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In the dead of night, the music started.

It rang at the edge of her hearing, beneath the sigh of the wind that blew through the grasses outside. It felt like a dream, a tune that pulled at her heart with its beauty and mystery. It demanded something.

It demanded that she get up from her bed and come out into the night.

Her parents slept deeply and would never be the wiser. No one would know.

The blanket was thrown off her body, her bare feet touched the floor. The room swayed. She moved like a dreamer through the silent, unlit house. Why was the front door unlocked? The question remained unanswered because the music demanded.

It was soft, but filled with strange meanings, with a sense that there was a purpose, a path — she had to follow. The gravel in the driveway cut the soles of her small bare feet — yet the prickling of the pebbles was a distant bother, a few tickling notes within the tune.

The wind tugged and pulled at her black hair and white nightgown. She could see nothing; the night was pitch black. Her feet moved on their own. She was headed to the forest. No, this wasn't right. Something was amiss. She wanted to turn back. She had to turn back.

Out of the tune, out of the music, a voice whispered, "Come to me...."

The trees unfolded before her, she could feel them in the music — tall and slow. Shadows gathered beneath their trunks, wind creaked in their branches. Everyone was warned against the forest and what could be found there, her parents always locked the door at night, always.

Children called into the forest never returned.

"Come to me," the voice whispered again, and her feet obeyed, dragging through the mossy earth as she tried to stop her steps and turn back home.

"Help..." she shouted. The fear in her heart was nothing but a drum-beat and the sound of her voice was swallowed up into the music as well.

One reluctant step at a time, deep into dark forest she went, helplessly. Then — a clearing in the trees, the earth before her opened a gaping maw. The music was a shriek now, a dissonance of sound that tore at her ears and soul. She was released, and fell back onto the ground as the chasm widened, she tried to crawl away.

Something pale was rising out of the rift.

Hands, many long-fingered hands reached for her on thin, transparent arms that extended on and on like long ropes. She scrambled away — but they caught her fast. First a few, then many more, grasping her hair, her arms, her legs, pulling her from all directions. The hands were bony, almost like claws, and they dragged her toward the chasm.

In a split second that lasted an eternity, a hum trembled through the earth and a tune, a different tune, ancient and deep, called out desperately to her. In the blur of movement, she saw gigantic white shapes bounding through the thin trees, sending long tendrils of whiteness towards her.

They would save her, they would —

But missed her by a mere inch, she was whisked away.

"No!" someone cried.

In and in and in she fell, to the dark abyss and empty chaos, another child — lost.

The earth sealed itself closed when she was gone.

*

The chill of dawn penetrated through her nightgown as, shivering, she fell to the hard, dew-covered ground. Her whole body curled into a ball, tears trailing down her cheeks.

After a moment like this, she blearily looked up to see her saviour — the one that had taken her hand and pulled her out — walking towards the pond.

She closed her eyes to blink away the tears, her mind was a shredded, confused mess. Darkness spread through her thoughts, brushing away memories that had no room or place in her world.

Where was she? She opened her eyes, noting the trees and the hard ground. How did she get here? A figure stole her attention, it stood upon the water of the small pond on the border of the forest. Its legs were plastered together, and from where she lay she couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman.

Something suspiciously clear whispered within her that it was neither.

It glowed, as if somewhere, far off, there were many lit candles shining upon it. The wind had died, the air was still and while its bare feet didn't touch the water, there were rings and ripples forming from the point where it stood.

Friend. She felt the word with a tangible presence pass through her mind, easing her muscles until she was suddenly unbearably sleepy, her vision was swallowed by darkness once more.

It was just a dream, she thought as the bells of the church rang softly in the distance, the echoing clangs rising up into the empty sky.

It was just a dream, she thought to herself as the wet ground chilled her body, making her shudder.

It was just a dream, she clung to the thought, even as sleep escaped and she began to wonder how, if it was just a dream, were the church bells so far away?

She woke at last to find a face looking down at her, dark eyes set in folds of wrinkled skin, a mouth pulled into a tight frown. It took her a moment to recognise the face and the person it belonged to.

There were quite a few strange grannies in the village, but Granny Na was somewhat of a legend. No one knew why she chose to live out there in her little cottage by the woods. In fact, no one knew where she had come from and what her real name was. Granny Na didn't say a word as she placed her basket on the ground and crouched down to have a look at the pair of small bare feet caked with blood and dirt.

She clicked her tongue at what she found, pulling a long white bandage out of her basket. "You're that one they call a wonder child? The one with the mind to rival a Scholar's?" she asked as her bony fingers began to coil the bandage around one injured foot.

"Aye, Granny."

"Hm. What's your name?"

"Alleria." She hissed when the bandage pressed down on a tender blister.

Granny Na tied down the bandage at the ankle and then moved on to the next foot. "And your age?"

"Ten."

"Aye, still a child." And Alleria knew what Granny meant by that, although neither of them spoke a word of it. There was no sympathy in Granny Na's eyes when she finally looked up, just a curious, thoughtful expression.

When Granny finished wrapping the other foot, she drew away and stood, lifting up her basket. Alleria then tried to get up too, but had to stop several times to wince against the sharp pain. For the first time that morning, she looked over the sloping hill and off towards the village. Did she enter the forest over there, where the hill was studded with jagged stones that had cut into the soles of her feet? She couldn't remember — she couldn't remember anything — and her heart thudded, tears prickling at her eyes, when she thought about what that meant.

Granny followed her gaze. "Today, child," she said, "set your back to the woods and walk. The grasses on the pastures will be soft this time of year and the bandages will have to do until we get you home."

Alleria nodded her head and did her best to ignore the sting that came from her feet with every step. As they moved so in silence, it became more evident how different Granny Na was from the other grannies of the village. She stood up straight as a tree, her chin raised proudly. She moved in long, sweeping strides, as if she could barely keep herself on the ground. But more than anything else was that she made no attempt to gossip.

There were whispers, always whispers, about the wonder child. A child who could add, subtract and multiply faster than anyone could blink, who had read every single book in the village library, even those big, old dusty tomes that no one else would touch. Her mind, they observed, connected thoughts like forks of lightning striking through a stormy sky. And she was just a quiet child, they whispered; pale, shy, calm and obedient. No charisma, they said, no fire, not wilful in the least. Just a little girl standing on her own little margin, making no ripples what-so-ever in the world. One would never expect her to be what she was.

And Grannies had bad ears, they didn't know how to whisper. So they spoke these things in loud creaking voices and Alleria heard — she heard it all.

When people wanted a wonder, they wanted it to glow. She couldn't help but disappoint them — a wonder was a thing and Alleria was a person.

Despite Granny's advice, when they reached the top of the hill, Alleria's head turned briefly to stare out at the deep dark expanse of forest that filled the valley and horizon. Still, silent and brimming with unforetold mysteries that set her mind ablaze with questions.

Just one glance and she knew that whatever had called her there, still called and the unknown danger of the woods with the secret world it hid was still as dangerous as always.

They reached the single street of the village and passed by the stirring houses like ghosts carried on the morning mists, until they stopped at the gate of Alleria's house. Granny rang the bell, and soon her parents burst out. Alleria would never forget their stricken faces when they both came to stand before her, taking in her filthy, torn nightgown, the pine-needles in her hair, her bruised arms and legs, her bandaged feet. She remembered Da lifting her up as if she were a baby, so she wouldn't have to pass over the gravel in the yard. She remembered the bitter tears she had wept, mourning the loss of a single night that would change everything.

And she remembered the words Granny Na had said just before they parted, "Never speak of it, child,
never tell a soul."