Going into the woods that night was the boys second deadly mistake. Thinking about it was the first.
Sacred Shrew Woods was uninviting to all who passed its edge, but on the Night of Crimsonfall, it screamed Keep Out! Tonight—the one night of the year when all humans should heed the stories from the past and stay away—some could not.
They picked their way gingerly along the dark, brambly edge of the meadow, the gloomy woods looming before them. Four boys—young men, really—Janek, Notter, Beeset, and at the front, their unspoken leader, Godfry.
“Come on, Janek. If you’re scared to go in, just admit it,” said Godfry Evenbloom in the demeaning manner he had perfected. “We won’t think any less of you, will we guys?”
The sympathetic smile plastered across Godfry’s face was fake. Inside, he was as jumpy as a cat unexpectedly plunged into a freezing vat of water. He fervently needed Janek to not lose his cool and run. A night like this only came around once a year and he was so close to becoming the village hero, he could taste it.
Godfry’s tell-tale silver hair and sky-blue eyes identified him as a Born Bright, one of only three in his village—his mother and twin sister the other two. With their magical abilities evident from birth, Born Brights were distinct, and Godfry, from a tender age, knew his powers set him apart from others in his village. But tonight, Godfry was just as scared as they were.
“No, I’m going … to go in,” stuttered Janek as he squatted low to the ground, eyes frantically scanning the outline of their sleepy village for signs of movement. “We’d be in a whole heap of trouble if someone sees us.”
The full moon cast an eerie red glow over the unusually still meadow behind them. Even the barnyard animals were quiet tonight. A white mist had formed off the land. It concealed them, yet not completely.
“The sooner we get into the woods, the safer we’ll be,” said Godfry. That, of course, was an outright lie … and the boys knew it. Tonight was the worst night to be in the woods.
“Ok, I’ll go first,” said Notter. “As agreed, if we don’t find the other side of the woods … signs of our missing village … when the red moon is past the half mark in the sky, we come back. Now, give us some light.”
With a graceful flick of his wrist, Godfry thrust his upturned fist out. He slowly opened his thumb, then each finger, one by one until his palm lay flat. The ancient words, Illustris Luminus, formed on his lips, a silent, barely perceptible movement. A soft, round orb of yellow light took shape on Godfry’s palm, growing brighter and larger, casting an ethereal glow as it silently lifted into the night air ahead of Notter. Like statues, the boys silently watched as it hovered, its glow expanding into the deep, dark corners of the woods around them. It gently glided forward, leading the way.
Notter gripped his axe tighter, sucked in his breath, and followed the orb. Godfry and Janek went next. Beeset, standing six feet tall and sixty pounds heavier than the others, brought up the rear. Sacred Shrew Woods, although equally beautiful and mysterious, was a very dangerous place. Beeset’s sharp eye and straight arrow had saved them many times from capture, or worse, death, at the hands of a giant spider guard. The forest was full of them. It was long rumored that giant spiders were sentries for witches but no one from the village of Eaglehaven had ever claimed to have seen a witch.
On this night, at this hour, all the villagers of Eaglehaven were safely tucked into their homes behind double locked doors and shuttered windows, parents speaking in hushed whispers in the dark, children huddled deep below their bed covers, too frightened to sleep. Nothing moved, except the round crimson moon high in the sky, on this otherwise black, unholy night.
* * *
Unbeknownst to the villagers, Sacred Shrew Woods was home to Zaleria, a banished witch. The creatures of the forest feared her. She was once a powerful and revered witch leader descended from a long line of royal witches who presided over a vast dynasty in the Witch Kingdom of Glotet. Her fierce sentry of giant spiders was known throughout the witch world. They were supreme fighters and loyal. But her greed had done her in. Having committed a terrible crime against the kingdom’s Queen Makayra, she was stripped of her lofty titles and banished from the witch kingdom to the human world.
The power behind her banishment created Sacred Shrew Woods. It appeared out of the sky one day, cleaving the village of Eaglehaven in half, killing and injuring humans, toppling houses, and ripping apart streets and alleyways. When the dust settled, half the village was gone. Families, loved ones, neighbours, and friends—gone. For the past one hundred years, villagers searched the woods in vain, believing they would find their lost village. Others mourned, and moved on with their lives.
But Sacred Shrew Woods held secrets. A magical veil shimmered deep in the woods, its delicate fabric rustling softly in the gentle breeze, the air around it humming with unseen energy. Over the years, a legend grew. It was said the veil became transparent when the moon was full and red in the night sky, then disappeared. One villager claimed he walked through where the veil had once been and felt nothing … only cool, jasmine-scented air. Feeling hopeful, he searched for the lost village, wandering for hours in vain. He swore on his deathbed it was true.
Zaleria remained out of sight of humans except on the Night of Crimsonfall. With the fall of the veil, her magical powers restored themselves … but only for that one night. With only her spider sentries for company, her hatred burned strong for the witches who had banished her. Someday she would take her rightful place among the witch coven again. And she’d cunningly seek her revenge on those who deserved it. It would be delightful for her, painful for them.
With that scrumptious thought in her head, she shrewdly watched from her dark, web-filled crevice as the four human boys crept through the woods, each step bringing them closer to her trap. The spell she put on the woods was guiding them straight to her. Anticipation vibrated in the soft cooing sound she made.
She knew patience. She knew that one day those disgusting humans with their silly curiosity would enter the woods on the Night of Crimsonfall. And this night was the only night of the year when the witch and human worlds could interact with each other on the same plane.
Zaleria squeezed her hands excitedly and smiled a huge, toothy grin. Tonight the veil was already down and she was ready. She had long ago figured out that if she could capture enough human souls, she might be able to buy her way out of the woods. Getting back to the witch kingdom was her first step to retaking her place in the coven. Once a year, on this forbidden night, she stood guard but it had been many, many years since a human had dared enter the woods.
Until now.
When the witch saw the silver-haired boy was among the intruders, she could barely contain her glee. A Born Bright. They were worth a hundred human souls! This night was exceeding her highest expectations, a pleasant surprise that filled her with joy. But she needed to be careful for this Born Bright human had magical powers of his own. That was what made him so valuable.
“Tonight I will finally catch you, you little sneak,” the witch crookedly smiled, her voice barely a whisper. Her eyes bore into the one they called Godfry, the Born Bright, as the humans crept past her hiding place. She’d watched him from the day he first entered the woods as a little boy. He was a nasty, greedy human. The witch wrinkled her nose, remembering his pungent smell. Tonight would be glorious. When the humans were out of sight, she quietly backed through the crevice and disappeared into the dark shadows. She had never been more excited.
Unaware of the danger before them, the boys walked right into the witch’s trap. A trap you can’t see is a trap you can’t avoid. The moment Notter entered the woods, their path was set. Zaleria’s spell led them right to the spider’s lair.
The spiders poured from concealed, underground lairs, surrounding the boys in a flurry of clacking and high shrieks. Sticky strands of white webbing shot from the spider’s abdomens, attaching to human arms and legs. Limbs kicking and pounding, the boys struggled to be free. A human is no match for a giant spider with eight legs. The spiders swiftly spun a cocoon of webbing around each boy, binding them tightly. They were thrown to the ground, too shocked and dizzy to yell out. No one would have heard them anyway. No human, that is. Witch spells really were quite handy … for witches, not so much for humans.
“Well, well,” cackled the witch, her dirty robes trapping leaves and dirt from the ground as she glided towards Godfry. He lay on the ground in a heap, his arms pinned within the silken webs. If he was surprised to see a witch, his face remained unreadable. Zaleria lifted her tattered cloak’s hood off her head, revealing dirty, grey locks of straggly hair trailing over her bony shoulders down her back. A red and black beetle crawled over her ear and disappeared into the tangled mess. Her long gown might have once been red but time and weather had blackened every fiber. Godfry tried not to stare but her crooked nose was covered in puss-covered warts and open sores.
Zaleria kicked dirt into Godfry’s face, hating the way he eyeballed her. Her voice was low, each word clipped. “You humans are so curious. I’ve been waiting a long time. And, you, Born Bright, are an unexpected surprise. With you, I will buy my way out of these stinking woods. In fact, you are all I need from this rotten lot.” Swirling to face her spider army she yelled, “Kill them all but leave the Born Bright alive.”
“No! Please, let us go!” yelled Godfry as he struggled to sit. It was impossible. The silken webs binding his body were too strong. He whispered an incantation but without the use of his arms, he could do no magic. He heard the witch cackle as he recited the spell louder and failed again. The secret to a Born Brights magic was in their arm movements. Panic spread across his face as he realized his spells were useless. His arms were bound so tightly they were going numb.
“Struggle all you want, Born Bright. Did you think I don’t know how your magic works? Without your arms, you have no power.” The witch circled Godfry as she hissed, dirt and leaves washing over the boy with each step.
“Please! We didn’t mean any harm,” cried Notter in a strangled croak as he lay immobile on the ground. With trembling voices, Beeset and Janek cried out desperately for mercy.
“Mercy?” laughed the witch, shuffling her feet to face Notter. She leaned so close, for one brief moment Notter thought her disgusting, puss-filled nose would press his own. A shiver of revulsion washed over him, the putrid smell making his stomach churn.
“There is no mercy in this world. Rhixet, bring him now!” Her scrawny arm pointed to the Born Bright.
Bony, hairy legs reached for Godfry, throwing him roughly onto the giant spider’s back. Long strands of coarse hair reached out, circling Godfry’s cocoon, pressing his wrapped body tighter into the spider’s back. Godfry cried in pain as the spider’s sharp spikes pierced his back and legs, drawing blood. Bound tightly, he pulled and heaved, but the restraints were too secure; he was trapped. As Rhixet carried him deeper into the woods, the bloodcurdling screams of his dying friends echoed in his ears. He yelled and cried out but his captor never slowed his pace. He was powerless to help his friends. Deeper in the dark forest they went. Godfry’s shoulders shook violently, salty tears streaming down his cheeks as the last of the screams subsided. He'd never forget those screams. He was alone in his anguish and despair.
In the witch’s lair, yanked from the spider’s back and thrown to the dirt floor, Godfry didn’t struggle. He didn’t struggle when his hands were cut from the cocoon and secured with twine to the base of a broad tree. Curled into a fetal position on the ground, reeling from the shock his friends were all dead, he sobbed like a young child.
Zaleria stood hunched over a fire pit stirring a bubbling potion in a black pot. She lifted her gaze to the crimson moon and cackled with wild glee. “Soon I will summon Queen Makayra and we will take the Born Bright to the Goblin Kingdom of Wetoris. I will,” she cleared her throat and spat into the pot, “secure my freedom from these wretched woods. I will take my place, my rightful heritage, in the coven.”
“And what of I, Zaleria?” purred Rhixet, his legs clacking as he scuttled closer to the witch.
“What of you?” Zaleria whipped around to face the giant spider. “There is no you, Rhixet. You are my sentry. I will bring the Born Bright. I will get my freedom and …,” she paused, realizing what she’d almost said.
And I will never come back to this wretched place. She must choose her next words carefully.
Turning her sneer to a smile, she lied. “Of course, I will come back for you. And the others.” She tossed one hand meaninglessly in the air, as if her words would erase her near mistake. Once she sold the Born Bright, she had no intention of returning to these wretched woods. Rhixet would have to fend for himself. He had served his purpose.
As understanding dawned on Rhixet, his purring slowed. His black, beady eyes bore into the witch. He bowed slowly, as he always did, and scurried into his underground lair.
* * *
Sometime later, a loud crash brought Godfry sharply awake. Squinting through eyes swollen from still-wet tears, he peered through the darkness, trying to grasp what had woken him. Zaleria screeched as she struggled to free herself from the cocoon of webs threatening to bind her arms between two trees. Rhixet’s limbs crackled and clicked as he spun his sticky web around the witch’s body, trapping one arm.
“You were going to leave me here, you nasty hag,” spat Rhixet. “After all I have done for you.”
“Scorzano blavine!”
A fireball smashed into Rhixet’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards, squealing in pain. Godfry clumsily scrambled to his knees, desperately trying to free his hands from the biting twine. His mind raced.
“Scorzano blavine!” screamed Zaleria, sending another ball of fire toward Rhixet. Instinctively, he deflected it with a sweep of one massive limb, sending it crashing into the tree where Godfry lay bound. The top of the tree sheared clean off, sending a blast of flame downward. Godfry tucked into a tight ball as the fire hit him, igniting the grass at the base of the tree. Thick, clouds of black smoke billowed around him. Godfry scrambled to his feet as flames rushed down the tree towards him.
He stretched his hands as close to the hot flame as he dared. It caught. Frantic, he pulled his hands apart and felt the twine rip in two. Sheer joy surged through him. Coughing, Godfry tore at the hole in the web where his hands had been pulled through and began to peel the sticky web from his body. He was free! Zaleria and Rhixet were too busy fighting each other to notice Godfry slip away. And when he did, he ran.
“Elbeno diso!” Godfry whispered, waving his arms, magically removing all trace of his steps on the forest floor. A well-worn path lay before him. Running toward the light, he burst out of the woods and into the glorious sunrise.
A blood-curdling scream rang through the still morning air. The witch! Godfry quickly glanced back, afraid the witch was free, ready to yank him back, but she was nowhere in sight. Godfry ran faster. He cried out when he saw the welcoming lights from the village houses ahead. He had to warn his family and get help. Maybe his friends were still alive. He would go back and find them. His legs finally gave out and he fell to his knees in the dirt. He looked up at the houses around him, trying to get his bearings. But he didn’t recognize any of the houses. He didn’t recognize anything. It was all wrong.
Slowly, he got to his feet and stumbled to the closest house. He banged loudly on the wooden door until he heard the click of a lock being undone. The door opened a crack.
“Yes?” said a timid little girl as she poked her head through the door.
Godfry didn’t recognize the little girl and he knew everyone in his village.
“Who are you?” asked Godfry.
“I’m Zeda, of Eaglehaven,” said the little girl.
“Eaglehaven?”
“Of course, silly.”
His eyes grew wide as reality hit him. This was not his village. This was the other village, the lost half of Eaglehaven. The village his friends had died trying to find. He had wanted to be the big hero.
The weight of his stupid mistakes pressed down on him, a crushing burden of guilt and shame.
