Hunger Pangs

by Joy Demorra

  “She visits most days.” A note of sadness entered his voice as he spoke. “She’s training my cousin Brioni to help. Someone has to know how to tend the graves.”

  Ursula’s step faltered. “You still have burials here?”

  “Not often. But sometimes. Don’t look so worried.” He smiled, shaking hair out of his face. “We’re on holly ground.”

  Ursula glanced around, noting the jagged green leaves and red berries that grew thickly amidst the mixture of even more jagged hawthorns, twisted yews, and gnarled oaks. “Interesting… I wasn’t aware holly grew this far north.”

  “It doesn’t. Not natively. My Uncle Ivar had it planted.”

  There were any number of trees the old wolf could have chosen to plant for their magical warding properties: ash for might, birch for purity, hazel for endurance. But Ivar had chosen holly, a ward against lightning and darkness. It had been planted regularly over burial mounds, back in the old days, to keep the dead from rising. Though whether this was due to the tree’s magical properties or its tendency to throttle anything that got entangled with its roots was hard to say. It was frankly genius. And Ursula was irked she hadn’t thought of it herself.

  They came to another fork in the dirt path, and Ursula turned right. She’d made it several steps before she realized Nathan hadn’t followed. She turned back to find him watching her, his expression inscrutable. “What’s wrong?”

  “You’ve never been here before.” It was phrased like a statement, but Ursula heard the query in his voice.

  “No, of course not.”

  The werewolf inclined his head, eyeing her. It wasn’t quite predatory, but it wasn’t friendly either. “That’s funny.” His tone was deceptively light. “Because you’ve turned the correct way three times now.”

  Ursula cursed herself for a fool. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts she’d forgotten to let him lead. She laughed, forcing herself to smile. “Well, of course I have. I’m following the pull of the Ancestral Tree. You’d know that. If you had any Sisters left.”

  It was a bald-faced lie, but Ursula threw as much magical charm into it as she could. It bounced off of him like a snowball glancing off a glacier. A curse on blue-eyed werewolves, she thought. And a curse on the Northlands for having more than one of them!

  Tilting his head, Nathan watched her for several more seconds. Then, he nodded. “If you say so.”

  The charm definitely hadn’t worked. She could feel the suspicion rolling off of him in waves. But it seemed he was willing to entertain the idea that he didn’t know everything, and that she might be telling the truth after all. She felt an immediate pang about lying to him and wondered where on earth that had come from. People were supposed to want to tell her the truth. Not the other way around.

  Seeing no point in waiting for him to take the lead, Ursula carried on, acutely aware of his eyes burning into her back. She forgot all about him a moment later when they stepped into a snow-covered clearing. The sun was eye-wateringly bright after the cover of the trees.

  But it was nothing compared to the tears that sprang to her eyes at the sight of a living Ancestral Tree.

  The Ironwood Tree stood in the center of the clearing, a steady pulse of magic at its core. Twisted by time and bowed down under the weight of its own boughs, the yew tree groaned as all living things were wont to do from time to time.

  But Ursula heard the reproachful welcoming behind it. I know, she thought, reaching out to press a palm to the gnarled bark. Glowing from within, the magic inside swelled to greet her. I’m sorry.

  Behind her, Nathan cleared his throat.

  Ursula reluctantly drew her hand away. “Forgive me,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “It has been so long since I left home… She’s beautiful.”

  “She, is it? Well now, isn’t that a thing.” He patted the silver bark affectionately. After a while, he said, “I used to dream about this place. Back when I first got injured. I never had any time for it while I was here. But after Bhalein it was all I could think about…”

  “What was your dream?” Ursula asked, turning away from him as she pulled herself together. The tree was alive. Not only was it alive, it was healthy. It was all she could do not to sink to the forest floor and weep.

  “I was… following a wolf through the woods. Trying to find my way home. But every time I came to a crossroads, I’d get turned around and have to start over again. I thought it meant, well never mind what I thought it meant.” He smiled, giving the tree another pat as he tilted his head up to look at the boughs. “Huh. That’s weird…”

  Her eyes wide, Ursula whipped round. “What is?”

  “There’s something black growing on the berries…” He reached up as though to pluck one.

  Ursula’s heart leapt into her throat. “Don’t touch it!”

  “Why?” Nathan frowned down at her, his hand still moving.

  Gripped by panic, Ursula flung her arm out. Surprise crossed his face as invisible hands sent him flying back through the snow. But there was no time to worry about him now. The Ancestral Tree was what mattered.

  Turning her attention to the tree, Ursula held her hand out. A command. The tree groaned and bowed, lowering its boughs until she could see what Nathan had been talking about.

  Black, sticky-looking pus oozed from the red berries. It coated the needles in slime. But this was no ordinary fungus. No ordinary parasite. No, the tree was immune to those. But like a blight which decimated the crops of mortals, this slime left death and destruction in its wake. Already, the needles of the Ancestral Tree had turned brown where the slime had touched. As if alive, the substance writhed toward her. It must sense the magic at her core, and it was hungry for more.

  “No, you do not get this one. I will not lose this one.” As power crackled through her veins, she planted her feet firmly on the ground. “Do you hear me? I refuse.”

  The tree groaned again, the silver bark pulsing from within until it glowed white hot like molten metal. Ursula plunged her hands into the trunk.

  Magic roared over and through her.

  Energy. So much energy. The sheer force of it choked the air in her lungs as she fought to harness the raw power of the tree. She needed to turn that power, focus it on the parasite before it got its way and consumed them both.

  The earth convulsed under her feet, groaning as the ancient roots writhed below. The boughs overhead twisted in a paroxysm of agony that Ursula felt in every bone of her body. The darkness howled, clawing toward her with sickly tendrils.

  And then the tree shuddered.

  Quaked.

  Like a wet dog shaking itself, sending dark green needles and red berries cascading to the ground as it shed its winter coat. In its place grew the bright tender green of spring.

  With one final groan, the tree stilled.

  Alive. Healthy. Safe.

  Ursula fell to her knees. A sob that was part grief part relief broke out of her. She’d done it. She’d saved the tree.

  But for how long?

  “What are you?” Nathan demanded.

  Oh Gods! She’d forgotten she wasn’t alone.

  Turning slowly, she held her hands up, but Nathan scrambled backward.

  “No wait!” She lowered her hands, shoving them behind her back. “I can explain!”

  “Well, someone needs to!” the werewolf snarled back. He managed to clamber to his feet but remained crouched—ready to run or fight, whichever came first. “Who are you?” A dangerous low growl entered his voice as the wolf began to emerge, teeth sharpening and turning the flecks of yellow in his eyes to all-consuming ocher.

  It took all of her remaining resolve to remain in place rather than scooting back. “Nathan, please. Just… just let me explain. I don’t want to have to hurt you. I’m a friend, I swear. I’m here to help.”

  “Help? What did you do to our tree?!”

  “I saved it! I swear I did it no harm. Look. See?” She gestured up to it. “All the foliage is already r
egrown. It was that thing that was hurting it. The black you noticed on the berries.”

  Nathan tilted his head from side to side, nostrils flaring. He was scenting her; Ursula’s heart clenched. “You’re not a werebear,” he rumbled, blinking warily at her. “What are you?”

  Shoulders sagging, she rose to her feet, careful not to make any sudden moves that would antagonize the already nervous werewolf. Slowly, she brushed the snow and dirt from her knees. “Do you believe in fairy tales, Nathan?”

  “What? Of course not.”

  “That’s unfortunate.” Ursula tipped her head up toward the pale gray sky and sighed. When she looked back down at him, she lifted her hands up to either side of her head to allow her magic to blaze between her fingertips. “Because it would make things so much easier.”

  “On you?”

  “No, my dear Nathan, on you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  Nathan was numb. In shock. Sitting with his back pressed against the trunk of the Ancestral Tree, he stared blankly up at the sky. An hour ago he’d been convinced the stories his mother had told him as a wee lad had been made up. Fairy stories. But now… now he wasn’t so sure. Up was down. Right was wrong. His head spun like a compass needle on Eyrie.

  Ursula sat beside him, waiting for him to say something. She’d stopped talking quite some time ago, her words a sledgehammer to the foundations of his world. His mind reeling, Nathan couldn’t find the words to begin. Snow drifted down gently. Nathan ignored it. He had far more pressing concerns.

  Like the eldritch fae being seated beside him.

  “So, you’re…” he tapered off almost immediately, unsure of where he was going with the question. Was she really a fae? Was she really thousands of years old? Was she really fighting against some unknown blight killing Ancestral Trees all over the world?

  Was this really real?

  But it was apparently enough for Ursula to discern his meaning. “Yep.”

  “Huh.” He rubbed at his chin. In a vaguely detached sense, he was aware of feeling calm, like he was on the outside of his skin looking in. After another short while, he said, “I thought the Sìdhe were all supposed to be gone. Everyone thinks they died with…” He lowered his voice, unwilling to speak that dreadful name in this sacred place. It felt wrong after everything he’d just seen.

  Like tempting fate.

  “With Dridan,” Ursula finished for him. “They did.”

  “Then, how are you…”

  She turned her head toward him, her complexion ashen. She looks tired, Nathan thought. A bone-deep weariness that was only partly to do with the magical feat she’d just performed. Mostly though, he thought, she just looks sad.

  “I’m the last of my kind; I have been for some time.”

  “How long?”

  Sighing, her lip curled in what might have once been a smile. “Too long. Ever since we imprisoned Dridan in the Shadow Realm.”

  “But the War of the Pantheon was…” Nathan shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around it. This all felt like the stuff of myth and lore. He’d always known it was real. But he hadn’t really believed.

  Not until now.

  “Three thousand, seven hundred, and seventy-nine years ago.” Ursula lifted her shoulders in the jest of a shrug. “But who’s counting?”

  Nathan stared at her; he wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t having a fever dream. Any minute now he’d wake up on Dr. Allan’s slab, and they’d tell him he slipped and fell and cracked his head. But Ursula remained solidly real beside him, as did the tree at his back and the ground beneath his feet. Only the sky seemed surreal, the pink clouds fading to purple as the snowstorm moved in. But even that snow fell in tangible flakes around them. Propping his elbow on his knee, Nathan held his hand out. The flakes melted in his palm, a reassuring reminder that this was reality and that some laws of the universe still made sense. “If they’re all gone, why are you still here?”

  Ursula was silent for a long time. “Because someone had to be.” A spasm of pain flickered over her face.

  He gathered his thoughts for a while longer, then asked, “We?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said ‘we.’ Was Alfbern with you when… when the Gods went away?”

  Ursula shook her head. “No. Alfie is old. But he is not my first guardian.”

  “Guardian?” Nathan frowned.

  Ursula sighed.

  Clearly, this would not be a simple explanation.

  “The fae don’t belong to this realm. Not really. Our place is—” she gestured vaguely, waving her hand through the air “—betwixt worlds. In the glint of falling snow and the shadow of moss-covered groves. We can stay for a time. But at a price.” She looked grimly up at the sky. “Everything always comes at a price.” After a while she asked, “Do you know the story of the Ancestral Trees?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I know we planted them to protect the werefolk.”

  “That’s partly why. But not how they came to be.” She sighed, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. “Dridan was… winning the war. Him and all the Gods who followed him into madness. It took everything we had to stop him. In the end, there were only a handful of us left. We even had to destroy our way-shrines.” Her expression cracked with unspoken grief. “It meant we could never go home. But it was the only way to keep him entombed. But even that wasn’t enough. Everything started to die. The trees, the fields, the rivers… I think the ocean would have run dry in the end. We tried to hold it back, to save what we could. But there were some areas we had to abandon.”

  “The Wastes,” Nathan murmured.

  Ursula nodded, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “The liches were too strong there. Still loyal to Dridan. There were just too few of us. We were able to halt it, confine the spreading darkness to one place. But it wasn’t enough. That place, that blight, it drains the magic from the world. It’s like a sinkhole. We had to balance it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “We didn’t have long left. But we still had one thing we could give.” She tipped her head up to the sky, her golden eyes haunted by the weight of too many years. “Ourselves. We struck an accord with the Fates. In exchange for their immortality, those who wished to remain could live out their lives here. And when they died, they committed their bodies to the earth. There’s a lot of magic you can do with fairy bones.”

  Nathan’s blood ran cold in a way that had nothing to do with the snow or the wind. He looked over his shoulder at the tree; its boughs creaked gently in the wind. What had always looked like silver bark suddenly looked a lot less tree-like.

  Ursula twisted around, placing a loving hand on the trunk. Her fingers trembled. “They gave everything to keep the world alive. To keep their people safe. Ingrid. Garric. Finella.” She stroked the tree lightly as one might stroke a lover.

  And, Nathan realized, whoever had sacrificed their life to become the Ancestral Tree might have been. His heart ached for Ursula’s loss, but he knew that this couldn’t be her only loss. “And you?” Nathan asked, his throat clicking dryly. “What did you give up?”

  She smiled. It was the most heartbreaking thing Nathan had ever seen. “I gave up them. It was my choice; I could have relinquished my immortality, as they did, but I knew someone would need to protect them. I walk this earth alone, tending a garden of bones. The trees are all I have left.”

  Half-remembered nursery rhymes and stories from Nathan’s childhood flitted through his mind, terrifying lullabies and skipping games sung in high-piping voices that belied the nature of the words:

  Have you seen her,

  One-two-three,

  The lady who lives in the old oak tree?

  I saw her face,

  I saw her weep,

  And now my soul is hers to keep…

  Dizzy with revelation, Nathan murmured, “You’re the Lady of the Woods. I used to have nightmares about you.”

  Ursula laughed and inclined her head toward him. “Am
I really so terrifying? No, don’t answer that.” She sighed. “I’ve had many names. That one was one of the kinder ones. Personally, I’ve always preferred Sue.”

  Nathan laughed. He couldn’t help it. He glanced sideways at her. “Does anyone else know? Apart from Alfbern, I mean.”

  Ursula shook her head. “As far as the rest of the world knows, the fae no longer exist. And neither do I. It’s safer that way. Your father knows, well, he knows that one day the last of the Sìdhe might come calling. But he doesn’t know it’s me.” She hesitated. “Although, your uncle knows…”

  “Ivar? How the hell does he know?”

  Her eyes crinkled fondly. “He always was a shrewd old wolf. Even when he was young. Let’s just say he went digging around where he shouldn’t. You’re a lot like him. He didn’t trust me either.”

  Nathan frowned. Why hadn’t Ivar said anything?

  “Don’t be angry with him,” Ursula continued. “I made him an offer for his silence. He couldn’t have told you, even if he wanted to.”

  Nathan absorbed this additional information in solemn silence. “You’re going to have to do the same thing to me, aren’t you?”

  “I’m afraid so. I could kill you, if you’d prefer.” She shrugged impishly. “But I’d rather not. You seem nice.”

  “You have a warped sense of humor,” Nathan informed her. Shaking his head, his hand drifted to his shoulder. He dug his fingers into the abused muscles. She hadn’t thrown him far, but it had hurt all the same.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, following his hand with her eyes, “about throwing you like that. I couldn’t let you touch the berries. I can look at your shoulder, if you’d like?”

  “No.” He forced himself to leave the injury alone. He was probably doing it more harm than good. Vlad was constantly lecturing him about being too hard on his shoulder. “But thank you. You still haven’t told me what a guardian is, though. Or why you, of all people, need one.”

  Ursula’s expression dimmed. “I already told you, my kind cannot live in this world for long. It drains the life from us. But there are ways around it.” She stared down at her hands, twirling one of the many rings adorning her fingers. While her gloves had burned to ash when she’d plunged her hands into the tree, her skin had remained unblemished. “Do you know what a fairy marriage is, Nathan?”