Hushwood

i. the forest

"Hush, little baby, don't you cry..."

The forlorn, hollow words of the old song echoed softly through the evening air. The sound sent a shiver down Arienne's spine. Hastily, she lit a candle and clutched it tight as she looked around the room, her pale face seeming to waver in the eerie, flickering glow.

The cottage was as still as if time had stopped. Next to her, her little sister Bindi slept deeply, undisturbed by the warm light. The room was empty aside from a chest and a few shelves, as it had been since the death of their parents, years ago. Nothing stirred.

Arienne took a slow, shaky breath. The only sound was the quiet lullaby, which the people of the village always sung from dusk till dawn. "It will protect us from the monsters," they said. And no one ever argued.

Arienne glanced at her sister with gentle relief in her eyes. She stroked Bindi's mousy brown hair, as if to reassure herself that the girl was really there. Midnight's past. We're nearly safe.

Blowing the candle out, she pulled her mother's old quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes. It was hard to fall asleep. The words of the lullaby haunted her as she fought off a welling wave of nightmares.

"Hush, little baby, don't you cry,
They'll hear you as they're passing by.
Hush, little baby, cover your eyes,
Be still. Be still. We're going to die."

~~~

"Sissa?" Arienne felt herself being gently shaken. "Wake up, it's morning. They're calling for us."

She opened her eyes. The room was dimly veiled in light, and nothing was amiss. We're safe. Almost safe.

Bindi's large brown eyes were concerned. "Sissa, we should go."

She'd always called her that-ever since she was an infant and Ari seven. The habit had never gone away, even now, nearly ten spans later. "You're right."

They donned their day clothes-a simple, shapeless gray dress each, with trimmed sleeves and a skirt that ended past the knees. They wore no shoes. Together they left the cottage and walked swiftly to the village's heart, the black star.

Most of the others had already gathered, standing around the ashen circle that lay branded into the earth. The elders stood within it, their eyes solemn and their robes white, like marble statues. There were twelve of them-only twelve. Thirteen was an ill number.

Despite their titles, they were young, merely middle-aged; only one of them showed strands of faint silver in her hair. But they had no choice; there was no one else to fill the position. The forest took the elderly, as it had no use for them.

"Brothers," said a male elder, "sisters. Are you well?"

"We are well," said the villagers in unison.

"Be you unlucky?"

"Luck is with us."

Arienne felt her heart pang faintly at the words.

"The time is almost upon us. Come midnight, the Hushwood shall take a perfect child, and the child shall not return. For this is the way of things."

Another elder, a young woman, continued. "One will be lost, but we will endure. Year after year the forest must take a child. There is no other way to ensure our safety, no other way to keep at bay the darkness that has consumed our world. All else has fallen away, but we still stand, the last star in this blackest of nights. The sacrifice is our last hope. We cannot change it, and we do not desire to. For this is the way of things."