“I didn’t know then,” said Jinx. “Anyway it was kind of an accident, Simon being his apprentice. He didn’t know he was evil.”
“He couldn’t tell from all those skulls and bones and things all over the place?” said Reven.
“Well they’re not really all over—”
“Simon doesn’t have that kind of thing around his house, anyway,” said Elfwyn. “And he uses ordinary cups to drink out of, not, you know—” she made a skull shape with her hands.
“There was a skull in his workroom, though,” said Reven.
“Oh, that’s just Calvin,” said Elfwyn.
Jinx was surprised that Elfwyn knew Calvin’s name.
The closer they got to the edge of the Urwald, the more Jinx felt the pain and terror of the trees. The cutting was going on relentlessly, from first light to sundown.
“The good Witch Seymour seems to think Simon helped the Bonemaster rise to power,” said Reven.
“Well, duh,” said Jinx. The treecutting was really quite painful. “Because the Bonemaster was using Simon’s life for power, remember? That doesn’t mean it was okay with Simon.”
“You keep twitching,” said Elfwyn.
“Well they’re chopping u— trees,” said Jinx. He’d almost said us, which was crazy, because he wasn’t a tree.
“Perhaps you could try not to think about it,” said Reven.
“I can’t not think about it! If someone was hacking at you with an ax, do you think you could not think about it?”
“Nobody is—” Reven began.
Jinx grabbed Reven’s hand and slapped it against a silver maple growing beside the path. “There! Feel that! Can’t you feel what’s happening?”
“No,” said Reven.
Elfwyn put her hands against the maple trunk.
“Well, you should be able to,” said Jinx.
She frowned. “I can feel something kind of—cold. Like, it’s alive. Only alive being cold instead of warm.”
“Really?” Reven put his hand back on the trunk. “I can’t feel anything. It just feels like a tree trunk.”
Reven was hopeless. Jinx turned to Elfwyn. “You can’t hear anything, though?”
“No. Are you sure you—”
“Yes,” said Jinx.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you—”
“Good,” said Jinx.
Reven shook his head. “I can’t feel anything.”
The endless mumbling and muttering of the Urwald’s voice had an end after all. There was a blank space in the Urwald’s mind, an edge.
“Here’s the Wanderers’ Bridge,” said Elfwyn. “Cripes, it’s bright up ahead.”
Jinx came around a bend in the path and saw the open sky, aglow with golden sunset clouds.
“The Urwald really does end,” said Elfwyn. “I mean, I knew it did, but I sort of didn’t quite believe it.” She ran to the side of the wooden bridge and leaned over the railing. “Look at this!”
Jinx looked down, and immediately wished he hadn’t. Water rushed by in a brown torrent eighty feet below. He felt ill.
“Oh, sorry. I forgot about you and heights,” said Elfwyn.
Reven walked across the bridge like it was nothing. “The chasm must be why they stopped lumbering here.”
Jinx looked across the bridge and saw what Reven meant.
The clearing on the other side went on and on—an enormous field of tree stumps, weathered silver-blue.
“Looks like they went on cutting north and south from here,” said Reven.
“South.” Jinx gritted his teeth, looked straight ahead, and walked across the exact center of the bridge. He got to the other side and breathed again. “They’re cutting twenty miles south of here now.”
The stump field extended forever to the north, and forever to the south. To the east, it stopped after a mile or so. Beyond it were fields and farms and, black against the sky, the distant shape of the city.
“You can see the horizon out here,” said Reven. “You can breathe.” His thoughts were like sunshine bursting through a cloud, or like finding something important that you thought was lost forever.
Elfwyn had come across the bridge too. “Oh, how awful. Who cut down all the trees?”
“Keylanders,” said Jinx. “Anyway. Bye, right?”
He needed to go back and help Simon deal with the Bonemaster.
“Are we going to Keria tonight?” said Elfwyn. “It’s kind of late, don’t you think?”
“I think we won’t.” Reven turned back to the bridge.
“Hey!” Jinx ran to block the way. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Back into the Urwald,” said Reven. “We’ll camp there for the night. A person can’t just walk into a country and take it over, forsooth. I need to think.”
“You can think out here,” said Jinx. “Which incidentally is still the Urwald.”
Reven looked around at the field of stumps. “You think so, good Jinx? It doesn’t look like it.”
“It’s just a part that’s been murdered, that’s all,” said Jinx.
“It’s a kind of Edgeland, isn’t it?” said Elfwyn. “Or anyway, that’s what I think.”
“It can’t be the Urwald, because there are no trees and no monsters,” said Reven. He stepped around Jinx and crossed the bridge.
Elfwyn went back across too. Jinx steeled himself, and followed.
“I’ll go find some firewood,” said Elfwyn.
Jinx grabbed Reven by the arm. “The Urwald wants you out. You can’t come back.”
Reven smiled an annoying smile. “According to who?”
“According to me.”
“You and what army?” said Reven, still smiling.
“Me and the Urwald.”
Reven looked up at the towering trees above them, then across the chasm to the field of stumps. He raised an eyebrow.
And Jinx hit him. He hadn’t known he was going to do it, but he did, right in Reven’s stupid face, which was some satisfaction, even though a second later Jinx was lying flat on the ground with a very sore mouth. He scrambled to his feet, hit Reven again, and got knocked down again. Jinx became very busy getting hit by Reven, and hitting Reven back as many times as possible.
“What are you doing? Stop it!” Elfwyn cried, and the hitting ceased abruptly. “How dare you hit Jinx? He’s younger than you, and littler, and—”
“Hey,” Jinx interrupted, before this description of him could get any worse. “I hit him first!”
“That’s true, my lady,” said Reven fairly. “He did.”
“Well, don’t do it again, either of you,” said Elfwyn. “Fighting won’t solve anything.”
“You don’t know that for a fact,” said Jinx.
“Hmph,” said Elfwyn, and began building a fire.
Jinx had a split lip, and one eye was starting to swell shut. He was glad Elfwyn didn’t fuss about this. He hated being fussed over. But he was pretty sure if he’d been Reven, she would’ve fussed.
Reven looked down with concern. “Sorry about that.” He reached out a hand.
“Shut up.” Jinx got up, ignoring Reven’s hand. “I did hit you first.”
“Yes, but you let me see you were going to. You shouldn’t do that. And you should hit through, not at. Like this.” Reven took Jinx’s arm and guided it.
Jinx pulled away. “You couldn’t have seen.” He hadn’t even know he was going to.
“You were putting your face like this and moving like this,” said Reven, demonstrating. “You shouldn’t ever do that. Don’t let your enemy see that you’re going to hit him until you do it, and then hit him so he stays down.”
“And until then, just smile and act friendly?” said Jinx.
“Of course,” said Reven. “That’s being civilized.”
“This is the Urwald. We’re not civilized.”
“You’re telling me,” said Reven.
“Could you come light this fire, please?” Elfwyn called.
&
nbsp; Jinx glanced over and lit it with a thought. Then he looked back at Reven. “We have magic, though.”
“Are you two done being better than each other?” said Elfwyn. “Because you could help me get dinner.”
“Yeah, in a second.” Jinx looked at Reven, and thought about asking him to show him how to do that hitting-through-not-at thing after all. But he decided not to give Reven the satisfaction. Right now, anyway. He’d ask him later.
Darkness drew in, and they all huddled around the fire. The Urwald muttered and murmured. The Listener had promised to take the Terror out of the Urwald. But the Terror was still here.
Several days had passed, and Reven still had not left the Urwald. Well, he’d left—they all had, to explore the countryside—but he kept coming back, every night.
The Urwald was growing uneasy. So was Jinx. He needed to get back home. He was worried about Simon and the Bonemaster.
“You could at least camp out where there aren’t any trees,” Jinx said. “That Edgeland place.”
“We’d be too visible,” said Elfwyn.
Walking through the field of stumps upset Jinx. He missed the Urwald’s vast green lifeforce. Keyland seemed to him to have far too much open space. The farther they walked the more uncomfortable he felt.
There were villages and farms and things. It was so different from the Urwald that Jinx couldn’t help being fascinated. How did people live like this, exposed to the sun and to—well, everything? Each other, even?
The houses were square and timbered, like the houses in Butterwood Clearing. Chickens and goats roamed in the dooryards. Gardens, fields, and orchards went on for miles. There was space for them. Jinx wondered if the extra open space was what made Elfwyn’s home clearing rich.
Keyland had interesting new things to eat, too—peach preserves, and blackberry pie.
Reven talked to people. Jinx hung back and noticed how many people there were, and how they all seemed to move and speak too quickly.
Reven didn’t talk about being king. He couldn’t, because of his curse. He was just—very friendly. People gathered around, and Reven let them do most of the talking. Elfwyn and Jinx stayed off to the side—Elfwyn to avoid having to tell the truth unexpectedly, and Jinx because he didn’t like the whole business anyway.
But now it was evening, and they were back at their camp, eating gingerbread that they had bought in one of the villages. The Urwald was muttering.
You promised to take the Terror to the Edge, Listener.
We’re at the Edge, said Jinx. He won’t leave. What do you want me to do? He’s stronger than me.
Stronger than you? Is he? What sort of strength? What is strength, to the Restless? Strength is power. You have great power, Listener. The Terror has great power also. This was the trees arguing with each other.
You have great power, you mean, said Jinx. I don’t. Why don’t you conjure up a wind and blow him out of here?
A wind is difficult. A wind is seldom possible. A wind must begin somewhere, it must flow from somewhere, it must be guided and strengthened.
“Jinx, can you show me how to light the fire?” said Elfwyn. She and Reven had made a heap of sticks in the fire ring.
Jinx looked at it, and it lit.
“But I want to do it,” she said.
Jinx put the fire out. Elfwyn stared at the wood hard, then scowled at it. She grunted. Jinx laughed. She glared at him.
“You kind of have to take fire from somewhere first. Here.” He lit the wood. “Now you have to suck it into you. Not really suck it,” he added quickly. “But with your mind, kind of.”
Elfwyn frowned at the fire. The flames went out.
“Mayhap the wood was a little damp,” said Reven.
“It wasn’t,” said Jinx. “Now you have it inside you. Put it back, but not all of it.”
She frowned at the charred wood, and flames leapt from it.
Jinx couldn’t help feeling jealous. It had taken him ages to learn to start fires. But anyway, he said, “You’re kind of good at magic.”
Elfwyn beamed.
Reven looked at Elfwyn in surprise, and Jinx saw the calculating squares change for a moment to bright happiness at Elfwyn’s smile.
“You notice we haven’t seen a single monster since we’ve been here?” said Elfwyn. “I think they don’t like to come this close to the edge. Monsters like the deep Urwald.”
“They need the trees,” said Jinx.
“Yes,” said Reven. “Monsters need trees.”
“Look,” said Elfwyn. “Who’s that on the bridge?”
7
The Fireside and the Palace
Jinx wasn’t sure anyone was there at all until he moved closer and saw pink threads of fear in the darkness, pushed aside by green waves of curiosity.
“Who’s there?” he said.
“’Tis us.” It was a woman’s voice. “Humble Keylanders.” A cluster of people stood on the bridge.
“Come over, good folk,” said Reven.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” she said.
“Of course it’s not safe,” said Jinx. “It’s the Urwald.”
Reven went over to greet them. He bowed over the woman’s hand. “Welcome.”
“You can’t welcome people to the Urwald,” Jinx told him. “It’s not your—”
“Welcome to our fireside,” said Reven.
He made a wide, inviting gesture, and the knot of people came trooping off the bridge and gathered around the fire.
“We just came to see if it was true.” The woman looked up at Reven.
“If what was true?” said Elfwyn.
“Are you really the king?” a teenage boy asked Reven.
A shimmer of nervousness appeared around Elfwyn.
“There’ve always been rumors about the lost prince,” the woman said. “But now folks are saying he’s back.”
“Are you him?” the boy demanded of Reven. “Are you the king?”
“The king is the king,” said Reven, red lines glowing as he got close to the edge of his curse.
“Who are you, then?” said the woman.
“Reven, from Bragwood.”
The people smiled at each other and nodded, and Jinx saw a warm glow of excitement pass through the crowd. Elfwyn pulled up her red hood—hiding, he thought. It was as if she both did and didn’t want people to ask her who Reven was.
“Why are you in the Urwald, er, sir?” a boy asked.
“I traveled through it from Bragwood,” said Reven, smiling.
“The Urwald is dangerous,” said the boy.
“Yup,” said Jinx, eager to encourage that kind of thinking. He wanted all these strangers out.
“It’s full of dreadful magicians and terrible beasts!”
“Exactly,” said Jinx.
“And talking trees!” a girl added. Jinx was startled, and wondered where on earth she’d gotten that from.
“What are you going to do now, er, Reven?” said a woman.
“I wish to speak to a good lady named Franca,” said Reven.
This seemed to please the people. “It was Mistress Franca what was his nursemaid,” someone whispered.
“Do you know where I might find her?” Reven asked.
Nervousness. Purple little ripples of fear. Shaking of heads.
There was a loud clatter on the bridge, and three horses trotted into the pool of firelight. They were ridden by two elegantly dressed men and a lady. A girl, really—about Reven’s age. But the way she was dressed made you think “lady.”
Instantly all the Keylanders dropped to their knees and bowed their heads. Reven, Elfwyn, and Jinx were the only ones left standing.
Jinx had never seen real live horses before. He found them altogether too large. He backed up closer to Elfwyn.
“What’s this, hey?” One of the men rode his horse close to the fire, and Jinx was afraid the people on the ground would be trampled. “Little moonlight gathering in the forest, hey? Conspiracies and plots!”
“Really, Sir Thrip. How can they gather moonlight?” The lady brought her horse up too.
This was way too much horse for Jinx. Horses seemed to be all hoof and snort. He grabbed Elfwyn’s arm in case she was scared.
“What lovely horses,” Elfwyn said.
“It talks!” said Sir Thrip, looking down at Elfwyn in feigned surprise. “A speaking woodrat!”
Reven stepped in front of Elfwyn. “Do not insult the lady, sir.”
“What’s this one?” said Sir Thrip. “Not Urwish, eh? What sort of accent is that?”
“Bragwood, I think you’ll find,” said a lazy, laconic voice—the man on the third horse didn’t bother to ride closer. He looked around. “So this is the Urwald, is it? Frightfully tree-y, what?”
“It is a forest, Lord Badgertoe,” said the lady.
“Too much wood,” said Lord Badgertoe. “Ought to just burn it. Always said so. Gets in the way, the Urwald.”
“Who’re you?” said Sir Thrip, poking a stirruped foot at Reven.
“Reven of Bragwood.”
Jinx was interested by the little black flash of worry in Sir Thrip’s thoughts.
“And I think you should apologize to the lady for calling her a woodrat,” Reven added.
“Nothing but woodrats in the Urwald,” said Lord Badger-toe ponderously. “Don’t even bow before their betters.”
The people on the ground still hadn’t looked up.
“Woodrats and monsters,” said Lord Badgertoe. “Dragons and trolls and ghouls.”
“Yup, we’ve got all those,” said Jinx.
“Werewolves,” Lord Badgertoe said. “Werewolves and werebears and were-what?”
“Werechipmunks,” said Jinx.
“Oh!” The lady on the horse laughed. “Werechipmunks.”
Reven shot Jinx a look. “Werechipmunks are no joke, my lady. They are small and harmless-looking, but surprisingly dangerous.”
“It looks to me like the whole business is a joke,” said Sir Thrip, smiling nastily. “Some foolish little people will believe any sort of rumor they hear. But when wise men investigate, what do they find? A boy and a couple of woodrats.”
“I’m frightfully bored,” said Lord Badgertoe.
“Very well,” said Sir Thrip. “Let us depart. And anyone with a head on his shoulders—who wants to keep it there—will do the same.” He looked down at Reven. “As for you, young what’s-your-name, you’ll stay in the Urwald if you know what’s good for you.”
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