by Darius Hinks
‘What is this?’ demanded Haldus as he approached.
This close, he could see that the spellweaver was Naieth the Prophetess. Her face was locked in a grimace as the dryad wrenched her this way and that, screeching the same song as her sisters.
The Wild Rider strode towards him. Haldus was tall, but Atolmis towered over him. His eyes blazed behind his birchwood mask. ‘Do nothing!’ he cried, in a low, dangerous voice. ‘Keep your people at bay.’
Haldus shook his head, confused, but before he could demand an explanation, something happened that left his question forgotten.
The song reach a crescendo and the two dancers were picked out in a shaft of sunlight. It broke through the swirling clouds like the finger of a god. Haldus knew it was night, but this was clearly sunlight – the fresh, clear sunlight of a spring morning. Haldus reeled as he caught the scent of a real forest, freed from the cloying, diseased warmth that currently lay over the trees. It was intoxicating. For a moment, he even heard the sound of birdsong.
The two dancers stood still and looked up into the column of light, their faces blazing. For a moment, their expressions were identical in their bliss, as they recognised the taste of the banished season.
Then the light failed and the sacred grove vanished – plunged into darkness. Even the moonlight was absent and Haldus heard his daughter hiss in shock. He reached out and placed a hand on her arm.
The dryads ended their song.
Clorana stepped closer to her father and he could sense Damára and the others edging towards him.
A wild, triumphant shriek rang out, causing all of them to flinch. Then the ground began to shake. It felt as though a leviathan was tunnelling its way beneath the sacred grove. A low, groaning sound filled the air.
Then the whole clearing was bathed in lurid, red light.
Haldus saw Clorana’s face inches from his, ugly with terror and crimson as blood. Naieth and the dryad were still standing in the centre of the grove but they were now staring at the ancient oak; one with delight and one with dread.
Haldus whirled around to look at the tree and saw that it was the source of the light. A blood-red furnace had been lit at its core, sending shafts of crimson light in every direction. It looked like a shimmering, blood-drenched star.
The light burned brighter, the ground shook harder and the groaning grew louder.
Naieth staggered past Haldus without noticing him, her eyes fixed on the tree. Her expression was a mixture of hope and terror and she was mouthing spells as she walked, jabbing her staff left and right.
Dryads and asrai alike watched in amazement as the slight figure of the spellweaver reached the foot of the tree. Naieth was silhouetted by the scarlet blaze as she raised her staff and cried out a final command.
There was a deafening crack and a new hole appeared at the heart of the Oak.
The red light vanished and the ground was once more bathed in silver as moonlight returned to the clearing.
Naieth dropped to her knees, hanging weakly from her staff.
Haldus hurried towards her but before he reached the prophetess, the sound of laughter caused him to turn around.
Naieth’s fellow dancer, the dryad, was pointing at something nestling in the roots of the tree. Her laughter was brittle and mirthless but, one by one, the other dryads echoed it, until thousands of derisive shrieks rang out through the trees.
Haldus helped Naieth to her feet and they both recoiled from what lay before them.
In the knotted roots were two broken, malformed horrors. One was a grotesque hybrid of a noblewoman and a mottled, grey insect. Her twisted back sported bristling, spine-like hairs and a coat of shimmering scales. Her blunt, eyeless head was crowned by a pair of feathery antennae that twitched as she moved and her whole body was slick with blood and viscera. This pitiful wretch tried to haul herself into a sitting position, but her jumble of crooked limbs and half-formed wings collapsed under her weight, sending her crashing to the ground. Despite her blindness, she clearly sensed that others were nearby and she tried to cry out for help. Rather than words, a long, scaled proboscis rolled and thrashed in her mouth, unable to extend and causing her to choke.
‘The ritual is complete,’ said the dryad and Haldus heard the victory in her voice. ‘False rulers, born of a false spring.’ She kept her talon levelled at the two struggling shapes. ‘You have what you wanted and, I sense…’ she paused, throwing back her head and sighing with pleasure. ‘I sense that you have paid me my price.’
Naieth moaned in horror and reeled away from Haldus. ‘Deceived,’ she whispered, making for the roots of the tree.
‘They’re going,’ said Clorana, her voice full of relief.
Haldus looked back and saw that his daughter was right. The dryads’ leader was striding triumphantly back towards the trees and the host that surrounded the sacred grove was dispersing and vanishing from view.
‘I have been deceived,’ hissed Naieth as she reached the two twitching shapes. There was terror in her voice.
Haldus rushed past her to study the things she had summoned. The hideous mixture of moth and noblewoman had collapsed into a bloody heap, shedding its organs as it tried to beat its wings and gasp for breath.
The other figure was just as shocking. It was a butcher’s slab of mismatched animal parts, flickering and changing faster than the eye could take in. Haldus saw antlers, wings and claws attempt to rise from the pile of gore, but each one collapsed before it could fully take shape.
‘She tricked me,’ said Naieth, staring at the horrors dying before her.
‘Do something!’ cried Atolmis, rushing across the grove and grabbing her by the shoulders. ‘Save them! Use your magic!’
Naieth slumped in the Wild Rider’s grip. ‘It is no use.’ Her voice shook. ‘Drycha knew this would happen, but she hid the truth from me. She wore a mask. I could not see.’
Atolmis glared at her and waved at the wretched figures. They were twitching in pain and attempting to crawl back into the tree. ‘And what have you done in return for these abominations? What did you promise her?’
Naieth stood up straight and stared back at him, her eyes glazed with horror and shock. ‘I loosed the final wards. I have undone the charms that bound the waystones.’
Atolmis shook his head. ‘What do you mean?’
Naieth groaned. ‘I gave her what she asked for. I freed the last of her sisters. I’ve set the Wildwood loose.’
For a moment, Haldus thought Atolmis was about to strike her. ‘How could you do–?’
His words were interrupted by a scream.
Haldus saw that it came from Clorana. She was pointing at the two figures struggling in the roots.
One of them, the mis-born Orion, had climbed to his feet. His flesh was still mercurial and bubbling, but he managed to stand and howl. The sound was wet and gurgling, but it was full of defiance.
Haldus and the others backed away.
The half-formed figure raised a fist to the sky. It became a hoof, then a bear claw, then a fist again. The fury in the howl was not enough to maintain a fixed shape though. Organs and limbs boiled like a stew, spitting, gurgling and spraying blood across the ground.
Some of the others looked away in pity and disgust, but Haldus had noticed something and stepped closer to look at it. The centre of the thing’s body was fixed and unmoving. It looked like plates of bark, formed into an armoured breastplate and there was a rune blazing at the centre of it. As the body parts rippled and flowed, the armour of bark began moving in time to the howls that came from a dozen kinds of throat.
Finally, as the bark reached the thing’s neck, the roar became gargled, bellowed words. ‘I will!’ cried the dreadful figure. ‘I will be born!’
The asrai looked on in amazement and fear. The rune blazed brighter and the monster reached down and lifted the sack of blood, wings and antennae from the ground and held it to its chest. Then it turned and staggered back into the trunk of the tree.
Haldus and the others watched in stunned silence, waiting to see what happened next.
The crimson light flashed even brighter, knifing from the cracks in the tree, and the ground began to shudder again. Then the heavens began to rotate. Haldus looked at the others to see if he was losing his mind, but they had clearly seen the same. All of them watched, wide-eyed as the stars circled overhead, centred on the dying tree. Music filled the air and it took Haldus a few moments to realise it was coming from his throat.
The others dragged their eyes from the dancing stars, almost as surprised by the sound of Haldus’s song. The words were strange and laden with power. They seemed to be the work of a vast choir – a host of powerful voices, channelled through Haldus’s gaping mouth.
He staggered backwards under the weight of the song, and felt a growing fear. As the music grew louder and more impassioned, he felt as though his mind would split.
The stars spiralled faster, Haldus’s song grew louder and the earth shook harder. Several of the nobles backed away into the shadows beneath the trees, terrified, but Naieth rushed to support Haldus, staring at him with growing awe.
‘I knew you would save him,’ she howled, trying to be heard over the din.
The song reached a crescendo and the stars became a single, blazing vortex, centred over the tree. Haldus collapsed onto his back, despite Naieth’s attempt to hold him. As his head hit the ground he realised there were faces in the light – faces that were both terrible and familiar at the same time. The whirlpool of light poured a column of pure energy into the Oak of Ages, turning the glade into a frozen, monochrome vision.
Then the noise ceased and the light vanished.
They all looked towards the tree, filled with renewed hope, but there was nothing there. The Oak of Ages looked as broken as before and, as natural moonlight flooded back over the grove, Haldus saw nothing but terrified nobles and a few scraps of glistening flesh where their rulers had failed to be born.
Despair threatened to overwhelm him when he heard the song again, coming from somewhere to the left of the tree.
Haldus and the others whirled around and saw that the words were coming from a pair of tall thrones, constructed of pale, knotted roots.
He and the other nobles rushed across the clearing and then dropped to their knees, filled with awe.
Ariel and Orion were sitting calmly in their thrones, looking more beautiful and magnificent than Haldus could ever recall seeing them before. Ariel’s form was almost impossible to make out, hazed by a dazzling mantle of spectral wings and clouds of tiny, diaphanous spirits. Her brow shone with stars and her eyes were full of glittering tears.
Orion, meanwhile was a vision of wrath. His head was lowered, as though he were about to charge forwards and tear his subjects apart with his antlers. He wore a cloak of metal leaves, as always, but this year it was slightly different – it was black as night and bristling with razor-sharp burrs and thorns. He had a spear in his hand and at his belt there was a bow and horn of bone. His chest was broad and his whole frame was lashed with slab-like, angular muscles. Haldus noticed something else new – Orion’s torso was clad in jagged, pitted armour, made of bark and branded with a single glowing rune. The rune shimmered with green light as he leant forwards in the throne and locked his burning eyes on Haldus.
Haldus felt like fleeing or cowering, but he managed to hold his nerve and gave the royals a deep bow, prompting the other nobles to do the same.
Orion turned to Ariel with a question in his eyes. She gave him a look full of love, memory and pride, then nodded.
The Consort-King rose from the throne and addressed his subjects in a rolling baritone. ‘The ancients of this forest,’ he said, running his talons across the bark-armour that covered his chest, ‘know more truths than can be described by prophecy.’ He looked at Naieth. It was only the briefest glance, but it was enough to make her cower. ‘We belong. More than anything, we belong. The forest is our blood. We are the blood of the forest.’ He glanced at the surrounding trees and Haldus saw movement in the dark – low, canine ghosts that edged forwards towards the grove, drawn by the power of Orion’s voice. ‘Lies have been spread. Oaths have been broken. We have been divided. We have allowed an enemy into our home.’ Orion stood and lifted his spear to the sky and howled. ‘But no more!’ His voice shook the trees and caused Haldus’s heart to pound. ‘Seasons or not, I will hunt.’ He stepped away from the throne and slapped the horn at his belt, lowering his voice to a growl. ‘We will all hunt.’ He looked at the rotten, pitiful trees. ‘The threads must tighten. The guardians must unite. The forest must become one.’
Most of the nobles had averted their gaze, but Haldus dared to address Orion. ‘My king,’ he said. ‘I have learned–’
Orion turned to face Haldus and the prince faltered over his words.
‘I… I have learned of a great treachery. I… One of your subjects… A noble by the name of Cyanos has poisoned some of the forest spirits against you. I discovered a–’
Moonlight flashed in Haldus’s eyes as Ariel raised a hand to silence him. Her eyes moved in his direction, and Haldus had the unnerving sensation that they saw far more than his physical presence.
‘Most loyal of subjects, Prince Haldus,’ said the Mage Queen. ‘We have seen your trials. And we have also seen what you have learned. Naieth’s vision was clear,’ she glanced lovingly at the cowering sorceress, and Naieth rallied a little, ‘as it ever was. You have found the canker at the heart of all that we hold dear. He was in the thrall of many who would hurt us. It was the lies of Cyanos that divided and weakened the Council of Beasts. We have suffered many blows, but that was the hardest. Losing the great drakes was the beginning of their doom.’ Pain flashed in her eyes. ‘The fall of the Great Stag, Sativus, their Spirit King, stems from this sundering. And without him…’ she paused and looked at the ground. The lights that surrounded her dimmed and the tiny spirits fell back into her robes. She shook her head.
Orion placed a hand on her shoulder.
Ariel looked into his eyes for a moment and they shared a silent exchange. Then she nodded and continued. ‘You must ride with your king again, Prince Haldus. Hawks must join hounds. The Wild Hunt will be the instrument of our wrath.’
Haldus felt his heart begin to race as Orion looked towards him and bared his long teeth in a smile.
The rangy, shadowy forms began padding from the trees. The hounds of Orion were ready for war.
Before Orion could leave, however, Ariel placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘Wait,’ she said, reaching into her robes.
Naieth nodded eagerly as Ariel drew out the tip of a bleached, dusty incisor.
‘Of course,’ muttered the prophetess, her eyes flashing.
Ariel gave her a nod as she handed the tooth to Orion. ‘The Council of Beasts must become one, Orion. And then they must answer your call. Naieth believes this will be the key to your success.’
Orion looked at the tooth and frowned. ‘What is it?’
Ariel smiled. ‘Nothing happens by chance, my love. To bring the shard of a great serpent from a realm of death is a matter of significance. I found this in your funeral pyre, hidden in your ashes. It was left in your flesh by the ghost of a forest dragon. There is a prophecy here but–’ she glanced at Naieth ’–we cannot read all of the details. It is a talisman of some kind, perhaps – a charm to bring you luck. Naieth’s rites have all been unclear. Whatever the reason, we’re sure you must take it.’
Orion frowned at the memory of the dragon, but he took the tooth and hid it beneath his cloak of thorns.
He turned and held up a hand to the hounds. ‘Soon,’ he said quietly, ‘we will hunt.’
Then he thudded from the clearing, with Haldus and the other warhawk riders sprinting after him.
‘Tal Mhór!’ cried Haldus as the hawks carried them across the surface of a wide, glassy lake. They were deep in the Chasm Glades, far to the east of the Oak of Ages, and Orion was leading t
hem towards a vast tree, nestled between the toes of the mountains. They were at the eastern-most reaches of the forest, away from the stranglehold of the plague and north of the craggy peaks Haldus called home. It was mid afternoon and the skies were clear. There was a ghost of winter on the breeze that buffeted them as they flew but, even here, the seasons were in retreat. The air was laced with an acrid smell and traces of humid, tropical warmth.
‘This is a place I have never been foolish enough to approach,’ continued Haldus as they approached their destination.
Orion’s hawk was near to Haldus’s and the prince glimpsed a flash of humour in his eyes. As always, Haldus felt as though he and Orion shared a deep bond of understanding but the king’s latest incarnation was different. There was something playful – devious even – in Orion’s eyes that Haldus had not seen before.
The Consort-King glanced at him. ‘Unlike your king.’
Haldus felt his cheeks flush red and he silently cursed his lack of deference.
Orion looked back at the tree and Haldus followed his gaze.
Tal Mhór was a cornerstone of the World Roots – one of the portals that linked the forest to the forests of the wider world. But there were few travellers, asrai or otherwise, who would brave its boughs now. The tree was a sister to the guardians that watched over the Crowfoot Falls. It was half a mile in circumference and its crown was lost from view, way above the clouds – taller even than the mountain peaks that flanked it. Centuries earlier, it had become host to some of the forest’s most dangerous predators – the great drakes. Until recently, no one had known what drew the forest dragons to that specific spot, but in Cyanos’s scribbled notes, Haldus had discovered the truth – lies had driven them to self-imposed exile. They brooded and slept, high in the boughs of Tal Mhór, seeking nothing but food and a chance to punish those stupid enough to approach. Haldus had heard tales as a child that the dragons served the forest – protecting it at times of great need – but that had not proven to be the case. As he tried, unsuccessfully to save the asrai halls from plague, he had looked to the skies in hope of their coming, and been disappointed every time.