The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  Wilt remembered the closed ranks of trees, the loathing he’d felt emanating from them. The naked threat.

  Nurtle continued. ‘It is time the villagers moved south, away from the dangers lurking in the shadows. The soldiers from the capital will return to Sontair soon. The villagers will travel with them.’

  Something in her tone told Wilt what they really meant. ‘You’re not coming, are you?’

  Nurtle smiled and nodded. ‘You are a quick one. No, Jared and I have played our parts here. We have a few duties remaining, then perhaps we too will be rewarded with a place within the Tangle’s borders.’

  Wilt watched them gaze at each other again, saw the way information seemed to flow between their eyes, not requiring words at all.

  Just like the trees. They share a consciousness, but it is no longer human.

  Wilt had a sudden vision of the tens of thousands of trees that formed the Tangle, and wondered how many of them were once human, like these two. Wild and unsatisfied in their current form. Always seeking something more, some place into which they could sink their roots.

  They seemed suddenly aware of Wilt’s thoughts and broke off their silent conversation. ‘So, Wilt. We wanted to thank you for what you have done. For us. For Shade. Here.’

  Nurtle stood and pulled a deep green cloak out from somewhere behind where they had been sitting. ‘I always seem to be handing you clothing, don’t I? Take off the poor imitation I gave you earlier. Here is a true forest cloak.’

  She handed the cloak to Wilt, who took it without thinking. As soon as his fingers touched the soft fabric, a spark flashed through his mind.

  ‘You recognise it, no? It led you to Shade, led Shade himself to where the Guardian needed him to be. Now perhaps it can help lead you to where you need to go. Put it on.’

  Wilt found his hands obeying the order before his mind could make sense of the strange rushing sensation still pouring through him. As the cloak settled on his shoulders, it seemed to fit itself around him, nestle into his shape as though wrapping him in a hug.

  ‘It will keep you warm and dry. And should the need ever arise, it will allow you entry into the Tangle. Even the oldest of the trees still recognise its authority.’

  A strange whisper ghosted across Wilt’s mind at Nurtle’s words. A spark floating in the darkness.

  ‘Now go, young wielder. Travel south with the villagers, toward Sontair. Help to keep them safe. The dark stain still spreads and the capital itself seems its most likely source. Seek your answers there, and be always on your guard.’

  Jared and Nurtle stood as one, and Wilt let them led him out of the hut, his mind still rushing with the strange floating sensation and a thousand questions he still had.

  Tell them to look after Delco.

  ‘Take care of them. Of Shade, and Rawick, and Delco.’

  Jared smiled and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Have no fear of that, younger wielder. They are more than capable of looking after themselves. And when the time comes, if it does come, look to the north, to the borders of the Tangle. We will be there for you.’

  21

  The wolf slunk slowly forward, eyes fixed on hers, its steps measured and confident. Daemi tried to raise her blade again, but her arm wouldn’t respond to her brain’s command, and a low simper of pain bubbled over her lips as she tried to force her body to move. It was no use. The muscles across her back and shoulders had been carved open by claws and teeth, and the flow of blood down her spine was now a constant stream as her life leaked out of her. The wolf wavered and blurred as she stared at it, her vision darkening at the edges and stretching into a long narrow tunnel.

  The wolf stopped just outside the range of her blade and watched her, licking its lips. All colour drained from the scene as a chill wind blew through, bringing with it a deep, bone-numbing cold.

  This is not the way. Not what was or what will be.

  Daemi heard the voice, recognised its familiarity but couldn’t bring her mind to make any further connection. She fell to her knees.

  Come. Let this go, Daemi. Leave this apparition.

  The tunnel narrowed again, until all that was left was darkness, and the grinning mouth of the wolf waiting for her.

  Wake up.

  The mouth opened, and death closed its jaws on her.

  ‘Wake up!’

  Daemi sat up quickly, sliding the dagger out from her pillow in one smooth move.

  ‘Whoa! I surrender!’

  She blinked in the bright sunlight streaming through the open window of her chamber and let the world arrange itself. Frankle stood at the foot of her bed, his hands held high in the air. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, it’s just that Heather said we need to move.’

  Daemi stared at him, wondering why he was standing the way he was, until she realised she was still holding her dagger, its tip pointed straight at his chest. She slid it back under her pillow and swung her legs out of bed. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘An hour past dawn. Heather said—’

  ‘You should have woken me earlier. We were due to leave at dawn.’

  ‘Heather said we should let you rest, that it would be good for … you know.’

  Daemi glared at Frankle, the look on her face sending him backing out of the room, his hands still held high above his head as though he’d forgotten their existence.

  ‘Still, never mind that. I’ll meet you downstairs, shall I? Give you time to—’

  ‘Tell Heather I’ll be two minutes. Be sure everything is ready.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Frankle ducked out of the room, away from Daemi’s withering glare.

  She watched him go, his black robe rippling out behind him as he ran, and shook her head. A boy, just a boy, pretending to be a man, hoping nobody would notice.

  And you? Sleeping past your watch? What is your excuse, little girl?

  Daemi stood up and stamped across the room to her dresser. A large bowl of icy cold water stood in front of the mirror. She plunged her hands into it and threw water over her face and shoulders, letting the shock of it bring her fully into the waking world.

  She stared at her reflection as the water dripped down her face.

  It was just a dream. Just another dream.

  She turned her shoulder to examine her back in the mirror. The wounds were still closed. All that could be seen was a dull pink scar reaching down from her shoulder and disappearing under her nightshirt.

  Good. One less thing to worry about. Now move.

  Daemi dressed and gathered her belongings quickly. She was travelling light; they all were, hoping to make the trip to Sontair in a week or so, at least so Petron had promised them. He’d been particularly vague about how they were supposed to cover such a distance in so short a time, but she had learned in the last few weeks not to question him. Petron would find a way, he always did.

  You trust him. Almost as much as you trusted Wrex. And look where that got us.

  She splashed more water on her face on her way out of the room, washing such thoughts from her mind.

  The rest of the travelling party had gathered by the gates of Redmondis and were busying themselves with last-minute adjustments. Heather was helping Frankle into his oversized pack, clapping him on the shoulder as he sagged under its sudden weight, all the blood draining from his face as he struggled to stay on his feet.

  Heather watched him stumble and stepped forward to hold him up. ‘You see? You don’t need to carry so much, Frankle. You’re not used to it. Petron said we’ll only be gone for around two weeks. Here.’

  She pulled the pack off his shoulders and let it drop to the ground with a thud. ‘Now lighten it. If it’s not at least half the size by the time we get going, I will have to do some reorganisation of my own.’

  Frankle looked ready to protest, then stopped as pain flared in his shoulders where the pack’s straps had been. He sighed and sat down, opening his bag to see what treasures he could do without. ‘You know, we wouldn’t
have this problem if Petron let us have some horses.’

  His grumble faded as he worked, and Heather turned away to see Daemi marching toward them. ‘Be quick about it. I don’t think Daemi wants any more delays.’

  Heather’s words gave Frankle’s hands speed. He’d already seen the mood Daemi was in. Best not add any fuel to that fire.

  ‘Ready?’ Daemi glared down at Frankle and the mess surrounding him, but addressed her words to Heather.

  ‘Just about.’ Heather smiled, determined to melt the ice in Daemi’s tone.

  Daemi dropped her own pack to the ground with a grunt. It was twice the size of Frankle’s, yet she seemed to carried it with ease. ‘And where’re your things?’

  Heather gestured proudly to the small shoulder bag she had slung over one arm. It was no larger than a day pack and looked almost empty.

  Daemi looked unimpressed. ‘You know we’re likely to be gone for at least a couple of weeks. Probably more.’

  ‘I know.’ Heather patted the bag fondly. ‘It’s a little trick a crafter friend showed me once.’

  To demonstrate, she swung the bag off her shoulder and flipped it open. She reached in and pulled out a large blanket, far too large to have fit inside the bag.

  There was a clang as Frankle dropped a round metal bowl in surprise. ‘Where did you get that? Why can’t I have—’

  ‘Higgs made it, a long time ago.’

  Heather’s quiet words stopped Frankle’s protests immediately.

  ‘I’ve never been able to get it quite right,’ she continued. ‘Perhaps it’s something you can help me work on, while we’re on the road.’

  Frankle nodded quickly and turned back to his things, his cheeks flushed.

  Daemi stared at the Black Robes’ tower, ignoring them both. ‘And where’s Petron? Don’t tell me he slept in too. It’s bad enough he’s not letting me take any guards with us.’

  ‘Didn’t he explain?’ Heather replied. ‘I mean, he did tell you how we were travelling, didn’t he?’

  Daemi peered back at Heather, her suspicions raised. ‘No, he didn’t.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

  Heather just smiled and turned away, looking up at the sky as if studying the weather. ‘Shouldn’t be long now.’

  Daemi’s question was answered by a high cry in the distance, and she looked up to see two large eagles circling slowly in the wind far above their heads. The birds spiralled down, their silhouettes growing in size as they sank closer, becoming impossibly large as they came into clear view.

  Daemi raised her hand to shield her eyes from the morning sun. There was something odd about one of the shapes in the sky, other than its size. Its outline looked wrong, as though … There was something attached to its back.

  ‘Oh no.’ Daemi dropped her hand and gulped.

  The two giant eagles, far too large to be anything other than magical, gave one last lazy circle before banking into a turn and skidding to a stop just metres from them. They were each the size of a large horse, wings stretching fifteen feet across at least, and sitting on the larger one’s back in a weirdly shaped saddle was Petron, his eyes wide and tears streaming down his cheeks.

  ‘Good morning!’ He waved as he slid off his mount and stumbled toward them, wiping his cheeks clear.

  Heather trotted out to greet him, sliding her arm around his back to steady him.

  He grinned down at her. ‘I’d almost forgotten how disconcerting flying can be.’

  ‘What is that?’ Daemi pointed at the enormous bird, her eyes locked on Petron, her tone stern.

  ‘Ah.’ Petron patted Heather on the shoulder and gently pushed her away. ‘I had a feeling you might have reservations.’

  Daemi was about to spit back a reply when she was interrupted by a shimmer in the air and suddenly the smaller of the two great eagles had disappeared. In its place stood two figures, holding hands.

  ‘Sometimes it’s best to show rather than tell, dear,’ Nurtle said.

  Daemi stared back and forth between the two. Nurtle, the healer who had helped close the scars on her back, and another man she hadn’t seen before. Her mouth opened and moved, but no sound came out.

  ‘Wildlers.’

  Frankle’s quiet awe broke the silence and Nurtle and Jared turned to him, their expressions calm, but wary.

  ‘Many things once forbidden have returned, young wielder,’ Nurtle replied. ‘It would be best to keep your mind open.’

  ‘Oh, I know.’ Frankle smiled at her, removing all tension in an instant. ‘Believe me, I’ve already seen … well. You know.’

  He nodded to the long silver blade hanging from Jared’s hip. A weld blade, the one he and Heather had formed only days before if he wasn’t mistaken. Jared lifted the blade to glint in the sunlight. ‘Impressive work, this. Something even Nurtle hadn’t thought possible. Of course she’d never admit that out loud.’ He winked at Frankle and slid the blade back into place.

  ‘Yes, well.’ Nurtle coughed. ‘It’s good to see evidence of the changes Petron keeps promising me have been made around here. You’ll be interested to know the blade also seems to help with our joining. Jared and I hadn’t been able to merge fully like that since …’ Nurtle broke off and gestured vaguely around the high rock cliffs that walled them in. ‘Since before all of this.’

  Frankle was about to quiz them both on this new aspect of the weld blades before Petron interrupted.

  ‘Questions will have to wait. We’ve spent enough of the day already.’ He turned to Daemi, who was still frozen in place, her face grey. ‘Daemi? Is this going to be a problem?’

  ‘Um.’ Daemi seemed to be trying to force words out, but her throat wasn’t giving up the fight just yet.

  ‘Without the aid of this mount it will be weeks before you even reach the southern edge of the Tangle, let alone Sontair. That’s if you make it there at all.’

  ‘And if you can even enter the forest.’ Nurtle’s quiet tone brought all eyes back to her. ‘The Guardian has sealed its borders. Even we can no longer pass through. So you must go over.’

  Jared patted her lightly on the shoulder, as if comforting some secret pain.

  ‘So we’d best get started then. How do we …’ Heather’s eager tone lightened the mood instantly.

  ‘Just climb aboard and hold on. Stax here is an old friend of ours, he knows what he’s doing. The saddle is more for your comfort than anything else.’ Jared grinned. ‘He won’t let you fall.’

  ‘And perhaps keep your eyes closed, Daemi,’ Petron whispered to her. ‘Those without a head for heights may find the experience … uncomfortable.’

  Daemi nodded silently, not wanting any more of her terror to show.

  ‘He’ll take it easy on you, I promise. We will travel beside you, at least until the edge of the Tangle. No harm will come to you.’ Nurtle turned back to Jared, grasping both his hands in hers and closing her eyes. A moment later the air shimmered with a silver mist and the figures morphed into a single form. The air cleared and an enormous eagle squatted before them, its piercing golden eyes staring through them as its great claws gouged deep groves in the dirt at their feet.

  ‘All aboard,’ Petron called. Heather eagerly ran up to the saddled eagle and pulled herself up and onto its back, sinking her fists deep into its feathers. ‘Oh! Its lovely and soft. And warm, too. Come on, Frankle.’

  Frankle hurried up, hauling his pack off his shoulder to sling it up ahead of him. Heather caught it easily and watched him clamber somewhat less gracefully into position behind her.

  ‘On you go, Daemi. Try not to worry, it’s perfectly safe.’ Petron kept his voice low, not wanting to add any fresh bruises to her ego.

  ‘I know … it’s just—’

  ‘Something you have to learn, young lady, is the ability to let go. Trust in your friends, they are all we truly have in this life.’ Petron patted her gently on the shoulder and pushed her forward.

  Daemi stumbled into a walk, then a trot, as though her legs
had forgotten how to move forward and she didn’t want to allow them to freeze into place again. She pulled herself up onto the great bird with a grunt and wrapped her arms around Frankle’s narrow hips.

  ‘That tickles.’

  ‘Be quiet. I don’t want to hear another word from either of you until we’re back on solid ground.’

  With that she closed her eyes, sinking into herself to try to maintain control in the face of her fear.

  Petron ran a hand over the great head of the eagle, staring into its golden eyes. ‘Take care of them.’

  He turned to the other eagle, seemingly still focused on its task of ploughing the dirt. ‘And return quickly. We still have much to do.’

  With that both eagles dropped their heads and sprang into the air, Heather letting out a wild whoop of joy as they rose high into the sky and left the cold stone of Redmondis behind.

  22

  The great eagle banked slowly in the cold rushing wind, sinking ever lower in the sky, angling toward the treetops tens of metres below.

  Heather clung to its neck, her fists wrapped in its feathers, her heart leaping with each soaring turn. It was magical, beyond anything she had ever experienced before. The freedom, the power. She closed her eyes and tried to capture the feeling in her memory, box it in, keep it safe, aware even as she did so that she would never be able to truly replicate the exhilaration of flight. Still, she was determined to try.

  Seated behind her, Frankle stared down at the Tangle stretched out like a green carpet below them. He could feel its power, its threat, just as he could recognise some part of the wielder’s art in the eagle’s form he rode upon. Recognise it, but never replicate it. This skill was too wild, too close to the edge. Too dangerous. The same menace radiated out from the Tangle below. So this is what it meant to be a wielder outside the security of Redmondis. Always on guard, always in danger of losing yourself.