I had eaten wild onions, a meager but welcome feast. I had eaten mushrooms—at least I hoped they were mushrooms—and thus far I had suffered no ill effects. Bear and Badger had found the corpse of something in the long grass under a tree. With a certain difficulty, I had convinced Bear I wasn’t hungry.
And now, so late in the day, here was this clearing. A shudder went through me, for it reminded me sharply of the open area where I had found Niall hanging from the elm. This place, too, had its lone tree—not a lofty elm this time, but an oak, a formidable old giant all heavy dark limbs and swathes of autumn foliage. Drifts of fallen leaves blanketed its knotty roots. Birds exchanged plaintive cries in its branches: The darkness comes, fly in, fly in! I welcomed their voices, remembering the eldritch quiet of another dusk.
Bear halted in his tracks. Badger halted behind him. Now I heard what they heard: behind the birdcalls, another voice, a human voice, young and urgent.
“Maeve! Maeve, here! I’m in here!”
My heart turned over. He was alive. We had found him. “Finbar!” I called, blinking back tears. “I’m coming!”
The tree. He sleeps as the squirrel sleeps. I should have known the moment I clapped eyes on this most formidable of oaks that it was the one we were looking for.
We ran, the three of us, arriving at the foot of the oak breathless and excited. The tree’s bole was huge; it dwarfed those of the other old oaks nearby. I craned my neck, gazing upward, but there was no sign of him.
“Where are you, Finbar?” I called. “How do we reach you?”
“Up here!”
I took a few paces back and looked up again. High above my head there was a patch on the trunk that looked curiously like a glazed window, and through it I could see movement—yes, there he was, his pale face, his hand waving. There must be a hollow up there, the kind of place in which a creature might make its winter home. Quite a big creature, if a seven-year-old boy could fit inside the cavity. But what was it that veiled Finbar, rendering his features blurred and indistinct? His voice was reaching me clearly enough. Gods, the place was high: nearly three times the height of a tall man.
“Can you climb down?” I shouted.
“I can’t. You have to come and get me.”
What did he think this was, a game? Had he forgotten about my hands? I drew a deep, calming breath and hissed the dogs to silence, for the two of them were barking so loudly I could hardly think straight.
“I can’t, Finbar,” I called. “I can’t hold on.” Even for a fit person it would be hard; on this side of the tree the lowest branch was well above my head, and the next was high above it. “How did you get up there?”
There was a lengthy pause. Finbar had retreated within the tree; I could see him moving about, doing something.
“Finbar, how did you get up there?”
He was back at the opening, if it could be called that. Was that filmy barrier a spiderweb? A net of some kind?
“You have to go around the other side,” Finbar called. “That’s where you get up.”
Bear and Badger had flopped down in the long grass, obeying my order to be quiet. I made my way around the giant tree, taking care as I stepped over the tangle of roots. Now it seemed we might get safely home after all, the last thing I needed was a wrenched ankle.
There was something odd about this place. Here on the western side of the tree the light was quite different, almost as if it were another time of day. There was a shadowy tinge to grass and rocks and roots, a new chill in the air. Even my skin looked odd, pallid to the point of grayness. Was I so filthy after my days living wild? Had my mushroom meal sickened me without my knowing it?
From this side of the tree I could not see the dogs. I could not see my brother, either, for there was no visible entrance to his bolthole, but his voice carried clearly from up above me.
“See on the bark there, someone’s carved footholds. And the trunk leans, so it’s easier to balance.”
“I can’t see where you are, Finbar.”
“Just climb straight up.”
“I can’t!” I failed to keep the frustration from my voice. “You come down. I’ll stand here and if you lose your grip I’ll try to catch you.” I could at least cushion his fall. If he had climbed up, he could surely get safely back down. “Come on, Finbar!” Belatedly, I realized there might be another reason for his hesitation. “Are you hurt? Sick?”
“You have to climb up.” The little voice was dogged, unshakable. It was the same tone he’d used, once or twice, to say, I’m not supposed to tell. My brother might be only seven, but I wasn’t going to move him on this.
“If I break my leg,” I said, gritting my teeth and looking for a possible way I could do this, “how are you going to get me back home?”
“You have to climb up, Maeve. If you don’t, I can’t get out.”
My skin prickled. Magic. An enchanted oak. What else could this be? I had a hundred questions, but the time to ask them was when I had my brother safely on the ground. And if there was a spell or charm in place that said he could not leave his bolt-hole unless I went up there and fetched him out, that was what I’d have to do.
I tried to recall whether Uncle Bran had any advice on attempting the impossible. Being brave was all very well, but no amount of courage could make my fingers grip. “Believe in yourself,” I muttered, looking at the shallow depressions that had been roughly carved into the tree trunk, each two or three handspans above the last. In the curious light on this side of the oak, it was hard to make them out clearly. I must hope I could get up and down before it was too dark to see at all.
I set down my bag and the blanket. I took time to get the flask out of my pouch, remove the stopper, drink a mouthful, put it safely back. With the fire of that draft warming my body, I looked up again.
Finbar was right. On this side the trunk sloped away from me as it rose. If I leaned in as I climbed, perhaps my upper body and outstretched arms might help stop me from falling. I could not use my arms to pull myself up; my legs must do that job on their own. It was a ridiculous thing to attempt; something I would never have dreamed of suggesting to anyone else.
“Finbar, are you quite sure this is the only way?” I shouted.
“I can’t get out on my own.” His voice was like an old person’s, weary, resigned. Perhaps he believed I would not try this, that I would leave him in the tree and walk away.
“All right, I’m coming up,” I called. “I might be a bit slow.”
It was a scrabbling, painful, gut-churning climb. Each step was a risky heave, my weight all on my legs, my arms hugging the bole as I pushed myself higher. Each step sent cramping pain through my stomach and thighs. The bark grazed my face and tore my shirt. My wet shoes kept slipping. Concentrate, Maeve. You can do this. You must do it.
My feet caught in the hem of my skirt, sending my heart into my throat. I teetered, then steadied, using all my strength to lean forward against the trunk. For a moment I let myself rest, drawing a few deep breaths, thinking perhaps I was halfway up, reminding myself that coming down had to be easier. At least the dogs were keeping quiet now. I did not look down.
“Good climbing, Maeve!” Finbar’s voice came from above me. “You’re nearly there!”
That gave me new resolve, and I pushed myself upward again, body pressed against the bark, arms as far around the bole as I could stretch, legs doing the hard work. I would have a few bruises in the morning. Let me not fall, I prayed to whoever might be listening. Let me get him out safely. From up here, a fall would do a lot of damage. My thoughts ran to what would happen if I were knocked unconscious, or broke a limb, or worse. Unthinkable. Keep going, Maeve. Hold on.
Three labored steps, four…Something stabbed into my right arm. I let out a gasp of pain; my eyes filled with tears.
“Maeve! What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine, Finbar.” A jagged splinter, lodged deep in the flesh. The pain was severe; it made me feel sick. “Just a splinter; nothin
g to worry about. I’m coming on up now.”
In truth, I had not thought I could do it, but eventually I teetered on the highest foothold and got my elbows onto the rim of the hollow. Finbar, crouched on the edge like a little tree creature, held on to my upper arms and hauled, and I managed to wriggle up. I collapsed on the floor of his refuge, breathing hard. Asking even one question felt beyond me.
“I thought you weren’t coming.” I lifted my head to look at my brother. He was snow-pale, his eyes as solemn as if he were at a graveside.
“You look…” He hesitated, eyeing me with a certain wariness. “You look different. There’s blood on your face.”
“I’m not hurt. A few scrapes and bruises, that’s all.” I did not mention the raw meat supper, or the throbbing pain in my arm. The splinter could wait until we were somewhere safe, with clean water and good light. “Finbar, we must climb straight back down and head for home.”
“It’s nearly nighttime.” He spoke with perfect calm. “Where will we sleep?”
“We’ll find somewhere. I’ve been sleeping wherever I could. The dogs are down there; you must have seen them. Bear kept me warm, and then we found Badger. You can tell me what happened to you later. Let’s get out of here now, before it’s too dark to climb down safely.” The hollow was big; it could have housed an army of squirrels. There were odd carvings on the wood, almost like the ones I had seen in the valley of the stones, only curlier, more elaborate, halfway between letters and drawings. A man with wings; a frog with a human face; a thing like a cocoon…Oh, no, I would not look. It would make good sense to stay up here for the night, since the place was sheltered and dry, but there was a strangeness about it that filled me with unease. I could not wait to get out.
“We should take some of the nuts,” Finbar said, and I saw that to one side of the hollow there was a store of them, not only acorns but also hazelnuts, glossy chestnuts, though it was early in the season for those, and walnuts in their wrinkled cases. A fair few empty shells, too; Finbar had perhaps been using the heel of his shoe to crack them. In a corner was a little waterskin. I was sure my brother had not had this with him when he went out to talk to Pearl. Odd, how long ago that seemed now.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. My belly had ceased churning in terror and was telling me how fine a meal of nuts would be, especially once I got out of this place and could hunker down somewhere with my brother and the dogs. “This looks like a squirrel’s hoard; I suppose they’re safe to eat. Put some in my pouch and I’ll try not to drop them on the way down. Be quick.”
As he scooped up the nuts, I asked the one question that needed to be spoken now. “Finbar, did someone bring you here? Is there someone else about?”
He hesitated just long enough to set dread in my heart. Then he said, “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? How could you not know such a thing?” It came out shrill and edgy; I tried for a calmer tone. “I mean, that seems rather odd. Did you really walk all this way by yourself? Did you follow Swift?” Oh, Swift.
“Swift jumped over the wall and ran. I ran after him. Badger came with me.”
“Why didn’t you fetch me? You should have waited for me.”
“I called out. But I couldn’t wait. Swift would have been gone.”
A weighty silence then. I held back the obvious response.
“He was following something. Swift, I mean. He wasn’t scared, more…excited. After a while I lost him, and then I lost Badger. I couldn’t find the way home. But I found this waterskin and I found the tree. When I first got here I saw a light; that’s how I knew there was a shelter. Maeve…I don’t want to stay here. There are…things.”
“Things?” I looked more closely at the delicate film that covered that other opening; I followed my brother’s gaze upward to see that the roof of the hollow was festooned with gossamer curtains, looped and swagged in an elaborate pattern. Here and there they dipped down to a point, and at each of those points a small, dark object hung, swathed in silver-gray filaments. Not so small as bees or flies or moths. More the size of birds or bats or squirrels.
“Don’t look up there,” Finbar whispered. “She doesn’t like it. Can we go home now, Maeve?”
But I had looked, and I had seen the patch of darkness crouched high in a corner, and the glitter of many little eyes. A presence. A scuttling, dangerous presence. Big. Very big.
“Let’s get down now.” Finbar’s voice was firm, precise. His words sounded almost like a command.
“All right.” I attempted breezy confidence, though my heart was thumping. I had never been especially fond of spiders, even little ones. “Bear and Badger will be wondering where I’ve got to.” They were remarkably quiet, considering their earlier excitement. What were they doing? “I’ll go first. I wouldn’t want to slip and land on you. I may be quite slow.”
“That’s all right, Maeve.”
It was then that the barking erupted below, both Bear’s and Badger’s voices suddenly at full pitch, warning of calamity. My heart jolted. I looked down through the web-covered opening, but I could see nothing of them. “Bear!” I shouted. “Badger! What’s wrong?”
Barking, snarling, scuffling; the sound of a fight. Wolves?
“There’s someone there.” Finbar was beside me, looking down through the filmy curtain. “The gray-cloak people. They’re trying to put ropes around the dogs’ necks. I think Bear bit someone.”
I was already sliding out the opening on the other side, on my belly, searching for the footholds. There was no time to be scared of falling. I slipped and slithered down the tree, hardly stopping to see if Finbar was coming after me. I heard a thud, a yelp, a high-pitched sound of pain and fear. A snarl, a snap, an oath.
“Leave my dogs alone!” I screamed. “Bear! Badger!”
My feet touched the ground. Finbar scrambled down beside me. We raced around to the other side of the tree.
Nothing. All was silence. Nobody was there.
“Bear!” I shrieked.
Finbar touched my arm, speaking quietly. “They’re over there, moving away under the trees. See where I’m pointing?”
I couldn’t see a thing. The forest around us was all gray shadows. “Where?”
“One man’s carrying something,” Finbar said. “A bundle maybe. It could be a dog. And two of the others have something between them in a cloak or blanket.”
“Bring them back!” I shouted into the deepening darkness. “Bring my dogs back here! How dare you take them!”
“I can’t see them anymore,” Finbar said.
A sound of rage and frustration burst from me, a wild, guttural growl such as I had not believed I was capable of making. I sank down to a crouch, crossing my arms over my face. There was no way we could follow them with night falling. We would quickly lose them, and likely lose ourselves.
“Maeve.” The little voice was calm as before; my brother put his hand on my bowed shoulders. “It’s nearly dark. We should look for a place to sleep.”
I couldn’t find any words. I couldn’t make myself straighten up, take decisions, be grown-up and capable. Bear. Oh, Bear.
“If we shelter near the tree,” Finbar said, “we can go after them first thing in the morning. I can remember which way they went.”
As a plan it had many flaws, but through my distress I recognized that a plan was hope, and that hope was something we could not do without. I made myself get to my feet. I scooped up Caisin’s blanket, which still lay on the ground beneath the oak. Although the light was almost gone, I could see the earth was disturbed all around us, a sign of the heroic fight my boys had put up before they were taken. Oh, let them not be hurt. Let them be still alive.
Be strong, I willed them. And I wanted to say, We’ll find you, but that would be a lie. Whatever Finbar might think, I knew that my first task in the morning must be to get him home. If that broke my heart, the more fool me for letting Bear and Badger inside a door that had been so long locked against love
.
One thing my brother could always do and that was surprise me. He was the one who found a place for us, under a network of prickly, half-dead bushes. It was hardly comfortable, but it was dryish, well protected from the wind, and big enough for the two of us to squeeze into. Finbar spread out Caisin’s blanket, we sat down on it, and my brother draped my cloak around our shoulders. He passed me his waterskin; I took a mouthful and realized to my surprise that it was almost full. After a while I tipped out the store of nuts we had brought, and Finbar cracked some open between two stones.
It was a long while since I’d had a good meal, but I felt so sick and sad that I was hard put to take a single bite. I made myself chew and swallow my share, knowing I needed the strength to go on. When the meal was finished, all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry myself to sleep. But there were questions that must be asked. Where best to start? I did not want him to close off from me, as he had done before when it did not suit him to answer.
“Finbar?”
“Mm?”
“Who are the gray-cloak people? You spoke as if you’ve seen them before.”
“I see them sometimes. They live in the forest. I don’t know who they are.”
“Are they—” I stopped myself from asking straight out whether he thought they were fey or human. If they were Mac Dara’s people we were in deep trouble. “Finbar, why would they take Bear and Badger? What possible reason would anyone have to hurt them?” I must remember that he was only seven; his manner made it easy to lose sight of that. He was neither sage nor hero, but a little boy, and he must be tired, hungry and scared, for all his preternatural calm. “Never mind that,” I said. “Finbar, did you cross a bridge to get here?” Something about all this did not add up. He couldn’t have walked so far, or found the spider tree on his own. And what was that about there being a light to show him the way up?
Sevenwaters [06] Flame of Sevenwaters Page 26