They say there are thugs in the forest who have been around for decades. Armed with pistols and innocent disguises, they rob you blind, regardless of what you have. No one reaches the end of the road with a full pocket. These muggers are ruthless criminals without morals, showing no mercy and knowing nothing but violence and thievery.
I should know. I am one.
After the rumors had turned into legends and the legends into warnings, hardly anyone took the famed path anymore. It was becoming bare. Some days, I would sit up in a tree and watch the sun rise and set without a single soul passing by.
Today, however, was my lucky day.
At first glance, I was nothing more than a down-and-out Irish girl; pale, short, not at all threatening. I had tattered my clothes, abandoned shoes and stockings, thrown my mess of orange hair into a boy's hat and carried a little pack over my shoulder like a wandering vagabond. That was a guise that fooled many a poor bloke. Like, for instance, this unfortunate fool who happened to be coming up the road right to me.
A fop, he was. I could tell just looking at him. His powdered wig and gold-trimmed coat were sprinkled with a glittering substance and his lips were painted red. I watched him wave his handkerchief at the driver (who was noticeably less-impressive looking than him) and the horse-drawn carriage slowly began to come to a stop.
The driver gave me a quick and unenthusiastic nod, which I mimicked in response.
"Girl." the voice of the dandy stated firmly. "Come a bit closer, won't you?"
I approached the carriage with feigned shyness, adjusting my pack. Inside, the painted-face duke was sitting cross-legged amongst a collection of bags and boxes.
He raised his eyebrows to me, taking in the sight of my small, disheveled frame. "You're awfully young to be traveling this road by yourself." he said with his nose in the air.
I nodded. "Yes, sir. I've been walking for nearly four miles now, sir."
He didn't answer, instead occupying himself with the underside of his fingernails.
"It's very dangerous, especially at night." I continued. "You know, with thieves and bandits about. Travelers walking through almost never reach the end."
The fop scoffed. "Then why are you even trying?" he asked smugly.
I gave a sad little smile and looked towards the dirt. "It's the only way I'll ever get home in time to see my mother before she…"
"…Before she what?…Well, what?"
"She's very sick, sir." I fluttered my lashes over big green eyes. Yes, it was a pity plea. Yes, it was a complete and utter lie.
And yes, it did work famously.
The man rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh. "You can sit on the back." he said, pointing a thumb behind him. "There should be enough room for you."
I grinned. Success. Eagerly, I jumped on the back of the carriage and slipped my pack off of my shoulder. The driver clicked his tongue and the horses jerked back into motion.
The first thing I always look at is the passenger. This man, all dolled up in his cosmetics and his fancy clothes, must come from a great sum of money. And all those boxes and cases had to be his belongings. That was the second thing I noticed; the luggage on board. I could only imagine the riches that sat there before me, just a few feet away, waiting for me to take them.
A pistol rested snugly in my pack, amongst a length of rope and a butcher knife. Slowly and secretively, I slid my hand into the opening and felt the cold handle of the firearm against my fingertips. Bit by bit, I would curl my fingers around it.
A bit more grip now. That's it. Slowly, quietly. Fionualla, my girl, you're almost there…
"I guess we've proved them wrong, Eldred," the nobleman said to the driver with an arrogant chuckle. "We're already more than half way through, and no witches, no banshees, no ghosts."
My grip loosened and for a moment, I forgot what I was here to do.
"What was that?" I asked curiously, poking my head through the gap. The duke laughed and waved a limp-wristed hand in my direction. "You can't tell me you don't know." he said in disbelief. "If you're taking this path, you must have heard what everyone's saying."
I shook my head.
With a sigh of discontent, the fop rolled his eyes and adjusted himself comfortably in his seat. "Well," he said in a low whisper, looking from side to side shiftily. "A couple of men were walking through here about two weeks ago, heading to the villages on the other side. When they didn't show up, their familiars came looking for them. And you know what they found?"
"What?" I asked anxiously.
"Nothing." He gathered up the suspense for a very disappointing conclusion.
"But," he continued, jabbing a finger near to my face. "That night, when the search party was on their way home, they swore they heard a horrible howling. Not like a wolf, but like something not quite human at all. And one of the men, he said he heard some rumors."
My anxiety was now becoming suspicion. I narrowed my eyebrows, eager to hear more. But a pit in my stomach told me that I probably wasn't going to like what I was told.
"Some people back in the towns have been talking about an old hag," he continued. "Some old banshee woman who eats the men she kidnaps."
That isn't true…
I felt my cheeks turning hot.
"They say she has a daughter," he continued. "Some murdered ghost the woman enslaved as her servant."
No, that isn't right. It's a lie.
"Witches, both of them. Evil and disgusting."
I was furious. I wanted to prove all those people wrong.
I didn't long to hear any more of that. This man had offended me, and that was the biggest mistake he would ever make in his lifetime.
Without thinking, I reached into my pack and swiftly grabbed the handle of my gun. It was loaded and ready to fire. With a single finger on the trigger, I pointed it straight at the prissy-man's head and aimed for his left temple. His eyes widened three times their natural size, but not just with fear. Somewhere in the swirling brown and hazel clouds, I saw a tiny glimmer of realization.
"You're the girl." he said with a hard swallow. His voice faltered nervously. "You're the witch. The monster."
I shook my head, all the while keeping my eyes locked tightly on him. "No." I said, squeezing my white-knuckled hand tightly. "I'm just a delinquent."
And then something happened that I really did not expect. It was something I never saw from any of my former victims, let alone ones as feminine and frail-looking as this poor sap. He was laughing. Laughing! A forest tramp was holding a loaded pistol to his head and he was wasting his time just chuckling away!
This wasn't a moment of hilarity, however. This was a smug giggle this man had, and it was that arrogance that kept me from pulling the trigger right away.
His laughter subsided and left a red-cheeked smile with glittering eyes. "You poor thing," he said pompously. "So little fire for such talk. Look at you here! A little witch monster, whoring around in the forest looking for someone to take home for dinner."
My hands began to shake, both with anger and a strange feeling of helplessness. I wanted to put the bullet right into this bloke's skull, but I couldn't do it. Something about the confidence in his voice made me too weak to make my next move.
"And I've heard of your mother as well." he continued. "Too ugly to show her face, she sits in the dark and deals out false prophecies to anyone stupid enough to believe her."
No, my mother is beautiful. You're lying. My mother is perfect.
"So she sends out her little whore of a daughter to do the rest of the work. She abuses you and neglects you, doesn't she?"
She would never. Mother loves me.
"You're a slave to her."
No. She's my family. She's my best friend.
"A slut with a gun, that's all you are. A disease infested little-"
His last words were drowned by an ear-splitting 'bang'. My hand, which was pale and trembling, still squeezed down hard on the trigger even after the smoke began to rise. The fluid sensation of warm, fresh blood on my cheeks was the only thing reminding me that I still could feel, because the rest of me instantly became numb.
The horses went into convulsions of shock and stopped in the center of the road, kicking and making all sorts of noise. The driver did not move nor speak. Pushing the dead and mutilated body of the fop out of my way, I hastily jumped through the window and crawled out onto the front of the carriage.
The driver's face was whiter than my own. His eyes stared forward in terror before slowly wandering to me and then to the gun in my hand. I crouched down beside him, pistol near to his face, and spoke in a harsh, breathless whisper.
"Forget this." I ordered him. "I want you to turn around and go back where you came from and I'll do the same, you understand?"
He shook his head without a moment's hesitation. I would not trust this man with my life or even my time, but there is one thing I've learned in my eighteen years of life.
And that's this; a threatened man is an honest one.