"…But no matter how fast she went, the good lady could not lose that stranger driving the coach behind her! The more she had her own driver speed up, the more hotly this man pursued her down that dark, lonely country road. The furious pounding of horse's hooves roared through the night, as did the ghastly creaking of the other coach's axle like an unhinged spirit. At last, the stranger cried out to her to pull over… and upon turning around, that's when the lady realized this man meant her no harm, but rather was attempting to warn her…"
"Warn her of what, D'Artagnan?" Porthos gasped. Aramis was leaning forward on his log, eyes wide as saucers; and though Athos faced in the opposite direction, his knees could be heard knocking vehemently. Only Albert appeared unfazed, but he politely gave D'Artagnan his full, undivided attention.
A sinister grin wreathed across D'Artagnan's features, accentuated by the blaze of the crackling flame. "Why, of the blood-thirsty, axe-wielding maniac hiding in the trunk of her carriage, from whence he started to rise! But alas, her first scream was her last ever."
Aramis emitted a shaky sigh, and rubbed the back of his sweat-coated neck. "D'Artagnan, I'm afraid I must object to having the fair object of your tale the victim of such grisly circumstances."
The brunette shrugged in response. "Well, at least in my last story about the murderer with the hook for a hand, both the lady and her gentleman-"
"You know very well that's not my point."
"Gadzooks," exclaimed Porthos, looking white as a sheet, "but that was an ingenious twist, the bloody hook left mysteriously dangling on the door of their parked coach! Did this story happen in this very area like that one, D'Artagnan?"
"Oh, yes," D'Artagnan replied casually.
He turned to their smallest comrade. "What's up, Albert? I noticed you weren't very engaged in either story."
"Hmm? Oh!" Albert quickly shook his head. "I beg your pardon, dear D'Artagnan. On the contrary, I very much enjoyed your stories! They were truly well-told and full of suspense, don't get me wrong." He chuckled sheepishly. "It's just that, well, you know I'm not exactly scared by much. Especially if it is merely fiction."
"Ah, but how do you know they didn't actually happen, hmm?" D'Artagnan challenged.
Athos nodded, sounding less-than-convinced himself. "He's got a point, Albert!"
Smiling, Albert said, "Just a hunch. And don't encourage them, D'Artagnan, or they'll never get any sleep tonight. Now- I think it is somebody else's turn to tell a scary story."
"Thank you for volunteering, Albert!" D'Artagnan thrust the velvet pouch into the blonde's hands.
"Oh... well, all right; I'll give it a shot. Let's see… I think I've got one." Albert reached into the bag, and scooped out a fistful of sand. But before he could toss it onto the fire, as per their little ritual of the night, D'Artagnan stopped him, protesting, "Say it first, Albert. You've got to say it!"
Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Albert said, "Oh, very well." He cleared his throat and dramatically intoned, "Submitted for the approval of my fellow Musketeers, I call this story-"
"Half a minute! The fire's getting low," interrupted Aramis. "And we've run out of wood. Porthos, I told you you should've brought back more."
But Porthos was already shaking his head. "If you think I'm going back out into those dark woods, you're mad!"
"For shame, Porthos!" D'Artagnan cried, half-amused, half-exasperated. "A Musketeer, much less one whom they call the Hercules of France, afraid of a figment of imagination!"
"Now, a Gascon is unmatched in mettle," Albert chimed in, winking at the others, "is that not so, D'Artagnan?"
D'Artagnan beamed proudly.
With that, Albert handed him the axe. "Thank you for volunteering," he said, hardly able to keep a straight face. "As fearless leader, you've got to set a good example!"
The others laughed. D'Artagnan visibly wilted, but he was stuck for it.
"You're well-armed, my friend," Albert added. "I believe anybody would think twice about crossing paths with you."
"Hmph! A swordsman like me hardly needs any additional weapon," scoffed D'Artagnan. And off he set, axe over his shoulder.
Albert called after him, "I'll have a special treat waiting when you return."
"What's that?" Aramis inquired.
"A new delicacy I've created. You sandwich a roasted marshmallow and some chocolate between two graham crackers, let the heat soften them to the perfect texture, and voila!"
The Musketeers looked delighted. "What an idea, Albert!" Porthos exclaimed. "But… chocolate is scarce is France. How did you-"
"Oh," Albert smiled, "I have my ways."
Whistling, he went to his horse, and retrieved the ingredients from his saddle-bag. "That reminds me, gentlemen. Before we departed for our leave this morning, I had finished an invention for Captain Treville to present to the King for the upcoming ball- I call it a chocolate fountain! I was thinking how His Majesty loves both chocolate and strawberries, and this is the perfect way to combine them…"
D'Artagnan was venturing deeper into the forest. He cast nervous eyes all about him, jumping at every hoot, occasional howl, and crunch of leaves beneath his feet. "Why didn't I think to bring a lantern? Well, at least the moon is bright tonight." He stopped at a random tree, and began to chop.
Not even a minute later, he got the distinct impression that he was being watched. There was no particular reason to feel this way, but intuition was a healthy branch of fear, a cousin of caution. Pausing in his labor, he looked around, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. "S'blood, D'Artagnan, you're being ridiculous!" he scolded himself. "It's only your imagination! The others won't come along and find you strung up by your own remains, or anything."
He resumed chopping, but no matter how he tried to focus on his task-at-hand, the feeling continued to haunt him. He did his utmost to ignore it. "You're a man, not a mouse," he repeated, striking into the trunk with each chanting of this mantra.
A loud hiss erupted. Shrieking, D'Artagnan dropped the axe and jerked his head up. A pair of piercing green eyes narrowed down at him from three branches up. The rest of the creature, practically invisible against the backdrop of night, continued to growl and hiss.
"A cat… a black cat." D'Artagnan heaved a sigh, pressing a hand against his chest. He glared right back at those emerald orbs, noticing its tail swishing. "See here, what's the idea of sneaking up on me like that?" he inanely demanded. "Be off with you!"
With a ferocious Mrowrrr! the cat pounced, claws and teeth bared, forcing another yelp from the Musketeer.
"Get off! Off, I say!" cried D'Artagnan, flailing wildly, as the creature stuck to his tabard like a scratching post. "Ow!"
In the time it took him to wince, the weight of the cat vanished. Disoriented, his sights suddenly fell upon a small girl standing in front of him.
A girl with raven-black hair and large green eyes. She scowled up at him.
"What? Who are you? What's a child doing out here at this time of night? And where'd that blasted cat go?"
The child, who appeared no older than nine or ten, spoke. "But I'm not alone! I was just holding you off until my sis arrived. Better watch out, mister, because you've been bad! She's gonna punish you!"
"What the devil are you on about, young lady? And you should know better than to talk back to your elders!"
A breeze stirred past, lightly rustling the blood-red cloak the child wore. D'Artagnan shivered, though not from cold. Something very strange was going on here.
"Thank you, Winnie. I'll take over now." The other voice appeared to come from out of nowhere too, prompting yet another cry from D'Artagnan; immediately, he whirled about to see the young woman standing there, smiling coolly. A fall of curly, flaming-red hair draped around high cheekbones. Her chin was not entirely pointy, but sharply defined. She inhaled as she keenly surveyed D'Artagnan, like a predator sizing up its meal. "Monsieur, I'll have you know that you are trespassing on our land. That, however, I am willing to forgive. But hacking away at a helpless tree with impunity… well, that's another matter."
Maybe it was the brilliant shade of her own green eyes, but D'Artagnan swore they seemed to glow.
"Madam, in faith, I implore your pardon. I had no idea these trees were yours." The Musketeer delicately bowed, doffing his hat. His every instinct was screaming at him to get out of there, but if he had indeed offended this strange woman, the wisest course of action would be to admit to being in the wrong and apologize. It was the way of the gentleman, not the coward.
"My trees? Oh, no, stranger. The trees belong to nobody. They are the sacred children of the earth. But I am their protector. You do not appreciate that, out of all of Mother Nature's creations, the trees are the most vulnerable. Unlike man, beast, and even the tiniest of lifeforms, they have no means of protecting themselves. They can neither fight nor flee."
"This is all very interesting, madam, but I really must be going now." D'Artagnan made no move to retrieve his fallen axe, instead edging further and further away from this crazy- er, highly-sensitive female.
But the woman was having none of that. "Don't patronize me, mortal! It's obvious that you have no respect for nature!"
"Now, that's not fair," D'Artagnan protested, holding up his hands. "I have a very good friend who loves nature!"
"Don't patronize us, mortal!" the little girl, Winnie, repeated. She delivered a sharp kick to his shin.
The woman placed a hand on her sister's shoulder. Winnie obediently returned to her side, and blew D'Artagnan a raspberry.
"Look here, both of you!" exploded D'Artagnan, rubbing the bruise that had already begun to form. He puffed out his chest. "Do either of you know who I am? I am Charles D'Artagnan of the Musketeers of His Majesty King Louis XIII! To assault a Musketeer is an offense to the crown itself! Do you know the consequences for such conduct? Just because you're the fairer sex, don't think I'll stand for this!"
The woman's glare didn't waver. "I recognize the uniform of the King's Musketeers, Monsieur D'Artagnan. But I don't recognize your authority if you insist on abusing it!"
"What? What do you mean?"
"You are arrogant and blind, like so many of your kind. You think you're above nature! Nature gives us so much, and yet humans refuse to do their duty to her!"
"My duty, good lady," came the reply in tightly controlled tones, "is to the King and to the denizens of France."
"And ours is to this forest! We are loyal subjects of the King, my friend, but we serve the forest above all." The woman gestured around them. "Contrary to ignorant belief, just because the trees are still does not mean they don't speak and feel, but so few even try to understand them. But we do! And right now, the suffering and pain of this poor soul you attacked cries out to me! You have only to listen, and you will hear it."
Her irises began to swirl with soft tones of blue, pink, and green, and D'Artagnan was too struck with terror to even gasp. "If you spent but a day in a position of sheer helplessness, perhaps you would gain an idea of what I mean. I shall teach you a lesson and avenge the one you've wronged!" She began to chant in a strange language, which sounded to D'Artagnan like some kind of warped Latin. The words came faster and faster, D'Artagnan frozen like a poor deer in a flood of light. He began to feel very lightheaded…
"NO!" And suddenly, Albert was there, tackling his friend out of harm's way. A great cloud of purple dust enveloped the minute Musketeer, just as D'Artagnan fell to the ground-
D'Artagnan's horrified cry was joined by their comrades, whose arrival he only just became aware of.
"Oh, adder's fork!" cursed the woman.
After what seemed like forever, the smoke began to clear. Albert was gone, save his uniform, which lay in a rumpled heap on the forest floor.
"ALBERT!" the four men screamed again.
D'Artagnan was the first to react. He whipped around to face the woman, a glint of moonlight touching steel as he unsheathed his sword. "What did you do to him, you she-devil?"
"Lord! Who is this woman?" Aramis hoarsely exclaimed.
The woman held up her hands, the first sign of submission she demonstrated. "Gentlemen, upon my word, your friend is in no danger! Please, allow me to explain!"
"Listen to her!" Winnie likewise begged, having dove behind her sister's cloak.
D'Artagnan snarled, but lowered his sword. "Very well, but only for the child's sake. Speak, vile wench, and no tricks!"
"I am the witch Cordelia, and this is my sister and apprentice Winnifred. We are the guardians of this forest, sworn to protect all life within it. I intended to punish you for attempting to chop down this tree, Monsieur D'Artagnan, by giving you a taste of what it's like to be so vulnerable and defenseless. I didn't foresee your friend interfering just as the spell completed itself; that was incredibly brave of him, especially considering he had no idea what I was going to do." Cordelia looked shaken. "I've never seen anything like it."
"But where is Albert?" Porthos demanded.
"As I said, he is fine. I am a defender and preserver of life; I never use my magic to deliver true harm, not even to the most wicked of folk."
There was a muffled sound, a mixture of snuffling, gurgles, and coos. The heap of clothing that belonged to Albert was moving. A tiny hand emerged, followed by another. Then, a tiny head that hosted a modicum of soft, slightly curly blond.
The baby crawled out, and began to eagerly move about his surroundings as though experiencing the world for the very first time. Suddenly, he stopped and looked up at all the gaping adults, sky-blue eyes alight with curiosity. "Ah?"
"Is that…"
"Could it be?"
"Albert!" came the third simultaneous exclamation.
To Be Continued…