The Iron King

The wyldwood was an eerie, quiet place, but it was still alive. Trees stood ancient and tall, plants bloomed, and splashes of vibrant color pierced the grayness, indicating life. Animals slipped through the trees, and strange creatures moved about in the shadows; you never got a clear view of them, but you knew they were there. You could feel them watching you.

Then, all of a sudden, the trees dropped away, and we stood at the edge of a barren clearing.

What little grass remained was yellow and dying, sparse patches of vegetation in the rocky ground. A few trees were scattered here and there, but they were withered, twisted things, empty of leaves and blackened. From a distance, the branches glinted, jagged and sharp, like weird metal sculptures. The hot wind smelled of copper and dust.

Puck stared at the dead forest for a long time. “Twiggs was right,” he muttered, staring at a withered tree. He made as if to touch one of the branches, but withdrew his hand with a shudder. “This isn’t natural. Something is poisoning the wyldwood.”

I reached up to touch one of the glittering branches, and jerked back with a gasp. “Ouch!”

Puck whirled on me. “What?”

I showed him my hand. Blood welled from a slice in my finger, thin as a paper cut. “The tree. It cut me.”

Puck examined my finger and frowned. “Metallic trees,” he mused, pulling a hankie from his pocket and wrapping it around my finger. “That’s new. If you see any steel dryads, be sure to tell me so I can run away screaming.”

I scowled and looked back at the tree. A single drop of blood glistened on the offending branch before dropping to the cracked earth. The twigs gleamed along their edges, as if honed to fine blades.

“Oberon must know about this,” Puck muttered, crouching to examine a circle of dry grass. “Twiggs said it was spreading, but where is it coming from?” He rose quickly and swayed on his feet, putting out a hand to steady himself. I grabbed his arm.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

“I’m fine, princess.” He nodded and gave me a pained smile. “A little perturbed about the state of my home, but what can you do?” He coughed and waved a hand in front of his face, as if he smelled something foul. “But this air is making me sick. Let’s get out of here.”

I sniffed, but smelled nothing bad, just dirt and the sharp tang of something metallic, like rust. But Puck was already leaving, his brow furrowed in anger or pain, and I hurried to catch up.

THE HOWLING BEGAN a few hours later.

Puck stopped in the middle of the trail, so abruptly that I nearly ran into him. He held up a hand, silencing me, before I could ask what was going on.

I heard it then, drifting over the breeze, a chorus of chilling bays and howls echoing behind us. My heart revved up, and I inched closer to my companion.

“What is that?”

“A hunt,” Puck replied, looking off into the distance. He grimaced. “You know, I was just thinking we needed to be run down like rabbits and torn apart. My day just isn’t complete without something trying to kill me.”

I grew cold. “Something’s after us?”

“You’ve never seen a wild hunt, have you.” Puck groaned, running his fingers through his hair. “Damn. Well, this will complicate things. I was hoping to give you the grand tour of the Nevernever, princess, but I guess I’ll have to put it on hold.”

The baying grew closer, deep, throaty howls. Whatever was coming at us, it was big. “Shouldn’t we run?” I whispered.

“You’ll never be able to outrun them,” Puck said, backing away. “They’ve got our scent now, and no mortal has ever escaped a wild hunt.” He sighed and dramatically flung his arm over his eyes. “I guess the sacrifice of my dignity is the only thing that will save us now. The things I endure for love. The Fates laugh at my torment.”

“What are you talking about?”

Puck smiled his eerie little grin and began to change.

His face stretched out, becoming longer and narrower, as his neck began to grow. His arms spasmed, fingers turning black and fusing into hooves. He arched his back, spine expanding, as his legs became hindquarters bunched with muscle. Fur covered his skin as he dropped to all fours, no longer a boy but a sleek gray horse with a shaggy mane and tail. The transformation had taken less than ten seconds.

I backed up, remembering my encounter with the thing in the water, but the dappled horse stamped its foreleg and swished its tail impatiently. I saw its eyes, shining like emeralds through the dangling forelocks, and my fear abated somewhat.

The howling was very close now, growing more and more frenzied. I ran to horse-Puck and threw myself on his back, grabbing his mane to heave myself up. Despite living on a farm, I’d only been on horseback once or twice, and it took me a couple of tries to get up. Puck snorted and tossed his head, annoyed with my lack of equestrian skills.