Into the Weirding

The girl knelt down and pressed her hand into the earth. It was cold and damp, the soil and forest detritus clinging to her fingers. She was barefoot. It wasn't vital for what was to come, but it made it easier. She closed her eyes, breathed out slowly, and stepped back into herself. The girl disappeared from the forest, the only sign that she had ever been there was her icy breath, already crawling into nothing in the still night air.

She had always thought of it in those terms; as stepping backwards into herself. She had never learnt how to do it. It was something she just did. It was like a newborn clasping a parent's finger. With little effort and just the barest of intent, she could step outside the world and into herself, and become hidden. She could see the world and move through it, but she was apart from it.

She didn't do it often, only when it was necessary. The world became duller when she was hidden. The sky was darker, the smell of the farms and wildflowers fainter, and touching anything felt like touching it through a cloth. And it was something to keep secret, too. She knew that, felt it instinctively. Only one other knew what she could do, and he was gone now.

That was why she had come to this place. In this small clearing, in the deepest part of the forest, was something she needed to find the boy. She kept herself hidden, kneeling in the brush, and waited. She was patient. She had waited the previous day, and the day before that, returning back to her camp only when the sun had set and she knew she wasn't going to get her chance that day. Even now, as the sun dipped low in the sky on the third day, she knelt, unmoving.

As she waited, she went through every part of what she had to do in her head. First: she had to move slowly. She had been kneeling for hours - when it came time to move she couldn't afford to rush it, to stumble, to break out of herself. She had to be calm, silent. She had to remain hidden.

Next, the knife. She gripped it tightly in her hand, then forced herself to relax and slowly release it. If she held it too loosely she might drop it; too tightly and it could snag and slice her own hand open. When she struck, she had to be relaxed but sure.

Then, the moment of truth. She had to step back outside herself, back into the world, and kill. She would only get one chance. She had practised for hours against a tree, sharpening the knife after every attempt and trying again. She would start the motion and, an instant before the knife cut, become seen. But, if there was no other way, it was better to be seen earlier rather than later. Earlier, and she might still land the kill. Later, and the knife would glance harmlessly off the film between her and the outside world, spoiling her strike.

Finally, she had to move. She had never killed before, but she knew from brawls with the village boys that a fight could set your heart pounding and your mind racing. It could make you by turns as sharp and dangerous as a snake, and as clumsy and dull as a drunkard. In those moments, the world tasted brighter, closer. It was the opposite of when she was hidden, and in the thrill of it she couldn't be sure she could properly step back into herself, couldn't even be sure she'd remember to. She just had to remember one thing. Move.

She turned the plan over in her mind, examining it from all sides, thinking of where it could go wrong. It could go wrong in a lot of places, so it gave her a lot to think about. But the steps, the barest outline of success, remained the same. She was satisfied. It could work.

When he finally appeared, the girl forgot everything. He seemed to appear out of the forest opposite her, larger than she had expected. His ears flicked this way and that, searching for threats, but he moved calmly and his tail was low. His antlers hadn't yet started to shed, and for the first time she understood what the hunters meant when they said he was beautiful. They called him Fehér, the white one, and refused to hunt him. They said he was a messenger from the Weirding, the place between worlds, and to harm him was to incur the wrath of all the creatures living there.

She grimaced, remembering why she was there. If she angered the others tonight, well, at least the feeling would be mutual. She took a deep breath and slowly pushed herself to her feet. 

---

As the old washer woman hung a tunic on the drying rack, something flickered at the edge of her vision. She straightened, grunting with the effort, and pressed one hand to the small of her back. Despite her age her eyes were still sharp, and she stood stone still as she scanned the distant treeline. In the bright morning light, she saw nothing out of the ordinary; the stream crackled happily behind her, and the forest hunched darkly before her.

The girl had surprised her last time. One moment she had been alone, tending her work. The next she turned back and the girl was there. The woman hadn't heard so much as a whisper as she approached. Flint-eyed and hard in a way the woman had never seen in someone so young, the girl stood between her and the river. In all her years the woman had never been so shaken as the day she had laid eyes on that child.

Later, the woman had watched beadily as the girl had slowly disappeared into the forest. She had scanned the treeline every day since, determined not to let the girl sneak up on her again. Well, that had been three days ago. The girl probably wouldn't be sneaking up on anyone anymore. The old woman snorted.

"I got what you said."

The washer woman whirled back toward the voice, gasping as pain shot through her back. The girl stood in the river, covered head to toe in a tacky dark muck. On the bank of the river between them she had laid the three items she had been tasked to find; the heart of a white stag, a sprig of sagebrush from the mountain, and a single marigold.

The woman stood, stunned. The marigold she understood; it grew all around the region. The sagebrush too. It was a hard climb, but certainly not impossible for someone so young. But the white stag?

Moreover, the girl seemed untouched. She stood in the river, calmly washing the blood off her arms and legs. But although her face was as filthy as the rest of her, she hadn't yet washed it. She kept her eyes steady at the washer woman's neck, careful always to keep the old woman in her sight. She is nervous, the woman realised. She smirked inwardly.

"Well, I suppose you'll want to make another bargain then," the washer woman drawled, watching the girl from out of the corner of her eye.

The girl stopped washing herself and stood to face the woman properly. She still did not meet her eyes, but she fixed the old woman with a hard stare all the same.

"I call on you to fulfill our original bargain," the girl said firmly. "I did not ask you what I needed to enter the Weirding. I told you to tell me how to enter the Weirding. Telling me what is needed to do a thing is not the same as telling me how to do a thing."

The old woman ground her teeth. She thought furiously for another way; it was galling to be undone by a mere child. But the girl was right. She had not yet fulfilled the bargain.

"Fine!" she spat. She hobbled slowly towards the items on the river bank. As the girl watched, the old woman seemed to suddenly crackle with energy. With one hand she swept up the sagebrush and marigold, crushing them unceremoniously into a small flask in her other hand. The girl hadn't even seen her retrieve the vessel. Stooping, she clutched the heart in one clawed hand, bringing it up in front of her face as she stood. The old woman grinned broadly at the girl, as though daring her to look away. Abruptly, she brought it to her mouth and with a ferocious bite tore into the thick muscle. Blood streamed down her throat and began overflowing, gushing from between her lips and down her chest. She threw her head back and chewed once, twice, and began gurgling something in a tongue the girl didn't understand.

Finally, the woman raised the flask. Without warning, her head snapped forward, vomiting the blood and bile and saliva down the throat of the container. As the old woman retched and heaved, the magic too seemed to drain out of her. By the time she was done, all that was left was a weathered old woman, panting heavily as she stoppered the flask. She held it out to the girl.

"One sip. You will sleep, and when you wake you will be there."

The girl hesitated only a moment before seizing the flask. She gazed at the woman for a moment, gripping the warm vessel in her hand. Then, like a startled deer, the girl danced off to the side and moved away from the woman. She walked slowly backwards toward the forest, not turning her back on the old woman. When she was well out of reach, she nodded and turned to leave.

"You can't save him," the old woman snarled suddenly. The girl paused, half-turning back. For the first time, the small girl met the eye of the older woman. Her eyes slashed fiercely in the morning light, and despite the distance between them the woman instinctively stepped back.

"I told you already, they won't let him go. You can't save him," she muttered, avoiding her stare.

"You also told me I couldn't catch the white stag," the girl replied. And with that she turned away, heading back into the forest.