7
The cat trotted quickly along the forest floor, his mind clear and still, senses alert, following the pulsed, insistent command to track back to where the soldiers had been, back to where the man Jenks had seen the ruined village.
It was easy to find; the trail of memory left by the shared weld helped, but it wasn’t long before the scent of death and smoke was clear enough for his own nose to follow without difficulty.
Wilt stood at the edge of the trees, staring out at what had once been a village. It was changed from the vision the weld had shown him. Low, broken huts, a thin black smoke fuming out from them, the fires that had consumed them almost entirely burned out now. All their fuel had been used up.
He stepped carefully through the remains of the buildings, trying to make sense out of what he saw.
It couldn’t have housed more than twenty or thirty people, a tiny village such as this, judging by the number of huts and the modest size of the ploughed fields lining its outskirts. Farmers and their families scratching a living out of the ground. Raiders would find nothing of value here. What could the villagers have done to deserve such a fate?
The soldiers must have buried the dead.
Higgs’s voice pulled Wilt out from his dark thoughts. There was no sign of any bodies.
No. The barn closest to the fields, to the north, it’s still burning. The patrol must have started that fire themselves. A sort of mass cremation.
Wilt turned to face the barn Biore had pointed out. He was right; the smoke was thicker there, the fire still doing its work.
Wilt felt dazed and numb, and not just because of the ruin that surrounded him. It was as though a secret voice that spoke only to him, a constant whisper at the very edge of his hearing, had suddenly been silenced. It had happened just as he had stepped out of the shadow of the trees. He wondered whether the others had noticed it, how much of his mind they really shared.
He ambled toward the smoking barn. There were no flames visible, and no heat radiating out from it, but Wilt was cautious of getting too close. The smoke was thicker here, and he didn’t want to breathe any of it in. There was something else as well, something familiar.
A gust of wind blew a black cloud across his vision, and as it passed, he saw another figure at the far edge of the village. A soldier. A guard, standing alone. Hands on hips. Her hips. He recognised her immediately, just from her stance. Daemi.
The smoke passed, and the vision was gone, and Wilt shook his head to clear it.
What are we waiting for? Higgs’s familiar tone was impatient.
Did you see that?
See what?
Wilt hesitated, no longer sure of himself.
Nothing. I thought I saw something, but it was just the smoke.
The sudden vision had brought with it a warm rush of longing that took his breath away, and the feeling grew stronger as he approached the barn. The walls of the structure had collapsed inwards as the roof had caved in, and a low heap of timber smouldered into ash. There was nothing recognisable left, no sudden terrors of familiar human forms, yet to Wilt what remained was almost as bad. That so much life had become nothing more than dust.
There’s nothing here.
Biore’s voice almost sounded disappointed, though Wilt understood what he meant. He had been half hoping for some other sign of what the guards had discovered, like that strange-looking sword, or limb, or whatever it had been. Something not of this world.
Wilt turned away from the barn and stared at the Tangle, the tall trees forming a solid wall delineating the edge of the village from the wilderness beyond. The tops of the trees swayed mockingly in the breeze.
Why build a village here, in the Tangle? Growing up in Greystone all knew well enough to stay clear of its borders, though no one was ever really clear why. What was different for these poor folk?
Maybe they thought it a good source of food. Maybe they were hunters as well as farmers.
Surely even simple farmers knew better than that.
The Tangle had been a place of fear for generations, a cautionary tale told by mothers to their children at night. Maybe the villagers thought it was nothing more.
Wilt turned away, not wanting to hold the trees’ gaze any longer. What horrors had they witnessed?
You heard the soldier last night. There must be other villages nearby. This one was too small to survive out here in total isolation.
Delco, ever the practical one. He was right; there was no way a village of this size could provide everything for itself, no matter how determinedly the farmers worked the land. There had to be others.
He walked out of the village, away from the smoke and ash and the silence of death.
Wilt lay within a still black pool of sleep; images floated to the surface and a low whisper slithered through his mind. As each vision blurred into form, the words became clearer, as though they themselves helped snap the pictures into focus, capturing scenes viewed through other eyes. A line of trees shifted in the wind, watching him. Waiting for him.
Flows with you and without you.
A red-robed figure pulling back her hood to reveal a cold, terrifying beauty. Eyes staring through him, past his desire, past his fear. Lips curved into a knowing smile.
The blood within the stone.
A twisting nest of serpents coiling over each other, waiting in the depths, waiting for any mind to drift within reach.
Writ for you and about you.
A circle of stone figures falling in order, the spiral shield, the wave continuing around its endless path, bringing with it a throb of warmth and life, pulsing like a heart.
Together and yet alone.
A tall soldier standing alone, facing a mirror. Pulling her helm free to reveal dark curled hair and green eyes that seemed to stare through the shimmering vision, straight into him.
Wilt awoke with a start and almost dropped the small pot of water he was somehow clutching over the fire.
Careful now, Wilt, I’ve been working on this for hours.
Higgs? What is happening? I was—
I was being careful. Just thought that while you rested I could take over for a little while, get some work done.
Wilt shook his head, the shreds of the dream sliding from his mind as he took control again, like his fingers were slipping back into a familiar pair of gloves.
Wait a second. You were controlling my body?
Don’t get upset. I wasn’t doing anything to get worked up about. Just taking it for a spin.
I warned him it might come as a shock.
Biore? You knew about this?
It was his idea. Well, maybe not in so many words, but he mentioned the possibility.
I simple noted that it might theoretically be—
Theoretically?
And it is! Look! Look what I crafted while you were sleeping.
Wilt looked down at his hand, only now aware of the weight resting in his palm. It was a ring, formed from stone, glowing red in the firelight, as though the stone captured the flickering light of the flames, caught and held it within its form.
Put it on.
Higgs couldn’t disguise the childish eagerness in his tone.
What is it?
It’s a ring, of course. A heat ring—no, that won’t do for a name. We’ll need to think something up. But I got the idea from our trip into the guard camp. You drew the heat from their campfire, sucked its energy up into you and used it. I thought that if we had our own source of heat, and made it powerful enough, you could draw from it. Maybe that way you could …
I could what?
Rejoin the human world again, Wilt. You’ve spent too long on your own, too long in the dark.
Biore’s words brought snatches of Wilt’s dream back up to the surface. Daemi standing in front of a mirror, staring back at him.
Wilt shook his head and focused back on the ring sitting in his palm.
So you’re saying that while I was asleep Higgs took control of my bo
dy and decided to try some crafting?
I wasn’t sure it would work, and it took a bit longer than it should have, but the stone still responded to my touch, and I could feel the life inside it. It was great, Wilt, it was like I was really there.
Wilt’s anger subsided as he recognised the plea in Higgs’s tone.
You are really here. All of you. You’re with me.
I know. It’s not the same though.
Rest assured we were keeping an eye on him, Wilt. We wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
Wilt bounced the heavy stone ring in his palm as he considered the possibilities.
So you’re saying that by wearing this I can just walk up to people and not … Not have them … Not drain the world around them. Not have them feel the cold, the icy pull of the depths. Not be such a danger to them.
It’s worth a try, isn’t it?
Wilt saw Daemi again, standing alone, her green eyes shining.
Yes. Perhaps it is.
8
The shadow cut through the forest, ignoring the trails that wound in and around the heavy trunks of the trees. Any obstacle in its path was simply passed through, the light of the world fading momentarily as it merged with and pushed through the foreign forms. Any trees it moved through produced a deep sigh of pleasure in its heart, a cooling plunge into a fathomless pool of consciousness that recognised and welcomed its presence, sending it on with a calming caress that stilled the rush and panic of the world around it. Eventually the murmur of the trees found a foothold in its mind—his mind—and the shadow slowed to a top.
A bright beam of sunlight flashed into the clearing and seemed to burn the shadow away, leaving a small boy to stand in its place, leaning back against the nearest tree, shaking with exhaustion.
Shade stared at his feet as he panted for breath; the pointed toe of his boot dug into the moist earth, stamped down the thick moss that covered the forest floor. He waited, aware of the worms that moved beneath his feet, the simple life forms that consumed what the forest let fall. He cleared his mind, letting no thought enter until the stillness returned and he had control again.
Shade pushed away from the tree and looked around, trying to get his bearings. He had been near the southern edge, watching the soldiers prepare for their patrol, his eyes soaking in the various treasures they carried with them. So many shiny things to collect.
He’d kept the soldiers in sight as they started off, heading into the Tangle, stumbling in their heavy armour. It was easy to stay out of sight. They were oblivious to the small dark shape that followed them, watching them pass before him one moment, then flitting ahead to wait high in the branches of the trees as they moved underneath.
The soldiers wouldn’t have been able to hear anything over the racket they made, their blades and armour clanking, snagging in branches that seemed to reach across the trail and wind themselves purposefully around them. The column stretched, and the faces of the men tightened with tension as they wound deeper into the forest.
Perhaps they could hear the trees after all, beneath the noise they made. Perhaps that was what caused their fear.
Shade drifted closer; at times he was close enough to reach out and touch them, tug at them with his outstretched finger as they passed, just as the trees did, feeling the cold, dead touch of their armour.
That was when he heard the voice.
It was as if the forest song changed, dropped a register, ignoring the men now, focusing all of its energy on speaking to him.
Come, little Shade. Little wraithling.
Shade forgot everything except the voice. He moved through a grey, shadowed world, lit only by the bright flashes of life that passed him in single file.
The forest whispered its will, and the next moment he was cutting through the trees, angling right for the front of the column. His mind was clear, filled with hunger. He followed it without thought.
Then something else was there. Something foreign. A black, twisted shape. It recognised him, saw through him, turned its attention away from the men it had been lying in wait for to face him. The voice changed again and his mind was flooded with panic, sending him fleeing out through the forest, following the voice that called him on, led him away from the danger he had stumbled upon.
The black thing leaped after him in pursuit. He felt the burning cold of its breath at his heels, urging him onwards, pushing him past the limit of what he thought possible. Then it had dropped away as he powered on, too fast for it to follow. Eventually the whispers of the trees returned, and he found his steps slowing. Found himself here, far from where the guard column had been, back in his own mind and body. Feeling strangely used.
Secrets and lies,
Shadows and eyes.
Shade shook his head at the memory and pushed himself up from the tree. He was safe here, the forest still and quiet around him. The threat left somewhere far behind in his blind flight.
Was that what the forest had wanted? To lead the threat away from the men who stumbled through it? Or had it wanted him to drive them away, out of its borders. Perhaps its patience had worn thin.
Shade gave up trying to get his bearings from the forest floor and pulled himself up into the tree. He felt the pulse of life underneath his fingers, the troubled dreams of the ancient ones. In moments he was near the top, balancing on thin branches barely strong enough to hold his weight, scanning the surrounding area. There, to the south-east, a thin column of smoke curled into the clear sky, as though from a large campfire. It had to be the guard column; no one else would be foolish enough to risk a fire within the borders of the Tangle.
He watched the smoke twist and fade into nothingness in the wind, feeling the tree beneath him sway in the same breeze. It was a very black smoke.
No campfire made that.
As he moved closer to the site of the smoke, he began to recognise the forest around him. He was right near the village of Weverly, one of the neighbouring villages scattered along the southern edge of the Tangle, crouching within its borders for protection.
The thought reminded him that Nurtle had given him a task, a mission to fulfil. She had told him it was direct from Jared himself, their village chief, though Shade had no way of knowing if she spoke the truth. Perhaps she was lying to him, making fun of him, like the Others.
No. Not Nurtle. The Others, yes, but not her.
Jared wanted a report. The trees had been whispering about another village taken, just like the others. Taken by the dark.
Nurtle had tried to find out more, had spoken with the trees themselves, but they wouldn’t make their meaning any clearer to her. Besides, one couldn’t ever trust the trees to tell the whole truth. Too often they whispered to those with the power to hear them, to lead them astray or cause mischief for their own amusement. Nurtle was always telling him that. Only ever listen to the trees with one ear, she said. You never know what their goal might be.
Nurtle had been angry when he’d first returned to her in his new cloak. He’d tried to tell her it was a gift from the Guardian, had used his best rhymes to win her over, but she had just shaken her head and turned away. Shade could tell something worried her, but he kept that thought to himself.
Don’t touch anything. She had been specific about that.
Shade flittered through the trees, a smile on his face as he remembered her words. An abandoned village would hold all sorts of treasures for his collection. What Nurtle didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
By the time he approached the edge of the clearing that marked the outer boundaries of the village of Weverly, Shade’s smile had dropped away. It was the trees’ fault. They were disturbed, their troubled mutterings urging him onwards, filling his thoughts with strange black shapes that danced away again as soon as he tried to focus his attention on them. Dark things. Dark things had come. Silence had eaten its way across the village and left nothing behind.
Eventually Shade decided he would ignore them, block out their voices. They were much loud
er now, seemingly determined to scare him away from his task.
When he reached the edge of the clearing that marked the borders of Weverly, he stood silently and waited. It was immediately clear that something was wrong. There was no sound of life from the village before him, no noise at all other than the constant nervous chatter of the trees.
A single fat column of smoke rose from the far side of the village, black and greasy, smudging across the sky as the wind took hold. Its source was obscured by broken, empty-looking huts. Shade watched the smoke warily. He wanted none of it near him.
He cut around the edge of the village, staying upwind, then moved in toward the abandoned buildings.
The villagers had been given little warning. Each hut he passed had been sacked, valuables scattered across the floors, doors hanging on their hinges where they had been thrown open in panic. Shade glanced inside each one he passed, his curiosity drawing him. He never let himself cross a threshold though, not wanting to pry too deeply into such recently ended lives. Whatever these people thought they could salvage would now be curling up into the sky with the rest of them.
He saw the source of the smoke now, a large central building where the villagers would have once gathered together for celebrations and events. He kept it downwind and circled around it, not wanting to see any of the dark, twisted shapes he knew would be there.
Shade had enough information for Nurtle; he didn’t need to see anything else. But he had glimpsed other huts on the far side of the village, other buildings that didn’t look as lived in. Ones where he might find something for him. Perhaps even another gift for the Guardian.
Sure enough, a row of half-finished huts squatted in the dirt close to the line of trees that edged the clearing. Empty door frames and partial roofs let the forest breeze blow through, removing any lingering scent of the black smoke that smouldered in the centre of the village. Shade smiled to himself, forgetting everything else in the sudden hunger for treasure.
An hour later he was halfway through the third hut, his pockets bulging with interesting knickknacks he’d claimed as his own. Smooth river pebbles, bright strips of dyed cloth, even a couple of rolls of glittering ribbon. He’d hit the jackpot in this latest hut though: a massive ball of twine, metres and metres of it, all handwoven. All his, if he could get it out of here. He tried lifting the large ball—it was bigger than his head. He could probably carry it if he had to, but he knew he would have to be prepared to run if any of the Others found him on his way back through the Tangle. Maybe he should just take as much as he could fit into a pocket, cut the twine there, and hide the rest in the forest to come back for later.
The Forked Path Page 5