Chapter Four
The hiss of a snake. The screech of a bird. The crack of snapping wood. A question, uttered in English, as sharp talons dug into her shoulder: "Are you the Bride?"
Claire's eyes snapped open.
A bed, she was lying in a bed. Not in that accursed forest, surrounded by the endless darkness and those creatures.
Claire tried to remind herself that they had been wearing costumes, but her own explanation rang hollow. When she'd lost hold of Brigitte, those monsters had descended from the darkness. Claire had ducked and tried to outrun them, but they knew the forest better than her. Talons caught her before hands wrenched her out of their grasp. Pain flooded from places where the talons had punctured skin, and Claire had collapsed to the ground.
Her fingers found their way to her left shoulder. Claire felt the soft fabric of bandages beneath her fingers and the stinging pain of wounds beneath that. She winced as she rolled her head to the side.
She was not back home, in her bedroom with its wallpaper of pink snapdragons, posters of the women's soccer team, and shelves of her softball trophies. Instead, she found herself lying on a padded mat in the middle of a wide, wooden floor. The room had walls made of white clay framed by honey-colored wood. The window shutters had been opened to reveal the branches of a slender tree and a gentle evening sky.
On the opposite side of the room, Claire saw that the wall had floor-to-ceiling panels of white paper and a sliding door that connected to a hallway beyond. A man sat on the floor in front of the paper panels. His legs were folded beneath his white robes, and he had a book open in his lap. A black hat with a wide brim rested high on his head, casting a shadow over his thin and pointed face. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his chin, his cheekbones were all startling sharp, in a way that looked human but wasn't quite. His gray eyes lifted and, spotting Claire, he said, "Ah, you are awake now."
Claire bolted upright and threw off the thin blanket. Pain spasmed through her left shoulder, but she ignored it as she inched to the edge of the mat, her eyes fixed on the stranger.
"That foolish tengu," said the stranger as he closed his book. "He should know better than to hurt the Bride candidate."
Claire crouched on the wooden floor, her fingertips resting on the mat to keep her upright. She scanned the room. The only exits that she could see were the open window and the sliding door. The man sat between her and the door, so the window was her only option. Claire was a fast runner with good reflexes, but she didn't know what these monsters were capable of.
At last, Claire found her voice and the questions came tumbling out of her: "Where am I? Why did you kidnap me? Where are my sisters?"
The stranger smiled at her, in no rush to answer. He spoke the English words slowly and carefully, as if unfamiliar with the language even though his pronunciation was perfect. "Welcome, daughter of Talise Dang, to Jangnan Palace. Here is the home of the haerti, also known as the tsukumogami. I believe there is no equivalent word, in your language. The name you may use for us is dokkaebi."
Dokkaebi, tsukumogami… The names stirred some recollection, and though the tension in her body didn't lessen in the slightest, Claire found herself saying, "Beings born of discarded household items."
The man nodded, as if proud that Claire knew what he was. "In your language, I am called Needle, born from an acupuncture needle that was dropped in the earth and never found." His tone sorrowed as he spoke of what seemed to be a regrettable event to him. "Along with Mortar and Pestle, I have nursed the wounds you received in the Dark Forest."
"Mortar and Pestle…" Claire repeated the names slowly.
Her mother had been very particular about how the family treated their possessions, saying that all objects must be treated with the upmost care. Claire had never forgotten the lecture she'd received for breaking one of the kitchen stools. Crazy, she'd had called her mother. But now that she stared at the dokkaebi before her, Claire wondered just how much her mother knew.
"We cannot have a Bride candidate dying in Jangnan Palace," said Needle. "Even though it was that idiot tengu's doing." A crack appeared in his serene mask, and his tone seemed almost jeering as he spoke of the tengu. The laughter quickly faded, and Needle was calm again.
"Right." Claire barely registered her own words. "Right."
"We were all surprised when Spade returned with you bleeding on his nice robes. We could not believe the dokkaebi could steal a Bride candidate from the clutches of not one but three of the great clans."
Claire's fingernails dug into the mat as she stared across the wide floor at Needle. Anger and frustration burned through her. She wanted to call all this a farce, a sick joke played at the expense of her and her sisters. But another part of her trembled in fear, wondering if maybe this wasn't all a lie. Her voice was thick as she asked, "What is a Bride candidate?"
Something flickered in Needle's gray eyes, but he smiled kindly and said, "Did your mother not tell you?"
Claire scowled. "What about my mom?"
"The next Bride will be the daughter of Talise Dang," said Needle. "So the witch prophesized beneath the trees of the Fair Forest in the time when Talise Dang ventured through the land of the Folk."
Brides, witches, folk, and this Talise Dang that everyone kept mentioning... Claire's gaze flickered to the window. Needle was sitting down. Perhaps she could make it first.
"You're wrong," said Claire. "My mom is Eliza Lemelle."
"Eliza Lemelle, Lisa Jenner, Talise Dang," said Needle dismissively. "Your mother is known to the Folk regardless of what she chooses to call herself. What we do not know, is which one of her daughters is the Bride."
Claire's heart thundered in her chest. What was he saying? She didn't understand. "My sister's getting married next year."
Needle shook his head and then, in a voice low and heavy, he said, "You misunderstand. The Bride is a very special human, born once every few hundred years. No one knows how the Brides came to be, save maybe the oldest of us, for Brides have been stolen from the land of the living for thousands of years. What we do know is that the Bride is the balance between the living and the dead, the bringer of great power, the conduit of Folk magic. It is the fate of Bride to marry one of the undying lands so that balance may be restored."
A still silence followed his words.
"Right," said Claire. "Fuck you."
She ran for the window.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Needle hadn't moved. She didn't give it much thought as her hands caught the edge of the windowsill, and she vaulted herself into the garden beyond.
Or, at least, that's what she intended to do.
She saw the violet evening sky, the tree branches bearing persimmons, and the stone wall topped with red shingles. Then, she started to fall. She saw the white dirt of yard but rather than feel her feet touch the ground, she kept falling. Falling and falling until she saw dark, earthen walls. Her left shoulder hit something, causing a spike of pain and debris to come cascading down on her. At last, her feet found the hard dirt. She grabbed the wall to stabilize herself. She found herself crouching at bottom of a narrow pit, looking up at a narrow view of the violet evening sky.
Laughter boomed from above. Claire counted at least four people delighting at her misfortune.
Then, she heard Needle's voice. It was no longer staccato but filled with a cutting glee. "I told you she would try the window."
"You were right, you were right," said someone else.
Another voice, this one deep and accented added, "If Spade had made the hole a little closer to the window, we would have missed."
Anger and frustration bubbled in Claire's chest. "What the hell?"
More cackling laughter. Then, a face appeared at the opening of the pit. A man with broad features and long dark hair smiled down at Claire. "Apologies for the hard landing. We could not find Pillow."
Claire wanted to scream at them. A pit. They'd built a pit on the chance she jumped out the window. Who did something like that? Who were these people? What was this place? Why was she here? Where were her sisters?
"I thought you weren't supposed to hurt the Bride candidates," Claire shouted.
"Only when they don't try to escape," said one of the dokkaebi.
"Don't be afraid," added another. "We don't have talons like those nasty tengu."
"We only want to keep you safe," said the broad-faced dokkaebi. "Even if you make it difficult for us."
"I suppose I should have translated the name of this palace to English for you," said Needle. There was none of the slow, serene tone to his voice now. "Welcome, Bride candidate, to the Trick Palace. We wish you the best of luck on your escape."
Their laughter seemed to echo through the pit.
Remy couldn't have said for how long she followed the ponaturi through the dense fog. One footstep in front of the other, she stumbled along after them, wondering if she had made the right choice. Time seemed to fade into nothing, and she could no longer tell the difference between a minute and an hour.
They left the forest at some point. Remy only knew that because, at one point, she tripped over the uneven ground and, throwing out her hands, she caught hold of rough stone. She stepped back and stared at the wall of rock. It seemed the ponaturi had led her along a crag. Though Remy had no idea how far the wall extended. It'd been only a few feet away, but she hadn't seen even a hint of stone through the thick fog until she'd practically smacked her face into it.
Remy's fingers touched the bandages on her aching, scraped palms before she asked aloud, "Where are we?"
She could see the faint shadows of the ponaturi through the mist, but they gave no answer.
Had she made the right decision?
How many times had she asked herself that question now? Over and over, she had run through everything that had happened. From that morning, which seemed so very long ago now, with the runaway carriage to the shattering kitchen window and then to the Wild Hunt and the faeries in the forest. Brigitte and Claire were gone, likely taken as well, and who knows what had happened to the rest of her family.
Remy's chest tightened as she recalled the image of her uncle, his brow creased with concentration, throwing himself between the flames and her. In vain. Remy remembered the feel of hands clasping her shoulders and dragging her backwards. She'd seen the hole, gaping in the kitchen tile. Black, bottomless. Remy had screamed once, and then she'd been thrown inside.
Her uncle, her mother, and Noah. What had happened to them? Were they all right? Her mother and uncle seemed to know something about these people. There'd been a gun hidden in the house, and her mother had called Mac Fiáin by name. If they'd known and they'd been prepared, perhaps her family made it through safely.
Remy took a deep breath. Those thoughts would have to comfort her for now. She had her own problems.
A company of riders with deadly hounds and horses, faerie soldiers with bright eyes and sharp swords, and of course the reptilian ponaturi who walked shrouded by an eerie mist. They'd all wanted her and her sisters. Why? Because of this Bride? Because of this Talise Dang? Who was Talise Dang to their mother? What did it all mean? And how was Remy going to escape and find her sisters? Could she even escape?
The questions spun in endless circles as Remy trudged onward through the fog, blind to all but obscured backs of the ponaturi and the uneven ground beneath her feet.
At long last, they came to a halt. One of the ponaturi appeared before her, its hand outstretched, showing the flat of its palm.
"Rest break?" asked Remy hopefully.
The fog had started to fade, and Remy began to see more of the ponaturi, sitting and standing amongst the pale grass and scattered boulders. Their wide eyes stole glances in Remy's direction before they carried on their conversations with one another. When they spoke, it was in that same, strange language, the words of which rung hollow in Remy's ears.
Remy stood there uselessly, uncertain if she should take a seat.
Thankfully, one of the ponaturi stepped forward. This one was slightly taller than the others. A robe of murky brown draped about its shoulders and fell past its knobby knees. Its golden eyes seemed weary as it stared up at Remy. Only when the ponaturi spoke did Remy realize it was actually a female. In throaty tones, she said, "The road home is long even in the mist."
"You speak English," said Remy, surprised.
"I know many speaks," she said. "We all do. Tagalog, Māori, Malay, Samoan, Tongan, Hawaiian. We know many. Few know English."
"So many languages," said Remy, because she didn't know what else to say.
"We have much time." She gestured to a spot on the ground where a thin patch of grass grew. "Sit. Rest now. We will walk again."
Remy hesitated before doing as commanded.
The golden-eyed ponaturi sat down as well. Her scales appeared dull and faded in comparison to the other ponaturi. For a moment, her gaze seemed to flicker out of focus, but then she looked up at Remy and said, "I am called TeiTei the Mist-Maker."
"Nice to meet you. I'm Remy."
TeiTei's heavy eyelids slid shut, but quickly, she opened them. Her head turned as she checked their surroundings.
"Are you the one creating this fog?" Remy suddenly understood the exhaustion in TeiTei's posture.
"Yes," said TeiTei. "Ponaturi come from the sea. Not all can, but some like me can call on the fog."
"Is that where we're going? To the sea?"
"Yes. To the Western Sea. Between…" Her thin lips pulled into a frown. "I forget English names. Between Aremata-Popoto and Aremata-Roroa. There we must bring the Bride to wed."
"What is this Bride everyone keeps mentioning?"
TeiTei didn't respond right away. She mulled over her words before saying, "The Bride is balance. Also gives great power to spouse. That is how great clans became great clans. The Brides before married into their clans. Not all Brides marry. But ones that do give and receive power."
There were so many questions Remy wanted to ask. So many things she wanted to know. But she was afraid that if she asked too much at once, TeiTei would stop talking entirely. "There have been Brides before?"
TeiTei's strained eyes closed, then only the left one opened. "Many. After one dies, a new Bride born again in living world. Always human."
"Why do you think my sisters and I are this Bride?"
"One of you," said TeiTei. "The witch saw it. Daughter of Talise Dang will be the next Bride."
Remy opened her mouth, wanting to declare that this was all a mistake, that her mother was Eliza Lemelle. But then, she remembered her mother's fierce expression as she spoke to Mac Fiáin. It seemed her mother kept more secrets than Remy had ever guessed.
"Do you know which daughter is the Bride?" asked Remy.
TeiTei shook her head.
"Is there a way to tell?"
TeiTei opened her right eye as well. "Yes. Not easy ways. But there are ways."
TeiTei was surprisingly willing to sit and provide answers. Remy half expected her to suddenly declare all this talking useless and leave Remy alone with unanswered questions. But TeiTei remained seated on the thin grass.
Of course, if the ponaturi wanted Remy to marry one of them, they couldn't be rude. They needed to be friendly, make her feel comfortable, so that marriage didn't seem like a terrible fate. All their politeness was for nothing. Remy wouldn't marry any of these creatures. Not the ponaturi, not the faeries, not the company of riders. She was going to find her sisters and get the hell back to her world.
"You will not marry." TeiTei's slow voice interrupted Remy's thoughts. She watched Remy carefully, golden eyes unblinking.
"No," said Remy. She didn't see any reason to lie. Who in their right mind would be on board with marriage immediately after being kidnapped from their home?
"Why not escape?" asked TeiTei. "Why follow ponaturi through the mist?"
Remy almost laughed aloud. How many times had she imagined doing just that? To take off through the thick fog and hope that by the time the ponaturi realized she had fled, she would be long gone. But that was only a fantasy. "What's the point? How far would I get in this land I know nothing about? What kind of creature would find me next?"
"That is why you chose ponaturi." TeiTei shifted her position on the ground. At last, she said, "I have been to your world, Remy."
"Have you?" Remy wanted to ask more about this Bride and these creatures chasing after her, but sometimes patience was the key to getting the right answers.
"The Folk travel to the living world. Not all. Some of the ponaturi do. I have been. I swam in the reefs and walked on black shores."
"'Living world'," repeated Remy. "Are you not alive?"
TeiTei's head raised as she scanned the mist. Putting her hands on the ground, she lifted herself to a standing position. The conversation was over, Remy knew. No more answers. But before she left, TeiTei said, "The Folk do not live. We do not die either. We are until we are not."
"You're immortal?" asked Remy. It sure sounded like immortality.
But TeiTei didn't answer. Her attention focused on something in the mist. A small figure appeared through the gloom, webbed feet hurrying across the rocky ground. He spoke to TeiTei in hushed tones as the other ponaturi listened with wary gazes.
Remy get to her feet just as TeiTei shouted a command. The ponaturi leapt into motion.
"They chase us," said TeiTei darkly. "Karnon Mac Fiáin and his Wild Hunt want the Bride."
Remy's heart skipped a beat. Milky eyes. Black mail. Deer helm. Chasing. Chasing her. The Wild Hunt hadn't given up yet.
Were the faeries out there too? Or had Mac Fiáin and the Wild Hunt dealt with them? How close was the Wild Hunt? Was there any way to escape? Had she made the right decision in following the ponaturi?"
Remy didn't want to go with the Wild Hunt. She didn't trust them. Mac Fiáin had stalked her through the streets, and her mother had thrown a knife at him. If the Wild Hunt caught her, she wasn't sure she could escape. But how could the ponaturi outrun riders on horseback?
TeiTei tapped Remy's knee.
Remy took a deep breath, pushed away the frantic thoughts, and managed to ask, "Will they catch us?"
"Salt Kingdom not strong like great clans, but we have our own power." TeiTei took a step back and pressed her small hands together. "You chose ponaturi. We will take you to Western Sea. Follow us."
TeiTei's eyes closed. At once, the fog began to thicken. The smell of brine seeped through the damp air. TeiTei faded in little more than a phantom and then disappeared entirely.
Remy stumbled back in surprise. The heel of her shoe hit a stone, but before she could fall, a hand stabilized her. She looked down at two wide, orange eyes. The head nodded, and then the creature started through the mist.
Well, Remy had made her choice. She couldn't turn back now.
With that grim thought, Remy followed the ponaturi through the fog.
Brigitte pulled the cloak of thick fur tightly around her. The blue hood stopped the snow from falling in her hair, but still flakes found their way onto her cheeks and eyelashes. Brigitte glanced down to see Tama's white head poking out from beneath the folds of the cloak.
"You'll get cold," said Brigitte fondly, as she quickly covered Tama with the cloak. Tama gave a half-hearted meow of protest before settling herself in Brigitte's arms.
Brigitte's smile faded as she lifted her head and found herself staring out at the barren winterland and pale evening sky that stretched out before her.
For a moment, she indulged in the fantasy for running away. Of gritting her teeth against the cold and taking off across the snowy banks. In reality, she and Tama would be caught in a heartbeat. She wasn't fast like Claire or nimble like Remy. But in her fantasy, Brigitte imagined herself swift and strong. She'd race through the snow and across the vast, frozen lake to the skeletal forest on the other side. She didn't know what lay past the forest, but Brigitte liked to think that her sisters waited there. They'd escaped the Folk and come to find her. Together the three of them would find a way home. Back to their mother and uncle and, of course, Noah.
Noah. The thought of him calmed Brigitte whenever she felt scared. And she'd felt scared almost every minute since she'd woken up on the outskirts of a dark forest, bundled up in a silver sleigh, and surrounded by frost demons.
"Frost demons" was how they'd introduced themselves once Brigitte had calmed down a little. Her first reaction had been to shriek and sob and ask for her sisters.
The tallest of the demons had waited patiently for her panic to fade, while the other frost demons had dismounted from the backs of proud reindeer. The demons and reindeer had wandered off through the snow, speaking to one another in a haunting language and they watched the edge of the forest. The silver sleigh was pulled by four white stags, who had stamped the ground impatiently with their hoofs as they waited for Brigitte to stop crying.
Tama had nuzzled her fingers. The soft fur had felt familiar, a reminder of home, and finally, Brigitte had calmed down enough to ask, "Who are you?"
"To the living, I go by the name Crispin," the tall demon had said. "And what do they call you, little one?"
"Brigitte." Even through her stuffy nose and thick voice, Brigitte had managed to sound annoyed. She'd always hated the fact that she'd ended up shorter than her younger sisters.
"Apologies for your uncomfortable arrival to the land of the Folk. We were in a hurry and couldn't give you the hospitality you deserve." Crispin had sat at the front of the sleigh with perfect posture, his hands folded in his lap. His armor was silver and trimmed with white fur. A blue cloak draped over his shoulders, identical to the one wrapped around Brigitte. A long sword remained sheathed at his side, and Brigitte hadn't been able to stop herself from glancing at it whenever he'd spoken.
"Where are my sisters?" Brigitte had asked.
"The tale I've heard is that the dokkaebi snatched one from the claws of the yōkai, while the Wild Hunt and the Courts fought over the other. No one wants to find themselves in the middle of that old dispute."
Brigitte had remembered her mother's tales of the mischievous dokkaebi and of the frightful Wild Hunt. A shiver had run down her spine as she'd imagined her sisters as alone and confused as she was.
"What do you want with us?" she'd asked.
Crispin had tilted his head back and looked to the sky, which had been the same unchanging shade of pale violet, then he'd said, "The witch Grimhildr spoke beneath the golden trees that Talise Dang would give birth to the next Bride. Your mother is Talise Dang, and so one of the three sisters must be the Bride." After that, he'd gone on to tell her that the immortal Folk had taken countless Brides from her world and those Brides had married the Folk for great power. Then, Crispin had looked Brigitte in the eyes and said, "You will marry too, if you are the Bride."
"I'm not the Bride," she'd cried. "And I already have someone I love."
At that, Crispin had offered her a cold smile. "What does love have to do with it?"
Brigitte's had recoiled, her shoulders pressed against the back of the sleigh as she'd tried to escape that icy stare. Tama had squirmed before poking her head out from beneath the cloak. She'd hissed at Crispin, barring her teeth, but the demon had paid her no mind.
"Marriage," Crispin had said, "is a contract. The greatest contract of all, for both parties give their being to one another. The Bride will give her power of life and death to her spouse, and her spouse will give the power of the Folk to the Bride. Balance will be restored. That is the role of the Bride. Your role, if you are the next Bride."
Brigitte had tried to run. She'd started to get up, but before she could even stand, Crispin had moved across the sleigh. His deathly pale hands tucked the cloak around her, pinning her in place. He'd smiled, his eyes disappearing beneath his silver lashes, as he said, "We promised the Winter King we would keep you safe and warm, Brigitte."
And so, Brigitte had remained in the sleigh as the stags raced at breakneck speed through this strange land. The rolling highland hills had passed in a blur before transforming into white banks and bare trees. She'd watched the sky, waiting for the twilight to fade into night, but always it had remained the same: violet melting into a muted orange horizon. Untouched and unchanged, as hollow as the flowers and trees of the Dark Forest.
Brigitte didn't know how long her journey through the winterland lasted, but she'd been relieved when Crispin had finally called for a short rest. He'd let her wander away from sleigh, knowing that she had nowhere to run.
Brigitte stared out at the frozen lake and fought back the tears that threatened to fall yet again.
Noah. Think of Noah. What would Noah say at a time like this? He'd slip his hand in hers and smile at her. A stray copper curl would fall across his forehead as he told her that she would make it through this. She could cry when it was all over. Now wasn't the time. Now, she had to focus.
"We're going to see him again," Brigitte whispered to Tama. "You, me, Remy, and Claire. We'll find our way back home. Mom and Uncle Jorge, they'll be waiting for us. And Noah—" Her voice broke as she remembered him calling her name through the chaos of the kitchen. "Noah too. I still have to pick out my wedding dress. I'm torn between two—you can help me decide."
Tama poked her head out from beneath the fur trim of the cloak. Rather than offer wedding dress advice, Tama let out a sharp hiss.
Brigitte followed her line of sight to the edge of the frozen lake. A woman stood on the bank. Her robes blended together with the snow, but her inky black hair was cold in contrast to the bleak landscape.
Brigitte took a step forward. The woman seemed thin and frail, her shoulders bent against the cold. Her robes didn't seem thick enough. Brigitte wondered if she should ask Crispin for help, but then she stopped. She didn't want to throw another woman at the mercy of the frost demons.
"What has caught your eye?" Crispin's smooth voice cut across the snow.
"There's a woman by the lake," said Brigitte, after a brief hesitation. But as soon as she spoke, Brigitte felt silly. This was the land of the Folk. The woman was probably one of them.
"Yuki-onna," said one of the frost demons with disgust.
"A snow woman," translated Crispin. "The ghost of a living woman who perished in the cold." He glanced at the edge of the lake. "There are more ghosts outside of Shāgui than usual. Jian has become lazy."
One of the frost demons made a quip in their native speech, and Crispin laughed.
Then, Crispin said, "Come, Brigitte, the journey is not much longer. You'll find more warmth in the halls of the Winter King than out here in the open snow."
Brigitte nodded but didn't move to follow him immediately. The ghost had vanished from the edge of the lake, and the snow remained untouched as if the yuki-onna had never been.
Ghosts, frost demons, dokkaebi, a winter king, and the Wild Hunt. All of this was over her head. She wanted to be home, playing board games with her family, sharing work gossip with her friends, and laughing with Noah over some stupid joke.
Brigitte took a deep breath as she made her way back through the crisp snow. Now wasn't the time to cry. Now, she had to focus. She had to escape these frost demons and find her sisters. When she back in their house, surrounded by her family, then and only then could she cry again.
And with that resolute thought, she climbed back into the silver sleigh.
A/N: Please research dokkaebi and ponaturi if you're interested in learning more! I have to alter things to make everything fit into a single story, but the original mythology is very interesting! The frost demons are based on a multitude of things but primarily are inspired by Russian folklore.
Please leave a review if you're enjoying this story! Thank you!
