An Unexpected Apprentice

by Jody Lynn Nye

“And you didn’t think it was strange?” Serafina asked, in a tone that made Tildi doubt her own sanity.

  “Daughter, she had no experience then. Let be.”

  “Look there,” Teryn called hoarsely. They all glanced down. A gold glimmer spread out over a crescent of woods below them. Tildi could distinguish not only the rune that said forest, but smaller words designating individual features. The rest of the group was now in no doubt. They were closing in on their goal.

  “There’s a village,” Rin said. “Let us put down there. We will need help if we are to take our thief.”

  Unlike Walnut Tree or any of the human villages they had visited since leaving Silvertree, this place had an order that was pleasing to the eye as well as to the ear. Piping and the soft sound of harps melded in perfect harmony with the song of birds in the trees. Most of the elves lived in hollow trees, much smaller and narrower versions of Silvertree. Tildi even recognized that three of the domiciles were of the same species as in her former home. A few houses were of wood or stone, but these were so graceful in construction that they might have burgeoned organically instead of being made. Doorposts and window frames bore delicate carvings tinted with reds, browns, and deep greens, and living flowers twined everywhere.

  Elves began to pour out of the graceful houses and tree homes long before the party galloped to a halt on a narrow green. Tildi looked at them shyly. Edynn’s face lit up, and she swung off to meet a slender male with swept-back ears and very long black hair wearing a green tunic and pale gray trousers over light boots. The two of them looked so akin that Tildi had to bite her tongue to keep from asking questions about a possible relationship. The elves at Olen’s home had been very touchy about it. Even allowing for the fact that their were backward, they were very similar to those of Edynn and Serafina. Tildi was acutely aware how strong the runes in this place were. She could see them everywhere here. The others, not as attuned as she was to the book, could not.

  Edynn and the elf embraced and began to speak together. His people gathered around them. The conference was brief, as the forest denizens hastened off to their homes.

  “Tildi Summerbee, my honor,” the elf said, bowing to her with his hand over his heart. He knelt so that he was at eye level with her. “I am Athandis. Welcome to Penbrake. We have been warned of this very dangerous book by Lady Urestia, who was in the same council with you. I’ve been sending scouts out regularly to check for signs, but we have never found a trace. You are certain that the book is here?”

  “In the woods,” Tildi said. “It’s a distance that way.” She pointed. “I can see traces here, but off in that direction it’s stronger than anything I have felt before.”

  “Do you think it not strange that he has stopped here? Can you tell me the reason?”

  “I don’t know. All I am sure of is the runes. Has anyone seen anything … strange?”

  Athandis looked grave. “Not yesterday or today. The sensitives among us have reported an uncanny feeling, but no one has said they have seen anything.”

  “This man is dangerous, Athandis,” Edynn said. “We must have a plan. It might take all of us—no, it will take all of us to capture him, but we must try. The book must be returned to safekeeping.”

  “I agree. My people have gone to collect weapons. They are also,” he added, looking directly at Tildi, “versed in the natural magics. We will do our best. In the meanwhile, we will send messengers to the marchioness.”

  “Master Athandis!” A slender child came racing toward them. She came panting to a halt before the headman. She was half again Tildi’s height, but could not have been more than seven years old, by smallfolk reckoning. Athandis steadied her, and poured gentle magic into her to strengthen her. The child gasped. “The forest! The forest is moving!”

  The headman started to ask for details, but they became evident all too quickly. Tildi felt an onrush of power like the onslaught of driving snow. In its wake came the trees.

  These were like no trees that she had ever seen, in any forest. Their bark was gray, their sparse crowns pale green, but their branches, sharpened to a point, waved and whipped of their own volition. In between cracks in the narrow, smooth boles she fancied she could see dark eyes glaring with hatred. What was worse was that they screamed. It was a high, thin sound that went through Tildi’s brain like a needle. It was full of anger and pain. She was terrified, but at the same time, sorry for them. They were in pain like Morag was in pain, though he did not lash out.

  A handful of young elves dashed out to meet the first wave. They brandished spears and bows. The first of the trees flowed forward on its many roots and knocked the foremost warrior flying. He landed on his back yards away. A couple of women in gray, knee-length tunics ran to help him. There was blood on his face.

  The others regrouped swiftly. At a shout from the elven maid on the end, they all set the tips of their spears on fire. The trees recoiled slightly. The elves pressed their advantage, as more of them took up arms to defend. The gray boles retreated. Tildi watched in fascination. This is what the people of Walnut Tree meant when they said that the great tree had walked, but these were moving under their own power, and with their own aims.

  Rustling on every side of the village drew the attention of Athandis and the visitors. More groves glided toward them, stabbing with their poinardlike branches. An elven woman in blue cried out as one thrust through her arm. Blood fountained, and the elf fell to her knees. Three of her fellows rushed in to form a circle around her until the healers could help her escape.

  “Is this the work of the thief?” Athandis asked. He sounded far too calm to Tildi. The trees shrieked again, and she cringed.

  “Most likely,” Edynn said. “But this is his most violent transformation to date.”

  “Anathema. No respect for nature. We are their guardians, and they have been set loose upon us. I will see if we can calm them without rendering them harm.”

  “You’re their guardians?” Tildi burst out. The elf smiled down upon her.

  “It is why Penbrake exists, Tildi Summerbee. There are many such havens, all over Niombra. My father’s grandfather was given charge of these trees when they were created, a hundred centuries ago. They think and feel, like we do. They are greatly troubled, though. You will want to take shelter in case I can’t soothe them.”

  “I’ll help you, Athandis,” Edynn offered. She took up her staff. “Tildi, find yourself a place of shelter. I hope this will not take long.”

  A couple of younger elves took the protesting Tildi and Lakanta toward one of the houses. Tildi realized that it was a huge tree, not unlike Silvertree. In fact, it might have been a member of the same species, with its soft gray bark and pale leaves. Her guides boosted her up a rope ladder to a room some twenty feet above the forest floor that was clearly used by its owner as a study, with boxes of books and a big cushion for a chair. They brought her to an open window that looked out upon the clearing, and nocked arrows into the bows that they carried. The tips burst into flame.

  “Just in case,” one of them told her. “We will safeguard you, no matter what, but you can see from here.”

  The other set up a footstool for her. Lakanta stood next to her with an arm wound protectively around Tildi’s waist.

  It was a terrifying sight.

  Edynn, Rin, and Serafina had joined the defenders. Athandis set the example, seeking to stop the creatures without killing them. As a tree reached for him, screaming its terrible cry, he brought his hands together with a loud clap. The tree stopped where it was as if cast in stone. Others came for him. He was stabbed again and again by many of his charges, but his calm never wavered. Dark blood stained his light tunic. Other villagers brought their talents to bear, paralyzing and soothing with the same patience as if they were caring for a school of unruly children.

  Serafina was transformed from her usual sullen self to a swooping bird of prey. She moved behind the lines of elves armed with flaming spears, casting handfuls of light at the
gray trees who pushed ahead of their fellows and threatened to overwhelm that far end of the village. When she struck one, it froze in place. Her mother was also paralyzing the attackers, but from a stance near a venerable copse of hazel. Teryn and Morag stood guard around her, fending off the attacking trees, but not damaging one unless it refused to yield. Soon they disappeared from view in the heart of a grove of trees that had not been there minutes ago.

  Though they were mobile, the attackers did not move very fast. Rin wheeled and dashed among the shuffling trees, distracting them so the elves could do their work. A thin, wizened stick of a beech confronted her, stabbing at her with a dozen branches. One found its mark. Rin let out a shout of pain, followed by a stream of syllables that must have been an oath in the language of the Windmanes. She cracked her whip, and tied several of the limbs together. Then she turned on a single hoof and kicked the tree backwards with her hind feet. There was a tremendous crack! The trunk split lengthwise in two. The tree dropped backward, taking Rin’s whip with it. It began to seep sticky red sap from its light interior wood.

  “No!” one of the elves scolded her. He knelt by the fallen tree, a look of grief on his face, but it was no use. The baleful eyes winked out. Rin looked horrified.

  “She got carried away,” Lakanta said sadly. “Oh, that will haunt her, poor thing.”

  Athandis moved among the trees that had been halted. He touched one after another. Tildi could see that his face wore a troubled expression as he listened to each one in turn. She felt magic being used throughout the clearing. Its waves made her feel less frightened; she assumed that it had a much stronger effect upon its subjects. Other healers joined him, bringing their influence to help the trees.

  It was not enough. The spell suspending their movement appeared to lose its strength only minutes after it was applied. One after another, the trees began to move again. One thick-trunked individual surprised the elven woman attempting to calm it, and walked right over her before she could get out of its way. The crunch of bones was audible throughout the glade. Tildi’s stomach turned.

  It became clear that the invaders were not moving at random. They had a purpose. To Tildi’s horror, she realized that the wave of attackers was never-ending, and they all seemed to be converging upon the house where she had taken shelter. They were seeking her leaf of the book! The fact was not lost upon her protectors. The elf to her left drew back and loosed smoothly. The arrow pocked into the ground before the first of the trees. It glared up at him, and two of its branches reached for the arrow, snapped it in two, and cast it down. They began to shake the house from side to side. More joined them, until Tildi was looking down on a solid ring of gray branches, swaying like snakes.

  “Back!” ordered her other defender. She and Lakanta were helped farther up in the tree. Before Tildi knew it they had pushed her out of a window onto a limb. It was wider than her shoulders, but it was still almost fifty feet above the ground.

  “Oh, no,” Tildi said, clutching the window frame. “I can’t.”

  The elves didn’t wait for her to consent. The first archer picked her up under his arm and ran surefooted for the nearest tree. An elf woman inside threw open her casement and reached for them.

  Below, the trees shrieked at the attempt of their quarry to escape. Athandis and the others were pale spots of color in between the waves of gray. It was clear that his attempts to turn back the moving forest were failing. Tildi was yanked inside, hustled down a level to a handsomely furnished chamber a dozen yards across, and out of another window to a narrower limb.

  They were outside the circle of trees at that moment. Tildi blanched at the endless waves of angry trees. The defenders were falling. Tildi let out a cry. She saw Edynn struggling in the grasp of a cluster of narrow-boled attackers. She froze a tree and turned to another, but by the time she did, the first one had come to life again, flailing its arms. Edynn pulled loose and let off another burst of energy. The trees shrugged it off and began to move away from her, heading toward Tildi’s new hiding place.

  “They are insane,” said one of Tildi’s defenders sadly, watching them come. “They have been hurt beyond saving.”

  “Don’t say that!” protested his companion. The first gave him a look of infinite sadness. He nodded, and closed his eyes. “Athandis is grieved, but he agrees. Give them mercy.”

  Both elves drew their bows and set the tips of the arrows alight.

  “What are you doing?” Lakanta cried. “They are living creatures.”

  “We are not powerful enough to change back what has been done to them,” said the second elf. “They are lost. A fundamental alteration has been visited upon them. How, we do not fully understand. Poor things, they lived in torment for so long. We hoped that they could live in peace, but there is no hope of that now.”

  “Oh, you can’t,” Tildi protested, realizing what they meant to do, despite the danger the trees posed to her. “I’m sure something can be done for them …”

  “Thank you for caring,” the first elf said with a rueful little nod. “We are their caretakers. It is better if we are the ones to do this. Now, and swiftly.”

  They both loosed at the same moment. The fiery arrows struck two different trees, who brushed the missiles away as though they were stinging flies. They could not brush away the flames, however. The fire spread with remarkable speed. The trees recoiled, and the blaze spread from branch to branch, as others caught fire. The elven archers released arrow after arrow with blinding speed, setting more trees alight.

  Tildi spotted Edynn. With terrible sorrow on her face, the elder wizardess held out her arms. The jewel on the end of her staff began to glow. Serafina assumed a similar stance. More trees burst into flame. Soon the entire grove was burning. It was swift, but a few of the injured trees staggered around, shrieking in pain. Rin and the guards hurried in to give as many of them the coup de grace. Tildi found herself weeping uncontrollably. Lakanta folded her into her arms and stroked her hair.

  When it was all over, the elves and visitors stood in the midst of blackened trunks, smoke rising to the sky. Tildi was stunned to see that the oaks of the village were very little damaged. Those scorched patches of bark and stripped branches would heal. What would not be so easily healed would be the memory of the devastation of what had been hundreds of living things, reduced to charcoal. The elves held onto one another to grieve for their loss.

  Tildi realized that she felt a loss, too, greater than her sorrow for the trees. The warmth she felt from the book had gone. The thief had fled.

  Edynn, her usually spotless robes smudged and torn, emerged from the ruin on Serafina’s arm. She spotted Tildi and beckoned to her. Tildi’s protectors guided her down a spiral staircase and out into the glade. Rin and the guards came to meet them.

  Athandis stood while healers bustled around him, closing his wounds, and cleaning the blood from his clothing. His dark eyes glowed like the eyes of the fallen race of trees. He hefted a spear and waved a hand over its end. The stone tip, which had been broken off in the fight, became sharp again, and the bindings tight. He gestured to all the elves who were still standing. “Now, my friends, we will go after the one who has tortured our poor brethren like this. He chooses to tamper with Mother Nature’s children, but he has none of her loving-kindness toward her creations.”

  “He is gone, sir,” Tildi said. “He went while you were trying to heal the trees.”

  The elf turned toward her, horrified. “You are certain?”

  “She has a sympathy for the book,” Edynn explained. “Surely Urestia told you of her.”

  “Yes, indeed, she did,” Athandis said, grim-faced. “This wizard is cunning, and ruthless.”

  “He is,” Edynn said. “More and worse could come out of this. Come, my friends. Let us mourn for our lost ones, and decide what we must do next.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Magpie awoke from a pleasant dream full of comfortable cushions, silken cloth, silken flesh, the silke
n feel of good wine pouring down his throat. He reached up to push the bottle away in order to take another kiss from those silken lips of his fiancée, and found it restrained by her hairy, scratchy hand. That wasn’t right! He opened his eyes sharply and realized his hand was secured by a loop of heavy rope to the beautifully turned bedpost over his head. He tried to turn over to undo it with his free hand, and discovered that he couldn’t because both ends were around the post, and the opposite ankle was also secured by an equally scratchy rope and tied to the bedpost at the other corner.

  His elder brother Ganidur, arms folded in satisfaction, looked down at him. He was built along the same rangy lines as Magpie, but several inches taller, with big hands and feet, wider shoulders, and a long, humorous face.

  “How do you feel this morning, Eremi?”

  “What in the yawning abyss is this?” Magpie demanded.

  “Father asked me,” Ganidur began, with a kind of complacent smugness that made Magpie want to kick him, “to ensure that you did not get cold feet at the last minute and disappoint your fiancée. You will be at this engagement. You shouldn’t be upset! After all, you didn’t wake up in the cesspit the way you did to me on my betrothal day.”

  “That wasn’t my idea, Gan,” Magpie said indignantly. Then he paused. “Well … perhaps I suggested it,” honesty compelled him to add.

  “As I thought. Bena doesn’t have the imagination for that kind of cruelty. I had to go to my loved one’s ceremony smelling like ten days of the runs.”

  “You had a bath ahead of time,” Magpie reminded him.

  “As if that would do anything about an entire castle’s worth of effluvia,” Ganidur said with a snort. “The fact remains that you got to spend your betrothal night in your very own bed with your very own bedclothes and, I hope, your very own severe hangover.”

  Magpie felt his head with his free hand. “You have that right, brother. I feel as if a herd of centaurs clattered across my skull during the night.”