In her mind’s eye Petyr’s heart had shrunk to the size of a pea. She feared she would lose sight of it forever.
When she thought to listen for his footsteps, it was already too late. He’d traveled too far to be heard.
“Petyr!” she cried suddenly into the dark, desperate for one last contact with her love.
No reply came.
She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart breaking. “Do be careful,” she whispered.
The rules set out by the Ferukai at their last assembly were simple. No meetings of any kind until the designated hour. Only then could a multitude of their own come together. Only then could the prophecy be fulfilled. It didn’t surprise nor grieve these dark creatures that two of their kind had been destroyed in trying to initiate the prophecy on their own. Such a thing could not be. Only once they were all gathered together would they have the power to make the prophecy come true.
As Shallah and Petyr said their farewells, the last of the dreaded beasts were arriving at the edge of the forest, adding themselves to the ever-lengthening line of their kind. At the very center of the line stood the Guardians, the only Ferukai known to endure in a group. For years they had stood guard over the edge of the forest, holding back any humans who attempted to enter, while encouraging them to exit at will. In recent years, only one being had passed into the wood, and only because they’d allowed it.
Now, as the forest slept, the army of Ferukai focused their attention on that single being, that boy of whose powers the prophecy foretold. So mighty was this combined effort that their very branches fused together in blinding flashes of light. A low humming began to emanate from their roots. The air warmed about them as they tightened their line so only the slightest gaps could be found. There they waited, their concentration unceasing, watching for the morn that would bring them their freedom.
By midday the prophecy would be fulfilled.
At midday, they would make their final stand.
Prologue
The little boy gazed out the window as he ate his porridge. In the distance he could see the giant trees high up on the cliff. They frightened him because they were so big and tall, but also because no one ever went near them. It was said the trees would let no person pass into the wood. The little boy wondered how they would stop him if he tried.
“Gazing at your beloved trees, are ya?” said the boy’s mother. She ruffled his hair. “One day you’ll disappear and everyone will be in a panic. They’ll ask me where you’ve gone and I’ll tell them: ‘He’s gone into those trees, he has.’”
“They’re callin’ to me,” the boy said, his mouth full of food.
His mother wiped his face. “Well, you go ahead and call back that you’re in the middle of your meal and you aren’t free to be receivin’ any messages at present.”
The boy’s father came through the door and sat down on his pallet to tie his shoes.
“Perry’s pig’s run off again,” he said. “His boys’ll be runnin’ all over the countryside after him. I told him to bar the byre door but he never listens, that one.”
“Stubborn as an ox,” the little boy chimed in.
“That he is,” his father agreed.
“If Perryton Brooker would pay half as much attention to keeping his toft in order as he does downin’ cups of ale he’d be the better for it,” the boy’s mother said. “But who can blame him, nearin’ his thirtieth year and still no wife to care for him.”
Oh, poor Perryton!” the boy’s father said, scooping his son into his arms. “Brokenhearted since the day your Mum turned him down and chose me instead.”
“Since that very day,” the little boy said eagerly. “Tell us, Pap. Tell us about that day!”
“The most beauteous day in anybody’s memory, it was. Birds chirpin’ and flowers bloomin’. Everyone goin’ around in a good mood and laughin’ and carryin’ on. And all for our love, all for us.” The boy’s father leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the left cheek, while the little boy kissed her on the right. He giggled.
His mother turned bright red and fussed with her apron strings. “Oh, now,” she said.
The boy’s father gave him a wink.
“And what’ll you be up to today, my lad?” his father asked, setting him down on the table bench.
The little boy thought happily of all the wonderful things he would do that day as his father crossed to the hearth and stoked the coals. His mind was full of the games he would play when his mother began to scream.
At first, the boy couldn’t tell what was happening. There were bright flashes of flame and his mother kept crying out, “Your tunic! Your tunic!” His father rammed his shoulder into the wall as he scrambled away from the hearth, and the whole house quaked. His mother kept stomping on the ground, her skirts flying.
“Get back!” his father roared.
Soon, the house was filling with thick black smoke and the little boy began to cough. His mother’s face appeared before him. “Run.” she said to him. Her voice was calm and sure. She gave him a little push toward the door. “I’m coming,” she said, then disappeared into the smoke.
The boy stood in a daze by the door. The floor was on fire, and the walls too. He could still hear his parents thrashing about, though he couldn’t see them. He looked up. The thatch roof was on fire. It was falling in.
“Mum …?” he called fearfully.
“Run!” he heard his mother scream, and this time he listened.
He ran through the door and into the close. He saw his neighbours streaming forward with buckets of water. He looked back over his shoulder. Smoke billowed from the windows and the door. Flames shot high into the air. Any moment his parents would come flying out. Any moment now.
He kept running until he reached the gate in the hedge. Someone caught him in their arms.
The little boy stared at the black doorway.
Any moment they would come. Any moment. Any moment.
“Wait!” someone cried. The people stopped in their tracks by the hedge.
The roof of the house fell and two of the walls toppled with it. The black doorway collapsed into a pile of flaming wood and rubble.
The little boy felt something catch in his throat. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.His mouth hung open, but his voice was lost.
His eyes filled with tears.
They never came.
Part 3
Chapter Twenty-Six
It came with the morn.
Neither the wolves, nor Shallah, nor her young charges saw the change as it took place. They slept on, oblivious, as about them the forest awoke in colours, breathing in the warmth of the morning. The ferns, trampled by numerous wolf paws, opened their leaves like arms welcoming the day. The cedars and spruces and firs came to life, their trunks gaining dimension and girth, their branches highlighted in brown and grey and black. The air itself became lighter as the night lifted its heavy blanket and lumbered off to await its next reign.
Sunlight entered the forest.
Beams of light, soft and glowing, fell in swathes across the backs of the sleepers, warming their limbs. The canopy could hardly live up to its name so close to the edge of the wood, the tree branches managing naught but a thin layer to shield the forest floor from the sky. If any had awoken and looked up, they would have beheld patches of blue sky so pristine as to stun their very senses. None of this company had ever seen morning light dappling the wood like this before … none except one.
As the dust motes danced through the sunbeams, a little boy opened his peculiar eyes and looked around.
It was a wonderful dream. Liam didn’t want to wake from it. Lately all his dreams had been bad dreams. He hated bad dreams. He hated the way they followed you all through the day. He hated bad dreams so much he’d begun to dread sleep.
But this dream wasn’t a bad one. It was the most wonderful dream of all. It was a dream he’d had before. It was the dream that had started it all.
His mother was in the dream.
Liam awoke with a smile on his face.
The first time he’d had the dream he’d misunderstood it. He’d thought he was seeing into after. He’d thought he was being given a message. But that was silly, he knew that now. Dreams couldn’t give messages. Dreams were just dreams and they didn’t mean anything, but sometimes they could be nice anyway. Sometimes you could see someone in a dream that you couldn’t see anymore in real life.
And if they beckoned you and told you to meet them in the forest of the giant trees, there was no harm in that. It didn’t mean they would be there. It didn’t mean anything at all. He understood that dead was dead and people don’t come back. That was why it was important to protect the people you loved so you wouldn’t lose them. He had failed at this once, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Next time, he wouldn’t run away. Next time he would save her.
The forest was alight with the day. Liam liked the feel of the sunlight on his face. He hadn’t seen sunlight for so long. He lay on his back, watching the branches swaying high overhead. He knew this place. This was the place where he’d met the wolves for the first time. This was where his dream had told him to go. This was where he’d thought she would meet him.
He realized he was almost home. He could feel before flooding in all around him. He knew soon he wouldn’t be able to ignore it anymore. Soon before and after would be one and the same. It didn’t bother him as much as he’d thought it would, and he knew it was because of the dream.
In the dream his mother was calling him. She was waving just as she had the first time. But this time she wasn’t waving him into the forest. This time she was waving him out. She was telling him it would be okay. She was telling him not to be afraid.
She was waving him home.
The little boy pushed off his blanket cheerfully and turned to find the others.
His smile slipped off his face.
The others had vanished.
He rose to his feet slowly. He was confused. The place beside him where Raulf had slept was empty, and there was no sign of Petyr or Shallah or the wolves. His heart began to pound. He strained to hear Shallah’s voice calling to him through the trees, or the playful growl of a wolf come back to find him.
The wood remained silent.
The boy felt the happiness of his dream slipping away.
He searched the ground for some clue, some sign of where his friends had gone, but found none. Had they left without him? He couldn’t believe that Shallah had forgotten him. Shallah loved him, and you didn’t forget the ones you love. But where was she?
Liam couldn’t think what to do. He dragged his blanket through the dirt as he circled the spot. Nothing made sense! He considered trying to find his way home by himself. It was so close by, he knew he could find it. Then he remembered the oaks, and his eyes filled with tears. Soon they would come for him.
He’d never imagined facing them alone.
Suddenly, he heard a voice. For a moment he thought it was his mother’s voice. But that couldn’t be.
“Liam!” the voice cried. “Help me!”
Drawing in a sharp breath, Liam ran towards the sound of Shallah’s voice. He left his blanket and the sun-dappled forest behind. He ran toward the forest’s edge, the canopy breaking up above him. Larger and larger patches of sky began to peek through. All of a sudden, he reached the top of a great downward slope and miles of shimmering blue sky were laid out before him. He hardly noticed. His attention was caught by the terrifying sight below.
A fleet of oaks faced him. Their trunks were so tall that even as he stood on top of the hill, their highest branches were nearly even with his face. Together, the oaks formed a wall so long he couldn’t see its end on either side. The sight made him feel sick. There were so many of them!
Shallah called out to him again. Liam searched the ground for her form until his eyes fell on a sight so terrible he began to whimper.
At the center of the line, almost directly in front of him, Shallah was caught in roots of one of the oaks. Her red kirtle stood out against the dark roots like splashes of blood. She was struggling violently, shredding her clothes as she strove to be free. He wanted to tell her it was no use. The oaks were too strong. She would never get free on her own.
It was up to him.
Crying hard, the child stumbled down the hill toward Shallah. He tripped several times on his way down and skinned his knees. Tumbling the last few yards, his sight blurred with tears, he found himself panting at Shallah’s feet. Above him rose the enormous wall of oaks. They blocked out the sun.
“Oh, Liam, thank goodness!” Shallah cried.
Her face was a mess of tears and scratches. Her arms were bound tightly to her body by the roots, her hands poking through the weave. Liam crawled forward and threw his arms around her, but recoiled in an instant. She felt strange, her shoulders hard and rough like a wooden doll. He looked up at her in confusion. Her eyes implored him.
“Liam, you have to help me,” she gasped. “The others have all been captured.”
She tugged at the woven roots as she spoke. Her hands were gnarled and dark, like those of an old man. Liam squinted at them, looking in turns at her hands and her face, unable to focus.
“You have to free me, or I’ll die. You’ll help me, won’t you?”
He nodded. Of course he’d help her. He’d do anything! He looked up at Shallah. She was crying. She beckoned him forward and he let her take his hands.
“You have to destroy them, Liam. Destroy them as you destroyed the others.” Her fingers gripped his painfully. He winced. What was it she wanted him to do?
“Kill them, boy. Do it now!”
He found he couldn’t pull himself away from her. Her hold on him was too strong. She pulled him forward and he fell against her, his face pressed into her neck. It was like being pressed into a block of wood. Her voice rose in his ears.
“Scream. Scream out at them. Kill them all before it’s too late!”
His head whirled. Where were the wolves and Petyr and Raulf? Why did Shallah seem so angry with him? Why was she gripping him so?
“Don’t be afraid. Yell as loud as you can. Kill them. Finish them!”
Choking on his tears, the boy opened his mouth to obey.
“Yes!” Shallah cried. “Do it now!”
He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes.
A voice called out to him. It came from the woods behind.
“Liam, no!”
He turned to look. Shallah came into view at the top of the hill.
Shallah ran wildly through the trees, her hands over her ears, unaware of the blood pouring from her nose. She’d been jerked out of sleep by the cry of the oaks, the same overpowering moaning she’d heard the night Petyr had found them. Again the cry coursed through her body, seeming to come from the center of her own being, pounding in her head, blocking out her thoughts.
She could think of only one thing: finding Liam. She had to get to him before the oaks could claim him. Though her limbs resisted her, she pulled herself to her knees and crawled over to the spot where the boys had slept. One hand gripping her aching head, she felt around for them on the ground but found only their abandoned blanket. With shaking hands she searched in the weeds, spruce needles sticking her fingers. Still she came up empty.
They’ve taken them both, she thought to herself, dread soaking her being. All at once, Petyr’s departure came back to her and her heart sank farther still. How would she find them without him?
Another onslaught of moaning caught her off guard and she gripped her skull, squeezing her eyes against it. Without realizing it, she fell over in the dirt and rolled herself into a ball. She knew she had to find some way to fight the sound, or she’d be overcome in moments. As the crying bit at her mind, confusing her, she searched frantically for something to hold to, some idea, some thought.
“Petyr …” Shallah mumbled, her palms clamped around her head. The crying rang in her ears, growing louder with each mo
ment. She clung desperately to the thought of Petyr, but the more she thought of him – his laughter in her ears, his lips on hers, his last words to her, know that you saved me – the more she longed for him, and her longing only brought her lower. Her focus blurred and the stunning noise took tighter hold.
Her eyes rolling, she searched frantically for some refuge. “Home …” she gasped, for there was no place she longed for more. Trallee, her safe haven – flawed as it was – would protect her. Her home would see her through.
But then she recalled that Trallee was no more, and a wave of sorrow overcame her, as though she’d just been told of its loss for the first time. In an instant she’d lost all hold on reality. She couldn’t feel the ground beneath her, nor the warmth of the spattered sunlight on her skin, nor even her own panic. She felt herself beginning to drift away.
“Liam …” she breathed through parched lips, even as the rest of her being seemed to be melting into the earth.
Suddenly, every moment she’d spent with Liam – from the day she’d first met him in Betta Carberry’s yard, to the night before when she’d rocked him to sleep – came back to her in a staggering rush so overwhelming it broke the trance. She found herself once again aware of the forest around her, and the task before her: the task of finding the boys, of saving Liam. Though her head ached fit to burst, and her legs and arms felt like they were filled with sand, Shallah found she could stand the pain if she kept her mind on her goal. As long as she kept her focus, the barrage of sound couldn’t hold her.
Getting shakily to her feet, she began to move forwards.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “Hold on. Hold on.”
After a few steps she broke into a run.
The forest wasn’t kind to Shallah that day. She tripped repeatedly over logs and rocks, once getting her legs tangled in a mulberry bush. Picking herself up from another fall, she ran directly into the trunk of a maple tree, badly banging her nose. Ignoring the pain, she ran on, concentrating on Liam, oblivious to the danger. Only the lucky placement of a low-hanging spruce tree branch stopped her from careening blindly down the side of the hill. It caught her in the stomach and brought her literally to her knees.
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