There was grass in her mouth. It was the first conscious thought that came to Emma as she lay face down on the ground, and then, slowly, other thoughts began to return. The cops yelling for her to stop. The pain in her chest as she sucked in air greedily. The sound of her panicked breathing seeming to echo off the units like some strange drum. The feeling of air rushing past her face as she fell into something shifting and endless.
She bolted upright, unfazed by the lingering pain in her legs and chest. Green eyes widened as she turned in place, hands hanging disbelieving at her sides as she took in the view of swaying grass bordered by a distant line of trees. No storage units, and no cops in sight. She couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled out of her throat, nor could she stop it from turning into a slightly more frightened version of itself a few moments later. Where the hell was she? Had she stepped into some kind of portal, or time-warp? Her eyes darted skyward, suddenly curious if there was a lingering, swirling vortex of light hovering above her that she hadn't yet noticed, but the sky was blue and empty and beautiful.
She walked forward slowly, aiming for the tree line in the distance. There was an undercurrent of fear running through her mind, and though she didn't want to overly acknowledge it, it did seem like a good idea to get out of the open. She focused on that single thought, getting to the trees, letting it crowd out any other considerations trying to nudge forward. When she got to the trees, then she would move onto the next thought.
It went like that for some time, first the tree line, then the farther tree, and then the tree beyond that. There was nothing but trees, and dirt, and rocks and twigs for as far as she could see. Maybe she should have stayed in the goddamn meadow. Plopping down at the base of yet another tree, Emma dropped her head into her hands and wondered what the hell she had gotten herself into. She'd run away from the group home (not completely out of the ordinary for her, she'd admit), fled from cops (it's been done once or twice), and jumped into a mysterious portal that a glowing bean opened (that was a new one). A trill of fear raced up her spine, and alongside it, a tingle of excitement. She had no idea where she was, but she did know that there was no Kevin, and that was fantastic. She got up, brushing her jeans off, and was immediately made aware of how hungry she was as her stomach rumbled loudly. Great. Well, seeing as there weren't any giant portals looming nearby, it didn't seem that there was anything to be done for it other than to keep moving and hope she found a town, or some food. She stamped down the wave of doubt that welled up in her mind. This place didn't look so bad. It couldn't be worse than home.
After several more hours of trudging through the forest, Emma found herself breaking through the trees into occasional pockets of open sky and wildflowers, the trees above her loosening their canopy to allow passage of fresh air and daylight. Taking a moment to revel in the feel of the sun warming her skin, she pressed her back into the wildflower strewn grass, giving her aching legs a much needed rest.
When she opened her eyes, it was growing dark, and she shot upwards full of nervous energy. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Her body had definitely needed the rest, but she had been hoping to find a town, or farm, or something before night fell. It wasn't that Emma hadn't spent plenty of nights alone, unsure of where or what her next step would be- she was familiar with that queasy feeling of uncertainty. It was the fact that her body, far better rested than before, had noticed a change in her surroundings. Whether it was the coming dusk, she didn't know, but the meadow was still, where before there had been songbirds flitting among the grasses, pulling seeds from the bowed heads. The treetops had been rife with the scampering of squirrels as they leaped from branch to branch. Now, everything was silent, and even the air seemed to hold in it a dead weight. Heart pounding, Emma hurried to the other side of the small clearing, hoping the cover of the sturdy trees would clear her mind.
She had no sooner reached the tree then a great commotion began in the distance. Looking back beyond the clearing, the canopy of the trees seemed to heave, as if a giant hand had gathered them like a bouquet of flowers and was trying to rip them from the ground. Emma's face tensed with fear, watching as the disturbance slowly came nearer, leaving the faint shuddering of branches behind. She knew that whatever it was, she needed to leave, needed to get as far away as possible, but her legs were frozen, and her eyes were fixated on the darkening clearing. Her sense of self-preservation finally came back to her, but with just enough time for concealment behind a large tree trunk, her eyes peering cautiously around its edge. Whatever was making its way through the forest had finally reached the small clearing, and Emma watched as trunks and branches strained against something large pushing through the tightly knit forest.
Emma could hear her heart drop into her stomach, and her fingers dug tightly into bark. She knew, suddenly, without any doubt, that wherever she was, it was far from Minnesota. Lumbering into the clearing was something akin to a human, if only because it walked upright and two massive arms hung at its sides, but that is where the similarities ended. The beast was enormous, easily four times the height of Emma, and its skin was the dusty grey of something left to mildew. It wore some sort of leather loincloth about its waist, and as it stepped into the clearing, Emma heard the rattle of bones clattering about its thighs. A wave of crippling nausea came over her, and she had never felt the need to run so greatly in her entire life. Her feet, however, may as well have been stone. Her breathing had slowed instinctively, as if her body knew, even if her brain didn't, that silence was paramount. She counted her breaths as the great beast shambled into the clearing, easily lifting its barrel-like legs, only to drop them with a shuddering crash. The sickening thought came to mind that only moments before, she had been lying where that thing now stood. Definitely not Minnesota anymore.
The beast seemed disinclined to choose a direction, as if it were confused by the small pocket of meadow in the woods, and it merely swung its head widely, casting about for an incentive that would drive it forward. Emma held her breath as she watched its corded neck swivel in her direction, knowing that in seconds she would be getting a detailed look at the face of a monster. It was only a quick impression, because Emma's feet, under some directive other than her own, had started to run—the brief flash of clouded over, white eyes and a reptilian, flattened nose spurring her onward. It was the teeth, however, that were caught in her mind's eye, yellow and wicked, they angled wildly up from red gums, the hot breath of the beast passing easily between them.
Emma couldn't hear her heart anymore, for everything had been drowned out by the deafening roar of whatever stood behind her in the clearing, and even as her feet fairly flew over the root covered ground, she knew that she had no chance of outrunning it. Her thoughts flashed briefly back to Minnesota, to Massachusetts, to all of the states and families before that—to that first family that had adopted her and given her a name, only to abandon her—and Emma realized, she would die without ever having found a home. Suddenly, something latched onto her shirt, yanking her roughly to the side, and before she could even focus or think, a gloved hand was clasped painfully against her mouth, and the clammy warmth of someone's breath was at her ear.
"If you value your life," it hissed, barely audible, "hold your tongue."
While Emma didn't much enjoy being told what to do, she valued her life quite highly, and was silent, her eyes frantically watching from over the top of a large outcropping she had been pulled behind. Whoever this person was, the more immediate concern was most certainly the monster barreling through the trees.
At that moment, the beast burst into view, the cracking of branches and falling debris stilling as it stopped and swiveled its head from side to side, punctuating the motion with less thunderous, but still terrifying, grunts that emanated from its chest.
Emma felt the hand tighten on her face, but for once she was content to keep her mouth shut. After several tense moments in which her captor barely seemed to breath, the monster lurched forward, its massive body making its way in the opposite direction of her hiding place. Neither the gloved hand on her mouth, nor the arm wrapped around her torso loosened until the disturbance to the forest was so far away that it could barely be seen.
Once she had her freedom, Emma whirled around, only to find that whoever had seized her was already out of arms reach, far quicker than she was. They had not, however, deserted her, and for that, Emma was grateful. She wasn't one to lean on others for help, but Emma was still trying to process what she had just seen, and was terrified of doing it alone. At the heart of the matter, she was still a sixteen year old, and she was frightened. Perhaps this person had answers for her.
"Who are you?"
The voice was high and lilting, the voice of a girl. Squinting her eyes in the vanishing light, Emma thought she could just make out a cascade of curls beneath the drape of the concealing hood. The girl's face, however, stayed bowed in shadow.
"My name is Emma." She found her voice was thick and coarse, laden with fear and unease.
The girl stepped forward quickly, her cloak and simple, woven clothing barely whispering against each other as her fingers tangled in the base of Emma's plaid shirt.
"Why are clothed so?"
Emma fought the urge to pull away from someone touching her, concentrating on the fact that this was the first, and only, person she had seen since falling through that portal. The girl was waiting for an answer, fingers tightening ever so perceptibly on the thin fabric. Emma didn't know what was the best course of action, lying, when she was obviously not from this place, or telling the truth and being thought crazy, or something worse. Instead, she settled on something in between, avoiding mention of the portal all together.
"I'm not sure. I went to sleep, and then I woke up here, in this strange place."
"Hmm," the girl thought, her fingers dropping as she finally raised her chin. "Perhaps you are a dream walker, and I shall find that you vanish into nothing when you wake."
"As far as I know, I'm not that talented," Emma muttered, studying the girl's face now that it was easily seen.
She had been right about the hair. Chestnut brown ringlets tumbled down to her neck, framing narrow and dainty features. Her lips were pressed into an uncertain line, but her brown eyes seemed gentle enough.
"Who are you?" Emma asked.
The girl tilted her head to the side and ignored the question, instead circling Emma as a wolf would its prey. Emma could hear only the barest of a disturbance as she set each foot against the ground. When she made her way back to facing Emma, her face was less wary, and she had shifted her hood to lie against her back.
"You may call me, Columbine."
~Five Years Later~
Perspiration dotted Emma's brow as she clung to the jagged, broken branches of the pine, every muscle in her body screaming as she fought against the urge to drop back to the ground and relieve her aching arms. Ahead, in the center of the road, she could see the prone body, cloak pooled around it, as if the person had collapsed from exhaustion. Emma closed her eyes, focusing on the gentle whisper of the wind twisting through the upper branches of the trees, the small bursts of birdsong from the brush. She listened, waiting for the tell-tale rattle of wagon wheels against the ill-used, flooded path. Even though it had only been minutes, to her body it felt as if she had been clinging to the side of the ancient pine for hours, her feet resting on the barest hints of broken branches. Columbine was always pushing her to be faster, stronger, sharper, so she clung stubbornly, waiting.
It wasn't long before a sigh of relief escaped Emma's lips as she heard the cargo wagon approaching from the distance. Stilling her body as best she could, she made the mad, tittering call of a catbird, alerting Columbine, though she was sure the girl would have already heard the wheels herself. Her cloak, a mottled brown, blended seamlessly with the trunk of the knotty pine, her blonde curls plaited neatly back against her head and tucked beneath its hood for concealment. Her eyes cast downward, she watched as the wagon drew closer, its laden bed eventually coming to a stop below her perch as the coachman eased back on the reins, bringing the two horses to a stop.
"Hey then, Delly," he called out to the man perched on the rear of the wagon, his purpose on the jaunt to watch for anyone approaching from behind. "You see that'n ahead in the path?"
The man in the back, younger than the greying coachman, turned his dark head to the forest road, taking in the still form that hadn't moved, save for the whisper of wind passing over its cloak. He dropped down to the ground and moved to stand next to the elderly man, his hand on the worn hilt of a sword.
"S'pose I should see what's about it, then." He said plainly, his hand still fingering the hilt of his weapon absentmindedly. Emma sensed that this man, while not a hardened warrior, was skilled enough with the blade. She was suddenly very glad to be the one perched in the tree. The one area in which Columbine far surpassed Emma was close range grappling, which was why she always played the bait and trigger, with Emma ready to see to any lose threads. She watched as the young man walked down the path ahead of the wagon, his eyes focused on the unconscious form.
"May be jus't'nother too late to the camp," the coachman called out, settling back against the hard wood of the backrest. "Perhaps not dead, just needing some food and water."
"Could be that," the other murmured, approaching Columbine slowly and warily, ever alert. His legs were tensed to leap backward as he reached down and rolled the body in the road, but the tautness left him when he saw the thin face of a young girl, a darkening bruise on her cheek. Taking his hand from the sword, he leaned closer, his ear coming to rest against her chest, searching for a heartbeat, so still was her breathing.
Emma grunted with a mixture of relief and pain as she dropped from the tree, her muscles screaming at the sudden activity, and yet lightened by the movement. Her feet landed neatly on the back of the wagon, and before the elderly man could even turn completely to see what had made the load suddenly shift, there was the icy hardness of steel at his throat, and a whispered voice in his ear.
"Move and you're dead, old man."
Emma wasn't going to slit his throat, of course. She didn't think she could bring herself to harm someone so drastically, though once or twice she had been forced to rap the hilt of her dagger smartly against a head or two, but he didn't know that, and if there was one thing Emma had learned perfectly from Columbine, it was how to appear more deadly than she was.
With her dagger pressed neatly against the coachman's tender throat, her eyes watched as Columbine's knife found a pulsing vein of its own to menace. The younger man had stilled immediately, his sword yanked from its sheath before he even realized what had happened and tossed aside. Emma was glad he didn't need more motivation to behave; Columbine was known to give it. Knife still pressed against his jugular, Columbine retrieved a heavy rock she had been laying on, and raising it swiftly, knocked it against his skull. The man dropped like a sack of flour, crumpled in the road.
Emma pressed her knife a little more firmly into the soft, tender skin on his neck as the coachman tried to twist out of her grip. Her hold on his hair, however, was unyielding, and he settled in defeat.
"What did I tell you, old man?" she hissed, hating the small seed of guilt in her stomach. "Move and die."
Columbine approached the wagon cheerfully, the young man's sword swinging in her fingertips.
"Well, Swan, what do you say I procure us some rations—girl's gotta eat" she quipped, eyeing the coachman merrily. "And we'll be on our happy way."
"My son," he moaned, his voice catching in his throat. "You killed my boy."
"I didn't, he's alive and well." Columbine paused, leaning close and tucking a finger beneath the man's jaw, "but if I had killed him, I'd have done you a favor, old man. Family is weakness."
Emma made sure her grip remained firm as Columbine rifled through the wagon, choosing whatever she deemed acceptable and loading it into two large rucksacks stashed beneath a pile of leaves off the wagon path. Once, on one of their first joint ventures, she had let her hold on a mark loosen, a choice that had almost ended with the both of them dead. She never made the same mistake again. If there was one thing Columbine had reinforced early, and often, it was that the Enchanted Forest was a dangerous place, and Ogres were not their only troubles.
Once Columbine was ready, a heavy pack against her shoulders and the other waiting for Emma, she quickly rolled backwards off the wagon, her dagger leaving nary but a sore impression on the man's neck. By the time he had risen unsteadily from his seat and looked behind him, they were far gone.
Emma's heart was light and free as they ran through the forest, cloaks billowing behind them as their feet kept to a path only they knew, dodging nimbly over root and rock. They preferred to rob refugee settlements and supply wagons farther afield, and so the trip home was generally a long one. Emma's arms and legs were sore from perching cramped in the tree, and her body was weary from the early trip out to the deserted carriage road, but she had never felt freer. Their life was difficult, of course, but as Columbine had taught her in the early days, life was difficult for everyone in the Enchanted Forest now, which was why they needed to worry about themselves, first and foremost.
It was around their fire later that night as they relished in a successful foray, their hunger finally sated, that Emma turned to Columbine with curiosity.
"In all the years I've known you Columbine, you've never once mentioned family."
It wasn't a subject that Emma ever brought up either, having no family to actually speak of, and so hearing Columbine's pointed observation on the matter earlier in the day, she was intrigued.
The brunette pulled her eyes away from the dancing flames to look at her friend, her eyes full of something hard and sorrowful. Emma had seen Columbine play the wounded woman, but never before had she actually seen true hurt in her friend's eyes. It brought a stark contrast to the person Emma knew, the girl that had grown beside her, teaching her how to survive on her own in a dangerous land.
"Would you like to hear a story, Emma?" She asked lightly, removing a chicken bone from the stones to pick at her nails.
Emma didn't say anything, she merely waited, knowing that no matter her answer, Columbine would do as she pleased. She answered to no one. Eventually, after a good deal of silent ruminating while Emma leaned back and closed her eyes, Columbine began her tale.
"I was once a poor servant girl, traveling through the wood with the family of my master and mistress. Once we reached the center of the forest, we were put upon by a band of robbers. They had seen the rich carriage earlier on, and had staged an attack. They murdered every single person there," Columbine whispered, her voice oddly conspiratorial. "Every single person, Emma, except for me. Do you know why?"
"I'm not sure. Were you in league with them?"
"Ah, no, though watching them did gift me with a sense of freedom. They didn't kill me because I hid behind a tree, quiet as a mouse, while they slaughtered the family."
Columbine leaned forward, tossing the bone back among the stones and using a stick to prod the waning flames back to life. Emma stretched her legs out alongside the fire, her eyes heavy with sleep, her mind turning over the words of the story in her mind, searching for the connection.
"An interesting tale, Columbine, but what does it have to do with family?"
"You see, I may have been a servant in the household of the noble family, but before that I was a beloved daughter."
The word beloved fell from her lips as if it was poison, and Emma could see the tension in her knuckles as she twisted the edges of her cloak.
"Except, as loved as I was by my parents, they did not love me enough to keep me from the hands of our local Lord. When he was to take their farm, they offered me up as a servant, as if they were offering up a prized hound. The Lord found it a fair trade, and from that day on I was not allowed to stray from his side. This was unjust, Emma, but fate can be even crueler than you can imagine. For the master and mistress were dark and vicious, and my life beneath them was no life at all."
She paused, staring back into the flames as if watching the massacre all over again. "It made my heart sing to hear them fall."
Emma felt a cold chill creep up her spine at the words, her thoughts unsettled and turning back to a time she hadn't thought of in years, her old life before her fall into the Enchanted Forest. She had been betrayed more times than she could count, by friends and those who pretended to be family, and still, she didn't know if she would want to see those people die.
"So you see, Emma. Family is a weakness. You will love them, and they will betray you. Blood means nothing. It is better to make a family of your own choosing."
Columbine's mood had turned dark, and with those last words, she turned her back on the fire and stilled, perhaps hoping that with her dreams would come peace.
Emma, though she would have been pleased to have sleep come to her so easily, found that her comforting sense of weariness had receded, leaving instead reflections that clung to the edges of her mind.
She hadn't thought of her life prior to the Enchanted Forest for years, most of the time, it merely lingered at the back of her memory like an old dream. She had changed so much from the girl she had been. The years of struggling to endure each day, of living in a world that was wild and untamed—they had allowed her to grow into a survivor. She'd seen and experienced things that would have made the old Emma crumble, but there were times when the heart and feelings of that young girl whose parents abandoned her were easy to recall. It was in those moments that she knew Columbine was right.
Family is weakness.
Emma had never been stronger, and it was only once she had let go of those childish hopes that she had been able to thrive.
A/N: Thank you for sticking around for chapter two! I promise some CS soon. - Fara
