#bac excerpt

[teriwrites]

Excerpt of Chapter 6: The Beyond

The view was beautiful. Winnie couldn’t take in enough of it, darting her gaze with every twitch of a leaf overhead or a dazzlingly bright beetle underfoot.

The golden man watched her take it in curiously. “You like it.”

It wasn’t a question, but Winnie's gaze hardened in response. “It’s certainly overwhelming.”

He chuckled and repeated himself in confirmation, “You like it.”

And she did like it. The look of it, anyway. The sounds had yet to differentiate themselves from what she’d expect of Alder Creek, and the smell was simply that of woodland, which had always been pleasant enough. But this whole grove seemed washed over in an artist’s bright, yet tasteful, hand.

“So this is the Beyond,” Winnie murmured, swiveling to take it in.

It was nothing like she might’ve expected. When the book had warned her of its beauty, she thought that the world she entered would be wholly unfamiliar, an alien sort of beauty that caught her unaware and weaponized her sense of awe. Instead, she soon felt a settling calm over her nerves in its familiarity.

Perhaps that was part of the danger.

“Well?” the golden man asked expectantly. “Are we meant to stand around forever?”

Winnie rolled her eyes. “Just processing what I’m seeing. Where am I meant to find my br- the boy anyways?”

Her companion shook his head. “We didn’t agree on my guidance, only protection. Advice would cost you extra, friend.”

Well, that was going to slow them down. “But you believe you know who took him?”

“Yes.”

“So you know where he’s likely being held?”

“Correct.”

“And you won’t tell me?”

“We never agreed on sharing information.”

Winnie stared at him.

“This will go significantly quicker if you simply tell me where to go, you realize.”

“Then perhaps we should make a new deal.”

Hiding her face with her hands, Winnie let out a long sigh. This was fine. It would be fine. All she had to do was search an entire world for her brother with nothing to give her a clue to his whereabouts but a fae that refused to answer basic questions in any meaningful way.

Easy.

When she lifted her hands from her face, Winnie turned back towards Alder Creek - would this glimmering, azure stream still be considered Alder Creek? - and stepped out of the faerie ring.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that way,” the golden man said.

Winnie snapped back to glare at him. “If your world mirrors mine, this is where we’ll find signs of civilization.”

It seemed the best approach to take, anyways. But her companion was simply shaking his head again. Winnie gritted her teeth.

“This site is similar, yes. The world, less so. And unless you’d like to meet the more unsavory fae that live outside the Courts, I’d recommend staying on this side of the creek.”

His voice was harder, dropping the infuriating squeak of amusement. Winnie stepped away from the water’s edge, still careful to keep out of the ring of mushrooms. When the golden man stepped out on the opposite side, he sent her a passive glance, as though making sure she wouldn’t bolt.

Taking a couple steps away from the ring, in the opposite direction of her companion, Winnie was once again stopped by the interfering click of his disapproval.

“Will you just tell me which way to go?” Winnie demanded on her third attempt to leave the site of their arrival. The golden man had once again interrupted her within the first few paces.

“Of course not!” He sounded affronted at the idea of giving her a piece of advice for free.

“But you’ll let me know which way not to go?” She clarified.

“Sure.”

Winnie was going to tear her hair out before this conversation ended.

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[teriwrites]

The Funeral

The chapel was already overflowing with people when they arrived.

Winnie's parents were sitting in the front row, surrounded by family, friends, and acquaintances, all offering their condolences. They had decided against visitation the night before, a choice that had been intended to gently discourage other townsfolk from overwhelming the family with their chatter. Instead, it had merely held them at bay.

Leslie was quick to disappear into the crowd, which Winnie appreciated silently. With a deep breath to steady herself, she stormed forwards, unrepentant as she nudged and pushed people aside. The mass was resistant, at first, but began to part when they realized who was coming through.

Mrs. Pewitt shifted to offer Winnie a place to sit and wrapped an arm around her daughter. As Winnie settled her head against her mother's shoulder, Mrs. Pewitt whispered, "Thank you."

The gratefulness extended not only from Winnie's punctuality, but also due to the effect her presence had on the crowds. They immediately began to disperse following her arrival, though whether this was due to their refusal to cross the young woman on such a delicate morning, or because Pastor Glynn made for the pulpit wasn't clear.

The minister cleared his throat when he reached the front of the chapel, though there was no need. His chapel had never been so packed, or so eerily silent. Every pew was filled, and still dozens of others stood in the back, tightly pressed to take up any vacant space along the wall. Winnie had taken them in at the entrance. Every resident of Bildenbey must've been present for Bran's funeral, even those she knew by face but not by name.

It should have been an honor, but their eager preying on the social gathering turned the solemnity into more of a spectacle. As though Bran was some tragic figure and not a missing child.

[teriwrites]

Beneath Alder Creek: Excerpt

A Town in Mourning

They were going to bury an empty casket at little Bran Pewitt’s funeral. There were few other options when a child was taken by the fair folk. Occasionally, something turned up by the faerie rings - a shoe, a handkerchief, a hat - but there wasn’t so much as a button to retrieve from where he’d disappeared. Whether or not those who left were actually dead was up for debate, but none had ever returned, and a funeral had to be arranged all the same.

It had been some time since any had been claimed by the fae, and the small, Welsh town of Bildenbey was abuzz with the news. The Pewitt family had done their best to contain the rumors spreading about their boy, so, of course, gossip had already reached even the least sociable of the area.

Mrs. Gladys Bivin - one of Bildenbey’s most notorious busybodies - was at that moment on her way to her weekly knitting circle to announce the latest news. She walked - as much as a heavily pregnant woman could walk without waddling - with a brisk pep, outpaced only by passing bicycles. It was scandalous, having women expose their ridiculous bloomers just to get about in a hurry. The twentieth century was still very much in its infancy, and already, it was proving to be dangerously hedonistic, thought Mrs. Bivin.

Thankfully, the knitting circle was at the Griffith household that week - every week, it alternated, and the Griffith’s were nearest to the town center. With her bag from Pewitt’s General Store, Mrs. Bivin wasn’t sure she could carry it much farther.

Miss Owena Griffith was waiting on the porch for Mrs. Bivin when she rounded the bend. She offered to take the middle aged woman’s bag and led her into the parlor, where several others from town had already gathered.

“And how are you this afternoon, Mrs. Bivin?” asked Mrs. Maud Gower without looking up from her pair of socks. It must’ve been the third pair of woolen socks that Mrs. Gower had knitted that spring. Whoever had use for them so late in the season, Mrs. Bivin couldn’t say.

“I’m doing very well, thank you,” she replied curtly. “I only wish I could say the same of the Pewitt’s. I’ve just been to the store, and, bless them, it’s quite the sight.”

As much as the ladies of Mrs. Bivin’s knitting circle loved to feign disinterest in the town’s affairs, the sudden creaking of chairs betrayed their sudden attention. Mrs. Bivin hid a smile as she slowly settled herself into a rocking chair, allowing the curious tension to stretch thin.

In her place, Mrs. Bivin began to dig through her bag to fetch her latest project - a shawl for her eldest daughter’s upcoming birthday. Her needles clacked together, breaking the tenuous silence.

It was too much. Mrs. Gower was the first to crack.

“Oh, tell us! Tell us! What did you see?”

Mrs. Bivin hid her satisfied smile.

“Well, I just arrived from Pewitt’s General, and certainly there was young Winifred, insisting that if anyone in this town were to show some courage, her brother might yet be saved,” she said guardedly, as though she expected the discretion of her knitting circle. “Quite a statement, although I suppose we can’t fault her for her naivety. It’s been some time since the last disappearance. I myself wasn’t old enough to remember it, and her own mother wasn’t born.”

“She’s still far too outspoken,” Miss Owena Griffith snapped. “All that studying may help her in Latin, but it does nothing for her common sense.”

“I rather like Winnie myself,” Mrs. Gower said with a lazy smile. “She’s an interesting sort.”

“It’s a good thing, too, since that’s all she’s got going in her favor,” Ms. Griffith snubbed mercilessly. “Lord knows how her mother will manage to find a match for her. Just last Sunday, during service, her hair was half-loose! It’s no way to compose yourself.”

Miss Griffith’s tone was unmistakably bitter, perhaps because she was well into her twenties and had very little success in matchmaking herself. If the other ladies of the knitting circle made this connection, they graciously said nothing of it.

A moment passed with only the sound of striking knitting needles, each woman immersed in her own project and lost to her own thoughts. Whatever excitement Mrs. Bivin might have stirred up with her news settled into a self-aware stillness, not quite peaceful out of respect for the Pewitt’s loss.

“It’s a shame, about Bran.” Mrs. Gower’s voice was low, barely audible over the sound of the needles. The others paused to listen. “It had been so long since the last disappearance. I had hoped they might’ve finally been satisfied.”

“There’s no satiation for the fair folk,” said widowed Mrs. Keelan. She was the oldest of the group, by far, and spoke with the grim weariness of experience. “And as for young Winifred, she’ll learn to accept it. We all do, eventually. There’s no need to force the grieving process before it’s ready.”

Silence fell once more over the room.

[teriwrites]

When Enid finally rejoined the others, she found Winnie curled up at the base of a tree, with Taliesin dangling a golden leg from one of its overhead branches. “Is she already tired again?” Enid called up, unperturbed as Winnie shifted at the noise. “For as much energy as humans spend, they need to gather it,” Taliesin explained. “And with the stresses of recent events, I’d be more surprised if she didn’t need the rest.” A moment passed in silence, followed by a rush of air followed by a loud thump at the base of the tree as Taliesin jumped down from his branch. Staring towards the sun, his golden complexion was a beacon of reflected light. Despite the established animosity between the two, Taliesin and Enid stood in relative peace, the dozing Winnie between them. Enid was the first to break the quiet, in a lowered voice. “She isn’t going to want to follow your plan. Humans are impulsive, this one more than most; the moment she gets the chance, she’ll be off again.” “I know.” Taliesin glanced at Enid out of the corner of his eye. “I take it you found something?” Enid lifted her chin. “My deal is with the girl. If you were to hear it from me, you may not need her to bring down your nemesis and complete your own contract. And I’d rather not be dealt the hand of explaining to her why her apparent friend has disappeared and broken off your agreement.” “Why do you assume I’d do such a thing?” The even look Enid shot him spared no leniency. “You may be fond of your companion, but you’re no human, prone to compassion. It’s the quickest and easiest way to get what you’ve been seeking.” Taliesin shrugged, unoffended by her calculation. Before the scene could settle again into quiet, Enid asked, “How long will she sleep?” Another shrug. “It’s hard to tell. At times, she’s up in a few hours. Others, it can be several. However long it takes her to recharge, I suppose.” “We’ll need to head off once she wakes.” Taliesin shifted into a wider stance, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out to the plains with all the determination and presence of a sentinel. It nearly covered the momentary flash of worry that passed over his features for the heedless, self-sacrificing young woman lying nearby.