The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
~Robert Frost (Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening)

Fourteen:
Thorndeep

The air was heavy and damp, reminding Victoria of the way the underside of a log smelt. Moss and lichen clung to every surface and the roads had turned to a mess of mud, muck, and dead leaves that tugged constantly at the cart's wheel's as though it didn't want them to keep going. Thorndeep loomed ahead of them, a maze of ancient trees and shadows. Victoria wasn't quite pleased with the fact that they were going into it, but, she supposed, the sooner they entered, the quicker they left. She just hoped the legends of monsters roaming the forest were nothing more than stories.

"What are we looking for in the forest?" Victoria enquired, leading Satyr down a winding embankment as carefully as possible. "Other than the temple, that is."

"We are looking for a powerful Willstone," At Victoria's probing stare, Theresa added, "Each stone contains the powers of the Hero that created it; in this case: Blaze, Sol, and Stone. As we acquire them, I believe they will add to the power of the artefact you already possess."

Victoria dropped her gaze to the bits of metal on her hands. Curiosity was rampant, but she didn't know how to ask the barrage of questions in her head. Choosing the first she could wrap her head around, she said, "If they're so powerful, where did they come from? Who created them?"

"The Enlightened. They saw a future in which Heroes would not be born, but made—fuelled by the power of ancient Heroes and strength of Will. It was they who created the artefact, and they who built tombs to house the Willstones, so that one day one who was deemed worthy would be able to wield them."

"But I'm already a Hero," Victoria said slowly, "so why deem me worthy? Why not save them for someone else?"

"I believe you know the reason already, Hero, even if you are not willing to admit it."

She wasn't sure why, but Victoria felt a flush burn its way up her neck. No, she didn't know why. She was a Hero, one of the last, but that didn't really explain anything.

Trees began to intrude around them, crowding the road like onlookers at a disaster site. Almost immediately, all sound seemed muffled. Though her ears strained for the sounds of small animals rustling around or birds calling to each other, there was nothing. It was like a blanket had been thrown over this entire forest. Vines and mushrooms waged war against the tree trunks, choking the ancient wood. Victoria could no longer see the sky. The entire world was tinted a dark, murky green. She shivered in the cool air. "This place is creepy."

"As it should be; Thorndeep is far from welcoming of outsiders."

"You...you don't really think the stories about monsters living here are true, do you?"

"At one time, yes. But now? I could not say. It's been over century since I was last here."

That...doesn't really help, Victoria thought with a shudder. Sometimes she…forgot Theresa and Reaver were far older than they appeared. The casual, almost flippant, reminders were occasionally unnerving. Particularly now that they were travelling through such an eerie environment.

Breath brushed against her ear, making her jump, and she barely avoided accidentally jerking Satyr off the road. Reaver murmured something to her in a language she didn't know, but it sounded vaguely reassuring. (Or, perhaps that was only the oddly lyrical way the words were formed.) Theresa responded sharply in kind, earning an annoyed huff from him. Victoria was left clueless, unsure what that had been about and unwilling to ask.

A wall loomed ahead of them, cloaked in thick, thorny vines. Compared to the ruins they'd seen thus far, it looked relatively new—of modern make and design. The half-rotted wood of the gate had been ripped open and smashed by something and Victoria didn't think that was a very good sign. The route ahead was full of vines, which moved out of their way as though they had a mind of their own. Victoria's skin prickled with awareness; hairs standing on end. The further they delved into the forest, the more sound returned, but it was...odd. The air was full of the rustling of leaves and the groaning of the ancient trees. Every once in a while, Victoria thought she saw something move out of the corner of her eye, but there was nothing. Just more plants. "This forest feels alive," she murmured after an hour or so had passed in tense, stunted silence. "Like the trees are...aware of us. Like they can talk. Everything feels...strange."

Strange in common terms, but, in truth, she felt like the air was charged with Will. Was this what Albion had felt like before the trees had been cut down and the factories had polluted the water? Had Will enchanted the bows and leaves of every tree, seeped into the soil to feed the flowers, and created things strange and fantastic? Or was something at work here? She didn't know. Regardless, the trees raised their branches and the ferns pulled back their leaves to allow them to pass without causing any damage. Every once in a while, Victoria would swear she'd hear a high-pitched giggle or the faint playing of a flute, but then silence would return. Auditory hallucinations, she told herself, brought on by a need for noise in such a profound silence. She almost believed it...if it weren't for the fact that Reaver and Theresa both grew tenser every time Victoria heard a strange sound.

Trees wider than a small house threaded their massive roots through the road, but there was just enough of a path to get through. Victoria winced every time they ran over a root. Her father had always been adamant about things regarding nature. It was to be feared and respected as much as it was to be loved and protected. Whenever he'd been able to take them out into the woods, he'd explained the properties of various plants and how best to use them. What to do when one needed to harvest them. Victoria had listened with fascination, both curious and nervous at his explanations. Back then, it had just been interesting information. Now, however, she was glad. If any place would probably kill you for being disrespectful to the plants, it was probably Thorndeep.

Every once in a while, Victoria spotted signs of where someone had wandered into the forest, but there was no sign of the people. Mushrooms grew in thick patches along the road, far larger than any she'd seen, and she wondered what secrets they might have known.

"Theresa, do you know if many people live out here? We might want to stop if so."

"I'm afraid I couldn't say, Hero. Only the foolish or the brave would dare travel through Thorndeep; but what sort of person would endeavour to call such a place home?"

The question was rhetorical, but it still fell heavily upon the air. Victoria honestly didn't know.

"Oh dear, whatever does that say about us?" Reaver remarked dryly.

"Something tells me it depends on how well we get out of here," Victoria replied with a grim smile.

"Can't be worse than the troll," he decided, playing absently with the ends of her hair.

Theresa half-turned to him. "Do you really wish to challenge that, Thief Prince? To challenge what Fate has set in store for you?"

"I can't really challenge Fate if I make my own now, can I?"

"You are lucky to be alive with such a flippant attitude," Theresa observed, clearly unimpressed as she turned back to face the road.

"I'm insulted," Reaver said sounding far too hurt for it to be genuine. "You think all my merits can be explained by luck, how cruel. After all this time, you should be aware my prowess comes from earned skill and nowhere else."

Victoria frowned, and, pulling her 'queen voice' for affect, said: "If we get eaten by trees because you two are choosing to do this now, I'm going to be extremely displeased."

Silence fell once more, leaving an almost uneasy feeling to taint the air.

The longer they drove, the less Victoria was certain about the time or where they were. They'd stop for a bit to check on Satyr and she'd try to check her map, but it was useless. They were on their own.

She led them through stone tunnels where the walls were coated in a layer of mushrooms so red they didn't seem real. Wheels rattled over an unsteady bridge that seemed like it was about to fall into the wide, fast-flowing river beneath it. Even the Old Kingdom ruins had been reclaimed by the wilds. Occasionally they'd pass splintered and rotting bits of old wagon or a rusting bit of weaponry, but there was no sign of people. Or...not at first, at any rate. It was late in the day—or so Victoria assumed—that they stumbled over a house. So surprised they were, the cart came to a halt. It was old, plastered walls chipped and exposed supports weathered. The slanting wooden roof was covered in a thick layer of sod and moss hung like curtains from the roof, but the chimney was smoking faintly and there was a dim light in the one window they could see. Victoria immediately distrusted it.

"What a charming sight...shall we go ask for directions?" Reaver teased around a yawn. Glancing back, Victoria saw he was stretched out as much as he possibly could, lazily relaxing atop the crates.

"Yes," Theresa replied steadily. "Why don't you both go?"

Victoria laughed humourlessly. "I'm sorry, Theresa, I know this is important, but I'm not going up to that house. For all we know, it's infested with monsters or cannibals or something. I'm not going in there."

"Someone is going to need to go," Theresa said, ignoring Reaver's laughter at Victoria's words. "And I am not able to walk very far at this time."

Both women turned to face Reaver and his humour abruptly died down. He stared at them in disbelief. "You can't seriously be suggesting I go out there." Neither of them said anything to the contrary and a look of utter horror spread over his face. "No, no, no. You can't be serious. I am not traipsing through the woods to some hovel that's one storm away from collapsing. Absolutely not."

Reaver cursed under his breath, grumbling. How dare they put him through such horrible conditions. They were sadists, the both of them.

Mud clung to his boots as he made his way up the hill, hating the world. The humidity was doing terrible things to his hair and he didn't even want to think about the state of his clothes. He was probably going to have to have them burned when he got home. Adventure was one thing. This? This was some new form of torment they'd invented just to make him miserable and he would have retribution. Somehow. Eventually. If they ever got out of the damned Edgelands. First krakens and then caves and now forests, what had he been thinking in agreeing to come along? (To be fair, at that exact moment, he hadn't been thinking all that much; he'd been a bit too preoccupied by Victoria climbing atop him to consider the consequences in that moment. And, later, there were...other concerns that were far more pressing to worry about.)

The closer he drew to the house, the more his anger faded to a sense of unease. Something was wrong, lingering in his gut like an illness. The front door was cracked open; crates and barrels had been strewn across the yard. The barn and chicken coop were both empty. Perhaps they just left. He wasn't sure if the thought pleased him or not. On one hand, no idiot farmers meant no interacting with idiot farmers; on the other, if no one was here then this had been a waste of his time and energy.

Annoyed at just the thought, Reaver stalked up to the door and soundlessly opened it. Broken furniture and rotted fruit littered the ground. He could smell blood, but was unsure where it was coming from. Resting his hand on his Dragonstomper, he, very boredly, called out: "Hello? Anyone here or am I just talking to myself again?"

Something creaked deeper in the house, but there was no reply in words. It's probably just some gobbits ransacking the pantry, he told himself. No reason to investigate. But a little voice in the back of his mind—one that sounded naggingly like Victoria—prodded him forward. There were still no signs of life. In front of a smashed window, a rocking chair slowly moved back and forth. He forced his spine into a less tense posture, disappointment flooding him. The house owners had probably been attacked by bandits or something, forcing them to leave. Shaking his head, he began to turn away. "Of course it was only a waste of time."

An excitable babbling from the other side of the chair drew him back around and he fired his pistol in the same moment. The hobbe that had hoped to catch him unawares dropped dead to the floor. For fuck's sake. He would have rathered the bandits, honestly.

Peeking out the front door, he discovered the hobbe had not been alone. A couple dozen stood between him and the path down from the house. "How kind of you all to spare some of your time to entertain me."

The hobbes seemed far more surprised by his appearance than he was theirs, but it didn't seem to help. Immediately, they swarmed towards the door. Reaver pulled it shut and braced it with some of the broken furniture. Useful, but it won't hold long...the window. He shattered the glass with the butt of his pistol and took aim, trying to pick off the hobbes that seemed best armed. In retribution, many had started throwing rocks at him.

"Not the first time that's happened," he muttered to himself, trying to keep out of the way of the projectiles and shoot the hobbes at the same time. Another man, perhaps, would have been terrified. But this was fun. The kind of rush he didn't get all that often these days. And hobbes weren't really that scary. More annoying, if he were being completely honest. Still, he had to admit, there was an odd thrill to being alone in a fight against odds that should have overwhelmed him.

Most of the hobbes lobbing stones at him were dead, but the barricade was about to break. The door was splintering. He had two options: either stay here and take advantage of the bottleneck the door would create, or climb out through the window and hope for the best. The first was truly the safest option. Naturally, he chose the second; throwing himself out of the building just as the door came crashing down. Glass sliced into his palms and knees, flesh knitting back together within seconds. By the time he'd reached his feet once more, the hobbes were in the house, babbling in confusion about where their foe had gone.

Reaver offered a taunting whistle for the hobbes at the back on the group. "Looking for someone, are you?"

He answered their angry shrieks with gunfire, dispatching several before half of the queue were even aware he was there. The others struggled to get out of the house, trying to force their way back out the door en masse while a few flailed their way through the window.

The sounds of fighting had drawn attention from Victoria and Theresa; out of the corner of his eye, he saw the cart begin to approach, far slower than he would have liked. The road's too narrow, that cart won't fit, he thought, dodging a hobbe's overzealous attempt at hitting him with a leafy twig. I'll need to move somewhere easier to reach. The road seemed to curve, following the cliff marking the end of the hill. By extension, a series of shacks had been built atop the hill in that direction. Wary of any furtherly lurking hobbes, he began inching towards them. The hobbes followed, seemingly uncaring that their fellows kept dying.

Reaver watched as the last of the hobbes dropped dead and, sending a wave toward the cart to get it to follow him, ran for the shacks. More hobbes greeted him, some immediately hiding and others launching into an attack. Where do you lot keep coming from? Did someone curse an orphanage or something equally daft? A hobbe latched onto his arm with grimy hands, gnashing its sharp teeth, and Reaver responded by slamming it into the wall of one of the shacks. It slid to the floor, dazed, and soon after was dead. How repulsive.

The hobbes were beginning to thin. Most were too scared of the stranger with the loud toy to keep chasing him. Those that did quickly joined the corpses on the ground. As the last of the hobbes ran off to hide in one of the abandoned buildings, Victoria brought the cart around. Reaver dropped lightly onto the roof and, as they began to pull away, sat down with a sigh. "Took you long enough, didn't it?"

"Did you get any directions?" Theresa called up.

Disbelief coursed through his veins. He dragged himself over to the edge of the roof and peered down into the driver's seat. "You aren't serious; I know you didn't see the hobbes, but you had to have at least heard them."

"No directions, then?"

"I hate you entirely."

"Save that anger a bit," Victoria put in, "I think we're about to have trouble."

Reaver pulled himself up to discover a hobbe chasing after them on a boar. Damn everything, he was too sober for this.

By Victoria's estimate, if they didn't get away from these hobbes soon, they were going to die. Reaver kept shooting from atop the cart, but he was having a tough go of it. She couldn't afford to slow down enough to keep him completely steady up there, so he had to keep stopping to cling to the caravan in the hopes of not being thrown off the vehicle. Any other time, Victoria might have felt guilty, but now was not one of those times. She was a bit too preoccupied with not being run off the road by angry hobbes. We shouldn't have stopped, she thought.

Theresa thrust out her walking stick, whacking a hobbe solidly in the face. It tumbled off its mount and was trampled under the boar's hooves. If they could find a way to get the hobbes to leave—a way to scare them off—she was all for it. But she didn't know what to do. Fire and ice risked hurting the trees. Lightning produced similar problems, as did summoning anything sharp and pointy. A whirlwind would have been helpful, but would also run the risk of destroying the cart. She wasn't sure what undiluted Will would do, either; sometimes it was...explosive, sometimes not so much, but it was always devastating and, thus far, unblockable. And she really, really didn't want to anger the trees. Could I...maybe enchant the trees to help? She put the thought aside for later. Ideally, now would have been a good time to use a spell her father had once told her about—it froze time as long as the Will-user could maintain the spell, but she'd never managed to get the hang of it for long.

"Hold these a moment," Victoria said, giving the reins to Theresa and clambering to her feet to get the hobbes in sight.

"Hero, is this really a wise idea?!" Theresa called, alarmed.

She didn't have much choice. She summoned her Will, pulling as much as she could without risk to her. The hobbes were bunching together, clearly trying to avoid being tripped up by the roots along the edges up the path. With a grim smile, Victoria threw out her spell and, like a well-practiced comedy act, the majority of the hobbes crashed into her invisible barrier. The mound of dazed hobbes and their mounts sat there, clearly confused, and Victoria heard Reaver shout something in cheer. It didn't last long, though. A handful of hobbes were still coming after them, undeterred by Will or strange humans. Fortunately, Reaver picked them off without need of assistance.

"Oh, dear," Theresa murmured.

Victoria turned back around in time to see they were fast approaching a wall. She dropped into her seat and took the reins from Theresa, pulling Satyr to a jarring stop. She heard Reaver start to curse, followed by a loud thud on the ground and a louder, pained bit of swearing. Victoria winced. She waited just long enough for him to get in through the back of the cart before starting onwards again.

The wall continued on for a bit before a gap opened up, clearing the way to a rickety old bridge. Water raged far beneath them, but Victoria forced herself to not look down. With the break in the trees, she was suddenly aware of how late it was getting. They weren't going to get to the tomb tonight. The thought of sleeping in Thorndeep worried her. If the hobbes elected to come after them again, they'd be defenceless if they were asleep. Not to mention that the trees still didn't seem all that trustworthy; she didn't really want to wake up trapped in a tree trunk or something.

They passed through sprawling Old Kingdom ruins and under the massive roots of trees that had been here longer than anyone could remember.

"Should we stop soon?" Victoria asked the others. The forest was quickly growing dark to the point where Victoria was uncertain she'd be able to drive them onwards without lighting the lantern...which sounded like an invitation for things to attack them. At least if they stopped somewhere, she could try to place wards around the camp and they'd be able to defend themselves.

"I believe it would be for the best," Theresa replied. They could both hear Reaver rummaging around in the cart and Victoria took his lack of complaints as agreement.

By the time they reached the next horse stop—little more than an overgrown, mostly dilapidated shack just off the road, Victoria could barely even see the path. As Reaver unhitched Satyr, Victoria set about carefully warding the camp. It wouldn't hold anything powerful, that she knew, but it would made them invisible to hobbes and other small creatures. The wards had the added bonus of keeping Satyr from getting spooked and running off.

For the first time this journey, they ate a cold dinner inside the caravan and didn't light a fire outside. The less attention they brought to themselves, the better. They decided to sleep in shifts. First Victoria would stay on guard and then, when Reaver woke up without fail a few hours later, he would take over. If Theresa awoke before dawn, it would be her turn.

Sitting there in the dark was...creepy. Every time the wind blew or a tree made a noise, she jumped. More than once, she nearly threw her snack at a shadow. The forest seemed to have completely woken up now—creatures that were silent had come out of hiding and were now on the prowl. She kept seeing glowing eyes or faint flickers of light between the tree trunks. Why did I agree to this? she wondered, playing with an apple and trying to relax. She kept expecting some horrific creature to spring down upon them and kill them without a thought. She shuddered. Stop thinking about stuff like that. Too late; now that the image had come to mind, she couldn't stop thinking about it. It was suddenly all she could picture.

Something rustled in the bushes nearby. Heart thudding in her ears, she pulled slightly on her Will, mindful of the barriers she'd erected. She didn't want to accidentally send them crashing down. Trying to seem braver than she felt, she called out: "Who's there?"

There was no answer, just more rustling. Oh, Avo, what if it's balverines? She'd been so busy thinking of monsters from old stories to consider the very real, very deadly creatures she was accustomed to. And balverines? Balverines were always a special sort of hell to fight. She tried to ready herself, tried to focus, but she still jumped when something stepped out of the bush. It was small—short for a human, and could have almost passed for one, as well. Almost if not for the massive goat's horns curling out of the top of its head. And the hooves. She'd only ever seen goodfellows in books before, never had fought one. She'd thought they were a lost creature; one that had just died out as humanity spread. Perhaps they'd simply retreated with the forests.

This one appeared interested in the cart, but not in fighting. It crept warily closer, watching her with wide large, round eyes. The shattered pieces of a wooden mask hung around its waist with a small flute. It stopped just short of the wards, raising a hand to press against them. Testing. Quiet. Seeing they wouldn't bend, it stepped back, crouched, and stared at Victoria. She fought the urge to look away. What did it want? What was it doing?

She glanced down at the apple in her hands, intrigued, and tossed it to the puck. It caught it easily, inspected it, and tossed it back. Victoria set it down on the bench beside her. Okay, so you don't want the apple. What about something else to eat? She'd brought a small loaf of bread with her as well and, hoping it wouldn't fall, tossed it over. The puck caught it, looked it over, and put it into the bag also hanging around its waist. It didn't leave. So...I take it you're not hungry.

Wary and questioning herself all the while, she stepped down from the cart and up to the edge of the wards. As gently as she could, she queried, "What do you want?"

The puck stood up, pointed at her, and then down the road ahead.

Victoria felt her stomach clench. Many of the stories spoke of pucks leading people astray and either killing them or getting them lost forever. She really didn't want to be lost in Thorndeep for an eternity. At the same time...she couldn't help but be curious. "What's down there? If I go, what will I find?"

It gave her a look she could only describe as displeased and vanished, reappearing further down the road a few seconds later. Victoria hesitated. She had her weapons, she was completely armed, but she...didn't trust it. Not at all. What if it was a trap? What if something happened? It'll be quick, she told herself. Just a peek. She took a deep breath and stepped through the wards, taking care to keep the Will in place. When nothing attacked her, she followed the goodfellow.

It disappeared periodically, reappearing further down the road. Victoria crept after it, hoping no one would wake up to find her gone. I won't be away long, she told herself once more. She walked quickly, following the puck through a narrow stone tunnel. Glowing mushrooms cast pale blobs of colour on the walls. When the puck next appeared, it was crouched up ahead and, when she finally reached it, this time it didn't vanish.

Victoria found herself standing on a small ledge; a road led downwards to her left. Below her was a town. She crouched down beside the puck, trying to understand what it was showing her. Hobbes were everywhere: chasing chickens in the streets, eating, smashing on the walls of houses with large sticks. "They took over the town," she murmured to herself. And with no road leading around, they were either going to have to drive through or turn back and spend time trying to find a new path. Suspicious, she turned towards the puck. "Why are you showing me this?"

It shook its head, shaggy hair falling into its eyes. It raised a clawed hand and pointed again. She followed the gesture with her gaze. A stack of cages at the edge of the town with no discernible way to sneak over to them. Some were full of pigs or chickens, one even looked like it held a frayed teddy bear. One of the bottom cages held a puck; much smaller than the one beside her and trying desperately to get out of its cage. Everything clicked.

"They stole your kid and you can't get them back."

It nodded, slowly and only once, and dropped its hand.

Victoria thought fast, trying to decide how to best approach this. She could, in theory, go wake up Reaver and Theresa and drag them along, but there was no guarantee either of them would be willing to let both pucks go afterward.

Let me out, the Crawler hissed.

Why?

They are weak, pitiful creatures. Easily frightened. You cannot fight them. I can ensure they do not return to this place for some time.

She didn't like the idea, even if she knew it would work. She resisted the urge to curse. To the goodfellow she said, "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Victoria took a running jump, landing lighter than she'd expected on the compact soil. Cold swept over her, snuffing out the blue glow of her tattoos. The shadows seemed to grow as she walked out into the centre of town.

At the sight of her, the hobbes began shouting anew, babbling to each other. Wisps of darkness rose from her skin, wrapping around her almost delicately. Smiling pleasantly, she said, "Hello." The darkness grew, spilling forth like a noxious cloud, engulfing most of the town. In the centre of it, Victoria summoned fire to her hands. "Shouldn't you be running?"

AN: This might be my favourite chapter in Blackout, tbh.

Dev. Notes: I like the idea of there being some creatures in Albion that, though occasionally malicious, are pretty chill. They know when they need to ask humans or Heroes for help, could get along with them long term if need be. Others that choose just to avoid them entirely, even if they know they could easily destroy them. Diversity, I guess, in the way they all interact with each other...not just mindless, attacking beasts. If balverines can pretend to be human and interact with them easily enough, I don't see why other creatures (particularly types of fey) wouldn't do the same at times, unless they had a reason to dislike humans.