The Tree of Story

by Thomas Wharton

  “What are you thinking, my lovelies?” Grath whispered, and Finn realized he was talking to the slar. Trying to guess what they would do next.

  Without warning the largest of the three burst into motion. She lunged toward the boulder on Grath’s side, a blur of rippling hide and muscle. The mordog crouched to meet her attack, but at the last instant the slar swerved, darting out of the reach of Grath’s blade. A feint, Finn realized, and he turned just in time to see one of the other two slar where it hadn’t been a moment before, impossibly close and coming at him, leaping, and he was too slow—

  Grath’s blade swept down. There was a shriek and the slar fell limp at Finn’s feet. Grath gave the body a kick and it slithered down the side of the boulder, trailing a streak of bright blood.

  The other two slar stood frozen a few paces away. They appeared to take no notice of the one that had fallen but kept their eyes fixed on their prey.

  “You moved too soon, my beauties,” Grath taunted. “We’re not making it that easy for you.” He nudged Finn. “They’ll likely wait us out now. Night’s approaching. They’ll bide their time until we tire and drop our guard.”

  Finn’s head was swimming, his breathing little more than a strained gasp. He felt his knees buckle and he clutched the mordog’s sleeve.

  “Stay on your feet or we’re dead,” Grath growled, but his words seemed to come from very far away. Finn felt his fingers losing their grip on the hilt of his sword. He could see the slar advancing slowly once more. He thought of Will and Rowen, and Freya, and he wished them well, wherever they were.

  Before his eyes was rough, pitted black stone. He had fallen. He could not see his sword. He heard Grath cry out, and then there was a roaring in his ears and a glare of white light that filled his head.

  There was nothing else for a long time. Nothing but the roaring and the light, and a feeling that his body had become weightless and was drifting like a leaf blown about by the wind.

  Then he was aware that the roaring had fallen to a murmur of air, rising, falling away and rising again. There was still a light in his eyes, but it was dimmer and it wavered. It was above him, a warm yellow light. It was coming from a lantern that was swinging on a hook. He fixed his gaze on the light for a while, and then he became aware that the soft rising and falling of air was his own breathing.

  He stirred. His body was solid again, heavy. Encased in something hard that weighed him down.

  “Can you hear me, Finn?” said a voice. A voice he knew.

  Finn looked away from the lantern swinging on its hook. A figure swam up into his vision.

  It was Corr.

  “Yes, you’re still alive, brother.”

  Finn lifted his head. He was lying on the cot in Corr’s cabin. He was on the flagship. He felt the ship’s timbers shuddering beneath him, and through the aft window he could see sky and drifting clouds. A wave of dizziness swept over him and he clutched at the side of the cot.

  “Where … are we?”

  “Over the fortress just now,” Corr said. “We’re landing to take on provisions before we make the rest of the journey. I left a few men from the Bourne here, too. Some might be willing to join us.”

  “Journey … where?”

  “Home,” Corr said. “Fable.”

  Finn stared at his brother. “To Fable.” He struggled to sit up and fell back. Whatever had been placed on his body was still weighing him down. “Why?”

  Corr laughed. “Why? You begged me to do this and I’m doing it. Now you want me to change my mind?”

  “No. But Adamant, and the gaal—”

  “It’s all been left in good hands,” Corr said lightly, but there was bitterness and even rage in his voice. “Turns out Kern has been working hard to persuade the Stormriders he’s the one who’ll bring them all the fever iron they want. They’ve got a new Sky Lord to lead them now.”

  “Your men rebelled?”

  “I’d decided to split up the forces, half to stay in Adamant and the other half to follow the fetch host. That’s when Kern played his hand. He already had most of the mordog on his side. It looked like there’d be bloodshed, but they let me and the few men still loyal to me leave in the flagship, since it was the most damaged. He knew about the gaal hidden in the hold, too. He took most of it.”

  “Grath,” Finn said, suddenly remembering the valley of fire and the slar.

  “He’s alive, and with us.”

  Finn looked down at his body. It was clad from neck to feet in black armour.

  “The fetch armour,” Corr said. “Heavy, isn’t it? You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

  “I won’t, Corr. I’m taking it off.”

  “You can try, I suppose. But I had the plates riveted together to prevent that. The armour is the only thing keeping you alive, brother. And I want you alive. After all, you’ve got a task to finish. You swore to bring Corr Madoc to justice, and I’m going to make sure you keep your oath.”

  21

  WHEN MORRIGAN HAD GONE, Will and Rowen turned back to the cliff wall.

  “I still don’t see a way down,” Will said.

  “I do,” Rowen said, and before he could move to hold her back, she stepped off the edge.

  Will cried her name in fear, but Rowen didn’t fall. He looked down to see that bits and pieces of the trash that composed the wall—chunks of bricks, scraps of wood and metal, and other unidentifiable odds and ends—were slowly sliding out of the grey mass of the cliff, as if drawn by some force he couldn’t see. They were coming out of the wall at what seemed to be regular intervals all down the cliff face in a slanting line. Steps, Will realized. Rowen was already standing on the uppermost of them, a slab of grey cinderblock, her head bowed as if she was deep in thought.

  Rowen looked up at Will. Beads of sweat had broken out on her brow.

  “His story is so strong,” she murmured.

  “You did this,” he said, and realized that the effort had nearly exhausted her. “Like the raincabinet. You made these steps.”

  “They’ll hold us for now, I hope,” she said, descending to the next step. “But we have to hurry. Follow me.”

  Will steeled himself and set a foot on the first step. It was uneven and narrow but not slippery, and it held firm underneath him. He kept as close to the wall as he could. If he slipped, it would be a long fall and he doubted even Rowen’s powers could save him then.

  The stairs descended at a steep angle, and in a much shorter time than he expected they had reached the bottom. Here Rowen put a hand to the wall and closed her eyes. Will glanced up the way they had come and saw the steps were already vanishing, their various bits and pieces withdrawing again into the wall.

  “There,” Rowen said. “Now it’ll be harder for anyone to follow us.”

  Will glanced around and shivered. It was even colder here than on the height above. The air was so utterly dry and lifeless that he instinctively pulled out one of the water bottles. He had a small sip and handed the bottle to Rowen. She paid no attention, her gaze fixed on the bleached expanse before them, as if she was waiting for something. She took a few steps forward and paused with a hand in the air as if feeling for something she couldn’t see. Then she turned to Will.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Something’s out there,” she said. “Something that guards this place. It’s not a harrower. I don’t know what it is, but it’s a threat. I can feel it. Stay close to me.”

  She started off, and Will followed.

  The cliff wall soon dwindled behind them and vanished in the haze. The dust rose in sluggish clouds at their footfalls, as if they were the first beings to disturb it for centuries. The earth under their feet was as flat as a tabletop and covered all over with cracks and crevices like dried mud.

  They walked for a long time without speaking to each other, and it felt to Will as if the emptiness itself was a presence, a thing walking along with them. In the silence his own thoughts seemed to him as loud as shouts. He felt a
strange urge to stamp his feet and scream, as if it would prove he was really here, but more than anything he wanted another drink of water. The thought of the two bottles that remained weighed heavier with each step, but he resisted. There was no telling when they might return to a place with drinkable water.

  He saw a movement then and halted, gripping Rowen’s shoulder. Something pale and indistinct was walking near them, going in the same direction they were.

  “Did you see—?” he whispered. His own voice startled him, as if it had been years since he’d heard himself speak.

  Rowen nodded.

  “Fetches,” she whispered back. “Drawn here by him. They won’t harm us.”

  They walked on, and now Will saw more of the pale forms, all trudging slowly or simply drifting like thickened clots of dust across the plain. We’ll be like them if we keep going this way, he thought. Unless we already are.

  He stopped again as Rowen’s hand touched his shoulder.

  “Wait,” she said, her mouth close to his ear. “Do you hear that?”

  He went still and listened. There was a faint sound. A thin whispering, little more than a stirring of air, that appeared to be coming from a great distance.

  “It’s wind,” he said in surprise. “There’s actually a wind here.”

  “It’s what I sensed earlier,” Rowen said. “It’s the threat, Will.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can’t tell yet, but it’s drawing closer.”

  Will looked back at the two lines of their footprints in the dust. “Well, there’s nothing else we can do,” he said, “except keep going.”

  They hurried on, listening for the sound they’d heard. It rose and fell, sometimes vanishing completely into the silence and then returning, and each time they heard it again it was stronger and more shrill. Still there was nothing to be seen anywhere around them but the same cracked, lifeless earth stretching away in all directions.

  Suddenly Rowen halted again.

  “Don’t move,” she whispered urgently. “Don’t run, whatever happens. Hold your breath.”

  Will knew better than to question her. He did as she said, and a moment later the sound rushed up, louder than it had been yet. It whined and shrieked all around them, but still Will could see nothing. Then the sound died down and disappeared again.

  Rowen let out her breath and Will did the same.

  “What was that?” he said. “I couldn’t see—”

  To his surprise she put a hand to his mouth to keep him from speaking, then began to draw lines in the dust with the end of the Loremaster’s staff.

  She wasn’t drawing, he realized. She was writing words.

  Wind is threat. Hunts what moves or speaks.

  He took the staff from her and scraped a reply.

  What can we do?

  Her answer: Keep going. Stop when wind comes. Can’t see us then.

  Go where?

  Fetches go this way. So do we.

  They set off again. He resisted the urge to glance around and kept his gaze fixed ahead of him, waiting to see anything that would tell him they had reached the place Rowen was looking for. But what lay ahead was the same as what lay behind: haze and shadow.

  Then Rowen halted and gripped his arm tightly. He went still and listened, heard the wind returning, its hollow whine growing louder. This time it did not seem to come as close to them, and soon trailed away into silence.

  They waited awhile longer, still holding their breath, then walked on. Nothing about the lifeless earth under their feet or the dull grey sky changed in the least, and after a while Will began to wonder if they were really moving at all or somehow plodding over the same patch of ground again and again.

  And then he became aware of something ahead of them. At first it seemed only a faint darkening in the endless haze, but as they walked on, it began to take on more shape and definition.

  Before them stood a vast pillar of dust, rising from the earth and into the depthless heights of the sky. A pillar of dust that, as they came closer, they saw was silently revolving, like a cyclone that had somehow slowed down until it was almost motionless. At its base the pillar looked as large in circumference as the walls of Fable.

  “This must be the place Morrigan told us about,” Rowen murmured. “This is the Silence.”

  All around them the fetches kept moving forward, until they reached the pillar of dust and vanished into it.

  “Do we go in there, too?” Will said. “Remember what Morrigan said. Nothing ever returns from the Silence. What if that’s where he is?”

  “I don’t know what else to do, Will,” Rowen said. “Grandfather may be in there. I have to find out.”

  They started forward. Will’s throat was parched and all he could think about was the water in his pack. They needed to drink something, he decided, before they entered that wall of dust. He was reaching to touch Rowen’s hand, to get her to stop so they could take a drink, when he caught his foot in one of the cracks in the earth and stumbled forward.

  He hit the ground hard, letting out an involuntarily grunt and raising a cloud of dust. Rowen turned at the sound and hurried to his side, then froze and lifted her head.

  Will heard it, too: the wind was coming again, but this time with a roar more frenzied and insistent. The wind wasn’t searching blindly now. It was coming straight for them.

  Rowen glanced around wildly, but she seemed unable to move. Will scrambled to his feet, gripped her hand in his and whispered one word in her ear.

  “Run.”

  Together they burst into headlong flight. At first Will could hear only the noise of their breathing and pounding feet, then the wind’s shrieking rose above those sounds and grew louder. The dry, lifeless air seemed to pull the very breath out of Will’s lungs, so that in no time he was gasping and panting.

  They ran on. The shrieking filled Will’s ears. They were almost there, almost in the pillar of dust, and something was clutching at his cloak. He heard the cloth tearing.

  They reached the wall of dust and kept going straight into it without slowing. Will felt Rowen’s hand slip from his, but he could no longer see her. The earth seemed to have vanished from underneath him and he was tumbling over and over through the thick, choking dust.

  He ended up on his back with dust in his eyes, nose and mouth and the wind roaring somewhere close by like a wild animal in a rage. He couldn’t see his hands in front of his face. He couldn’t see Rowen. All he knew was that he had to keep perfectly still, even though his every nerve was screaming at him to flee.

  At last the noise lessened and seemed to move away. The wind died to a whisper, then to silence.

  Will wiped at his eyes. He sat up and blinked. The dust around him was falling now, thinning out.

  “Rowen, where are you?” he said softly, not daring to speak any louder. His words seemed to vanish as soon as he spoke them.

  “I’m here, Will.”

  As the dust settled, he saw her, picking herself up, a few feet from him. He hurried over to her and helped her to her feet.

  “I think the wind is gone,” he said.

  “It can’t come in here,” she said, and then her eyes widened. “Will, your cloak.”

  He tugged the end of his travelling cloak around to see what she was looking at. One side of it was shredded to ribbons, as if by a beast’s claws.

  He let the cloak drop and looked up.

  The dust had settled enough now that they could see they’d fallen into a large circular hollow, almost as deep as the cliff at the edge of the Silence had been high, but with more gently sloping sides. Like a crater on the moon, Will thought. Thick drifts of dust had settled at the bottom of the rim, where they stood now, but farther out the earth was as hard and bare and lifeless as it had been in on the plain. The pillar they were inside rose like a towering grey wall around them, closed over with a hanging cloud of dust at some height they could not guess. There were no fetches to be seen anywhere.

  At the
centre of the hollow stood a tree.

  It was immense, leafless and looked long dead. The trunk and the many twisted, skeletal branches appeared to be made of the same dust that filled the hollow.

  “What is this place?” Will asked.

  “I don’t know,” Rowen said. “I can’t see the threads anymore. Not Shade’s. Not anyone’s.”

  “What happened to the fetches?”

  “I think they were drawn up into the pillar. Maybe it’s from here that they get sent to do the Night King’s bidding.”

  “At least we’re safe from the wind now.”

  “Where’s Grandfather’s staff?” Rowen cried. She glanced around wildly and then saw it, half buried in the dust near the place they had fallen. She hurried to it and lifted it. The waylight was still attached, but its door hung crookedly and the glass in its panes was broken. Rowen peered into the lantern’s interior.

  “Sputter’s not here,” she said. “What happened to him?”

  “There he is,” Will shouted, pointing. The wisp was coming toward them, skimming low over the floor of the hollow. When it reached Rowen it flew up into her open palms, trembling and bobbing, its light pulsing brighter than they had seen it in a long time.

  “He’s excited about something,” Rowen said.

  The wisp leaped up from Rowen’s hands and sped off again the way it had come. It didn’t go far, though, before it halted in midair and waited for them to catch up.

  “He’s taking us to the tree,” Will said.

  They set out across the floor of the hollow, the dust sifting down from their hair and clothing as they hurried along. The closer Will got to the tree, the sharper and more defined it seemed to grow, as if it was becoming more real only because of their presence.

  At last they reached the tree and drew to a halt beneath it. In size and height it was even more enormous than Will had first thought, its trunk squat but thick and broad, larger around the bole than any tree he had ever seen back home. It rose straight out of the dust without any roots visible, its barren branches towering into the ashen sky. Will thought of a dead spider lying on its back with its legs in the air. It was a sight of such utter hopelessness that he felt all his own hopes had finally ended here.