Kurt slowly lowered Blaine's body down to the stone-cold floor. Blaine's eyes moved from Kurt's calm face to the table laden with food. "What . . what did you do, Kurt? What did you do to me?" he gasped.
Kurt smiled. It was an eerie yet peaceful smile. It was full of knowing and certainty.
And it chilled Blaine to the core.
"I have saved you," Kurt whispered, slowly stroking Blaine's curls and humming softly.
As the darkness enveloped Blaine, he could only hear Kurt's voice echoing in his ears:
Yet if death it should blind me as true love inclines me,
My Blackbird I'd seek out wherever he be.
Kurt's heart had shattered when his dear sweet mother had been taken from him as a mere child. She was the only person he believed understood him when he barely understood himself. They were so much alike; maybe that was why she was always his confidant and support. When she was taken from him so violently, found murdered in the woods, he thought he would never recover from it.
But slowly, with the help of his father, Kurt's heart began to mend. And their family of two grew stronger in her memory. Burt learned more about Kurt and started to understand and support him in all things.
But when Burt met a similar fate before his very own eyes, Kurt's whole world disintegrated.
He was heartbroken once again, but this time, he was totally alone.
And trapped in a cursed forest.
His only lifeline was his small cottage and his mother's garden, which surrounded it. Kurt knew he was safe there. Dark magic had pervaded the wood and all that lived in it. That evil found itself unable to corrupt the house and anything within the stone wall which surrounded it. Kurt was grateful for it.
He highly suspected that was his mother's doing. It was as if she wove her essence into the walls of the cottage and woods closest to home to protect the ones she loved. He could sense her in the plants growing in the garden she had tended meticulously every day. In the house where she used to weave and sew and sing, he would hear her laughter in his head and her songs in his ears and sometimes even smell her perfume in the air. Though no longer there physically, her presence was always felt in some way.
The night Kurt watched as his father was torn to pieces and devoured by the forest's evil inhabitants, he remembers running into the garden and falling to the ground, sobbing. Kurt had closed his eyes, handfuls of grass grasped between his fingers, trying to will the nightmare he had witnessed away.
As he lay amongst the plants, he began to hear a steady thumping. Teary-eyed, he pressed his ear closer to the ground. Thump-thump-thump. It was soothing, like a heartbeat. The sound was faint but strong and steady. The longer Kurt focused on the sound, the calmer he became. His tears ceased, his breath evened out, and he felt enveloped with a feeling of peace.
When the deadly fae creatures began visiting him night after night, their terrifying wailing and shrieking outside the cottage would cut through the air. Their hideous screams were then accompanied by loud groaning and the sound of scratching at cottage walls. And amidst all of it, Kurt would sit with his body folded into a ball and his hands over his ears, wishing it would stop.
Soon that same sound would come to drown out the cries of the monsters.
Thump-thump-thump.
The sound was even stronger and louder than before when he had heard it in the garden. It was as if it doubled in volume and intensity. And because of that, the wailing of the creatures outside would eventually fade.
Thump-thump-thump.
And Kurt felt like both his father and mother were with him in a way, helping him fend off the deadly creatures.
Yet he was still alone.
No one to turn to. Nowhere to go.
Kurt felt not unlike a songbird in a gilded cage: pushing his wings against the bars of his prison, yearning to be free, but still afraid to do so.
He was not happy. He was just existing.
Alone.
Until the night that Blaine stepped into the glade and into his life.
Kurt moved Blaine from the floor to the spare bedroom in the cottage. Laying him gently on the bed, he sat beside him for a moment to look at him. Kurt had never seen such a beautiful young man before. The minute he had laid eyes on Blaine, Kurt's own heart began to beat again. At first sight, though he was very fearful, Kurt yearned to know this man, to touch him to see if he was real.
So he opened the gate and let him in.
Kurt softly brushed the dark curls from the young bard's forehead, leaning forward and tenderly placing his lips there. He still remembered the gentle kiss Blaine had given him after Kurt had shared his family's sad story. And how that kiss stirred sensations in Kurt that he had never felt before. There was longing, want, and even heartache. But this time, it was not a heartache for one lost to him. Instead, the ache in his heart was more of a yearning. It was a pull towards what he did not have – for all the possibilities that could be, and dare he even hope, for love.
He started to sing softly:
I wonder what my wings were made for,
Fluttering, active, restive things;
If this cage is all the world is.
Tell one why a bird has wings.
Kurt lightly cupped Blaine's cheek, feeling how the morning stubble was rough against his palm. It amazed him how he could feel so much, so quickly, for this stranger he had met not long ago. How could Kurt grow so attached to this man who was so kind and caring – who offered him a way out of this prison. Blaine did not shirk from Kurt's presence; instead, he bravely offered to walk the path out of the cursed wood with him side by side.
Shaking, hoping, waiting, restive,
How I wish for once to fly;
How my aching pinions tremble,
Give me life or let me die.
Kurt leaned forward and rested his forehead on Blaine's. "Forgive me," he whispered.
Blaine's eyelids fluttered slightly as he tried to fight off the fatigue taking him over. "Kurt," he moaned.
"Shhhh," Kurt hushed him, still caressing his face. "Do not exert yourself," he quietly told the bard. "Close your eyes. Sleep."
He continued to sing:
Yonder in a deep green cedar,
Fair as light, and light as air,
Shouts aloud a joyous robin,
If you love me, send me there.
Better anything with freedom,
Than to know that one has wings,
And must ever keep them fettered-
This prison hath a thousand stings.
Blaine heard Kurt's song, and even through the haze slowly enveloping his mind, Blaine could feel his sorrow. He wanted to reassure Kurt, to comfort him, but Blaine could not.
Kurt leaned in closer to quietly speak. "You must not fight this. You will sleep, but only for a short while." He smiled sadly. "When you wake, I will be gone." He confessed to the bard. "You will be free. Return to your home, Blaine. Promise me this. I need to know you will stay safe."
"Kurt . ." Blaine croaked, unable to say more. But his mind and body struggled to react to what Kurt was saying.
"Promise . ." Kurt pleaded, tears filling his eyes.
Those tears. Something deep within Blaine ached for him to wipe those tears away. "Promise . . " Blaine repeated.
Kurt took Blaine's limp hand in his own. He raised it to his cheek and closed his eyes, savoring what might be the last human touch he would ever have.
"Forgive me, Blaine," Kurt murmured. "Forgive me for what I have done and for what I am about to do." He laid a tender kiss on Blaine's hand and laid it back on his chest, over his heart.
"I have been alone for a long time. Alone and very much afraid." Kurt confessed. "But I know now what I must do. I think I always have known but was always too fearful to act."
Blaine began to slowly comprehend what Kurt was telling him. He knew he must stop him, but his traitorous body would not comply.
Kurt leaned down and kissed Blaine on his lips. "Thank you for finding me. Thank you for showing me there is life and beauty in the world outside this forest. Thank you for giving me courage, Blaine." He touched his forehead against Blaine's one last time. "Return home." Kurt urged. "Do not forget me. Do not forget my tale."
Blaine struggled to sit up. "Kurt, no . ." he mumbled. He fell back onto the bed, frustrated, his body failing him.
Kurt got up from the bed and turned to leave. He paused for a moment at the door and sang softly to Blaine over his shoulder:
Oh, this cage it does not fit me,
I am not made for it, I know;
Mine is yonder in the heavens.
If you love me, let me go.
"Goodbye, Blaine," he said sadly as he closed the door.
"Kurt . . " Blaine said, wanting desperately to reach out to him but could not, a deep sleep finally overtaking him entirely.
Kurt leaned against the other side of the closed door, tears streaming down his face. He clutched his hands to his chest and slid to the floor, silently sobbing.
"Mama, Papa . ." he said aloud." I do not want to do this, but I know I must."
The thump-thump-thump that sounded in his ears failed to bring him any comfort this time.
Kurt, with shuddering sobs, quickly took to his worktable and began gathering what he knew he needed for his task.
Vervain, wormwood, wolfsbane. . .
Kurt's fingers flew, deftly collecting handfuls of cuttings from his mother's garden, dried herbs and plants collected lovingly over many years. His concentration sharpened as the tears dried, and he committed to focusing on everything before him.
Blackthorn, mugwort, borage . . .
He paused for a few moments, his mind reviewing all the knowledge his mother had imparted to him. He instinctively reached for the love knot brooch pinned to his tunic that his father had made and gifted to his wife on the day they had wed. It had sat over Kurt's heart every day since she had passed.
He removed it and laid it on the table in front of him.
And continued his work.
Pennyroyal, rosemary, rue, skullcap. . .
He stilled himself once more and took a cleansing breath with his hands buried in the plants before him. He focused on what he intended to do and channeled that into his work.
Once Kurt was satisfied with all that he had gathered, the collection of herbs and flowers was combined and placed in a cloth pouch made from the gown his mother was found in on the day of her death.
He was ready.
Kurt slipped from the spare bedroom one final time. The brindle cat looked up at him and plaintively meowed. Kurt knelt and scratched the feline under her chin.
"Be good, my sweet," Kurt said quietly. "Keep an eye on this one for me?" He nodded back toward the bedroom door.
The cat meowed again, softly butting her head against his hand. She rubbed her body against him as she walked past and into the bedroom where Blaine slept.
And with that, Kurt grabbed his father's old satchel, fastened his cloak about his shoulders, and pulled the door to the cottage shut behind him. He walked by his mother's garden, gently caressing the tips of the plants with his fingers as he walked by. As Kurt stepped through the iron gate and latched it, he paused one last time to turn and look at the only home he ever knew.
He closed his eyes as the soft thump-thump-thump of his parents' combined heartbeats returned his silent farewell.
Then he turned and walked down the path towards the Lower Kingdom.
Blaine's eyelids were heavy.
There was a weight on his chest that was making it difficult for him to breathe.
His whole body felt sluggish. It was as if he was drifting, floating away on a sea of nothingness.
But it was peaceful. Quiet. Dark.
But something lingered on the edges of Blaine's mind – he couldn't reach it. Something he tried to recall.
What was it?
What was he supposed to remember?
Was it a thing? A place? A person? A name?
And then a thrumming began. It started in Blaine's chest and radiated outward down to the tips of his toes.
It buzzed and vibrated, slowly shaking Blaine's body awake.
A soft sound of a heartbeat began to echo in his ears. Thump-thump-thump . . .
And then he remembered.
"Kurt," Blaine whispered.
The autumn leaves crunched and crackled beneath his boots as Kurt slowly wove his way through the forest on the well-worn path that led south to the Lower Kingdom.
The same path he saw his father return on while carrying his mother's lifeless body in his arms.
The same path he and his father strayed from when they encountered the twisted fae creatures that would murder his father before his very eyes.
The cursed path. The cursed forest.
But no more.
He would see to that.
Back at the cottage, Blaine groggily opened his eyes to find the brindle cat sitting on his chest, purring and staring at him with a quiet intensity. She leaned forward to rub her head against his face.
Blaine blinked as he clumsily sat up in the bed. He placed his head in his hands. It still ached as his body and mind tried to catch up with his struggle for consciousness.
"Kurt," said silently, remembering everything. Blaine looked up suddenly and stumbled towards the bedroom door. He fell into the door frame as his eyes searched the main room of the cottage for the young man.
"Kurt!" he cried out. "Where are you?"
The room was empty, and Blaine's heart lurched, recalling more of his last conversation with the young man. Kurt was so heartbroken and lost and yet so resigned.
"Forgive me, Blaine," Kurt murmured. "Forgive me for what I have done and for what I am about to do."
Blaine's heart stopped for a moment. He wobbled on his unsteady feet and made his way to the front door and out to the lush garden outside. The young bard fell to his knees amongst the greenery. His eyes searched out Kurt, but not seeing him, he shouted again, hoping he was in hearing distance.
"Kurt!" he cried.
The silence made the blood in his veins run cold.
"Kurt," he whispered to himself. "Where are you? What have you done?"
Kurt looked above at the thick tree canopy, which shut out the sunlight. He could close his eyes and remember what the forest was like in his youth. Kurt recalled the lightness and magic which crackled in the air. He remembered his mother's laughter and his father's proud smile.
After selecting a fitting section of the path, not far from where his parents had died, Kurt let the satchel fall to the ground. He then unfastened the iron pin that held his heavy cloak around his shoulders, dropping both on the forest floor. He shivered a bit at the chill in the air.
The young man knelt to rummage within the satchel and brought out the bag of herbs and plants he had collected from his cottage. Crumbling the contents between his fingers, Kurt began to walk widdershins in a circle and scattered the herbs and flowers before his feet.
All while he made his counterclockwise pacing, he began chanting over and over:
Long while you have been tarrying here,
And pleasantly you wouldst me kill;
But in faith, dull care,
You never shalt have thy will.
Blaine sat in the garden, not knowing what to do next.
Where would he find Kurt? He knew in his heart Kurt needed him, needed his help. But the forest was vast. He could be anywhere. Blaine hardly knew where to start searching.
The brindle cat yowled from just inside the cottage door. Blaine was startled by the noise and went to let her out. The cat shot past Blaine and quickly jumped the iron gate gracefully. After landing on the other side, she yowled again and hissed at Blaine before taking off down the path at a mad pace.
Blaine did not hesitate to follow her, running after the feline as quickly as his legs could carry him.
Satisfied with the ritual so far, Kurt reached into the satchel and retrieved a pair of the silver shears his father had made for Kurt's mother to use in her garden. They were beautifully ornate but also sharp enough to be deadly.
Kurt opened the shears, the lethal blades glinting in the low light. He held them open and then, with a swift movement, sliced open the palm of his left hand with one of the blades. Kurt hissed at the pain that shot through his arm. Then he transferred the shears to his left hand and then sliced open the palm of his right.
With the shears in hand, Kurt held both of his hands before him. He watched as the blood dripped slowly from his palms onto the ground, painting the scattered herbs at his feet. He then began pacing the circle again.
As Kurt walked, this time he said aloud:
Though some by age be full of grief and pain,
Yet their appointed time they must remain:
I come to none before their warrant's sealed,
And when it is, they must submit and yield.
I take no bribe, believe me, this is true;
Prepare yourself to go; I've come for you.
As he spoke these final words, a low moaning sounded in his ears. Kurt paused in his ritual and shivered, sensing the shift of magic in the air. The wind began to whistle and whip around Kurt, pulling at his tunic in a frenzied manner.
Just beyond the circle, he could see a fine mist appear. Rising from the forest floor, the fog curled around tree trunks and stones, crawling its way toward Kurt. It stopped just outside the circle, unable to enter its boundaries. The air in the forest quickly became chilled and heavy with a sense of foreboding.
Two figures rose slowly out of the mist.
One was a fair-haired creature with skin pale and sickly. With the fair one was her beloved, a similar creature with wild ebony locks and a dusky complexion. The fae creatures looked at Kurt with madness and hunger in their eyes. Their diaphanous gowns were torn and blood-stained. Their fangs were bared, and their claws were ready to tear him to pieces.
The creatures slowly approached the circle.
"Pretty, pretty unicorn," the fair creature hissed as it got closer. "Finally, come to play with us?"
Kurt took a deep breath, his limbs trembling. "No," he said firmly.
The dark-haired creature smiled – it was a sinister grin that made Kurt pause.
He remembered that smile.
It was the same one Kurt saw before his father drew his last breath.
The same one he saw before these creatures tore his father apart limb from limb and devoured him before his very eyes.
Kurt shuddered at the memory.
And then the screaming began.
Blaine stopped short as the screams and wails filled the air.
"Oh gods," he thought and rushed forward down the path at a quicker pace.
As Blaine rounded a bend in the path, he discovered Kurt standing before him. He was pale and trembling, with blood slowly dripping from his hands onto the ground beneath his feet. Kurt held a pair of silver shears Blaine recognized from the night before when he helped tend the garden. But this pair was covered in blood. Kurt's blood.
Kurt stood in the midst of a circle, and just outside of it, pacing wildly and wailing, were two frightening creatures. They tried in vain to reach past the ring to get to Kurt, but they could not. Their screams never ceased as they tore at their hair and gowns, frustrated at being unable to get to their prey.
"Kurt!" Blaine called out to him.
The fae creatures turned their heads at the new victim in their midst. Blaine's heart began beating rapidly as he watched these terrifying creatures start to creep toward him.
"Ahhh," the fair-haired creature purred in a low gravelly voice. "Another pretty unicorn. Come to play?"
Blaine felt his throat close. He tried to respond but could not find his voice. He shook his head.
The creature started laughing hysterically. "Yes, you have," she told him. "Play, play, play . ." she chanted as she shuffled closer to Blaine. "Come play with us."
"Yes, come, play . . ." her dark-haired companion sneered at Blaine. Her eyes were dark and piercing. Blaine could not tear his gaze away from them.
"First, we play," the fair one repeated., enjoying his visible discomfort
"And then we eat."
Blaine heard a yowl at his feet. Shaken from the creatures' hypnotic stares, he looked down and saw the brindle cat staring at him. He bent down and picked the cat up to protect her as well. But Blaine decided he would not run. He would sacrifice himself if it would appease these horrifying monsters and save Kurt.
The mad creatures drew even closer and closer to Blaine. The bard lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. "Let them come," he thought. "I am not afraid."
Then they suddenly stopped.
Frowning, the fair-haired creature sniffed and eyed the pendant hanging from the brindle cat's collar.
"Iron," she hissed angrily.
The brindle cat narrowed its eyes and hissed back at the monster. She was not afraid of the murderous fae in front of her.
The fair-haired creature's beloved pointed to Blaine's chest with her bloodied claw. He looked down and saw a brooch pinned to his tunic. He recognized the knotted piece of metal that Kurt had been wearing the day before.
"Silver," the other dark-haired creature muttered. "And . ." she sniffed the air around Blaine. "Vervain," she growled.
Both of the monsters shrieked in frustration. They reached for Blaine, their claws swiping at the air close to him. Their faces contorted and their blood-stained fangs gnashed at him as their anger became evident.
"You cannot touch him," Kurt told them firmly. "You will never harm him. You will never have him."
Kurt took a deep breath and walked to the edge of the circle he had created. He slowly broke it, pushing a portion away with his boot to create an opening.
"But you may have me," Kurt said quietly as he stepped back farther into the circle.
"Kurt, no!" Blaine cried out as the fae creatures cackled happily and turned their attention back toward their intended target.
As they swiftly neared the circle, Kurt fell to his knees with tears in his eyes. He looked to the bard one last time.
"Courage, Blaine," he whispered.
Kurt closed his eyes, both hands wrapped around the silver shears, and took a breath.
He was ready to await his fate.
TO BE CONTINUED . . .
