The pace remained steady for the first hour and more. Steady and quiet. Not even Elspeth bothered with the scenery. Instead, she undertook the by-now familiar chore of examining the three-foot space in front of her feet. Gialyn knew – if his night with the rats was anything to go by – that she was not missing much; the forest was just too thick to see further than a few paces, especially at night.
Cal, the Head Woodsman, raised his hand before stopping on the path. He called Daric and Olam forward.
Daric squeezed past Arfael. Olam was already there.
Gialyn hitched forward so he could listen. He was not going to miss anything, not anymore. If it involved his father, it involved him, too. And to hell with anybody who thought differently.
“What is it, friend?” Olam asked Cal.
“There are tracks.” Cal pointed to the ground near a clump of wildberry and lemonleaf bushes. “By the pattern, I would say as many as six men slept here.”
“Yes,” Daric said. “That would be the Salrians. Seems they went on ahead of our party and lay in wait for us in the gully.”
Cal nodded as if that were explanation enough. He continued along the track. Maybe it was a problem for another time, or maybe the tall Woodsman just did not care enough to pursue the issue. Gialyn saw his father shrug at Olam before following the Cren.
Cal’s relaxed stride ate up the trail. The Cren’s movements seemed slow, but it was hard for Gialyn and the others to keep up. Cal moved with reckless ease, swaying around brushwood and under branches, while the travellers would tread carefully, mindful of every obstacle. The other Cren, Mateaf, walked at the rear. He would laugh quietly when Gialyn or one of the other Surabhan stumbled. Gialyn suppressed the urge to look over his shoulder and ask the tall man what he thought was so funny? He wondered what the Cren would make of Bailryn, without their trees and rivers and Woodsmen instincts. Likely as not they would get lost in the market.
They followed the river for nearly an hour. A quiet hour but for the remarks made as they passed the spot where the wolves had rescued Gialyn and his father. A quarter mile further down the river, they crossed the Raithby at a staggered causeway – a wooden contraption that might have been a bridge in an earlier life – and turned south. The trail dwindled to a meagre trace as the forest thickened around them. The once-bright moon faded to a flash of silver, stilted by the thickening canopy. But there was still enough light to continue at a fair pace.
Elspeth made a sound that made Gialyn stop and look over his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked.
Elspeth said nothing. She stepped to her right and gently parted two enormous leaves. The plant the leaves belonged to was vast; Gialyn looked up, but could not see the top of it. Elspeth poked her head through the gap she had made and then gasped quietly.
Gialyn moved to her side and looked over her shoulder, and then felt Arfael looking over his. A deep ravine, hidden from the path by the broad-leaved plant, opened up in front of them. A narrow waterfall plunged ten spans into a clear pool. Gialyn could make out shapes in the darkness. Slender creatures, maybe six feet long, with sleek coats and puppy-like faces busied themselves around the pool. Two appeared to be playing while two more fished about in the clear water. The rest lay on the bank, grooming each other, Gialyn thought.
Elspeth took a slow step forward, cracking a twig underfoot. The creatures playing by the bank looked up and hooted what could have been “Hello.” They appeared to smile at her.
Elspeth smiled back. “What beautiful creatures,” she whispered.
“They are Culb’coi,” Mateaf said. “Uh… forest otters. I’m not sure if you have a translation,”
“Yes, they look like otters, I suppose.” Elspeth took another step forward. Gialyn reached out and grabbed her elbow. “It’s all right, I won’t fall,” she told him. But he wasn’t about to let go; he knew all too well what falling ten spans into water felt like.
“They’re big,” Arfael said, “the size of small horses.”
“Many creatures in Crenach’coi grow to an unusual size,” Mateaf said. “Some say it is because of the aorand berry. But I think it is the forest; not all the animals eat the fruit.”
Elspeth looked sideways at Mateaf. “Fruit…? Magic fruit…? I can’t see how.” She turned back to the otters. “Whatever it is, it is incredible.”
Aorand? Isn’t that what Cal gave her to stop her feeling tired? Gialyn wondered if Elspeth would suddenly start growing before their eyes.
Mateaf smiled kindly, as though glad of their appreciation of the forest. “I’d tell you more, but we should move on. We will get left behind.” He nodded along the track at where Olam and the others had all but disappeared around an unusually thick clump of trees.
“Oh, yes. Gods, we don’t want to get lost in here.” Elspeth said.
Mateaf chuckled quietly and smiled at her.
Gialyn thought Elspeth’s cheeks had reddened. Ha! Lost… with a Cren Woodsman by our side? She does say some odd things at times.
It was approaching midnight when Gialyn noticed a difference in the forest. The trees changed to a kind he had never seen before. Long, straight, branchless trunks rose up high to a flat, horizontal canopy that all but blocked out the sky. No light made it through, and no life lived on the ground, either, save for a few small tufts of moss and the odd – very odd – mushroom.
Cal told them the trees were the Morrdin, a line of ancient broadleaf that ran the length of Crenach’coi. “The line starts at the forest’s most northerly point,” Cal said, “and runs south past the Raithby before turning east. It ends near the Cuanmor Sea. Nearly three hundred leagues in all. And yet the band of Morrdin is only three or four miles at its widest point.”
I hope it is three miles and not four, Gialyn thought. The trees looked… evil… somehow.
“Keep close,” Cal said. “And stay on the path. It is easy to get lost in here, even for a Cren.”
Cal stopped abruptly and turned to address them. He appeared to have remembered something. “And mind your thoughts; dwell not on melancholic things. Talking to each other helps.”
“What do you mean? Why should we mind our thoughts?” Olam asked.
“The Morrdin breed despair, my friend. They will have you on your knees, at your wit’s end, if you let them.”
Gialyn gazed at the miserable landscape. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. He could feel the hairs tighten on his scalp and a shudder ran down his spine. Something was living in amongst the trees. He could feel it, like when he would go hunting and knew he was not the only one tracking a deer. Usually, that would mean someone else from town was on its trail, but sometimes he could sense a wolf or wildcat… though how he managed such a thing was beyond him. It did not happen very often, but when it did, he knew it was time to leave the hunt.
The travellers stumbled, hand to shoulder, through the relentless vertical lines of trees, each a perfect copy of the last. The trees did not even widen at the base; it was as if the roots went straight down – but down to what? The sinewy bark oozed black sap that made Gialyn’s eyes water if he came too close. The space between the trees was flat as a good village green – but not remotely green in colour, more an earthy shade of yellow – and virtually lifeless, apart from those hideous mushrooms. Where did those things come from? Thick, sweaty, deep-purple monstrosities, they smelled nearly as bad as they looked.
After hearing Cal’s warning, Olam handed out short lengths of string, those he generally used to tie off their food bundles. Gialyn followed his father’s example and fastened the string to his wrist, then tied the other end to Daric’s belt. Once everyone had attached themselves to one another, they all fumbled forward in the near pitch darkness. Gialyn wondered if anyone else was a nervous as he was.
* * *
It was ten minutes before Elspeth remembered her little lantern. She took it from her pack and was about to strike a tupstick, when…
“You should not do that.” Mateaf took her g
ently by the wrist and pulled her hand away from the striker.
“Why not? It’s only a little wax lamp… just a candleholder.” She held the lantern up so he could see it.
Mateaf brought his mouth to her ear and whispered. “As with most kingdoms, it is the evil things that like the dark.” He nodded into the darkness before patting Elspeth reassuringly on the shoulder.
“Ah… I see,” she whispered. Wishing she had never asked, Elspeth put away the lantern and quickly caught up to Olam. In truth, she wanted to catch up with Arfael, but Gialyn might think she was scared of the dark if she ran to the big man. And of all people, she did not want Gialyn thinking she was like some little girl afraid of the monsters under the stairs.
* * *
Gialyn and his father walked side by side. Daric had a line on Arfael, who seemed to be able to see quite well in the dark. Gialyn – still attached to his father’s belt by the short string Olam had given him – decided to take Cal’s advice and try talking. He was not feeling any ill effects, but the Morrdin were unnerving.
“What do you think mother would say if she could see me now?” Gialyn asked his father.
“She would say nothing to you?” Daric laughed. “She would be too busy beating me over the head with a cooking pot.”
Gialyn laughed. “I don’t know, look where we are: in a strange forest, walking behind a hero of Blai’nuin, and a Cren Woodsman is leading us to a mysterious village. We have survived attacks from the Salrians, bitter weather and kidnappings. We have stayed the night in a wolf village and travelled halfway across Aleras.” Gialyn giggled at the absurdity of it. “If we told half of that to any of the folks back home… They would not believe it. And I wouldn’t change anything. Except for what happened to poor Ealian, of course.”
Again, Daric appeared surprised by Gialyn’s attitude. “You’re still glad you came, despite all that has happened?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I had not,” Elspeth said. She had been following one-step behind, also attached to Daric.
“Why?” Gialyn asked.
Elspeth huffed. “Do you really have to ask?”
Gialyn’s cheeks flushed. How could he be so stupid? “Sorry. Uh… I – I should have thought.” He put hand to heart and bowed while he walked. “I’m sure your brother will get well. Now that the Woodsmen are helping him, I bet he’ll be up and about by the time we get back to the hollow.”
“That’s not the worst of it,” she whispered.
“Not the… Why? What has happened?” Gialyn asked.
Elspeth opened her mouth to speak, but only shrugged and shook her head. “Never mind; it’s nothing.”
Gialyn regarded her over his shoulder as she backed up a step. He could hardly see her face, but he knew she had tears in her eyes.
Daric, who had been watching her, too, slowed down until he was walking by her side. “What has happened? And don’t say it is nothing; I can see you are troubled.”
Elspeth looked up, and then away at the trees. Her breathing quickened and she began to fiddle with the string attaching her to Daric. Gialyn could see the whites of her eyes; she appeared to be in the midst of panic…
“I k-killed a man today!” she said in a quiet but desperate whimper.
Daric stopped dead in his tracks. “Hold!” he shouted. The procession came to a standstill. He pulled Elspeth around until she was facing him. “Quickly – explain!” he said.
Gialyn could see the look in his father’s eye – that soldiering look Daric would use when dealing with danger. Gialyn was not surprised: Elspeth killed someone! Gods!
“He was attacking Grady,” Elspeth sobbed. “It all happened so fast. The knife was above the man’s head and I… I just…” Tears were streaming from her eyes and she was retching. Gialyn thought she might vomit at any moment. “I just had to… I had to… I had to do it.” Her knees gave way and she fell forward. Grabbing hold of Daric, she pushed her crying eyes into his shoulder.
Daric looked to the heavens. “You poor child,” he whispered.
A long moment of near-silence followed where the only noise was Elspeth’s muffled sobbing. Gialyn rubbed his sweat-covered palms on his shirt. His mouth was dry and he suddenly felt a weight on his chest. He had to force air into his lungs. Was the forest upsetting him, too? Where the trees in his mind? No, it was fear: fear for Elspeth’s spirit. And anger at the man who had injured her – and she was injured, Gialyn knew; she would never be the same.
Daric continued: “You should have said something earlier.” He pushed her hair to one side and kissed her forehead. “You know, you saved a good man’s life today.” He cradled her head in his hands and looked squarely into her eyes. “I’m proud of you, Elspeth Tanner. By the gods, I’m proud of you. What you did took great courage.”
Elspeth let out a laugh in between her sobs. Gialyn felt his heart catch in his throat. His fists clenched. He wanted to kill that man, whoever he was, all over again. He had taken something from Elspeth – something precious. More than once, Gialyn had seen what having to kill a man had done to some of his father’s friends, and they had been trained to kill… Poor Elspeth.
Abruptly, Gialyn realised he was swaying from side to side. His head began to spin. He looked to his left and saw Arfael’s concerned face looking down at him. Someone grabbed his arm. It was Elspeth.
“It’s these bloody trees,” Daric said, as he took hold of Gialyn’s other arm. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Gialyn nodded and then stopped abruptly when the sickness hit his throat. A wave of gloom had him shrouded in its wake. He tried to stand firm, to get a hold of himself, but the more he fought, the worse it became.
Absently, Gialyn noticed a light flickering among the Morrdin. The light was yellow at the centre and white around the edge. It shimmered like the sun’s reflection on a lake. The light came closer. Gialyn became aware of heat radiating from it, like that which came from the oven when his mother would open the door to see if their supper was ready. There was a strange smell, too – like wet soil mixed with rusty metal. Then the foul-looking mushrooms – if they were mushrooms – began to glow. Their purple tops glistened in the yellow light. They were getting bigger, expanding, until white shoots sprouted from their base. The shoots grew into thin, stick-like legs. The mushrooms staggered forwards in an awkward, almost drunken saunter.
Gialyn looked down and was dismayed to discover the line that had attached him to his father was gone. In fact, his father was gone, too. Everybody was gone; it was just him and the mushroom things. He tried to run, but something had a hold of his legs. Reaching down, he noticed that there was nothing there; he had expected to feel vines or roots tangled around his feet. Again, he tried to move – nothing.
It was then he heard the voices. They sang in a high register, like a chorus of children at the harvest festival. Gialyn thought he knew the song, but could not remember the name – something about a snake and a turtle; maybe Ash’mael was in there somewhere, too. If he were right, the older boys in his school had teased him with that song when he was six or seven. But what was it called? And who was singing it?
The light had stopped moving and was hovering over a small clearing. Gialyn could see three of the mushrooms “standing” in a bright circle it made. As he watched, the mushrooms grew arms and began to dance along to the music. Then one sprouted a head. The head turned to him, and Gialyn saw his mother’s face on it. She was smiling. The mushroom with the head reached out a skinny white arm and waved him forward. Gialyn felt something fall from his legs. He could run if he wanted to, but he could not take his eyes off his mother’s face.
He was about to take a step towards her…
…when he heard a voice: “Someone catch him; he’s going to pass out.”
The light was gone and he was back with the others. The voice he had heard was faint. The next he knew, two strong arms had lifted him off the ground. He did not know if it was Arfael or one of the Cren who had picke
d him up, but someone was definitely carrying him – he hoped it wasn’t one of the mushrooms.
He closed his eyes against the dizziness that enveloped him. “Stop them, Mother… No, I’m not going to dance… Where is Elspeth…?” he mumbled, as whoever it was carried him through the Morrdin.
He heard a voice and someone patted his leg. “It’s all right, boy, we will be out of here soon.” He thought it might have been his father talking.
Elspeth was crying again.
CHAPTER 36
Kirin’thar’s Message
Gialyn tried not to think about Elspeth. He tried not to imagine what she must have been going through. She killed a man! Whether it was self-defense or not, things could never be the same for her. And how could he talk to her now? Gods, she’s a bloody hero! How could he compete with that? No, not compete; how could he ever hope to understand? A stab of shame hit his gut. He was doing it again – worrying about himself, worrying how these things affected him instead of caring about how they might hurt others. He hated that, hated how shallow it made him feel.
Arfael had carried him for almost a mile before Gialyn’s mind cleared enough to walk by himself. Those strange trees, the Morrdin, still grew on either side of the path, but there were not as many, and the few that grew here looked more like normal trees than those vertical pillars they had passed through. The smell had gone, too. Gialyn could not see any of those mushrooms, either.
“Are we out of it?” he asked Cal.
“Just,” Cal said. “There is still the odd one or two, but we are through the worse. It will be getting lighter soon.”
Gialyn sighed with relief, loud enough for Daric to notice.
“Are you well, son? You’re not feeling—”
“No, no. I am all right now, really. I-I was just making sure.” He did not want to say that much. Arfael carrying him out of the Morrdin Wood was embarrassment enough for one day.
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