Trapped

Today’s #StoryPromptOfTheWeek image I think was taken while at the Scottish Wild Foods Festival some years ago. For some reason my previous post from that event is recorded as being in 2016, which I know isn’t true. Anyway, while on a walk there we came upon a collection of objects strung up in a tree. I recall it being tagged as a faery village, however it doesn’t look that homely to me. To my eye it seems to have a more sinister purpose…

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Faltha paused to catch her breath. The harsh clattering of the shells died away as her movement stilled. So far her frantic struggling had served only to tangle her more thoroughly in the nets. She needed to stop reacting and think.

First, sort out the immediate questions. Was she injured? What had she become trapped in? How would she get unstuck? Was there any help nearby?

She took a deep breath and tried to let it out slowly. Panic was her enemy, as surely as the fool who put nets in a tree. Step one: was she injured?

Faltha flexed her arms and legs gently. The net squeezed tight around her ankles, but otherwise there was no pain. That was a good sign. Next she carefully shifted her wings.

“Aaaah,” she yelped. Something was very wrong with her left wing.

Item two: what was she trapped in. Specifically? It was a blue plastic net. That was no help. Nor was it that important.

“Focus, Faltha,” she muttered to herself. “Big picture, lass.”

Above her was a jellyfish-like arrangement of shells on strings secured to a half-coconut shell. The coconut was on a string which was loosely hung over a branch. She followed the string with her eyes as it doubled back and ended tied to the net she was in. Like an alarm to announce the trap was occupied. Because that’s what she was in. A trap. She should have been watching where she was flying. Stupid, stupid faery.

No. That type of thinking wasn’t going to help. There was plenty of time for self-blame later. First she needed to escape. And for that she needed information. She turned her head. Slowly, to avoid shaking the shells. There were nets everywhere. The whole canopy, as far as she could see was underslung with variously coloured nets. Hundreds of them. Someone was desperate to catch… something. Suspicion grew into confidence that the something was her.

A gust of wind made the branches sway, shaking the net, which pulled horribly on her injured wing. She flinched and cried out in pain when that movement made things worse. The shells clattered fitfully.

“Shhh,” she said to them uselessly.

Mentally kicking herself for her stupidity, she case a silence glamour on them. Best not alert anyone that the trap had worked.

In the quiet that followed she heard a more distant clacking of shells. A voice came shortly after. One that she recognised.

“Well, I do hope that’s you this time, Faltha,” said the shelly-coat. “Although I wouldn’t mind another one of those delicious land-sparrows. That was a tasty treat for old Shelly.”

“A bit out of your depth, aren’t you Shelly?” said Faltha. He was a sea-creature by nature, but Shelly-coat could venture onto land for a while, so long as he didn’t dry out. She concentrated hard on her glamour. The tinkle of seashells irritated and distracted her. She’d need to keep her wits about her if she was going to get out of this.

“Oh, there you are, Faltha,” said Shelly-coat. “Yeah, I am a bit off my patch. It’s not nice at all, truth be told. But the masters told me to fetch you, so here I am.”

Shelly-coat stepped into Faltha’s field of view. His hideous grin spoke of all manner of cruelties that were surely coming her way. His long coat of seashells clattered and clacked as he ducked and weaved among the net traps he’d set.

“You could have just sent and invitation,” said Faltha. She wriggled gently and managed to get a hand to her sword hilt without Shelly-coat noticing. It was too small to do any harm to Shelly-coat. He was much bigger than Faltha, even if he wasn’t armoured in shells.

“Faltha,” chided Shelly-coat, “are you trying to trick me? Not very nice, Faltha. That won’t do at all.”

He cackled a vicious laugh that spattered rotting-seaweed-smelling spit all around Faltha. Shelly-coat reached up, grabbed Faltha, and roughly pulled her free from the pink netting. She screamed in pain and her glamour dropped from the seashell alarm letting their harsh clacking free to mingle with Shelly-coat’s laugh.

“Back to the river for us,” said Shelly-coat. “We’re going for a little swim to see the masters. You’re going to hate this bit.” He turned away from the traps.

Faltha let out a glamour-hidden sigh. She drew her sword and cut her way free of the blue netting she was trapped in. Her wing hurt terribly, but she could fly with it. For a while. She’d need Nimueh to take a look at it when she got back to the Tower.

She leaped free of the net, swooped low and flew for safety. As she left the traps behind, she dropped all her glamours. From down by the river she could hear Shelly-coats angry yells of frustration.