“Wait.”
But she rode away. He tried to think of something to do or say to make her stop. But what? After a moment they had all passed him and he was watching them ride into danger.
He could turn around. He could ride away and find his own way to Faerie. He didn’t have to die. Or worse.
No. He couldn’t leave them. None of them under-stood magic. He might as well murder them now as leave them in here alone. So he followed them.
There were no more voices, no more almost-laughs. But the air grew close and humid and the trees grew closer and thicker. The others rode single file ahead of him. They had no other choice. The trees were too close together, the ground a riot of roots. Tom got the feeling that Katharine wasn’t choosing their path. It felt instead like the Woods were leading them. The smell of rich loam filled Tom’s senses like a cloying perfume and he felt a constant urge to dismount and lie down. Magic.
They rode in silence. Sometimes he heard whispers from the others but they were brief and furtive. The air felt dense and claustrophobic, the eerie quiet like a suffocating blanket. The silence was heavy. Threatening.
The light faded, too soon to be sunset. They rode in a green twilight until they could barely see in front of them.
“It’s too dark to continue,” Katharine said. “The horses will trip on the roots.”
It was almost pitch black by the time they’d tended to the horses. Tom looked up at the thicket of branches. They would see no stars or moon tonight.
“Draig, take first watch,” said Siomi. “Brega and I will take second and third.”
“And what do you hope to watch in the dark, mistress elf?” Six asked.
Brega cuffed him but said, “He’s right, there’s no point in watches.”
“We can watch with ears,” Draig said. “In quiet, we hear something coming.”
Brega and Siomi lay down to sleep. Katharine and Neirin huddled in conversation. That left Tom to pick a spot and settle down. He made sure to lay out a cloak to sleep on. He didn’t want to touch the soil.
“Afraid of getting dirty?” Six asked.
“How can you see me?” Tom waggled his fingers in front of his face. “I can barely see my own hand.”
Six laughed. “I can,” he said. “Before I was a scoundrel I observed nocturnal animals. Got some excellent night vision out of it.”
“Animals,” said Draig. “There are none. Did you see?”
Everyone listened to the silence a moment. It was unnerving. No birds chirping above, no rabbits rustling below. Tom hadn’t even seen any bugs since they’d entered the Woods.
Six sniffed and said, “There’s magic here.”
“Magic?” scoffed Brega. “So we’re scared of old men offering to cure our headaches with crystals.”
“Not hedge magic, Brega,” Tom said. “Real magic.”
“He’s right. You can feel it in the air.”
“Can you, Westerner?” Neirin said. “Tell me how it is you can feel the magic?”
Six didn’t answer. Tom lay down and the silence felt like a weight on his chest, making it hard to breathe. The smell of soil and bark was almost choking and it reminded him of Aeryie, the stench that seemed to climb up your nose and infect your very mind. If he tried to breathe through his mouth he could taste it instead, like a mouthful of dirt. He was just thinking of covering his nose and mouth with something when the darkness snapped to light in front of him. The world was a brilliant, blinding white.
“You think you should let him go?”
It was cold, colder than Tom had ever been in his life. So cold he could feel it in his bones and Tom knew that, in this foresight, he had been cold for a long time.
“I do.” He was mounted on a pony, riding through snow.
“You mustn’t.” The other man rode under a wide-rimmed hat and impossibly dark eyes stared out at him. “No matter what either of you have said or done, you must keep Six close. Everything depends on it.”
The foresight was gone in a blink and for a moment Tom panicked at the sudden darkness.
“What is wrong?”
It was Draig, taking the first watch, his harsh whisper like a shout in the silence.
“Nothing,” he whispered back. “Just a foresight.”
“What did you see?”
“Snow,” he said. “Mountains. An old man.” The old man again. The one who seemed to speak to him from the future.
“A thing to help?”
“Foresight is rarely helpful,” he said. “That’s not how Faerie gifts work.”
Draig said something else but the world faded into light again. Only this was not daylight, but darkness illuminated by fire. “Help me.” A woman pawed at his leg, a wailing child strapped to her back. The woman’s face was burnt, her skin melted and stinking. The air was filled with the sounds of panic and it reeked of soot and brine and sweat.
“I can’t,” Tom said. “I don’t know how.”
There was a terrible scream from the night sky.
Then it was dark again. The smell of soot lingered and so did the fear.
“You cry out.” Draig’s whisper.
“I’m sorry.”
“Say not sorry to me. It is interesting. As if you dream.”
Interesting. It wasn’t a word he’d often heard used for his foresight. Boon, blessing. Prophet, seer. Charlatan or liar. Those words he was used to.
“You should sleep.”
“How long?” he asked. He sat up and took a sip from his canteen.
“Two hours since we stop. I am thinking four until sunrise.”
Tom lay down. Two hours. No wonder he felt so tired.
“I could stay if you would like. Keep company?”
“No, Draig. It’s a kind offer, but you deserve some rest too.”
“Brega, she will not be so kind.”
“I know.”
Draig made a little accepting grunt, then Tom heard him shake Brega awake. “My turn?” she said. Tom was impressed with how quickly she was awake and co-herent.
“Your turn.” Though it wasn’t many words, it was done with such habit that Tom got the feeling they had done this many times. Old friends, perhaps? Or soldiers in arms together?
He closed his eyes but sleep was elusive. When it did come it was laced with foresights, brief and ghostly, glimpses of him slipping through tall grass with a sword in his hand, or of a beautiful town nestled in the mountains, or of a woman in strange leather clothes telling him he was far from home.
He saw a sprite, a tiny fay with skin that shone a bright, white light, sitting in a jar. “Tell Maev I’m sorry,” he told it. “I’m so sorry.”
“Of course the future affects our decisions.” The boy spoke as if he was struggling to contain a voice too big for him. “Doesn’t the past?”
He woke tired, drained. He was in no mood to talk and the others didn’t talk to him. He broke his fast in silence, a slice of bread and cheese from the supplies the innkeep had given them. He watched Siomi bring Six some food and water and Six thank her for it. Then they mounted up and rode.
Katharine never seemed to doubt her path. She didn’t hesitate or double back. She rode like she knew the way out. But the trees grew ever closer and ever thicker. The canopy above them grew denser until the green light that had bathed them was instead a green gloom. Worse still, the air was almost suffocating with magic, and Tom’s foresights began to come thick and fast. Just glimpses, as they had when he had slept. Six wearing a dark grey hood. A howling wind filled with red sand that filled his mouth and eyes. A jar that felt evil and sickening in his hands. The clash of swords as Tom battled against a black figure in a white tower. That last one was frightening, as it came with the fear and knowledge that he couldn’t win and there was no-one to help him.
“Halt.” He heard a voice say. “Something is wrong with Tom.”
Draig had dismounted and walked back to Tom’s horse. “Tom, you are unwell?”
Tom opened his mouth t
o speak but instead saw Draig kneeling in sand. “Why do you ask of me?” he said. “Can not you say it? If it is true?”
He shook his head and wavered in the saddle.
“Get him down,” someone said. Siomi?
“No,” he said. “No, I’ll be okay.” His speech sounded thick and slow.
There was talk ahead. The trees were so dense that he couldn’t see everyone.
“You do not have look of being okay,” said Draig.
“It’s the magic here.” He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead as if he could push his thoughts into order.
“What can we do?”
He felt another foresight coming on. He shook his head. “Nothing.”
He saw himself in the sea, struggling to keep his head above water.
“Draig, ride with him.” Neirin was near the head of the line, striking his most heroic pose. “Take care of our charge. Call a stop if you think we need to.”
“I will do this.” Draig remounted and took hold of Tom’s reins. “Can I do anything to be of help?” he said to Tom.
But there was no way to stop magic from doing what magic did.
“On the contrary.” He saw the old man again, this time leaning on a wooden staff with a black stone at its tip. “That’s why I’m here.”
The sun set and the gloom turned to dark again.
“We’re making less progress than I’d hoped,” Katharine said.
“What’s holding us up?” asked Neirin.
“I had thought we’d be able to keep up a good pace. But the trees are too close and the roots are too high. It’s almost like they’re trying to trip us up.”
Tom thought he heard that almost-laugh. Perhaps Katharine was right.
“How long do you think?”
“A few more days.” When Neirin raised his eye-brows, she said, “Three. Maybe four.”
“And Master Rymour,” Neirin said to him, “can you last three maybe four days?”
“I’m okay.”
He saw a wood-panelled room with a low ceiling and Neirin said to him, “Carrying that sword does not make you fit to lead.”
He blinked and the present returned.
“Draig, keep a very close eye on him. Master Rymour’s condition is a concern to me.” Neirin turned back to Katharine. In the almost-dark Tom thought she looked worried for a moment.
Draig hadn’t left his side for the entire day and the night was no different. He slept next to Tom, though he slept on the dirt rather than on a rug or skin.
“I have no fear of magic, Tom,” he said when Tom warned him. “I am not old but I have seen many things. I have seen no magic.”
“How old are you?”
“Sixty-six summers.” Twice Tom’s age and saying he wasn’t old. Whereas Tom woke up stiff and slow. What was it about elfs that made them so long-lived?
His sleep was disjointed and uneven. Twice he woke with a start from a foresight so vivid he had thought it real, a mighty dragon bearing down on him, claws reaching out for him while the city around him burned. It left him tired, sore and uneasy the next morning, and he sensed malice in the woods around them that day. The sense only grew stronger as the day wore on. The gloom became grey, like the light from an early morning sun through cloud, and the trees seemed to grow all the taller, until he felt like an ant staring up at the canopy above, impossibly high above them. He could feel age in the air, and slow living, and eyes watching him carefully.
It turned dark too soon that day.
“We shouldn’t stop here,” said Six.
“Why?” asked Brega. “Afraid of the dark?”
“Don’t you feel it?” he replied.
“All I feel is tired.” She climbed out of her saddle and pulled out her canteen. “Tired and hungry and thirsty.” There was a pool at the base of a tree. The water looked clear and crisp and inviting and Brega started towards it.
“Don’t drink that water,” said Six.
“Why not?” She didn’t stop.
“Look at it.” He tried to point with his bound wrists. “The pool is perfectly round. That’s not natural. That’s magical.”
She snorted.
“Trust me,” he said. “I know a thing or two about magic.”
“Of course you do,” Brega sneered. “And I’m sure you’re an expert in magic water too.”
“Six is right,” Tom said. “Perfectly round pools of water are not to be trusted.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because they’ve been put there by someone else,” the elf replied.
She snorted again but fastened her canteen. Draig offered his to her and she took a few sips. “How long until we get out of here?” she asked.
“A few more days.” Katharine looked tired too. Her shoulders slumped and she slouched in the saddle. She was gazing up at the branches as if there was an answer up there. “This is taking too long,” she said to no-one.
Silence fell but no-one else dismounted. They seemed unwilling to stop here. The horses, usually so quiet and obedient, were restless. They fidgeted, tossed their heads. Brega’s even tried to move off until she caught and savagely jerked the reins. Tom rode up to Katharine’s side.
“Hello.” She neither smiled nor scowled at him. It was a good start.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have trusted you.”
“Yes. You should.”
She was right to be upset with him. He knew that. But he’d been hoping for more. Nevertheless, he said, “I think Six is right.”
She did nothing and Tom waited in a moment between reactions. Then she sighed. “I think Six is right too,” she said. “We can’t stop here.”
He felt a sense of agreement, as if the trees themselves were urging them to continue.
“Mount up, Brega,” she said without looking back. “We’re not stopping yet.”
“Our horses are tired,” said Neirin. “We risk injury riding in the dark.”
“Something tells me we would risk more were we to camp here.” She tugged her reins and rode on.
Riding in the dark was a new kind of terror. When the light went, it went completely, so Tom couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. The horses moved slowly, finding their way by feel. It was something he’d never known any horse to do and gave credit to the name of Withed stock. But his foresights came briefly now, flashing images on his mind’s eye, disorientating. He was aware of how far away the ground was. One misstep, one slip in the saddle and it was a long way down. Even if he didn’t crack his head open, he could be crushed by a thousand pounds of horse. Or worse. Because although he couldn’t see anything, he could almost sense something in the darkness around them. Like grasping hands just inches from him, getting ready to snatch at him. Snatch him and lose him. He would never find his way out. What would the Woods do with him? Nothing good, he was sure of that, and began to imagine. He’d heard of plants in the Angles that fed on bugs and even small animals. Would the trees devour him? Enslave him? Simply kill him?
He had thought they would ride until they found a safer place to stop. But the dark began to brighten and they were still riding. But the trees were shorter. The malice was less. The light illuminated no hands and the sensation went with the darkness. Perhaps he had imagined it?
Everyone was exhausted. That much was obvious.
“A brief rest,” Katharine said. “Brief. Then we continue.”
The horses lay down as soon as the riders were dismounted. No-one tried to tie them. They simply lay down and slept.
But all too soon they were awake again. “Wake up,” Katharine said. Her voice had no energy, no command to it. But they obeyed. They mounted. They rode.
Tom found himself resenting the trees. Whereas before the smell of the soil had been enticing, now it was a gagging stench. He wanted to dismount, to yell and scream, to throw himself at the nearest tree and kick it, dig up the roots, peel back the bark and break off the branches. He sat in the saddle fantasising about the dama
ge he would do.
He wasn’t alone. Neirin began to snap at everyone. Siomi grew quiet, withdrawing into herself. Draig grew sullen, his expression shrouded in shadow. Katharine moped and Six’s quips grew dark. And Brega complained.
“Why am I even here?” she asked no-one.
“Because your mother never learnt to say no,” growled Six. Brega cuffed him too hard.
“You are here because your Shield wishes it,” said Siomi.
“Why? I’m no-one special,” she spat. “Just another disgrace who became a soldier to earn back her name. I wouldn’t be here if my father hadn’t brought shame on us.”
“Yet you are argoyl.” Siomi’s patience was wearing thin. Tom could hear it in her voice. “It is an honour.”
“Because of him.” She pointed at Draig again. “Because he took pity on me.”
“That is not true.” It was the first thing Draig had said in hours. It sounded aggressive. Was he losing patience with her too?
“Then you missed me. Or needed me. Whatever. No-one would have chosen me.” She glared at the branches above. “I shouldn’t be here.”
“I ordered you to come,” Neirin said. “That should be enough.”
“Yes, my lord.” And she fell silent, leaving everyone alone with their bad moods.
Until, “One day I’m going to come back and cut all this down.”
Katharine turned in her saddle and said, “Brega, stop.”
“Why?” She tipped her head back and spread her arms. “I hate this place!” Her shout felt too big in the quiet and the leaves rustled without a breeze. The silence grew deeper, like the Woods was holding its breath. “See? Nothing. They’re just trees.”
“Don’t antagonise this place.”
“Just get us out of here. Angau’s wrath, you’re supposed to be our guide and we’ve been lost in here for days.”
“We’re not lost.”
“Then where are we?”
“Just because I can’t tell you doesn’t mean we’re lost.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means I’m leading you through a place that killed everyone else who tried and you should be a little grateful.”
“Grateful? I joined the army for a good death, not to starve in an overgrown forest.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 10