Holly Black - The Darkest Part of the Forest

“Sorrel,” Severin said, taking a hesitant half step toward her. Even he seemed awed, as though whatever she was when he’d been shut away from the world had grown more terrible as he slept. “Sister, please.”

She didn’t even seem to see him. A voice, thick with tears, spoke from throats around the room, a chorus of her grief. “I loved him and he’s dead and gone and bones. I loved him and they took him away from me. Where is he? Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones. Where is he?”

More people fell prey to the weeping. Sobs racked bodies.

Sorrow took a step toward her brother, knocking a side table to the ground. When she spoke, she sounded more like the wind blowing through trees than any human voice. “I loved him and I loved him and he’s dead and gone and bones. I loved him and they took him away from me. Where is he? Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones. My father took him. My brother killed him. Where is he? Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones.”

“You would not wish this,” Severin said. “You would not do this. Sister, please. Please. Do not make me try to stop you.”

Deeper into the room she went, Hazel and Severin moving to either side of Sorrow. People shrieked. Ms. Kirtling, in a panic, ran across the room, right into the monster’s path. A long arm with willow-twig fingers reached out and brushed Ms. Kirtling aside as one might brush a spiderweb away. But that small gesture sent Ms. Kirtling hurtling into the wall. Plaster cracked, and with a moan, she slid to the floor.

In the new-formed crack, moss and mold began to spill into the room, like water into the hull of a leaking boat.

On the other side of the room, a woman began to cough up dirt.

Without any idea of what else to do, Hazel slammed her saber into the monster’s side.

All her life, she’d heard about the monster in the heart of the forest. She’d imagined that if only the monster was slain, then faeries would go back to being only tricksy and magical. She’d imagined it enough times that even though she knew better, some part of her believed that when her blade hit the monster’s flank, it would cut deeply.

It left no mark at all, but it did make Sorrow turn toward her, long fingers reaching. Hazel ducked, feeling the brush of dry leaves and smelling fresh-turned earth. She wasn’t quite fast enough to keep Sorrow from catching a clump of her hair. A few strands ripped out and drifted through the air like sparks. The monster used the rest of it like a rope, to hurl Hazel, toppling her into a sofa, saber flying from Hazel’s hand to clang against the floor.

Bruised, she pushed herself up. Her head hurt and her bones felt jangly, as if they no longer fit together. She made herself cross to where her saber was, made herself lift it and turn toward the monster.

Severin had leaped onto her back, holding on to the branches and vines, but she shook him off, then thundered toward where he fell. He rolled and rose to his feet, moving with a swiftness and sureness she had never seen equaled. His blade whirled through the air. He was a magnificent swordsman. And still his blade glanced off her. And still she knocked him back.

It was just then that Jack’s dad came running down the stairs, a hunting rifle gripped in his hands. He set the butt against his shoulder pocket and gazed down the sight, aiming for Sorrow.

“Please, no,” Severin called from the floor, but Hazel wasn’t sure Mr. Gordon even heard him. He pulled the trigger.

The gun was loud in the room, like thunder, rocking Hazel back onto her heels. But the bullets struck the monster’s bark and slid off as though they were mere pebbles hurled by a child. Sorrow went for Mr. Gordon.

Carter intercepted, swinging a candlestick at her, but the creature wrapped its long fingers around him, pulling him to her. Hazel raced toward them, slamming her saber into Sorrow’s back. The monster didn’t even seem to notice.

“Hey!” Jack yelled, and then something spattered the monster. The stinging smell of alcohol filled the air. He’d thrown brandy at her, brandy from his parents’ now-open liquor cabinet.

“I’ll set you on fire,” he said, holding up a book of matches in trembling fingers. “Get away from them. Get out of here.”

The monster seemed to regard him for a long moment, letting Carter slump to the ground. He was unconscious, a green stain spreading across his lips.

It had happened so fast.

Hazel heard her mother scream from the other side of the room. She glanced to one side and saw that Ben was dragging her behind the old upright piano.

Jack struck a match.

The monster rushed at him, fast enough that the flame flickered out in his hand. Hazel threw herself between them, raising her saber, going for the creature’s eyes. The blow grazed Sorrow’s cheek, but no more sap ran.

Jack fumbled to light another match, but as he did, the room became full of rushing wind. Somewhere in the distance, crows called to one another.

With a howl, Severin launched himself onto her back again. Holding on to her branches, he pressed the saber to her throat, clearly hoping to still her, clearly hoping she might be afraid. But she shook herself, trying to throw him off. Hazel tried to slash at her, tried to cut her arms, her sides, even her impossibly long twig fingers. No blow made a single mark. Hazel was batted against a wall, thrown into a small knot of people who screamed as she fell against them.

She was sore all over. Standing took a great effort. Her head rang, and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She blinked blood and sweat out of her eyes. She was bleeding from a dozen cuts she didn’t recall getting. She had no idea how many more times she could do this.

Severin crashed against the floor, rolling into a stand. He was still moving, but Hazel could see that some part of him had given up.

Then she heard the sound of the piano.

She turned, and Sorrow knocked her off her feet again. Hazel hit the wood floor of the house hard, slamming down onto it, the breath knocked out of her. She turned on her side and saw her brother sitting on the bench, his broken fingers splayed across the keys. Playing music.

The notes swelled around them. It was as though Ben was playing the sound of weeping. Sorrow howled into the air.

Then he seemed to slip. The music faltered. He couldn’t do it. His broken fingers, the ones he’d never let set right, the ones he’d never let heal, weren’t nimble enough for the piano. She shouldn’t have been staring in astonishment; she should have been using that frozen moment he’d given her. Hazel pushed herself to her feet, hoping it wasn’t too late.

She ran for Sorrow, but the monster was ready for her. It snatched her up and threw her down onto the sofa so hard that the legs cracked. It rolled backward, taking Hazel with it. Dazed, she looked up at the creature leaning over her. Branches and moss and shining eyes.

“Dead and gone and bones. Dead and gone and bones,” Sorrow said softly. A long arm shot out toward Hazel.

Then Ben started to sing. Formless notes, like the ones he might have played had his fingers worked, rose from his throat. It sounded almost like weeping, like her wails. It was grief, terrible and immobilizing. Despite the knot in her hair and Jack’s spell, Hazel felt tears in the back of her throat, felt them burn the backs of her eyes.

A keening, terrible sound came from Sorrow. She thrashed back and forth, knocking down chairs. The sharp broken ends of branches ripped the upholstery of the couch. She howled with grief.

“Ben,” Hazel yelled. “You’re making it worse.”

But Ben didn’t stop. He sang on. People wailed in despair, in rage. Tears wet their clothes, soaked their hair. They collapsed in heaps. They slammed fists against the walls. Sorrow thundered toward the piano, knocking it to one side. It fell with a terrible crash. Her branching fingers covered her face. The monster’s shoulders shook with weeping.