The sudden shock jarred her and she lost her focus. In an instant the monotonous moaning took up at full force again. She bowed her head to her knees, wrenching at her hair with her fists. The ground beneath her began to retreat and she felt as though she were floating on a breeze. The world became liquid and fell through her fingers, dripping away like so many raindrops. She felt nothing but noise, knew nothing but this crying.
A snippet of Liam’s lullaby came to mind.
Suddenly, she found herself gasping for breath.
“Liam, no!” she cried and flung herself to her feet.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
She could hear the wolves snarling.
The oaks were so tall and their line so long they gave the impression of an immense black wall. To regard them meant to forget that light had ever existed. The wolves alone were unaffected by the ongoing moaning, and paced along the oaken wall, jumping at the trunks.
Of course, Shallah could see none of this. Having scraped herself to the bottom of the hill, she stood with her hand on her scabbard, completely at a loss. The growls of the wolves joined the oaken cry to create a cacophony of tension, an energy in the air that she could feel but not understand. She could sense that the enemy was near, awfully near, but couldn’t tell how many she faced, or what they had in store. She called out to the boys, shouting frantically, but in vain, for naught could be heard over the dark oaks’ incessant wailing.
I have to act, she told herself, as though she needed a reminder. I have to save them.
But try as she might, she couldn’t make herself plunge in. A breeze lifted her hair as she stood motionless before her foe, her figure tiny in comparison with their towering height.
“What can I do?” she whispered under her breath. “Tell me what to do.”
She felt her resolve beginning to disintegrate and the wailing taking hold of her more and more. Emotions she had thought vanquished sprouted within her like weeds, feelings she hadn’t felt since Petyr had joined them on the journey and given her such strength. Once again she found herself cowering on the forest floor the night Liam had first been taken, her own failure looming over her, gigantic, impenetrable. Her old chorus of self-loathing began to ring in her ears.
Did you think you could save them? the mocking voice demanded. You are blind! You are nothing!
Hunched over with despair, her battered body throbbing, Shallah found herself presented with a choice. Though the wailing grabbed at her thoughts the moment they came into her head, and misery clouded her mind, she was able to see that she’d two possible paths before her. She could give in to her wretchedness and allow herself to be overcome, or she could rise up and resist. The first route, the easiest route, beckoned her icily. She could feel herself taking that route, falling down the slippery path of anguish. But at the same time, a sudden surge of feeling compelled her to turn back, hauling her down the second path with the force of its hard, furious, insistence.
Rising up in her newfound strength, Shallah lifted her bloody face to the oaks. “You’ll never break me!” she hollered, her hands in fists at her sides, unsure if she was yelling at the oaks, or herself. “I will conquer you!” she cried. “I will make you give them back to me!”
Her body tensed, she lunged forward in attack. She didn’t think to pull out her dagger. She didn’t think at all. Running blindly, she’d only taken a few steps when she tripped over a rock and went sprawling across the ground, badly skinning her chin which also began to bleed. The fall knocked the wind out of her, but also quelled a good deal of her rage, and she sat up bewildered, astounded at what she’d almost done. But she hadn’t the chance to reflect on her actions for long, for the rock had its own opinion on the matter. It started to moan.
Crawling over to the sound, Shallah realized it was Raulf she’d stumbled upon, his contorted body clamped into a ball. When she shook him, he cried out to her, which she took to be a good sign. He hadn’t yet succumbed to the oaks’ cries.
“Make it stop!” he pleaded, clutching her by the arms. “It goes on and on without end. It will drive me mad. Please, make it stop!”
“Raulf!” Shallah yelled, bringing Raulf’s face close to hers. “Do exactly as I say. Focus your mind and the crying won’t harm you. Focus on Trallee. Think of home and you’ll be free.”
“I can’t!” Raulf moaned, falling limp in her grasp.
“You must!” she cried fiercely, wrenching him off the ground and onto his knees before her. “You’re my only hope. You must do this or Liam dies. Do this or we all die!”
At this, Raulf painfully opened his eyes and regarded her, bloodied and adamant. His eyes widened.
“Now, focus your mind!” Shallah commanded.
He shut his eyes and did as he was told. Within minutes he’d taken his hands from his ears and was climbing wobbly to his feet.
“What happened?” he asked, surveying Shallah’s wounds and the scene before him. “The wolves have gone mad. Where’s Liam?”
“Find him for me,” she ordered, turning him towards the oaks. “Be my eyes.”
The sun shining brightly on his shoulders, Raulf beheld the gigantic trunks before him. Avoiding the canines swarming about his legs, he scrutinized the underbrush. Shallah put a hand on his shoulder.
“No,” she said over the noise. “Look up.”
Glancing upwards, Raulf felt dizzy. The trees went on and on, their branches reaching to spectacular heights. Turning his gaze to the left, he noticed a shape hanging in the branches of the next oak, yards above his head. As he took a few steps back, the shape arranged itself into a body made of twigs and branches, the wooden ropes woven together to form legs, arms, a torso. Above it, Raulf saw a human face awash with tears; a child’s face.
“I’ve found him!” he cried, grabbing Shallah’s hand. “He’s there! We have to get him down!”
She nearly allowed Raulf to pull her forward, but at the last moment she held him back.
“We can’t,” she said. To attempt a rescue at this moment could be disastrous and she couldn’t risk injuring either of them, not when Liam’s life depended on them.
Or all our lives, Shallah thought, if the prophecy is true.
There was so much Raulf didn’t understand, so much he had to know, but no time to explain. Shallah struggled to find some way to maker herself clear.
“But we have to help him!” he objected. “He could be hurt. He’s crying!”
Shallah felt a wave of anger threaten to overcome her again. If they’d done Liam harm … if they’d hurt him … Throwing caution to the wind, she squared her shoulders, facing the wall of trees.
“Liam!” she cried. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” She searched anxiously for some other words of comfort. What could she tell him? How could she protect him?
Then it came to her.
“Don’t say a word,” she called. “Whatever happens – whatever you see, whatever they do to you – don’t cry out. Do you hear me, Liam? Don’t say a word!”
The wolves formed a ring about the trunk of the oak that held Liam. They sat at attention, a semi-circle of grey and black coats, the chief at the head, and in unison raised their snouts to howl. Raulf watched as though transfixed. The wolf chief’s bay was loudest of all, a wail of both protest and despair. It was quite a sight.
Luckily, Shallah wasn’t prey to such distractions.
Her rage simmering in her blood, she settled into an attitude of wild-eyed determination. Nothing mattered to her except freeing Liam. Nothing else was real. She would rescue the boy if it was the last thing she did. She would free Liam or die.
Raulf watched Shallah with apprehension as she approached him. Her face had taken on a manic expression, her freckled skin sickly beneath the splashes of drying blood.
“Miss,” he said timidly. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why don’t we just cut Liam down? I could easily –”
“I’ve another task for you,” she interrupted, sil
encing him in an instant. “Tell me what you see. Describe the spectacle to me just as you see it, even if it makes no sense to you.”
Raulf did as he was told. He described the endless line of enormous oaks before them, their branches woven together so tightly that not one shred of light fell through. As he spoke, he could swear he saw the trees themselves draw closer to one another, squeezing together until the bark seemed to meld. In moments there were no trunks discernible at all, only one long black expanse of bark where the individual trunks had been.
He went on to describe Liam’s cage and Shallah recognized it instantly as the same one Petyr had described days ago. Her fears confirmed, she began to find it difficult to breathe.
The moment had come. The oaks had created their weapon. She heard the prophecy’s words again in her mind – the boy will be the weapon that destroys us all. She felt sure they would use Liam’s voice for their own purposes, though she couldn’t fathom how they would turn his harming powers away from themselves.
“Does the cage glow?” she asked Raulf urgently.
“Glow?”
“Is there light shinning from it, light like the one you followed to arrive here?”
“No, the cage is quite dark. There is no light but sunlight.”
“Sunlight …” she said faintly, closing her eyes, her grip on Raulf’s shoulders slackening.
The time to act was now. At any moment the oaks would fulfill the prophecy and all would be lost. Shallah felt a genuine pressure building within her as she sought to find some solution. It shocked her that at the moment of reckoning her mind should be so utterly blank. Everyone she knew, everyone she loved, depended on this single decision, this single moment. The time to act was now, but she’d no idea what to do.
She didn’t feel Raulf slipping her dagger from its scabbard.
“I’ll get him down, miss,” he said, trotting forward, dagger in hand. “It won’t take a moment.”
“Raulf, don’t!” Shallah cried, as she heard the faint hooting of an owl above her head. Next, she heard a sound that brought her heart into her throat.
Raulf was screaming.
“Noooo!” he cried. He was down on his hands and knees at her feet. She nearly tripped over him for the second time.
“Shallah!” Raulf said through tears. “No, don’t move. Don’t move!”
Shallah held herself still, desperate to know what he saw. Had the attack begun?
“What can I do?” he wailed. “I have to find Petyr. Oh, you can’t die. I don’t know what to do!”
She frowned. He spoke as though she’d been hurt, but she felt no wound. Her mind swam. What new treachery was this?
It’s the oaks, she realized. They’ve bewitched him somehow, caused visions to appear before his eyes. They’re using his sight against him.
It didn’t surprise her. Together like this, the oaks gave off an astonishing amount of energy. She could feel it in the air. They might be capable of anything now.
“I’m alright!” Shallah said, crouching beside Raulf as his panic began to border on hysteria. “Look at me, Raulf. I’m not dying. Look here.”
She took Raulf’s hand and he turned to look at her, but his face remained blank. He didn’t know her. “Help me!” he implored her, staring at the empty ground before him. “Shallah is hurt. Please help her.”
“But I’m here,” she said, trying with all her might to convince him. “I’m not hurt. I’m right here!”
“Don’t let her die,” he blubbered, weeping into his hands. “It’s all because of me! Help her, Petyr. Save her.”
“I’m not Petyr!” she shouted, pulling herself from his grasp.
As the boy sobbed over a death she couldn’t claim, Shallah began to feel like she might be dying after all. Tears leaked from her eyes though she couldn’t say from whence they came. Her breath was coming so fast she was feeling light-headed. Her thoughts careened in a swirling mess.
The time to act is now, she repeated to herself. The time to act is now, now, now. An awful stuttering noise met her ears. It was a moment before she realized it was her own laughter.
I am dying, she realized. I’m dying of my own failure. I’m killing myself.
She laid down on the ground as her laughter turned to a cackle, then a whimper. As she began to cry, she felt her focus waning and allowed it, for she didn’t have the strength to maintain it. Again she felt the earth beneath her retreating and the moaning cry growing louder in her ears. But the transition was much swifter this time, like being forced down a hole. She fell speedily. In seconds, the howls of the wolves were naught but a faint barking. She thought of Liam, but this time he brought her no release. She could think only of how she’d failed him most of all, and how he would blame her.
“I’m dying,” Shallah whispered, and in truth, a part of her welcomed death, as though she’d been waiting for it.
Certainly, she wasn’t expecting what came next.
“Shallah, wake up!” Petyr shouted, shaking her until she groggily opened one blind eye.
“Let me be,” she said faintly, swatting at his hands.
“Get on your feet,” he said, lifting her under the arms. “This is no time for a nap.”
Shallah’s wobbly grip on reality brought out her sense of humour. She giggled. “Such joking at a time like this,” she slurred. “Highly inappropriate.” Her legs collapsed beneath her and she fell in a heap, her head lolling.
Petyr slapped her soundly across both cheeks, then proceeded to gather her into his arms again.
She was aghast. “I’m dying!” she objected.
“You’re doing no such thing,” he replied sternly. “You’re letting them win, and I won’t have it. Now get up!”
When her feet met solid ground, Shallah came fully to herself and looked up at Petyr blindly, through bloodshot eyes. “You came back,” she mumbled, though he didn’t hear.
“If you focus your mind on something you’ll be alright. I don’t think this cry is meant to hurt us at all. Just think of something else, something pleasant.”
“Petyr, I’m alright!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her head. “I figured it out as well. But I guess I just gave up. It all seemed so hopeless.” She wiped the tears from her face. “They’ve taken Liam,” she said, pointing upwards.
Petyr took in Raulf and the wolves, Liam and the oaks, all in an instant.
“They mean to attack,” he said, though it was obvious to them both. “How will they manage it?”
“I’ve no idea,” Shallah stated bluntly. She seemed to have found herself in a place beyond feeling now, a place where she could say anything, for nothing made any difference. She kept hold of Petyr’s hand as if to remind herself that all of it was truly real. “I’ve warned Liam not to cry out,” she added.
“And what of Raulf?” Petyr asked with concern, starting towards the boy.
“We can’t help him,” she said. “He’s caught up in some delusion. He thinks I’m dying.”
“You’re not dying,” he said adamantly, as though it were she who were delusional, though when Shallah reflected on it she had to admit she might have been.
“I almost lost myself,” Shallah said.
Petyr smoothed her cheek. “But you’re here now,” he said. “We’re both here.”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re finally here.”
They stood side by side, their shadows in pools at their feet.
It was midday.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Liam had cried himself out.
The oaks’ wailing thrummed through his body, but Liam heard nothing. All was silence about him. He felt only the beating, the ongoing beating, as that of a drum being played inside him.
He was at peace.
The oaks had opened themselves to him. He knew their purpose. He knew what was to come. And he knew he couldn’t change it. What was going to be would be. It was nice to be free of worry, to be free of fear. Everything would be all right soon.
He knew death was a terrible thing. It wasn’t right to look forward to it. It wasn’t right to be glad. But he couldn’t help it. It was as if it were all happening far, far away. He felt like a bird on a tree branch, watching over the world from high above.
And when the time came, he would open his wings and fly.
“What can we do, Petyr?” Shallah asked.
The wind lashed at them, encasing them in a whirlwind. Petyr felt as though his skin was being ripped from his bones, so strong were the furious gusts.
“If only this wailing would stop!” he exclaimed in frustration, gripping his head. How could he come up with a plan when his senses were being attacked from all sides?
“There’s no helping it,” she replied dejectedly. “Try not to let it overcome you.”
“The wolves don’t seem to mind,” he remarked, glancing at the canines. They’d ceased howling, but remained in their circle, gazing up at Liam’s form. As he watched, the wolf chief turned his head and stared back at him, his gaze so piercing that he felt sure it was no casual glance. He felt himself once again lying prone on the forest floor, gazing up at a starry sky.
“Can you see Liam?” Shallah asked anxiously. “Is he all right?”
Petyr hardly registered her words. In his mind’s eye he was flying through time, next finding himself seated at Shallah’s side, confronted with the band of wolves for the first time. The wolf chief was approaching them, flanked by his attendants, the trunks about them glowing orange. The chief halted before Shallah and his kinsman bowed and turned away. Moments later, the chief himself bowed his head.
Petyr tore his gaze from that of the chief, who promptly turned back to his clan. His eyes leaped up to the oaks.
“It’s a ceremony,” he whispered. It was now so utterly clear.
“What?” Shallah cried. The added noise of the wind was making it increasingly difficult to hear.
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