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by Shayna Krishnasamy

  Tell me you remember it, Petyr wanted to beg him. How else can I be sure it happened at all?

  When it came time to describe the climactic moment, Petyr found himself hesitating. He’d not thought back on what he’d seen before this moment. The images were clear in his mind: a shrivelled leaf unfurling, the woven cage within the blast of white, the figure at the centre beating like a heart. The trouble was no matter how he tried to put it, he found the words too ludicrous to utter. He cringed at his own description, aghast that Shallah might think him daft or a liar.

  She looked at him with interest.

  “Was it sunlight?” she asked.

  Petyr hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes until they snapped open at her words, the first she’d spoken in hours.

  “I wouldn’t know it,” he said with relief.

  “No, of course,” Shallah said, shaking her head.

  Liam looked at Petyr with a child’s drowsy calm, his mouth hanging open, moist thumb held an inch from his lips. Were these the fingers from which the light had sprung like flames from a torch? Petyr turned his gaze away.

  “And you say the wood came to life?” she said.

  “Like the grasses after a springtime shower – suddenly alive and bright with colour, only brighter still.”

  Shallah stroked Liam’s arms absently. “Yet these oaks don’t seem to be creatures of the light,” she said. “More like beasts of the deep. Why would they use light?”

  “To frighten me off?” Petyr said.

  “It doesn’t quite fit,” she said pensively. “Oh, we won’t figure it out this second. Go on, I must hear the rest.”

  Once he’d told it as best he could, Petyr leaned back against a trunk. He adjusted his arm in the sling and winced at the stabs of pain. His wounds were certainly real.

  Shallah had closed her eyes and was rocking Liam slowly. Petyr watched her by the flickering light of the small fire he’d made. She was such a different creature than he, so often silent when he would have shouted, then prone to laughter at the oddest moments. Yet already he found himself getting used to her ways. He waited for her to speak. He knew she would, in time.

  “I haven’t given you as much credit as was your due, Petyr,” she said finally. “The battle I imagined … well, it certainly didn’t measure up to the reality.” She paused. “I would have been so afraid in your place,” she said honestly.

  “I was terrified,” he said quietly, admitting it for the first time to himself. “I’ve never been so frightened.”

  Shallah nodded sympathetically. “There’s still so much I don’t understand,” she went on. “Why at the very beginning did they take Liam and not me? If these oaks are so intent on killing, why would they give up such easy prey?”

  “It confuses me as well,” Petyr replied. “From what I’ve seen, they kill anything that crosses their path.”

  “And why didn’t they do away with him instantly, as you say you’ve seen them do before? This cage high up in the air … the glowing light … What was the purpose of it? It doesn’t add up.”

  “Unless …”

  “Unless their intent wasn’t to kill him at all,” Shallah finished.

  The weight of those words hanging between them, Shallah and Petyr both shifted their attention to Liam himself, only to find him trembling, his golden eyes riveted on a half-eaten apple that had fallen from his hand. He hardly reacted when they called his name. As Shallah fussed about him, he raised his gaze to meet Petyr’s, a ghostly look upon his face.

  It chilled Petyr to the bone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I shudder to think of all the frightening things he’s seen on this journey,” Shallah said, once Liam had finally dozed off. “He’s only four years old. He should be laughing and playing, not contemplating his own demise.”

  “At least in sleep he can find some peace. If only we didn’t have to wake him.”

  “It’s a shame,” she agreed, “but it’s best to keep moving.”

  “Yes,” Petyr said, but his voice held little conviction. The fire was down to its embers and he poked at them with a stick. “I have to be honest with you, Shallah. I fear I’ve given you false hope. I’ve explored this black wood from one end to the other, without meeting another soul. We might travel northward for days and find it’s all been for naught.” He threw the stick into the embers, sending sparks swirling above their heads. “I’ve the salvation of Trallee depending on me, and with each passing minute I feel it falling further from my grasp.”

  Liam stirred in his sleep. Shallah remembered her despair when she’d thought him lost. Her heart went out to Petyr. He lived with the fear of that loss every moment.

  “You’ll find your way,” she said. “I know it.”

  “How can you be so certain, when you’re as lost as I?” he asked beseechingly.

  Throughout the day Shallah had felt as though some insight was hovering on the outskirts of her mind, hiding among forgotten memories and nonsensical dreams. Now, faced with Petyr’s hopelessness, she felt her mind settle, and the answer she’d been searching for came into focus in a crystal clear image.

  She wound her cloak around her arms and legs, tenting herself in its warmth. The smouldering embers sat between her and Petyr, dividing them. She felt as though, with her words, she’d be inviting him over to her side. She dearly hoped he would join her.

  “Have you ever had a dream that seemed like no dream at all, a dream you felt sure was meant to tell you something? I dreamed such a dream last night. It was the same dream I described to you yesterday, the same dream I’ve had over and over again. Only now do I realize what I was meant to see.”

  “What was it?” Petyr asked, his voice soft as a boy’s.

  “You remember how I described it to you? Liam and I, you and your children, all gathered by the water’s edge. And I have my sight again.”

  “I remember.”

  “But there’s more. Liam is giggling, and we’re chasing him through the tall grass. You catch him and place him on your shoulders. I look up at you – you’re smiling – and behind you both … I can see the trees.”

  “Behind us?” he said, puzzled.

  “Yes,” she said. “We’ve left them behind.”

  “What are you saying?” Petyr asked hastily. Shallah heard a desperate note in his voice. It was never easy to give up the ideas you’ve held for so long.

  “I think it’s time to leave this wood,” she said.

  “I told you, I’ve been trapped here for days,” Petyr admonished her. “There’s no way back with those beasts working against us.”

  “No, I don’t mean turn back,” she said calmly.

  “Then what do you mean?” he cried.

  Sensing his frustration, Shallah became matter-of-fact. “I think we’ve come to the edge of this wood,” she said, “and if we continue on we’ll find the end of it. I believe what we both seek is beyond the trees, on the other side.”

  “On the other side of what?” he asked confusedly. “Beyond what?”

  “Beyond the forest, in a place where there are no trees, a place where you can see the sky.”

  Petyr let out a snort. “There is no such place,” he said testily. “Everyone knows there’s no end to the forest. That’s the stuff of children’s tales.”

  “You called my father wise yesterday for having imagined a place where the water goes on for miles,” Shallah countered. “Well, I think it’s more than imaginings. I think that place is real, a place where children play in the sand and the sun shines.”

  “The sun!” he exclaimed incredulously.

  “You can’t tell me you’re still afraid of it,” she said, raising her voice for the first time. “Those were superstitions. You know this!”

  Somehow, Shallah’s display of emotion seemed to diffuse Petyr’s anger. “I know it,” he said quietly. “I do. But playing in the sunshine …” he shook his head. “It still seems impossible.”

  “It did to me as well,�
� she admitted. “Yet I believe in this place more and more. I look at this child, at his bronzed skin, and I know he doesn’t come from our darkened world. Amaria had it right. He does come from the light, and we have to go there as well.”

  “But we don’t share the same goal, Shallah. Leaving this forest may save the boy, but I have to save Trallee.”

  “I think our goals are one and the same. There’s no water left here. I think we’ll both find what we seek … out there.”

  “Even if such a place does exist,” he said diplomatically, “how ever will we find it? The dark oaks want to keep us here. They won’t let us see the way.”

  “Then we’ll defy them,” she said.

  Petyr heaved a sigh. “It’s not so easily done,” he said dourly, turning away.

  “Petyr,” Shallah said steadily, “you told me that a great change was taking place in this wood. Remember? Well, I was told a similar tale of a dying forest which had been used abominably ill and grown angry. We’re no longer wanted here, my friend, and if we don’t flee I think every one of us will perish.”

  “How can you know this?” he asked, scepticism etched into his every word.

  “The forest told me so,” she said.

  She considered telling Petyr about the prophecies, but decided it might be too much to handle at once. Until now she hadn’t realized how thoroughly the old woman’s words had embedded themselves in her mind. In fact, she’d nearly forgotten about her altogether. But now her predictions rang loud and true. It occurred to her that if the prophecies were true, Liam would lead them to safety. If the prophecies were real, there were two more waiting to be revealed.

  Petyr was quiet for a long time.

  He thinks I’ve gone mad, Shallah thought.

  She couldn’t blame him. All this talk of dreams and the wood’s desires … it sounded ludicrous! But she knew he wouldn’t be able to dismiss her outright. Already she knew how his mind worked. He would acknowledge that the forest was going through some change, but his first concern would be his children.

  She was right.

  “I won’t abandon Trallee,” Petyr stated firmly.

  “I would never suggest it,” Shallah replied.

  “But how can I help them by running away?”

  “Not every escape is cowardly, Petyr. It’s you who showed me that. If we find our way out, we’ll return for them.”

  “The people won’t abandon their homes so easily.”

  “I’m sure they would choose it over death.”

  “Would you give up your home, the village where you were raised? I can’t imagine leaving Trallee forever.”

  “It’s the only way,” she pleaded. “The life of this place is vanishing; the animals flee, the leaves shrivel, the water dries. We have to go as well.”

  He could protest no further.

  “So we have to leave the forest behind,” he said, “and move away from all we’ve known.” He sounded so broken-hearted.

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” Shallah replied.

  Petyr took his head in his hands. The fire was dying out, the smoke rising between him and Shallah, obliterating her from view. He felt very much alone. It brought him back to the days before he’d met Shallah and Liam, before the black wood, when he’d been travelling through the forest on his own. Each of those two days had seemed an eternity. He’d thought only of Trallee and his children and the fact that he was their only hope.

  The nights had been the worst. He hadn’t spent a night without his children in over seven years. On his first night in the wood the loneliness had brought him to his knees. It was the same now. For, to contemplate the loss of one’s home is a lonely thought. One can never truly imagine that any place will feel like home again.

  “When I was a boy,” Petyr said, “I couldn’t fathom any world outside our village. I never dreamed of faraway lands. I was content with what I had and where I was. I wanted nothing more. Then I grew and married and had children, and my Marion was taken from me. It was only after her death that I began to look for more, to wonder about the rest of the world. But I never imagined it was so vast, that there was so much of the wood we’d never seen …

  “You ask me to imagine a world beyond this forest,” he went on, “and I wish I could. But I can’t. I don’t believe such a place exists.” He could feel her dismay. “But I’ll go with you.”

  She didn’t move an inch. She didn’t even raise her head. But Petyr could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “It seems I’ve run out of hope,” he said. “I thought you might lend me some of yours.”

  “Of course,” Shallah said. “But you mustn’t be greedy.” A scolding tone entered her voice, though she was grinning. “It’s precious stuff. We’ll have to ration it.”

  Petyr chuckled. He felt moderately better. He wiped his hands on his tunic as though wiping away his doubts. “I suppose only one question remains. How will we find the edge of the forest without a path to follow?”

  “There is one path,” Shallah said. “Liam and I followed a herd of animals into this wood, dozens of species fleeing as one. I remember thinking it was like an exodus. Maybe I wasn’t far off. Maybe they found a way out.”

  “And so if we find that path –”

  “We find salvation.”

  Shallah finished her portion of the meal they’d abandoned earlier, then wrapped up the remains of Liam’s food. Petyr found he had no appetite and could force down naught but a few mouthfuls of bread. His arm ached stubbornly, in time with the throbbing of his head. His entire body yearned for its long denied rest, and he was finding it more and more difficult to resist.

  “Petyr,” Shallah whispered, “I have to ask. If the oaks didn’t want to harm Liam, whatever did they want him for?”

  “I don’t know, Shallah,” he replied. The words fell from his mouth uselessly. “I don’t know.”

  His hand went automatically to the leather pouch hanging from his belt, the square bit of cloth within. He gripped it tightly.

  He felt very tired.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The trio gathered their things in a drowsy daze, less than eager to be on the move again. Having made their plan, Shallah and Petyr ought to have felt light-hearted, but neither was much enthused at the prospect of backtracking to find their path. They didn’t fall back to the cave, but cut across to the east, hoping they would catch the animal’s path further along.

  “When we can take a step without getting tangled in the brush, we’ve probably found it,”Shallah said.

  “Or when we can take a breath of air without getting a mouthful of needles,” Petyr said darkly. Earlier, he’d gotten a branch in the face in the middle of a yawn. “Like kissing a porcupine!” he complained.

  Shallah had to smile. He’d been going on for some time now. “And you’ve kissed a great many porcupines in your day, have you?” she asked cheekily.

  “Oh, I see,” he replied. “You think I’m whining for attention, is that it?”

  Recalling that he was also nursing a broken arm, she held back a biting retort. “I just think you should leave the poor porcupine out of it,” she said. “You’re still a young man, Petyr. There’s no need to turn to rodents for comfort.”

  Petyr gave out a hearty laugh.

  Though danger loomed at all sides, the hours passed swiftly for the three travellers as they sheltered in the glow of stories of home. Petyr regaled them with childhood tales of dodging chores and harassing his neighbours. Even solemn Liam had to smile at the image of seven-year-old Petyr chasing after a squealing piglet, as Leland and Balduin Goss, each grasping a flapping chicken, tried to waylay old Mr. Quigg, who cursed explosively, swinging his shovel.

  He described his childhood haunts, all those little places the village children imagined were theirs alone, until they grew too old for them and new children came to discover them afresh. His favourite place had been behind the oxen paddock where a family of birch trees
bent in upon one another, weaving their branches into a sort of roof. There in the womb of the trees he’d found the solitude he’d craved as an awkward adolescent.

  “There I asked Marion to be my wife,” he said, squinting as if looking into the past.

  “Were you very happy together?” Shallah asked, though she knew she ought not to; they were treading on dangerous ground. But for the first time she felt the irresistible lure of romance. She so wanted him to say yes, to finish his beautiful painting of the past with one last perfect stroke.

  “Not always,” he said candidly. “We bickered, quite a bit, actually. But it’s hard to remember now what all those arguments were about. It’s strange, they seemed so important then.”

  Shallah tried again. “But marriage,” she asked hopefully, “was it everything you’d hoped?”

  “It was …” Petyr smiled nostalgically. “It was grand,” he said.

  At that moment an image appeared in Shallah’s mind, a picture she would always think of as belonging to Petyr. While Raulf was a whirl of motion, and Liam was sweet and soft, Petyr came to her as a human heart. It beat relentlessly, ever tortured. At times it seemed about to burst. Then it would expand, growing robust and strong. And when he laughed, it shone.

  Petyr was pushing his way through a patch of tall ferns, Shallah carrying Liam just behind him, when a braying cry met his ears. It wasn’t another assault by the oaks, for the cry wasn’t of the same calibre, but both he and Shallah were immediately on their guard, all the same. They followed the sound cautiously.

  “Probably a doe in childbirth,” Petyr whispered knowingly, in a effort to comfort Liam who kept whimpering softly each time the cry was heard.

  “Oh yes, I’m sure,” Shallah said, catching the game. Neither sounded very convincing.

  As they drew nearer, Petyr spied the spindly branches of their enemy up ahead. He took out his axe, holding the blade downwards, and hurriedly explained what he saw to Shallah.