by Jenny Ealey
Tarkyn nodded shortly.
“So, well done on welcoming her back so warmly from the arms of imprisonment. You showed great understanding of her fear, considering she has been at the mercy of sorcerers like you for the past several weeks.”
Tarkyn scowled, “Oh, you totally mistake the case. It is for that very reason that she didn’t receive worse treatment from me.”
Autumn Leaves frowned at him in some concern. “Are you sure you’ve put all that rage back where it belongs? You seem to be pretty feisty at the moment.”
Tarkyn ran his hand through his hair, “I don’t know. Maybe not. You have no idea what I’ve just endured. It was horrifying and terrifying and I nearly lost everything. Then to find that the person I laid everything on the line to save, has decided I’m some sort of monster is pretty hard to take. She was there. She knew why I had to do it.”
“So what about Golden Toad and his daughter? Are you going to help them?” asked Autumn Leaves.
Tarkyn stared at him in disbelief. “You must be mad. I’m not going near any of them. They’ve had enough of me and I’ve had enough of them. Fine. If they’re scared of me, be scared. They can all go and huddle in a corner and whisper monster stories about me. Blast them all! I did my best by them and got kicked in the teeth.”
“You are still angry, aren’t you?” said Autumn Leaves, stating the obvious.
“Yes. I bloody am.”
“Would it interest you to know that Golden Toad is sitting right behind you waiting to thank you for what you did for Rushwind?” asked Autumn Leaves innocently.
Tarkyn stared at him as he digested this, then rolled his eyes. “Oh stars! Now I’ve done it.” He looked sideways at Rainstorm who was grinning hugely, “Quick. What bad things did I just say about Golden Toad?” he asked in a quiet undertone.
Rainstorm chortled, “Nothing really. You had more to say about Rushwind.”
“All right then. Bring him on,” said Tarkyn. When nothing happened, Tarkyn called quietly, “Golden Toad? Are you there somewhere? Come round to the front where I can see you. I’m not strong enough to get up yet.”
Golden Toad walked haltingly around from the back of the log and stood in front of Tarkyn, looking down uncertainly. Tarkyn waved a hand and sighed. “Golden Toad, I’m sorry if I said anything unkind. Please sit down and talk to me. I promise I won’t bite.”
“You know, sir, for a while there, it looked like you were killing my wife,” said Golden Toad, as he sat down a circumspect distance away.
Tarkyn looked at him, “We’ve both been through the mill then, haven’t we? For a while there, your wife actuallywas killing me.” He paused, “And in order to save her, I had to come close to killing her too.”
“Well, I gather from listening to you and others that you came very close to dying to save my wife and I would like to thank you.” Golden Toad began to relax. “I’m sorry Rushwind has behaved so badly to you. I hope she’ll get over it. She’s been through a lot, you know. We all have. I didn’t think anyone would ever notice we were missing. No communication, you see.” He gave a sad little smile, “Well, at least Rushwind can mindtalk again. She’ll be able to keep us up to date with other woodfolk even if we can’t do it ourselves.”
“I’m sorry, Golden Toad. I didn’t mean what I said. I was angry. I will help you and Ibis Wings, if you want me to. I know what to do next time to keep us safe.” Tarkyn smiled tiredly, “But I’m afraid I can’t do it until tomorrow. I am too drained.” He looked into the fire for a while then said, “You realise I will probably have to unleash some of that rage that upset Rushwind so much?”
Golden Toad nodded. “I heard what you said. If it’s under your control, it should be all right.”
Tarkyn turned his head to look at him, “You’d better go first so you can decide whether your daughter should be exposed to it.”
“I think she’ll be fine,” chuckled Golden Toad. “She has a fiendish temper herself. You might teach her a thing or two about controlling it.”
Tarkyn looked at Rainstorm. “I was going to ask if you could help me back to the oak tree. And could you organise it so I can sleep next to the oak tree tonight? Someone will have to keep guard. Don’t make it you for the whole night. See if you can get Waterstone to help you organise a roster. I’m feeling pretty bad and I need the oak. Can you do that for me?”
Rainstorm smiled, “Sure, prince. Hang on. I’ll get Ancient Oak to help me.”
As they supported Tarkyn back up the slope to the old oak, Rainstorm reflected that if that was as close as Tarkyn ever came to ordering him around, the oath would be no problem at all.
Chapter 4
In the darkness of his shelter, Waterstone lay asleep, his daughter Sparrow a short distance away from him. Outside, the wind was picking up. Within minutes, the trees were thrashing under an ever-increasing gale. Suddenly, an intense wave of fear slammed into Waterstone’s mind, followed almost instantaneously by a peremptory summons. Sparrow woke crying.
Waterstone had no time to comfort her. “Stay here,” he said urgently, as he quickly pulled on his boots. “Whatever you do, don’t leave the shelter until I call you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Sparrow nodded bravely. “Go on. I’ll be all right. Tarkyn’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
Waterstone answered over his shoulder as he left, “Something is wrong, badly wrong. Stay here until you hear from me.”
Once outside, the woodman was buffeted by the strong winds that were now shrieking through the trees. He could hear branches breaking and the air was filled with flying leaves and twigs. Eerily, he could see the stars shining peacefully above him in a cloudless sky.
“Oh no.” Waterstone said to himself in horror. “It’s not a storm. Someone is betraying the oath. The forest is being destroyed.”
He ran to the oak where they had left Tarkyn for the night. As he arrived, woodfolk converged on the scene from all directions. Tarkyn was still there lying with his palm against the oak. Rushwind was leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder. Suddenly his mind was filled with an image of Rushwind being struck down with a slingshot. Waterstone didn’t hesitate. He grew out his slingshot in one fluid movement and fired. Rushwind dropped like a stone. As her contact with Tarkyn broke, the wind died down. Another image appeared of Rushwind with a barrier around her. Where she lay, the grass and moss beneath curled up and died as they watched.
“Don’t touch her,” yelled Waterstone.
He looked up into the oak and realised that its branches had dried and withered. His gaze travelled out to its extremities. Where the oak touched other trees, they too were shrivelling.
As the woodfolk ran towards Tarkyn, they received another image, telling them not to touch him either. As they watched, he took his hand away from the tree trunk. Other than that, he was lying motionless, his face pale but sweat beading on his forehead. They stood around him and looked at one another in bewilderment and alarm. “How can we help if we can’t touch him?” and fast upon that thought, “How can we help even if we can touch him?”
Waterstone sent an urgent message to Sparrow, “Get Stormaway. Quickly!” He leant over Tarkyn, “We’re here. What’s happening? What can we do?”
Beneath him, Tarkyn opened his eyes. The whites of his eyes burned bright red and his irises glowed fiery orange. Waterstone had to stop himself from reeling back in horror.
“The infection,” croaked Tarkyn He took a shuddering breath and managed to get out, “I… need… rage,” before his eyes snapped shut and his whole body contorted.
Stormaway appeared at a flat run. “What’s happening?” he asked shortly.
“I think Rushwind has re-infected Tarkyn. It has spread from him to the trees and I think it will spread through the forest unless we can find a way to stop it.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He said, ‘I need rage.’”
Stormaway nodded decisively. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll send hi
m anger. Come on, you lot. I can’t do it. I’ll instruct you though.”
“We can’t send feelings, only words and images,”
He looked around at the crowd of anxious woodfolk. “You can’t send feelings to each other but Tarkyn can pick them up. Remember? He picked up Autumn Leaves’ fear. So focus on images that will ignite your anger. Stand firmly. Close your eyes. Now think of the outrage of having the forest damaged. Think of those greedy grey parasites killing that old oak and then destroying each tree, one after the other. Think how that infestation nearly destroyed the forest in one fell swoop by making Rushwind hurt Tarkyn. Feed your anger into your images and then throw it all at him. Send him a view of you all working with him against these parasites.”
On the ground below them, Tarkyn’s body was awash with grey parasites. With a sickening lurch, the sorcerer realised they were changing direction and were slowly but surely converging on his brain. Tarkyn threw up a small magical barrier inside himself at the base of his skull but didn’t know whether, or for how long, it would hold. The thought of having his mind taken over filled him with fear, which almost instantly converted to outrage. He steadied his inner core then slammed outwards along his own blood vessels in rage at the grey parasites. His anger-driven life force picked them off one by one. But there were so many of them. He could feel his power holding its own, but the mental energy it was taking to maintain the anger was beginning to tell. Suddenly an incoming wave of horror-filled, angry images assailed him, igniting a deep fury within him. Tarkyn’s face contorted as the visions of the forest’s demise reached him. He dug deep and, reacting to the woodfolk’s images of destruction with every ounce of his strength, thrust a blast of power through himself that fried every parasite in its path. As his blood literally boiled under the attack, he screamed in pain, writhing on the ground before the eyes of the horrified woodfolk.
He had no strength left to heal the burning. He lay curled up in agony. He opened glazed eyes and struggled to form the words against the pain of his muscles, “Waterstone. Help me. I need a tree. A healthy one.” Then he closed his eyes and surrendered to the pain.
The woodfolk looked at each other uncertainly.
“I thought we couldn’t touch him,” said Falling Bough.
“He wouldn’t ask us to do it if it wasn’t safe. Something must have changed,” replied Waterstone firmly. “Let’s go.”
But when they touched him, the contact with him burned their hands. The woodfolk stripped off shirts and, wrapping them around their hands for protection, raised his contorting body.
Tarkyn didn’t feel them lift him and carry him to a tree, well away from the spreading infection. He didn’t feel his palm being placed against the trunk of a healthy tree and he was unaware of the worried faces above him. All he could feel was the pain of the burning in every part of his body. After a while, he began to shudder uncontrollably as his body went into shock.
“Quickly,” shouted Stormaway. “Get water. We have to cool him down.”
“But he’s already shivering.” objected North Wind.
“That’s shock. Not cold. You feel him. He’s burning up.” Stormaway looked down on the suffering young sorcerer who lay juddering against the trunk of another oak. He frowned. “He’s beginning to go into spasm. Some of you get water. The rest of you, gather around him. We’ll have to feed him some of our life force. He can’t focus enough to draw on the tree’s strength quickly enough. Someone will have to put their hand on his shoulder. It will hurt, I’m afraid.”
“I will do it,” said Summer Rain in a voice that brooked no argument, “It is my fault he is in this predicament. I told him it was safe.”
She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder, ignoring the slight hiss as it touched his skin. Her mouth tightened but other than that, she gave no indication of the pain she was enduring to keep her hand in place. The other woodfolk placed their hands on her shoulder and, under instruction from Stormaway, closed their eyes and reached down into their very essence to bring forth the stream of their life force. They channelled their combined strength through Summer Rain into their suffering forest guardian. A green vortex of power swirled lazily in the air above Tarkyn, then slowly drifted down into him.
Tarkyn just endured and waited. There was nothing he could do. He felt his body rebelling against the burning. It felt as though he was trying to run away inside himself. He started to go out of rhythm with himself, different parts of himself fighting against others. His mind drifted down into helpless misery with no strength left to draw on. Then through the haze of pain, Tarkyn first felt a strong, steady trickle of strength winding its way through him from his hand. He became vaguely aware that his whole body was jerking but it was beyond his ability to control it. Then a large, slow wave of gentle life force surged through him from his shoulder. He imagined a cool, clear stream and let it wash through his scorched blood vessels. He could vaguely feel coldness on the outside of him. Gradually, his body stopped fighting itself as the burning was soothed and his temperature dropped. Suddenly, he was freezing cold. He shivered uncontrollably, his teeth chattering in his head.
“Oh no,” said Stormaway. “His temperature is dropping too fast. Get those wet clothes off him. Someone, get a rug. We have to keep him warm until he adjusts to the lower temperature.”
Rainstorm touched Tarkyn’s shaking arm. “He still feels hot.”
Stormaway nodded, “He is, but he is a lot colder than he was and his temperature needs to go down more slowly now that we’ve stopped the burning. Give the wet clothes to Summer Rain. She can wrap her hand in them. That will help to soothe it.”
This time, Tarkyn was aware of the blanket being wrapped around him. His mind and body had regained their connection with the outside world. He opened his eyes. They smarted and were bloodshot but were no longer the ghastly red that the woodfolk had seen previously.
“Thanks everyone,” he said between chattering teeth clutching the blanket around him.
Stormaway frowned down at him. “Lie still. You’re not out of the woods yet.”
Tarkyn managed a shaking smile, “Very funny.”
“Hi prince. Good to see you back in the land of the living. You gave us an almighty scare.” Rainstorm squatted down next to him. “I hate to bother you, but what do you want us to do about Rushwind?”
Tarkyn’s eyes widened in alarm. “Whatever you do, don’t touch her.” He gave another big shudder. When it had passed, he said, “She has to be quarantined from all life forms; people, plants, animals.” He lay panting for a minute with the effort of talking, before adding, “Keep her knocked out. Maybe dig a trench around her so the infection can’t spread form the plants she’s lying on. Make sure you put any tools you use inside the circle with her. Otherwise they may transmit the infection too.”
Tarkyn forced his hand up out of the blanket. “I have to get strength from the tree,” he said as he replaced his palm against the oak. “I have to fight the infection before it destroys the forest.”
The woodfolk looked at each other.
“You’re not strong enough,” objected Waterstone.
Tarkyn nodded, “I know. I have to become strong enough, as soon as possible.” A shadow of fear passed over his face. “And then I have to go back and do battle with those parasites.” He shivered again. “No chance of a fire, is there? Somewhere close to this tree so I can stay here and get back my strength and keep warm.”
“You are warm, prince.”
“Well, I don’t feel warm. It’s freezing out here.”
“Get him his fire,” instructed Stormaway. He turned to Tarkyn. “Your temperature is all over the place at the moment. Actually it’s not your temperature. It’s your perception of it. Your actual body temperature is gradually coming down, but it’s still too high.” He shrugged, “Still, if you want a fire, you shall have a fire. We don’t want your temperature to drop too fast.”
Tarkyn gave a few shivers before asking, “Is there anything to drink
? I’m unbelievably thirsty. I think half my body fluid must have evaporated in the heat.”
“Yes. You’re probably right.” Even as Stormaway replied, Waterstone held a stone mug full of cold water up to Tarkyn’s mouth and lifted him up so that he could drink.
After a few minutes, Summer Rain came over and sat down next to him, “I’m sorry, Your Highness. I was incorrect in my surmises. I am sorry you had to go through all of this.”
“Not your fault. How were you to know?” Tarkyn frowned, “What’s wrong with your hand?”
Summer Rain gave a little shake of her head but didn’t answer.
“She burnt herself on your shoulder, sending you the life force,” said Rainstorm over his shoulder from where he was setting the fire.
Tarkyn pulled his other hand out from within the blanket. “Give me your hand,” he instructed.
“No, my lord. You are not strong enough.”
“Summer Rain, give me your hand.”
The healer stared mutinously at him for a moment, before reluctantly unwrapping her hand and placing it in his.
Tarkyn’s eyes widened. “My shoulder did that? Wow! I must have been hot! ” He looked up at her. “Thank you Summer Rain. It must have taken great determination to hold your hand there when it was burning. Now close your eyes and I will send you through someesse. Don’t worry. It will make little difference to my recovery. Ready?” When she nodded, Tarkyn closed his eyes and directed a small wave of power into her hand. “Better?” he asked.
Summer Rain breathed a sigh of relief. When she looked down at her hand, the blisters had gone and the skin was already only slightly pinker than the rest of her hand. “Thank you. That is a great relief.”
“Good. The least I could do.” Tarkyn looked around at Stormaway and the woodfolk standing around him. “I suppose it’s the middle of the night and you want to get back to bed but…”
Looks of surprise on the woodfolk’s faces told him that returning to bed hadn’t crossed their minds.
