The gentle rocking lulled him until a cold gust of wind ruffled his hair. Gregori shivered and opened his eyes.
A ghostly child settled at Sarn’s bedside, but Gregori looked right through it and yawned. A tear rolled down the ghost’s translucent face as it turned longing eyes on the only person who could see him. But Sarn lay still and silent as if he too were dead. Magic rushed around inside him proving he was alive.
You’re so full of life and light. You must know a spell to save us both from the Dark Thing and its vile plans.
The specter laid its head against Sarn’s chest, and curled up in a ball of misery, seeking comfort from an unconscious source. A familiar magic crawled over him investigating the riddle of his existence. Maybe it would find an answer to their predicament because the Dark One was after Sarn too.
Gregori stretched tired muscles and shivered as his breath misted in the air.
Why's it so cold in here?
He checked the porthole, but it was still closed. Rising, Gregori searched for a blanket, and the exercise warmed him as he exited the cold pocket surrounding Sarn.
Flummoxed, Gregori sat on the floor. It’d been a long and strange night with few answers. Perhaps this stationary cold spot was all part of that weirdness. Another yawn snuck up on Gregori. Whatever had happened, it’d unsettled both Nolo and Jerlo—and that was no mean feat.
They're hiding something, and I want to know what.
That was one more reason in favor of today’s test because said trouble had involved yonder unconscious Kid. Gregori smiled as he pondered how to tell Nolo his precious charge was alone in the enchanted forest. His friend’s reaction would be priceless.
“You’d better learn something, Kid. If I went to all this trouble for nothing, I'll take it out of your hide.”
He wouldn’t. It was an empty threat. After what that psychopath Hadrovel had done, no Ranger would dare touch Sarn. Gregori passed a hand over his eyes, but that disturbing memory refused to recede.
Like a broken doll, Sarn had lain on the cold stone floor with one arm and leg bent at odd angles. The white of his bones had peeked out of a jagged gash bathing the left side of his face in blood. Gregori still smelled the sweet metallic tang of the cooling mage-blood he'd knelt in. A sightless green eye had stared past him from Sarn’s disfigured face, and he’d stretched a hand out to close it. Feeling warm flesh under his fingers, he’d shouted.
“He’s not dead.”
And the Rangers had done everything they could over the last five years to keep the Kid alive.
“You’re still a pain in the ass.” Gregori patted Sarn’s knee. “But I prefer you that way. You keep life interesting, Kid.”
Not even flippancy could lighten the shadow that incident had cast. The Rangers had failed, and a fifteen-year-old boy had paid the price in blood and pain. By the grace of Jerlo and Nolo’s God, the incident hadn’t crippled Sarn. But guilt and regret had become a lens coloring every decision the Rangers made about the Kid.
Can one test change that? It had better for your sake, Kid.
Six hours later, Gregori unslung his burden. His thick fingers poked right through the cringing ghost child as he felt for a pulse. Without magic, Gregori couldn’t see the ghost, but he could feel its cold unnaturalness as his index finger located an artery.
A strong pulse beat in Sarn’s throat. Relieved, Gregori backed off and bumped his elbow against a tree. He ignored the thing since this was Shayari and there were billions of those gigantic weeds around.
So far, the Kid had experienced no adverse reactions to the drug nor had the Kid awoken yet. But Sarn would, thanks to the stimulant he'd just poured down the Kid’s throat. It could take anywhere from a few minutes to an hour—if I dosed the Kid right.
Since conceiving this plan, Gregori had confided it in no one. So, asking for dosage advice had been out of the question. And the Kid's body had a nasty habit of rejecting everything except food and water.
Well, it’s in Fates’ hands now.
But worry still gnawed on Gregori as he sought a good spot to wait for the Kid to wake up. Branches allowed a few shafts of sunlight to spear through the perpetual gloom as trees gathered around his charge.
Yes, the trees were enchanted. But they only reacted to stimulus because some ancient lunatic had programmed them to. They were supposed to watch everyone who came and went under their boughs.
But every minute Gregori hovered over the Kid’s prone form, the forest loomed a little more over him. Eyes bored into Gregori from all sides as if a pack of children stood behind him, staring.
And I still don't know what happened earlier.
His skin crawled, and a spot between his shoulder blades itched. Silence reigned, and nothing dared to interrupt it. Turning, Gregori checked his surroundings for the danger thrilling along his nerves. He didn't see the startled ghost child rush into the forest.
Gregori waited for the trees to do something other than loom over him. They’re not staring at you. They can’t. They don't have any eyes.
He dragged in a deep breath and fought to get a grip. Six hours on a boat after witnessing the forest’s behavior last night must have unhinged me. The sooner I get out of here, the better.
Movement startled Gregori until he zeroed in on its cause. Sarn had stirred. Gregori let out a relieved breath.
The Kid's okay. I picked the right dosage. Praise Nolo’s God. Now to find a good hiding spot. It’ll spoil the test if you spot me, Kid. We can't have that, now can we?
Spinning on his heel, Gregori melted into the tree line. A cave would be great, but he saw none. No good-sized boulders met his searching gaze either. There was nothing to hide behind or inside unless he wanted to climb a tree.
Gregori gazed up at one of those bark-covered monsters. Shaking his head, he seized a branch before he could regret his decision. He’d made it into the lowest story before Sarn sat up and vomited.
Guilt stabbed Gregori the longer the Kid remained doubled over. Maybe I overdid it a tad.
After a while, the fit subsided into dry heaves, and the Kid collapsed on his side. Sarn lay there unmoving. Fear feasted on Gregori until the Kid sat up and made some effort to hide the signs of his recent sickness. Rising, Sarn staggered toward the river without doing any reckoning at all.
Gregori marveled. How did you know it’s there?
No sign of the River Nirthal lingered here. If his perfect hearing failed to pick up the river’s chatter, then Sarn could hear nothing but the wind as well. No opportunistic moss covered the boles of the enchanted trees as it did within a half mile of the river.
What clued you in?
Gregori watched until Sarn had melted into the tree line. Part of him wanted to follow and discover firsthand what the Kid would do next. But if I do that, I risk discovery. With a shrug, he left Sarn to his own devices and the test to run its course. Besides, it was time he returned to Mount Eredren to await the results.
Good luck Kid, he thought in the direction Sarn had headed. You’ll need it.
Sarn rinsed his mouth out for the fifth time, but that damned acidic taste refused to wash away. He scooped up more water and splashed it over his face. At his knee, a brook babbled as it flowed over roots drinking their fill.
I'll kill Gregori for this. This is all that jerk’s doing. He pictured his long fingers wrapped around the asshole’s throat, but the image disintegrated. Gregori had taught him so much. The teacher and the kidnapper, how could the man fit both under the same skin and not go mad from the duality?
Gregori—that asshole—where was he? The jerk must be around here somewhere to gloat.
Let him watch. Let him think he’d won this round. Sarn pictured his fist introducing itself to Gregori’s face. In his fantasy, it made a satisfying thunk as the man fell unconscious at his feet.
Given what had happened today, I might even get away with it.
Damn Gregori and his meddling, Sarn punched a patch of moss then met the beady eyes of
a startled rat. Part of its brown ear was missing. The rat bared its teeth.
“Scat,” he shook his fist at the creature, and it darted into the underbrush.
What’s with the rats today? I've seen more than the usual number. Before he could pursue that oddity, hunger cramped his stomach. Sarn scanned the trees around him for anything edible. Even in spring, there must be something.
Before he’d spent a year with the Rangers, he knew every plant and its use, and every animal and its sign. All those lessons had led up to the first of Gregori’s little tests. The last one had left him with a concussion and a promise from Jerlo there would be no more.
What the hell had changed Gregori’s mind—temporary insanity, an edict from Jerlo—what?
At least, this time, I don't have any injuries to deal with. Sarn rubbed his brow. His head felt light from either hunger or the lingering effects of that drug. He could still taste its bitter promise of unconsciousness, so he spat out another mouthful of water.
Done grumbling, he worked on figuring out where in Shayari he was. Enchanted trees surrounded him, but they stood there mimicking their non-magical brethren.
How long will their good behavior last?
Sarn played the glow of his eyes across the trees towering over him, and their light merged with the magic rushing around inside them, lending them a sinister air.
Bubbles of brilliance passed up and down their bark in a never-ending stream. From branches to leaves, those lights moved in a constant dance of color at the periphery of sight. If he squinted, patterns came into focus, but they made his head throb.
The trees regarded Sarn. They knew he was there. Maybe their awareness stretched to what had happened last night.
“Why did you kill those people? Why did you let that boy die? And what was that black stuff? Is it still here?”
The forest maintained its silence and its stillness made his skin crawl.
Sarn closed his eyes. Will you kill me too? Probably not since I respect the forest's rules.
Without warning, a map unspooled inside his head, and it included a lot more of Shayari than the last time Sarn had checked it. While he’d been unconscious, his map must have updated itself because it now included a white star pulsing so very far away.
“Ran,” Sarn whispered, reaching toward the star marking his son. Please be okay until I return.
Levering himself up in stages, Sarn made it to a sit without blacking out. A map icon flashed in his peripheral vision, but he ignored it. It’d likely selected the fastest route back, but it could wait.
Sarn tipped forward onto his hands and knees and crawled to the nearest tree. Digging his fingers into those rough, vertical grooves, he levered himself up until a projectile hurtled toward him.
What the hell—? Sarn dove sideways before the thought could complete itself.
Magic shot between him and the ground, softening it. After bouncing twice, Sarn landed on his side with the breath knocked out of him, startling another rat. It bared its teeth not more than a foot away, and the cold breath of something unnatural raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
That dark thing from last night was here with him. Its malevolence concentrated on this spot. I must get away from here.
Before Sarn could move, an insect leaped off the rat’s back and burrowed into the spent leaves blanketing the ground. Roots tore open the earth, and the lifeless rat toppled into it and disappeared under a pile of dirt. Just like last night, a black substance spurted from that pile and shot toward him.
Sarn rolled aside, and the trees surrounding him backed away, but not enough to reveal the sky. Their tangled branches still blocked it from sight.
“What is that stuff?” Sarn pointed to that foul geyser and the increasing puddle surrounding it.
Everything grayed as it dissolved into that creeping black liquid—fallen leaves, ants searching for food, rocks and even the edge of his cloak before a branch pushed him back. And that foul substance sucked the heat from the air flowing over it.
What happened last night is still happening. This is just the tip of something far worse. And I'm stuck out here with no provisions or clues facing Fates know what. Damn you, Gregori. Sarn punched the ground, but he pulled the blow at the last minute, so he didn't break his fist.
Two more projectiles dropped, and Sarn rolled aside ready to curse the forest too, but a root smacked the object, rolling it into his waiting palm. Turning his head, he regarded an apple the size of a melon.
Its swollen outward appearance aside, the All-fruit tasted of honey, cinnamon, and crisp apple. Why’s the forest being so generous?
“Why did you let those people die last night? Why feed me now?”
Because they want something from me, obviously.
Sarn quashed the questions that realization raised and instead, looked for the source of his sudden windfall. Super-sized apple lookalikes hung from a vine draped over a tree’s lower branches absorbing magic from its host to infuse into its fruit. But all were just out of reach thanks to that expanding black puddle.
Too bad because my son loves them. And that vine's growing enough All-fruit to feed my family for a month.
One All-fruit filled the void in his belly, leeching some of the pain drilling his skull. The ground opened by his boot to accept the refuse. Too full to consume the edible core, Sarn dropped it into a hole filled with that same black substance. It closed as a branch shooed him away from it.
What’s under the forest? Why enchant the forest in the first place? The answers to both questions might explain some of what was going on.
“What are you guarding?”
Sarn pivoted, playing the green glow of his eyes over each tree in turn. They stood straighter in answer like the sentinels they were, and that branch pushed against his shoulder. It was time to go.
Sarn gathered up the two remaining All-fruits. When the forest gave something to a traveler, it expected some form of gratitude in return. Sarn fumbled in one of his pockets for a burlap sack while he sought the words the forest waited to hear. After dropping the All-fruits inside, he tied it closed.
Those giants loomed over him, growing larger every minute he remained mute. When Sarn opened his mouth, the words changed on his tongue as the geas binding him to the truth tightened its grip on his psyche.
Oh Fates, their branches end in black knives, and their leaves are flesh-tearing stars. Sarn gripped the top of the sack so hard, his knuckles turned white.
“I can’t do it.” Sarn dropped the sack, and the All-fruits rolled in the dirt. “I can’t thank you. Why did you let them kill that boy? Why kill the killers afterward? Why didn’t you save him? Your rules don’t allow anyone to harm a child in here, so why didn’t you stop them? And what is that black stuff?”
The wind kicked up, blowing with a fury that matched his. It tugged his cloak, but not a single leaf stirred. All was still except a solitary cockroach scuttling past his boot and the geyser feeding the black puddle creeping toward him.
Did I go too far? Will they destroy me for speaking up when no one else would? They’d allowed a child to die, so why should they care if I survive?
Unless they really did want something from him, but what could they possibly want from an untutored mage? Sarn tensed and prepared for flight while he waited for the forest’s response.
A root swatted an All-fruit, rolling it out of that black stuff's reach. After it knocked the second one in his direction, two forest giants slid aside, and behind them, other enchanted monoliths broke ranks. They created a zigzagging path where none had existed before.
What is this, a peace offering?
When Sarn made no move to pick up the fruit, several roots breached the surface. They coiled around the All-fruits and the sack and handed the results to him. A branch touched his back and pushed him toward the trail the forest had created.
A chill invaded his body and soul as the dead boy coalesced next to him. Flat, emerald eyes fixed on Sarn, urging him t
o run. He shivered from the sudden cold snap as the ghost pointed.
Eam’meye erator, said a voice on the wind.
A cockroach grew as it exited the foul puddle welling up at the tree's base and climbed another of those enchanted monoliths dragging a trail of black slime in its wake. Ice slid down the darkening tree’s bark, cracking it so that putrid black liquid could ooze inside.
An icy branch swung toward Sarn, dripping ichor, but he dodged it as the infected roach leaped onto another tree to kick off its transformation. A glowing root wrapped around his arm jerking Sarn to the side. He slipped on a puddle of ichor and crashed into another tree as it rushed forward to grapple with the overshadowed ones.
The ghost’s hand solidified around his wrist, dragging Sarn between the clashing trees.
“What’s happening?”
This was something out of an old tale from the time of wild magic.
The ghost shook its head and kept flying, charting a course through those suddenly mobile monoliths. But no matter how fast they fled, the corruption outpaced them.
Unnatural, shrieked his magic right before it slammed into his stomach, knocking Sarn backward and breaking the ghost’s grip. Let us out!
Sarn landed on his rump wrestling for control of the fire racing under his skin. Around him, enchanted trees winked out releasing clouds of shining motes. They rained down on Sarn, coating his cloak, cowl, and trousers in the clean magic of life until every part of him glowed a pale green verging on white.
The ghost stared part in wonder and part in fear, and so did Sarn.
“I have only one type of magic, and it’s green, not white.” Sarn stared at the silver flames dancing on his palms. Something’s wrong with my magic or my eyes.
The ghost boy extended hesitant fingers, twined them in that strange magic and tore free a fistful of shimmering white filaments. They winked out a moment later.
Rubbing his numb hands, Sarn checked for signs of injury, but only a tingling sensation remained where his magic had torn.
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