Hushwood

vi. sigil's warning

Arienne opened her eyes.

Her first thought was that she was soaking wet. Cold. I'm cold. Another dream? Can dreams be cold? She didn't know anymore. Pointless to wonder.

It took a moment for her mind to click back into focus. But it did, and instantly she realized that something was terribly wrong.

She was underwater, and she wasn't breathing.

With a gasp, Arienne broke the surface, lurching away from the shallow pool and coughing violently. Her vision trembled, fracturing, as if she were viewing the world through broken glass. She looked down at her hands. Her skin was ashen. Am I dead?

A corpse couldn't drown. Not dead.

Arienne took a while to catch her breath, finally settling back on her knees in the crystalline, lily-white pool. She squinted slightly, noticing a ghostly, translucent face in the water. It was a moment before she understood that it was her own reflection.

Her raven hair was a mess, dripping liquid pearls down her face. They collected in her eyelashes like snowflakes, and she blinked them away. She looked closer; was she crying? She could not tell.

Behind her came a sudden choking sound. Panicked, Arienne scrambled to her feet, turning to defend herself—but the rush of adrenaline swiftly deflated. "Tobrym?"

He rolled himself over, still wheezing for breath. "Ari?" He stopped, holding up a hand as if to silence her. "I'm dreaming again, aren't I."

"No," she whispered, going to him and helping him up, "I'm real, I think. As well as very confused. What happened to us?"

"Dywirnäe," said Tobrym. "Aervith's lilies. From the old legend."

Recognition dawned on her; the lilies were one of the village's most well-known myths, and even the elders were wary of them. Simply by breathing in their fatal scent, you were doomed. The lily's musk caused hallucinations, a farce to keep their victims happy and trancelike as they died.

Arienne's brow furrowed with bewilderment. "How are we alive?"

Tobrym shrugged, just as lost as she was. He glanced down. "Saint's water?"

The spring was pure enough. The explanation made sense. And Arienne observed that though she'd nearly drowned in it, her lungs didn't smart or ache. In fact, she felt hopeful and wide-awake, with no pains whatsoever.

"If it is," she said, "how did we get here? We were nowhere near the pool, and dywirnäe don't blossom near their only weakness. It's too much of a coincidence for us to have wandered here in our dreamlike state; I can't accept that as an explanation, it just doesn't seem right."

Tobrym pursed his lips. Softly, he began, "Do you think...do you think the Hushwood might have had something to do with it?"

Arienne stared at him.

"It's powerful. And wiser than we know. It could easily have whisked us up and dropped us in the water without a second thought."

"But why would it decide to spare us? And in such a way? The lilies are its own; why not just shield us from their poison in the first place?"

Tobrym sighed. "I don't know," he admitted. His shoulders slumped, and he looked around them at the slender, beautiful trees. "I don't know anything at this point. What does the forest want? Does it need us alive or dead? Was it helping us, or...is it just planning on killing us in some other way?" His voice faltered. "And if it does want us alive...why? What could it possible desire from us?"