THE BLACK ACT
By Louise Bohmer

Anna watched the tops of the fir and pine trees dance in the wind. It was as if they told her to go back, but she could not return to the cabin until a firm decision was made.

The hasp on the shed had rusted, and lacked a proper lock—just some crude wire threaded through the staple and wrapped around the hinge that fit over it. Claire had lost the lock when they’d been storing final harvest last revolution. As she worked on it now, Anna’s hands trembled, and she could hear the queen muttering inside, scratching at the slat-boards and dragging her chains. She had to put the dagger and bowl at her feet to unfasten the knot.

The wire fell from her hands, and the door creaked when she pulled the hasp back to open it a notch. The queen moved closer to the door and whispered, “Hello, Anna.” Anna then heard her shuffle away from the entrance.

She entered the darkness, bowl and dagger held tight against her apron bib once more. “Did you know I would come instead of Claire?”

The Queen had retreated into the deep shadows of a corner, now hidden from the thin shafts of silver moonlight that spilled through the cracks in the walls. “Yes.”

“What will happen tonight?” Anna took a step closer to the shadows.

The Queen crawled forward, into a silver vein of light. “That I cannot tell you.”

Anna was in awe of the nymph’s appearance. Words failed her as she absorbed the presence of the forest monarch. Her body was long and slender, her skin the palest shade of blue, with bits of orange and darker blue lichen growing in odd patterns on her arms, legs, neck, and torso. Her hair was a tangled mass of longer, orange lichen that grew past her waist in long snarls. Eyes that were jet-black toadstools protruded from her angular face and when she stood, unfolding her elongated body, spores fell from the fluttering caps and wriggled over the hard earth floor, burrowing themselves beneath the cold dirt. It was as if the Queen shed quiet tears, her misery reseeding itself in its place of origin, marking this unforgettable crime in the soil on which it occurred.

“I don’t know what to do.” Anna crouched, and placed the bowl and dagger on the packed dirt, just in front of her. “It has always been this way, since we were small children. I take care of her, I clean up after her, I give in to her whims. Why do I feel the need to mother her, even when she shows little regard for my own feelings, or my welfare? She asks me to come to you, to walk to my own certain death and commit a travesty against the oath I hold dearly and yet, as much as I want to say no, a part of me is helpless when it comes to denying her anything.”

Chains rattled as the Queen floated closer, then folded herself to all fours in front of her. Anna was sure the chain lengths in the shed weren’t long enough to reach such a distance, but she didn’t question it. Fae had a way of manipulating the physical that was yet beyond her comprehension.

“What will you do, Anna? What will you do?” The nymph’s long lichen hair brushed the dirt, and pieces of it slithered toward her. They reached out and touched her. She tried not to shudder, tried not to show any fear.

She snatched up the dagger and the bowl and stumbled to her feet, putting some distance between herself and the queen. “Help me, guide me?”

The Queen shook her head and retreated a bit. For a moment, Anna was sure she saw a true expression of sadness pass over the fae’s face—a rare expression for a forest monarch, indeed. “I cannot tell you what to do. I cannot offer you any advice. The choice in this is up to you, and only you. What will be, will be. You must use your skills and judgment, wit and will, to help you decide.”

Anna closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, meditating for a while on all her swirling thoughts. “Do you know what she asks me to do?”

“Of course.” The Queen crawled back into her corner of shadows.

“I can’t kill you.”

“Yet, you most likely will spill my blood before the Harvest sun rises.”

Anna looked deep into the shadows, searching for a clear glimpse of the Queen, but all she could make out was her silhouette. “You said you could not tell me outcomes in this, could not guide me.”

The silhouette shrugged. “I am merely making observations. Besides, Anna, you know a fae can change their mind, be impulsive and whimsical.” She scuttled to the left, fast, like a spider crawling across the floor. “Even wicked, when we choose to be, although, our teachings tell us to control this within ourselves, to balance it. In the end, it’s all about balance, and balance will have its way no matter what we do.”

Something brushed over her neck—fuzz-dappled fingers—and she spun around, now holding the dagger poised in a defensive position. “Why are you playing with me? Do you goad me to kill you?”

Cruel female laughter surrounded her. “You decide,” was whispered from all around.

Fingers clutched at her boots. The touch slithered up her ankles then vanished. A cold hand slid into hers, and when she tried to grasp it, tried to hold the queen, the touch was already gone. The nymph was trying to coerce her into the shadows, so she walked forward, into the darkness pooled in the far corner, dagger brandished and ready to strike. In the darkness, she let her witch instincts take over and guide her.

“Your sister does not tell you the entire truth, remember that. She is not entirely innocent.”

“I know,” Anna said. “Yet I’ve decided not to refuse her.” She plunged the dagger forward boldly into the darkness. “Queen, forgive me. I am a fool, but I still love her. She is my kin, and I must help her.”

There was a growl, then a cry like an animal wounded. Anna knew her dagger had hit its mark. She felt it sink into the soft chest of the nymph, and she yanked the blade upward, slashing the fae’s heartcore in half. Black blood spurted over her hand. She dropped to her knees beside the fallen fae, and the birch bowl tumbled from beneath her arm.

“I am sorry. Dear Queen, I am so sorry.”

With shaking hands, she found the bowl and held it beneath the wound long enough to determine she’d collected some of the nymph’s essence. She could not see in this blackness, so she tested the cold life fluid with a finger dipped into the bowl. There was enough for what her sister required. Now, time to get out of the shed. She could not face the gravity of her deed any longer.

No time was wasted to relock the door. She left it banging in the wind, its slapslapslap against the doorjamb making her jump with every thud. By the light of the two moons, she could now see, and she looked into the birch bowl at the contents that gently sloshed up its sides. It was so dark, and the reflection of the two silver-white moons above in the shallow pool made her stop and shiver violently. She almost dropped the precious blood.

How had so much time passed since she had entered the shed? She was sure she had been inside no more than half an hour, the time appeared to speed by, yet the sky was as black as the shadows in the shed, and the moons had risen high above, indicating at least two hours had slipped away from her. She tightened her grip on the bowl, looked away from the moons, and picked up her pace as she fled back to the cabin.

Her boot touched the first stair as the sound of the earth behind her cracking open shook her and she lost her footing. She managed to stumble sideways toward the railing and grabbed it to steady herself. Blood sloshed over the side of the bowl and the cold liquid trickled down her fingers.

“Wise Woman, turn and face me.” The voice rumbled like thunder rolling across the sky. “You will look in my eyes when you answer for your crime.”

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