By Firelight

[booksabaking]

The dark out in the woods is never the same as the dark of a city. I think we all know that, but knowing and remembering are two things alien to each other.

In my experience, recalling a forest at night is like recalling a broken leg. Even when you've gone through it, remembering the feel of it is slippery until you're back there. A snapped fibula must hurt. A glade after sunset must be dark. But how much it hurts and how dark it gets you won't fully appreciate until it happens again.

So, getting reacquainted with the void of a moonless night out in mother nature was where I found myself when the strangers approached my fire.

Didn't see them coming, of course. Flickering flames are great for keeping warm but play hell with your night vision. What unsettled me was that I hadn't heard them either.

One of them was out cold. Couldn't really blame him for not making noise. But the other one...

They literally melted out of the shadows.

The passed-out fella came first, appearing from between the trees like any other person, if a little rag-dollish, due to his state and all. Freaked me right out, I'll admit. Not often you see unconscious folks wandering about with their arm slung over the shoulder of nothing and shadows wrapped around their waist.

Wasn't nothing though. No, the darkness turned liquid and sculpted this statue of a person that couldn't have been more different from the passed-out man if the gods themselves had willed it.

Never seen someone that uncannily perfect. Hopefully never will again.

"May we share your fire?"

Don't rightly know what I answered, but I wasn't fool enough to say no. I do remember asking: "Your friend all right there?"

"He'll be fine. He just needs rest."

"Right."

Firelight isn't the best illumination for a close inspection of anything, least of all people, but I gave it a shot. The passed-out fella looked ordinary enough; on the shorter side and wearing days-old makeup, dressed in clothes you'll see in any larger town that's not too hostile to outsiders. This made the eeriness of his companion all the more blatant.

Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle in their clothes. Face so even and immaculate it looked unfinished, a painting before you add in the shadows and birthmarks.

Thankfully I have enough sense not to stare. Wouldn't have survived long as a traveling merchant if hadn't learned that young.

The passed-out man stirred. His companion, who'd lowered him to the ground with efficient gentleness, pulled him closer and placed his head in their lap. As they did, they said: "You might want to cover your ears."

I wasn't fast enough.

I can tell you what happened then, but it'll be a pale likeness, even to me. Turns out there are more things in the world than pain and darkness which memory struggles to capture.

That's probably for the best.

The man sang. I don't remember the words or the notes, but it must have been singing, because it wasn't talking or screaming. There was a light too, greenish and sickly, but I couldn't tell its source.

The light ate the fire.

The song ate me.

Overly dramatic, I know. I'm sitting right here, telling you this! Surely I can't have been eaten.

But I was. It just spat me back out.

"I'm sorry," the eerie strange said when the world returned. They still had the singer's head in their lap. "It needs an audience or it gets worse."

I didn't ask any questions. I don't think I was fully myself at that point. A wrung out and smashed back together version of me tried to relight the camp fire. It took six attempts.

"Why?" I managed eventually, close to dawn.

"Why you?"

I shook my head. I already knew that answer. For all the doll-like perfection in the world, the eerie strange had one very human tell: the look in their eyes when they watched the singer.

If my Lucy had a need like that man's, I'm sure I'd be stalking the woods for listeners too.

"No," I said, despite by tongue's determination to stick to the roof of my mouth. "Why is he out?"

A laugh, quick and sharp as a throwing knife. Then: "The fool put off singing for too long and it took him over. His solution was to throw himself off a cliff."

"Must have been a low cliff."

"We were out by the sea. Took him a while to dry."

"Long walk from the sea to here."

"Yes."

"Tall cliffs by the sea."

"Yes."

The singer's makeup did look smeared by water. The rest of him should have been smeared too, all over the sands of the north shore, but pointing that out felt superfluous in the moment.

"I'm off to find you compensation. He'll wake up in a bit." The eerie stranger got up, the singer's head now resting on a rolled up cloak. "Please lie to him when he does."

The soft morning light did nothing to take the edges off their uncanny appearance. Their presence lingered hours after they'd left camp.

Eventually, the singer opened his eyes. He did it quick, eyes darting around, but the rest of him held still, as if he was used to waking up in unknown places.

"Hello," he wheezed, throat raw and tongue bloody. "Where am I?"

"The woods, about two hours outside Crossroads." I could tell the name meant nothing to him. "Thirsty?"

He accepted the water I offered. "This might be a strange question, but have I hurt you?"

I was myself again at that point, I think. It's not as if I have an inventory of me I could cross-reference. Looking at the fella, hearing how each word pained him and seeing the worry radiating off him, I made a choice.

I lied through my teeth.

"Can't say I know what you're talking about there," I muttered as knowledge of the song and the green light kept fading from experience to memory. "You've been out like a light since your friend showed up and asked to stay the night by my fire."

I'm not sure if he believed me or chose to not call me out. He unfolded the cloak that had been his improvised pillow and wrapped it around himself while studying me as if I were a coded map. He stayed like that until I was done packing up my supplies.

"My friend, where did they go?"

"Off into the woods. Said something about getting food."

"Were they hurt?"

"Not as far as I could tell."

He turned to look down the road, right toward where the eerie stranger had gone. He didn't say anything else until I made ready to leave.

"Thank you." Not a trace of a wheeze then. He had a beautiful voice. "For keeping them company. Can't have been fun, dragging my sorry ass over every rock and root the forest has to offer. Please, take this."

Handed me enough coin to buy room and board for a year. Maybe I thought it just payment. Maybe I was too stunned to protest.

"Safe travels."

I echoed him. He left. So did I.

The eerie stranger caught up with me an hour outside of town. On horseback.

"She's not stolen," they said as they handed me the reins. "The contract is in her saddle bags, should you wish to sell her on."

"Your friend went looking for you," I said, petting the muzzle of my brand new horse. She had kind eyes.

The eerie stranger read between my lines. "He'll be safe for a while. You'll be long gone before that happens again."

Never has the thought of my own inevitable demise comforted me so. Funny that. Pain and darkness and all such things are very hard to recall, and yet when the experience threatens to repeat, some part of you fully remembers and shies away.

At least I got money and a good ol' Bessy out of the ordeal. That's not nothing.

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Story overview