by Jeff Wheeler
“You’re afraid,” Phae said, edging closer to him. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m afraid of the truth,” he said, with a hint of exasperation. “I quail before it. I must ask myself, were my memories stolen? Or were they surrendered? Have I murdered babies? Have I slit the throats of the innocent? Would I loathe myself beyond any form of pity if I knew who I truly was?”
She grabbed his wrist. “Stop it.”
“I don’t want to know the truth.”
“Stop doubting yourself,” she commanded. “That is the Arch-Rike’s weapon. It is his best deception. While I was climbing the tree, the Dryad was flinging doubts at me like stones . . . trying to knock me from the safety of that perch. Enough lies. Enough doubts.” She took both of his hands in hers, drawing so close their knees touched. “When you thought I was dead, you said something.”
His face went crimson with mortification.
“Trust me, Shion. I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m trying to help you. You said . . . not again. I heard it distinctly. What did you mean by that? I’ve never died before. What did you mean?”
The haunted look on his face brought a surging swell of compassion into her seething heart. She squeezed his hands. “Tell me,” she pleaded.
His breath was so shallow, she could barely hear it. He struggled with his emotions, his face turning into a rictus of pain. She waited patiently, trying to lure the words out of his mouth with her quiet. It always seemed to work with him. A blob of a tear crept from his eye and trickled down his cheek. He mastered himself though, holding his neck rigid to the point she could see his tendons straining.
Shion closed his eyes, his voice full of self-loathing and despair. “When I saw you lying there . . . dead . . . it struck me with great brutality that it has happened to me before, long ago. Even though I could not remember it, the feeling was so . . . familiar . . . that I thought the grief would murder me. I had been in that situation before, in my past.” His breath became a pant. “I mourned someone . . . who I loved.” He gasped for breath, nearly choking on the pent-up sobs. “A blackness . . . unlike any blackness I’ve known threatened to swallow me. A girl . . . dead in my arms. Was she my first victim? Was she my wife? I can’t remember her. I can’t remember her face or the sound of her voice. But even still, I remembered how it felt to lose her.” He hung his head, his shoulder shuddering.
Phae’s throat was clenched. She struggled to speak. “You fear the worst. You fear that you killed her.”
He nodded, exhaustion sagging his mouth.
She squeezed his hands anew. “Whatever it was,” she promised, “we will face it together. If it truly is beyond hope, then I promise I will snatch the memory away from you again.”
He looked at her, startled. “That means you will carry it alone.” He shook his head violently. “No.”
“Then we will suffer the burden together, Shion. I can see that those . . . feelings . . . those memories . . . have great power over you.” She reached out and smoothed a lock of hair from his brow. “These are chains you’ve bound yourself with. It’s time to unlock them. Face them. You have come here, into this dreadful lair, to help me banish the Plague. When we succeed, we’ll have saved the lives of thousands yet unborn. Surely that gift of life will help compensate for some of the darkness in your heart.”
“You mean if we succeed.”
Phae shook her head. “No more doubting. No more despair. We will see this through.” She felt heat inside her blood, a fiery resolve that put steel in with her muscle. With the edge of her hand, she tenderly stroked the claw marks on his cheek. “What sorrows you have known,” she whispered sadly.
Her caress made him shudder once more.
She clasped his hands between hers again. “I am very young and this place is very frightening. I’m glad you are here with me, Shion. Thank you for facing your fears. It helps me face mine.”
The mask of pain that had ravaged his face was slowly softening. He stared down at her hands and then lifted them to his mouth, pressing a small kiss there. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “You saved me from despair. You are the most compassionate soul I have ever met.”
She smiled at him. “I’ve always been a good listener,” she replied. “Which is difficult, because you are not much of a talker.”
A stab of pain burst inside of her, making her double over and wince, her fingers digging into his. Nausea accompanied it and she felt a spasm travel down her spine.
“Phae?” Shion said worriedly, sitting up and putting a hand on her shoulder.
She struggled to breathe through the pain.
“Same as before?” he asked.
She nodded, whistling through her teeth as the shard of agony intensified. Her knuckles were white from her tense grip, but she knew she wasn’t hurting him at all. She rocked back and forth, trying to find a way to breathe again.
Hettie approached. “What is it?” She put the back of her hand on Phae’s brow.
The pain began to subside, bringing relief. Phae wanted to curl up and moan, but she clenched herself and tried to anticipate the blissful calm that was coming.
Annon and Tyrus approached as well. The young Druidecht’s eyes were blazing with alarm. Her father, however, looked knowingly at her.
“What’s wrong?” Hettie asked. “Is there another wound?”
“No,” Tyrus explained. “It’s a twisting in your bowels, a pain like a needle poking inside of you. Each time it happens it gets worse.”
Phae nodded, feeling her brow damp with sweat now. He knew what it was as well.
“It’s the Dryad seed,” Tyrus said. “It is the magic she was born with that allows her to bond with a tree. If it passes outside of you, then we have failed.” His meaty hand gripped her shoulder. “How many days have you felt it now?”
Phae bit her lip. “We need to hurry, Father. We need to find that tree.”
“I’m in shock that the Archives are still unprotected. A handful of Archivists have barricaded the doors against the invasion. Food is running scarce and all is in confusion. We need Bhikhu to guard us, but they are all engaged in fighting the invaders in the streets. What use are the streets if the knowledge protected here is undefended?”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXIV
They left the vibrant grove and entered the skeletal woods once again. Immediately the mood became somber and Phae watched the strain gradually appear on the faces of her comrades. She wiped her face, hardly believing how few of them were left already. So soon, she thought gravely. We’ve lost them so soon.
Where were the sturdy Baylen and his twin swords? Where were Paedrin and his constant jesting? Khiara was murdered. Nizeera fallen. Kiranrao—she was grateful he was gone. She glanced at Annon and Hettie, recognizing that neither of them were the strongest fighters. They had the fireblood, which would be a great defense against some of the beings in the woods. But not against them all. Tyrus, Aransetis, and Shion were her champions. In the end, who would survive?
She flung the dark thoughts from her mind. The pain in her belly had subsided, but she felt it on the fringes of her awareness, ready to strike her again. She brushed hair away from her ear, annoyed by her damp clothes, the itchy feeling in her blistered feet. Mustering her determination, she pressed on.
Very little light managed to penetrate the interlocking boughs. The Scourgelands felt like a cage. Strange clicking noises intruded sporadically. Pungent smells lingered in the air. The woods were dark and foreboding, void of life and crumbling into ruin. It was an ancient forest—probably as old as the world itself. She gazed down at the spindly twigs snapping beneath her boots.
“Do you sense a Dryad tree yet?” Tyrus asked her, his voice low and guarded.
Phae nodded and pointed to the left. “Through those trees. I sense her and she senses me. She has not commu
nicated with me yet.”
“Let’s go closer then.”
Phae nodded, following his lead until he suddenly stopped short, gripping her arm.
Her heart quickened. “What is it?”
The others stopped, turning to look at him. Tyrus’s face was ashen. “I see her again.”
Phae saw nothing, not even the glimpse of a shadow.
“I see nothing,” Annon said. “I hear nothing.”
“Neither do I,” Hettie added. She had her bow ready and arrow at the string.
“She’s not speaking,” Tyrus said. “Only shaking her head. She’s pointing another way.”
“Why can’t we see her?” Annon said, frustrated. Phae could sense the emotions roiling inside of the twins. Neither of them had memories of seeing their mother. If the shade was real, it would be cruel not to reveal herself to them as well.
“It may be the madness,” Aran suggested, his voice stern.
“I accept that,” Tyrus said. “I don’t feel any different. But I can’t dismiss what I see in front of . . . she’s gone. Vanished.” A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.
Hettie swore softly. Then she looked back at Tyrus and asked, “What direction was she pointing?”
“That way,” Tyrus said, gesturing.
“Do we trust it?” Shion asked.
“She led me to the stone,” Annon said, his expression dark. “It robbed the Fear Liath of its protection. I heard her voice, Tyrus. I don’t think it’s the madness.”
Tyrus sighed deeply. “I’m not fully convinced. To protect you all, I must be open with what I am thinking. If my behavior seems unnatural, then you owe it to yourselves . . . and you owe it to Phae, to carry on without me. If I cannot go on leading, then you should look to Annon for guidance. I’ve given him sufficient information to guide you. He is young but he is also wiser than I was at his age. That way then.”
Phae followed her father into the new direction. The light was beginning to fade, signaling the approach of dusk. Wandering in the dark again was not her first preference, but there was no safety to be had.
Mewling howls sounded deep in the woods. The Weir—she recognized the sound now.
“They’re hunters,” Hettie said. “Did they catch our scent?”
“Not yet,” Tyrus answered, gripping the fabric of his cloak more tightly around his throat. “They are communicating across great distances. When they stumble across that glen, we’ll know it.”
Phae’s legs were tired from the long walk. Her knees throbbed. She hooked arms with Shion, allowing her to draw on some of his unflagging strength. She remembered when he had chased her through the mountains of Stonehollow and had pushed her, relentlessly, toward Fowlrox. The terrain inside the Scourgelands was rugged and brittle. Each step became a blur and she felt weariness stealing over her as the sun faded.
Welcome, Sister.
The voice in her head snapped her awake. She sensed the tree, could almost feel the dense mesh of roots beneath the earth under her boots. A sliver of knowledge came with it. The voice in her mind was . . . unfriendly.
“I found another,” Phae whispered. “That way, beyond those trees.”
“I don’t see it,” Tyrus said, craning his neck. “How distant?”
“A hundred steps maybe,” she replied.
Tyrus looked up at the sky, seeming to judge the time before it was fully dark. “I want you to speak to her, Phae. You need to draw out from her what you can. How far are we from the mother Dryad tree in these woods? What defends it?”
“How can we trust what she’s told?” Hettie asked.
Tyrus looked at her. “Beings from Mirrowen cannot lie. They may trick and deceive. They can veil what they know and reveal what is useful. They often mislead you based on your own false assumptions. But they cannot lie. You are here to set them free. Remind them of that. If we go with you, she won’t appear, so we will stay behind . . .”
“No,” Shion said flatly.
Tyrus gripped his shoulder. “She must.”
He shook his head. “Too vulnerable.”
“It won’t be for long,” Tyrus said soothingly. “If she won’t listen to reason, then we’ll continue on our way. Above all, Phae, you must not look in her eyes. She will tempt you to. You must not give in or all is lost.”
The scowl on Shion’s face showed that he did not approve of the risk.
“Trust me once again,” Tyrus said. “She has the fireblood. She is not defenseless.” He squeezed Phae’s arm. “We must remain out of sight, or she won’t appear to you. Do what you can to persuade her.”
Phae nodded. She took Shion by the hand and pulled him with her toward the Dryad tree. The others ventured after them, walking slowly. A raven cawed somewhere in the distance.
You dare bring him near my tree? The thought had a sneer to it.
I would speak with you, Phae replied, edging closer. The shadows thickened quickly. She could just glimpse the mammoth oak ahead. The trunk was straight and rigid, but the branches seemed a tangle of snakes.
Come alone then.
Phae squeezed his hand and then disengaged, motioning for him to wait nearby. With cautious steps, Phae approached the enormous Dryad tree. There were no longer any leaves crowning it, but thick clusters of mistletoe garnished the branches. It was almost beautiful, but it smelled of rot.
I’m here, Phae thought to her. What is your name?
You think I’m a fool and will reveal it so easily?
You’re not a fool, Phae replied. You are ancient and powerful.
Flattery.
As Phae drew closer, she averted her eyes and kept them on the ground. Her ears were keen for the sound of an ambush. She did not want to summon the Vaettir words yet, but she was ready to. She was nervous and edgy, wondering how she could persuade the other.
You are a child. An acorn. You think you can persuade a Dryad-born who has seen the ages of the world come and pass?
Phae bit her lip. What have you seen of the world trapped in this forsaken place?
I saw Tyrus Paracelsus. I saw him fail. My memories are deeper than the roots. Deeper than your timid imaginations. I have supped with kings. I have tasted the forbidden wine. You are nothing compared to me.
Phae reached the trunk and tentatively reached out her hand. Show yourself.
To what purpose, child? You are a sister, yes. But you are not here to claim my tree and free me. You spurn our kind.
Phae touched the bark. It was hard and cold, like stone. The wood was ancient beyond anything she had ever experienced. Her fingers played across the rugged grooves, imagining the memories trapped deep inside. What secrets were hidden there?
Many secrets. Deep secrets. You will die before you claim your birthright. Already your seed is failing.
Phae heard the snapping sound of twigs from the other side of the tree. Her heart began to race. She steeled her courage.
If I could free you, would you let me? Phae asked her.
A flutter of emotion blew across her feelings like a breeze—full of disdain. You did not come here to free me.
Do you yearn for freedom? Let me help you!
Another snapping sound. Phae closed her eyes tightly, listening to every movement.
You cannot help me. You cannot free me unless you bond with my tree. Save your breath, acorn. You are only a tool wielded by another’s hand. We are alike.
Phae sensed the presence of the Dryad around the side of the massive trunk. Immediately, her mind was besieged with the impulse to look at her. It was a craving, a hunger much deeper than the want of thirst for water. The urge buzzed inside her mind with immense force, the curiosity like an itch that could only be scratched by looking.
Look at me, the Dryad whispered to her. See what you will become. See the curse in your blood with your own eyes. I wish I we
re never born.
Phae hugged the tree, pressing her face into the hard seams and cracks in the stone-hewn bark. She shivered uncontrollably, trying to resist the imperious urge that blackened her mind.
You think you can resist me forever? You will look at me, Sister. My will has been honed on the whetstone since the woods were first lit by dawn. Look on me!
Phae shuddered, feeling sweat streak down her forehead. The force of the thought was like a huge thunderhead, making her feel as insignificant as a field mouse. How could she defy such a presence?
I exist. See the cruelty of it. The portal to Mirrowen is closed. There are no whispers. The Seneschal has abandoned us. Look and see!
Phae began to sob. She squeezed the tree so hard that her cheek burned. Tears dripped down her chin, but she refused to look, refused to give in despite the fury of the Dryad’s thoughts.
Suddenly the Dryad’s thoughts turned to hissing and fury, a woman spurned. Phae felt her father’s strong hands on her shoulders as he pulled her away from the tree.
“You’ve done enough,” he whispered to her. “You did your best. Shion, take her.”
Her emotions were still reeling from the brunt of the Dryad’s thoughts. She felt Shion grip her arm and she hugged him as tightly as she did the oak, pressing her cheek against his chest, willing the pain inside her mind to stop. The feelings of futility still staggered her. The madness inside the Dryad’s mind—being perpetually trapped inside the husk of a tree, with no one to relieve her, bound for a thousand lifetimes because there was no man willing to come and be her husband and forge a daughter to take her place. The wasting sickness of the Dryad’s mind was beyond reckoning.
“Shion,” she gasped with shock. She shook her head, trying to quell her emotions.
He soothed her with a whisper, stroking her hair and leading her away from the tree.
Blue fire lit the dusk, sending a piercing glare into the woods. Phae was startled and then looked back, seeing her father standing before the tree, his arms widespread, his hands cupping lashing blue flames. His head was bowed in terrible solemnity.