The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  Clinging to his waist, Daemi sat with her eyes clenched shut, a low murmur tumbling over her lips the only sign that she was conscious. She was chanting to herself, controlling her terror by limiting her awareness to the cadence of the words and nothing else. The wind rushed past her face, but she pushed all thought of it and what it meant away, drowning it in the rhythm of her chant. She would survive this. Survive it and never speak of it again.

  The eagle let out another wild cry and banked again, sinking ever closer to the treetops.

  ‘What is it doing?’ Frankle screamed into Heather’s ear, trying to be heard against the roaring wind.

  ‘We’re going to land,’ Heather shouted in reply.

  ‘What?’

  Heather smiled at Frankle’s cry and turned back to the front, determined to soak up as much of this experience as possible.

  Sure enough the eagle seemed to spot what it was looking for and banked into a spin, sinking lower with each revolution.

  Daemi’s arms tightened around Frankle’s waist until he squirmed in discomfort.

  In moments they had sunk below the tops of the trees, spiralling down toward a small clearing that only now became clear to their human eyes. The ground rushed up at them, and Heather felt a moment of panic as it seemed they were about to plough directly into the earth, before the eagle reared back at the last second, skidding to a halt on its outstretched legs.

  Suddenly they were still, the eagle bending its head low and turning one eye toward its passengers, waiting for them to take the hint.

  ‘I guess we’re here,’ Heather said, sliding easily off the eagle’s back.

  ‘Where exactly is here?’ Frankle replied, pulling at Daemi’s arms, which were still firmly locked around his waist. ‘Daemi, you can let go now.’

  Daemi peeked one eye open to make sure they were on the ground, then released Frankle from her vice-like grip and tumbled quickly off the great eagle. ‘The Tangle,’ she murmured, staring around her at the thick ring of trees that bordered the small clearing. ‘Why did we land here?’

  Frankle was having trouble getting his legs untangled from his robe and over to one side of the eagle and he fell face first onto the forest floor. Daemi reached down and pulled him to his feet.

  As soon as all three had dismounted and retrieved their packs, the eagle leaped back up into the sky, its enormous wings taking it up and out of their reach within seconds, a thick cloud of dust blinding them as it left.

  With three beats of its wings it was away, disappearing out of view. The dust slowly settled around them and they dropped their arms from where they held them to shield their eyes.

  ‘Well, I guess we’re on our own,’ Heather said, turning back to the others.

  ‘Perhaps not.’ Frankle pointed past her shoulder to the far side of the clearing.

  Daemi followed his gaze and drew her blade, stepping in front of the other two. Standing just at the edge of the small clearing, in the shadows of the trees was a man wearing a green flowing robe and a complicated, horned helm. The man stood perfectly still, watching them.

  ‘Uh, Daemi, I don’t—’ Whatever Heather had been about to say was lost as the man raised his right arm in a sort of wave or salute, palm outward.

  Then he closed his fist, and the world disappeared.

  A song echoed in the darkness, flowing in and out of range, its tune forming the boundaries of the blackness Heather floated in. As she listened to the tune her lips formed into a smile, her body reacting before her mind recognised the heartstone’s song. She opened her eyes.

  She was lying on a bed of thick moss at the base of an enormous tree, its uppermost branches too high to see, its thick trunk seeming to loom over her as she stared up at it, the sky spinning around its axis until she felt dizzy and had to look away.

  It was then that she noticed the small boy sitting next to her on a large, overgrown root. He was holding the heartstone’s sounding bowl in his lap, one hand hovering over it, a rapt expression on his face. For the briefest flash she thought it was Higgs, then the last webs of dream fell away from her mind and she could clearly see this was someone else.

  Heather raised herself up on one arm, aware somehow that she was perfectly safe, that there was nothing to be concerned about.

  The boy looked over at her and a smile lit up his dark features. He moved his hand away from the sounding bowl and its song faded out. He put the bowl back onto the round with a sheepish grin.

  ‘It’s all right.’ Heather sat up completely and saw all of her belongings set out on the ground.

  The boy smiled again, his eyes clouded and shy.

  ‘It seems you’ve been busy.’ Heather reached out to pack her things into her bag, then stopped as a thought occurred to her. She held up the small crafter’s bag. ‘How did you open this? It’s only supposed to respond to my touch.’

  The boy sprang to his feet and walked a few steps away, watching her stuff her belongings back into her bag. Finally she finished and jerked the drawstring closed.

  She stood up and offered her hand. ‘My name is Heather.’

  The boy blushed and stepped toward her, snatching her hand before dropping it again and stepping back away. It was almost as though he feared her.

  Shade.

  Heather watched him, rubbing her fingers together where they had touched his hand. They were tingling strangely, and she suddenly knew that something important was happening.

  ‘This is the Tangle, isn’t it? We landed in the Tangle.’

  The boy nodded and smiled again.

  Heather’s brain didn’t seem able to gather its thoughts in order, as though her mind was being channelled down a narrow stream, its high banks only allowing for certain questions. ‘Shade. I feel like I should know that name.’

  The boy giggled then and sprung past her, leaping up the tree to perch on a wide branch directly above her.

  Heather studied the strange child, his shock of black hair half covering a grimy face, his grey eyes bright and knowing. He was younger than Higgs, but there was definitely a resemblance.

  ‘You remind me of someone I used to know.’

  Shade rewarded that with another grin and leaped higher, up to another branch.

  A sudden thought stopped her. The sounding bowl should only have reacted to the heartstone that Higgs and she wore, just as her bottomless pouch was only supposed to open for her touch.

  Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. This was a dream. It had to be.

  Shade spun around the trunk to appear on another branch, flitting in and out of her view, drawing her eyes ever higher up the tree as he climbed.

  Inside the depths, and inside your heart.

  If you’re looking for him, that’s where you should start.

  Tears flowed freely down Heather’s cheeks as she stared up into the heights. The sky was spinning again, taking her consciousness with it.

  The dark shape of the boy disappeared into the mist of the upper reaches of the tree, and Heather felt herself falling as the world around her spun into oblivion.

  When he next knew conscious thought, Frankle found himself walking alone along a narrow forest trail, the trees on either side of the path looming over him, curving to form a high canopy that filtered the sunlight into a strangely blurred glow, as though he was walking through a memory.

  He couldn’t be sure where he was, or how he had come to be there, but he felt no concern. He wasn’t lost, or late for some appointment, or forgetting some task he had been sent to perform. He simply walked, enjoying the fresh air in his lungs, tracing his fingers lightly over the tree trunks he passed.

  Suddenly another figure was walking beside him, matching his stride. He didn’t look over to see who it was, just accepted their presence. He felt no curiosity or cautiousness. He just let the dream flow over him.

  ‘You’ve come a long way since we last spoke, Frankle.’

  Delco. He smiled but continued staring straight ahead. ‘I’ve been shown many
things. A lot has changed.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Tell me, how are the other Black Robes adjusting?’

  Frankle’s smile widened as he thought of his friends in Redmondis, those who had been with him through the dark days and others he had met since. ‘They’re well. Most are still there, growing in knowledge. Petron is in charge of things now. He’s encouraged the wielders and crafters to work closer together.’

  ‘The “lesser skilled”.’

  Frankle chuckled. ‘Yes. That’s a term that’s fast fallen out of fashion. The boundaries have blurred between our two schools. It’s already producing surprising results.’

  ‘That is good to hear. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself more.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Frankle stared down the path, unable or unwilling to turn and study his old friend. A small voice in the back of his mind was whispering to him now, whispering something important, something he didn’t want to hear just yet.

  ‘Although, I’m not sure how much longer I can stay in Redmondis. Since—’

  ‘Since it happened.’

  ‘Yes. It’s become clear to me the high stone walls protect us, but they also blinker us somehow. We need to spend more time in the real world if our skills are to be of any real use to people.’

  ‘You have grown in wisdom, Frankle. And here you are, outside those walls, on a quest of your own. You are already taking the first steps.’

  Frankle looked around, aware that the air had changed, the light brightening, the dream ending.

  ‘Be sure you don’t forget what you learned in those days you would rather not remember. Be sure you can still recognise the dark when you next encounter it.’

  The secret voice in Frankle’s mind was louder now, though he still avoided picking out its words. He wanted to turn toward Delco, just for one moment, but his neck wouldn’t move.

  ‘You aren’t really here, are you, Delco? I saw your body. Your remains.’

  A tingle of fear tickled up Frankle’s spine as he spoke. He didn’t want to anger whatever it was that walked beside him, but when the voice spoke again it sounded just as warm as before.

  ‘You know better than that by now, Frankle, surely. You’ve seen beyond the surface world. You know the depths that the welds draw their power from. Do you doubt there are other places you are not yet aware of, eddies within the greater flow that—’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ Frankle cut in, aware suddenly that he was running out of time. ‘I’m just glad to speak with you again. I wanted to thank you, for looking after me, for helping me when you did. And I wanted to tell you I remember that, and I’ll keep trying to live up to your example. I won’t let you down.’

  The glow surrounding him brightened again, the air warming in an amused smile.

  ‘Goodbye, Frankle. We will talk again, I promise. Keep on your path.’

  The presence next to him halted, but Frankle walked on, the surrounding glow blurring away the trees, his consciousness disappearing into the fog.

  Daemi opened her eyes and lay still, watching the leaves far above her shift and sway in the wind. The damp smells of the forest filled her nose, and the thick moss underneath her formed a surprisingly comfortable bed. She let herself wake up slowly, enjoying the tingle of each of her senses coming up to speed, then sighed to herself, aware suddenly that she was keeping somebody waiting.

  She sat up, feeling rested for the first time in weeks, months perhaps. There had been no dreams to trouble her, no flashes of the past or glimpses of the future, no visions seen through other eyes. Just blank emptiness.

  She was sitting in a small forest clearing, her bed of moss under a high tree at one end. In the centre of the clearing rows of fallen trees seemed to have been twisted and shaped into primitive benches, polished pews all facing away from her, toward the other end of the clearing and a large timber throne. In it sat a strange creature. A long green cloak rising seemingly from the forest floor itself to a carved wooden helm that covered the creature’s head, twisting into twin horns, antlers almost, that reached up toward the sky high above.

  ‘Good morning, Daemi.’

  The words echoed in her mind rather than her ears, and with them came an instant knowledge. This was the Guardian. The heart of the Tangle.

  ‘I hope you will forgive the … theatre of this.’ The Guardian waved his hand dismissively round the clearing. ‘A relic of former times. Former lives. Still, it is important to keep the past always in mind, if we wish to avoid making the same mistakes.’

  The Guardian’s hand waved again and a sudden vision of fire and battle washed over Daemi. Out of the thick smoke a large grey wolf stalked toward her, its eyes locked on hers. Then, just as quickly as it had come, the vision disappeared.

  ‘It must be troubling, this connection you share. With the past, with other eyes. With the depths themselves. Especially for one not trained to deal with such power.’

  The hand waved again, and the vision returned, the wolf almost upon her now, drool dripping from its open maw, its golden eyes burning through her soul. Its jaws stretched wide, ready to take her, to consume her and force her to leave life behind.

  ‘But enough of that.’

  Instantly the vision was gone, and she was back in the clearing, her panting breath the only sign that anything out of the ordinary had occurred.

  ‘Wilt seems to have opened more than one door. My predecessor believed he held the power to save all of us from what lies below, from what is even now bleeding to the surface. The trees share that faith. I have known them my whole life, I know something of their nature, so I reserve the right to harbour doubts as to their true purpose.

  ‘This connection you share is of course the reason for your troubled dreams. You have become a target. Perhaps I can help to ease this pain.’

  Somehow, without seeming to move, the Guardian stood directly before her, his great horns looming over her, twisting up into the branches of the tree. His cloak parted, and a single gloved hand reached out to her, as though to help her to her feet. Without thinking, she grasped it.

  Once again reality was washed away, and she found herself in another place, a wide open sky of stars stretched out above her, the coals of a low campfire lighting the scene with a dim orange glow. A hand was still clasped in hers, though this one was not gloved. It was warm, and familiar. It squeezed hers softly.

  She looked to the side, and there lay Wilt, staring back at her.

  23

  Wilt knew he was dreaming, but he didn’t care. He could feel Daemi’s hand in his, hear her breath moving in and out of her lungs, see the steam rise from her lips as the living warmth blew into the cold night air. He lay perfectly still, not wanting to do anything that would cause the dream to end.

  A sudden breeze blew through the campsite, turning the low burning coals of the campfire a deep orange, and wiping the dream away. With it came another vision, a wall of trees swaying in the wind, beckoning him, lulling him into other dreams, other minds.

  A shadowed figure flitting in and out of the dappled sunlight of the forest, moving impossibly quickly, patrolling its borders, hunting out that which did not belong.

  A shimmering weld wall, a lone young Black Robe standing before it, reaching out to it with a shining silver blade.

  An icy shock down her spine as the nightmare form reaches out and tears its claws through her armour to burn deep gashes into her back.

  A heartstone, sitting in a stone bowl, its song filling the room.

  Wilt sat up, instantly awake. The low fire cast its orange glow across the scattered camp, and beyond its reach the night was spotted with other fires, other sleeping figures. To the north the darkness was deeper, no fires stretching in that direction, and a cold wind whistled down from the distant mountains to flow through the camp.

  Wilt turned to face the breeze, enjoying its touch on his cheeks.

  You miss them, don’t you?

  Of course.

  Do you think what we see
… do you think it’s what is really happening to them, or has happened? Or do you think—

  I don’t know, Higgs. You’re supposed to be the clever one.

  Petron said wielders and wards can share their minds, that it allows them to see what the other is doing, feel what they’re feeling. But I’ve never heard of a wielder having more than one ward.

  I don’t think it’s about wards. It’s the welds, the links between us, between our minds. Besides, most of those visions were from other memories.

  Delco, standing in front of the weld wall. I saw that.

  And I did not, though you told me about it. That vision was from your memory, not mine.

  Perhaps we’re bleeding into each other, our memories crisscrossing and jumbling together. One more thing we should watch out for.

  Wilt’s thoughts were interrupted by the heavy boots of a guard marching past the border of his camp, patrolling the edge of the great sprawling exodus of villagers and soldiers that he was at the back end of. Wilt watched him pass, saw his eyes scanning the night, his hand resting on the handle of the axe on his hip.

  Nervous. He doesn’t believe we’ve left the danger behind in the Tangle.

  I think he’s right.

  Wilt stared out into the darkness to the north, back toward the Tangle, its closed borders, the now empty villages spotted along its edge. Deserted, dead towns, stripped of all life.

  Biore, do you think Del—the Guardian will be able to stop them, the dark things that attacked us?

  No. I think the Guardian will keep the Tangle secure, but that won’t stop whatever those things were from rising in other areas. You heard what Jared told us. Other villages and towns have been attacked, not just the ones inside the Tangle. From the sounds of things, everyone’s retreating to the capital for protection.

  The guard continued on his patrol, disappearing into the heavy shadows. Wilt watched him leave, then lay down and rolled over, putting his back to the warmth of the fire, waiting for sleep to take him.