The memory of the Dark Queen’s timeless, beautiful face sent a shiver down his back. He’d bet Spark was right.
Ahead, a glimmer of light shone between the trees, and the scent of wood smoke twined through the air. They hurried along the path and came to another clearing. This one held a fire in its center, and beside the fire sat a hunched figure in a gray cloak.
Aran and Spark paused at the edge of the trees, and the figure lifted her head. Long white hair spilled from her hood and framed her wizened face.
“Who comes?” she asked in a voice as thin as cobwebs.
She turned her head, seeking, and Spark leaned close to his shoulder.
“She’s blind,” she whispered, her breath a feather against his ear.
“Ah!” The old woman’s face fixed on them, her eyes blank sockets. “I hear you. Come to the fire, so my hands may learn your features.”
“Is that a good idea?” Aran whispered back.
Spark pulled her bow out. With one smooth motion, she nocked an arrow to the string. “You go. I’ll cover you. Ask her for a quest.”
Great.
Slowly, he approached the fire. The woman kept her blind eyes turned to him. Just in case, he slipped one of his knives free of its sheath.
“Now, now,” the old woman said. “No need for that. Put your blade away, young man.”
“I thought you were blind.” He halted and re-sheathed his dagger.
“Ha! My ears know what my eyes cannot see. Tell me, your companion, does she stand, weapon at the ready to defend you from such a fearsome creature as I am?” The woman cackled, shaking with laughter.
Aran glanced over his shoulder. Spark, arrow still nocked, nodded at him to keep going. When he reached the fire, the woman stilled and held out her gnarled hands.
“Let me see you,” she said.
“How about you give us a quest.” He didn’t want to go any nearer the old woman and her eyeless face.
“Favor for favor,” she said.
Gritting his teeth, he leaned forward, close enough for her to reach up and touch his face. Her fingertips felt like moth wings against his skin.
“Aye,” she said softly. “A tarnished hero, seeking redemption. It will be within your grasp, have you the courage to seize it.”
“Okay.” Aran pulled back. “My turn. Do you have a quest for us?”
“So impatient, the young.” The woman shook her head, the firelight casting odd shadows across her face. “I could tell you more, of pasts and futures, should you linger.”
“No time for that,” Spark called.
“Sharp-eared, that one.” The old woman beckoned to Spark. “I will read your face as well, girl.”
“No, thanks. Hurry it up, Aran.”
“Very well.” The old woman pointed one twisted finger off to the right. “In yonder stream resides the creature who will lead you to what you seek—but she is a wary thing and must be coaxed forth with a hazel wand and a bright berry.”
Aran waited, but the woman said nothing more.
“That’s it?” he asked.
“It is enough.”
“Thank y—”
“Never give the fey your gratitude,” she said. “It will earn you more enmity than you could guess.”
“Okay then.”
Moved by some impulse, even knowing she couldn’t see him, Aran put his foot back and dipped into the formal court bow. A smile crossed the old woman’s face, and for a starlit moment her features were those of a beautiful young woman.
“Come on,” Spark said, beckoning.
When he rejoined her, she gave him a look. “What was that? The bowing thing.”
“Just something I picked up,” he said. “Let’s go.”
The path curved around in the direction the old woman had indicated, although when they’d first stepped into the clearing, Aran could have sworn it went the other way. Soon they left the firelight behind and the night closed in around them. An owl hooted nearby, and the wind creaked the dry branches overhead.
“Does this really have to use the soundtrack from a lame horror vid?” Aran asked. “All we need to complete the effect is—”
“A monster,” Spark said, her voice tight. “And there it is.”
Something shambled in the darkness in front of them, then lurched forward, illuminated by Spark’s fireball. It was a huge man, wrapped round with clanking chains and carrying a wickedly spiked mace. From his chain belt swung three severed heads, their dead eyes open and staring.
“Fee, fi, fo,” he said, his voice a deep rumble. “Jack smells lovely flesh and blood. Come play, my pretties.”
With a roar, he lifted his mace high overhead, then smacked it down hard on the path. The ground trembled, and Spark glanced at Aran, wide-eyed.