An extract from my current work-in-progress, an action/adventure romantasy

GLOAMSPIRE FOREST AT ITS EASTERN BOUNDARY WITH THE SYLVAREAN GROVE

“And boom! She shoots; she scores! Round of applause, please!” The pink-skinned apple Faelana had just kicked smashed into the beech tree trunk with a satisfying ‘thunk’, splattering tiny chunks of flesh and juice all around it.

She sprang forward and grabbed it before Issac Newton’s theory of gravity took effect, and the apple descended to its natural spot on the forest floor. Sticky juice smeared her palm. She tossed it up into the air where it spun 360 degrees before landing in the bucket next to the tree trunk.

Willow, perched astride the beech tree’s overhanging branch, clapped her hands. Her gauze-like wings fluttered in the breeze and the soles of her bare feet were streaked with mud. “Brilliant! Do we have enough of them yet?”

Faelana peered into the bucket. “Think so.”

The apple had joined the others that she had subjected to the same procedure earlier that day. Not the ideal variety for what she had planned next, but in the absence of those, these would suffice. She fished out one of the lesser bashed ones, and bit into it, relishing the crunch and the way the sweet, juicy flavour danced on her tongue.

Once the apple was finished, she addressed the contents of the rest of the bucket. “Friends, the rest of you are about to perform an equally noble sacrifice. Dreadfully sorry that you need to do this, but it’s for the greater good.”

One apple squirmed among the mush. “Sure about that?” a squeaky voice asked.

“’Fraid so.”

She set the bucket on the ground. A heavy oval-shaped iron press appeared out of nowhere and descended onto the apples. The shouts and shrieks took several minutes to die down. Willow plugged her fingers in her ears as the clamour faded away to a squelchy sound. Juice began to drain from the holes in the bottom of the bucket into a container that had emerged underneath it.

The liquid that ran in there was a gorgeous pale golden tint. Faelana dipped her fingers in and out and sucked them. Nice enough, but the product nowhere near as interesting yet as she intended. She cast her eyes around, making sure she and Willow were still alone.

National Service offered both advantages and disadvantages. The lengthy hours spent by themselves guarding the forest’s boundaries against human encroachment fell into each camp. Terrifically boring, but it allowed her and Willow to spend their days doing as they pleased.

An overseer, however, might pop up at any moment and spoil the fun. She closed her eyes, all the better to employ other senses which were far more adept at detecting faerie presence than sight.

Nope. Nothing registered.

She punched the air, and Willow gave her a thumbs up. Plan A on how to while away the afternoon was a-go-go. She plunged her hand into the juice that had run off the press and wriggled her fingers.

Bingo! The juice bubbled. Tiny bursts of carbon dioxide attempting to escape to the surface rippled across her hands. They got there and popped. It was so tickly that it made her giggle, but she kept her hand in place, waiting for the bubbles to subside.

The apples’ aroma changed from sweet to yeasty, with a sour note on the top. The colour of the juice had also intensified from almost clear to orange-yellow. Cruder faeries might liken it to the colour of piss from someone who hasn’t hydrated in a long time. Faelana preferred to think of it as liquid gold.

She snapped her fingers. Two dimpled pint glasses appeared before her. She scooped them into the container. Liquid streamed over the top and down her fingers, dripping onto her flower-topped corset.

Might be a problem. Faeries, with their super-sensitive noses, could pick up such things. Note to self. Clean up before returning home.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Willow stretched out her hand and the second glass flew upward into her grip. “Cheers!”

“Your very good health,” Faelana answered, raising the glass in a toast.

“And yours!”

The first taste was always the best. The rim chinked against Faelana’s teeth as the cider filled her mouth and flowed down her throat. Nice, nice, nice… oh, shoot, shoot! Already, the tree in front of her shimmered. Two Willows perched on the overhanging branch, instead of one.

Finger-wriggling was an art. The cider was three times stronger than normal.

Pinpricks of sunlight penetrated the dense overhead canopy of entangled tree branches, bounced off the ground and straight into her eyeballs. Tomorrow, she would wake up with tiny, brutal hammers banging against her skull, a sense of horrible foreboding that she’d told Elgar to stuff his proposal, and a stomach that thought nothing of voiding itself without any warning.

“Argh, you’ve overdone it!” Willow. Queen of stating the bleedin’ obvious and still shimmering on the branch like two faeries, rather than one.

“Whoopsie! So I have… I know! Let’s have a sing-song. What shall we do with a drunken faerie, what shall we do with a drunken faerie, what shall we do with a drunken faerie…”

Willow obliged, joining in with the rest of the lyrics. “Ear’ly in the morning. Oo-ray and up she rises.” Faelana rose in the air until her face was level with Willow’s, setting the pair of them off in fits of hysterics. She dropped back to the ground, landing on her arse, which only set them off laughing harder.

“Oo-ray and up she rises,” Willow’s voice sent a small flock of sparrows up into the air in protest. “Oo-ray and up she—”

“Shep, Shep, get back here, boy! Where you off too?”

Oh ye larks of blackbird morning! Willow shut up singing abruptly as Faelana whirled around, seeking out the source of the voice. Nothing visible behind, but… ah, there. To the right, darting between trees. A black and white collie with its tongue protruding out of the corner of its mouth, headed straight towards them.

Willow shot her a panicky look.

Faelana flicked her hand. “Go, go, go! Somewhere else, my four-legged friend! You didn’t see us!”

The dog hesitated briefly, one paw raised as if it wanted to shake her hand, before charging off in the opposite direction. A man stumbled into the clearing. His head darted around frantically as he searched for the dog.

Faelana launched herself upwards, thanking the stars for the instincts that took control and banished her out of his sight. As she landed next to Willow, the tree branch shook, sending down a flurry of reddish-brown leaves.

She stifled a cider belch as Willow giggled next to her.

The man glanced upwards, puzzled. He was staring directly at them. Faelana knew he couldn’t see them, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. Her wings fluttered of their own accord, and his head twisted as he looked further along the branch.

She studied him. Twenty-three summers or less, judging by his skin. Golden oak coloured complexion with peat-brown hair. Two strands of it fell on either side of a high brow. Little bump on his too big nose and slightly too close together eyes the colour of conkers scanned the tree, trying to figure out why he could sense, but not see anything. Prosaic clothing. A woollen hoodie, oatmeal coloured. Jeans in faded black denim tucked into sturdy boots.

“Wouldn’t kick him out of a tree for farting,” she murmured. Willow shook her head. “Nah, I can’t get past the ears. They’re just weird.”

An ear-shattering howl sliced through the air, and the man’s head spun in the direction of the sound, his eyes registering alarm. He bolted off, as the now sober Faelana exchanged a wide-eyed grimace with Willow.

“D’you think that was one of the traps?” Willow whispered.

Faelana nodded and jumped off the branch. “I better go and investigate.”

Willow dangled her head down so that it was level with Faelana’s. The ends of her black hair touched the ground. “You can’t! We’ll get in so much trouble again!”

“Who’s gonna find out?” Faelana narrowed her eyes. “Unless someone wants to tattle-tail?”

Willow straightened up again. She screwed her nose up and let out a sigh, as she reached for the pint of cider resting on the branch next to her. “Don’t be long. And don’t let him see anything he shouldn’t.”

Faelana didn’t pause to reply. She discovered the man in the next clearing, its edges lit by the luminescent flowers he couldn’t see that carpeted the ground. The dog was beside the stream of gently babbling crystal clear waters, lying on its side with its leg imprisoned and its whines piteous.

Most of the traps had been set long ago, and while the forest boundaries were littered with warning signs for humans, they did nothing to protect the animals who stumbled into them. Faelana’s heart sprang into her mouth as the man approached the dog, talking to it in a low, soothing tone.

“It’s alright, boy! We’ll get you out of there. Don’t you worry!”

The man’s lilting accent softened the consonants. Doan you worry…

He knelt by the dog. The frown on his face belied his confident words. Most of the time, those spring-loaded traps buried in the long grasses proved fatal to animals because there was no way to escape.

He tried brute force, attempting to wrench the trap’s jaws apart with his hands while the dog continued to whimper. Faelana could hear its heartbeat pounding frantically.

The man cradled its head in his lap. “Shush, shush. I’ll find you some…”

He bent his head. Tears, like bright shining jewels on his face, dripped onto the dog. “Good boy, good boy.”

He lowered the dog’s head to the ground and eased away slowly. It gave Faelana a clearer view. The trap jaws had almost severed the dog’s back leg. Blood matted the white and black coat, and its eyes rolled back. It raised its head and gave another of those piteous whines that plucked at Faelana’s heartstrings.

“I know, boy. I’m going to help you.”

He placed his palm on the nearest tree and dipped his head. Faelana made out tears again. He pushed himself away from the tree and straightened up. As if he had summoned all the strength he needed, he sat down on the woodland floor once more.

The dog’s whines ceased as the man gently laid its head on his lap and stroked its head, keeping up a constant stream of babbling words.

Best dog there ever was, I’m gonna miss you…

She knew what he was taking out of his bag before she saw the bright flash of gleaming metal. Blast it, she shouldn’t be doing this, but the cider that was still sloshing around her innards swept away all inhibitions.

“Noooooooo!”

© Emma Baird 2025