Exclusive Excerpt from Tales of the Wythenwood: If I Were You
Desideria lay shivering in the pristine snow. She considered her own death and, as she did so, death considered her. As her ebbing strength and the restful darkness courted one another, the strangest looking creature she had ever seen stared down upon her.
Her mind raced through the events that had led her to this moment. The rabbit had bounded over the crisp snow that fell thickly throughout the Wythenwood. It was fast, but Desideria – with her long, agile legs that leapt through the snow with such grace that it appeared as if she was stepping on the air itself – was faster. If I were you, I would run faster, my little friend, but you are not me, I am me, and I am faster she purred silently to herself as every footfall drew her closer to her quarry. And then the rabbit was gone.
Accompanied by a juddering crack, searing pain tore through her left foreleg. Pain immaculate bleached her vision in great patches of nothingness as the agony reached every corner of her senses. As the nothingness began to peel itself away, curling in at the edges to reveal the crystalline sky on a clear winter’s day, Desideria espied the rabbit.
You’re a clever one, aren’t you, my little friend, and there was I already thinking of the juicy flesh that lay beneath your snug little coat; more fool I, more fool I. I can see your tiny little mind thinking: Can she still move? Can she still catch me? Can she still eat me? Don’t deny it, my little friend; if I were you that is what I would be thinking. You could help me, but I know that you won’t, my little friend. If I were you, I wouldn’t help me. If I were you then you would be me, and I would eat you.
As Desideria lay wordlessly on the glistening carpet of freshly lain snow, the rabbit twitched its nose and disappeared once more into the mouth of the warren which had proven Desideria’s undoing.
Strong jaws came down firmly around the nape of Desideria’s neck and began to pull. As she lay there helplessly, being dragged through the velvet-soft snow, she remembered a poem she had heard many a time as a cub.
Breath of chill and eyes of stone,
The Ice King cometh.
In the cold when out alone,
The Ice King cometh.
In blackest pitch and brightest day,
The Ice King cometh.
Say his name or say it not,
The Ice King cometh.
A final walk on winter’s way,
When the Ice King cometh.
And now he comes for me she thought, too weak to give even the feeblest of resistance. She slipped beneath the gently rising darkness, cloaked beneath the Winter Reaper’s deathly cowl; she slept.
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She awoke unexpectedly, in as much as she had never expected to awake at all. Before she had even opened her eyes she felt the warmth against her hide. The heat flowed through her as if it were the essence of life itself, nourishing and coaxing and coaxing and nourishing all that was within her that longed to be returned to the soil.
When she finally felt replenished enough, she opened one eye the merest of cracks, though through that most insubstantial of openings the expected flood of light did not flow. Shocked by the blackness around her, Desideria started, and as she did so, so did the thing that lay by her side. Turning her head towards her captor, she hissed. The creature did nothing more than lay its heavy body against hers, and a voice of gravel gave out a single utterance.
“Sleep.”
As her modicum of resistance faded, she did as she was bid.
Even in the deepest, darkest depths of winter, the coming of a new dawn in the Wythenwood was heralded by a chorus of birdsong both rich and full. Some birds chittered, while others chirruped, screeched, squawked and cooed. It was to this cacophony of avian rapture that Desideria awoke.
The blinding rays of the winter sun stabbed through the haphazard roof of the den like a thousand shards of glimmering ice, crossing one another in an endlessly mesmerizing duel. The scent of life hung in the air; it was the smell of a beast, but not one of which she knew. Another more worrying stench was also apparent—the smell of meat beginning to spoil.
As her eyes adjusted to the sudden influx of light, she saw the entrance to the den. Beyond the entrance she saw an azure so pristine it seemed that, if a hawk or eagle were to soar to the heights of the stratosphere with single-minded intent, then the sky would crack and shatter, bringing forth a rain of crystal and diamond. And beneath that most singular of skies stood the creature.
From the point of its snout to the tip of its tail the creature was near on five strides in length; it would have seemed almost dog-like if it had not been for the thick, black horizontal stripes that covered the rear of its muscular body. More curious still, a pouch of skin clung tightly to its underbelly. Clenched in its jaws was a rabbit.
Why do you need that, my curious friend? Why have you kept me alive? If I were you, I would not have kept me alive, for it is cold and my meat will not spoil, yet with every moment I live without food my body will become thinner, until I am nothing but skin and bone. So, what’s your game, my strange looking friend?
What if…?
No, I will not allow such a foolish thought space within my head. You are no friend of mine.
Desideria eyed the creature with curious suspicion as it softly padded closer and closer. The continual ache that ebbed and flowed along her injured leg informed her that any hope of escape was forlorn. Like it or not, her curiosity would soon be appeased. Then came a soft thunk as the body of the rabbit tumbled onto a bed of velveteen snow, only inches from where she lay. Keep me alive for when food is scarce? I think not, my friend. In all the Wythenwood, where in these forsaken months so much lay firmly within the Ice King’s deathly grip, there was little that could match the utter coldness that emanated from the stare Desideria gave her savior, captor and predator.
“Sadness begets joy and from death comes life, so take joy from the sadness that has befallen this little creature and take life from its death.” The creature sighed a sigh of world-weariness untold, as if all the sadness in all the world pressed down upon him. With his head between his paws and his ears drooping sullenly, he lay down on his belly with his eyes to the beautiful, white, life-draining carpet of nothingness that blanketed the forest floor.
How could a creature already so peculiar make itself appear any odder? Yet here it was, growing more intriguing by the second, and to Desideria this strange, enigmatic creature that had strolled so nonchalantly into her life was an utter contrast to the surrounding world, for amongst the bleakness that stripped the green from the trees and caused many a bird to flee to warmer climes, it was the very embodiment of vivacity. Although its fur was somewhat bland, there was something within the creature, something that made questions want to burst from her lips; it felt like the worst of itches, desperate to be scratched. And so, she broke her silence.
“Why have you kept me alive?” Desideria croaked, her voice sore from lack of use. It had been a long time since she had been in company that she did not consider a meal.
The creature cocked its head to one side, seemingly pondering the question. As a small eternity seemed to tick by, Desideria could almost count the moments passing, as if they were the seeds of a dandelion clock being picked off, painstakingly, one by one. Madness, perhaps it is whispered the internal soliloquy that had been the she-lynx’s only companion throughout her many lonesome years, as she calculated both the advantages and many dangers that might befall one in thrall to a creature touched in the head.
“I do not keep you alive – you do that all by yourself. It is not I who keeps the heart in your chest beating away.” The creature spoke slowly and earnestly, as if each word had been chosen with the utmost care before being emitted by the rich huskiness of its voice.
Evasive, it seems. What could your game be, strange one? What could it be?
Its eyes do not avoid, and there is a sadness to him; earnest, I would say.
Shhh, fool.
The creature blinked a most questioning blink as Desideria appeared to flinch at her own internal conflict. Regaining her composure in less time than it would have taken him to blink once more, she continued to probe, looking for the juicy truth that lay beneath his deceitful hide.
“Why did you bring me in from the cold? Why did you give me food? Your clever tongue cannot deny that you did these things, so speak plainly and speak the truth.”
Puzzlement set upon the creature’s face as if the debris within the workings of his mind had been slowly picked apart, only to reveal another equally impassable obstacle beyond.
“Is it not obvious?” he replied.
No, my dear, it is not, for if I were you, I would not save me. Weak, injured and hungry I am of little threat, I do admit, yet strong and healthy I would be your match. I could kill you. I would kill you. Awake it may be a rather grand task, but when you sleep…
Desideria demonstrated her disagreement with cold silence and a stone-eyed glare. With a sigh, as if he were about to explain the ways of the world to an infant, the creature dug his way into his leafy bedding and in his gravel-laden tones began to speak.
“It is really very simple – that’s why I saw no need to explain my actions – yet as it’s an explanation that you want then an explanation you shall have.
As I walked along by the edge of the glade where I first saw you lying upon the snow, I initially thought that the Winter Reaper had already passed your way. And so, I walked towards you slowly but carefully, worried that whatever fate had befallen you might still be my own undoing. Despite my concerns it seemed ungrateful to refuse the meal that the Wythenwood had offered up to me, and so as not to incur the wrath of Great Oak I continued to the banquet laid out before me.”
A banquet is what he considers me, is it? How honest this strange one is, yet are not the tastiest of falsehoods those that are garnished with the truth? Let him think me gulled, let him drop his guard…
A banquet is what he considered me when he thought I was dead…
Then he considered, now he considers; what little difference your pedantry makes, fool. A supper we shall still become.
Suddenly aware of Desideria’s peculiar reverie, the creature paused mid-speech, and as the acute silence fell upon the lynx’s pointed ears like the cadence of a song left hanging in the air, incomplete, her eyes rolled up to meet his as a signal for him to continue.
“As I approached, I saw that, although the Ice King was indeed near – so near in fact that it was as if I could feel his frozen breath upon the back of my neck and his shadow blocking out the sun above, bleeding away even the merest hint of warmth – despite this he was still yet to lay his final bitter touch upon your cheek. And so, I thought, If I were you, I would want someone to help me, I would want someone to take pity upon me and show that little warmth that would stay the Winter Reaper’s hand. So, I did as I would want done unto myself.”
Here it is, the tasty morsel, and what a beauty it is. Even his admission that he at first saw me as a meal cannot hide such a falsehood. You’re very clever, aren’t you, my odd-looking friend? But not as clever as perhaps you think. I am not one who falls for lies or tricks, no matter how cunning they may be or how earnest they may seem.
But we fell for one before, did we not?
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DO NOT SPEAK OF THAT! ONCE IS ONCE AND NEVER AGAIN, YOU IGNORANT FOOL. IF IT WEREN’T FOR MY LEG, I WOULD TEAR OUT HIS THROAT THIS VERY INSTANT JUST SO ANOTHER WORD OF A LIE COULD NOT PASS HIS LIPS.
The creature stared at Desideria as she curled her lip and raised her hackles, before a streak of pain torpedoed up her leg, reminding her of her current state of invalidity. Then, remembering where she was and who she accompanied, she let her muscles relax once more.
“Beg my pardon, I did not mean to startle you, my friend. It is just that my leg is giving me some discomfort.” The bizarrely striped hulk of a beast blinked his earnest blink and then, in an instant, all thought of the matter appeared to pass from his face.
Now is not the time, but when I am stronger.
But how strong is he? What can this creature do? What is he capable of? You haven’t thought of that, have you? Do you really want to make an enemy of him?
He is already our enemy, fool.
“What are you? You are not like any creature I have seen before.” Desideria could barely keep the suspicion from her voice as she hissed the words, both low and soft.
“That is a question I have asked many times myself, yet it seems that the answer is not so easy to find. I eat meat, so I am not any of the creatures who forage the forest floor or chew upon plants and roots. I am not a bird for I cannot fly; I cannot climb so I am not a cat, yet I’m bigger than a dog and smaller than a bear. I have a pouch like a kangaroo, yet I cannot jump. What I am is as much a mystery to me as it is to you. What I can tell you is who I am.”
Again, it came to Desideria, that feeling of enrapture; it was as if this creature had wrought a spell around himself, a spell that shimmered like a thousand strands of spider-silk lit by the fires of a thousand stars, both delicate yet wholly captivating, ensnaring any fly foolhardy enough to venture close. Despite her reservations, despite her fears, she could not help but find herself ensnared by his song of prose, and so with the minutest of gestures, as if frightened to tear the shimmering web and break the spell, she beckoned him to continue.
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