive when I should have died.

And I had paid for it.

A small shoot pushed its way out of the soil beside my foot. A tiny vine with purple flowers. I smiled.

I fed more wood to the fire until it was blazing and sat back on my heels, letting the heat from the flames chase the ache from my muscles.

That had been close. The monster was getting faster.

A half-heard noise locked my body in place. The scuff of claws over stone. The hair on the back of my neck rose.

I turned.

The monster stood in the mouth of the cave. Grotesque patches of fur over its belly and chest caught the light of the small fire. It stood a full head taller than me, four powerful, overlong limbs pressing into the ground, each lined with six-inch-long claws. Its body tensed, muscles bunching over a prominent spine.

It watched me, shadows pooling in its eyes. Drool slid down one set of its enormous teeth as its lips peeled back for a growl.

I sighed. “You know the rules.”

The growl escaped. Filling the cave and forcing its way into my chest, stealing my breath.

“Last one home has to share.” I held out my hand.

The monster bared its teeth and snapped at me, fangs dangerously close to my fingers.

I regarded it.

The monster threw its head back and howled. Despair and heartbreak smothered the flames. The fire flickered, close to going out.

I waited.

The monster lowered its head. Its eyes flashed in the muted light, a hollow, dark red. It shifted and dragged its hind leg forward, a small hare caught in its claws.

I retrieved the food and placed it beside the squirrel on a flat rock at the back of the cave. It only took me a moment to strip the skin and prepare the meat. Bones went into a small pot for stew, but I was too hungry to wait for that now. I considered the skins. I needed new gloves. The winter was sharper this year, and I would probably regret not having wraps for my feet, but the rules of the cave were simple.

Share. Or die.

I threw the skins to the monster. He snapped them out of the air, swallowing without chewing. I didn’t know if it was actually a “he”, but at some point, I had just started thinking of him that way. He was still sulking, lurking in the corner by the entrance.

I skewered the meat on thin twigs and secured them over the flames, coaxing the fire back to a healthy burn.

I approached the monster.

He turned his head away from me, almost pressing his forehead into the wall.

I bit down on a laugh. “Don’t sulk.”

He ignored me.

I lifted my hand and reached up, carefully placed it on the back of his neck, away from the teeth. The monster leaned in, and I grinned.

The game was an old one. One I had played for years. Survive. The monster had lived in the forest before I did. Before I was even born. It should have eaten me. Those were the rules. The strong ate the weak. And when my mother died, it should have taken what nature demanded. But it didn’t. Instead, we played the game.

I moved my hand through his fur. My palms still hurt from using the runes. It always hurt. Like I was carving them all over again.

The monster huffed and leaned into me. I scratched behind his ears. He had magic, too. Deep. Woven of ancient things. But not unnatural like Mother claimed. Just a balance. He was as necessary to life in the forest as the life-giving water running through the streams, soaking the earth, running up the roots, trunks, leaves, and out into the sky. His magic was old, darker. Of the soil and decomposing things, but still a part of it all. So, I accepted him without judgment, and he, me. There was still fear. I wasn’t stupid. And fear had kept me alive more times than I cared to count. But there was also respect. Something reflected in the depths of our magic. Something shared that kept us both alive.

Two monsters in the forest.