by Jeff Wheeler
“Thank you, Ruhamah,” Annon said. “Can you not return to Mirrowen through your tree?”
Ruhamah shook her head. “I am no longer worthy to enter. I was taught this by the Seneschal when I made my oaths. May I have your true name as well?”
“I am Annon of Wayland,” he answered.
Tyrus’s voice boomed from the stillness. “Hasten!”
“Will the dawn never come? Yet I dread its arrival. How much of the city of Kenatos has fallen during the night? The barbarians are shrieking in the dark. One cannot sleep through their howls.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXVII
Weariness from the run enveloped Phae like a cloak. Tyrus had used the command to summon Annon back from the Dryad Tree, but instead of using the Tay al-Ard, they had fled through the woods on foot to escape. She huddled in the dark, arms crossed over her knees, her shoulder pressed against Shion’s. They found shelter in a small gully, bone-dry and thick with smooth stones. Not even the deepest level was damp, but the dirt was soft and provided some cushion. She felt her head bobbing and longed to sleep. After brushing her eyes with her forearm, she tried to make out the shadows of her companions.
Prince Aran guarded one end of the gully, about a stone’s throw away. Hettie protected the other end, bow resting on her lap. Annon and Tyrus spoke in low tones nearby as he related what he had learned from the Dryad tree. For some reason, he had insisted on speaking to Tyrus privately.
A keening wail rose over the black woods, haunting and thick with strange rhythms. The sound was unnerving and kept Phae from sleeping. Scuttling sounds came from the trees far overhead and the already-dim light prevented them some seeing what passed through the trees. The moon had not risen yet and the forest grew colder with each passing moment.
“Try to sleep,” Shion whispered.
“Not with that dreadful noise,” she answered darkly. “It cuts right through sleep. Are they getting nearer? I can’t tell.”
“I don’t think so. The calls are random.”
She hung her head, feeling miserable at the lack of sleep and growing fatigue. Her muscles ached, as did her feet. Warmth radiated from Shion’s body and she shifted to press herself closer to him.
“I wish you hadn’t frightened me,” she said after a pause. “Back at the Dryad tree.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Remember that evil tree? The one when we were fleeing through the woods of Silvandom? I was drawn to it by all those blue butterflies. I was sure it was a magical tree—one that would shelter us. It deceived me, yet I could not see it.”
“I remember,” he said simply. He turned to look at her, but she could not see his face. In her mind, she thought of the scars, his brooding eyes.
She rested her head against his shoulder. “I struggled against you, trying to wade into that brackish water. I was so certain you were wrong. It’s difficult to trust emotions. Sometimes they betray you.” She sighed. “I can see why you all deceived me. It still hurts though.”
She felt his fingers graze her hair. His touch caused a shiver down her back. He hesitated and then caressed her again. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
“It’s all right. I understand now. I just wish I had figured it out on my own. But I suppose that’s a rash thought. Who can outpredict my father?”
“Phae?” Tyrus called to her.
“Yes?” She sat up, smoothing the hair over her shoulder.
“Annon has uncovered some interesting information. We must see how it compares to what you learned from the Dryad in Silvandom. Come closer, all of you.”
Hettie and Aran quickly joined them, huddling in the shadows of the ravine. The wind shook the heavy tree limbs overhead, sending dead leaves spiraling on top of them. Phae hunkered down.
“He learned that at the center of this forest is a promontory.”
“What is that?” Phae asked.
“It’s a mass of stone . . . like a hill that hasn’t worn down over time. The rock is older and suited better to withstand the elements. There are ruins of some sort there, but it is not our destination. Annon also learned where the Mother Tree is and its description. What we are looking for is a single tree, or perhaps two trees that grew into one, for there is a space at the base inside the trunk. A gap. This follows the Mirrowen lore that I’ve heard, where there are portals to that world through fallen trunks or natural gaps. The tree we search for is very old, very squat with many limbs protruding. It is ancient beyond our reckoning and probably very sick and diseased. That tree is at the base of the promontory, so we will need to travel around to find it. It would best be done during daylight, else we could walk right past it.”
Phae felt a stirring of hope at the words. Just at the edge of her senses, she also felt the pain in her abdomen threatening to rouse again. She stiffened with the thought, remembering the agony of previous onslaughts. She needed rest!
“That is good news,” Phae whispered. “What else? Do we know where to find it? What direction to go?”
“Yes. It was not far from the Dryad tree we were at earlier. When the Tay al-Ard refreshes, we can go back there again and head the right way. Roaming the woods at night is too dangerous right now. But we should go at dawn and see if we can reach the promontory before night ends. The longer we stay in these woods, the more hunters the Arch-Rike releases against us. This has been my strategy, to keep them hunting us away from the center. To draw his forces away from protecting the tree. If we can jump over his lines, so to speak, we can rush to the center and there will be fewer guardians.”
“He will not leave it unprotected,” Prince Aran said. “A sizable host will be waiting for us. How many Fear Liaths does he have chained in his service, do you think?”
“I cannot even guess,” Tyrus replied. “Which is why attacking during daylight is critical. Those creatures are vulnerable in the day. Every foe we have faced bears a weakness. I suspect that we will be vastly outnumbered. I have brought certain magics with me to help in such a case.” He gave a quick look to Annon, which Phae noticed. “The sooner we find the tree, the sooner Phae can enter it. Now there is something else you need to know.”
Tyrus put his hand on her leg. “The Dryad warned that Mirrowen is destroyed and that venturing there will be lethal. I doubt this is true. It sounds like just the sort of deception Shirikant is famous for. But I had to speak it regardless. She also mentioned a being called the Seneschal. It means some sort of steward. A protector, maybe. Have you heard of this before, Phae?”
“Yes,” she answered softly. “I don’t think I’m supposed to speak of it though. I was told I must seek him in order to make my oath and be bound to the tree. I learned that the Dryads here are fallen. They have forsaken their oaths.”
“I believe that is so,” Tyrus said. “Even a Dryad can steal another Dryad’s memories. Something happened at the Mother Tree. Some betrayal. I’m certain Shirikant is involved and that he has usurped the memories of the trees. Annon said that the Dryad he just met wore a ring like the Kishion have. They are forced to obey him. When you reach the tree, Phae, you must be very careful. The Dryad will probably try to kill you.”
Phae’s heart shriveled. “Even though I have come to free her?”
“Even so. The Arch-Rike would lose his grip on the Scourgelands if he lost control of her. Shion—you must protect Phae when she approaches the tree. He may even try to destroy the tree. I’m not certain what he will attempt, but we must expect every trick and cunning. If we do not succeed in finding it before the sun sets again, I fear we will be too late. All of our efforts, all of our thoughts must be focused on succeeding. Courage, my friends. We are so very close.”
He reached out and took Phae’s hand, squeezing it firmly.
A catlike shriek sounded from the lip of the gully and a Weir hurtled down at her.
Shion sprang li
ke a crossbow and vaulted over her, slamming into the beast and knocking it aside. The Weir hissed and howled, raking Shion with its hooked claws, but Shion drew his twin daggers and slammed them into the beast’s throat to end the savage cry.
“More!” Hettie warned, rising into a low crouch and readying her bow.
Phae’s heart was hammering with fear from the sudden, savage attack. Tyrus grabbed her by the arm and motioned for Hettie to lead the way down the gully throat. Another Weir loped into view along the ridge.
Hettie sent one arrow into its hind and had another out as it dropped.
“They have the high ground,” Aran warned. “We must scale the side . . . watch out!”
Suddenly the Weir were leaping into the stunted ravine, snarling and gashing. Phae watched the fireblood bloom from Annon’s hands as he sent it racing along the edge of the brush. She thought the words to tame fire herself, and her fingers began to burn blue. One of the cats swiped at her middle, but she lunged to the side and burned the creature to ash. Shion caught up with her again, pulling her to the other side of the gully. He scrambled up first and then reached down and seized her wrist, pulling her up after him. The companions fought in the gully below and Phae could see the glowing eyes of the Weir as they advanced in the dark woods.
Shion tightened his grip on the daggers and planted himself in front of her, his neck muscles bulging. Prince Aran joined them and also positioned himself in front of her. Phae gritted her teeth, feeling nauseous with the sudden onset of pain in her belly. She winced and groaned, her knees beginning to weaken, but she kept herself upright.
The Weir snarled and charged, loping through the woods. Shion sprung into their midst, slashing viciously with his blades. Aran hammered at the Weir with his bare fists and palms, striking at their eyes, the soft flesh around the throats. Though he did not carry a blade, he struck with a force that injured them, and he could not be budged from his stance. She heard the shred of fabric and felt blood from Aran’s sleeve spray her face, but although he was wounded, he did not back down.
Tyrus joined them next, his arms spread wide as he unleashed the fury of his fireblood on the attackers. Flames began to spread through the dried leaves, causing plumes of smoke and snapping twigs as they caught fire.
“Come!” Tyrus shouted. “Before they surround us.”
Annon and Hettie were the last to leave the gully and together they smashed into the ranks of the Weir, leaving a fog of smoke in their wake.
Dawn crept over the tangled woods of the Scourgelands. Phae walked with leaden steps, one hand fastened to Shion’s tattered cloak. She was sleeping while she walked, she felt, and the ground passed in a dreamlike state. Her other hand clutched her stomach. The pain was persistent now, coming in faster and faster bursts. All night it had tormented her, receding for a short while before returning with a vengeance. She was too sick to eat, but Tyrus made her choke down some dried strips of meat. Their water skins were drying up and the small sips did little to slake her thirst.
She cast her eyes around the dull light, seeing the haggard and worn expressions on all their faces. Purple bruises stained the eyelids. Annon walked, clutching his shoulder, and she could see the blood staining his tunic. His face was a mask of determination and foreboding. Hettie’s hair was tangled with snarls and brush, her look sorrowful. Prince Aran was wounded too, his black jacket shredded from the Weir attacks. He walked with sternness, his face hard and without compassion or suffering. Phae mourned when she looked at him, remembering the secret looks that Khiara had given the solemn man.
A preternatural silence hung over the air and Tyrus stopped short, holding up his hand. Something creaked in the trees, something massive and hulking. They all halted. Tyrus motioned for them to draw near him and withdrew the Tay al-Ard.
A chuffing cough sounded in the gloomy dawn. It came from above their heads. Branches snapped and crashed down. A tree groaned, coming up by the roots, and started to fall toward them, its huge branches sweeping down like an avalanche.
Phae clung to her father’s arm as the Tay al-Ard swept them away from the danger. When the spinning ended, Phae found herself on the ground, vomiting violently into the turf. It felt like the world was still spinning, even though the magic had already deposited them. Her ears rang and she wheezed and choked as every bit inside her stomach came out. The spasms clenched hard and painfully and she trembled with the efforts. Soon black bile was all she had left and she planted her palm on the ground, feeling a trail of it cling to her lip.
Shion knelt next to her, mopping her face with the edge of his cloak. She was so exhausted, so spent, she tottered against him, knowing she’d faint if she tried to stand.
“Drink,” Tyrus whispered, handing her his own flask.
She shook her head, waving it away.
“You must,” he said. He knelt beside her as well and pressed the flask against her mouth. She took a small sip and nearly gagged. It was awful, acidic. She waited a moment, hoping the pain would recede. It did—barely—and she took another drink. When she looked up, she saw the worried faces clustered around her. They were not looking at her, though.
Lifting her gaze, she stared at the woods, not recognizing anything. She knelt in a small grove of ancient oaks, but the limbs were glittering with freshly spun spiderwebs, thick as linen strands. The entire forest was covered in a veil of webs, from the trees above and between each.
“Where are we?” Phae whispered, stifling a moan.
Tyrus looked around, his face betraying his alarm. “Where we were yesterday. The Dryad tree is over there. I think I can make it out. But these webs were spun last night. By what, I do not know.”
“If you only believe what you like, and reject what you don’t like, it is not truth you believe, but yourself.”
- Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
XXVIII
The webs clung to every tree, forming an impenetrable mesh. Back at the Winemillers, Phae had often marveled at the webs spiders could weave during the night between the grapevines and the trellises. As a child, she had touched the strands, which caused vibrations down the lengths, summoning the small spiders—tricking them into believing they had snared some prey. These web strands were thick and haphazard in formation, almost like cobwebs in dusty corners. But these were no silken strands that could be torn with a breeze.
“You don’t know what caused these webs?” Annon asked, his voice grave and tremulous.
“No,” Tyrus answered. “I never encountered them. We didn’t make it this far.”
Hettie lifted her boot and sticky strands came up with it. “They are everywhere. We can’t use the Tay al-Ard again. What then?”
Phae struggled to regain her feet and leaned on Shion to stand. The webs were frightening, shrouding the view in every direction. What army of spiders had created it?
Tyrus frowned, stroking his beard. “The Arch-Rike knew we might return this way. This must be a direct path to the promontory, so he’s encircled the area with a net of webs. We must be cautious, for the spinners are probably still near.”
“There is a legend in the Druidecht lore,” Annon said. “A race of spirits that is half-human, half-spider. They’re called the Raekni.” He swallowed. “They’re quite large—the size of one of us. We should watch the trees above. They can move faster than us through this barrier and have stingers that paralyze their victims—” He turned around abruptly. “I heard something.”
“It was the wind,” Hettie said, touching his arm. “Let’s use the fireblood to burn our way through.”
Tyrus nodded, scanning the ground and then the trees. Hettie reached out toward one of the thick strands, and blue fire burst from her fingers. She held it against the strands, but nothing happened. She summoned more heat but the webs resisted its burning. The flame in her hand snuffed out.
“Of course,” Tyrus said darkly. “It is en
chanted against flame. He means to hold us here until the Tay al-Ard refreshes or force us to cut our way through and reveal ourselves. We don’t have time to dally. Try your blade, Hettie.”
The Romani girl nodded and slung her bow across her shoulder and drew her knives. She slashed at the first cord and it severed, but there was an eerie reverberation in the woods, like a plaintive discordant chord from a harp.
“Quickly,” Tyrus said. “Shion and Hettie—lead the way. Do you have a dagger, Annon?”
The Druidecht nodded and produced a small hunting knife.
“I have one,” Phae said, but Tyrus waved at her not to draw it. He put his arm around her and went with her into the gap carved by Shion and Hettie. Prince Aran took up the rear, searching the heights of the trees for a sign of the Raekni.
As they cut their way through the thick barrier, Phae felt the stirrings of pain begin again deep inside her. She breathed rapidly, taking little gulps of breath, and hugged herself to endure the pain and still walk. She was lightheaded after vomiting and still felt no hunger. As more of the strands were severed, a strange music seemed to linger in the air, wafting unseen as strands of different length were snapped. It was a ghostly hymn, a funeral dirge. It made Phae shudder.
Hettie and Shion struck down the webs that blocked their way. Sometimes the nets were so thick that it took both of them to clear the path so that they could pass single file. Annon craned his neck, staring up at the trees.
“Shadows,” he said, pointing upward.
Through the veil of strands came the outsized shadow of spiders, skittering in the trees above them. These were huge, man-sized, and easily outpaced them. Phae saw only three, no more.
“If their webs are immune to flame,” Tyrus said, “it is likely they are protected as well.”
“The webbing is thicker ahead,” Hettie said. “How did they work so quickly?”
A low-hanging branch blocked the path, and Tyrus helped Phae duck. Glossy strands stuck to her face and she brushed them away. Their boots crunched in the leaves and twigs. Anticipation coursed through her veins, mixing with worry and dread. The shadows of another spider creature passed overhead, making her shrink.