Page 42 of Thistle Thorns

As Aunt Hyacinth released her son with a slight shove, charging her iron cuffs, Otter did the same, twisting to face the massive tree. Beside me, Grandmother raked her iron cuffs against each other, activating the runes, and slapped her glowing hands together in front of her. Otter had performed a similar movement, and two crackling ropes of battle magic shot across the valley and detonated into the careening tree.

The tree burst into a reddish confetti of wood pulp that fluttered down like cherry blossom petals shaken loose by a spring breeze. Our victory was short-lived, for whatever it was attacking Aunt Hyacinth was now going after Otter.

Black snakes, or maybe they were mud-covered roots, shot out of the rising water and wrapped around anything within reach. Foraging bag straps, legs, Otter’s long hair, Aunt Hyacinth’s scarf, waists, arms. Grandmother cursed when the same nefarious black tentacles shot out at the water at us, flinging up a magic barrier of glittering green light.

When the black tentacle-roots burst wetly like overstuffed sausages and sprayed the shield with bluish sap, Grandmother bellowed, “Silver mallaithe tree!”

Fae. It was a fae hunting tree. In the mortal realm.

Scraping my cuffs against each other, the runes flared golden-green as battle magic surged up my hands.

I abandoned the shield for Grandmother to maintain alone so I could raise the mound of earth out of the water. Mallaithe trees were bad. Very bad. Semi-sentient and fully ambulatory, they had tentacle-like roots in which to snatch up deer or unsuspecting travelers or any prey they deemed worthy of devouring. The silver maple variety resembled girl-child tree spirits, unassuming and innocent, until the ground exploded with thick black roots that could swallow an entire cottage. Those mallaithe trees preferred water sources, swimming about like octopi when the water was deep enough, their roots hunting like alligators or boa constrictors.

The last thing we needed was for one of them to wrap around our ankle and yank us off-balance.

Across the valley-turned-pond, Otter and Aunt Hyacinth fought back-to-back as they tried, and failed, to get out of the water. On the top of the hill beyond them, Dad appeared dragging a wounded Uncle Badger, his arm slung over Dad’s shoulders and his head lolling to the side. A cord of yellow-green magic emanated from Dad’s hand, coiling around Uncle Badger’s shoulders and healing him as they dashed down the hill.

“Stay away from the water,” Grandmother shouted. “Mallaithe!”

“Heard,” Dad shouted back, but he didn’t divert their course. “Sluagh tailing us!”

“I thought those were a myth,” I whispered to Grandmother. She only gave me a grim shake of her head.

Soul-snatchers, the legends called them, though in reality they only caused frostbite with their touch, literally sucking the warmth and life out of your body the longer they kept contact.

Guessed Grandmother had been right after all to suspect there might be fae monsters lurking within Cedar Haven forest’s darker parts. But why had they surfaced now?

Behind Dad and Uncle Badger, shifting shapes of black smoke swarmed the rise where they had just been. They alternated between the forms of emaciated hounds or spectral men and women with long hair and screaming mouths, though no sound came out. As half of them poured down the steep hill in pursuit, the other half condensed into a flock of blackbirds and took to the sky.

They were going to funnel into the valley where my family was trapped in the water.

I immediately abandoned my battle magic, the runes on my cuffs snuffing out, and yanked open my foraging bag.

“Meadow!” Grandmother exclaimed, grunting as the mallaithe roots lashed against her shield. “Reactivate your cuffs this instant!”

“I’ve got an idea!” And I had to seem weak in order for it to work, for mallaithe were like any other predator—they went for the easy kill first. That meant no battle magic.

“This is no time to mess around in your bag!”

I didn’t waste time glaring. What did she think I was doing? Rooting around for smelling salts in case one of us swooned from fright?

“Meadow!”

Thistle thorns, the water was already up to our ankles and rising even faster than before.

Ha-cha! My fingers closed around the vial I sought, and I yanked the pink granules out of my bag. Unscrewing the top, I dumped the entire amount into my palm and enclosed it in my fist. “Drop the shield!”

“Are you insane? Meadow, whatever this is, it’s here for you! I’m not—”

“Do it,” I shouted, the power in my voice startling her. Then I stole a second to ground myself, to focus on my target.

The green sphere encasing us vanished, and I whispered,

“Quick as a rabbit, one, two, three.

Speed my steps to keep me free,”

and shot off across the water.

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