Three were we who left that morning,
Caped and cowled against the cold.
Left our village with the dawning,
As the leaves were charring gold.
Red and gold, a vale of embers —
Frost may burn as well as flame.
Wisdom no one here remembers!
Down the mountain path we came.
Wisdom that the wise had laid down —
Each of us a pack frame bore,
Stacked with furs, we sought the trade town
Sealing snows we ran before.
My mother’s hair was burning red.
“Ah! Never leave the path,” she said.

Speaking soft of gnomelings needing
Human blood to dye their caps,
Wisps upon the wanderer feeding,
Werewolves caught in iron traps,
Cede their pelt to the unwary
And its curse, a ghastly fate!
All the whiles and ways of faerie,
barred us from the city gate.
Papa was not one to worry,
Only things that he could see —
Brigands or an early flurry —
Counted as calamity.
But from his face all humour fled,
When “Never leave the path,” she said.

Papa did his blackthorn carry,
Guarding us from thieves and sloth.
Tapping taught me not to tarry,
Slapping shut my mother’s mouth.
His, a dream of bartered riches, 
How he’d feast and drink his fill,
Swore he’d sell us to her witches,
If the devil met the bill! 
I recall no word of kindness,
bruises left for every sin,
Yet it seemed a willful blindness
Hid our durance from our kin.
My mother soothed me in my bed,
But “Never leave the path,” she said.

Now this burden to deliver,
Struggled we through brake and broad. 
Dusk revealed a nameless river —
Broken branches marked the ford.
Furled, the water gave us warning,
currents running strong and deep.
“Let us camp and wait till morning,
Husband, please! The banks are steep!”
“Where’s the faith you should be putting
“In our child?” I felt his grip!
“Go you first and check the footing,
“Leave the pack, in case you slip.”
My mother’s face could not be read,      
But, “Keep the path,” was what she said.

Sand beneath my sabots creeping,
Every muscle sorely strained,
Chill into my heart was seeping,
But the other side I gained.
Papa called for me to gather
sticks and straight a fire lay.
Though my limbs were all a lather,
In my fear, did I obey.
I saw not my father churning
Through the water, though I heard.
“Mama, see! The fire’s burning.
“Where is Papa? What’s his word?”
My mother answered with a laugh —
“Be sure your father left the path!

“One misstep in deeper water,
“Greenish arms rose o’er his head, 
“wrapped him round, a river-daughter,
“Drew him to her slimy bed.
“Take you up a branch that’s kindled,
“Here we must divide his load.
“Travel till the sound has dwindled,
“Till we cannot hear her goad.”
Soon our packs were twice as heavy —
Lifting mine I feared to try!
Then, above the laughing levee,
seemed to hear my father’s cry.
Into the gloom my mother led
us — “Keep the path,” was all she said.

Soon black night had slipped its tether,
And our torch was burned away.
On the path we crouched together,
There to wait the break of day.
“Pay no heed to crow and cackle,
“Nor the bird that speaks your name,
“Hiss of serpent, fire’s crackle,
“For their source is all the same!
“Anything they’ll try to scare you,
“Get you up and make you run,
“deep into the darkness, there to
“make you one of them. The sun
“will banish everything we dread
“and speed us on our path,” she said.

I remember eyes of amber,
I remember eyes of green,
Round us heard the goblins clamber,
Chattering of things unseen!
With the wind came evil voices,
Chuckles like a creaking bough —
Mocking all our mortal choices.
I can hear them even now!
Grimly were the hours borne, nigh
To collapse with cold and pain,
Until close upon the dawn, I
Heard my father’s voice again.
“Stay, child! This danger soon is sped,  
“Unless you leave the path,” she said. 

“Be courageous now, my dear.” Her
sweet lips pressed my own to hush.
As the voice drew ever nearer
Crouched we still beneath the brush. 
Tones exactly like my father,
Broke by coughing wet and deep:
“Answer me! You know, I’d rather
“you were rotting than you sleep!
“Damn you, heathens, that you’d dare!” He
Sounded like his life was done,
Yet I knew this was the faerie
Tempting me to break and run.
“You’ll wish the brat had drowned instead,
“If I but find the path!” he said.

Branches rustle. He has found us!
Even as the shadows wane,
As the Dawn draws light around us,
Catching Night upon the rein.
On the path the thing will see me,
In the bushes I may hide.
From my pack I strive to free me,
Thrashing now and terrified.
Then my mother stands, the scourge she 
Faces with a naked knife,
As my foot slips past the verge, she
Pulls me back. “Run for your life!
“Stay on the path, don’t turn your head!”
The last thing ever that she said.

Winter’s white harbinger crumbled,
On the walls of wood and stone.
Up the forest path I stumbled,
Scratched and frozen, and alone.
To men old beyond affrighting,
On their god I made an oath,
I had left my mother fighting
‘gainst the fey to save us both.
Guards returned without survivors —
though I saw they carried furs.
“Give this orphan to the shrivers!
“Worse by far this tale of hers.
“The woman struck the hunter dead,
“Then staggered off the path,” they said.

Outside now, the snow is falling,
As I slave for crust and rag,
Still I hear the faeries calling,
Kinder words than curst and slag.
Mine the wisdom they would smother, 
So this night I will return
To the woods to join my mother,
Beg they’ll change me as I yearn.
Mine the power! Those who sin cry,
I shall show them all the truth.
All who mocked my story, in my
bloody cap shall see the proof!
And as their dying drop is shed,
Remember every word I said.

[Kyla Lee Ward is a Sydney-based author, actor and artist. Reviewers have accused her of being “gothic and esoteric”, “weird and exhilarating” and of “giving me a nightmare.” Her writing has garnered her Australian Shadows and Aurealis awards, she has placed in the Rhyslings and received multiple Stoker and Ditmar nominations. This Attraction Now Open Till Late is her first collection of dark and fantastic fiction, after two poetry collections and the cowritten novel, Prismatic. Her short film, Bad Reception, screened at the Third International Vampire Film Festival and she is a member of both the Deadhouse immersive theatre company and the Theatre of Blood, which have also produced her work. She enjoys fencing, travel, and scaring innocent bystanders. To see some very strange things, try, https://www.kylaward.com/]