A Handful of Twigs

By Cortney Manning

“If I see one more twig, I might burn this forest down,” Silas growled between clenched teeth.

His back and legs ached from bending and gathering. Even his fingers felt sore. Prying his grip open slowly, he let the small bits of wood tumble back to the earth.

“Oh, Silas, please don’t exaggerate.” Dahlia’s chipper voice came from the shadow of a birch to his right. “Don’t listen to him, Pierce.”

“It’s better he learns the truth now. Our labor is pointless and mind-numbing,” Silas exclaimed, spinning toward Dahlia and the forest’s newest gatherer, Pierce.

“Honestly,” Dahlia patted the young newcomer’s arm. “It’s not that bad. Just look at this beautiful place.”

Silas glared around the overgrown forest, disgusted. Trees stretched as far as his eyes could see. Long branches reached outward like eager claws, green leaves filtered the sunlight like a gauzy shroud. And scattered across the dirt and grass… twigs. Long twigs, short twigs, pale twigs, dark twigs, slender whip-like twigs. All waiting to be gathered.

“Why do we do it?” Pierce asked the question every newcomer wished to know.

Indeed, Silas still wondered. It was the mystery that had haunted him since he first woke on the forest floor with no memory of his past and only the guidance of other amnesiac gatherers.

“For food,” Dahlia said. Silas scoffed at her capacity to accept the situation with such a simple explanation. Her lips parted in a wide smile. She could find pleasure anywhere, but Silas could not.

Apparently, Pierce was not assuaged so easily either. “But who is giving us the food?” he asked. “Why do they want the twigs gathered?”

Dahlia shrugged. “To keep the forest floor clear for new growth, I suppose. And to please them.”

“Them? Who do you mean?” Pierce demanded.

Instead of gathering up the twigs he had dropped, Silas shivered and glanced around, half expecting to see some sign of their keepers.

“The ones who feed us,” Dahlia explained, matter-of-factly. “The shadows.”

“Who?” Pierce cast around a confused glance.

“The monsters who keep us here!” The words burst from Silas as his frustration boiled over. “We can’t see them, but we always feel them. Watching us. I know you’re there!” He spun, flinging his arms wildly through the air, “Cowards! You don’t even show yourselves!”

“Hush!” Dahlia soothed. “Calm down and focus on the sticks. Gather them, and forget your worries, Silas!”

“No!” He shoved past the branch she extended and climbed the nearest tree instead. The bark bit into his palms, and he only reached the lowest branches before glaring out across the woods. “I’ll find you! I’ll learn who you are, and I will escape. Do you hear me?”

Birds fluttered into the sky, and several gatherers in the distance looked up from their work.

But no shadows stirred.

While Dahlia and Pierce chattered below, Silas’s pulse ticked in his neck like the hands of a watch. Seconds and then minutes passed until despair drained Silas’s resolve, and numbness stiffened his legs. He massaged them before slinking back to the dirt.

Dahlia stepped close, adding an armful of twigs to her growing pile. She paused, casting a speculative glance at it. Silas swallowed, waiting. Then a tall shadow crossed their path, sliding flatly across the ground. It rippled forward, over the ferns and leaves and undergrowth of the forest floor. No footsteps were audible. The keepers stepped too lightly for that, but still, the twigs vanished, and a steaming bowl of green, leafy stew appeared in their place.

Dahlia lifted the smooth stone-hewn bowl in her hands and extended it toward Silas. “You’re so grumpy today, you must be hungry. Here, eat this. I can gather enough today to still have another meal. Besides, I like the work.”

The scent of the verdant stew assaulted Silas’s nostrils. He knew from experience the temporary feeling of complacency that would wash over him if he swallowed their food, and something inside him snapped. His hand flung outward, slinging the bowl against the nearest tree. The force of his blow scuffed the bark, leaving an indentation.

“What have you done?” Dahlia gasped.

The horror in her rounded amber eyes matched the terror that slid like ice water down Silas’s spine as they arrived.

Shadows glided across the ground without any solid form to cast them. Silas tried to run, but a sharp pain like a bee sting punctured his neck. Then the world turned dark.

“What a shame. Human lives are so brief, and Number 54 was close to the end of his sentence.”

Silas stirred at the monotone voice, but a thick syrupy substance surrounded him, gluing his limbs in place. His frantic eyes spied a tall human-like figure with antlers sprouting from his brow.

“Look at him struggle,” a lighter, feminine voice floated with laughter through the air. As Silas watched, the empty space filled with a Fae woman. Cold merriment glinted in her amber eyes as her green hair tumbled free from a dark hood.

That’s how they do it. All along, his keepers had worn cloaks of invisibility. If he could just pull free and snatch it from her, then he could run…

The antlered Fae pressed down on Silas’s shoulders, sinking him deeper until the thick liquid clogged his throat. Silas fought against his grip and glared at his amber eyes.

“Down you go, into the Sap of Forgetting. It’s good for you. Relax.”

Morning light warmed Silas’s eyelids as he tried to remember where he was, where he had been. Twigs dug into his back.

A hand jostled his shoulder.

“Hello,” came a cheerful voice. “My name is Dahlia. I’ll show you around.”

Silas blinked until his eyes adjusted to the yellow-green light of a forest. A woman crouched beside him.

Something about her wide-set amber eyes felt so familiar, so… terrifying.

Silas had seen eyes like hers before.

She tugged his arm, urging him to rise. “You’re going to love it here.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cortney Manning resides in Missouri but has always loved traveling the world. She holds a master’s degree in Victorian Literature from the University of Glasgow and has a not-so-secret love of fantasy as well. Her writing can be found on her website and in the Rooglewood Press anthology, Five Poisoned Apples. In her free time, Cortney enjoys walking, drawing, and afternoon tea.

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