by Steve Vera
“Tarsidion,” Gavin said.
The big man lingered a moment, a sneer pulling at his nostrils, then removed himself and straightened to his full seven feet. Skip was laughing inside, doing cartwheels. I love you, Tarsy. Kick his ass.
Once he had a clear line of sight, Gavin locked in on Donovan, who hadn’t so much as twitched.
“Pick the words you use to answer me carefully, Donovan Smith,” Gavin said. “Because your life is at stake.” At the completion of his sentence, Cirena, Noah and Tarsidion placed their hands to their hilts in synchronized unison. Gavin was the only one who didn’t. “And I will know if you’re lying.”
A tank turret would have been more expressive. “Because I already know your question, I’ll ignore your threat,” he said. “But do it again and the last thing you will see in this world is my face. Yes. I opened the tomb. No. It was not my intent.”
“How did you do it, then?” Skip asked from the side. Being a detective died hard.
Donovan turned, met Skip’s eyes and then glanced down at his chest. It was all the answer anybody needed.
The forest seemed to hold its breath.
“Were you called?” Noah asked.
A layer of ice seemed to crack from Donovan’s face, revealing half of a sliver of question. “It could have come in many forms—dreams, visions, voices...” Her voice trailed away as did her thoughts. Skip could see her mind crunching behind her eyes and then all at once she slapped both hands to her face and moaned. Her next sentence came like a machine gun to her fellow Shardyn, but in her own mystifying language.
“English, for the love of God,” Skip barked.
Noah dropped her head back and stared at the sky, shaking her head. When she straightened she drilled Donovan with an exasperated stare and a bitter smile. “I know what you are,” she said. There was conviction in her eyes and whatever she’d rattled off to her kin seemed to make sense, because they were all nodding grimly. She didn’t elaborate, though. She made him ask.
“And what am I, Noah?”
Her eyes went flat. “You’re somebody’s key.”
Chapter 15
At the end of the day, only one thing mattered. Moving. Gavin accepted his new situation with storming emotions—euphoria, alarm, but mostly dread. Amanda Kasey, the love of his life that he’d thought he’d never see again, was walking right beside him.
On Theia.
How many times had he fantasized about showing her his world? Walking her through the grounds of the Everwillow or revealing the secrets of the splendors of his world? Or more simply, that little stone niche lookout just behind the waterfall on the crescent side of the Shardyn Temple. It was strange, though, because though Amanda had owned his heart on Earth, another had owned it here...
“You haven’t said very much,” Amanda observed from beside him. He could hear her breaths, labored. On a tactical level, they’d slowed to a crawl. Well, a shuffle. She’d always been in shape.
He turned and offered her a smile he didn’t feel. “I’m sorry, baby, just trying to figure things out.”
“And I screwed it up by coming here, didn’t I?”
“No, of course not—”
“He’s lying,” Donovan called up in a grating, raspy whisper.
Gavin sucked his teeth. I can’t wait to settle up with you, Donovan. The fact that the very person responsible for the resumption of the worst war in the history of either world was walking among Gavin’s company went beyond comprehension. It felt immoral. And yet here he was, indebted.
First things first, though, Amanda’s eyes had narrowed.
“You didn’t screw anything up, Amanda. It’s just...”
“It’s just what?” she asked, her “what” going up an octave. He couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t much of one, just a flicker of the lips, but it was real.
“It’s just a small change of plans is all.”
This time it was Cirena who scoffed. Gavin shot her a look.
“Remember what you promised me at the Bastion, Gavin? It’s still in effect. No lies.”
“Unless you ask me if you’re fat.”
“But only that. Anything else you give it to me straight. Got it? Promise?”
Gavin helped her across a small stream that miraculously, magically, defied gravity and arched over a tumble of stones. Amanda stared at it, jaw askew.
“Got it. Promise.”
“Gavin, that water is flowing up instead of around.”
“Indeed it is. And to answer your former question...we’re moving slower than I would like.”
Her stare left the gravity-defying brooklet. “Thank you. And I’ll move faster.”
Somehow, despite their inconceivable circumstances, it was like the two of them hadn’t missed a beat.
Their conversation was silenced by brooding trees that crowded in on them, reaching for them with leafless hands, condensing their group to a single-file.
“Is it me, or are these trees getting bigger?” Skip asked, adjusting his rifle over his shoulder. He was breathing hard as well.
“It’s not just you,” Noah said, looking up at a towering gnarled brute that took note of their passage. “These woods are changing.” She was right. The shelmuts were still around but there were other breeds introducing themselves as well—silver beech, ironwoods and black oak.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
Noah leaped easily over a fallen log and pointed to the left. “Snake,” she called out. “And it depends on the keeper.”
“What’s a keeper?” Amanda asked. Her eyes were pinned to the spot that Noah had pointed to.
Gavin saw the snake, a four-foot flying green-racer watching from a lazy coil. Its head followed them, tongue darting.
“Holy shit, Gavin, that snake has wings!” Amanda cried.
“Not so loud,” he murmured. “They’re easily agitated.”
With exaggerated caution, Amanda stepped over the log at the farthest point and hurried after Gavin.
Of course Skip had to stop to take a closer look. “Man, I wish I had a camera,” he muttered.
Donovan walked past without a glance, as did Cirena.
“That is unwise,” Tarsidion said, stopping behind. “You are within its striking range and though its poison does not kill, it’s quite painful.”
“Roger that,” Skip said, standing though he didn’t move. “What is the striking range of a snake with wings, anyway?”
It watched them with lidless beady eyes. Its forked tongue slithered in and out of its mouth.
“Thirty feet. Forty, depending on its line of sight.”
“That’s not what I want to hear,” Amanda said from up front.
Skip gave the snake one last look, glanced at Tarsidion, who waited patiently, shrugged and moved on.
The next hour was quiet. Gavin found himself watching the tops of the trees, listening to the calls of birds that flapped in and out of their upper branches, many of which he had no name for. The trees were whispering to each other. He could hear them when their branches stirred in the wind.
Noah brought up her fist and motioned for everybody to get down. They did.
“Look there,” she said softly to Gavin, who’d crept up to her side. She pointed farther up the hill across a small clearing.
“Druidic?” he asked.
“Definitely, though to which discipline I am uncertain.”
The others crowded behind them to take a look. Except for Donovan. “That’s good news, right?” Skip asked.
Noah considered a moment and then nodded. “Theoretically. I used to be an acolyte.”
“A what?” Skip whispered.
“An apprentice. I’ll take point.”
“And I’ll back you
up,” Gavin said, shooting another glance up at the canopy, which had thickened. Gloom. “Tarsy, Cirena...hang back.” He regarded Noah. “Shall we introduce ourselves?”
Although the sunlight would be leaving in a couple of hours, the narrow beam that penetrated the forest’s top felt good on Gavin’s face, warmed the chill that had begun to set in his bones. Druids were tricky business. Their devotion to all things green was noble, admirable even, but sometimes infringed on common sense.
He set his sights on their objective. A large hexagon outlined in stones had been placed between the trunks of two immense, ancient gnarled shelmuts. Far larger than any he’d ever seen. The stones that comprised the borders alternated between white and black. At each point of the hexagon was a vertical, impaled six-foot shaft and atop it—a skull. A different creature for each point, six in all. Most noteworthy was what was in the center—two twelve-foot shafts crossing each other, forming and X, and atop each shaft was a ball of crystal in the shape of an eye, punctuated by green pupils.
“Any ideas?” he asked.
“We could wave.”
He chuckled. Good old Noah. On his nod the two of them slipped into the clearing and approached the hexagon.
At ten feet away the ward burst into flames the color of ripe limes and a symbol formed over the orbs—an crescent topped by a sphere with three rays of glowing emerald light that speared down into the ground. Both of their cloaks swirled around them in reflex.
“What do you think?” Gavin whispered. They’d stopped. He could feel the tension of his brethren behind them.
“Judging by the assorted skulls impaled on pig poles, I should think it means ‘let’s be friends.’ Of course, I could be misreading it.”
He punched her arm. “Taking over as company wiseass?”
“Damn straight,” she said in a perfect rendition of Jack Nyx. It was meant to be funny, but all it did was make his heart ache. Jack should have been there. So should have Lucian. And Alyssandra...
No heat poured from the flames though they crackled—no surprise, Druids abhorred fire. Gavin scanned their surroundings, glanced back at the others who were hunkered and looked farther up through the trees.
“I sense an element of volatility in his craftsmanship, something wild and...askew.”
“His?”
“Definitely.” Noah studied the configuration of the ward. Her forehead creased in concentration. “If I had to wager, I’d say the creator of this ward is a hermit.”
Gavin tried to keep the sigh out of his voice. Hermits were like tornadoes. “Well, he’ll either be happy for the company or try and kill us all,” Gavin said. “I give us fifty-fifty odds.”
Noah concurred with a gesture part shrug, part nod.
After a final scan, Gavin gave the others a nod and in a hushed, single file, they left the protection of the forest and entered the glen to join them.
“Listen closely,” Gavin said when they’d all arrived. “Do not, under any circumstances, take anything from this forest. No berries, no wood, no pretty mushrooms, nothing.”
“How ’bout a cricket?” Skip asked while studying the heatless green flames writhing above them.
“Skip, please,” Noah said. “This is no time for jokes. Taking anything from this forest could be interpreted as an insult, an act of war. Are we clear?”
“Sir, yes sir. From who?”
“The keeper,” Gavin answered. “Babe?”
“Yes, Gavin, I won’t take anything.”
“Donovan?”
“I heard you.”
“That’s not the same.”
Silence.
“One more time, Donovan. Are we agreed?”
All eyes went to the stranger and the familiar quilt of tension began to unroll like a sleeping bag. Even the forest seemed to be watching.
“There is nothing from this forest I desire. I will take nothing.”
“Excellent,” Gavin said and beamed the fakest smile he could muster. “Now follow me and follow close.”
* * *
There are more than just rabbits in these here woods, Skip thought to himself. He didn’t need to be a native to know it either. The trees leaned in around them, glowering at them in damp gloom.
Tarsidion silently pointed out two giant black wolves that had begun to shadow the group from a distance. They would slip in and out of the trees, pause to watch with fearless, knowing eyes and then would melt back into the forest with a whirl of black fur. Something about their eyes made Skip jumpy. Too much going on back there, too smart, as if they knew stuff. The thirty pounds of sniper rifle slung over his shoulder sure felt good.
He glanced over at Donovan. The kid was quieter than snow, just flowed through the forest like a breeze. Hardly a scrape. Skip was pretty stealthy himself—he’d been trained by the best on Earth, after all—but poor Amanda. She had the grace of a blind hippopotamus.
“How’re your feet doing?” Skip asked her.
“They hurt so much,” she said but kept trudging. She was wearing a pair of torn, wet and mud-stained ballerina-ish flats with little red beads on top. Attire more appropriate for the intended flight to Paris, rather than a forest hike through the wild lands of Theia.
“What size shoe are you?”
“You gonna buy me a pair?”
“I was thinking about it,” Skip answered with a smile. “I’m sure there’s a Nordstrom nearby lurking in one of these trees.”
“Well, in that case, I’m a nine and a half.”
“Geez, you got some big feet.”
“I’m five-ten Skip, I’m supposed to have big feet.”
“I don’t know, nine and a half sounds a bit excessive. I might have to start calling you sasquatch or something.”
“Not if you don’t want to get punched in the throat,” she said with a tired smile.
Good girl. Moxy.
Her addition to the group was interesting on a couple levels. First and most notable was her effect on Gavin. He seemed bigger somehow. Skip hadn’t missed the occasional sideways glances or subtle brushing of fingers, the way his hands would linger on her hips as he helped her over a stream or gully. Skip wasn’t the only one to notice, either. He caught Cirena staring more than once, and if looks could vaporize...Gavin would be a plume of smoke.
Life got less pleasant when their path took a climb. After twenty minutes his legs started to burn, after an hour they were on fire, but he’d be damned if he was going to be the first one to call for a break. He just kept on trudging, wondering for the fiftieth time whether the M107 was worth the haul.
Ten minutes later, Gavin held up his fist and sank to the ground. Thank God. All followed suit. The forest went completely silent.
“Now, that’s never a good sign,” Skip muttered and shifted his rifle, giving the trees around him a good pan. Never a good sign at all.
Gavin broke off from the rest of them, slinked forward and peered beyond a break in the trees thirty feet ahead. A second later he retracted and just stared at the ground while biting his lip. He even gave his thumbnail a nibble.
“What is it?” Noah asked.
Gavin gave his chin a rub and waved her over, studiously not looking at any of them. Noah crept up, peered and immediately retracted as well. The two of them exchanged stares.
“Good or bad?” Skip whispered.
Noah shook her head and then looked his way. “Bad,” she said. “Very, very bad.”
* * *
“Any person, Druid or otherwise, who would have a Krakenwood as a guardian is deranged.” Tarsidion glared into the clearing with his knuckles wrapped tightly around the hilt of his Quaranai. One by one they’d all snuck up to the edge of the woods. And one by one they’d all seen with their own eyes.
“Or powerful,” Cirena a
dded.
“Very powerful,” Noah amended.
The tree was absolutely gigantic, easily a hundred and twenty feet high, ten feet thick and loomed like a skyscraper directly in the path of their approach. There was no way to go around it; the surrounding forest was as tight as a basket.
Gavin had only read about the mythical Krakenwoods from way back in his Apprentice days, and everything he remembered about them was bad. The piles of bones with grass growing through eye sockets scattered through the glen only confirmed his fears. River trolls.
The closest thing it might resemble on Earth would be a giant willow tree, though that was where the similarities ended. Instead of supple branches, the Krakenwood had tentacles that looked like branches covered in narrow, serrated leaves that could saw through flesh like a steak knife through prime rib, and somewhere in that thick, gnarled trunk was a giant mouth. They had no equal in a forest.
“So, what’s the play?” Skip asked.
Yeah, Gavin, what’s the play?
He wiggled his jaw and studied the knoll beyond. Burrowed right into the middle of its bulk was a lopsided structure that looked like it might have been built by drunk beavers. Made of mismatched rocks and mortar that was crumbling, the structure stared sightlessly at the intruders like the suspicious head of a turtle poking from its shell. The only civilized thing about it was the uneven door in the center. Gavin imagined he could feel an eye on the other side peeking through a peephole.
“We’ll knock,” Gavin decided. “If this is indeed the domain of a Druid, he’ll already know we’re here. No sense getting him angrier trying to sneak in.”
“You guys are going to walk past that thing?” Skip asked, jabbing the direction of the Krakenwood with his thumb.
Gavin could feel the tree staring at them, quivering in excitement of an approaching meal. He glanced at the bones in the field and then at Cirena and Noah. They nodded, reading his thoughts.