by Sandra Waugh
Harker and his books—I remembered my dream. But Twig had effectively ended this argument. The odd little seer was long gone; I could hardly ask him anything. Still, I muttered, unwilling to concede, “I don’t see what possible relief it is if the answers lie within a book we cannot use!”
And at that Twig smiled happily as if I’d handed him a better answer. I think it was a smile anyway; it was hard to see it beneath his impressive beard. “Oh, Lady Lark! You have the Sight; you know already how to find the orb. Trust yourself.”
I was silent, furious. How many more would tell me I should simply trust myself? Twig, unperturbed, took out a little white-handled knife from his waistpack. From the selvage of the pack’s bottom seam, where Grandmama’s hands had so carefully guided mine, he began cutting a little strip of fabric, removing a rectangular piece and placing it and his knife back into his waistpack. He shook my pack right side out and put it next to Gharain’s with a little pat, announcing, “Yours is a good family. Strong in your bond.”
Then he looked at me. “You remain distressed, Lady Lark. The Breeders will enjoy that. Ah, the young man is returning, and high time it is.”
Gharain was approaching—my Complement was approaching—calling out to us, “The rift goes on. It splits Dark Wood from the marshes and the Cullan foothills as far as I can see—”
“We waste the hour, Rider,” Twig interrupted.
Gharain glared at him, but Twig glared back and said, “Have you not looked at the sky? A storm approaches from the east. That is never a good sign.”
I broke in, also glaring at Gharain. “And neither is it a good sign that a Complement does not introduce himself to his Guardian.”
Gharain turned slowly to me, a flush appearing along his cheek. “Would it have changed your rejection?”
“Why? You were loath to make the connection.”
“Rider, Lady—” Twig attempted, but we ignored him.
“Loath?” Gharain snorted. “I share my feelings, you reject them, and I am loath? Does a title change anything?”
“It would have helped me understand my feelings!” Frustrated, I waved him away. “Oh, there is no point in this! You do not understand!”
“I suppose, then, you’ve an official reason now to be connected!”
Twig shouted something in gnome language so wretchedly screeching that Gharain and I clapped hands to our ears, cringing. “Now!” he commanded as we went silent. “Are we done with silly arguments? Dark Wood is a treacherous enough place to breach. Let us not do it as enemies.”
“Hardly enemies” was Gharain’s responding mutter. He gave me a stern look and sighed. “Dark Wood is it, then?”
I swallowed and nodded, and Gharain made a low whistle as he surveyed the barrier of tangled growth. “Is it not better to attempt crossing the rift? If the Breeders wanted Lark separated—”
Twig interrupted, emphatic. “The Breeders wanted Lark with the Riders.”
But Gharain turned again to me. “Are you sure?”
I said a little crossly, “At least we’ll find no swifts in Dark Wood.”
“At least.” But I suppose Gharain was satisfied, for he added, “So be it.”
“So be it,” I echoed. Complement. The word, the idea, would not stop rolling around my head. Complement: bound, but not by choice. And the king himself had chosen wrong; it was Evie Gharain should complement. What did my book say about this?
Together we reached for our packs. Twig walked ahead, announcing, “I will find an entry.”
I sighed. “Don’t you mean to be in the pack?”
He was insulted. “I should think not, my lady. I am a forest gnome.” Then he added, peering into Dark Wood, “But you two will have to take hands.”
How funny that sounded! I giggled, suddenly shy again, but Gharain reached his hand out and took mine willingly enough. The charge thrilled up my arm and through my body.
Twig moved on, calling back to us, “You would do well to remember to stay within touch of each other.”
And Gharain murmured, “It’s only my hand, Lark.”
Only.
“YOU GO TOO fast!” Gharain shouted to Twig, who sprang over the gnarled hurls of roots and stems while we staggered our way behind him.
Twig’s returning shout was faint: “You do not wish to be exposed to this storm! We must hurry.”
“Hurry to where?” Gharain muttered.
I said nothing, intent on staying upright, on hanging on to Gharain’s hand. We’d been traveling for what seemed hours in Dark Wood, though no clue could be drawn from the sky of our whereabouts. It was all simply dark.
Twig had found an opening in the matted boundary of the Wood some lengths from where we’d begun. It was a very narrow gap; Gharain had to use the flat of his sword to push it wider so he could slip through. And it seemed that once we stepped in, the vines simply closed behind us. I think the last thing I said aloud was, “Where do we go from here?” And maybe Gharain said it too; we were both in awe.
A knotted tangle of growth confronted us. Trees, vines, bushes, weeds, distorted to what seemed enormous proportions. Even if there had been no storm brewing, I do not think the sunlight would have penetrated through the thick veil of leaves that blotted out the sky. It was densely moist within, and the air smelled of rotting wood. I spotted a ghisane bush immediately, growing wildly huge, wrapping itself around several trees together—not to choke them, but to use them like a ladder, to climb up and watch things from high above. The trees I could not identify—they were old and gnarled beyond any recognition.
Gharain held my hand firmly, and I was glad of that. The energies in the Wood crept toward me, hovered around me, but could not seem to enter me; I felt the strength to repel this turmoil. He pulled me behind him gently enough, his sword in his other hand outstretched, but Twig had warned him not to slice anything; he was only to use it to widen a passage.
And we needed it. We ducked, we clambered over, we snaked between—an incessant winding of motion that made me dizzy. The earth squished beneath us with no sense of solidity—too many centuries of fallen leaves; who knew how deep the ground cover? We sank to our ankles before we pulled for another step. Gharain shouted to Twig again to slow down, but he called back to be quick, that time was short.
At last, Gharain’s sword tip poked through a curtain of twining and we stepped onto firmer ground so suddenly that we both tumbled onto the dirt, landing before Twig, who’d finally stopped.
“Now we may pause,” the little man said.
We got to our knees to brush away the decay and reclaim our breath. Gharain said the obvious: “A path.”
Twig nodded. “Now ’twill be easier. Safer.”
“This is what you were looking for?” I panted.
“ ’Tis the beginning,” the gnome responded. “You cannot traverse Dark Wood without a path.”
“That is clear,” muttered Gharain, rising to his feet. I stayed on my knees, but Gharain did not stray from my side.
“ ’Twas rough for you, I know it,” Twig acknowledged. “Stay on the path from here on. It is protection. Without it, none would last very long.”
“Protection?” I managed to ask, courage sinking. If he spoke of safety, this could not be it.
Twig continued without answering me. “Still, we cannot linger. The storm breaks; we need true cover for this.”
In reply, a tremendous crack of thunder roared through the Wood. We all jumped in shock, but I swear that the surrounding undergrowth actually danced a little to the noise.
Twig followed my gaze. “You will soon see things you will wish you hadn’t, my lady.”
“Then let us go.” I said this rising quickly. My skin was already crawling.
“Keep your eyes to the path,” warned Twig.
I looked at the length of bare dirt disappearing into the darkness and swallowed hard. Was it on this path that Ruber Minwl met his fate?
Twig shook his head. “Many paths cross Dark Wood. It wa
s not here, Lady Lark. It was not here.”
I stared at him. “How do you know what I am thinking?”
Twig shrugged with a little grin. “You are easy to hear.”
“Easy?”
Twig did not answer. He took a few steps forward and turned back. “Come now,” he said.
I started, then stumbled. Foolish; I’d only moved a few steps from Gharain, but the force of the Wood hit me hard.
Gharain moved to stop my fall. “I have you,” he said under his breath. Then he called to Twig, “Lark needs to sit. She’s neither rested nor eaten in many hours.”
The gnome shook his head. “We cannot afford a longer pause.”
“I’ll be fine, truly. The energy here shakes me. It—it’s stopped now.”
Gharain followed my gaze to his grip and then looked again at me. “We go, then.”
Twig nodded and turned. “Try to keep up,” he advised, and took off running down the path.
I’d never seen how fast gnomes could run in their own element, but if it was true that garden gnomes were quick as rabbits among the lettuces, here the forest gnome could nearly fly. We tore after him, hand in hand, with Gharain ever tugging me forward, barely keeping the little brown figure in sight. At least the path was flat and free of roots, for the dark was nearly all-consuming.
“Stay with me!” Gharain shouted.
Another burst of thunder shuddered through. I saw the woods shimmering from the sound again; a rustle of leaves, maybe, but I thought it was more.
“What is that?” I screamed to Gharain above the echoed rumble.
“Don’t look!” he shouted back.
The thunder crashed again. The rain was falling; I could hear it pound on the leaves, but neither it, nor the lightning, nor the wind had yet reached us. And then, horribly, I knew why Twig was racing for shelter. Dark Wood was not holding back the storm, it was absorbing it, filling with it, until it could explode on us in its full power.
Gharain must have realized it as I did, for his pace quickened and I struggled to keep up.
“Twig!” Gharain shouted once more.
The thunder boomed, this time with the first flash from lightning. And I shuddered at what I saw in the garish light, tripping, then falling hard on the ground, my hand wrenching from Gharain’s grip.
Dark Wood was alive. The trees and vines and bushes and the very undergrowth were dancing in the thunder—a wild frenzy of passion. It wasn’t the wind; it was the flora itself writhing in distorted glee. The trees shaped hideous faces in their gnarled bark, and branches and vines waved unbound arms.
“Lark!” Gharain had to pull up short, nearly falling in his own speed. He whirled around and grabbed me quickly, jerking me upright.
“The woods,” I gasped, teeth chattering. “The woods! You see it, don’t you?”
Twig shouted from somewhere far ahead.
“We’ll lose him in a moment! Can you run?”
I panted yes, and we took off again. As we did, the canopy opened up, the wind went racing through in a triumphant shriek, and the rain came down in a torrent. A waterfall of wet—we were drenched at once. And if the dark hid Twig, then the rain made him invisible.
“Where is he? Where is he?” I screamed above the thunder.
“Just keep forward,” came Gharain’s breathless yell.
We were pushing through the storm as if pushing through a wall—a living wall. The rain held us, the lightning made us fall, and the wind tore at us from every direction. And at each flash of light, I could see the Wood in its horrific dance, joined now by creatures I did not recognize—wretched things belonging only to Dark Wood—leaping from the ground, dangling from the vines, clinging to tree bark. The light shut quickly, but their eyes took it in and glowed long after the lightning strikes—gleaming slits of bronze and yellow, throbbing to the thunderous roars. A wail of terror wound out of the woods like a lash, striking our ears with awful noise and sending a knife of cold fear slicing up my spine. Gharain shouted, “Banes!”
“What are they?”
“Death knells! Do not catch their eyes—keep your focus on the path, or they will lure you in!”
I was warned, but I could not help myself. I thudded behind Gharain, my gaze no longer searching for Twig but peering, morbidly fascinated, at all the things that pulsed on the path’s border. Which were the hideous-voiced banes—those things of matted fur and loose limbs and bulbous-tipped fingers that held them firmly suspended, or the sharp-scaled lizard beasts that slithered up the vines? A tail, a claw, a fang, a wing: glimpses of other noxious creatures shaking the leaves. Beetles and bugs swarming on the bark, limbless things worming through the fallen matter—how many creatures throbbed in Dark Wood? The rain sluiced down dark within the tangle—it was blood gushing from a wound; it was black sap from the hukon tree. The glowing eyes danced behind slimed, dank leaves, and the smell of decay rose up from the floor of the woods in a reek of slow death. And then the wailing became song, high-pitched and sweet, the tune like a thread to snare and be pulled along. My hand stayed in Gharain’s grasp—I could feel it—but my arm was lengthening, extending, disconnecting from the rest of my body until there was left but a tiny charge somewhere far away in my fingertips.
Come. Dark Wood pulsed in invitation. Gleaming wet now, densely rich, it was seductive, and intoxicating, and teeming with vibrant life. The song swirled in my head; the melody beckoned. Come dance. And the path was suddenly plain and bare while the rest of life whirled and spiraled but a step away. The wind, thunder, rain, and banes’ calls were in exquisite harmony. The charge in my fingers disappeared.
I saw them: the creatures, the trees, the vines reaching out to embrace my step into the woods. That way madness lies rang once more in my head, and I laughed, fear dropping off me like a cloak. Of course it was madness to be in that dry space, following that rigid file of horse and man; of course it was madness to plow the field, trim the hedgerow, scythe the grass, find the Balance, choose but one. It was madness to think I mattered.… More was offered here—a release of everything at once—no choice, no decision, simply everything at once, whirling before me, offering to absorb me. The path was stark and still—but here! Only a step beyond! I yearned for it, my hand reaching into the web of dark.… Vines, leaves, fingers, and claws, all shiny wet, reached back to help me in.
And then the air was knocked from me, hard. I landed on my stomach on the bare path, Gharain above me, breathing as heavily as if he’d shoved a horse from its way.
“What—what is in you?” he yelled out against the lovely shimmers. “Lark! What are you doing?”
“The Wood is dancing! Let me go!” I cried at him. I struggled to move; I could feel the heat of his body warming through me. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want it.
Gharain swore at me. He shouted my name, and then he cursed aloud to the crawling woods around us. “Leave her! Don’t touch her!” He grabbed my shoulders and turned me over and rattled me so my teeth knocked and my breath was forced out of me. “Close your eyes, Lark! Close your eyes! It’s a terrible beauty! It’s not real! Don’t allow it in!”
I laughed at him, but then I had no breath. I began to choke, and I closed my eyes to pull for air. Gharain’s energy was drawing through me, coursing in, shaking the dark out of me with every cough. The powerful frenzy was dissipating, and I pounded at him, screaming to release me back to the wilds of Dark Wood so that I could exult in its dance, but Gharain grabbed my head and pulled it into his chest so that my eyes could not see. And even as I fought him, the harmony soured and clashed and became roars of horror and fury, and fear crashed in. And then I was no longer fighting Gharain but pressing into him, breathing into him, wrapping arms around him so he would not let me go. And he hugged me back, tightly, as the storm raged on.
It seemed forever before he relaxed his grip. I raised my head to look up at him—barely; the rain poured into my eyes. I coughed up water.
Relief and anger warred in Gharain’s voice. �
��Do you understand its power now?” he gasped. “What were you choosing? You broke hands. You were trying to climb back into the chaos!”
“I—I thought … It was beautiful.” Part of me still ached for the fever.
“It is not beauty,” he said grimly. “It is manipulation. I know it well.” He lifted off of me, taking care to keep hold of my shoulder. The banes wailed as he helped me to my feet, and I cringed now at their piercing anguish.
“We’ve lost Twig.” I gulped, looking over the path. It sank away in eerie darkness. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right.” Gharain helped me stand, rubbed my arms to stop the shiver. Then his hands gripped my arms and he pulled me close to make me look at him. “Lark, it will be all right. He said to stay on the path; we’ll find him. Ready?”
I nodded and we pushed forward, more slowly and tightly together this time—arms entwined. The rain drenched us until our clothes and bodies could hold no more and then it ran down our lengths, leaving streams in our wake. We sloshed along the path of what was now a stew of mud, blinking the water from our eyes to see only an arm’s length ahead; churned through this mess of earth, careful not to slip or break our hold. Then another flash of lightning showed something more frightening: the weight of rain was sliding debris from the woods onto the path—the rare open space was filling slowly with the matted wreckage of Dark Wood.
“This is not good,” muttered Gharain, half to me, half to himself.
“Look!” I cried out. “Did you see that? It’s growing—where it pours in from the woods, it starts growing! Look for it when the lightning next strikes!”
And indeed, the following flash captured shoots of snaking vines sprouting up from the path, narrowing our route. Gharain kicked at some of the tendrils and smashed them down with his foot. I yanked my boot from a twining brown thing that was wrapping itself around my ankle.
“If you don’t go into Dark Wood, it will come to you,” Gharain growled, and jerked me forward as another vine grabbed at my leg. “Careful.”
