A deathly silence befell the pair as they rode in the rickety ferry. Death stared at Autumn, calmly awaiting a reply from her beleaguered mind. If Death could be called anything, it’d be patient.
Autumn’s brain took a moment to restart from its blue-screen. “H-hello?” she stuttered, staring owlishly up at the robe-cloaked ancient skeleton as he punted them slowly down the river Styx. The souls that’d just been trying to kill her were quiet now that their master traveled amongst them.
“I apologize for that messy business,”
Death apologized. His voice echoed like a dried up well. Although she should be terrified, Autumn found herself comforted instead by his steady cadence.
“An undead like that shouldn’t have been within the river. You have my sinserest apologies.”
“...uh, th-hat’s ok-k-kay?” Autumn shivered out a reply. Awkwardly, she realized that she was naked, and hurriedly covered herself.
Death snorted.
“Please, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Still, he respectfully averted his eyes.
“Now, young lady, just what were you doing in the river? It’s not a place for mortals to swim in. In fact, it’s not a place for anyone to be swimming in, mortal or not.”
“I didn’t m-mean t-too! T-t-they p-pulled me in!”
“Oh did they now?”
Death gave the souls a glare, sending them swimming down into the depths.
“Well, you have my apologies for that too. As recompense, I’ll devest you of that chill you’re wearing.”
Clicking his bony fingers, he drew all the water off of Autumn, sending it back into the river.
Autumn shuddered as the warmth returned to her body.
“Now, there is a toll for the dead, you know. I can’t take you across without it.”
“I’m not dead, though?” Even if she had the means to pay him, which she didn’t as her clothes, which had been the only thing she had left, had dissolved in the river, she didn’t want to go to an afterlife. “Am I?”
“No, you’re not dead,”
Death drawled, amused.
“Trust me, I’m sort of an expert on this kind of thing.”
Fearing that she’d be cast back like an undersized fish, or sent back to the shore from whence she’d come and be left to the mercy of the Wild Hunt, Autumn gambled on a risky proposition. “Uh, can I give you an IOU?”
Death chuckled.
“Ah, one of those stories, are you?”
Listening to the wind, he glanced toward the shore where baying fey hounds gathered. His look sent them whimpering back.
“Chased by the Wild Hunt too? Oh, very well, I’ll take you where you need to go. I must be getting soft in my old age,”
he laughed.
“I trust you’ll pay me back one day?”
As Autumn nodded rapidly, she felt a blazing heat upon her eyes, as if someone had placed two golden coins upon them. However, when she touched her eyes, she felt nothing there. “Um, thanks.”
“It’s not a problem. It was on my way anyway.”
“Where was?” Autumn asked, confused.
Death looked at her.
“Where you need to go, of course!”
Autumn shivered and turned away. She gazed out over the soul-filled blue waters of death as they calmly traversed its currents. The only sound around was the slow paddle of Death’s oar slicing through the water to push off the river’s bottom.
Eventually, they arrived at an old jetty jutting out of the bank and into the river.
“Your stop,”
Death called.
Wasting no time, Autumn alighted from the old ferry and scampered away from the river lest she be swept in again. When she felt safe enough, she turned back to see Death off.
Death chuckled. “
Fret not, young mortal. We shall meet again one day. I’m looking forward to it.”
Turning away after delivering that ominous warning, he started punting himself back out into the river. However, before he made it far, he turned back as if he’d remembered something important.
“Oh, and Autumn, when you need to choose – go left.”
Autumn blinked, staring bewildered as she waved Death goodbye.
Before long, he vanished into a hazy fog that suddenly rolled over the placid surface of the blue river. Somehow, she’d survived falling into the literal river of death and met Death himself. The physical personification of death. It was so strange, she needed to say it twice.
“Wait, I didn’t tell him my name,” Autumn muttered.
Movement on the other shore caught her eye. Glancing over, she spied a shadowy figure emerging from the bushes to scowl her way. It was a wolf that stood in the parody of a man. Something one might create if they’d heard what a human was supposed to look like without ever seeing one in person, and somehow mixed up apes for wolves. Like a werewolf, only more twisted.
Long limbs draped down from their twisted torso matted with rough hair. A pair of legs bent in unnatural ways, never the same way each time she dared to look. Their mouth was split in four ways like a flower, letting a long, slimy tongue flop and squirm freely.
The beast stood alone. A vanguard or scout who’d tracked her far and fast.
It drooled, letting out a raspy chuckle as it spied Autumn. “Come, come, sweet snack! I can smell you! Taste you on the wind! Many are the ways to ford this river! Wait, wait, and I'll feast upon your flesh! Hehehehehe!”
Autumn fled its grim tidings, staggering on bloody, exhausted feet into the forest lying on the other side of the river. She didn’t doubt the fey knew of secret ways to ford the river. It was their home after all. She just hoped it’d take them far longer than had cost her.
The chill night played across Autumn’s bared body like a musician would play a harp, sending prickling goosebumps racing across her athletic form. She was clad in only fear and blood. Shivering not only because of the cold, she limped onto a dusty path.
Someone, likely the owner of the docks behind her, had carved a path through and across the trees and roots, leading deeper into the forest towards a destination unknown. They’d urged staircases to form along tree trunks and up roots, along with weaving vine-bridges across impassable gaps, and tunnels through towering blockages.
It was certainly impressive, although odd-looking, and it was the first sign of civilization she’d seen since arriving in the Feywild. Autumn forced her exhausted body to ascend the steps.
The speed at which she traversed the fey forest using the path was like night and day compared to before. Even exhausted, she crossed far more distance and in a shorter time than when she’d been running for her life. Still, the long journey dulled her mind, and before long, she found herself wishing for the path to end whilst dreading that it never would.
Thankfully for her flagging stamina, the end of the path came shortly after she’d had that thought. A signpost hung against a nearby tree. However, unfortunately, the ravages of time had rendered whatever had been written upon it so illegible that not even Autumn’s gift could divine its meaning. Still, it was another sign of civilization, spurring her to move faster.
Autumn limped around along the elaborate path, weaving around a corner, and was greeted with the sight of another clearing. Thankfully, this one didn’t contain any more fey.
An old cottage sat in the center of the clearing, surrounded by an overgrown lawn. Like the path, this home looked to have been grown. Wooden vines entwined each other to form a latticework of wood upon a stone base, rising up to a triangular roof that sported wildflowers and grasses. At the very back lay a crumbling stone chimney peeking above the roofline. Creeping vines wrapped around the building, dominating every surface.
No smoke drifted from the ceiling into the night sky, and no light shone in the few dirty windows or leaked out from under the wooden front door. Either no one was home, or they were in the depths of dreams.
However, judging by the overgrown state of the grounds, Autumn was betting that nobody had been home in a long, long time.
Looking to the right of the dilapidated cottage, she saw a lovely little garden. Although, now it was a maze of bizarre and fantastical fruits and vegetables running a gambit of otherworldly colors. Autumn even spied what looked like a rainbow-colored apple. At least she thought it looked like an apple.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger.
How long had it been since she last ate?
She’d had dinner before she’d been stolen away, but who knows how long ago that was. Time seemed to have taken a sabbatical lately.
On the other side of the cottage lay a broken chicken coop. No animals clucked within, sadly. Judging by the smashed-in roof and slashed apart timber, she guessed that a wild animal or two had gotten to them.
Autumn limped closer to the house and pushed through a creaking, rotten gate set in a waist-high stone wall that ringed the property. The wall was as gaped as an old man’s grin. At her touch, the gate clattered apart, falling into a tattered heap at her feet.
Sighing, she carefully stepped over the pile of rotten boards, and made her way toward the front door. Stepping onto the wooden porch, she saw what the owner had been using the chickens for. Bone chimes hung from the pouch, swaying in the breeze. They looked remarkably intact compared to the rest of the house. Looking around, she saw more hanging from other places, encircling the entire clearing.
They were like dreamcatchers, Autumn mused, if a bit grim.
Clearly, a witch lived here. If fey existed, so too could a witch, right?
She just didn’t know if he hoped someone was home or not.
The hollow sockets of the bird skulls followed the young woman’s steps as she walked closer to the door, creaking in the wind. Nervously, she reached out and knocked on the sturdy door. “Hello? Anyone home?”
Listening, she heard nothing.
Autumn reached out and pressed on the door. It was locked. Hammering on the door with tired fists, she tried again to gain the attention of anyone who might be inside. “Hello!” she called hoarsely. Nothing living or unliving stirred within or replied to her.
Sighing, Autumn cast her eyes to the side, spying a cloudy window. She moved over to it and tried to peer inside, but only saw dust coating the inside of the glass and grime coating the outside.
With her blood loss lightening her head, she needed to get inside before her health became dire. Her body was growing more lethargic by the second as the adrenaline faded from her system. Scavenging around the overgrown lawn, Autumn retrieved a small rock, and, clutching it in her good hand, smashed in the dusty glass.
The shattering sound of breaking glass rang loudly in Autumn’s ears, causing her to wince. After glancing around nervously, she carefully picked out the shards of glass from the window frame before hauling herself through it.
Autumn crashed into a cloud of dust as she fell to the floor. Coughing and waving her hand before her face, she cast a fugitive look around the cottage interior.
Pale moonlight lit the space, streaming in through other clouded windows. A myriad of dried herbs, vegetables, and the petrified remains of some unidentified animals hung from the ceiling around an unlit fireplace at the end of the cottage. The chimney snaked up the wall like a crone’s spine. Within the cozy hearth hung a small cauldron, awaiting use. However, the firewood resting beside it had long since sprouted a colony of mushrooms, and most of it was ill-suited for use.
To the right-hand side of the room, taking up a bounty of space, was an old, tattered bed. Dust blanketed it like a sheet. The musty sleepy place was shielded by a moldy hanging curtain that’d seen better days. It was so moth-eaten that it could be mistaken for lace.
A broken wardrobe sat at the foot of the bed, filled with rags that might’ve once been charitably called clothing. A leather hat rested on its top, so cracked and worn that it looked ancient.
On the left-hand side of the room, there was a large workspace, laden with shelves of dusty jars and books. Some of the jars were filled with questionable substances. One even glowed, much to Autumn’s concern. Hopefully it was just a night-light. Across every surface was a collection of melted candles. Their wax bodies had melted onto the surfaces they’d been mounted to. A humanoid skull cried waxy tears.
Autumn briefly wondered what they’d done to deserve such a fate.
Glancing behind her at the door, she saw that an old bar of ancient wood barred the door, mounted into a pair of brackets. It’d long since defended this place from unwanted guests. Well, until Autumn, that was. Above the door hung an iron horseshoe.
By now, exhaustion had utterly wracked Autumn’s body. She could barely keep her eyes open. However, before she could sleep, she needed to tend to her injuries lest she never wake again.
Woozily, and with great care, she made her way across the room to the old wardrobe, leaving dusty crimson footsteps in her wake. Upon reaching the old container, she grabbed a few rags from inside and tore the cleanest of them into strips with her teeth. Wincing, she pressed a rag to her ruined finger, choking back a cry as pain overwhelmed her for a moment.
Autumn was in a sorry state. Bruises and cuts littered her body. Her skin had been rubbed raw from crawling through the tunnel, and every place the ghosts had touched her was starkly irritated. Ghostly hands decorated her pale flesh.
The worst of it was her hand. Pulling the bloody rag away, she examined her wound. Bone was peaking through where her fingers abruptly ended just before her second knuckle joints. Even if she had her fingers and access to a doctor, she doubted they could save them, let alone stitching them back on herself. Being dragged through the dirt and submerged in bitterly cold water hadn’t helped matters either.
Tears sprang into Autumn’s eyes as the enormity of it all descended abruptly. Why was this happening to her?
Why her?
What did she do?
Biting back a sob, she turned her eyes to the fireplace. She needed to cauterize her hand. Most of the wood beside it was unusable, but a few pieces that’d survived the mushroom apocalypse looked dry enough, and she had enough rags to let them catch. Maneuvering her way over to the hearth, she fumbled around for a flint and tinder.
After a few fumbles and false starts, flames quickly caught the handful of rags Autumn had stuffed into the fireplace, and before long, a toasty fire was warming her bones. Light sprang forth into her nightmare. She basked in the heat a moment as it thawed her frozen flesh, sending pins-and-needles scattering across her skin.
When she felt alive enough to move, Autumn placed the firepoker into the flames, tending to it until the metal turned a cherry-red. It blazed like an angry devil as she removed it.
Autumn placed a piece of wood between her teeth, biting down on it hard before she pressed the scorching hot metal to what was left of her sluggishly bleeding fingers.
She screamed into the wood.
Blinding pain engulfed her, turning her world white. Autumn’s stomach turned as the smell of cooking flesh filled the air. She held the metal to her fingers as long as she could. Sweat rolled down her forehead, plastering her tangled black locks to her skin as her eyes threatened to roll back into her skull.
When her fingers looked properly cauterized, Autumn carefully pulled the iron poker away from her ravaged flesh, and tossed it back into the fire.
Autumn wrapped her seared fingers up in the cleanest rag she could find. If they got infected, she knew she might die, even after all she’d been through. Unfortunately, there was little else she could do right now. Instead of worrying, she turned her attention to her feet.
They were ruined. Given the state of them, Autumn was surprised she could even walk. Her skin had been entirely torn away from the untold hours of frantic dancing in the fey’s court, and the subsequent flight through the forest. Thorns, sharp pebbles, and other dangers had embedded themselves deep into the soles of her feet.
Likely, only pure adrenaline had gotten her this far, allowing her to ignore the agony she was in. It was hell. She doubted she’d even be able to stand again until they were healed.
Autumn held in her whimpers and began pulling the stones and thorns out of her feet. They came away in a bloody mess. The pain was excruciating, yet not to the level of what she’d just endured a moment ago. She hated how she could measure that sort of thing now.
Once she had all the debris out, Autumn wrapped her feet up in her makeshift bandages. The cloth was instantly soaked in blood. Still, at least they were covered for now.
All that was left to deal with was her ravenous hunger.
The dried vegetables hung above her mockingly. It’d hurt far too much to get up now that she was no longer running on fear and adrenaline. So instead, she crawled her naked body over the dusty floor to an old broom propped up against the wall, and used it to knock a few morsels down.
There was no such thing as dignity to the truly hungry.
The stringy vegetables were tough to chew, and Autumn had barely enough to fill her stomach, but at least they were food. At least, she hoped they were. They looked like carrots. Very old carrots. They were also purple. And they tasted as bland as bland could be.
Still, beggars and chooses, and all that.
As the last of the food disappeared into Autumn’s ravenous maw, she heard a sound from outside. A rumbling noise like a dozen footfalls. Working her way laboriously over to the shattered window, she cautiously peeked outside. There, beyond the boundary, stood a small portion of the Wild Hunt.
They’d found her.
A dozen strong, they lingered at the edge of the clearing, testing the protections. The bone charms turned their hollow gaze upon the fey riders, calmly denying them entry. Rusted iron and magic kept them at bay.
Cold-iron, Autumn recalled, was bane to fey. She just hoped that the rust didn’t hamper the protection they offered much.
Autumn snuck one last tired glance at the gathered hunters, before dragging herself back to the bed. And she tucked herself under the moldy covers, letting out a quiet sneeze, she fell into a deep, exhausted slumber, dreaming of better times and better places.
Tomorrow would bring many challenges, but those were Tomorrow-Autumn’s problems.
High above in the cloudy sky, a trio of shades congregated, sneering down on the fey struck outside the old witch’s protections. Nevermind that they too were cast beyond its boundaries.
“She made it?”
one fairy asked, surprised.
“A little late, perhaps,”
laughed the second.
“The aged witch isn’t here to greet her prize!”
The last sister chuckled.
“Tis not my fault that she failed to account for our trick! Who wouldst have thought another world would dare to name their child after a court itself? And this year’s Autumn is not yet dead, for her day of birth still looms!”
“I say, a good trick all round!”
“Um, not to be a bother,”
the second fairy muttered nervously.
“But was she supposed to meet
Him
?”
….
“Not our problem!”
the trio declared in unison.
“But, uh, maybe we should take a vacation for a few decades, or perhaps a millennium?"
“Agreed!”