The Poison of Woedenwoud (Magicfall Book 3)

by K. Ferrin

  Ling had drawn both of them, Celene and Amalya, in the grimoire, but in looking at Celene now, her face hollowed by grief and lit by firelight, Ling knew she’d drawn them through the filter of her loathing. The woman in front of her now looked little like the woman she’d drawn. She looked a lot like her father had looked the last time she’d seen him.

  They finished eating, and Drake scuffed out the fire while Dreskin and Fern saddled the horses. Celene remained by the extinguished fire, staring listlessly into the ashes, and Ling stayed with her. Ling grieved her own losses, and she could barely stand the thought that she went through this same thing every morning. In the space of hours, she felt the loss of her parents, her friends, her home; relived rape and torture and travels to places she’d never dreamed she would visit; and came to the realization she was key to their success in sealing the breach. But that was as Evelyn. As Ling, she knew she had more travels ahead of her. They were going to Vosh to find the navire, to gather to themselves enough power to seal a breach that was leaching magic out of the world. Very likely, she had more loss ahead of her too.

  She wanted to weep, but she knew she couldn’t. Her chest would tighten, her stomach clench, her imaginary breath would hitch, but no tears would fall and no release would come. She had written often in the book how the release of grief through weeping was lost to her now. She looked up to find Celene watching her from across the fire.

  “I’m sorry about Navire.”

  Ling stared at her with wide eyes, unable to form a response back. Celene didn’t seem to expect one.

  “I stand by what I said yesterday. You did right by him. He knew you were at his side, even at the end.”

  Ling didn’t know what to say. Here was a woman, lost in the depths of her own grief, offering comfort to another. Ling climbed to her feet and approached, dropping down beside Celene. She took the other woman’s hands into her own. “You didn’t fail him, Celene. He failed you.” Celene’s eyes opened wide in surprise, her mouth falling open slightly. “I cannot blame you for the failings of your son. But you can’t blame yourself for the failings of a man.”

  Tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, and her hands shook violently in Ling’s grasp. “His father was…He was a good man, at first. But the drink took him fast. Within a year he would beat me. I wouldn’t let him touch me after that, but he would…I should have left, but I was so afraid. And then Fraser came along, and still I stayed. My choices made Fraser what he was.”

  “You made the best choices you could with limited options.”

  “I was a coward, and Fraser paid for it.”

  Ling didn’t know how to respond to that. Her mind whirled with the complexities of life. To think that one person’s best and bravest choices could still condemn another completely. Good, once released into the world, could create violence and ugliness; ugliness could lead to beauty. It was impossible to know which would result in which until they came to pass. All anyone could do was try to live fully, completely, and well, and then hope. She didn’t know how to articulate these thoughts, and so she didn’t. Instead she wrapped both arms around Celene and held her as she sobbed.

  In time Celene pulled back, climbed to her feet, and joined Drake. She stood passively by as Drake finished saddling and loading the horses. After all the things Ling had done to Celene and to Amalya, she hoped this was one small step toward correcting some of them. She owed Celene a great deal.

  Ling got to her own feet, tossed the few things she had left into a pack, and leapt up onto her horse’s back. She watched Celene: the woman went through the motions with the rest of them, but she didn’t look at anyone. She moved as if she were a doll, stiff wooden limbs controlled by some puppet master above, not through her own volition. Ling recognized the feeling. She’d felt like that for weeks after discovering what she was, after realizing everyone she’d thought she’d loved and who’d loved her had turned their backs on her the instant she’d changed. She’d written about it, the agony of it, the loneliness in the grimoire.

  Fern led the way, with Dreskin close beside her. Ling moved next to Celene, nudging her horse close, and reached out to take Celene’s hand. Celene’s arm went stiff with the contact and for a moment Ling was certain she’d pull her hand away. But after a moment her muscles went slack, and Ling felt Celene’s fingers curl around her own.

  They didn’t speak as they rode side by side. They didn’t even look at one another. But they rode this way as the rising sun stained the low western horizon, as it chased the deep shadows away, and as the small details of the landscape around them became increasingly visible. They rode this way until they came to a line of trees with trunks of bleached white skulls with a shimmering glint in the depths of their otherwise empty eye sockets.

  Ling and Celene slowed to a stop as they approached the others. They’d stopped twenty feet from the Mouro, the skull trunks and bone branches stained a soft pink in the early morning sun. It was an effect Ling was not at all fond of. It made her think of the color of freshly cut meat, of blood, and of two bodies dissolving in the ground below a tree, just like this one, several miles away.

  They turned east and rode along the thorny barrier for another hour before they found a gap in the Epina. It was large enough to get the horses through, but it was guarded by a lone Mouro. Once again, Ling felt certain the shining wetness in the eye sockets of the skulls followed them as they approached. She felt the tree beckoned them toward it. Not out of malice, but out of hunger. She wondered how often they had to eat to survive, and what sort of creature may be rotting beneath this tree even now.

  “How fast can they move?” Ling asked. There was plenty of distance between the Mouro and the thorn trees for a single rider to pass through. The question was whether they could all get through before the roots of the tree could snag them. “Is it only the roots? Or can the branches move too?”

  Four sets of eyes joined hers as they turned to Fern. Fern rolled her shoulders and blew out a long breath. “I don’t think so. It’s only the roots that move and hunt.”

  “You don’t think so?” Ling kept her voice steady as she asked the question. Dreskin smiled at her, nodding at her efforts to keep things unruffled. He was a peacekeeper to his core.

  “I also thought it was safe on this side of the thorn trees,” Fern said, her shoulders sagging. “The stories say only the roots move and hunt, only the roots are poison. We should be able to pass safely as long as we don’t take too long with it.”

  Ling looked at Drake and Dreskin. Dreskin was frowning at the tree; Drake was studying Fern. Celene was sitting impassively, waiting. None of them seemed willing to test out whether the stories were still accurate. Celene dropped her hand to her horse’s neck, and Ling turned in surprise to see her kick her horse forward. From the corner of her eye she saw Drake jerk. “Celene, don’t!” But Celene paid her no mind. Her horse snorted in frustration, but Celene kneed him forward steadily.

  They walked through the gap as easily as an afternoon stroll through a park. The blood red flowers of the Mouro shivered as she passed beneath them, as if they sensed her somehow, but no harm came to her. The others followed, moving forward one by one through the gap in the otherwise solid line of thorn trees.

  As Ling came through she pulled her horse to a stop in surprise. She’d not thought much about what the Woedenwoud would look like. Fern had told her it was filled with poison and predators and danger, but she had said nothing about what such a place would look like. Perhaps she didn’t know. Somewhere deep inside Ling had assumed it would be dark, made of old growth trees blackened and twisted with age, and filled with snakes and spiders and other things big enough to consider humans as food.

  But this place was none of those things.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunlight shone brightly through the widely spaced trees of the Woedenwoud, its beams filled with dancing pollen and small insects and other floating things. Flowers covered every branch and every vine in every c
olor of the rainbow and many more she had no name for. The air was clear and scented with something so perfectly sweet, flowery, and warm she immediately decided she never wanted to leave this place. The ground at their feet was a blanket of yellow and purple blooms, the tiny flower heads bobbing joyfully under the weight of the warm summer sun, and she wanted to drop down into them to rub her bare toes against their soft petals. The temperature was perfect, the sort of day where you are perfectly warm, exactly comfortable, with no need to sweat and no need for a jacket. In a word, this place was paradise.

  Drake pulled up beside her, eyes wide with wonder. Ling turned to Dreskin to find him beside Fern, the two of them digging through a saddlebag and pulling long scarves from its depths. Dreskin took several of them and approached Ling. “Here, tie this around your face. I’m not sure any of it can affect you, but better to be safe,” he said.

  “Help with what? It’s gorgeous in here. Clearly the old stories are wrong—”

  “They are not wrong,” Fern said. “Not about this. If anything, the poison is stronger now than it has ever been. If it feels the drain of magic, which it certainly does, it will do whatever necessary to protect itself. Remember, Ling, the magic here is almost self-aware. It may be self-aware for all I know. Certainly plenty of scholars have argued it is.” Fern spoke as she tied the scarf tightly about Celene’s nose and mouth. She’d already tied one around her own face. Dreskin handed a scarf over to Drake, who took it and held it in one hand as she spurred her horse forward. “I have no idea how this place will affect you, Ling. The histories are no help; something like you has never existed. You must be more cautious even than the rest of us.”

  “Are you certain, Fern? It’s so beautiful here. How could something so beautiful be so dangerous?” Drake’s voice was hushed with awe. She drew up alongside an enormous yellow sunburst of a flower and reached a hand out to touch a single soft petal.

  Dreskin kicked his horse forward, shoving Drake’s horse hard enough she almost lost her seat and fell to the ground. She snatched at the saddle and managed to hold on. “Put it on Drake. Put it on now, or I’ll do it for you.”

  Ling had never heard him so angry, had never read about him sounding so angry, not even that night on the Scarlet. Drake’s eyes clouded in anger, but she did as he bid her, tying the scarf tightly around her nose and mouth. Ling did the same. She watched as they tied scarves around their horses’ noses as well.

  “Don’t touch anything, if you can avoid it. Assume everything here is poison and that all of it is searching for some way to eat you, because it is. And I do mean everything. Flowers, leaves, water…all of it. Don’t eat anything, don’t drink anything, don’t smell anything, and don’t touch anything. If you could avoid breathing while we’re in here, that would be even better.”

  There was a small silence after Fern finished her warning, only broken by a trilling song from somewhere out in the forest. It sounded like a delicate tinkle of bells, dozens of them, all pitched differently but in perfect tune with each other. She wondered if it were a bird or an insect that made the sound.

  “Which way?” Ling asked, ready to move deeper into the forest, wanting to explore this place where the colors seemed more colorful, the smells seemed more aromatic, where even the touch of the air on her skin felt softer than the softest schor cloth. “I’ll go first. Perhaps I’ll spring any traps that might lay in wait. I’ve a better chance of not dying than the rest of you.”

  Fern’s lips flattened, but she pointed southeast. “We’ll head almost straight across, keeping to the shortest path out of here we can find. The sooner we get out the better.”

  Ling turned her mount and began walking. It was easy going. Far from being the dark and twisted warren she’d expected, the trees were spread wide, with open meadows between them filled with flowers and waving grasses. Riding through was a pleasure, and it was obvious the horses could feel it too. They walked easily, almost lazily. The scarves Drake and Fern had tied around their heads kept them from eating anything, but it didn’t stop them from trying.

  “You’ve warned us about the plants,” Ling said, turning toward Fern. “But what about everything else? What of the animals that live here?”

  “I don’t believe anything else lives here. Insects, but that’s it.”

  Ling was surprised by that. The forest was lush. Just from where she sat in her saddle she could see trees heavy with fruit, and grasses heavy with seed.

  “Not much is known about this place,” Fern continued. “The Mari avoid it just as the warlocks do, and have done for centuries. Perhaps some time in the past mammals or people lived here. But there is no record of it.”

  They rode all of that day without incident. The landscape around them only grew more beautiful, if such a thing were possible. Water was abundant. Chattering streams ran through every meadow, and they passed dozens of clear pools filled with darting fish. They looked so refreshing, and Ling desperately wanted to stop for a cool dip, but she knew better than to even ask the question.

  They talked instead about what they would do when they got to the far side of the Woedenwoud. Wondered how likely it was that the warlocks would be there waiting for them. Debated traveling longer in the Woedenwoud, further throwing the warlocks off their trail. Fern was adamantly opposed to that idea, but as each hour slipped by, Ling liked the idea more and more. She had traveled a long way alone, and she was rediscovering just how pleasant it could be to travel with friends, even with relationships as tense as hers were.

  They stopped for the night in a wide meadow with grasses tall enough to easily conceal them. They stomped a large area of the grass flat and laid thick blankets over the top of it. They lit no fire, Fern saying something about the wild magics here making fire unpredictable. Ling thought she was being overly cautious. Ridiculous, in all honesty. But she didn’t want to fight, so she kept her thoughts to herself.

  They fed and watered the horses from their supplies and then settled down close to one another. Ling sat down next to Fern. She wanted to talk about Alyssum, about what had happened in the Darkling Sea while they floated there all alone. She wanted to apologize for not being able to keep Fern safe from the sirené. But as soon as her rear hit the ground, she felt a subtle wall go up between them. Fern shifted slightly away and began speaking quietly to Dreskin.

  Ling bore the rebuke silently. She watched when a short time later the two of them moved away from the group and huddled together underneath a blanket. Ling turned away as sounds of their lovemaking reached her ears.

  “They have known one another for a long time,” Drake said quietly. Ling looked at her briefly, then turned her eyes to the blanket below her. She picked at a thread of wool that had separated itself from the others. “It’s not the same for the Mari as it is for most humans. They bed whomever—”

  “I don’t care about that,” Ling said, her tone harsher than she intended. Drake said nothing, but Ling could see her eyes shining in the starlight. “I’m not…I don’t care about that stuff. I’ve never…” She didn’t know quite how to put it. Even as Evelyn she’d been disinterested in sex. “I just…I miss her friendship, Drake. She told me I was one of them, but ever since Shadowhold…” her voice faded away, unwilling to say Alyssum’s name out loud. Drake had been Alyssum’s lover, after all.

  “She loves you still, Ling. She still fights to close the breach, to keep you safe. She just needs time.” A soft, throaty laugh drifted through the still night. Celene lay down, her back to the lovers as well as to Ling and Drake.

  “I feel so alone.” Ling said the words out loud, hating the sound of them, how weak they made her sound and feel. But she felt better for having said them. “I travel with all of you, but I am not one of you. Navire was the only one…” She stopped, her voice choking on the dog’s name.

  Drake sighed, climbed to her feet, and dropped down next to Ling. She put an arm around Ling’s shoulders. “I feel alone too,” she said. “What we’re doing…it’s hard no
t to feel that way.” The two of them leaned their heads against one another and stared into the fire, the simple companionship a balm to them both.

  The night was as uneventful as the day. They were on their way again as soon as Ling finished reading the grimoire. Ling avoided Fern, avoided Dreskin, and instead rode beside Drake and Celene. By midday, though, she knew something was wrong. It started off mildly enough, an odd buzzing or wavering at the edges of her vision. It was almost as if her eyes suddenly were vibrating from side to side in their sockets, causing her vision to jump and shimmy. Each incident seemed to last only a minute or a few minutes at most. It was so slight she thought at first she was imagining it, until suddenly she realized she wasn’t.

  She said nothing about it, not wanting to frighten the others. She began closing her eyes when she felt it coming on, trusting her horse to continue moving forward unguided. She would hold them closed for several minutes before opening them a crack. If they shivered still, she would close them again.

  But soon it wasn’t only the strange bouncing of her vision; she began seeing other things too. She’d be riding by a particularly stunning tree when suddenly a pattern would emerge out of the bark: a monstrous shape with baleful yellow eyes and teeth made from jaggedly split wood reaching out of the tree trunk toward her.

  She opened her eyes, looking at the beautiful landscape around her. There was a towering tree just in front of her and to the right, but it wasn’t a tree at all. It was her father, his body stretched and distorted, bones busted and jutting as if some giant had grabbed his head and his feet, and pulled them slowly apart until he’d been stretched to twenty feet in length. His eyes, weeping and filled with sorrow, grew to ovals that were three feet in length. His mussed hair lifted and twisted into branches, and his lips curled grotesquely as his mouth lengthened.