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The Ironwood was only the very edge of the forest. It was the part people knew best, and when they talked about the forest, that was usually what they meant. The trees there were hardy and difficult to chop, but they were not all that different from ordinary trees, not in any way that mattered.
Not like the Greenwood, further in. Not like the Darkwood, the very heart of the forest. No one talked about that. No one dared.
Even Mari, captain of the Woodguard, had not meant the Darkwood when she had gathered a group to go into the forest. Branwen was one of the six charged with venturing into the Greenwood to investigate rumors of strange whispers coming from the trees. The Ironwood was safe, for now, but if something had changed in the Greenwood, it might well seep through to the Ironwood, and then to the countryside beyond.
If something had changed in the Greenwood, perhaps something had changed in the Darkwood as well.
The six of them had set out at dawn. When they reached the Ironwood, Arianwen took the lead. She knew the place best, having grown up all but under its leaves. Her twin sister Aeronwy was the rear guard.
Aeronwy was the first of them to vanish.
Rhys, their archer, noticed her disappearance first. His gaze had been on the trees, but he must have turned back, for he was the one who called out, “Wait!” His voice was low, but loud enough to get their attention, and they came to a halt.
No one had to speak. It only took a glance at the absence where he looked to know what was wrong.
Arianwen broke the silence. “We’re going back,” she said.
“Back where?” Branwen asked. “We don’t know when she left us.” It had happened suddenly, silently enough that none of them had noticed until Rhys had called out. They didn’t even know where she had left them, whether she had made a wrong turn someplace or had stopped at a stream and was only trailing behind.
But she should have been able to keep them in sight. She should have known to keep them in sight. Out of everyone, the people who had grown up right beside the forest were the ones who would best know how dangerous it was.
Arianwen seemed all too aware of the danger. Her eyes were wild as she shoved past Huw and Ianto to confront Branwen. “Back along our path until we find her,” she snapped. “Ianto, you’ll be able to see where she turned away from the path.”
“If she turned away,” Huw muttered.
Arianwen whirled about to face him. “She’s gone!” she cried. “That’s all that matters! She’s gone, and we have to find her. There’s no telling what can happen to someone alone in the forest.”
Ianto held up his hand, and Arianwen fell silent, though her fists were still tightly clenched at her sides. “I haven’t heard anything yet,” he said. “There are usually birds. Crickets. Today there’s nothing.”
They all were silent after that. Branwen looked up, peering at the trees as though she could see any of the birds that weren’t singing. There was not a single sign of animal life to be found.
All the same, she couldn’t shake the sense that they were being watched.
“We can’t go back,” she said. “Aeronwy knew there were risks. We all do. We have to keep going.” They had a duty. Mari would insist on that. She liked to think Aeronwy would as well.
Arianwen shook her head, short hair flying about her face. “You can go on if you like,” she said. “You can wait here if you dare. I’m going back, and I’ll need Ianto to come with me.”
The tracker looked down for a moment, grimaced, and nodded. “I’m the best chance she has at finding her,” he said. “Aeronwy knew there were risks, and she wouldn’t want the mission to be put at risk for her sake alone. She would do the same for any of us, though.”
Branwen’s heart twisted inside her, and the argument was likely why Huw went to Arianwen’s side, one hand on his sword. “You’ll want me with you, in case you run into trouble. Branwen, you should stay with Rhys. We’ll go after Aeronwy as well as we can, and when we find her, we’ll catch up to you two. See what you can find out, but don’t move too quickly.”
Branwen nodded. “We’ll leave a trail,” she said. “Whatever else happens, we’ll meet at the edge of the forest by dusk. Outside the Ironwood.”
Huw grasped her hand tightly, and for a moment they stared into one another’s eyes. Branwen couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but she could easily guess what he felt. The two of them had trained together, had been knighted on the same day, were quite possibly closer than lovers. He would worry about her, just as she would worry about him.
But they had their duties. Worry had no place in their line of work.
“I’ll see you by dusk,” she said, willing him to live until then.
“If I don’t see you sooner.” Huw tried to grin, but it looked strained and anxious. It wasn’t just Arianwen’s distress that reached him. They were all nervous at the edge of the Greenwood, with the forest so quiet. Ianto was right; it ought to be louder. They should have heard something besides themselves, even if their arrival had scared away some of the animals.
Something was wrong, and Aeronwy was alone with it.
“We may not have much time,” Arianwen snapped. “We have to move, now.”
“And we should see whether we can find anything,” Rhys added. “We’ll head deeper into the Greenwood. You shouldn’t go any further in unless you have to.”
“Only if we’re following Aeronwy or you,” Ianto said. “We’ll see you soon.”
That soon didn’t feel much like a promise. It felt more like an empty hope. Still, Branwen nodded and forced herself to smile. They would see one another, she told herself. Aeronwy would be found, and she would be well. They would meet again by midafternoon and have a good sense of what was wrong well by dusk.
That was too much to hope for. Aeronwy would be found, and she would be well. That much felt safe.
Rhys took the lead as they went deeper into the forest. It was frightening to walk through the forest with only one other person to look after her.
It would be even worse to be alone. Let the Virgin protect Aeronwy! She was the only deity Branwen could think of who might have any power in the forest, and even that was doubtful. This wasn’t a godless place, but the gods who reigned here were ones that no human had ever known.
They left the Ironwood behind, and with it the straight paths and gnarled trees. In the Greenwood, the ground was more overgrown and the trees larger and further between. The paths meandered more, carved by animals passing through. Few people walked those paths, and fewer still returned from them. The Greenguard were the only ones who could reliably pass beneath the leaves of the Greenwood and come back. Branwen would guess that about one in fifteen of their number was lost.
The Greenwood was as silent as the Ironwood had been. Rhys glanced over his shoulder at Branwen. She nodded. Rhys nodded in return and drew an arrow from his quiver. He didn’t lift his bow, but he held the arrow nocked and ready, in case anything should leap out at them.
Nothing leapt out at them. Nothing creaked or shifted in the shadows. They might as well have been the only two things alive in the forest.
Except for the plants. Those were all around them, verdant and thick. Bushes grew between the trees, soaking up the sunlight filtering through the leaves. Some were nearly as high as Branwen’s waist. She and Rhys gave them a wide berth and did their best to avoid treading on the flowers. Anything in the Greenwood might prove treacherous. There was no telling whether a flower might hide a sinkhole, or latch onto an exposed ankle and suck away at someone’s blood.
There was no avoiding the vines. Even by the paths, they grew thick around the trees, some winding across the ground, others hanging between boughs. Rhys and Branwen ducked around them as much as they could, but it was impossible to avoid brushing up against them from time to time. They seemed almost eager to be touched; Branwen thought she saw some moving out of the corner of her eye.
“Rhys,” she said, but he shushed her before she could go on.
He was right. It wasn’t wise to speak too openly. Even though they couldn’t hear anything, something might hear them.
From far off, Branwen thought she heard a cry. Arianwen, maybe, or Aeronwy? Perhaps it was only a bird that could mimic a human voice. There were far stranger things than that in the Greenwood. A bird that had learned how to speak like one of them would be almost expected.
But it was still alarming. Why would a bird have learned to sound like them? What trap did it want to lead them into?
And was one of the twins in danger to have taught it that sound?
The cry was not repeated. She and Rhys pushed on, weaving their way deeper into the Greenwood. All the while, Branwen kept turning the sound over in her mind. The more she thought about it, the more she realized the cry hadn’t sounded pained or frightened. There had been a raw, ragged edge to it, but if anything, it had sounded pleasurable. Somewhere out there, a bird had learned how to mimic the sound of one of the twins getting fucked.
Or somewhere out there, one of the twins was getting fucked. It was impossible to tell what was true.
A steady flush rose up Branwen’s cheeks from her chest. She was grateful Rhys had his attention ahead of them, into the forest. She couldn’t stand how ridiculous she was being, and she could stand it even less if Rhys were to turn and notice her embarrassment. Better that he should think she was doing exactly what he was: focusing all attention on the forest around them.
She breathed in, trying to ignore the thick, green smell that caught in her nose and throat. She couldn’t imagine how many plants they had crushed under their heavy boots as they walked. She could only hope that none were toxic, or unleashed fumes that served as silent signals. For all she knew, they drew the weight of the forest’s attention on them with every passing second.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Be open to the Greenwood. The only way to notice whether something was wrong was to not focus on any one particular part of the forest but to try to spread her attention, to see things out of the corner of her eye and pick up little sounds she might otherwise put to the back of her mind. She had to notice the way the vines and tendrils of the trees shifted with their movement. She had to track the smell in the air, to see whether it changed. She had to listen for birds or even insects. Their absence was telling, but what it told yet, she wouldn’t know. That answer would come when she could hear something new.
Then it came: a gasp just behind her ear, as though someone had drawn in a sharp breath. It reminded her, almost, how she herself gasped when she set a finger against her clit and pressed in just the right way…
Branwen whirled, her face burning. There was nothing behind her. Shaking in rage and indignation, she turned back, not caring how loudly she spoke. “Rhys, did you hear…”
Her voice died away. Rhys was nowhere to be seen. There was not even a sign of where he might have gone: no path, no sign of a struggle, nothing at all. He might as well have disappeared into thin air.
“Rhys!” Branwen called, as loudly as she could. There was no answer. No bird called out in sudden alarm, no trees rustled with suspicious amusement. There wasn’t even a muffled human cry in response.
She couldn’t go forward alone. Rhys would understand that, and so would the others. Cursing under her breath, she drew her dagger and marked the first letter of his name on the nearest tree, cutting as deeply as she could into the bark in her fury. Droplets of sap flew from the wound, and one struck her cheek, clinging and hot. Cursing again, she tried to wipe it away but found the sticky substance only smeared across her skin.
It didn’t matter. It wasn’t burning into her, and she could likely find the others before any slow-acting effects took hold. She would have to; she had no other choice.
Branwen sheathed her dagger and turned, following the trail markers she and Rhys had already left. They had been careful with those, leaving subtler signs. Her eyes could pick them out easily, though. She had trained for too long in the safer Ironwood to lose her head in the Greenwood, even frightened as she was.
The sun had already been climbing, and now she noticed the heat still more. The shade of the trees kept the worst of it away, but she had already been walking for hours, and breaking into a run now felt like very nearly too much. Her armor was heavy on her, and she was already sweating. Her hair clung to her skin, and every time she reached up to brush it free, her fingers touched the bit of sap on her cheek.
It was hard not to touch it. It stood out like a sore spot in her mouth or a loose tooth; it was strange, unfamiliar, and it seemed to call her attention when she could least afford to lose it. Her feet stumbled over exposed roots she should have noticed, and once she splashed into a stream she was almost sure she had not crossed on her way into the Greenwood.
Branwen stopped. She had not crossed that stream. Somewhere along the way, she had left the trail, and without knowing where or when, she could not find her way back. She was now just as lost as Rhys, and the others would have no chance of finding them, even if they could find Aeronwy.
Branwen closed her eyes, trying to focus. Breathe in. Breathe out. Expand her focus.
But it was so damned hard with that spot of sap on her cheek! It tingled now, prickling at her skin, and every time she reached up to rub it, some came away on her fingertips. They now prickled too, as though something buzzed under her skin. Rubbing at it only pressed the buzzing deeper, and it did nothing to ease the heavy warmth that had settled into her body. Only water would ease that, but she didn’t dare drink from the stream. Only a fool would drink anything found in the Greenwood.
Branwen groaned and rubbed her hand across her cheek again. She could still find her way to the Ironwood. She hadn’t gotten so turned around as to forget that. Once she was there, she could find a spring of clear water, drink her fill, and strip off her armor for a while. That was what she needed: to ease the weight on her body and to rest. She stumbled forward, brushing aside vines as she went. Green streaks stood out on her armor and her hand, but she couldn’t tell which plants they had come from. It didn’t matter by now. She was tired, more than she should have been. She had to get out of here, then she could rest.
Before long, her whole cheek prickled, as did the corner of her mouth. She didn’t know when the sap had touched that, only that it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. In fact, it wasn’t unpleasant at all. It reminded her of the buzzing joy that came after a long, hard kiss.
It was dangerous. She shouldn’t think about the last time she had been kissed. She shouldn’t try to remember Finbar, wandering from afar, stumbling into her life and then out again as carelessly as a minstrel might do anything. It would only distract her – she could already feel it tugging at her thoughts – and she couldn’t afford any distractions.
She shouldn’t let her tongue dart out to that prickling irritation, but by the time she thought of it, it was already too late. She felt the prickle on her tongue, then rolling down her throat, then pouring all through her.
In the back of her mind, she was sure it was happening too fast. That was only a stray, passing thought, though, one which was quickly silenced. The only thing she could focus on now was how warm she felt, how intolerable the weight on her body was.
The sword was the first to go, clattering onto the ground. Her belt and dagger followed, then the rest of her armor. The breastplate, the greaves, her leather jerkin… all fell into a heap on the ground, until she stood in nothing more than her linen shift and breeches, all streaked with green from her clumsy hands. The cloth clung to her sweaty skin, and without thinking, she pulled them away as well, until she stood bare under the leaves.
And she was still too hot.
Now, at least, the heat wasn’t spread across her skin. It had tightened, condensing into a knot between her thighs. Her clit pulsed in time with her heartbeat, and Branwen staggered to a tree, pressing her back against it for support. Warm sap oozed out of a gash in the bark, but she didn’t pay it any mind. If anything, it felt good, sliding slowly along her skin, spreading warmth into her body again. Something about the shape felt familiar, but she could worry about that later. She could worry about everything later. For now, she had to take care of the intolerable heat.
Rhys would understand. Everyone would understand, if only they could feel what she felt. She thought, for a moment, of the cry she had heard, of the phantom gasp behind her. Her clit pulsed again, and with a cry of her own, she plunged her hand between her legs, into the wet heat she found there.
It felt like a dam bursting. Branwen could not stop herself. Two fingers, then three, pumped in and out, and the heel of her hand slammed against her clit again and again, in a rough, wild rhythm. She had never had a climax like this, so uncontrolled, so consuming. She had never felt as though all her senses were opened up. Touch and scent and even taste all felt wildly alive within her body. The roughness of the tree’s bark, the verdant air, the lingering sweet-bitter sap still coating her tongue, all seemed to be part of the explosion of sensation.
She knew, somehow, it would never be this good again.
Branwen stared down at her body, reveling in the sheen of her skin, the shifting of her muscles. She was beautiful. She had thought that from time to time, but now it seemed wondrous, a small miracle. Every aspect of herself was perfect, even the streaks of green her hand had left on her belly and thighs.
She could not take her eyes off the green. She hadn’t thought the vines had left so much on her. This was the Greenwood. Things were strange here. Still, she had not thought she would be marked like this. She was almost tattooed, as though the forest itself had claimed her.
The thought pulsed through her, wild and wicked, and she whimpered, muscles clenching around her fingers. She shouldn’t want this, shouldn’t feel this aroused at the thought of being marked forever by the Greenwood, but every nerve in her body already felt alight. Almost anything would seem delicious now, even the vines waving through the air, though there was no wind to shake them.
Before the observation could connect with any thought, one of the vines darted forward, pressing cool and slick against her skin. It touched one of the streaks of green, then darted down, wrapping about her forearm and wrist. The only movement she could make was a desperate twitch that pressed it against her clit.
Branwen shrieked in pleasure and terror.
As soon as her mouth was open, another vine, as sinuous and strong as a sea creature’s tentacle darted between her lips, muffling her cry. One single leaf pressed by her nose, filling every breath she took with its lush, green scent, but everything within her was smooth. Branwen bit down, digging her teeth into the vine, but the vine seemed to feel no pain. The only change was that her mouth began to fill with sap, the very same that prickled against her cheek and her back.
It prickled within her mouth, too, tingling and itching. She had never felt anything like this before, not even from the peppers Albert had brought back from one of his long voyages. This time, the heat was nothing like fire; it was a steadily growing warmth, one that increased the more she tried to rub her tongue and palate against the vine. It felt familiar. It felt decadent. It felt like… it felt like…
Lust.
Branwen moaned, eyes fluttering. She didn’t know when she had started masturbating again, only that every stroke inside herself made her feel almost giddy with pleasure. The vine pressed against her clit seemed to pulse with a life of its own, with far more control than she’d shown before. The Greenwood knew what it was doing. The Greenwood was in control. There was nothing to do but give over to the Greenwood.
Branwen moaned again. Vines wove before her, shifting and swaying until she gave up trying to focus on them and let her gaze go distant. The world was a blur now of shades of green. She felt rather than saw the vines wrap around her limbs, spreading her legs wide and pulling her arms away from her body. When her hand was tugged from between her legs, she whimpered, but it was soon replaced by yet another vine, one that slipped inside her so easily that she couldn’t help but sag against the tree.
Of course the forest would be more skilled at pleasure than she. Of course she had to give into it. What else was there to do? Aeronwy had done so, and Rhys. Now it was her turn.
Branwen didn’t know how she knew about Aeronwy and Rhys. The thought had slipped into her mind as though planted there by a foreign hand. She only supposed it must be true. Why else would she have thought it? Why else would the forest have told her so?
She smiled. It was the only thing the Greenwood would let her do now.
Not the only thing.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Expand her focus. Be open to the Greenwood. Let it slip inside her mind as it had slipped inside her body.
There was still sunlight when the vines let her slump to the ground, but beyond that, she had lost all sense of time. She only knew that now she had a chance to rest, for her body to replenish its strength. She would need it, she knew. Her work here was not yet done.
Branwen slept. In her dreams, the forest whispered to her, filling her mind anew.
When she woke, the world felt fresh and brilliant. It must have been morning, but she had never felt such a morning before. Branwen sprang up, light and nimble, and set about gathering up her clothes. She didn’t want them, but she would need them for her work.
No one could see the green marks staining her skin. No one could see the letter the sap had put on her back. No one could know she was anything other than Branwen the knight, working under her own power.
The Greenwood would spread. Now it had found a new way.