Emma and the Minotaur by Jon Herrera Page B

could see the dark outlines of the trees and of the undergrowth in every direction. There was nothing she could do but follow the music now.
    As she walked, the normal sounds of the night were joined by a different sound altogether. It was the deep groan of strained wood, like a log being bent, and it was coming from everywhere around her. She couldn’t see what was causing the sound but her mind conjured up the inevitable image of walking trees.
    She walked on for a long time and, as she went, she started to notice bright eyes that were staring at her from the dark of the night. She could hear the scurrying of little feet as though the owners of the eyes were moving all around her. There was motion in the trees as well, an almost imperceptible flapping of wings. It was an eerie feeling to be watched in that way by animals that she couldn’t see. She was scared, but the eyes looked small, like they belonged to little critters and nothing that could cause her serious harm.
    They walked on in the dark, Emma and the animals and the trees, so she supposed, until the night became cold and Emma had to wrap her arms around herself for warmth.
    When the tree appeared, it happened quickly and suddenly. Emma didn’t realize that she was approaching a clearing, and she later thought that it was possible that the clearing hadn’t been there until she had arrived inside it.
    It seemed to her as though the trees in front and the clouds above both parted at the same time, the trees to reveal the clearing, and the clouds to let the moon illuminate it. It was as though a curtain had been pulled back and a giant spotlight had been turned on so that Emma could see the source of the symphony. It was in the centre of the clearing: a great, ancient oak.
    Emma approached the tree slowly and stood under its brown-green leaves.
    “Are you singing to me?” she said softly.
    She reached the trunk of the tree and ran her hand against its bark. There was warmth there and she felt as though she was being caressed in return. She knelt down where she was and listened to the music, and felt its caress, for a long while. It put her at ease and made her forget all the bad things that had happened. She wondered if maybe the other people who had disappeared were sitting beside their own trees somewhere and they had simply lost track of time. It would not be hard to forget herself, close her eyes, and sleep and dream long dreams while the tree sang its lullaby.
    The music stopped and the earth shook. Thunder boomed somewhere inside the forest.
    Emma jumped to her feet.
    “What is happening?” she said to the great oak.
    There was a rustling of leaves. It was as if all the branches of the tree were shaking at the same time. She looked up and saw nothing but darkness except when, once or twice, the leaves parted enough to allow a little bit of moonlight through. Even then, Emma could see nothing but leaves and branches.
    When the shaking died down, she saw something drop to the ground. She approached it and saw in the moonlight that it was a smooth rod, plain and bare but for a line of holes running up one side.
    “A flute?” Emma said.
    “Yes,” came the answer from somewhere in the darkness beyond the clearing. There was thunder again and Emma was afraid. This time, the thunder was followed by what sounded like footsteps, huge and furious, at first distant but coming closer and closer.
    The girl clutched the flute to her chest and watched as the creature who had spoken stepped into the clearing under the moonlight.
    “Be afraid, Emma, but don’t fear me. Fear the one who comes next.”
    The voice belonged to a man, tall and lean, with horns like those of a ram protruding from his head. His upper body was bare but, as he approached, Emma saw that his lower half was covered in fur, and in place of feet there were hooves. His face under the moonlight was frightening. It was human-like, but unnaturally elongated and seemingly always on the verge of