Page 4 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

A gentle breeze at her back urged her forward, and the grass caressed her ankles almost as if to comfort her:“You’re safe here.”

She’d been right—the thicketwassentient. As she stood at its opening, the whole thing expanded and contracted. Breathing. A deep inhale, then a long, slow exhale. She tried to match its cadence with her own breath and found that her lungs felt more open than ever before.

“It likes you.” A voice, quiet and rough like wind through dry leaves, drifted from inside the knot of branches. “Come in, girl, we haven’t got all night.”

Before she could talk herself out of it, Aisling tied Briar’s leash to a thick branch and then ducked inside. In the light from her lantern that she held outstretched ahead of her, she found a tunnel lined with thorns and withered vines. It was long—much longer than it should have been. Aisling was forced to crouch lower and lower as she pressed forward, eventually dropping to her hands and knees to crawl the final few feet before it opened up to a small room of sorts. Here, she could at least sit up straight.

Leaning against a log, almost part of the log herself, was a small, wizened female, bent with age. The time that consumed the forest also showed on her face, which was lined with deep creases and wrinkles. Her long, gray hair was woven back in a tangled braid that she kept slung over oneshoulder.

“So,” she said with a grim smile. “We meet at last.”

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Nothing about her seemed at all familiar to Aisling, not even calling to mind any of her mother’s tales.

“Of course not, don’t be silly.” The female dismissed her with a wave of her hand. When she moved, her cloak of thick, rough-spun brown wool moved stiffly with her and several leaves and twigs fell from its sleeve. “Come closer and let me have a look at you.”

The tiny being that had led Aisling there was standing beside the old faerie, grinning proudly. Two rows of sharp, pointed teeth that fit together like puzzle pieces glinted in the lantern’s light. When Aisling scooted closer, she made a chittering sound and hopped up into the brambles overhead.

“Thank you,” Aisling called after her.

“Don’t bother,” the female chided. “She doesn’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“What is she?”

“A tree sprite.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Aisling nearly felt stupid for asking. She reached up with a gnarled hand to grasp Aisling’s chin, turning her head this way and that. Studying her. “Tell me your name.”

“Aisling.”

“Aisling.” She tasted the name like wine. “Now, explain to me how it is you know of our kind. You appear quite undaunted by the events that led you here.”

“My mother told me stories.” Aisling considered her words carefully, not overly keen on delving too deep into her childhood with the faerie. “She had encounters with the Fae.”

The female hummed. “Pleasant encounters?” When Aisling nodded, she posited, “She was lucky then.”

“Who are you?” Of all the questions racing through Aisling’s mind, this was the most pressing, and also the most dangerous. The Fae didn’t often take kindly to humans asking after their identity. She was sure that’s what this female was: a faerie of one sort or another.

“They call me the Shadowwood Mother.” She released Aisling’s chin and turned to dig through a mess of brittle papers scattered on the ground around her. “And we callyouthe Red Woman.”

Aisling frowned, unsure of what to make of the statement. “I’m sorry?”

The Shadowwood Mother grumbled to herself as she searched the pile, picking up papers at random before tossing them aside again. Finally, she seemed to find what she was looking for half-buried under a clump of leaves. She shook it clean, then held it into the light of the lantern that Aisling had hung from a branch. They both leaned in close to peer at the markings on the page. The words were inked in tight black script, vertical rather than horizontal. Aisling squinted at it, but the text was hardly intelligible.

“This,” the Shadowwood Mother said, “is your prophecy.”

“Mywhat?”

The old faerie flashed her an irritated look. “Are you going to let me read it to you or are you going to continue interrupting me with useless questions? Now, be quiet and listen.”

Aisling sat back on her heels and chewed the inside of her cheek. When the Shadowwood Mother cleared her throat to speak, she listened intently as the faerie recited the words:

Across realms blackened and broken when war claims the land,

A prophecy long hidden, fate now demands:

Amidst bloodshed and darkness and winter’s bitter sting, the Red Woman will rise to bring revenant spring.

Affined to another, when three signs converge, She stands a beacon of hope to quell tempest’s surge.

With unwavering spirit through desolate night, She must face darkness unnamed, guided by celestial light.

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