by Jeff Wheeler
Her father’s sudden alteration in personality had unsettled everyone. They had trudged in the darkness, stumbling against twisting roots and uneven ground. There were no stars to guide them and for all Phae knew, they had walked in indeterminable circles all night long. The humbling of Kiranrao had altered the mood even more. The Romani was like a shade, aloof and silent, sulking beneath his dark cloak and cowl, his eyes burning with hatred. There was a palpable dread in the air, a silent vow of revenge.
Phae stumbled again on a wretched root and Shion caught her, keeping her from crashing into the gorse. The mist gave the woods a ghostly menace and brought out strange smells, dead leaves and bracken mixed with the ever-present stench of decay. She wrinkled her nose, reviling the scent. Deeper than the cold—even deeper than the fear—a slowly twisting pain had begun to grow inside her bowels. It was as if she had some rough stone deep inside her that was trying to pass its way out.
Sister.
Phae shuddered as the thought brushed against her mind. The woods had been speaking to her since they had entered the Scourgelands, but always it was a distant shushing sound, whispers too low to be heard.
She ground her teeth and ignored the voice.
Sister—come to me.
Phae swallowed, hugging her cloak more tightly around her shoulders. Mud and dirt were caked into the seams and cracks of her skin. She glanced at Shion, seeing nothing but iron determination. He seemed to sense her look and turned his gaze questioningly at her.
She shook her head.
Sister—you must join us soon. I sense the change coming over you. If you do not bond with a tree, the magic will pass outside of you and you will lose all your gifts.
At that moment, it didn’t sound like a bad idea.
Choose me.
Another thought interrupted the first. With the thought came a deep compulsion to look at a specific oak tree, shrouded in the mist.
“Be careful,” Phae warned in a loud voice. “The Dryads prey on our minds right now. Look at the ground. There are many around us.”
“Can we pass through them?” Tyrus asked, his voice stern and impatient. “How many?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “I sense others ahead of us. They are . . . thicker in this part.”
“Are we reaching the center?” Annon asked.
“Too soon,” Tyrus rebuffed. “Don’t look at the trees, any of you. Stay close to each other. Come in; tighten ranks. Now!”
The impatience of his voice only increased Phae’s dread. What if something had happened to her father? Or what if this was his true self coming out at last, now that they were deep into the dreadful woods? What if everything he had done or said before was an act—a way to lull them into willingly joining his mad quest? A part of her heart went black at the thought and she shook her head angrily, hating the feelings that surged inside of her.
Join us, Sister.
You are the first Dryad-born to enter these woods. Where is your mother?
I will be your mother. Set me free!
Phae clenched her fists and tried to force the thoughts away from her mind. They continued to pass the enormous trees, ducking low to avoid drooping branches. A cold prickle went down her neck, as if an invisible hand had reached out to touch her.
“What is it?” Shion asked her, grabbing her around the shoulder and pulling her close to him. “You are flinching at shadows.”
“I hear voices.”
“I hear none.”
“Perhaps they are only luring me then. When we first entered the woods, I heard them as whispers. Now I can hear their words. They’re pleading for me to join them, to release them from the curse of this place.” She kept stride with him, focusing her eyes on the ground and not the woods. There were Dryads all around them now. She did not understand how so many could be clustered together so closely. She had believed that each tree was unique and stood alone, protecting one of the portals to Mirrowen. How could so many have grouped together?
Speak to us, Sister!
You are Dryad-born.
You must swear the oaths. You must before it is too late.
“I hear the voices as well,” Annon said in a strangled whisper. “They are truly all around us. Tyrus, it is madness going this way.”
“Press on,” Tyrus replied. “Keep their thoughts at bay.”
“How?”
“Yank off the talisman, you fool.” He muttered something else under his breath.
Silver light expanded the area’s details as the dawn grew more pronounced against the skeletal boughs. Phae wanted to look up and feast her eyes on the light, but she dared not.
Look at us.
Be one of us.
Only you can free me, Sister. Please . . . I have waited so long.
You brought men. Thank you, Sister.
We will each claim one.
Phae tried to cover her ears, but that did not help in the least. She felt Shion squeezing her shoulder, digging his fingers into her skin.
“Can you not hear them?” she gasped in desperation.
“No—not a word.”
He will betray you, Sister. We know him.
You cannot trust him.
He betrayed us all.
“Talk to me, Shion,” Phae said, feeling desperate. The urge to look at the trees was maddening. “Anything. I can’t stop the voices in my mind.”
“Baylen!”
The shout came from Paedrin.
Phae turned and saw the Cruithne had stopped. He was gazing off toward the trees, his expression confused. They had nearly walked off without him.
“Baylen!” Paedrin shouted again.
The Cruithne did not seem to hear him. He took a step away from them, a hesitant one.
Paedrin swept into the air and landed near him, grabbing at his tunic sleeve. “Can you hear me? Baylen!”
The Cruithne turned and looked at Paedrin, his expression full of distrust and confusion. He shook his arm free, his face deepening into a scowl.
“What is your name?” Paedrin asked.
The Cruithne stared hard at the Bhikhu. “I don’t remember.”
“You are Baylen of Kenatos. You are my friend. Now follow me away from this place. Come!”
Baylen turned back and looked at one of the trees, a hulking shape with branches loaded with mistletoe. Phae averted her eyes, feeling the urge to stare at it gnaw inside her. The cramping became worse and she bent over, gasping.
You can hear us, Sister.
We’ve already taken his mind.
He is useless to you now.
Leave him to us.
To me.
Phae panted with pain. “They’ve taken Baylen’s memories.”
“Leave him then,” Tyrus barked. “Come! We must get past this barrier. Further.”
“I have an idea,” Shion said. “Hold a moment, Tyrus.” He helped Phae sit, which eased some of the stabbing pain inside her. She rocked back and forth, starting to moan. Looking up, she saw Shion withdraw the little golden locket. He opened it and laid it in his palm and the grove filled with the haunting music. She had forgotten about the locket. The memory of the first time she had heard the tragic song came rushing back. Almost instantly, she was transported back to the shell of the stone house that they had rested in. It was as if she could smell the dust and dirt, remember the taste of the pears she had plucked from the abandoned orchard.
The melody filled the air, swirling around them with its plaintive, beckoning sounds. It was the song of lost love, the death of a friend, the anthem of an old widow asleep in her grave.
The song banished the voices of the Dryads.
Phae could sense them withdraw, as if the melody were anathema to them. The compelling thoughts no longer troubled her mind, though the pain had not lessened much. Shion co
uld see the effect it was having and quickly slung the locket around his neck.
“Now!” Tyrus ordered. “Before the music ends. We must go! Quickly!”
The giant Cruithne shook his head, his expression clearing. “What happened to me?”
“Do you remember who you are? What is your name?”
“I’m Baylen. I can’t remember how I got here though.”
“Later, my friend,” the Bhikhu said with a grin. “You are fortunate not all of your memories were stolen. Come on!”
Shion helped Phae rise and pulled her with him as they started after Tyrus, trying to get through the maze of trees. Fog thickened somewhat as they walked, dulling the sounds of the wood. The smell of rotting flesh grew stronger, the scent making her gag.
“What is that carrion smell?” Hettie said. “Can anyone tell?”
“It smells like your cooking,” Paedrin replied, trying halfheartedly to lighten the mood.
“It’s over there,” Hettie said. “Some kind of bird killed. Two more over there. Already dead.”
“What kind of birds?” Paedrin asked her, approaching one.
“Don’t look!” Khiara suddenly shrieked. “Annon! Calcatrix!”
Phae heard the flapping of wings in the trees above them, like huge crows bobbing from branch to branch.
The music of the necklace died away.
“One look in their eyes turns you to stone,” Annon said. “They’re roosting in the trees all around us.”
Tyrus stood stock-still for a moment. Then his arm jutted out and blue fire exploded from his fingers as a hailstorm of Calcatrix swept down on them.
Annon remembered facing the Calcatrix—or Cockatrice, as the Druidecht lore called them—in the Arch-Rike’s temple Basilides. How fitting that he guarded his inner sanctum with the same monsters that guarded his Scourgelands. He remembered their poisoned claws and how the light emboldened their attacks. It was daylight now and they would all be easily seen with no orbs to crush to bring on darkness as Khiara had done.
The gout of flame from Tyrus was broad and expansive, an impressive shield of fire that was more than anything Annon had ever summoned before. The first wave of Cockatrice was incinerated in the flames, but the attack came from all around them, dropping down with flapping wings and hissing beaks. Annon shut his eyes. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas!
He felt one land on his back and he reached up and blasted it away with the fireblood. Memories of the fight in Basilides hummed inside of him, bringing a panic of dreadful emotions. There was no way to call off the attack, no way to distract the birdlike monsters or keep from being found. Darkness was the only ally and that protection had ended with the new dawn. Surely Tyrus would call on the power of the Tay al-Ard, but would it work so soon? Had enough time passed?
“Hasten!” Tyrus called, answering his premonition.
Keeping his eyes shut, Annon surged forward, reaching Tyrus quickly but butted into by Baylen, who knocked him over. Clawing back to his feet, Annon rushed forward and they all encircled the Paracelsus, much more swiftly this time. Dread filled Annon when he felt the grip of the Tay al-Ard around his middle squeezing him.
But they did not move. The magic failed.
“It’s too soon still! Don’t look at them!” Tyrus bellowed. “We must fight our way through this. Paedrin! You are our best hope. You have the Sword and can see without your eyes. This is your purpose. Direct us!”
“I will,” Paedrin answered, stepping free from the others and vaulting into the sky, the Sword of Winds slicing a Cockatrice in half as he lifted. Annon felt one pecking at his shoulder, tearing away strips from his cloak as it tried to shred his flesh. He grabbed the flapping wings and sent flames into its body. Hettie was also using the fireblood, as he could sense her drawing deep into her powers.
“There are hundreds!” Paedrin shouted from above them. “Maybe more! Another wave is coming this direction. I’ll meet them in the middle and try to scatter them. By the look, it’s a swarm!”
Annon felt them all around him, flapping and hissing and ripping at him. He invoked the power of the torc and the Cockatrice fled from him. He needed to find Phae so that he could help be a shield for her. The frenzy of the battle grew hot and fierce. Cockatrice were everywhere. Dead ones littered the ground. There was nowhere safe to turn his eyes, so he kept them clenched shut.
He could hear the slashing of blades, the spray of blood. This was butchers’ work.
“Phae!” Annon shouted.
“Over here!”
He listened to the sound and rushed closer to her, trying to endure the pain flaring at his neck as the magic of the torc seared his skin. His presence near her drove off the attacking Cockatrice and they flapped away, only to attack someone else. He could hear their wings beating over his head and sensed their will pressing against his to look up at them, to gaze into their terrible eyes and turn to stone. Annon raised his hands and sent up a whirlwind of flames.
“Paedrin, how many left?” Tyrus yelled.
Annon could hear the Bhikhu’s weapon as it sliced through another one. His voice was panting with exertion. “So many still! So many!”
There was another sound. A huffing, coughing growl. A deep snort, gruff and thick and menacing. Annon heard the snapping of branches and felt something looming from the woods. Its breath he could smell from quite a distance, the cloying breath of an animal that had been devouring the Cockatrice.
The burn in Annon’s neck was growing unbearable.
“Tyrus,” Annon warned, turning to face the new threat.
He heard Shion’s intake of shocked breath. “No!”
A new enemy had joined them. The beast let out a roar that turned Annon’s legs to water. He opened his eyes, seeing the hunchbacked beast, its fur the color of storm clouds. Its eyes were gone, gouged out by some horrible blade. The scars on its face were livid as it revealed long, pointed teeth. It wasn’t quite a bear, but had some resemblance to one. It was bigger than any creature Annon had ever seen. It rose on hind legs, its massive paws and claws swaying mesmerizingly.
The fear that shot down Annon’s legs made him stand rigid.
The mist. The fog. Horror rooted into his bones.
It was a Fear Liath.
“There are rumors of food shortages throughout the city. The people obviously are panicking and hoarding what they can. Of course, the larders will be full, for I know the Arch-Rike has stores aplenty. I believe the Preachán are the source of this saying: When the stomach is full, it is easy to talk of fasting.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XX
Phae could hear the shiver in Shion’s breathing. She dared not look up for fear of the Cockatrice, but the presence of this new enemy had changed the feeling in the air. The mist was colder somehow, knife-sharp, and caused her to tremble.
“What is it?” she whispered, afraid to grab his arm, for he had been slashing ruthlessly at the attacking creatures coming down from the treetops. One of the creatures had scored her arm and she felt her skin itching from the poison.
There was a deep huffing snort followed by a snickering sound at the back of its throat.
“A Fear Liath,” Kiranrao announced, his voice suddenly thick. “Our blades will not cut through its hide. Fire will not stay it. Its only weakness is sunlight—the hide is vulnerable then.”
“Bigger than a bear,” Baylen said gruffly.
“Watch out!” Hettie screamed.
Phae heard the heavy paws crunch into the mat of desiccated leaves as it charged directly at her. She lifted her gaze, knowing instinctively that she’d die if she did not. In that moment, everything slowed, and it felt as if her arms and legs were plunged into mud. She saw the look of wild terror in Shion’s eyes, saw the twisting snarl on his mouth as he seemed to relive a memory that, though shrouded, smashed again
st his feelings. She understood immediately what had given him his scars so long ago.
In that same terrible glance, she saw the Fear Liath charging them, its maw thick with fangs. It came like a runaway wagon, hind legs enormous and powerful, thick and shielded with soot-gray fur. Its claws were like silver blades. It was beyond huge, radiating a primal energy and horrible stench that blacked out every part of her brain except the desire to flee.
Shion shoved Phae aside and was struck by the full force of the Fear Liath’s charge. She glanced off a tree, losing her footing and going down. She watched helplessly as the monster batted Shion away like feather fluff. He sailed across the grove before crashing into a thickset oak tree. The Fear Liath swiped its claws at Shion, gouging the bark of the oak with savage ferocity as the besieged man twisted away. Phae scrabbled to get to the other side of a different tree and heard its snout snuffling after her, drawn to her scent.
The Fear Liath roared, a sound so close and penetrating that she clamped her own ears with her hands, and still it pierced her. She tried to run but collided with the body of her father. She heard the crunch of the Liath’s bulk in the twigs not far behind.
Tyrus’s eyes were frantic. Grabbing her wrist, he pressed something into her hand, an uneven stone. His voice was harsh against her ear, short and curt. “If all fails, squeeze it. Squeeze it hard! Now flee! Get up a tree!”
He turned her toward the woods and shoved her to get her going. Phae stumbled and almost fell, but she managed to catch herself. Images flooded her mind of when she had fled from Shion in the mountains of Stonehollow. She had been terrified then. At this moment, she understood truly how deep fear went. The Fear Liath was immune to their attacks. It was hunting her. It would kill her.
“Shion!” she screamed in desperation, bolting into the mist-shrouded woods, leaving the others behind. A bear had attacked them in that abandoned house. His knife had killed it. This time, there was no weapon that could stop this creature.
A Cockatrice flapped straight toward her face, its claws slashing at her cheek. She ducked, feeling the claws shred through her hair, and ran deeper into the woods.
