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Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you
can understand.
Michael’s always been drawn to the forest.
The tree line sits nearly half a mile from the border of the village but as a child, he swore he could hear it whispering to him as he lay in bed. The orphanage was always quiet at night, the silence threatening to suffocate him. And then the wind would pick up and he would hear the rustling of the leaves, the breaking of twigs and the shuffling of the underbrush as something moved through it. Isobel and Max said that they could hear it sometimes but that the sound always died down as the crackling of the fireplace grew in their parents’ home.
“The forest is full of strange creatures, Michael,” one of the nuns had told him. “You must never journey past the hawthorn trees. The Erlking does not take kindly to trespassers on his land and when you are in his domain, the fey may treat you as they wish.”
“But they come into the village!” A little Michael had protested, defiant in the way only a nine year old boy missing three teeth could be. “Sister Agnathea said they stole all her laces and buttons and curdled the milk!”
“They cause mischief, as is their nature,” she had explained. “But you will remember that sister Agnathea found new, stronger laces in her shoes, and the milk that curdled became cheese. They have never truly harmed anyone in the village but those who venture too far into the forest…” She had sighed and patted his curls. “You must never walk past the Hawthorn trees. If the Erlking ever finds you in his forest he will kill you with a single touch. Or worse, he will make you a part of the forest and you will be trapped there forever. Promise me, Michael. You must never go past the Hawthorn trees. ”
“Never past the trees,” Michael had agreed.
But that was the promise of a child and before long, Michael was no longer a youth. He’s just into his eighteenth year when he starts exploring further into the forest. Just a little further at first, a few paces past the Hawthorn trees to prove that it’s not the death sentence he’s been told, and then further. He isn’t really expecting to find anything, which is why he’s so surprised to hear a soft whistling during one of his trips into the forest.
He looks up into the tree above, expecting a bird or a squirrel, and instead finds two black eyes staring back at him. The eyes blink at him from a humanoid face that is the colour of the dark green canopy above them. The creature perches with his back to the tree, hands and feet splayed beside him, as though he had intended to sit up there and watch Michael the whole time.
Michael steps backward, snags his foot on a tree root, and falls onto his ass. He throws his hands up in front of his face, ready to protect himself with his power if he has to, but nothing happens.
Slowly, he drops his hands and peers up at the tree, where the creature hasn’t moved. He’s just… looking at him, so Michael takes a second to look back. It can’t be fey, he thinks, gaze following the green and too-long limbs. It’s far bigger than the creatures that the villagers ascribed pranks to. Its long ears stick out well past brown, shaggy hair and are pointed at the end. It's dressed in clothes of what looks like bark and leaves, though its feet are bare. There are bracelets woven around its wrists and ankles, vines and twigs that are twisted into shapes and patterns.
When he can’t take the silence any longer, Michael sits up and raises a hand in greeting. “Um. Hello.”
The creature considers him curiously, head tilted to the side and large, pupil-less eyes unblinking.
“What are you?” It asks. Its voice is deep and melodic, taking Michael by surprise. He doesn’t dislike it though. “You don’t smell human.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Michael responds. “I’m Michael.”
“What is a Michael?” He says it Mike-el.
He laughs. “I’m Michael. And I don’t know what I am, I guess.” It’s not untrue. He knows he’s not of this world, but that’s knowing what he isn’t. It’s an entirely different thing.
“How can you not know what you are?” The creature asks. “Every creature knows what they are.”
“I was found at the edge of the forest as a child,” Michael tells him, leaving out Max and Isobel’s presence in their origin story. They didn’t like to acknowledge that they had a life before their parents and the village, so he couldn’t imagine they’d love him telling their story to a fey creature. “I’ve always figured my parents were in here.”
“You don’t smell of the forest either,” the creature says, misunderstanding him. He slips down the trunk of the tree, landing on the ground without sound or sign of impact. He pads gently towards Michael, leaving no trace in the grass and underbrush, until he can crouch right beside him.
Michael leans back as the creature leans in, sniffing the air around him. He frowns and leans back, resting on his heels.
“What?” Michael asks, getting nervous.
“You smell like stars,” the creature tells him. “Like the moon on a night when the sky is clear. You smell like the air after a rainstorm. I don’t know what you are.”
Michael can feel the way his breath has quickened and his cheeks are reddening, tries to cover it by blurting the first thing that comes to mind: “Gosh, you’re green.”
The creature blinks at him once, twice. He grins, lips curling at the edges to reveal sharp, pearlescent teeth. He reaches out with pretty, smooth fingers and touches the side of Michael’s face. “And you’re far too pretty to be wandering this far into the forest. Aren’t you afraid, Michael?”
“Of what?” Michael whispers, transfixed by the creature’s gaze on him.
“Didn’t your parents tell you not to give your name to a fey?” His fingertips glide down Michael’s cheek to grab gently at his chin. “Names have power, little not-human.”
“Don’t have any parents,” Michael replies sullenly. “What, you’re a fey? But you’re - so big! I thought fey were little mischievous sprites that come and curdle your milk.”
The creature scoffs and shakes his head. “Do all humans look the same? Are some not tall or short, small or round? There are many fey, and you mortals know so little.” He moves to stand, towering over Michael.
“You could teach me. I could learn!” Michael suggests breathlessly. “Please! I belong out here, I know it.”
The creature stills, looking down at him with a now blank expression. He considers Michael for a long moment. “You don’t know what you ask,” he says finally. “There are those in the forest who would -” he stops, heading whipping around at inhuman speed to peer frantically at something deeper into the forest. “No. You must leave.”
Michael scrambles into a standing position, trying to follow the creature’s gaze. “What is it?”
The air around them turns cold. The sun disappears behind thick clouds, causing the shadows of the forest to grow and darken. Where there had been light and warmth, the wind rustling through the leaves of the trees and the sounds of animals, is now icy silence.
Michael looks up at the creature to ask again and sees that his face has completely changed. Instead of soft angles and curious black eyes, the creature’s face is hardened like bark, his teeth bared so fully that Michael can see the pin pricks of his teeth. Thorns have broken out along his skin, the bracelets on his arms have grown thick and brittle vines that curl up his arms and legs.
“You must go,” the creature tells him.
“No!” Michael protests. “I just found you-”
The creature reaches out and presses a hand to Michael’s chest. There’s a flash of light behind his eyelids and then he’s gone.
*
He wakes up on the other side of the tree line. His shoes are full of leaves, he has a headache, and he feels more determined than ever.
*
He searches for weeks after that but no matter how far along the tree line he walks, he can’t seem to find the path that he had taken to come across the mysterious fey creature. He’s ready to give up, feeling defeated and honestly a little crazy, when he literally stumbles into it.
“You are stubborn,” the melodic voice of the creature greets him from somewhere to his left.
Michael grins at him as he sits up, rubbing the back of his head. “I had to find you again. You didn’t even tell me your name.”
“Names have power, Michael,” the creature says, pointedly reminding him that he knows Michael’s name. “To give you my name would be to give you power over me.”
He takes a moment to absorb that information. “Do you have power over me?” he asks, not really sure what he wants the answer to be.
“I might,” he responds, reaching out to press two fingers beneath Michael’s chin, lifting it gently. Michael had thought his skin would feel like bark but it’s soft like moss. “If Michael were your real name.”
That makes him frown. “What are you talking about? Michael is my real name.”
“Your human name, perhaps.” The creature releases him, stepping back and giving him room to stand. “I know what you are, star-walker.”
Michael tenses, looking to him with fearful eyes. “How… how do you know that?”
“The trees told me. The trees know everything.”
“The trees should mind their own business.”
There’s a loud rustling around them, leaves moving frantically in the wind, roots cracking underneath the ground.
“Uh. Sorry.” Michael rubs at the back of his neck, chastised. “Look, you can’t tell anyone, okay? People won’t like it.”
“I don’t converse with humans,” the creature tells him. “And the forest dwellers don’t need me to tell them. But you should know-” it turns and looks away, deeper into the forest. “There are those who would covet your nature. Those who would want to… keep you.”
“Keep me?” Michael echoes, heart racing at the thought. Would it be so bad to be swept away into the forest by this beautiful creature? The nuns had always spoken of the danger of the Erlking, the fey who would kill you with a touch, but this creature had only touched him gently. “I guess that wouldn’t be so bad if it was you.”
The creature’s head spins back around to look at him with wide, bottomless eyes. “You mustn’t say such things.” He begins to pad his way across the forest floor and away from Michael, who scrambles after him.
“Wait! What are you doing?”
The creature looks down at him wearily. “Secret fey business.”
That only makes Michael grin wider. “Can I watch you?”
“It wouldn't be wise.”
“Come on,” Michael begs. “I’m already here. Really, you should keep an eye on me or I might go wandering off.”
The creature’s eyes narrow, to suggest that he knows exactly what Michael’s doing, but it sighs and waves a hand. “Sit.”
He does, finding a relatively moss-free rock and planting his ass on it. The creature bends his long legs beneath his body and lowers himself to the dirt. He conjures a length of vine, seemingly from nowhere, and begins to wind it through his fingers.
Michael watches him quietly for a minute before opening his mouth. “What are you making?”
‘A talisman,” the creature replies without looking up.
“Of protection?”
“Of a sort.”
“Who for?”
“I make them for the creatures of the forest.”
“All of them?”
“Only those who need them.”
“Why would they need them?”
A pause. “To protect them from my father.”
“Your father? Why?”
“That’s enough questions for now.”
They fall back into silence and Michael quickly finds himself growing bored. Spotting a scattering of flowers on the forest floor, he reaches out with his power and pulls several of them towards him. He weaves them together to form a little bracelet. When he looks up to show his companion, the creature is looking back at him curiously.
“That is your magic?” he asks, head tilting to indicate the flowers a little ways from them.
Michael blushes. “It’s not really magic. I can just… move things around.” It wasn’t as cool as dream walking, or calling down the lightning during a storm, or healing.
“It’s not a magic known amongst the fey,” the creature tells him. “That makes you special.” He reaches across the space between them, causing Michael to fluster even further, but it’s only to lay his hand over the flower bracelet. There’s a cold glow from beneath his hand and when he pulls back, there’s a slight glimmer to the flowers.
“There. Now the flowers are preserved forever,” he explains. “Whoever wears this will have the protection of the forest.”
“That’s a generous gift,’ Michael says, thumb rubbing idly over one of the flowers.
“I can be generous,” the creature says with a half smile.
They sit in companionable silence after that, far longer than Michael expected to be able to stay. When the sun is finally starting to set, the creature looks up at the sky with an unhappy twist to his mouth.
“You must leave the forest before it’s completely dark.”
Michael looks around them, realising he has no clue how to get back. “I don’t suppose you could give my directions? I wasn’t really paying attention on the way here.”
The creature sighs and, in an expression dangerously close to rolling his eyes, reaches out and presses two fingers to Michael’s forehead. There’s a slight ringing in Michael’s ears.
“There. Now you will always know your way home.”
“Thank you,” Michael says, for both the directions and the afternoon they’ve spent together. He turns to leave in the direction his mind is telling him the village is, then stops and turns back.
“Here, I want you to have this.” He offers the creature the flower bracelet he made.
The creature blinks at this outstretched hand in surprise. "Are - you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
He reaches out and takes it with his long fingers, transfixed.
Michael resists the urge to laugh, turning to leave while he’s still got the upper hand of surprising this creature.
“Alex.”
Michael stops and turns, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”
“Alex,” the creature says, staring down at the gift in his hand. “You may call me Alex.”
Michael’s responding grin is so wide it hurts his face. He doesn’t stop grinning the whole way home.
*
Michael goes back. And keeps going back. Sometimes, Alex even looks pleased to see him. They sit on the forest floor for hours, sometimes talking, sometimes not, until the sun begins to set and Michael has to make his way back to the village again. Max and Isobel start to notice his absences, as does the smithy where he’s meant to be spending most of his waking hours.
“You can’t lose your apprenticeship,” Isobel chastises him. “How will you earn your keep with no skills, Michael?”
He doesn’t argue with her by bringing up the fact that her parents own land, or that she and Max have far better prospects than he ever could. He’s told them about Alex, about how he knows what they are and where they come from, but neither of them want to hear it. They’re both too focused on being normal and human; Michael doesn’t share those worries.
“And then she talked for an hour about her line of suitors,” Michael complains from where he’s lying in the grass, curls spread out beneath his head like a halo.
Alex lies beside him so that their heads are level, his hands resting on his navel. For once, he’s not idly weaving vines and leaves between his fingers while they spend time together.
“Does it bother you because you wish you had a line of suitors?” he asks Michael.
Michael snorts with disbelieving laughter, then stops when he realises it’s a serious question. “No one’s going to be lining up to marry a blacksmith,” he says. “And even if they were…” his checks redden, even if he knows Alex isn’t looking at him. “I’m not interested.”
“Oh? Why is that?” His tone is so casual, so disinterested, that Michael’s head whips to the side to look at him.
“You should know,” he replies, voice hoarse.
“Why would I know?” he still isn’t looking at Michael; his black eyes are staring resolutely at the canopy above them.
Michael clears his throat. “Well I- I thought the trees knew everything.”
Alex smiles, and Michael echoes the expression. Getting any kind of reaction from the fey feels like a herculean feat.
“And if they know everything,” he continues, turning fully on his side to face Alex. “Then they know that the only person I’m interested in is… is trying very hard not to look at me.”
Almost like answering a challenge, Alex turns his head slowly, so slowly, to look at Michael. Michael’s breath catches at the look on his face and before he can second guess himself, he leans forward and kisses Alex.
There’s an absolutely terrifying moment where Alex goes stiff beside him and he thinks he’s about to get pushed away or turned into a squirrel or something, then Alex’s hands come up to curl around Michael’s shoulders, holding him in place as he opens his mouth to Michael’s.
He tastes like fresh strawberries, like a burst of sunshine, like the forest itself and Michael is hooked. They trade kisses for what seems like hours, hands wandering tentatively (Alex) and not so tentatively (Michael) under clothes and across skin. Michael feels like he’s taken a huge inhale of field flowers, like his senses are full of that smell of freshly cut reeds. It’s so distracting that he doesn’t notice that the sun has started to set until Alex pulls away, practically vibrating in a panic
“Michael,” he says, pushing at Michael’s chest with one green hand. “You have to leave.”
“Wha-” Michael murmurs, sitting up in a daze, his curls flying everywhere. “But I don’t want to.”
“You have to go!” Alex urges him, reaching out to pull him up from the ground. “Quickly. Before he-”
The sun has just disappeared behind the trees when a shadow falls over the forest and a chill blows through the trees. All sound disappears; even the leaves of the trees still into silence. It’s eerie enough that even Michael pauses.
“What is it?” he whispers.
Alex swallows slowly, looking fearfully at something behind Michael.
“Erlking…” he whispers.
Michael spins around in a panic, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.
Stalking out of the forest is a creature that looks like Alex in vague shape only. It's at least twice Michael’s height with elongated arms, with fingers that come to gnarled, spiked points. It’s hunched over and moves in a way that sends a shiver straight down Michael’s skin. Where Alex is green and looks like spring, this creature is black and looks like the bark of a burnt tree. Its eyes are a sickening yellow, and its teeth look like the fangs of a wolf.
It looks like a nightmare, and Michael suddenly believes every story he’s ever heard about the Erlking and its human-eating ways.
“Alexander…” the creature regards Alex with its sunken eyes. Its voice is like a growl. “You’ve finally lured a mortal into our realm.” He takes a horrid whiff of the air around Michael. “And he smells like the stars themselves. Well done, son.”
“Son?” Michael’s eyes go wide as they turn to Alex, whose hands are curled into fists beside him.
“This has nothing to do with you,” he tells the Erlking. “He’s not for you!”
The Erlking snarls at him. “Every mortal who strays in the forest belongs to me. You shouldn’t have let him stay.” He takes a step closer to Michael, who tries very hard not to flinch as the cold feeling seeps further into his bones. “A pity you couldn’t save him like you saved the others. What’s the matter? Couldn’t bear to turn him into a squirrel or a sparrow?”
“No, I won’t let you hurt him!” Alex yells, and the trees creak and groan with his voice.
“I am the King of the Forest,” the Erlking bellows in response, his voice like a crack of thunder. “And I hunger.”
The Erlking reaches out and wraps his cold, thin fingers around Michael’s wrist. Pain immediately shoots through Michael’s fingers, unlike anything he’s ever felt in his life. When he looks down, his heart leaps into his throat when he sees bark growing over his skin, or - no, his skin is becoming bark. He opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out.
Something pushes the Erlking away from him. Michael looks up to see Alex in front of him, body heaving with effort. He reaches out and grabs Michael’s hand, which is now bark to halfway down his palm.
“I claim you, Rath,” Alex declares. His eyes flash as his fingers tighten on Michael’s hand.
Michael lets out a startled breath of relief as the pain recedes, not completely, but enough that he can think again. When he looks down, the growth of the bark has stopped where Alex’s fingers held him, just before his wrist.
A disbelieving laugh comes from behind them, where the Erlking is watching them.
“You would claim him?” it asks. It bends down onto all fours, bearing its teeth. “I can still tear him limb from limb.”
Alex gently pushes Michael aside with one hand before mirroring his father’s crouch.
“I won’t let you hurt him,” he says again, and then he’s moving forward.
It happens so quickly, their movements so fast and so convulsive that Michael can’t keep track of them as separate entities. He hears Alex cry out loudly and steps forward to do something, anything, when all the movement stops.
Alex is standing over the slumped body of the Erlking, panting and covered in dark blood. He seems untouched except for a large gash in his leg, but he’s alive and his father is lying on the ground, unmoving.
Michael rushes forward to him, immediately wrapping his arms around him. After a few moments, Alex’s arms tentatively wrap around him in return.
“Thank you,” Michael mumbles into his chest. Then he pulls back. “Your father was the Erlking?!”
Alex nods, running a hand down the back of Michael’s head. “The magic of the forest, of my part of the forest, wouldn’t allow him to pass the threshold while the sun was in the sky. Oh Michael, why didn’t you leave?” He cups Michael’s face in his hands and leans down to press a kiss to his forehead. “And how he’s marked you forever. I’m sorry.”
Michael holds up his hand and steels himself. His hand is… wood, though it mustn’t be entirely because he can still bend his fingers, albeit it stiffly. He shudders as he thinks about what would have happened to him if Alex hadn’t stopped the growth. His eyes go wide and he steps back, looking over Alex’s body.
“He hurt you too!” he protests, gesturing Alex’s leg. He hadn’t noticed at first, given that other parts of Alex are often covered in bark, but the bottom half of his leg where the Erlking’s mark has grown to look wooden like Michael’s hand. It stops just below his knee though.
“His parting gift,” Alex scoffs.
“How did you stop it?” Michael asks, brow furrowed in confusion. “Did you do that, that name thing that you did with mine?”
Alex looks pained at the mention of that but shakes his head. “No. That was you. You saved me.”
“How?”
He leans down and taps one of his anklets. It takes a moment for Michael to recognise it as the piece that he had made during their second meeting, the one that Alex had cast magic on.
“Because of this,” Alex explains. “His magic couldn’t travel any further through my body. If you hadn’t given this to me…”
“I wanted you to be safe,” Michael says with a soft smile.
Alex makes a broken sound, turning away from him. “You should leave.” he says. “The son who kills the Erlking becomes the Erlking.”
“You saved me,” Michael points out. “Why would that matter to me? I mean... are you planning on eating me, or whatever?”
Alex throws him an unimpressed look. “Of course not. But I - I spoke your true name and claimed you. That was not a kind thing to do.”
“What does that mean exactly?”
“It means I can control you,” Alex replies, hanging his head with a rueful smile. “I promised myself I would never claim a mortal like that but I - it means you’re mine.”
Michael takes a deep breath. He thinks of the village, of Isobel and Max, of the nuns in the orphanage who would tell him stories of the fey and the Erlking. He looks up at Alex and reaches out to press his hand to Alex’s chest.
“I’ve always been yours.”
Alex’s hand curls over his, and his eyes shine in the dark of the forest.
“Well then,” he murmurs, lifting their hands to press a kiss to Michael’s wooden fingers. “Come away with me, star-walker.”