The Forked Path

by T. R. Thompson

  For a moment he was flying again, his arms now wings, his mind sharp and focused, his heart free.

  A smile played over his lips before he turned and stepped back into the human world.

  Daemi lay face down on the bed, her nightshirt pulled up over her shoulders to reveal the angry red scars scratched down her back. As she breathed the scars pulsed slightly, thin trickles of blood leaking out over the raised edges of flesh. Heather reached across and dabbed the blood away, humming.

  ‘I could do without the musical accompaniment,’ Daemi grumbled.

  ‘Oh shush,’ Heather replied, dabbing directly onto the wounds now, bringing a short gasp of pain out of her patient. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay, just hurry up and get on with whatever you two are planning.’

  Frankle took this as his cue and shuffled forward shyly, his eyes on the floor to avoid seeing too much of Daemi’s naked flesh.

  ‘And tell your assistant there to man up and get to work,’ Daemi admonished.

  Frankle looked up and blushed. ‘Right. Sorry, Daemi.’

  ‘Here.’ Heather held out a dripping cloth, its white fibres stained red with blood. ‘Put it with the others. I don’t think it’s going to get any better until we start.’

  Frankle nodded and grabbed the cloth, tossing it onto the growing pile in the corner of the room and wiping his hands down the makeshift apron Heather had given him.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Heather asked, looking up at him now.

  ‘I guess.’

  Heather smiled at him. ‘Just like we worked on the weld blade. Remember?’

  Frankle stepped up to the bed, holding his hands out over Daemi’s back. Heather moved around to the other side and did the same. Briefly the tips of their fingers touched and Frankle’s hands twitched as if shocked.

  ‘Come now, Frankle,’ Heather said. ‘Try not to be so jumpy.’

  ‘Just get on with it, will you?’ Daemi’s voice groaned into her pillow.

  They closed their eyes and reached. Frankle dropped into the world below, the rush of power surging up to him from the whirling chaos of potential welds that rushed below like a raging storm. It was getting easier every time. Too easy.

  It’s okay, Frankle. You have nothing to fear here.

  Frankle almost jerked back to the surface, but maintained control. That wasn’t Delco. That was—

  Wilt. We haven’t met, not formally anyhow. It’s about time we changed that. Come, let me show you.

  Frankle fell, deeper than he had ever dared go before, falling into the torrent, through it, out into a strangely calm landscape. The weld storm was above him now, twisting and whirling, while below stretched a blank white surface of ice.

  Here. Further down. Trust me.

  Without meaning to, Frankle drifted closer to the surface. It was pure white, unmarked except for a single black spot. He seemed to be falling straight toward it.

  Yes, that’s right. Like that.

  The black spot arranged itself into form as he neared it. A large black cat, sitting still on the ice, stared up at him. Its tail brushed slowly back and forth.

  You see me. I must stay here in this form for now, much like those other wildlers you’ve already met on your journey. Good. That’s close enough.

  Frankle stopped in mid-air. A part of him wanted to continue down onto the ice, but he was held back, restrained somehow.

  This place is not for you, Frankle. Not yet at least. But you can do something for me. I need you to take something back with you. It will help Daemi. Can you do this for me?

  Frankle nodded, though he hadn’t intended to.

  Good. I’m relying on you to look after them. We both are.

  The cat stood up and arched its back in a stretch. As it did so, a single spark of light seemed to pull free of its fur and float up toward Frankle.

  Now go, Frankle. We have a long way to travel yet. No time to waste.

  The spark danced in the wind in front of Frankle, taking his eyes up and away from the ice, toward the storm rolling above him. He rose with it, unable to do anything else.

  In moments he was back above it, Heather’s fingers interlaced with his in the surface world, a thin shimmer of silver weaving together in front of his eyes.

  ‘What was that? For a second I thought I’d lost you. Come on, I need your help with this.’

  Frankle didn’t reply, just bent his mind to the task of weaving the thin silver welds together, knitting Daemi’s torn skin back into a whole. It only took moments, as though the welds knew before he did what they needed to do.

  He opened his eyes and looked down. Daemi’s skin was completely healed.

  ‘Well, that went even better than I expected,’ Heather whispered, her eyes scanning Daemi’s back for any flaws. She didn’t seem to notice their fingers were still locked together.

  Frankle stood still, not wanting to move and break the spell.

  ‘We must be getting better at working together.’ She pulled her hands from his to stroke Daemi’s back.

  ‘Is it … did we do it?’ Frankle found his voice was shaking.

  ‘I think so. Keep your voice down. She’s sleeping.’

  Sure enough a low snore leaked from deep within Daemi’s pillow. Heather and Frankle stepped away from the bed.

  ‘I must speak to Petron about this. It seems we make quite the team.’

  ‘Uh, yeah,’ Frankle muttered, his face warming again. He stumbled toward the door of the chamber. ‘We should let her sleep.’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be right there.’

  Heather watched Frankle disappear out the door. As soon as he did, she reached inside her shirt and pulled out the glittering heartstone. With her other hand she retrieved the sounding bowl and dropped the heartstone into it. Sure enough, the song echoed out, fading with each moment, until it had died completely.

  ‘Well, well. Now that is interesting.’

  She looked up at the windowsill where the large black cat sat, studying her with its strange ink-filled eyes.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know anything about that?’

  The cat angled its head as if listening, then looked over at Daemi, still slumbering away.

  ‘No? Well then. Keep an eye on our patient, won’t you?’

  As if in reply the cat settled onto its front paws, its eyes locked on the sleeping figure.

  ‘I know you will.’

  With that Heather gathered her things and left the room. There was a lot of work yet to do.

  Epilogue

  The cold wind blew through the clearing, sending sprays of leaves into the air to tumble and spin into miniature tornados as it passed. The trees lining the clearing swayed and danced in the breeze, laughing as the wind tore past. The shadow standing in the centre watched it all, unable to feel the wind itself, but enjoying the reaction it caused in its brothers.

  On the southern edge the trees were sparser, and bright sunlight was reaching through the gaps between their trunks from the open sky beyond the edge of the Tangle. The shadow hadn’t been this close to the border in weeks, months perhaps, and it enjoyed the strange pull the sunlight had on it, even though it knew it could never survive outside the Tangle’s protection. Not anymore.

  A child cried out, and the shadow stepped against the nearest tree as a pair of children crashed through the trees.

  ‘You see? I told you there was nothing to fear.’

  The larger of the two children stood with her hands on her hips, surveying the area as though claiming new land for her domain.

  ‘But mother said—’

  ‘Never mind what your mummy says. She’s spent too much time listening to the village gossips.’

  The smaller boy seemed to want to argue back, but dropped his head to whisper as though afraid of being overheard. ‘But the Tangle is dangerous. Everyone knows that. Even you’ve heard the stories of the shade.’

  The girl harrumphed and pushed out her chest. ‘I say we need to be brave enough to claim what is o
urs. This forest is part of our land. It’s our protection. It’s nothing to fear.’

  The words sounded rehearsed and foreign on the child’s tongue, but she followed them with a glare around the edge of the clearing, as though daring anything to step out and challenge them.

  ‘You’re just repeating what Aaron and the others were saying. And I don’t see any of them brave enough to step inside these borders.’

  ‘They will. Once they get used to things. It’s only been a few days since the trees opened up. Grown-ups always take a bit longer, you know that. ‘

  The boy nodded at her words. They both knew the frustration of waiting for adults to authorise things. ‘So you don’t believe the stories then? About the shadows that haunt these woods? About the Guardian?’

  The girl seemed less sure of herself now that she was being asked a direct question, but nodded stubbornly.

  The life is strong in these two. Watch them burn against the grey darkness of the background. The glow and heat of life. So wondrous. So tempting.

  ‘I think the Tangle has its secrets. But I don’t believe in ghosts.’

  They are not for us to take, Biore. You know this.

  Another gust of icy wind blew through the clearing, and both children stepped toward each other automatically, shivering into their cloaks as the wind whipped their hair about their faces.

  ‘It’s cold here, Scarlet. Please, can we head back now?’

  The girl looked as though she wanted to argue, then nodded and turned her back on the wind, letting it push her along out of the clearing and toward the sunlight.

  So close. All it would take is a touch.

  The two children walked right past the tree where the shadow stood, clasping the trunk to hold itself back, to maintain some control over the whip and pull of their life force passing by. As they left, the shadow relaxed, able to stand on its own again, master of itself.

  You did well, Biore. It is difficult to resist the pull, but we will help you.

  Will it always be so hard? Must it always be a battle?

  You started yourself down this path long ago. It will take time to gain control.

  The shadow nodded to itself and drifted back into the trees, grateful for their constant whispering, their companionship, their guiding hand.

  Besides, the Tangle is large. Very large. There will always be trespassers we need not treat with such care. There will be plenty of opportunity to feed.

  The shadow faded as the light dimmed around it and the trees closed in. It let itself go, confident it would be called on again.

  About the Author

  T.R. Thompson is an Australian speculative fiction author. He lives in Belgrave on the outskirts of Melbourne with his wife and two young sons.

  When not writing or reading, he spends too much time gaming and taking long meandering walks through the forest that always seem to end up at a tavern.

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  www.trthompson.com