The Word Changers

by Ashlee Willis

  She didn’t have time to panic, though. No time for being lured further into the places this dream could lead. She was being shaken awake, gently but firmly. Kyran’s lips were pressed to her ear, his voice a deadly whisper as he pressed the cold hilt of a long knife into Posy’s hand. “Wake up,” he commanded. “We have a guest.”

  * * *

  The world spun into focus then. Kyran hauled her deftly to her feet, and his words hit her like cold water poured down her back. She barely had time to register the scrape of Kyran’s sword as he unsheathed it, and the outline of an enormous creature beyond the shadows. It was on them in an instant, its roar exploding into the quiet of the night. Posy saw the dull flash of Kyran’s sword as it swung outward, but she knew instinctively, as the cold of the night seeped into her, that this would be nothing like his fight with the two soldiers of yesterday. They had been men, and they had been visible. But the forest was so dark, with their campfire now burnt to embers, that the only clear glimpses of the beast were when it bellowed, and fire and smoke blasted from its mouth in a horrible cloud of dust and flying cinders.

  While Kyran and the creature circled each other in the shadows, Posy crept to their campfire and began stirring it, hoping that the light would aid Kyran, hoping that perhaps it was a creature afraid of fire, like ones she had read of in books. She worked feverishly, feeling panic as she heard the sounds of Kyran’s clashing sword and the clatter of something thudding heavily against his shield. When the fire was stoked enough that it began to burn brighter, Posy turned, the knife clutched in her sweaty hand, and froze at what she saw.

  It was a monster. Its head and neck were like a bull’s, only twice the size of one. Its immense neck rippled as its muscles tensed. Masses of matted tangled hair hung thickly around its face. And its face ... Posy’s breath caught in her chest. Such an expression she saw in those eerily human eyes as they flickered and followed Kyran with stony, deadly intent. Its front legs were not those of a bull—they were pawed and moveable, swiping through the air with a combination of power and swiftness that was terrifying. A tail rose from behind it that was no tail at all, but a large serpent, nearly as big around as Posy, writhing and twisting itself toward its own head where Kyran fought, hissing and lashing its forked tongue in fury.

  The monster lowered its head, swaying back and forth bizarrely like a marionette. Its slanted eyes glinted, taking in Kyran with a look that already held triumph. It played with him now as he tired and reeled from the heavy blows he had sustained. It pushed him slowly toward the darkness of the forest, away from the clearing and the bright flame of fire. Posy knew if they disappeared there, the forest would swallow them. The darkness would mean death for Kyran.

  Posy heard her own voice breath out a word. “Help.” It held all her desperation. She saw the faceless Author in her mind, the Author whom many characters believed was a myth. If anyone could help them now, wouldn’t it be he who wrote this story to begin with? After all, wasn’t he meant to help these characters he had written?

  A wind stirred, breaking the stillness of the air. It came from the blackest part of the forest, straight toward them. Posy watched as the monster turned to sniff the breeze, then hunched down, cowering in fear as if the wind held a threat in it. Posy watched it back away from the trees, toward the fire once more. Toward her.

  Kyran bore down on it, seizing his opportunity, for an opportunity it was, and Posy knew it may be their only one. If it had come of her cry of help to the Author, it was up to them to make the best of it. She didn’t know how brave she would have been on her own, but now there was something in her stronger than her fear for herself. It was fear for Kyran.

  She gripped her knife like a lifeline, staring down at its long blade for a moment, as if willing it to do as she wished. She began moving toward the monster’s snake-tail. Kyran battled the head, and she hoped the tail would stay turned his way until she could do what she knew she must.

  As Kyran cried out and spun his sword toward the bull-like head, Posy ran, launching herself toward the back of the creature and the base of its serpent tail. It was surprising how easy it was. The blade almost seemed to know what to do within her hands, and it sliced neatly through the snake as she lunged and brought it down with all her strength. There was silence for a moment as the serpent lay twisting on the forest floor. But when the bull’s head turned its uncanny yellow eyes upon her and saw what had happened, it let out a scream that Posy felt to her bones. It turned on her in an instant, but in that instant, Kyran was there. He flung himself between Posy and the beast, and his sword sunk into the monster’s great chest. It fell with a ground-rattling thud at their feet.

  Posy stared at it, numb to any feeling but disbelief, then suddenly felt the unexplainable urge to laugh. She put her hand up to her mouth to stop any noise from escaping. But when sound burst out she found she wasn’t laughing at all, but crying, weeping, with the fright she should have felt minutes ago but was feeling now instead. Kyran threw down his sword and hugged her to his chest gently. He pulled her away from the dead beast, and it receded into a shapeless dark mass beyond the warm circle of warmth from their fire. He kissed her wild and matted hair, smoothing it away from her face.

  “Sit,” he said, seeing that Posy was shaking violently. “You must eat something.”

  Eat? Posy felt the blood drain from her face. She watched in her mind as her knife slid across the serpent’s throat with a sickening hiss. She shook her head, lowering it, thinking she might be sick.

  “No,” Kyran amended quickly. “No food then. But some water, at least.” And he held a flask to her mouth and watched as she drank.

  “I understand, you know,” he said quietly when she was finished, sitting next to her on the hard ground. “To kill ... is a horrible thing. But a person’s mind can get past it, eventually. My first kill was a man, not a soulless beast like this.”

  Posy turned her tear-stained face to him quickly, waiting for the shudder in his body, the hesitancy in his voice that bespoke the horror he must feel. She saw neither, only a calm sadness in his eyes.

  “I’d never kill anyone in cold blood, Posy,” he reassured her, “but battles are necessary sometimes. Wars will happen between men. Defense of yourself and the ones you love is ... the most important thing.”

  “Yes,” she said quietly. His life was worlds apart from hers, so different it wasn’t worth comparing. But still ... she knew what he meant. She knew where his words had come from, and she knew they were true. Perhaps the differences between the two of them were not so great after all.

  Kyran’s eyes sought out the creature, which lay at an odd angle in the distant shadows. “I hope ...” he began, and then stopped.

  “What?”

  “I hope that monster wasn’t another proof of Falak’s ill will. I hope that was a natural encounter we had tonight.”

  “Oh,” Posy breathed. She hadn’t thought of that.

  “Wherever it came from,” he continued, staring into the fire, “I fear that the closer we get to the Glooming, to the center of the Wild Land, the more dangerous it will become. I pray I can keep you safe, Posy.”

  The firelight lit up his dark features as Posy looked at him. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the way he was looking at her, with tenderness, and sadness too. He brushed the back of his hand on her cheek and gave her a crooked smile. For a moment, she thought he would do something more—wished he would—but he only drew his hand back to run his fingers awkwardly through his black hair as he turned from her.

  Posy lay wrapped in her blanket, her back to the fire, and she cried silently. Not for fear or relief, not even from the shock of what she had just seen and done, but for the sadness she could feel gripping her. She knew in her heart she couldn’t stay here in this story—she knew a time would come, eventually, when she must go back to her home. And now her eyes cried, and her heart cried, at what she knew she must leave behind.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Revelations
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  It was a dark room, and the darkness rippled like black velvet upward toward the vaulted ceiling. A polished stone table was piled with neat stacks of papers and quill pens. Falak sat behind it, on a wooden perch made for the purpose, and King Melanthius sat across from him, his great arms crossed and a thunderous expression on his face.

  “You said that you would have them returned to the Kingdom and within my castle within days, Falak. Where are they? What is taking you so long?”

  Falak eyed the king dispassionately and answered, his voice serene. “Your Majesty, you know what chaos the Kingdom is in right now. The looming war with the Wild Land has been foremost in our thoughts and plans. Your wayward children are a bother, of course, but they do no harm where they are.”

  “No harm? No harm?” roared Melanthius, rising from his chair and leaning across the table to thrust his face menacingly toward Falak. “What do you take me for? A fool? Every moment they are gone makes me lose face with the characters of the Plot. Am I to be seen as such a weak ruler that I cannot keep either of my children within my own Kingdom?”

  “Sire, it is not known beyond the castle itself that the prince and princess are gone. Everyone has been told to address the new girl, Olena, as the princess for now, and it has been passed around that the prince is ill and stays within his rooms.”

  “These are sad and pathetic excuses, Falak. Unlike you, I would have thought,” the king answered. “I always thought you the most cunning owl of my council, the wisest in your advice and plans. But now I begin to wonder. You know as well as I that it is common gossip that the prince and princess are both gone. These lesser characters have been taught that I uphold the Plot. What must they think now that they know, or at the very least suspect, what has happened? No!” He pounded a large fist on the table. “I won’t have it. You get your scouts out there now, and you find them. If they are not back soon, I will take matters into my own hands, and perhaps we will give you a trial as a common character for a while. One owl can easily replace another, eh?” Melanthius directed an evil smile at his chief councilor.

  “As you say, Sire,” answered Falak stiffly. His great owl eyes flashed dangerously for a moment.

  “Good,” stated the king as he pushed back his chair and stood to leave. “Soon,” he repeated. “I want them back soon.” He strode across the vast room and disappeared.

  Falak stayed unmoving for many moments until a faint flapping sound heralded the appearance of Egbert, circling down into the room from one of the high windows, open to the night. “And so?” he immediately asked, alighting on the chair the king had just vacated.

  “And so,” answered Falak, “the king has just asked me if I think he is a fool. My answer is yes.”

  Egbert smiled slowly, although he glanced sideways as if fearing they would be overheard. “In what way, Councilor? For I fear there are so many ways he can be a fool.”

  “He demands that his children be returned to the palace soon. I think he means a matter of days.”

  “But that can be done easily,” protested Egbert.

  “It will not be done!” Falak’s voice silenced the other owl. “If our plan is to succeed, they must continue. Are you such a dolt that you don’t see that? If they are returned safely, to fulfill the Plot, and within the Borders, our plans would be doomed. It cannot be,” he shook his head back and forth resolutely. “Evanthe, Kyran and the new one, Posy, must stay outside of the Borders—they must fulfill the path I have laid out for them. I will tell Melanthius it is the fate of the Plot—I will tell him ... whatever I must to ensure things continue as they are. Sometimes”—he gave the other owl a harried look—“I wonder if I have taught the king too well. He begins to believe he is the one who truly upholds the Plot, that he has the strength to make changes. I think he may even begin to believe he is the Author of this story.”

  “Only you are strong enough for that,” put in Egbert faithfully, ruffling his wings excitedly.

  “Yes, only I,” Falak’s great eyes became pools of darkness. “The king thinks he can threaten me if I do not do this for him. Threaten me.” Falak’s voice hissed in disgust and outrage. “Well, we shall see who comes out triumphant in the end.”

  * * *

  The morning sunlight trickled down through the roof of leaves overhead and speckled the ground. Posy rolled over to look at Kyran where he lay on the other side of the burnt-out fire. His eyes were closed and he slept still, his blanket askew on top of him, his mouth slightly open and a lock of his silky hair strewn across his face. Posy smiled. What must it have been like for him, to live with the constant knowledge that no one would protect him if he didn’t protect himself? She felt a sudden tenderness toward him, the urge to defend him against future pain.

  “What a face to see upon waking,” Kyran’s voice came from below her. “It looks as if you are trying to solve all the problems of the world. Is it not a little early in the day for such serious thoughts?”

  “And you must dream of teasing things to say, since when you wake they’re the first things out of your mouth,” Posy returned with a grin.

  Kyran chuckled as he rose to bank the fire. He reached into one of the saddlebags and handed Posy a small loaf of bread and an apple. “We will eat as we ride,” he said, hoisting the saddle over Belenus’ back. So the day began.

  * * *

  They rode until the sun was far above them, stopping only once to stretch their legs, eat a scanty lunch, and fill their flasks in a cold creek as they passed. Posy felt drowsy as the afternoon sun shone down on their backs, and her head drooped against Kyran’s back. She didn’t know if she slept long—it seemed like only moments later that she felt his body tense as he reined in Belenus. His hand slowly reached for his sword, though he didn’t unsheathe it.

  Posy opened her mouth to speak. Though Kyran’s back was to her, he immediately let out a low “Sshh” to quiet her unspoken question. His dark eyes swept the shadows that the trees cast beyond them, and he silently dismounted, motioning for Posy to stay where she was.

  He walked, barely making a noise on the mossy forest floor, to a large tree some distance from them. Its roots dipped and rose from the ground, large and gnarled, like so many trees in the Wild Land forest. He thrust his arm beyond them, where an embankment dipped out of sight. A shout rang out as Kyran dragged a man from his hiding place. Posy saw right away the man wasn’t armed. Indeed, he was barely clothed. His weathered face was streaked with dirt, drawn with weariness and fear. But Kyran had him by the throat. He was taking no chances.

  “Please!” Posy heard her own voice shout as she nudged Belenus forward toward them. “Don’t hurt him, Kyran! He looks harmless.” She felt an unspeakable pity for the man standing before them. He would be about her own father’s age, she guessed.

  “Posy, I had no intention of hurting him. Only of questioning him as to what he does here. No characters live within the Wild Land, so I understood.” He gave the man a small shake in the way of encouraging him to speak.

  “You are right,” the man said in a strangled voice. “I am a character. Perhaps I have no business here in the Wild Land, but I wouldn’t leave my family to the consequences of the Plot, no matter what we may find here beyond the Borders.”

  “The consequences of the Plot?” Kyran loosened his hold on the man a bit.

  “The attacks,” the man continued, a wild look in his bloodshot eyes. “There have been battles along the Borders, and the king has declared war on the Wild Land at last. There is no place for us there now. Everyone knows if the Plot begins to change, the destruction of our story is not far behind.”

  “Yes,” Kyran gave the man a strange look, “everyone knows that, don’t they? So,” he turned to Posy with a significant glance, “the king has declared war.”

  She only nodded. They had known it would come to this.

  “And your family, man? Where are they?”

  The man’s face became blank, but not before Kyran saw his eyes flicker sideways, tow
ard the place beyond the tree roots from where he had just been pulled.

  “Ah,” Kyran said, releasing him. “Well, tell them they may come out. I won’t hurt you or anyone who is an enemy of the Plot.”

  The man massaged his neck, giving Kyran an incredulous look. “They will not come out,” he stated loudly, “I have no way of knowing if I can trust you.”

  “I suppose refraining from killing you wasn’t proof enough?” Kyran smiled. “Well, have it your way. I can understand your desire to protect them well enough. Are there many others like you roaming the forest, then?”

  The man shook his head. “There may be a few, I suppose, who made it away when we did some days ago. But the Borders are so closely guarded now, there is no telling who will make it through now, though I fear many may soon wish to. Things are different ... oh, much different from the days of long ago. Yet much is still the same.”

  “What do you mean?” Kyran asked, drawing his eyebrows together.

  “The king sent soldiers back then too, you know,” the man said, sighing. “Long ago. That is when the Plot first began to change. There were battles, though war was never actually declared. Power changed hands, as a result of these battles, and the Council of Centaurs was driven from the Kingdom and into the Wild Land, to the deepest part of the forest.”

  “The Council of Centaurs,” Kyran and Posy said together. Posy’s voice held surprise, but Kyran’s eyes had a strange look.

  “Yes,” the man nodded, “Most will not remember them, because that is what living in the Kingdom does to you. There is a magic there that makes you forget the change—or nearly forget it. We only began to remember after we crossed the Borders. The magic was lifted from us, and we remembered how things used to be ... who we had been before everything went wrong. Has this not happened to you as well, now you are away from the Plot?”