Forestborn

by Elayne Audrey Becker

  Not enough. It’s not good enough, and I long to tell them so. Instead I keep quiet, wrestling with my own conscience. King Gerar ordered us to find what might be causing the resurgence of magic, and the anomaly of those Eradain soldiers practically fell into our lap. The logical next step is to investigate, but whenever I try to work out a plan, the only image that manages to stick is that of the loaded bow aimed at my chest.

  We depart the stone circle shortly after, bidding farewell to all but the two giants who come to see us off. Weslyn has the box of stardust tucked safely into his bag. I had examined it first, only to find it surprisingly heavy in my hands, easily the weight of two rabbits. Too heavy to enable my unvoiced idea of carrying it back to Roanin on wings. No matter—we cannot lessen the load, or there won’t be enough to go around.

  We’re halfway through the clearing in which we arrived when the giants halt, lodging themselves on the boulders. Even with the massive stones there to intercept their weight, the ground still quivers at the impact.

  “You will find the mist where you left it,” Hutta says, nodding toward the other end. “Remember, you must ingest the stardust in order for it to heal. And make sure it remains dry—outside of a living body, water is not compatible with magic.” She examines each of us in turn. “Good luck with your people.”

  “My brother would have liked to meet you himself,” says Weslyn. “Thank you again.”

  She only nods. The other says nothing, so we utter one final goodbye and resume our crossing.

  “Rora.”

  I swivel round, facing Hutta in surprise. We’ve scarcely gone more than ten steps.

  “A word,” she says, gesturing for the two boys to stay where they are.

  With minor trepidation, I return to her side, wondering what she could possibly have to say that she doesn’t wish Helos or Weslyn to hear. Perhaps the reprimand for insulting her the day before is finally coming. She stares at me. I stare back.

  “You’ve held on long enough,” she says, her voice soft as windswept reeds. “It’s time to let go.”

  Let go? I blink at her a couple of times. “Let go of what?”

  Hutta’s mouth stretches wide in a smile. “Good luck, Rora.”

  Unease hits the pit of my stomach. I don’t know how to respond, so I say nothing, just pick my way back over to the boys. Their faces are more apprehensive than curious, and I know their attention is focused elsewhere. The border. The mist. We have no choice but to depart that way, and the last time we were outside of the giants’ domain, we had been on the verge of capture. There’s no way of controlling where it spits us out this time—or whether or not the soldiers will be there, waiting.

  I lead them onward.

  “Just … focus on Finley,” Helos says, attempting to reassure us. Being strong, like he said he would. It doesn’t comfort me as it once did. “That’s where we’re needed. Maybe concentrating all our energy on him will send the mist a message.”

  I don’t respond. Weslyn keeps his eyes trained forward, but he nods all the same.

  The eerie silver-blue veil materializes as soon as we reach the other end of the meadow; it can’t be more than a stone’s throw past the tree line. I step into the woods and tug a thorny, leafy stem away from our path, holding it in place until Helos and Weslyn have both reached my side.

  “And if those soldiers are there?” Weslyn asks, gripping the hilt of his sword.

  I study that grip, then follow the line up his arms, past his chest, to the expression on his face. Quiet, but edged. Solemn, but composed. Clear. I often forget that he’s been trained for situations like these, but looking at him now, it’s hard not to think of it.

  I release the stem. “How many could you take?”

  “At once?” He pauses to consider, fist still wrapped around the hilt. A warrior’s stance. “Three. Possibly four.”

  Four? Merciful fortune. “If you’re exaggerating—”

  “I’m not.” No boasting, no defensiveness.

  He’s not.

  It feels odd, now that I’m starting to get the fuller measure of him. Not a military man, but a cerebral boy forced into a soldier’s body, softness scrubbed into a harder, impenetrable shell. As if the frown he so often wields is not a weapon, but armor. My thoughts return to the scene with the caegar. There were six of them then. Would Weslyn have tried to fight if I had not ordered him to run?

  “The thing is,” I voice hesitantly. “I’ve been thinking. Shouldn’t we try to learn what those people are doing here?”

  Weslyn’s brow furrows. “That might be difficult to do if they’re intent on killing us.”

  “But if they’re not there when we return, we may not have to fight them. We could track them down in secret, so they wouldn’t know we’re following. They captured a caegar—why? They could have killed it straight away, but they didn’t. Where were they taking it?”

  He runs a hand along his face. “My father would want us to find out if we can.”

  I glance at my brother, who has been silent throughout this exchange. “Helos?”

  He grips the straps of his pack. “Our priority is reaching Telyan. All of us, all in one piece.”

  “What about the rest of our mission? You would leave without figuring out what’s going on?”

  He drops his shoulders and bites his lip. “I’m not saying I like it. But securing the stardust has always been the most important part, and we’ve done that. We have the cure. We should bring it to those who need it.”

  Old habit whispers that I ought to side with him. Helos has always been the one to help others, after all, to judge what’s best for them, no matter the cost to himself. But—

  “The humans might not be the only ones in danger. Think of that caegar. Haven’t you noticed how quiet it’s been since we crossed the river? What if Eradain really isn’t waiting for assistance from Telyan and Glenweil before striking the Vale? Other animals could be captured or dying. The magic could be dying.”

  “Finley is dying.” My brother almost never cries, but all of a sudden he looks close to it. “Back in Telyan, right now. And we can save him.”

  Weslyn’s mouth pinches tighter, and guilt hits the pit of my stomach. I agreed to this quest to save Finley. I still want to save Finley.

  But it feels wrong to leave the Vale without at least trying.

  “My father’s orders were clear,” Weslyn says, with a hint of defeat. “Rora’s right, we should track them down if they’re not already waiting to ambush us. But I agree with you,” he adds, when Helos crosses his arms. “We cannot delay too long. We’ll give it four days to find out what we can, five at most. Then we return to Niav.”

  “How can you—”

  “I know what you would say,” Weslyn cuts in. “But it’s the right thing to do. I’m sorry, my hands are tied.”

  For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Weslyn scarcely more than a statue, Helos fidgeting with his golden shirt, ready to step right out of his skin. Back with that strange, wild-eyed intensity he wore when pinning Weslyn to the tree, as if he has a mind to do it again. I don’t understand whatever’s passing between them, but before I can think of a way to ask, Helos relents.

  “Come on, then,” he says, sorrow warring with frustration in his voice. He leads us right to the edge of the mist, then nods to me, making sure I’m ready. When Weslyn mirrors the gesture, we step into the veil as one.

  I don’t struggle against the invisible bindings as they yank me forward yet again. Instead, muscles clenched, I survey our surroundings the moment the air around us settles once more—a deer that flees at our sudden appearance, a break in the pines just ahead.

  No Eradain soldiers in sight.

  I crane to catch a glimpse of the white tail disappearing into the brush. Light brown coat and cream-colored breast. Not a deer. A caribran.

  Finally, a larger magical creature spotted. But the dirt beneath my boots remains silent and still, no razored pine needles or sentient peppervine
strangling its prey, no ground shifting quicker than a falling star. The feeling of wrongness lingers.

  Since the absence of people does little to reassure us, we move as one to the break in the trees, each of us still on our guard. We’re back at the lake, only farther north than when we’d first encountered it. It’s a lucky break. Judging by the mountains’ proximity, we should be able to reach the area where we lost the soldiers in little more than a day, if we move quickly.

  And we do. An unspoken sense of urgency has taken hold; the sooner we can gather this information, the sooner we can leave, and all of us are eager for journey’s end.

  We pick our way along the shore in silence, making unprecedented time. Helos charges ahead, with Weslyn following close behind. I bring up the rear, keeping an eye on the sun’s position in the sky. By the time my brother turns us farther east, long beyond sight of the lake, we’re all in need of a rest.

  None of us stop. Instead, we push on through the dense, quiet woods until it’s practically a contest over whose stomach growls the loudest.

  “Helos,” I call.

  He swerves to a halt, hovering a moment before swinging the pack from his back. “Ten minutes,” is all he grants.

  Weslyn pulls some nuts from his pack. While the two of them are occupied with food, I take the opportunity to relieve myself, walking a good distance away until I’m sure neither can see. Though I strain my ears for any sound of approach, there’s nothing beyond the usual rustling and creaking trees.

  The surrounding stillness has begun to unnerve me. Like it isn’t simply quiet west of the river.… It’s empty.

  Voiceless and rigid, halfway asleep. It’s made the trekking easier, true, and I suppose I ought to be grateful for that. But the lingering dregs of relief are mixed with increasing despondency.

  Where are the people like me, the forest walkers and whisperers? The elusive moose whose melodic calls ring out like a symphony of bells, or timber bear cubs play-fighting outside of moss-covered dens? Gemstone beavers who lure mates with iridescent tails, and teal-striped hummingbirds that collect acorn tops like crowns? More and more, I’m finding in my heart a sorrow I never expected to feel.

  Weslyn is missing when I return.

  “Where is he?” I demand at once, finding Helos simply sitting among the twisted roots of an old oak, toying with a piece of crinkled parchment. He shoves it into his pack as soon as I appear.

  “He offered to fill our waterskins. He said he would stay close.”

  “You let him go by himself?”

  Helos peers out to his left, then back at me. “He’s getting better. I think he can manage a short time on his own.” His eyebrows arch in amusement. “You’re welcome to go and check on him, though, if you’re concerned.”

  “Of course I’m concerned,” I reply. “There could be more of those soldiers around!”

  He nods his head to the side again. “The stream is just out of sight—we passed it on the way here. If anything threatens him, we can be there in an instant. Sit,” he says, gesturing to the grainy ground before him.

  After ensuring that I can hear the faint trickle of running water myself, I do as he suggests. I’ll have to refill my own waterskin before we move on. “What were you looking at, anyway?” I ask, straightening for a better view of his pack.

  He holds his empty hands up and shrugs. “Just a leaflet I brought from Niav.”

  I do another scan for danger before broaching the topic on my mind. “Listen. I have an idea.”

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Helos murmurs, carving tiny slits into the dirt. “And I do want to know what’s going on here, okay? But I have to save him. Whatever that fading magic means for us, for others like us—” He drops his head a fraction lower. “I can’t lose him, Rora. And I can’t be in two places at once.”

  “You don’t have to be,” I say, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You and Weslyn can bring the stardust to Finley and the others. I can stay.”

  He recoils at once. “You’re not staying here alone. It’s too dangerous.”

  It’s true, the notion of separating would have felt inconceivable to me before. It still nearly is, but suddenly the issues at stake feel far greater than a question of what I want. “Clearly, the Vale is not like it was before. I can shift—”

  “You’re not staying here alone.”

  “But think about it, Helos! If we split up, you can get a jump on delivering the medicine, while I finish the job King Gerar gave us.”

  “By the river, Rora!” Helos punches the ground with his fist. “Just … stay here with me. Finish the job like we planned. Then we’ll figure out our next step.”

  Another fight, and not even two days have passed since the last one. Something’s unraveling between us, and I’ve lost the thread as to why.

  “You don’t have to spend every hour protecting me,” I remind him. “I’m just as capable as you.”

  “I know you are. I just—” He breaks off, brushing the hair away from his forehead. Already, exhaustion appears to be sweeping away the sudden burst of adrenaline. Sweet Helos, his earnest face the very portrait of a torn heart. “Stay with me. Please.”

  Though my throat pinches at the sight, I let the moments drift past before responding.

  “I’m going to fetch Weslyn. He’s been gone long enough.”

  My brother’s brow furrows. I haven’t promised anything, and he knows it. But he doesn’t speak again, so I grab my waterskin and leave the camp.

  The narrow stream is indeed just a short distance downhill; Helos has hardly left my sight when the first stretch comes into view. The babbling water wends between silver aspens and over slick, flat stones jutting out from its center, gleaming in patches of sunlight. A little farther along, Weslyn is crouched on the opposite bank, wrists submerged in the fast-flowing stream. His eyes are closed.

  “Sleeping on the job?” I ask when I’m close enough, watching his hands fly to his sword in the moment before he spots me. His shoulders sag, and his mouth relaxes into a subtle smile.

  Something’s unraveling between us, too.

  “You startled me,” Weslyn observes with a touch of humor. “This is becoming a pattern.”

  “You’re lucky it’s only me,” I reply. “You shouldn’t let your guard down.”

  He runs a hand along the back of his neck, still grinning. “Always one for reassurance. You sound like Brock.”

  “Brock?”

  “The arms-master.”

  Ah. Yet another person who showed little pleasure in my existence. “Well, he’s right.”

  “You took your pack with you,” Weslyn continues, pushing to his feet and hefting his and Helos’s waterskins. “I couldn’t refill yours.”

  “It’s all right.” I move opposite him and dip mine under the surface. “You chose a good spot, at least.”

  “Moving water only. I remember.” The confidence in his voice hedges on boredom.

  “Yes, well, it could still be contaminated,” I mutter.

  “No doubt you’d poison it to teach me a lesson.”

  Insulted, I open my mouth to object, then shut it again when I see his expression. He’s teasing me.

  Off-kilter, I swallow my response and take a couple of swigs from my waterskin.

  Weslyn leans lazily against a tree, watching me. “I have managed to survive twenty years on my own, you know.”

  Not on his own. Not like my brother and me. “Please. You grew up in a castle. They practically spoon-fed you.”

  “Not true,” he says. “Growing up in a castle has its challenges.”

  “Oh?”

  He nods very seriously. “People were always there trying to do things for me. Anywhere I’d go. Very annoying.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m sure.”

  “And Astra,” he says mournfully, as if the name holds the weight of the world. “I said one day I wanted a dog, assuming my parents would either say no or wait awhile to let the excitement build. But they just �
� gave me the dog.” He speaks as if it’s a true puzzle.

  “You are insufferable,” I murmur, but I can no longer hold back the smile.

  Without warning, a flock of crows erupts from the treetops nearby, a sudden, feathered mass of flapping and shrieking. I start so violently I nearly lose my footing on the bank.

  Weslyn’s arm shoots out to steady me, but I regain my balance on my own, forcing a deep breath and crouching again by the water’s edge. “Sorry.”

  “Are you okay?”

  No. I dip my waterskin back beneath the surface and focus on the stream’s bracing chill, cradling my wrist like silk. Count the stones, smell the fresh air, anything to lock out the hammering in my chest, the flush of embarrassment heating my face. “It’s nothing.”

  Rather slowly, Weslyn crouches to my level on the opposite bank.

  I have a mind to tell him I’m fine again. But when my gaze flits to his I see concern there rather than judgment, and I think that maybe—maybe I can admit this.

  “Sometimes it’s like I never left.” I speak as if to the ground. “A noise will make me jump, or I’ll feel an ache where I injured myself years ago, and suddenly I’m a child again, stuck in a scene I thought I’d buried for good. Which is stupid, I know, because so much time has passed, but I can’t help it, the thought of returning to—” I break off, suddenly aware I’m rambling. Feeling utterly exposed.

  “Yes?” Weslyn says, the word gentle.

  I hesitate, not knowing how to continue. But since he never seems to need to fill a long silence, I suppose there’s no need to feel bad about it. “It sticks with you,” I say at last, then shake my head. “It can be difficult to remember I’m in the present, that’s all.” I pull the waterskin from the stream and fasten the cork back into place in one swift motion.

  “That sounds difficult,” he says after a time, still crouched there.

  I shrug, my throat somewhat tight.

  “I’d like to help.”

  “You do,” I assure him, before I can think better of it.

  There’s a moment of silence. Then another. “I do?” he asks, watching me carefully.