The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  Now perhaps we can stop wasting time?

  Biore’s right. Don’t worry, Wilt. We’ll be here with you.

  Wilt felt a chill shudder over his shoulders as a black mist of welds took his place. A moment later the wraith cut down the forest trail, a silent, cold shadow on the world.

  Wilt studied the surrounding forest, but could find no sign of life. No bright glow of heat and blood burning against the grey world he now inhabited. The forest wasn’t just silent, it was empty.

  Something has caused this stillness. Something has chased all life away.

  You know, Delco, your forest knowledge is appreciated and all, but could you try not sounding so ominous all the time?

  Wilt smiled to himself at the voices in his mind, so much clearer and more present in this form. He could easily take a step into the tunnel, into the waiting dark, and he’d be there with them.

  He shook the thought away and moved into the trees, pushing past branches that almost seemed to reach out to touch him, to brush past his shoulder as he passed, to draw sustenance from his being. As he moved he noticed another sound, the murmur of the forest itself, a sigh or groan that was the foundation for all other sound in the deep woods. The whisper of the Tangle was also much clearer in this form, much more vivid once he sank beneath the surface world.

  Be cautious, Wilt. Don’t let the Tangle lead you.

  Biore’s voice brought him back. He was right; that was exactly what the Tangle was doing. It had done it before. He’d spent weeks in thrall to its song as he moved south, telling himself it was easier this way, ignoring the hunger of his body, letting himself drift ever further from life. It was too dangerous, taking this form here in the Tangle. Too easy to forget.

  We’re with you, Wilt. We won’t let you lose yourself.

  Higgs keeps saying your name. And it helps, it really does.

  A sudden shudder tingled up his spine and all other thought dropped away. There was something here. Someone else.

  He scanned the surrounding forest, but there was no sign of life.

  Behind you. Something looped around.

  Wilt spun and raced back toward the guards, his wraith form cutting a direct path through the trees, ignoring any physical barrier. He felt each trunk and branch he passed through as a deeply cold kiss, beckoning him back down.

  Soon enough he could make out the guard column, a single line of glowing life curving through the forest. Men standing and shifting, trying not to make too much noise. Nervous men.

  There was nothing.

  No—there, just to the north of the column, a black spot, another shadow on the world.

  Wilt cut toward it, bending around the guards, leaving them shivering in the sudden cold of his wake.

  The shadow in front of him altered its path immediately. It had been arrowing straight for the front of the column, but turned away sharply as Wilt approached, fleeing the scene.

  It’s … another wraith, isn’t it?

  Higgs was right. The dark form shot away back into the depths of the Tangle, moving faster than Wilt thought possible. In a moment it was gone, completely out of sight.

  Whoa. Maybe not so much like us after all.

  Or maybe just further along the path. I think we just saw a glimpse of what one day we might become.

  Wilt shook his head at the naked hunger in Biore’s tone. There was so much he did not see—good things, light things. Things not worth leaving behind.

  He thought of Daemi then, standing alone in her room, staring into the mirror.

  A cry rang out through the forest, from the rear of the guard column, and the sounds of battle broke out.

  Wilt forgot all thought of pursuit and raced back toward the guards.

  In moments the source of the commotion was clear. At the rear of the column two guards were already down, their bodies prone and cold on the forest floor, the heat of life already draining into the waiting soil. Three more men stood with their blades drawn, their heads moving back and forth, desperately trying to identify their attackers before they too fell.

  There was no sign of the threat that had already claimed two victims. Three heads moved as one to the left and suddenly two more men were down. Their bodies grappled with some invisible presence for a second, then went limp, and the glow of life that burned so clearly in Wilt’s vision faded into the background.

  What is it? We can’t see—

  Use the welds, Wilt, Biore instructed.

  But there’s nothing to wield against, nothing to—

  The guards. Send a weld into one of the guards.

  Immediately Wilt understood what Biore was trying to explain to him. He sent out a thick black weld, directly toward the third guard, the one still standing among his fallen comrades. The weld slipped in easily; the man’s mind was a sea of panic, all mental barriers ripped away. One thought echoed through the chaos.

  This is it. This is the moment you die.

  The guard, Per was his name, scanned the dense forest on either side of the path, unable to make out anything. Behind him he could hear the rest of the patrol trying to form into a defensive position on the narrow, twisting path.

  Too late. Too late for any of us. The best you can do is die well. Hope you can sink your blade into one of them before they take you.

  At his feet he was aware of his fellow soldiers, already dead. The dark things, the nightmare shapes that had appeared from the shadows, had ended them in a moment, then disappeared.

  Wilt, try to direct him. Try to take control.

  The cold, it bites. Don’t think about it, just keep your blade up and steady. Remember your training, forget everything else.

  Suddenly it was upon him, a spindly, spider-like shape, all sharp limbs and frenzied speed, leaping out of the shadows to land on his chest, pushing him to the forest floor. Then a swipe of a long, barbed claw, a mind-clearing pain, and the cold and the panic left him, and he melted into the waiting darkness.

  Now, Wilt. Go back up into the creature itself, just like—

  Just like I did in Redmondis, with Cortis. Right, Biore? Use the pain itself as the key.

  Wilt felt the pull of the depths call to him as the guard, his vessel, sank down into death, the cool still breath of the long tunnel calling to him. He wrenched his eyes from it and pushed the weld up and out of the guard’s mind, back along the limb that had ended him, back into the creature itself.

  For a single, endless moment he stared into it, into the still, dark emptiness, no life in it at all, a simple nightmare in living form. No thought other than to kill, no will other than to do that which the depths ordered it to do, no mind in which to dwell. The darkness itself wrapped around him, holding him in place.

  So. We meet again. A single, world-encompassing voice whispered into his ear, blasting all thought away. He felt himself sink into the floor of the ocean, swallowed by the dark. Then it flung him away, out of the depths, back into the living world.

  Wilt lay to the side of the forest trail, guards moving all around him, their blades drawn, hunting out whatever threat had just attacked and taken down five of their fellow men. He heard himself whimper, then tried to sit up, but his vision clouded with stars and he sank back down.

  The forest floor was warm under his ear, and he could almost feel the life within it pulsing into his flesh, revitalising him, bringing him back from the edge.

  The stars in his eyes burned themselves out and drifted away, sparks floating on the breeze.

  That voice, Wilt. What was that?

  It knew us, Biore. It recognised us, or at least, recognised him.

  Wilt has seen it before, Higgs. Or it has seen him before.

  The creature, the thing that attacked us, is it gone? Where is it?

  Wilt sat up more slowly this time, feeling still in the commotion that surrounded him as the guards tried to organise their ranks. On the ground nearby lay five bodies, their eyes blank and empty, staring at sights none on this side of life could see. Deep, wide
gashes were cut into their bodies, across the throat and chest. One man’s torso had almost been split in two. There was no sign of the thing that had performed the grisly work.

  It had been quick. At least they had that mercy.

  ‘Form up, men!’

  Sergeant Gould’s voice rung out across the forest, instantly taking control. Guards snapped to attention, their training overcoming their blind panic.

  ‘Did anyone see it?’

  ‘Aye, Sergeant,’ more than one voice called out in answer, their voices too loud, trying to mask their fear.

  ‘Which way did it go?’

  ‘It … vanished, Sergeant. As soon as Per fell.’

  Wilt looked at the guard who had spoken. He was standing closest to the fallen men, his sword gripped tight in his fist. His face was a tight mask of concentration, fighting to keep control.

  He’s right, boy. That thing disappeared as soon as it took its last victim.

  The sergeant pushed through from the front of the column and paused as he took in the scene. He scanned each of the victims, capturing the memory, then shifted sideways to look at Wilt. For a moment Wilt saw hatred in the man’s eyes, hatred born of fear of all wielders, their mysterious powers, and the damage they could do to honest men.

  Wilt stood up quickly, feeling suddenly ashamed.

  ‘You. What happened?’

  ‘We were attacked. The guards were attacked.’ Wilt corrected himself instantly, seeing the anger flash in the sergeant’s eyes. ‘A black thing, like an enormous spider. Impossibly fast.’ He held his hands out, struggling to explain what his brain still refused to process.

  Something not of this plane.

  ‘What was it? And why—’

  ‘It was something … I think it was something from the place beyond. The place where welds come from. The depths themselves.’

  The sergeant studied Wilt’s face as he spoke, as though he could learn more there than from Wilt’s stuttering explanation. ‘And where is it now, wielder?’

  There was no mistaking the accusation in his voice.

  This is a man who knows something of the ways of the weld. It wouldn’t surprise me if he served in Redmondis, many years ago, though I don’t recognise him. Tread carefully, Wilt.

  Tell him we saved the others, Wilt. Made the thing disappear.

  ‘It’s gone. Back to where it came from, I think. I … used a weld on it, tried to take control, to stop it. But its mind … there was nothing there, nothing but emptiness. It wasn’t real.’

  The sergeant snorted and nodded to where his men lay in the dirt. ‘Real enough for them.’

  ‘No—I mean it wasn’t … natural. It wasn’t anything more than a tool, an extension of the depths.’ Wilt dropped his hands to his side and shook his head, aware he wasn’t making any sense.

  The sergeant stared at him silently, then spun away, back to his men. ‘Form up. We return to camp. Get a stretcher built. We’re not leaving these men here.’

  Instantly the guards moved into action, thankful for something to do, some real problem to tackle and solve.

  Wilt watched them work around him. Now and then one of them glanced up at him, their eyes shadowed.

  They fear you. They think you brought that thing to them.

  Wilt thought about Biore’s words, and about the cold stillness of the creature’s mind, the familiar call of the depths, the voice that had whispered his name.

  Perhaps they are right.

  The bodies began to turn almost as soon as they were hauled onto the stretcher.

  Wilt wasn’t the first to notice. One guard marching behind the makeshift pallet called out, his voice over-loud and edged with panic. Sergeant Gould spun around instantly to reprimand him, not wanting his fear to infect the other men, assuming it was still a hold-over from the earlier grisly encounter. The next moment he too cried out, more in dismay than fear, and within moments Wilt found himself beside them, his gaze following the guard’s shaking finger to the bodies laid out on the rough timber frame.

  It was as though each body had been dipped in ink, the skin on their faces and hands blackening gradually. Then their features collapsed in on themselves as the ink seemed to eat away at them, their chests caving in next and their bodies sinking down into hollow husks. In moments only their armour remained, and the black dust that had been their bodies was whipped up and away in a sudden gust of wind.

  Wilt turned his head instinctively as the dust rose around them, not wanting any of it to touch him.

  Don’t breathe any of it in.

  The other men must have had the same thought; they each covered their faces and turned away until the strange dust had cleared, the wind sucking it out and away, as though the trees themselves had stirred it up to purge the stain from within their midst.

  ‘Gods. What happened to them?’

  It was the first guard, his voice even younger than his face, and Wilt almost stuttered out a reply before a second guard spoke, his voice much harsher. ‘Wielder work.’

  Wilt turned to see the man staring straight at him, his features twisted with disgust.

  The sergeant stepped in and clapped the man on the shoulder. ‘Leave it, Dale.’ The clap became a push, propelling him toward the front of the column. ‘Give them a hand up front. We head south, out of the forest. Leave the stretcher where it is. There’s no point now.’

  Without another word the guards resumed their march, following the trail out of the depths of the Tangle.

  As they marched, Wilt could feel the dread and fear lift from his shoulders as though it were a physical thing. The Tangle’s power to influence his thoughts and mood faded the further south they moved, the closer they came to its borders.

  It is a strangely troubled mind. Delco’s voice was much quieter now, more distant, as though he were leaving the physical realm further behind.

  The trees you mean? Can you understand them?

  It isn’t—it’s not like there is one mind to comprehend. The trees are so ancient, so deeply rooted.

  Are they a threat?

  Not to us. Not directly. But I wouldn’t let your guard down.

  Within hours the column was back on the edge of Copring, and Wilt found himself a stranger again, the soldiers obviously displeased to have him share their company. He couldn’t blame them, not after what they had just seen.

  Don’t let their fear trouble you, Wilt. That’s all it is. Fear born of ignorance.

  I know.

  ‘The witch comes.’

  The soldiers, who had been relaxing and settling into camp, snapped to attention at the call, readying their weapons. Wilt followed the voice as the men parted to reveal a hooded figure standing at the edge of the camp, one hand resting on a tall, knobbed wooden staff.

  Nurtle. She’s looking for you.

  Wilt waved his hand vaguely at the guards as he walked toward her, trying to get them to relax their state of alert. They ignored him completely. Whatever displeasure they felt in his company was nothing compared to the open fear the sight of Nurtle elicited in them.

  Nurtle didn’t move from her spot at the edge of the camp and didn’t seem to notice the commotion her presence caused. Finally Wilt closed within hailing distance and she raised her head to an almost audible sucking in of breath from the guards.

  ‘Come, wielder. I need to make use of your skills.’

  With that she turned and strode away from the camp, never giving it a second look. She obviously expected Wilt to follow.

  There’s something wrong. She seems different. Worried.

  Wilt nodded. Higgs was right, there had been a definite edge to her tone.

  Nurtle didn’t speak again until they were back at her hut, and she disappeared into the shadows of its doorway. Almost immediately she reappeared, holding a small green cloak in her hands. ‘Here. Take this. What can you read from it?’ She seemed distant, as though some important part of her had shut down and she was simply stepping through automatic motions.
<
br />   ‘Nurtle? Has something happened?’

  She shook the cloak, urging him to take it. ‘Just try. There’s no time.’

  Wilt reached out and took the cloak. It felt strangely light for its size.

  It’s the boy’s. Shade’s.

  Something has happened to him, Wilt.

  But what can I—

  Do you not feel it, the energy within the fibre? It feels almost like—

  The weld blade. Biore’s right, Wilt.

  Yes, I think we can use this.

  Wilt shook the cloak out and held it in front of him. It didn’t look remarkable at all, just the same smudged greeny-brown colour all the villagers wore. The same as his own new cloak. Only the weight was unusual.

  Put it on.

  Wilt pulled his cloak free and swung his arms up and around his head, throwing the new garment over his shoulders. It settled over him with a sigh, and he felt a spark of recognition in his mind.

  He looked up at Nurtle, who was studying him intently.

  ‘Where did you find this?’

  ‘Such questions will have to wait, wielder. I promise I will give you answers in time, only help me now. We need to find him. Quickly. The Guardian is weakened and due to pass on. Shade must be there, and so must you. You have to ease the way. Help me, please.’

  Wilt held her gaze and nodded, knowing implicitly he could trust her. He closed his eyes and fell into himself, into the dark river that flowed beneath the surface world.

  19

  Shade opened his eyes to find himself sitting on a felled trunk in an open forest clearing, facing forward, his hands clamped onto the seat on either side of him, holding himself in place.

  He had no memory of travelling here. No idea what time of day it was. His last memory was clouded; he had images of climbing, of heading toward the top of an impossibly tall tree. Feeling it rock and sway beneath him as a thick black smoke stained the sky.

  ‘You have done well, child. More than you realise.’

  Sitting at the front of the clearing, on a high, intricately carved wooden throne, was the Guardian. Shade wanted to close his eyes, to blind himself to the sight, yet he couldn’t. His eyes were drawn to the figure, pulled along the strangely curved carvings of its throne.