Novor Tur-Woodberry sat up fast, his eyes widening at the surprising statement. “It spoke? What did it say?”
“I can’t recall. But Kai went to see it today and something attacked her. She’s at home, sleeping, but I think the villagers blame me. They saw me go to the caves with her yesterday and they believe it’s my fault.”
“Hmmm . . .” he said.
“Novor Tur-Woodberry, what is that light?”
Novor Tur-Woodberry shook his head. He was both surprised and concerned the light appeared to Citrine and spoke to her. A brief debate rippled through him. He wanted to explain to her, and yet, he also wanted her to tell him the truth and stop hiding her knowledge.
“Kai called it the Silver-White Heart,” Citrine continued, raising her eyebrows as if to encourage him to speak. “I saw something in it . . . something dark.”
“What did it say to you?” Novor Tur-Woodberry asked, scratching his beard. The fact that the light appeared to the people of his land was a dire warning. He understood his time was at an end, but now the people of his land were in danger from more than one source. The Master of the Forest was coming to take Paradise while Paradise itself was dying.
Citrine bit her lip, her eyes roving back and forth as if she were searching for something. “I can’t remember all of it,” she admitted, shrugging. “There was a voice that spoke of the end of times and the Creators. I remember that part clearly because I was surprised it said Creators as if there is more than one. That’s not true, is it?” She leaned toward him, sending a wave of lavender to his nostrils.
“Aye, you are a sharp one,” he murmured. “There is deep knowledge in the Four Worlds and if you seek wisdom, you shall find it. If, indeed, there is more than one Creator, it is only because there is more than one world.”
Citrine shuddered. “You speak of life beyond the Four Worlds? As if there could be such a thing. Impossible.”
“Hum . . . you cry impossible, and yet, you do not know all. It is possible the Four Worlds is all there is to this universe, just as it is entirely possible there are worlds beyond our imagination. If you seek wisdom, you must not make accusations based on your limited knowledge. Those who are wise understand this truth. We do not truly perceive unless we humble ourselves, ask questions, and keep our minds open to possibilities.”
Citrine scowled.
Novor Tur-Woodberry could only imagine she was not used to being rebuked, no matter how kindly he placed his words.
“Never mind all that, I forget myself.” He reached out his hand to pat Citrine’s, and she flinched. “To answer your question, the Silver-White Heart is the heart of this land. As long as the light is whole and pure, my land will remain. Yet you saw a darkness in it?”
“Yes.” Citrine’s face reddened. “Is it because of the Master of the Forest?”
“It is a coincidence I will investigate tomorrow.” A yawn caught in his throat and he closed his eyes momentarily, listening to the gentle voice of sleep ready to pull him into the beyond. “The hour grows late, and you must be tired.”
Citrine folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them, avoiding his gaze. “Nay, I need to prepare for this journey into the forest. You gave me weapons and I thank you for it, but I also need herbs, food, and water.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry waved a hand to reassure her. “No need to worry. I will have my Singing Men pack supplies for you and Tor Lir. All shall be ready for you at dawn.”
Novor Tur-Woodberry noticed Citrine twitch when he said the name Tor Lir. She looked up at him, her eyes narrow. “If I may speak plainly, I don’t like him.” She bit her bottom lip before proceeding. “He’s arrogant, and he only just arrived here. He doesn’t care about the land or saving it. I don’t understand why he’s here or what his purpose is.” She held up a hand to keep Novor Tur-Woodberry from protesting. “He’s here to keep the balance between good and evil, but he doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the balance. He doesn’t understand or respect the land, the people of the land, or the animals. Why would he put his life in danger to save it? In fact, I know he won’t put his life in danger to save your land . . . ”
She trailed off, blinking and swiping at her eyes. Novor Tur-Woodberry saw the depth of her commitment to the land and something else. She turned her head away from his and back toward the fire. “I don’t want him to come with me. I can do this by myself. If you will provide supplies, I’ll leave tonight.”
“Citrine,” Novor Tur-Woodberry said, coaxing her to understand why she needed to travel with Tor Lir. “He is new to the realm of mortals. He does not understand yet, which is why I want you to be his guide. Take him through the realms. Show him what is priceless. Perhaps then he will grasp what you and I already know regarding life in this world. He does not understand his true purpose nor does he know who he is yet.”
“And you do?” Citrine whispered, still blinking hard.
“Not quite,” Novor Tur-Woodberry mused into the fire. “There is some truth to what he says, but he does not understand the entire revelation.”
Citrine lifted her chin. “I don’t know if I can make him understand—”
“Nay, that is up to him. All you need to do is show him the way. I believe you would do well with him by your side, if not to your benefit, then for his.” Novor Tur-Woodberry rose and stuck out a hand to help Citrine to her feet. “Are you willing?”
His fingers closed around her warm hand and he held it a beat as he waited for her answer. Citrine glanced down, noticing their joined hands, and her expression changed. Novor Tur-Woodberry thought he saw a glint of triumph in her light eyes as she faced him. She opened her mouth and said the words he’d hoped she’d say.
26
Strawberry Dawn
Tor Lir woke to the sound of wind chimes, and a roar rushed passed his ears. He sat up, surprised he’d slept at all. Generally, he did not sleep, but his mind needed to absorb the information he’d learned last night. Swinging his feet over the down-feather bed, he pulled his pants, shirt, and jerkin on. Wiggling into his boots, he straightened his clothes and slung the bow and arrows over his shoulder.
At the last moment, he noticed a dark cloak resting on the foot of the bed, as if a silent stranger had crept into the room at night and placed it there. Curious, Tor Lir ran his fingers over the material. It was soft, well-kept fur. A shudder passed through him as he lifted the garment and flung it around his shoulders. A sigh of peace escaped his lips as he donned it and strode back and forth. The cloak hardly weighed anything and floated behind him as if it were his shadow. He ran his fingers through his hair and glanced around for a door. An archway appeared and striding over, he reached for the ornate door latch and swung open the door.
A gust of wind hurled through the outer room, swinging the door to the chamber back with a boom. Tor Lir jumped and peered out into the main room, raising his eyebrows at what he saw. The wind blew into a vortex, turning from transparent nothingness into something solid, out of which stepped a female. She was as tall as Citrine and her skin, brown as an acorn, had a honey-like glow about it. A gown the color of a cloudless sky moved around her body as if caught in a faint breeze. She turned her bright eyes on Tor Lir, examining him before asking, “Are you a guest of Novor Tur-Woodberry?”
“Aye.” He nodded, his heartbeat quickening as he realized the room had changed once again. Golden light bathed the room, capturing the first light of sunrise. A table sat against the wall with steaming piles of baked buns, fruitcakes, and pies while baskets of fruit—strawberries and blueberries and pineapple—covered almost half the table. Tor Lir’s mouth watered at the sight. The lands of the Iaens were abundant in fruit, and the sweet tang of nostalgia moved through his body. “Who are you?”
“I am the wind lady,” she offered. “I have come with a gift, but first I must deem this land worthy of such a gift. Tell me, have you been here long? What are your views on Novor Tur-Woodberry and the inhabitants of this gracious land?”
&n
bsp; Tor Lir paused. The wind lady’s face appeared open and frank, and yet he felt his guard come up. “If you don’t mind”—he bowed slightly, for her presence seemed to demand it—“I am just passing through and Novor Tur-Woodberry was kind enough to offer me hospitality.”
“Is that so?” The wind lady smirked at him. “I thought I saw you tied up and led by the Singing Men. Yesterday?” She touched a finger to her flat nose as her bright eyes laughed at him.
Tor Lir scratched the back of his neck, moving closer to the fruit. The inviting smell of freshly baked food hung in the air, different from anything he’d ever experienced. The creatures of Shimla did not cook their food and ate what bounty of the forest they could forage. “Err . . . well . . . it was all a misunderstanding. I am leaving now.”
“Are you leaving because of your impression on the land?” the wind lady queried. “I ask because . . . I want to know. The more I gleam from first impressions, the better I can choose whether this land deserves the gift I bring it.”
Tor Lir pondered her words as he popped a strawberry into his mouth. A burst of flavor awakened his senses, and he sighed. A wave of homesickness passed over him at the taste and more than anything, he missed the wild gardens of Shimla. The youths among the Iaens harvested the gardens, and it was a duty he enjoyed until he grew old enough to graduate from harvesting. The Iaens saw hard work as a punishment or a disgrace. Only new Iaens or prisoners were given the task of harvesting the bountiful gardens.
Raising his eyes to the wind lady who watched him eat, he thought of a proper response. “This land is a beautiful haven.” He spread out his arms to indicate the whole of the land. “But something is wrong. The land is dying. I don’t know what your gift is, but at a time like this, it is either much needed or will be in vain.”
The wind lady considered him, emotion fading from her face. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Spinning, she turned to stride toward the door just as Citrine burst into the room.
Citrine glared at the wind lady and Tor Lir watched them eye each other like two lionesses prepared to pounce on each other and defend their territory. The wind lady’s lip curled as she examined Citrine, and she opened her mouth as if she were about to speak. Citrine was faster and cut her off, turning her back on the wind lady and angling her body toward Tor Lir. “Are you ready?” she demanded.
Tor Lir was surprised to see Citrine fully dressed for travel. Dark boots that came to her knees clad her feet. They looked as if they were made of the hide of some creature. She still wore the short shift that fell just above her knees, but her cloak was longer. On her back was a pack—full of food, Tor Lir assumed—a bedroll, and a waterskin. She had fastened the two knives given to her by Novor Tur-Woodberry around her waist.
“Aye.” Tor Lir ate another strawberry, reveling in the sweet flavor for a moment before straightening his shoulders. “Where is Novor Tur-Woodberry?”
“He rises at dawn to survey his land.” The wind lady laughed as her winds blew through the room, gathering strength.
“Ah.” Tor Lir noticed the scathing look Citrine gave the wind lady before turning on her heel and flinging open the heavy door. It swung out, showing them an emerald sunrise, invading the land.
Tor Lir turned toward the wind lady as Citrine marched out the door, her strides long as she headed southeast. He placed his palms together and bowed in her direction as a farewell, unsure what else to say about the mysterious home of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
By the time he turned around, Citrine was a quickly retreating figure, moving in a blur. He broke into a run to catch up with her, curious about his guide but sensing words were not welcome.
27
Into the Forest
They walked silently for a while. Citrine let the sting of seeing another female in the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry fade away like an old wound. She understood he had many guests, yet after their conversation that evening, she’d felt an unusual closeness to Novor Tur-Woodberry. Finding another female in his home made her feel as though she’d read into the situation more than she should have. Eyeing the exquisite male by her side, she let her curiosity override her misgivings. She opened her mouth and words tumbled out, no need for hesitations or politeness. “Novor Tur-Woodberry weaved magic into our cloaks,” she told him, wondering if he already knew.
Tor Lir raised his eyebrows, tilting his angular face to examine her. His green eyes seemed deep and unreadable. “How?”
Citrine stuck out her chest, proud she knew something Tor Lir did not know. “Novor Tur-Woodberry’s land is vast and wide. Depending on where you start, it could take days to cross it and enter the Boundary Line Forest. But Novor Tur-Woodberry and his Singing Men can move through the land at will . . . almost like—”
“They control the ability to move through portals within their land?” Tor Lir interrupted.
Citrine paused in surprise as she considered his words. “Yes, like that,” she agreed before walking forward again, quickening her pace as her dark cloak swished around her bare legs.
“How do we use the power?” Tor Lir’s voice had an enchanting lilt to it, as if he could break into a song and a sweet melody would pour out. Citrine wondered if he persuaded those around him to do his bidding without regard for morality.
“I’ll do it.” Citrine stopped again, unwilling to share all of her knowledge with him. When she looked at him, her eyes wanted to slide away and for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a green glimmer. “Come stand by me and touch my cloak. Then close your eyes and empty your mind.”
A slight grin came to Tor Lir’s face. “It sounds as if you will put a spell on me.” He moved to stand in front of her, placing both his hands on her shoulders.
Citrine felt an instant moment of uncomfortableness at their proximity. Although she was almost six feet tall, Tor Lir stood about a head higher than her and smelled of pine and honeysuckle. She breathed in as she closed her eyes, almost tasting the fragrances that surrounded him. Spicier aromas rose from his chest, a blend of cedar, cinnamon, and juniper. It was intoxicating. She wondered what it would be like to press her lips to his skin and if she could taste the flavors there. The herbs of the forest seemed to stick to him like burrs. She hadn’t noticed his distinct smell in the house of Novor Tur-Woodberry.
“You look as if you’re enjoying this,” Tor Lir interrupted her thoughts, laughter in his voice as he squeezed her shoulders.
Citrine’s eyes snapped open, and she lifted her chin. “You’re supposed to have your eyes closed. Stop staring at me—you’re ruining my concentration.”
“I know little about spells, but I don’t think you’re supposed to smile,” Tor Lir murmured, his voice dropping to just above a whisper.
“You wouldn’t know, so be quiet,” Citrine scolded him, but there was no anger in her voice, only a bittersweet wistfulness. She closed her eyes again and visions of dark-chocolate eyes and a teasing mouth rose before her. Let the past be the past. She rested her hands on Tor Lir’s arms and turned her thoughts to the Boundary Line Forest, recalling the bone-white creature, the skull, and the glade where they met in.
A sharp wind flickered around her and the stinking scent of sulfur entered her nostrils. Wrinkling her nose, she opened her eyes and let go of Tor Lir. Something crunched under her feet and looking down, she saw grass as sharp as ice and black like obsidian.
“May I open my eyes now?” Tor Lir squinted as he peeked through one half-open eye.
“Aye, we’re here.” Citrine nodded as she turned, her eyes drawn to the stretch of blackness in front of murky trees. A strong odor accosted the land and thick trees rose before her, cutting out all daylight.
“This must be the Boundary Line Forest,” Tor Lir stated, folding his arms across his chest.
Citrine scratched her head. “We are standing at the border of the land of Novor Tur-Woodberry. His power can only take us this far, but . . . something is wrong. Why is the green grass dying?”
“Ah, you haven’t
seen this? It’s happening across the land, I assume. I was in the marshes yesterday when I saw the darkness bubbling up from underground. When I met Novor Tur-Woodberry, he was standing in front of the grass. It’s sharp as a knife, so be careful where you step.”
“How can the Master of the Forest have this much power?” Citrine stomped across the charred grass toward the trees in frustration. “Don’t you see?” She glared at Tor Lir. “We need the balance to swing in favor of Novor Tur-Woodberry. Paradise is dying. Don’t you care?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Tor Lir replied, his expression aloof.
“You made your point clear last night,” Citrine said, not caring how rude she sounded. “All you care about is the balance between good and evil. There is no such thing as balance, and if there is, there shouldn’t be. You are new to the realm of mortals, but what you should care about, above all things, is life and sustaining life.”
Tor Lir was silent and Citrine wanted to slap his face. His green eyes slanted and his cheekbones were high. She could see the shadow of a future beard, but then they ducked under the trees and his features blurred into the darkness of the forest.
The air, stinking like rotten eggs, was thick and dim as they strode through the forest. They moved in and out of boughs, Citrine tripping over underbrush and cursing under her breath at their slow speed. As she walked, she reached out feelers of communication, seeking her beasts, a gnawing worry eating away at her, at their silence.
Ava. Zaul. Grift.
There was no answer.
After a while, she eyed Tor Lir, seeking something to distract her from worrying about her beasts. Regardless of what she thought of him, an aura of mystery surrounded Tor Lir and since fate seemed to toss them together, she might as well find out more about him. “You don’t seem to know very much about yourself,” she remarked, her words piercing the stillness of the forest. “Who are your parents? What powers do you have?”
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