“We can’t have got here before the Cult, can we?” Ruth said to Sardâr, looking around the riverbank.
Jack silently seconded her caution. There was nothing to suggest anyone else had been here, but as they had found out before in a bad way, sight definitely wasn’t a reliable sense when Dark alchemy was involved.
“We might well have,” the elf replied, gazing at the trees. “Nimue may not have been able to travel using Darkness. The Cult back in Thorin Salr transported a bridge that way, but that was a fairly simple structure. Whatever this new machine they’ve built is, it looked a lot more complex…”
The forest stretched out before them, peaks of whispering green clustering up the rise from the river and rolling over hills in the distance. The sky was much clearer here than back in the city. Trails of frosted white laced across the azure sky, free from the excrement of smog-choked chimneys. In stark contrast to the stone and pummelled mud of the Albion streets, the ground beneath them here was springy and alive with grass and bracken. Gone, too, was the stench of charring that had stuck in their noses and throats for the entire time in the city. Here, they could breathe clearly again.
They moved up the rise and into the thick of the forest, following Sardâr’s map reading. Jack was taken aback by the new surroundings. He had seen an orchard on Earth, but it had been circumvented on all sides by buildings, anything mildly threatening removed by generations of human locals. This place, he could tell, hadn’t been manufactured at all. Pockets of uneven grass and leaves sprang up here and there around his feet, and clumps of moss clung to the sides of trees. Wild banks of stinging nettles and other flora considered unfashionable in civilized society were in the full throes of life all around. Fallen branches had been left as they were, becoming colonized by mushrooms and absorbed into the ground. It was enough to make any landscape gardener suffer a breakdown.
It might have been his imagination, but everything seemed greener here too. The sunlight filtering through the clustering canopy of leaves was dyed a brilliant patchwork of emerald and gold, speckled patterns darting with the breeze over the ground. It must have been late November or early December on Earth now, but here the world seemed in the thick of spring.
Sardâr led them up the rise and then down into a wide tree-covered valley. Several other landmarks had been indicated on the map, and they ticked them off as they passed: a narrow ravine, at the bottom of which a brook gurgled; a large tree stump in the shape of devil’s horns; a ring of fungi-encrusted standing stones. Finally, after at least an hour’s walk, they passed between two grassy banks and moved out of the cover of the trees.
They stood on the edge of a wide glade, trees surrounding them completely. The sun was directly above, set like a jewel in sapphire surroundings. It must have been about midday.
“It should be here,” Sardâr said slowly, examining the map as he strode into the center of the ring. “The X is marked right here…”
The others began looking around. Other than that it was the first one they’d come across, the glade seemed entirely unremarkable. If possible, Jack thought, this area seemed the greenest and liveliest place yet: even in the shade of the trees, there was not an inch of bare earth where some life had not sprouted.
“Well, then what are we miss—?” Bál broke off his sentence with a gasp.
Jack wasn’t listening. He had caught sight of something glimmering in the shadow of a sycamore. When he moved closer, it looked as though two toffee-colored jewels had been set into the bark, glinting in the sunlight. He blinked.
The pair of jewels blinked back.
Chapter XV
the sword in the stone
Jack stumbled, landing hard on his back. He stood and backpedalled as fast as he could. The others had retreated too. His eyes still fixed upon the tree, he grasped one of Ruth’s arms for support. Even through the rush of panic, he still registered the brush of her warm fingers as they clasped his wrist for reassurance.
It wasn’t only the sycamore. Even as they watched, more and more glints became visible out of the shadow of the canopies. The trunks themselves seemed to be liquefying, the entire structure maintaining its shape but the grain now flowing like ripples on water. Knots widened everywhere, and the very bark seemed to extrude itself from within, reaching outwards into the center of the glade. A twisted arm to the right, a gnarled leg to the left, branches rustling with the movement, and seconds later they were surrounded by a group of figures.
Even with a growing compendium of elves, dwarves, goblins, giants, and demons, Jack’s brain seemed to be taking an extra long time to work out what he was seeing here. The figures before them were like trees but also like humanoids: their skin was bark, complete with moss and leafy branches, but there were definitely two arms and two legs on each of them. And, of course, the jewel eyes set into stumpy heads, all fixed upon them. It was as if the trees of the glade had been copied and pasted onto a human template.
Sardâr got to his feet slowly, eyes flicking between the tree figures. “It’s alright; you can get up,” he whispered. “They’re not going to harm us—I think.”
Jack did as he was told. The other three did the same. Even when Jack stood, the figures were tall. Of course—they were tree-sized.
“Which of you is in charge?” Sardâr ventured, glancing around the circle.
With much rustling, the figures looked among themselves in what seemed to be confusion. There was a crackling as a bark mouth opened, and words came like a breeze through autumnal branches—yet sounding to Jack distinctly Welsh.
“There’s no one in charge. We’re all equal here.”
“Granted, but even an egalitarian society predicates the appointment of an executive—”
Jack placed a silencing hand on Sardâr’s shoulder. “You’re fairies, aren’t you?”
Several of the wood figures nodded slowly.
“How did you know that?” Ruth hissed, her eyes still on the surrounding figures.
“The black mirror. The Emperor mentioned fairies were here…” Jack had slightly surprised himself with his own memory. He had to admit, this wasn’t what he’d been expecting. The fairies he’d known from childhood stories had been mouse-sized, with the build of ballerinas and glowing butterfly wings. What he now faced was as different from Tinker Bell as was possible.
“What brings you here?” a beech asked. “Few venture into our lands, and fewer still do so intentionally.”
“We have come to speak with you of grave matters,” Sardâr replied, “and to ask for your help.”
“Then, please, sit with us and we’ll speak,” said a spruce.
Moments later, they were all seated in a circle in the glade. Whilst Jack was encouraged by their welcoming attitude, he was still disconcerted by the fairies’ ability to blend into their surroundings. Each of them was now almost divided in two: the upper bodies had remained as trees but, below, the bark had subsided in favor of green blades, looking like emerald-furred goat legs.
Sardâr was kneeling, his cloak falling about his shoulder almost like folded wings as he addressed the circle. “Firstly, I must thank you for welcoming us into your abode. I wish that, in response to such hospitality, I bore good news, but I do not. Your realm is threatened by a great evil, which is approaching as we speak. A group of sorcerers who call themselves the Cult of Dionysus are set upon ravaging your lands and taking your most precious heirloom: the Third Shard of the Risa Star.”
There was muttering around the circle.
“We’ve known for many years this day would come,” a hawthorn replied, “but the Shard is not held dear by our people. It has wreaked its own havoc amongst us.”
“Our ancestors were charged with its custodianship two thousand years ago,” an oak continued, “and from the day it was entrusted to us, it has caused conflict. Our community has been repeatedly torn apart by struggles for control of its power.”
“So where is it now?” Ruth interjected.
Many of th
e fairies exchanged looks.
“It is sealed. Hidden within this wood. Over half a millennium ago, our greatest alchemist, Merlin, sealed it within the forest so that only its rightful bearer, the one our ancestors were told would come for it, arrives.”
“And that is the help we have come to ask for,” Sardâr replied. “We are members of an organization called the Apollonians. We are searching for the Shards of the Risa Star and their rightful bearers in order to combat the threat posed by the Cult. We have come to ask for the Shard, and we can use it to help you defend your home.”
“We will not fight this force that threatens us,” one of the older elms said. “Everyone in this community has taken a vow of peace.”
Jack exchanged surprised looks with Bál, Ruth, and Dannie. They hadn’t exactly been expecting a group of tree-morphing pacifists.
“That is laudable,” Sardâr continued, grimacing slightly, “but this is not some petty mortal conflict for pride or profit. We all face a Darkness which, if we do not unite, will engulf all our worlds. I implore you: you must defend yourselves and others by fighting off this evil.”
“There is no evil which justifies taking up arms against another creature,” a blackthorn intoned, as if reading from a textbook.
Several others around the circle nodded.
Sardâr had stood now, and his voice trembled. “This is not only about you! You could sacrifice your lives for a puritanical ideology if only you mattered, but there is far more at stake than this forest. You think if you lie down, the Cult will just roll over you and leave you alone. They will not. They will not stop until every tree in this entire world is burned down, and then they will move onto another world and another and another, strengthened by the Shard which you so graciously relinquished to them.” He was shouting now, and a few birds fled from branches.
The majority of the fairies looked stunned; others just shook their heads. There was a renewal of murmuring.
“We must discuss this amongst ourselves,” one of the fairies said. “Please, Apollonians, leave us whilst we decide.”
The four other travelers joined Sardâr at the very edge of the glade. They sank down onto either side of the grassy bank. The elf was breathing heavily, his face reddened. Ruth looked a little alarmed. Bál rolled his head back and closed his eyes. Dannie busied herself going through her utility belt and cleaning inventions with a filthy cloth. The faint wind of fairy voices from the center of the glade could just be heard, though no words were discernible.
“Well, you were right about them not harming us…” Jack ventured after a few moments.
Sardâr rubbed his temple. “We had the same problem in Tâbesh. Our republic has had a bloody history too, and so there was a natural aversion to war, which was good. But when a threat arrives that needs to be stopped, what do you do? When Zâlem began to stir up racial trouble, a lot of people refused to make any move to counter him in case it turned violent. What they didn’t see was that by doing nothing, they were just giving him free rein. And look what happened—he tried to assassinate the president. Isn’t there any middle ground? These are almost the polar opposite of the fairies back on my world, who are fickle, spiteful, always ready to start a conflict—”
“And this is the elf who keeps having a go at people for racial stereotyping,” Jack said coldly. He knew Sardâr was angry, but he didn’t appreciate hypocrisy from someone he so looked up to.
The five of them sat in silence for a very long time. Then, after what must have been almost an hour, the circle of fairies beckoned them.
The elm addressed them. “We have reached an agreement. We will not fight these enemies who approach us. We still believe that if we do not harm them, they will not harm us. However, we will guide you to the Shard’s resting place. We have no love for that artifact. But we must warn you, only a rightful bearer will be able to draw it out of its prison and wield it.”
Sardâr’s eyes narrowed, but Jack spoke before Sardâr could. “Thank you. That’s very helpful. Could you lead us there now, please?”
The fairies nodded.
The sycamore that had originally surprised Jack held out her branchy arm, and out of it a sphere of soft, pulsating light rose into life. “Follow this sprite. It will guide you to the Shard.”
Jack nodded to the fairies and followed the sprite to the edge of the glade, where it bobbed, waiting.
Ruth, Bál, and Dannie did the same. Without looking back at the tree people, Sardâr came as well. The travelers moved toward the cover of trees, leaving the fairy commune behind.
They descended a steep slope, the canopy enclosing them once more. The sprite bobbed ahead, its ethereal glow highlighting bark and leaf in lemony light as they ventured through the vernal tunnel into the very heart of the forest.
Jack stumbled several times, sending showers of dirt and twigs into Ruth’s back. He took to padding along as carefully as possible, trying not to slip.
Their surroundings became wilder as they moved down the hill, the pleasant greenery of the forest seeming to give way to sinister forms. The trunks here were contorted into unnatural shapes, branches like agony-crippled fingers, leaves more grey than green. Creepers hung in matted coils like serpents, and the ground crunched with the detritus of hollow logs. No life seemed to stir at all.
“Well, we’re getting close to something, at any rate,” Sardâr whispered.
No one replied. For Jack, this wasn’t just because he was still annoyed at the elf for his outburst. A deadening silence clung to the air, to the extent that speaking or even breathing felt like an interruption.
Ruth accidently brushed a branch with her sleeve. “What is this stuff?” Some sort of whitish-grey powder had rubbed off onto her tunic.
“It’s ash,” Bál replied, squinting at it. “Definitely ash. But there isn’t a volcano around here, is there?”
Then, quite suddenly, the sky opened. They had left behind the canopy of the trees. What they were now standing in could only tenuously be described as a glade. The ground continued downwards to a craterlike basin, stifled by the decomposing remnants of trees. Everything was smothered with the same whitish-grey ash—everything, that is, except the object at the very center of the basin, which the sprite now hovered over.
“What is it?”
Sardâr slid down the slope for a closer look, spraying burnt-out matter about him like some kind of surfer. He knelt and examined the object and then beckoned the others. “It looks like some sort of… sword?”
Jack could see what he meant. The object looked like it had a handle and a guard, and its blade had been driven deep into a large rock below. The problem was that it was constructed entirely from dead leaves: it looked as if it might crumble to dust if any of them touched it.
“So what’s this got to do with the Shard, then?” Dannie asked, her head tilted.
“I think,” Sardâr replied slowly, “that this is some kind of protective enchantment. Pulling the sword from the stone would seem to cause an alchemical reaction, revealing the Shard.”
“Well, let’s get on with it, then,” Bál said, grasping the hilt.
The sword didn’t crumble away. It didn’t budge at all.
The dwarf’s cheeks flushed. He tried again, but still it remained resolute. Anchoring his booted feet on top of the rock, he grabbed it underhand by the guard and flexed upwards, his triceps bulging. Nothing.
Jack caught Ruth’s eye. They couldn’t help smirking. For all his masculine bravado, Bál couldn’t seem to lift a leaf off a stone.
This charade continued several more minutes and would have gone on much longer, but Sardâr intervened and suggested he give it a go.
Rather reluctantly, Bál stood back, muttering something about loosening it up for him.
The elf placed two fingers on the hilt and spoke a few syllables under his breath. His fingertips flared with light, but there was no other reaction. More syllables; a different-colored light; nothing. Exhaling slowly, Sardâr stood back an
d began his signature pacing through the ankle-level cloud of ash.
Ruth gave it her best shot, to no avail.
Jack took up position in front of the blade and focused his mind on pulling power out of the elements around him. The Seventh Shard burst into life around his neck, an ivory beam shooting from the tip to engulf the weapon. After a few seconds it faded, and the sword was left unchanged.
“This is no use,” Ruth breathed. “The fairies said only the rightful bearer would be able to release the Shard. I say we head back to the commune and ask them for a bit more detail on what we need to do.”
Sardâr nodded wearily and joined her in staggering back up the slope, followed by Bál. Jack was dimly aware of Dannie behind him as he turned and began traipsing back towards the trees. He was halfway up the slope when the girl called out.
“Erm, you lot… I think I just did it?”
Jack turned. Dannie still stood at the bottom of the basin. Clutched in both her hands, entirely divorced from the stone, was the sword. Jack looked up the slope at the others. They had all turned too, and their slightly stunned expressions were mirrored in both his own and Dannie’s.
There was a noise like a deep breath, and Jack was knocked flat onto the ground. Wind blasted from the basin, throwing ash into the air like a storm cloud. He covered his mouth and kept low, squinting through the grey to glimpse Dannie. He could see her, just. She seemed to have been lifted, the sword in her hands disintegrating into the whirlwind. Emerald light shone outwards from between her palms, illuminating her terrifled expression.
The wind ebbed and died. Jack rose, hesitantly, blinking away the dust and dancing lights. The basin had been entirely cleared of ash and dead logs, and he now stood on slightly spongy damp earth. Shoots peered through the dirt here and there, as if suddenly the first moments of spring had arrived. Dannie was back on the ground, next to the stone. The sword was nowhere in sight. Instead, threaded around her neck was a crystal Shard with a tiny leaf symbol carved into it.
The Black Rose Page 9
