Free Darkwood by M. E. Breen

howls of the kinderstalk. When her mother ventured outside the next morning she saw the dirt in the yard all pocked with paw prints; of her daughter there wasnothing left but a tattered shoe and a single sock, flecked with blood.
    â€œBeware the kinderstalk, Annie! Bewaaare!” Then Page had pounced on her and tickled her until she shrieked.

    Annie sat up. “Gregor, we can leave this place. They don’t know I can see, and I have some terrible-looking stuff from Grandmother Hoop. We could give it to a guard, or—”
    â€œGrandmother Hoop? What did she say it was for?”
    â€œShe said, ‘for the heart and for the belly.’
    â€œDon’t waste it. She cured my dad once. He was sick, awful sick. It was green powder and she mixed it with whisky. ‘Tastes like frogs!’ he said. But he got better, Annie. He got better quick.”
    â€œWe won’t use it on the guards then. But we have to plan. Tomorrow night I’ll have to work, and if Smirch really …”
    â€œRest first, just a bit. Then plan.”
    With his eyes closed, she could see the prominence of the brow bones, the veins at his temple like distant rivers.
    â€œYes. Rest,” she said. “I’m exhausted.”

    Annie was just wondering if Gregor had fallen asleep when he spoke again, so softly she had to strain to hear.
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for?”
    â€œWhat? Gregor, are you …”
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”
    â€œGregor!”
    He nudged an elbow into her ribs, barely a touch.
    She laughed. “Start again from the beginning. I’ll be the child.”
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”
    â€œA ribbon, Mother, a ribbon, to tie back my hair.”
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”
    â€œA key, Mother, a key, to lock up my heart.”
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for? The dark is drawing near.”
    â€œA light, Mother, a light, to find you when you’re far.”
    â€œDarling, what do you wish for? Tell me what you fear.”
    â€œThe dark, Mother, the dark, the dark wood is what I fear.”

    When she knew he was asleep, Annie slipped from the bunk, careful first to cover him with both blankets.
    No one had bothered to lock the door. And why would they? The children had no torches or lanterns of their own. They had no weapons. The dark imprisoned the children more securely than the highest, thickest wall. Annie shuddered, partly with the excitement of how easy it would be to escape, and partly with a new and dreadful sense of how important it was to keep her secret.
    Where would she take Gregor to get well? To Grandmother Hoop? Would she help them? What about his own parents?
    Annie considered these questions with half a mind; the other half she focused on two objectives: stay clear of the rovingcircles of torchlight that would reveal her to the men working the night shift and find a weapon. A club or a knife would do, but what she really needed was a pistol. They wouldn’t keep them anywhere near the miners’ tents. She skirted those, her ears, which seemed sharp tonight, picking up snores, a hacking cough, someone trying to swallow sobs. Her nose, too, was hard at work: wood smoke from the kiln; the usual men-smells of sweat and feet; damp wool; something burnt lingering from dinner; and that tinny sweetness that hung over everything here. Chopper smelled of it, Hauler smelled of it, even Gregor. The fruit she’d stolen from Chopper’s garden had tasted of it, she realized, and had the funny sensation of feeling her mouth water and her stomach turn at the same time.
    Annie stopped when she reached the tents where Gibbet’s men slept. These were in better condition than those of the miners. They had wooden sides and stilts to keep them above the frost and mud. A lantern was lit in one of them and she could see two men