With Oskar and Taj's help, they retreated back the way they had come, halting only when the flurry of woody darts began to fall short. The attack ceased entirely soon thereafter.
"Now—ouch!—what—ow!" Cocoa's beautiful face squinched tight each time Mamakitty pulled a thorn from her flesh. The projectiles were the size of a thumb; thick, sharp, and sturdy. Examining one, Oskar found himself hoping they contained no poison. If the continuing strength of Cezer's complaints were any indication, they did not.
"I didn't see anyone." Cocoa was studying where the thorns had pierced her clothing. Perhaps they had been remiss when they had first set out on their search, Oskar reflected, in acquiring human attire but no armor. The latter, however, would surely have slowed them down. "Only the forest."
"There's something hiding in there, fssst," Cezer growled. His sharp, alert eyes scrutinized the woods, searching for signs of movement. Nearby, a vigilant Taj and Samm stood with weapons drawn.
"I didn't see anything, either." Mamakitty daubed at Cocoa's punctures with a small cloth she had moistened in the nearby stream. In the shade of fringing growths they probed the forest depths, seeking unseen enemies.
Then, in a response as unexpected as the prickly attack, one of the fringe growths decided it was time to contribute to the conversation.
"You're not overlooking anything. You saw everything. You just don't understand what you're seeing."
The tinny, mildly accusatory voice came from what Oskar took to be a sycamore of subdued dimensions that was struggling to adapt itself to life at the forest's edge. Without straining his vision, he could see where ripples in the bark came together to form a kind of mouth. Above it, slightly slanted eyes gazed back at him. The woody folds did not blink.
"I think I must have been hit in the head." Holding the arm that had suffered the most perforations, Cezer walked over to the young growth and ran his free hand along its bole, just beneath the first branch. "I thought this tree said something."
"That feels good, but harder, and lower down," the sycamore instructed him. Instead of complying, a startled Cezer jerked his hand back. "Shapeist," the tree snapped accusingly. Branches rustling sharply, it promptly dumped a double handful of green-tinged autumn leaves on the swordsman's head. Reflexively, Cezer started batting them aside.
"This is very interesting." A fearless Mamakitty approached the trunk. "I've never had the opportunity to talk to a tree before. Scratch on plenty, but never talk."
"Sadist," the tree shot back. "Carpenter's apprentice."
"I have," Oskar murmured. "Many times. But this is the first time one has ever answered back."
The young oak that had sprouted alongside the sycamore chimed in. "Oppin is more loquacious than the rest of us. It is only fitting that he should be the one to greet you."
"'He'?" Mamakitty eyed the tree uncertainly.
"I'm feeling rather male today," the sycamore replied. "Tomorrow might be different. It's a pollen thing." Its tone grew solicitous. "Are you all right? The crannocks can be vicious."
Turning, Cezer peered back into the forest. "What are crannocks? I didn't see anything moving."
A couple of unpretentious branches dipped low and pointed. "Over in there. To your right. A little more. See those half dozen especially limber trunks, the ones with the distinctively slim branches? Crannocks," the sycamore declared decisively.
Cezer took a wary step toward the woods, leaning forward and squinting in the indicated direction, ready to retreat at the first sign of a volley of thorns. "There's nothing there but trees."
"Not just trees," explained the greenish oak impatiently. "Crannocks."
Standing close to Cezer, Taj spoke without turning. "Are you saying that those trees are what attacked us?"
"Do you not see the thorns on their branches? Is your sight worse than ours?" The oak's tone sang of exasperation.
"Just because we're not used to—" Taj broke off wonderingly. "Listen to me: I'm arguing with a tree."
Alongside the oak, willow branches rustled. "And you would lose. We are very adept arguers, having much time to practice such things." In a more tolerant voice it added, with a dip of multiple branches that elegantly simulated a formal bow and which Cocoa could not resist taking a playful swipe at, "I hope none of your injuries are serious."
"No," Cezer mumbled. "Nothing besides a few pinpricks."
"Could be worse." Warming to the conversation, the sycamore cast leaves and words to the wind. "You might have run right past the crannocks and straight into a coppice of spruce. Spruce are particularly irritable and can scratch you to death. Or cocobolo. They'll choke you until you can't breathe."
"Or a grove of sequoias." The oak was grave. "An irritated sequoia will step on you without a second thought."
Step on you? Oskar thought. There was a stand of sequoias not three miles from the home of Master Evyndd. Monstrous trees, rust-red of bark and immense of circumference. The thought of one somehow lifting a portion of its hundreds of tons of solid wood and deliberately coming down on a person brought forth an image unpleasant in the extreme. What was the term Master Evyndd had once used? Oh, yes—road kill.
Not that there wasn't a certain irony to be had in the thought of a tree dumping on a dog.
Ever suspicious, Mamakitty found herself addressing the sycamore. "If there is so much hardwood hostility hereabouts, how come you three are content simply to chat amiably with us?"
"It's that very attitude that we ourselves hate," the young tree informed her. "It seems so futile to bottle up all that latent hostility in a trunk you can never escape. Still, that is how it is. The boughs of this forest are weighted down beneath hundreds, even thousands, of years of accumulated malice and ill will that are just waiting to be released on unsuspecting passers-by."
"On us." A grim-faced Cezer gripped the haft of his sword tightly.
"Not only on you." This from a handsome sapling of indeterminate species that hugged the very periphery of the green-hued woodland. "Have you never stopped to consider the eternal war that exists between trees? A silent fight it is; for space, for sustenance, and for sunlight. One growth's progeny crowding out another, ruthlessly suffocating or shading it to death. Roots wrestling beneath the surface in ceaseless and unseen combat for water. Several trees of the same kind cooperating to shut out the light that might fall on a representative of another species." Agitated branches bestirred themselves. "You mobile creatures fight, yes, but then you stop. Our wars are never won, and are ever ongoing."
Taj ran a hesitant hand along the oak's undulating trunk. "I never thought of it that way. To me, a tree branch was nothing more than a place upon which to sit and rest."
"Typical mobile thought," complained a stunted maple.
Oskar confronted the garrulous sycamore. "Where we come from, and for that matter in any land we have visited, trees do not speak aloud. They don't point with their branches or deliberately fling their thorns at visiting wayfarers."
"This is the Kingdom of Green," the oak reminded him. "Here trees rule, not mobiles. Is it so surprising that those who dominate should have the power to communicate with one another?"
"I suppose not," Oskar replied. From within the forest came rustling sounds that he now knew were not caused by creatures moving through the trees, but by the trees themselves. "Why are these crannocks so aggressive toward us?"
"Mobiles are not welcome in the Kingdom of Green." The maple had, not surprisingly, a sweet, syrupy voice. "They trample roots, break young shoots, snap off branches without a thought. They promote random murder and casual amputation."
"Not to mention chronic cremation." The willow shuddered visibly, its leaves trembling.
"But you feel differently." Mamakitty addressed the oak.
"Yes, we do. We want only to live in peace with all forms of life, and to concentrate on that which we do best." Bark undulated, wooden lips forming woody words of wisdom. "Which is to sit and to think. Hence we of different mind find ours
elves banished here, to the perimeter of the kingdom, where our growth is stunted by exposure to wind, storm, and potentially lethal mobiles."
"We have to fight constantly simply to maintain our existence," the maple added. "The forest's more aggressive majority denies us access to the richer soil we need to put on rings and grow. So we remain small, until tree rot or root-bane overcomes us." The words trailed away into sadness.
Oskar was not certain he had heard correctly. "You say you were 'banished' here? How does one tree banish another?"
"Have you never observed a tree whipped by a high wind? Branches can be as flexible as any fingers, and much stronger." By way of demonstration, the oak extended several of its own limbs and lifted a startled Cezer right off the ground. Presentation complete, it put him back down.
"We were all of us uprooted from our places of budding and passed through the woods from tree to tree, to be transplanted here—a lingering death for the rebellious instead of a cleaner, quicker demise. We cannot mature properly, nor can we spread our progeny. As soon as any of us drops seed, other trees see to it that everything we put forth is crushed too deeply into the earth to germinate successfully." Branches dipped in anguish. "For our beliefs we are condemned to a life of terminal depression. Several of our little circle have already died."
The willow sighed. "I still remember the year Ifrim deliberately exfoliated all his bark, allowing borer beetles to eat into his heartwood."
"We're very sorry for you," Mamakitty finally murmured, "but we have strong convictions of our own that must be fulfilled. To do that, we have to pass through your kingdom and on to the next."
The oak could not twist its trunk, but it could shake its branches back and forth. "You will never make it. The forest of the Kingdom of Green is endlessly and unremittingly hostile to mobiles such as yourselves. Without the knowledge of where to step and what to avoid, you will all be reduced to fertilizer within a couple of days. You may enter the forest, but you will not come out."
Taj voiced the thought that was common among his friends. "What we need here is a pathfinder, just as we had good Wiliam to guide us through the Kingdom of Orange."
Cezer responded with a snort of derision. "Wake up, Taj. There are no guides to be had in this place. We'll just have to push through on our own, as best we can." Missing the claws that would have lent the gesture emphasis, he indicated the tall forest blocking their way with a broad sweep of one hand. "There's nothing here but trees."
What they needed, Oskar reflected, thinking hard, was help of a kind only Master Evyndd could provide. That something of the sort might be available had already been shown by Cezer's miraculously elongating sword, and by the ability of his former feline companions to slip into subtle shadow-shifting, shadow-fighting shapes. His attention wandered among them. Who else might possess as yet unsuspected capabilities? Might Taj's singing be capable of projecting magic? Not likely, he decided. Who ever heard of making magic merely with music? Well, what about Samm, then? So far the giant had demonstrated no prowess beyond the physical. If sufficiently provoked or prodded, could he do more?
As for himself, he scarce gave a thought to the possibility that any latent talent might lie dormant within him. Certainly, he felt about as sorceral as the cherished old rug by the back door of the house where he loved to lie in the sun.
Remembering the rug and the sheer luxury of doing nothing for an afternoon but lying on his back, feet in the air, tongue lolling, while the warm sun baked him, he was stirred by an unexpectedly strong bout of nostalgia.
Such times had been reduced to naught but memories, he reminded himself firmly. He was a human now, a man, with important responsibilities. As nominal leader of the group, it fell to him to suggest what to do next. Taj was entirely correct, of course. What they needed was a knowledgeable guide to help them penetrate the unknown and demonstrably hostile depths of the forest. A guide who knew the trees—antagonistic, indifferent, and friendly—as well as the trees knew themselves.
He blinked thoughtfully. Who, after all, knew trees better than dogs, with whom there had existed since time immemorial a special and unique relationship? Advancing toward the young sycamore, he walked past carping cat-folk, past a silently staring Samm and an unusually thoughtful Taj, and halted within arm's length of the tree. It was watching him closely, he saw. He tried to remember how Master Evyndd spoke when he was declaiming spells; how he formed the words and emphasized certain phrases. Placing both hands on the smooth trunk, he stared straight into wood-laced eyes and said firmly, "By the brotherhood that exists and has always existed between your kind and mine, I command you to walk!"
At best, he had decided, maybe something would happen. At worst, he would become once more the laugh magnet he had always been. Well, he could deal with that.
Absorbing the impact of this unexpected behest, the tree hesitated. Then branches twitched, leaves rustled, and—nothing.
"I'm sorry," the sycamore murmured. Oak, willow, and maple were watching intently. "Nothing's happening."
"Try again," Oskar urged it. "All of you, try."
This time the collective thrashing of leaves and twigs drew the attention of his companions. Wandering over, Cezer placed a comradely hand on the other man's shoulder. His tone was unexpectedly sympathetic.
"It's okay, Oskar. Having come so far only to be stuck here, we're all frustrated, not knowing which way to jump." His strong fingers slid off the dog-man's arm. "But the Master is dead, pigs don't fly, and trees don't walk. We'll just have to blunder through somehow on our own." Turning to rejoin the conversation with Cocoa and Mamakitty, he could not resist a teasing smile. "Unless, that is, you know some magic words, or are holding on to a pouch of magic powder, or a bottle of magic liquid."
There was nothing more he could do, Oskar realized. No harm had come from the trying, Taj assured him gently, speaking as one would to the village idiot. As if the songster were some kind of expert in matters mystical. Oskar started to rejoin them, when something Cezer had said struck him with more than a little force.
The bond between dogs and trees could not be denied—though as to the inherent enchanted nature of the fluid involved, he was not qualified to say. If anything lay in favor of trying the thing, it was the fact that such an effort would have met with the approval of their former master. Wherever possible, when preparing his potions, Evyndd had always been in favor of employing natural over artificial ingredients. They were, Oskar had once heard him declare, more potent.
Turning back to the sycamore, he proceeded to unfasten his pants and direct a stream of liquid at the base of the young tree. It was an entirely unforced and natural gesture, one he had performed hundreds of times without thinking. This time it was accompanied by thought, an inescapable raising of his right leg, and a reanimated restatement of the requisite command.
"Walk, dammit!"
Wrenching itself away from the flow, the startled tree leaned backward so forcefully that its fore roots ripped clear of the ground. With a twist, it turned away—only to find itself standing, free of the encumbering earth, for the first time in its young life. Hesitantly, it thrust several roots forward at a speed far greater than normal growth would have ordinarily allowed. The decidedly deciduous trunk followed. More of a slithering than a walking, the awkward action nonetheless advanced the astonished tree across the surface.
"I suffered a shower of starlings once," it declared, "but this development is more shocking by far."
"Keep practicing." Pants still undone, Oskar moved from sycamore to willow and repeated the anointing procedure, complete with command. By the time he reached the expectant maple, the other three trees were rapidly gaining control of their exotic new capability, thromping about with much waving of branches and bowing of crowns. This was fortunate, since his store of surprisingly potent potion was nearly exhausted. Other nearby transplants who could only watch the newly mobile boles were no less stunned by what they were seeing.
"I've got to han
d it to you, Oskar," Taj declared. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. I never thought this might be what Master Evyndd had in mind on those many occasions when he spoke of the free flow of enchantment."
Mamakitty was rubbing the back of her neck and grinning. "Does this mean a plentiful supply of water means unlimited access to necromancy?"
"Now, now, let's have a care not to vex our good friend." Taking a moment to shake Oskar's hand, a smiling Cezer was careful of which hand he shook. "I have to admit I never suspected the depths of your innate abilities, old friend."
"Then we have our guide," a delighted Mamakitty observed, "and not just one, but four! You will guide us?" she inquired of the trees.
"We would be thrilled to do so, making use of this new skill we could previously only observe and envy." The oak hesitated. "If only what you require was that easy." Extending a branch toward the woods, the oak drew it back peppered with thorns. "Though we can find you a path through the forest, we cannot render the way less hostile."
The willow brought together several dozen branches in a single graceful wave. "We are of the same substance as the forest, and might well survive such a dangerous journey. You, however, are mere flesh, easily pierced and punctured. Drawing the full attention of nearby growths, you would not last but a few hours before your limbs were torn from your trunks or your life-sap was forcibly spilled out upon the ground."
Having accomplished so much, Oskar was not about to be put off by new warnings, however dire. "So long as we have an actual route, and are not reduced to simply stumbling blindly through the maze that is the forest, we have with us the means for making real progress, no matter what spiteful individual trees or thickets may choose to do."
"Ahh!" the sycamore sighed. "More magic!"
"That is a matter of opinion." Eyeing his companions, Oskar accepted their individual nods or words of readiness to press on before turning deliberately and uttering a single word.
Kingdoms of Light Page 22
