The Nymph and I

By Ani Birch

A luminous nymph dashes from the darkening woods, leaping barefoot from log to rock. Her silver hair glows, reflecting the light of the two bright moons above. Her pale, web-like dress snags on a branch as she streaks by. A path of blood follows her as she bolts through the brush.

She is no spirit. She is of flesh and bones.

I step into the shadow of a towering ashwen tree as hunters explode from the woods, a relentless pack on tall steeds. Born killers, their weapons seem to be extensions of their bodies. They charge in formation, draped in regalia under the sigil of the bear. It’s Prince Oren—the one who sent me to find her. I will receive no bounty if he catches Gaelli first.

The dogs howl, and the hunters’ voices rage. The prince signals, and they fan out, herding the girl into the open glade. They close in, trapping her—a fawn surrounded by wolves. The dogs snap between the legs of the beasts but do not stray from their masters’ sides. Gaelli stumbles back over a stump, adjusts her dress, then pushes herself to her knees.

“Leave me, or I will do to you what I did to your men!” she shouts at the prince.

Prince Oren laughs, flashing a grin at his men, who beam in return.

I cannot fathom their pride in overpowering this waif.

Oren replaces his grin with a scowl. “You are nothing but a trickster playing games with my men!”

She rises, her chest puffed out, seeming to hover inches above the moss. The prince silences the men and dismounts his black beast with his sword drawn. He strides over with a wide grin, towering above her.

“So, I have finally caught you, witch,” he hisses.

She raises her chin. “You are a savage, hunting me like an animal.”

“Savage? I am your prince.”

“You are no prince of mine. You call me a witch, but you are the dark one. These men may be spellbound by your title, but I know who you are—the spawn of the earth—you are nothing!”

The Prince’s eyes darken, flickering from her to his circle of peons. When his gaze returns to his prey, he knocks her to the ground with the hilt of his sword.

She crumples, unconscious.

I pierce through the hunters’ pitiful minds. Leave this wood or I will destroy you.

They search the sky as if the moons themselves called out.

They won’t find the source, though. Only the moons know I have been watching.

Prince Oren turns to the girl, but she is gone.

The Prince steps back, eyes darting around the circle. Cursing the witch, the men, and his horse, he leaps into the saddle, kicks his mount, and vanishes into the forest. His men follow with swords drawn.

I scan the woods for the poor hunted girl who somehow evaded us.

A bunched, parchwood tree splits open, and a pale arm reaches out, then another.

Gaelli’s silver hair, tangled with leaves and roots, glows in the weak light.

Like a newborn bird, she claws her way from her hiding place, dragging herself across the ground. Gaelli crawls up onto a moss-covered stump, her hands and feet raw from the chase. Rising on wobbly legs, she closes her eyes.

She snaps her head toward me, eyes wide, her cool silver gaze locking onto mine. She seizes my mind, using my bloodvoice. Who are you?

I step from the shadows and reach into her mind. I am a warrant chaser.

A huntsman? Do you not think I have been hunted enough? Gaelli asks, sinking back onto the stump.

I wall off my thoughts, not wanting to scare her off with the real reason I’m here. I shove my hands into my pockets and step closer, careful not to startle her.

But she isn’t skittish at all. She gathers earth and moss, presses them into a wound, and my stomach somersaults. She’s clearly much stronger than I am. I would faint from a wound like that.

“Let me help you,” I whisper. Her gray eyes fix on me, unwavering. I take the earth and press it into the cut on her hip. She neither flinches nor looks away.

“You have the bloodvoice,” she whispers.

“Yes. I have never known anyone who could use it against me, though.”

“I used it with you, not against you.” She winces as she shifts.

I cringe, imagining the pain.

“How can I help?”

She smiles. “I will tend to my body. You must help me heal the world.”

“Heal the…? Are you crazy?” What does she even mean? How can two people heal an entire world?

“Perhaps, but no more than all those ruled by him. We are just pieces in Prince Oren’s game—a game I mean to win. Will you help me?”

The hardness of Gaelli’s gaze fades as a tear wells up. She clamps her eyes shut as if to hide her vulnerability.

I reach into her mind to search for the truth. Scenes unfold—smaller beings decimated by Prince Oren’s forces. Creatures unknown to me: bipedal animals who dress in clothes, fairies with homes in tree knots, and stocky folk living in holes no bigger than gopher burrows.

I drop to the earth, no longer able to stand. “Is this true?”

“I wish they were lies. Zaivar, I need your help to defend the defenseless,” she says.

Once again, Gaelli slipped into my mind when it was unguarded—I never told her my name.

“Will you help me?”

Could creatures like this really exist? I close my eyes, imagining a world where they do, and its beauty is beyond anything I could imagine, yet I suddenly long to see it for real.

“Will you help them, Zaivar?”

I rise. “Yes, and I promise you, we will win this game.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ani Birch’s mom was a nature lover, and her dad a storyteller. After two decades, an aviation career, a marriage, and two children, Ani discovered their lasting influence. In her thirties, she shifted from flying to working with children, and in her forties, she and her husband bought an urban acreage in an aspen forest. Ani shares fantasy flash fiction on her blog, is working on four novels, and has begun querying her middle-grade fantasy manuscript.

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