by Kim Wedlock
Rathen sighed quietly to himself as he adjusted his gait, narrowly avoiding one such rock he was sure he'd already succumbed to ten minutes before. The ditchlings were clearly leading them in circles, just as they had when they'd guided them out of Wrenroot those few months ago. Despite all the help the wild children had since provided, it seemed that they still didn't truly trust them.
Well, the adults, at least; Aria appeared to be quite welcome. They had greeted her before anyone else and even gifted her an elaborate tangle of flowers, both of which she had delighted at. But as they led them off into their muddled territory, she began looking around herself with increasing worry. Rathen had had little trouble working out why.
Nug hadn't been among the welcoming party. And she hadn't asked them where he was. So many had 'fallen asleep' - a charming term he was quite grateful for when dealing with the fates of such child-like creatures - and he could see by the growing haunt in her eyes that she feared the answer too much to ask. And by a far too prevalent memory.
The corners of his mouth dragged downwards as his own ideas of what had happened to her in Redgrove invaded, exaggerated and over-analysed, and he grasped her hand a little tighter. She looked up and smiled, preoccupied. He returned it with equal difficulty. Then he forced himself to look away just in time to avoid the reach of another long and winding root that rose, pierced and rose again from the ground like a breaching sea serpent.
He sighed dismally to himself. Wrenroot. What a tangled mix of thoughts it evoked. It was almost as treacherous as home, but distinctly inhospitable; it was like a mirror into another world, one almost identical and yet without one single detail to match. And he wondered, very tentatively, after all the strangeness they'd seen and the trials they'd been through, would his hollowed-out boulder be enough anymore? He had never stopped yearning to return to that familiarity, but he'd discovered, reluctantly, that he was almost enjoying his place in the world again, having a greater purpose for the first time in eleven years.
Being back in this strange little place, he felt almost a true sense of progress from a task that had not that long ago seemed beyond the bounds of possibility, never mind his own capacity. And yet here they were, coming back around, returning and repairing, just as they'd promised; retracing their own footsteps with but one enormous difference: this time, they had a solution. And it was a solution that rested in his own hands.
Rathen walked a little taller, and glanced down again as Aria squeezed his hand involuntarily against her own misstep. He smiled and put the thought out of his mind.
Yes. It would be enough for him. He could have this adventure, redeem himself, stick two fingers up at every authority by being the one to save the world that had rejected him, and return home content and safe.
But...would it be enough for Aria?
A brief and sudden yelp dragged him from his thoughts. Petra had not spotted the root.
A laugh rippled among the ditchlings, but aside from a somewhat embarrassed purse of her lips, she was fine. And in more ways than one. To everyone's relief, she had returned to her old self. She even appeared to tolerate Anthis. It wasn't natural, but it was at least an effort.
Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for him. And Rathen had already worked that out, too.
He returned his eyes to the path as Anthis barked a none too delicate curse after falling to the same root.
It had been a little over two weeks, by his count, and it was set to get worse. He'd experienced that much first-hand. So Garon had astutely sent Anthis into Red Heath alone to gather supplies - but it was a small village. It didn't come as much of a surprise that he hadn't found any bounties with which to satisfy his needs, even among the neighbouring refugee camp. It had been a stretch to begin with. But if the unpleasant situation did anything, it was, curiously, reinforcing Anthis's honour. He had voluntarily returned unfulfilled, and it couldn't have been easy. It certainly wasn't for the rest of them.
Rathen's heart snatched into his throat as he stumbled in his distraction, and over-corrected onto ground that wasn't as firm as he'd expected. But as he grunted and unleashed a strangled curse, he found that the treacherous ground was suddenly the least striking of their concerns. The ditchlings had finished with their careening path; the setting began to change.
What had moments ago been damp soil was now slick mud, studded with cracked rocks and torn roots ejected from the earth, while one in every six trees had been uprooted and shattered sideways, allowing the last of the contentious rain from the dying storm to hammer in and attempt to wash away the unnatural destruction. Perhaps it was their knowledge of the denizens' beliefs and the importance this forest played in them, but this first glimpse of the carnage the magic had wrought was gut-wrenching. And they hadn't even reached the brink of its range yet.
Movement flickered at the edge of Rathen's vision; in that instant he heard both Garon and Petra draw their swords while the ditchlings simultaneously shouted, and he pulled Aria close even as he recognised that there was no threat.
A dozen or so more filthy-skinned, big-eyed children appeared from the shadows as suddenly as their escort had, the closest of whom sidled up to Aria and nudged her roguishly in the side. She grinned; Aria and Rathen frowned. Then a distinctly familiar voice rose above the din, its tone harsh but cheerful, and settled the confusion.
"Nug!" Aria tore herself from her father's grasp and hurried ahead to meet the scraggly haired creature, who seemed to have traded his almost tidy shirt for a pair of torn and tattered trousers whose single redeeming feature appeared to be an in-tact pocket. He beamed an inhuman smile, as did the rest, and caught her as she embraced him.
Rathen's dark eyes narrowed watchfully.
"Silly fool," Nug grinned with chipped teeth as he hugged her back, "nearly flattened me, you did!" But his mud-spackled brow knotted as they parted, and he stared at the top of her curly blonde head. "How come you ain't wearing the crown?"
"The crown?" Realisation sparked in her eyes. She darted abruptly back to her father, then on past him to the horse who stamped her hooves in agitation, and began removing the knotted twigs and flowers she'd draped into the mare's mane. A few adjustments to the white blooms and a quick retying of the ends and it was as good as new. She then turned, dashed heedlessly back past her father, dropped the circlet proudly upon her head, and beamed.
Nug nodded in approval.
Then his oversized eyes shifted past her and onto the awaiting party.
Every one of them tensed as his almost-silver, almost-green orbs drilled into them one at a time, noting everything, missing nothing, regarding each very, very carefully. The others, they realised, were doing the same. Upon Petra, they stared probingly, and Garon, they stared in understanding and disapproval. Upon Eyila, they frowned slightly in interest, and to Anthis they returned his cantankerous challenge. But Rathen received the most bewildering look.
Nug's eyes narrowed and his brow cocked suspiciously - it was only then that Rathen realised that not one of the ditchlings actually had any eyebrows. He straightened as a dirty, stubby finger jabbed towards him. "What's happened to you? You feel...different. Fuzzier. Not as clear..."
Aria turned quizzically, and Rathen felt everyone else's gaze land just as curiously on the back of his head. He shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing's happened..."
"What do you mean by 'not as clear'?" Garon asked over the top of him, and ignored the ditchling's returning disapproval.
"His magic. It stands out like a sore thumb or a poke in the eye - or it used to. Like the statue lady's. It's how we been able to track you. But now it's all..." he waved his hands about. "It ain't what it was, that's for certain. Summit's happened, there ain't no sense in telling lies."
"He's an e--"
"Look," Rathen interjected testily before Aria could finish, "do you want to stand here and debate the finer points of blood saturation, or do you want us to fix your tree?"
The ditchlings' reaction was peculiar. There was
no cheering, celebration or relief - not even smiles. Not one of them moved nor adjusted their stare. It was as though the matter came as no surprise at all. And, if they'd already worked out why they were there, their present mistrust was rendered decidedly hostile.
Slowly, Nug reeled back his cynicism. "About time, too." Then he turned, gestured for Aria to follow him, and walked back off into the forest without another word, leaving the others to file in behind.
Eyila stared thoughtfully after the child as she encouraged her uncooperative horse to move. Her lips pursed, and she leaned closer to Petra, dropping her voice to a whisper. "Why do they submit to Aria?"
"She's a child; I think they just identify with her more than us." They then observed the distance between Nug and Aria shorten, and their eyebrows rose in speculation. "Although..."
"Stop," Rathen pleaded, casting them back a defeated look, "please stop..."
"Sorry..." He turned back, and after exchanging a single look of certainty, the pair walked on behind him in silence.
A growing twist pulled mournfully at Aria's features. Three months ago, this thick woodland had reminded her of home; it had been so green, so rich and vibrant, untouched and secluded. But now... She didn't have the words. She was sure they existed, but she didn't know what they were. 'Empty' wasn't it, though it was definitely missing something immensely important. Spirit, maybe.
The more she thought on it, the more sickening the dread that clogged her throat and stifled the excitement she'd felt at returning somewhere so familiar.
She looked to Nug, tearing her eyes away before some strange, primal compulsion made her start crying. "What happened?"
"The magic," he replied desolately. "Ripped it all 'sunder it did. All of a sudden the ground opened up from nowhere, chucked up rocks, pushed over trees--"
Aria gasped. "Your tree!"
"It's fine, for the majority part," he sighed dejectedly, "and the Lady's there again. She did a bit of musical chairs, moving off into the forest, but I reckon she couldn't find nowhere better and that's why she came back. But other Arkhamas ain't been so lucky. Lots of us are lost. But even with us knowing where our Lady is, our setts are still collapsing and we can't leave for somewhere safe 'til she does. There's nowt we can do. We're sitting ducks, we are, just waiting for the next rumble and tumble or for more hoomans to come in with their knifes and fire and get us while we sleep." He glanced around at the others, squinting in suspicion, but said nothing. Aria followed, but she saw the regretful look on her father's face and knew that there was nothing they could do about it. "And," he continued with even greater irritation, "the harpies are still flying at us. We're being assawted on...three fronts, we are! The ground is trying to eat us, the harpies trying to shred us, and hoomans trying to stick and fry us! And what can we do?! It's all this magic, I reckon - none of this was happening before the magic turned up."
Aria gave a sharp and sudden gasp, but as Rathen's head snapped up in attention, the world launched its onslaught, almost knocking him over long before he had a chance to make sense of what lay ahead through the trees. In that moment, all he could do was cling to the reins of his horse and focus his effort on erecting walls around his mind. His jaw gritted fiercely.
The group drew to a stop behind Nug as he and his cohorts released identically mournful sighs, and as they peered out from the edge of the trees, the sentiment spread.
The old grove sprawled out like a lost garden, overgrown and forgotten, peppered with moss-covered stones and fragments of unrecognisable structures as ancient as the trees that encased them. Sunlight cast its way through the canopy, tree trunks standing like pillars in a cathedral, and skimmed across the resting raindrop like diamonds. It appeared just as it had three months ago: an amicable merging of two worlds, each supporting the other rather than trying to smother.
But what had previously been a silent harmony was now a mutual struggle. Like a mortal wound, the all too familiar sight of rifts and chasms had riven the glade with crumbling and upthrust edges, and every tree and stone clung on to one another in a bid to keep themselves rooted on the surface rather than tumbling into the abyss.
And yet, among all that, it remained a sight of disturbingly beautiful tranquillity.
It took Rathen a while to notice that all eyes had returned to him.
His jaw ached as it tightened further. He swallowed hard, suppressing any sign of his internal battle, and turned to rummage silently through the saddlebags. Suddenly, his pride in his accomplishments seemed to weigh very, very little.
Light caught the Zi'veyn, and a whisper of awe rippled through the ditchlings.
"Can he really do it?"
"Yes," Aria declared proudly. "I've seen him."
"Mmm..." Nug scrutinised the mage and watched him shift uncomfortably. He sucked air through his teeth. "Well...if you say so... Come on then." The group, circled by muddy ditchlings, followed Nug into the clearing, where they parted at Aria's word to allow Rathen the lead. He walked on with eyes unseeing.
Nug cast Aria a wondering glance, and though she returned it with a smile of assurance, her brow quickly creased in distress. She didn't like that look.
He soon drew to a stop at the foot of the Great Tree, where ditchlings sat peacefully despite the surrounding chaos. But the Tree was not unscathed. It stood at a dramatic angle, weaver-bird nests hanging lopsided from the ladder-like branches, empty of life, and there was a strange silence within the hollowed knot of the trunk that revealed that even the owls had left. Aria's sorrow grew. Could the Lady truly still reside in such a thing?
But the softening of Nug's eyes as she glanced towards him gave her all the answer she needed. Something beyond the magic was still at work here. Surely it was the Lady.
They all watched Rathen for a long, expectant moment, but he had fallen perfectly still. "He might be like that for a while," Aria finally whispered.
"Mmm. Well, in that case," the ditchling turned to face the rest of them, the softness of his heart suddenly mixing with a new edge, one distinctly business-like, and an air of superiority which was neither successful nor out of place. "These hooman problems of yours are getting to be a mite troublesome."
"What do you mean?" Garon asked.
"I mean your war, and the sneaks what are trying to kill us all. And kill you. The first is cutting off our routes and hunting, and the second are...well I said it, didn't I, they're trying to kill us all. Now, we been interfering when they pass through on their way to make trouble, even bennyfittin' the harpies, but--...What's wrong with her?"
They followed his gaze onto Eyila, who stared around at the grove and the tree with a peculiar interest they recognised in a heartbeat. Petra was already standing protectively beside her, and even Anthis's foul expression softened.
"She's troubled," Garon replied evasively. "You were saying?"
"Looks it. And yeah, we been watching them, keeping tabs, interfering where we can, but they just keep coming, and they're getting vicious. These past few turns alone they been lashing out more often than the harpies. Used to be it was once or twice a month, but this past week we been unable to take a dump without having to dash off half way through. What do they want?"
"Why would we know? And how can you be so sure it's not just vengeful villagers?"
"'Cause they got a smell about 'em. And you would know 'cause they're after you, too. Is it 'cause we been helping you? Or 'cause you been helping us? 'Cause it if is--"
"No. If I had to guess, it's probably because you're getting too close to our settlements and you're upsetting people."
"Why ever would we upset 'em if we ain't stealing?"
"Because you're aggressive and...misunderstood."
"You mean 'cause we're different...?" He blinked. "Well that ain't a good reason for nothing! Snail's sneezes - just 'cause we don't have pink skin or tiny eyes, we gotta be killed?! The harpies at least can fly off like yella-bellies, but what--"
"I said I was guessing," Garon reminded
him quickly. "How many of you have been killed?"
"Oh not many," he replied, suddenly subdued. "We can get away from them easy enough - it's just insulting."
"You also steal," Petra added, at which came a wave of protesting snorts and huffs.
"We've been good! We don't take nearly as much anymore. There's a war on, we get that. Not that any of you seem to be doing much of nothing about it..."
"What does that mean?"
"That your soldiers are marching to and fro like ants but not actually doing anything. The sneaky ones, they did, but it didn't come to much."
"What?"
"Yeah, just first thing this morning, 'fore the sun could brighten the tops of the Tree. Three of 'em went up to one of the camps, cast a bunch of spells and 'caused lots of trouble. Real noisy. Two of 'em got killed, but I don't recollect any of the rest getting sticked."
"Where?"
"Keep your britches on! Greentop, it was. Still a good place to hide, that, even with all the mess. O' course, all the newcomers are doing is sitting and twiddling their fingers or skulking about near your cities. They don't look like much to be worried about. Them ones from the west, they were beasties, but these--"
"And just how do you know what they're doing?"
"Oh easy," he grinned, "they're camped right next to some of our old setts, ones what didn't get ruined by the gashes. But they were getting in our way, so we moved anyway. Still go back to play tricks on 'em, but they ain't doing a whole lot of anything. Why do you even bother with 'em? Is it 'cause they're different, too? 'Cause they seem just like you. Ain't no grounds, far as we see."
"It's complicated."
"Must be. 'Cause it makes no sense to us."