The Lost Gate
DAPHNE
Cocking my head and pushing past Klyesque’s arm to inspect the waterfall a trifle more closely.
I let loose with a sharp yelp of surprise as something pops through the water. A skinny, scantily dressed creature with cheeks the color of pale mortal flesh and a head capped with a short bob of algae colored hair now stands in the middle of the creekbed, water rushing over its leaflike feet as it gazes back and forth between us with eyes as wide as half of its forehead and lashes as long as its sharp beaklike nose. Its pupils are large and darkest green, with irises that glow a gemlike peridot. Klyesque yanks me backward once more, yet drops her sword arm as if relieved.
“An imp,” she whispers doggedly, rolling her eyes and sheathing her blade.
An imp… a child of the forest.
Isabel had many a tale to tell of imps and foxims, the slyest Fae of the forests.
A mischievous smile greets us and I take note of the bladelike teeth that flash momentarily. “Not just any imp,” the creature says in a boyish brogue. “I am Lohan a pond dweller and newly knighted protector of yer grace and I think I have been waiting fer yooou nigh half a fortnite.” He nods as a long, devil spiked tail curls over his shoulder and a pair of sharp, thorn tipped ears unfurl from the side of his head to point in my direction. “The Woodland Witch said to be here, to wait here fer you. She said not to leave, until I took your hand in mine and led you through the Lost Gate me-self. Told me, did she, that you would stop here to drink.” He races forward until he stands not a foot away, his tiny body only coming as high as my breast. “But we must hurry,” he whispers, his gaze climbing upward. “For they are nearer than you think.”
They? Nearer?
“The Lost Gate is here?” Klyesque murmurs, her eyes untrusting, her sword hand hovering once again about her sheath. “But my map says-”
“Shhhh!” Lohan hisses, green eyebrows drawing close as his gaze crosses then separates with palpable panic. “They come, they come,” he warns with a bounce. “We must go, your grace. Please, please, please! We go!” He reaches for me, bounding forward only to be stopped by the tip of Klyesque’s sword - which she draws so silently I nearly scream a second time.
Lohan fairly trembles with fear, a frown turning his lips and his large eyes fixing on me imploringly. “Save me fair maiden,” he whines so cutely I want to smile.
“Wait just a minute!” Klyesque growls. “How do we know you are to be trusted? Simply because you named the Woodland Witch as your companion? Sorry imp but I am not so easily fooled as the rest. What proof have you, that you’ll not guide us to our doom?”
Lohan’s lip quivers and great vats of moisture collect in his eyes. “I am no liar, Selkie! I seek only to protect the lost one gone too long. She is ours, she is true and she does not, will not, belong to you!”
“Oh my,” I whisper, entranced. “He’s a poet,” I note softly, and I can practically feel him begging me to intervene when he once again looks my way.
“We must hurry, your grace,” Lohan whispers. “The False one comes.”
A chill rides over my spine and my eyes catch on a tiny breeze behind the visible trees on the southeastern side of the trench. An unintelligible whisper sounds, wordless and alien and also… not the books.
“I think he speaks the truth,” I breathe, turning back toward Lohan and his frightful gaze.
The book begins to burn in my pocket and I immediately sense that the damned thing is angry. As if it is frustrated.
Angry? A book? Truly Daphne?
”I am not just a book,” comes the silent message and I glance down at my pocket with wry amusement.
Yet still, I reach out to place my hand on the flat of Klyesque’s sword at the very same time that Trielle trots forward to nuzzle the back of Lohan’s head. “He pseaks true,” I tell Klyesque.
She hikes an eyebrow and then shrugs, replacing her sword before pointing toward Lohan and saying, “No tricks, little imp, lest you want me to remove your horned tail and perhaps even your prickly little ears.”
He glowers at her, losing his tears and sad facade in the face of an instant. “My queen would never allow that!” Then he looks at me. “Would you, your grace?”
“Wh-what? Your grace?” I exclaim. “Please call me Daphne.”
Lohan giggles, his face falling into a blush that changes the color of his entire face. “Daphne…” Then he startles, his ears spiking as fear settles over his features once more. “Daphne! Daphne! We must go! Now! Please!” He looks beyond me. “Tell them Sway!”
“It’s true, it’s true, we’ve come for you!” A feminine voice chirps at our backs and we whirl around to find four more creatures of the first imp’s likeness staring back at us from various heights and in a motley of different earth tones. “I am Sway, your majesty,” the female imp coos, falling to her knees as if in prayer. She is adorable, with hair as white as winter snow and eyes as brown as fresh turned soil.
“How in the bloody hell did I not hear them pass?” Klyesque gripes.
The three that stand behind Sway grin and fall forward in a bow, one of them golden haired like that of a sunflower, one of them bright moss green like the padded softness of pond stone, and one one them lavender haired, with locks soft as a peony’s. All of them male. “Your majesty!” They chime in unison.
“Be still,” Klyesque hisses, as she slowly turns toward the falls. “I think I heard something.”
A branch snaps from somewhere up above and both Klyesque and I startle.
And just like that, our decision is made. Looking at her, I say, “We follow the imps.”