Gul stood back up and both men drew their swords.
‘Do you think—?’ Emaus’s voice was no longer gruff. It was almost a whisper.
‘I don’t know. There have been no sightings this far south before.’
‘But the others—’
‘The others haven’t seen anything either. It’s all been vague reports of strange sounds, sudden cold. Soldiers with loose tongues making each other nervous.’
‘This cloak though.’
‘It’s just a cloak.’ Gul bundled it up and wrapped it under his arm. ‘C’mon, we’ll have to report this. Keep your eyes open.’
He turned on his heel and marched out of the clearing, back down the path from which they’d appeared. Emaus followed, his eyes still scanning the surrounding trees, as if he expected an attack at any moment. Neither man sheathed their sword.
The cat watched the humans disappear back into the forest, the sounds of their movement fading into the general jungle hum.
Careless.
I know, Biore.
Wilt landed lightly back on the ground and stared down the path the two men had taken.
They were guards.
Soldiers. From the capital, to judge by their uniforms.
From Sontair? But we’re still miles from there, aren’t we?
Yes. Something big must have happened to bring them this far into the Tangle.
Wilt still stared down the path. He felt a sudden rush of loneliness and for a mad moment considered calling after them. Just to have another human voice to talk to. There was something else there too. A deeper craving, waiting to be acknowledged.
Don’t be foolish.
They were nervous. As though they were expecting something. Something bad.
Maybe we haven’t been careful enough, in our other form. Too rushed. Too eager.
No. They weren’t thinking about us. It might be wise to follow them, find out more before we stumble further into trouble. Soldiers from Sontair patrolling this far into the Tangle must be looking for something.
Or someone.
Come. Let us see what we can learn. Wilt, perhaps your cat form would be most appropriate.
With that the conversation ended, and the cat trotted out of the clearing, down the forest path, following the scent of the two soldiers. The wind brushed through the trees, whispering its secrets as it went.
4
Shade sat alone high in the trees, squatting on a round, thick branch, watching the clumsy humans pass below him. They rattled and stomped and cursed, shoving branches out of their way as they moved, eyes forever shifting left and right, searching for some threat or victim to take out their nervous energy on. They stunk of sweat and fear.
But the treasures! So many glittering, colourful things, stark against the dull greens and browns of the forest, calling out to Shade to reach down for them, free them from their current resting places. He rubbed his fingertips together as he watched, rocking up on his toes, the thrill of anticipation tickling down the back of his spine.
It wouldn’t be long now until they stopped to rest at a clearing the Tangle opened up for such a purpose and surrendered to their fatigue. They would pitch their heavy tents and stoke their fires, cook their strangely scented meals and sleep deeply, far too deeply to notice little Shade passing among them, lightening them of what treasures called to him.
All he had to do was wait. Wait and watch and, when the time came, slip past the weary guards who patrolled the edge of their camp, eyes blind in the darkness, ears filled with the thousand strange shiftings and callings of the forest. Never hearing Shade’s furtive steps.
The last of the column moved past and Shade placed his palm against the trunk of the tree, closing his eyes and listening for the deep murmur just below hearing. It was like the treasures the soldiers carried, out of reach yet still calling to him, urging him onward.
He could almost grasp it, almost hold it in his mind, yet it slipped away again. All he caught was a glimpse of a clearing, a clear night sky, and a scattering of campfires burning low in the cool air.
Very well. He would follow them, let their clamour and noise lead him on his way.
From darkness to light.
Silent as night.
He dropped out of the tree and slipped effortlessly into the shadows, stepping around fallen roots and leaves, his feet almost floating above the forest floor so silently did he move. He kept his eyes up, trusting his instincts to stop him from stepping anywhere he shouldn’t. Now and then a glint of colour flashed out through the shifting leaves as he trailed along behind the soldiers.
‘How much farther, Ged?’ A panting, heavy voice. Husky with fatigue.
‘Can’t be long. Last glimpse of sky I seen looked grey, have to be almost twilight by now, not that you’d know it in this place. Sarge’s probably just waiting to find the right spot.’
‘Hope so. I’m done. Too much marching. Give me a real fight any day, not this wandering about.’
‘Don’t be so sure, Thron. You saw that village yesterday same as the rest of us. And you’ve seen the others. Don’t know anything that can do that. Don’t think I want to meet it anyways.’
‘My own damn fault for signing up in the first place, I suppose. Thought I’d get two hots and a cot and all the fighting my sword arm could want. Never thought it’d mean trudging around the Tangle. No good can come—’
‘Hold! You feel that? It’s ice cold.’
Shade immediately stopped, and only now realised he could see the two figures clearly in front of him, shining lights of life against a dull grey background. Past them stretched the whole column of men, at least twenty of them all turned toward the rear, toward him, weapons drawn and ready.
For a silent moment he felt himself pulled toward them, called onward by the glittering lights.
Then he fled, the forest a blur as he shot through it, away from the soldiers and their treasures, away from the shining figures of light. Away from the call that came from somewhere both without and within, urging him ever deeper.
Shade recognised the trap, a scattering of leaves somehow too randomly strewn across a bare stretch of path. The colour of the dirt was wrong as well, too dark compared to the rest of the packed earth, too loose and recently disturbed. The Others were getting bolder with their tricks, but not clever enough. Not for his eyes.
He stepped along the edge of the suspicious patch and passed around it, grabbed the nearest heavy rock his hand came to, and tossed it lightly over his shoulder to land smack in the centre of the path. As soon as it landed the ground itself seemed to open, a stretched and tanned hide folding in on itself as it collapsed into the pit below.
Shade edged up to the hole and peered in. Sure enough, multiple sharpened stakes lined the floor of the trap, shining strangely in the dim sunlight. Coated with something, some sort of poison. There were a thousand possibilities, and the Others knew all of them. As did Shade. Nurtle had taught him most of them, and the few really nasty ones she’d kept silent about he’d discovered in the heavy journals of knowledge she kept so carefully hidden in her cabin. Not carefully enough. Not from fingers as quick as his.
He lay on his stomach and leaned over into the pit, careful not to touch any of the spikes, eventually wresting out the thick hide that had fulfilled its part in the trap. It was heavy, coated in mud to help it blend with the ground, but not too worn and seemingly only a few weeks old, judging by its smell. He gave it one solid shake, scattering leaves everywhere, then balled it up as best he could and continued on his way.
Warmth from the cold,
For bones shrivelled and old.
He broke into a giggle at his little joke but immediately caught it. It wouldn’t do to add further insult to what the Others already put the Guardian through. That trap was another sign of their growing confidence in their little mischiefs. He didn’t want to be like them.
The hide would make a fine addition to the offerings. And who knew? Perhaps there would be a g
ift for him waiting in the secret knothole. Some sign. The forest was on edge these days, troubled as it had never been in Shade’s memory. Perhaps there would be something to show him the way.
Less than an hour later he drifted off the path he had been following, careful not to appear too sure of his surroundings, stepping through the shadows of the closely grouped trees, ears alert for any sign of danger. There was nothing. He was alone. Suddenly he ducked around the corner of the tree he was passing and seemed to completely disappear.
In reality, he dodged under an exposed root and slid down a short incline into his secret place: a small circular grove only a few feet wide, surrounded by an almost solid wall of thick trees. The sunlight seemed unwilling to intrude into the space, and Shade waited a full minute for his eyes to adjust before crouching at the base of one particularly large tree.
He lay the hide he had just discovered out on the ground and rummaged through the multiple secret pockets of his cloak. Moments later arranged neatly on the hide were a bright red sweat-stained kerchief, a goblet formed from dull silver, and the thin, sharp wire one of the Others had tried to hurt him with days before. Shade sat back on his haunches as he stared at the loot and nodded. A good haul.
With a sigh he wrapped the hide closed and stuffed the whole package deep into the knothole at the base of the tree, determined not to look at the treasures any longer. As he reached in, he tensed, as he always did, his fingertips electric for the touch of anything the Guardian may have left for him in return. Sometimes it was something simple, like a sweet fruit from the distant reaches of the Tangle. Other times it was more elaborate, like the strangely carved wooden mask he had found over a year ago that now adorned a wall in Nurtle’s hut. Most times there was nothing at all.
But today there was. Shade caught his breath as his fingers brushed across a thin cloth bundle. He let his hands tickle its surface, prolonging the tension, trying to form a picture of what it could be. Finally he gave in and grabbed it, pulling it free.
It was a dull, dirty green cloth, rolled tightly, held in place by a simple loop of twisted wood. For a moment Shade felt a pang of disappointment, then shook his head and held the prize up to the light. There was something carved into the coiled wood. Words of some sort. As his fingers moved across the clasp, it seemed to come to life and sprung open, toppling the cloth to the floor.
He turned the opened clasp back and forth in the dim light, trying to make out the words scratched into it. As he recognised the characters, his lips moved automatically, the power in the words forcing themselves to be heard.
Future and past entwined.
The surrounding forest dropped into instant silence, and he stood perfectly still in the hush, waiting until the first scratchings and shufflings of the trees filled the air again. It was as though the forest had caught its breath at his words and was only now slowly exhaling.
He looked back at the clasp. As though the words themselves had unwound it, it was now three separate long threads, sticks really, nothing special about them. He dropped the twigs to the floor, and they seemed to disappear into the scattered refuse of the forest.
Shade nodded to himself. That treasure’s job was done, whatever that job had been. The real gift must be the green cloth.
As soon as he grabbed it he knew he was right. A spark of familiarity lit his fingertips as he touched it, and raising it up from the ground he could see it was a cloak, just his size of course, lighter and richer by far than the worn cloak he currently wore. He hurried out of his old garment and slipped the prize over his shoulders, feeling it wrap itself around his shoulders.
Immediately he heard them. The Others, whispering to each other, giggling and scheming. Impossibly close. He dropped to the ground and scuttled as far into the shadows of the trees as he could, desperately hoping for the voices to pass by and leave him undisturbed. How had they snuck up on him?
Well, it’s about time, I say.
Time has nothing to do with it. Action is what matters.
He’s old and weak. That’s what matters.
But only one of us can replace him. You know the rules. You know what the forest asks.
You heard it just as clear as me. He’s done it. Must be desperate to use a kid like that.
We’re all kids. And if you’re right, he can probably hear us right now. That’s how it was when he chose me.
And you failed just like the rest of us. Just like he will. Isn’t that right, Shade?
Shade froze in place, all senses on edge as the voices called to him. Without thinking he dove into himself, dropping into the shadow realm where all life stood starkly against the shifting grey background. He scanned the area, turning a full circle to seek any lights of life. There was nothing. He was alone.
Ah, leave him be. Let the challenge do its work.
And just like that, the voices ceased.
5
‘Report.’
‘We found this, Sergeant.’ Emaus proffered the bundled cloak, but the sergeant simply stared at it, keeping his hands locked behind his back.
‘And what is this?’
‘A cloak, sir. A … It was left in the middle of the trail, still warm from its owner.’
‘Or some other creature that stumbled across it.’ The sergeant sniffed.
‘There were no trails to or from the area.’ Gul interjected, then immediately regretted it. The sergeant stared down at him as though Gul were something unpleasant he had stepped in. Gul swallowed and ploughed on, determined to make his point. ‘We found human footprints around the cloak, but they went nowhere. As if whoever had made them just disappeared.’
‘Yes, well, let’s not make too many assumptions.’ The sergeant hiked his belt up higher around his ample waist as he considered the news. ‘Sounds like the Tangle is continuing to play its games.’
He swung around to scan the line of dark trees bordering their camp as if expecting an answer. When none came, he turned back to the two soldiers.
‘Good work, I suppose. Go and get some hot food into you. We’ve had reports of another village attack. We move out at first light.’
The sergeant turned to the chart spread out in front of him, and Gul and Emaus saluted quickly and moved off toward the nearest campfire to see what food they could scrounge up.
The camp was large, with five separate main tents billowing in the light breeze, each with their own fire blazing. Shadowed forms moved in and out of their light. A double guard patrolled the border of the clearing, the men alert and nervous, making Wilt’s job of sneaking past them more difficult than he’d expected. Eventually he found himself curled on a high tree branch looking down at the patrolling guards. As the men passed beneath him they shivered in the cooling night air.
Can they feel us?
I don’t think so, Wilt, it’s just the cold. The whole camp looks built for warmer weather. Look at the tents, the thin canvas walls. And the soldiers, all with cloaks over their armour. No, these men are used to a warmer climate. Southerners.
And their banner?
The cat peered out over the camp, studying the pennants of each tent fluttering in the evening breeze.
Sontair. The jewel of the South. These soldiers are from the capital.
We need to find out what they’re doing here.
Another soldier had just passed beneath the tree, and the cat waited for him to move on before scampering down the trunk and creeping further into the camp. He angled toward the nearest campfire and crouched low in the flickering shadows. The fire was burning in front of a large tent, its front flap flung back and pegged into the ground. The cat slipped behind this and settled down in the shadows to see what he could learn.
Almost immediately, soldiers began moving back and forth from the fire, spooning out stew from the large pot that bubbled over the flames. The smells of cooking meat and rich gravy wafted over the cat, filling the air with a rich, warm scent.
Gods. Smell that. We haven’t had a real meal in ages.
<
br /> Higgs was right. Wilt hadn’t eaten in the traditional sense since the wild pig he’d killed days ago, yet he didn’t feel hungry. The thought skated across his animal mind, unable to find the purchase it should.
Listen now.
Two soldiers strode up to the fire and helped themselves from the pot, not interrupting their conversation.
‘And the third patrol reported it too. I tell you, Jenks, there’s more to it than the usual soldier’s nerves.’
‘Well, we’ve both been on patrol long enough to know that men’s minds have a way of filling the time with phantoms, and our sergeant isn’t helping any with his obvious nerves. I haven’t seen anything, neither have you. Until we do, there’s no point worrying at it.’
‘But we’ve both felt it. I have, and I know you have—I saw you last night. You felt the ice touch just as clear as any of us.’
Jenks turned his attention to his food and didn’t reply for a few moments. Eventually he lifted his head and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘There was something strange in the woods last night, I’ll give you that. Sudden cold, like all the air had left the forest. But I don’t know what it was, and neither do you, and it’s no good filling up our heads with dark images based on what we think it might be. We patrol, we report what we see. We pray to all the gods that the sergeant or the captain or someone else even higher up sees sense and brings us home in one piece. No more.’
‘Well, something is responsible for what we saw in that village. Those poor folk didn’t do that to themselves. You’ve heard the stories about those demons in the north, the wielders from Redmondis. Maybe they’re—’
‘Whatever took that village will bleed just like you and me. It’s no good wondering—when we find them, we’ll punish them. And those folk will have their revenge, just like any of the king’s villages.’
The Forked Path Page 3
