Chapter 45: The Stocks

Note: Thanks to B0b and WRC 264 for beta reading this!

Aingeal

“This is terrible,” I said as we entered the stocks, Cú Mheá padding along beside me.

As far as I could see across the meadow were row upon row of wooden stocks. Spirits of Enchantment danced around each one, imbuing the wood with their magic. Humans were slumped in them, men and women both. They were naked, their knees bent, their heads and hands shoved through the stocks. Their eyes were open but focused on nothing. They breathed slowly but made no other sound. Their souls were far away, imbuing statues of soldiers for this horrid Prince Meinard.

“Gods, this is monstrous,” Sven said, shaking his head as we moved closer and closer to the center.

“I can’t believe Duke Gallchobhar would do this,” I said, a fury rising. “I didn’t even think he could sink so low. If Queen Sidhe discovers this...” My wings fluttered. Hope surged through me. Would this restore my name and my family’s land usurped by that bastard?

Would it undo my prank’s consequences?

My wings fluttered as we padded deeper and deeper into the stocks. We passed unseeing face after unseeing face. Most were Zeutchian humans, hair blond or light brown, skin pale. But there were a few red-skinned Thlinians, and I spotted one redheaded Tuathan from the Lesh-Ke Mountains.

“These are his own people,” I said. “And he lets that Shizhuthian naga enslave them for him?”

“To keep his hands clean,” growled Sven. “Publicly, he has patrols that roam along the Despeir Mountains to prevent it.”

Zanyia hissed in annoyance. Then she said, “I just reached two hundred.”

Sven paused, peering ahead. The treemen towered over the stocks, dark shapes moving around a large stone in the center. They were another race born of Las, all male. The God of Lust’s cum had fallen on a grove of trees to birth them. Many had come to Faerie to escape humans cutting down their woods. They stood three times the height of a human, living trees who could batter down walls with their strength.

Red light flared behind us. I blinked at the intensity of it, shadows dancing before us. I looked over my shoulder at the illusion Kora had conjured. It lit up the night like a miniature sun. The massive pine tree blazed and kindled.

“Come on,” Sven muttered at the hulking shadows, crouching beside a stock holding a middle-aged man, streaks of gray in his blond hair. “That’s a tree in danger.”

The three treemen had paused their patrol. They creaked as they turned towards the burning tree. My wings fluttered. They had to take the distraction. They lived to protect their kin, as they saw other trees. Why weren’t they moving? I stroked Cú Mheá, my heart beating faster and faster.

“Can we fight them?” asked Sven.

“Not easily,” I answered. “My illusions will work on them, but look at the size of them. They could crush any one of us as easily as swatting a fly.”

Zanyia swallowed.

And then the shadows moved. I heard their creaking joints and the thud of their footsteps. Sven grinned as they strode from the lodestone. I moved behind a stock, pressing against it as the treemen came closer, not straight at us, but they would pass nearby.

Their forms resolved out of the darkness. Instead of skin, they had thick, gnarled bark. Fuzzy moss, a pale gray-green color, gave them the appearance of beards and hairs. Their limbs were made of branches twisted together, much like a feyhound or a spriggan. But these had little, trefoil leaves growing out of strange spots, like errant hairs on a human body.

The ground shook as they past, their gazes fixed at the tree. They moved with rapid strides. I shuddered, hoping Kora would be safe. She just had to distract them long enough to destroy the lodestone.

“Okay,” Sven said. “They’re passed. Let’s hurry.”

I nodded my head and followed after him, my faithful feyhound at my heels.

Zanyia

“Wait!” I hissed, pausing as we neared the lodestone. I could see it up ahead, a massive stone veined with rusty metal. It stood the size of a house. “Don’t step closer, Master.”

He froze as he crouched ahead of me. He stared at the ground. “Las’s putrid cum.”

“What?” Aingeal asked.

“Pit trap,” he said. He pulled out a dagger, prying at the meadow before him at the seam I spotted. “There’s a thin board over the ground here with grass on top of it. Step on it, board breaks and drops you into a deep pit probably with spikes at the bottom.”

“There’s more, Master,” I said, looking around the ground. “See the footprints of the treemen. They patrol a zig-zagging pattern through the last ring of stocks around the lodestone.”

“No prints here,” Sven said, staring at the ground. “They don’t even try to step over it.”

“Why take the chance?” I said with a shrug. I climbed up onto a stock holding a blonde girl, drool running down her chin, her face slack. I stood on rough wooden frame holding the poor girl in place. The treemen were almost to the blazing illusion behind us. I studied the area, noting the trampled path.

“See a path?” Master asked.

“Of course I do,” I said, my tail swaying.

Kora Falk

The heavy thud of the treemen came closer and closer. Nathalie whimpered beside me as the ground shook. Those dark shapes loomed so tall. They entered the light of the illusion, revealing their hoary appearance. They were gnarled and tall, their legs thick, their feet circular with root-like toes jutting in every direction.