by Tara Grayce
Trygg transforms, and I rest my hand on his furry shoulder. He bends down his horse head, his brown eyes now huge and liquid. His horn protrudes from his forehead, dark brown and sturdy as his hooves.
I draw in a deep breath. “All right, I’m ready. Let’s go.”
We cross the bridge.
Chapter 6
Always be Polite, Especially to Trees
As we step off the bridge, Trygg’s hooves go from clip-clopping to muffled in the deep loam of the forest. The trees are massive, tangled things trailing moss. A dirt trail, several feet wide, vanishes into the distant trees, seemingly a straight and easy walk.
But in the Ellian Forest, such things are deceiving. The path doesn’t always lead where it looks like it does. The trees move of their own accord, or at least they appear to move. Not to mention the forest is filled with borsins, the massive bears, and hercos, the skinny, many toothed wolves. That’s not even taking into account the dryads who jealously guard their forests, especially the Ellian Forest. It is their heartland.
I know better than to step onto that path. I halt and peer into the trees. The entire forest is still. Too still. Not a single leaf stirs. No birds chirp. No charpermuns chatter or scurry.
I take a deep breath, square my shoulders, and try to look as much of a princess as I can in my dusty slacks. “I am Princess Amarani Coriantha. I respectfully request an audience with the chieftess of this estimable forest.”
For several heartbeats, the forest remains silent.
As if in a gale, the trees rustle and shake, even though there isn’t a breeze. Forms drop from the branches overhead and appear out of the tree trunks, surrounding us. They are tall and lean, dressed in clothes mottled and shifting to match the patterns in the trees behind them. Their hair flows in the same vibrant greens as the trees overhead. In the fall, their hair turns vivid shades of orange, red, and gold, before browning and falling out along with the leaves before re-growing each spring. Only those bound to evergreens keep their hair all year round.
Each of the dryads carry either a bow and arrow or a wooden staff, cultivated from the trees they both guard and maintain. They have arrows nocked to strings, but thankfully not drawn back. Yet.
One dryad steps forward. Her hair is the deep blue-green of the spruce trees and her clothes resemble its bark. “One of your kind intruded on our forest without permission today.”
I fight the urge to turn around and run back to Largone Castle. If I say the wrong thing now, it’ll have bad repercussions, and my parents will have to spend days trying to fix it. These dryads can easily cut off our supply of wood, not just with this forest, but all the forests across Averell.
I tip my chin down a fraction to make sure I look humble and contrite instead of defiant. “I sincerely apologize for the intrusion. The boy is a foreign diplomat unused to our ways and customs. It is my fault that he wandered away from Largone Castle and became lost. I am now here to correct my mistake and return him to the castle before he causes a worse offense. If he has caused any damage, I will do my best to repair it.”
The dryad eyes me up and down. My skin prickles, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that the whole forest is peering into my soul.
Beside me, Trygg shifts and paws at the ground with a front hoof. I tighten my grip on his shoulder. I need him to stay calm. The last thing I want to do is start a diplomatic nightmare between the dryads and unicorns while I’m at it. The current tension between dragons and unicorns is bad enough.
The dryad’s stance relaxes a fraction, and she waves her hand. The other dryads straighten and tuck their arrows back into their quivers or sling their staffs across their backs. She faces me, and something like a smile brushes across her face. “I am Chieftess Mizzorami. Your father has always endeavored to treat the Tree People with respect, and I see he has instilled that same respect in you.”
“Yes, he has.” I incline my head again. Tracking Brett down would’ve been a whole lot harder if my dad wasn’t so respected.
“We attempted to talk to your foreign diplomat, but he spoke nothing but gibberish and attempted to run deeper into the forest every time we asked him to leave.” Chieftess Mizzorami eyes me as if that is somehow my fault.
“I’m sorry. He doesn’t speak Averellian. He wouldn’t have known what you were saying or trying to do.” I keep my voice even. Apologetic, but not groveling just like dad has taught me.
But something isn’t right. Why had Brett acted so erratically? Why try to enter the forest in the first place? It is like he’s confused. Not himself.
I have to grit my teeth to keep my smile in place. This was what the memory niggling in the back of my brain has been trying to tell me.
No, Brett isn’t himself. Mom told us about her first few trips into Averell. Thanks to time moving differently in Averell and the whole magic-science thing working havoc on her system, she lost all sense of time and became extremely disoriented. She became lost in Largone Castle, and that’s how she’d met Dad. He said he thought her strange the first few time they’d met since she hadn’t learned Averellian yet, and she had been too disoriented to think properly.
Just like Brett is now. He must not realize how much time has passed. After all, his Earth senses are telling him it has been a little over an hour, not several hours.
I glance around the trees, but I don’t see Brett curled on the ground or held between several dryads. Even as we’ve talked, the shadows have lengthened. It will be fully dark in the forest before another hour passes. “Where is he now?”
“Not knowing what else to do, we delivered him to the far side of the forest.” Her mouth twitches downward, her eyes softening only for a moment.
I close my eyes, trying to remember what lay on the other side of the Ellian Forest. My chest tightens. “You dropped him into ogre territory?”
The dryad hesitates, then nods sharply. “Yes. We thought him dangerous, and wanted him far away from our trees.”
I force myself to breathe evenly and not freak out. I can’t yell at the dryads. “I see.”
Chieftess Mizzorami tilts her head. Her stance softens further. “It seems it is my turn to make amends. It is too late for you to set out into ogre territory after this boy. You are welcome to enjoy our hospitality in our forest tonight.”
The forest around us is dark with shadows. A night breeze whispers through the trees and stirs the dryads’ hair.
The chieftess is right. We can’t face ogres in the dark, and it wouldn’t help Brett if Trygg and I get captured by ogres. If we are under the dryads’ protection, this forest is one of the safest places in Averell to spend the night except for Largone Castle itself.
The castle, where even now my parents must be pacing, both worried and furious.
I’m going to be in so much trouble when I get back. My parents will have quite the punishment thought out with a whole night to brainstorm about it. Has Dad set out with a search party yet?
“Your hospitality is much appreciated.” I dip into a curtsy, lower than the ones I’ve given the chieftess so far to show my respect. “My family thanks you for your continued alliance. If you ever wish to visit Largone Castle, you will be given the same generous courtesy you have shown me.”
The chieftess nods, her stance even more relaxed. “The clearing where you can spend the night is about an hour’s walk from here, but we can convey you through the trees in a matter of minutes.” She eyes Trygg, still in his unicorn form.
Trygg shakes his head vigorously, changing back into a human mid-shake. “No. Absolutely not. I’d like to keep all four hooves on the ground.”
I wince. Trygg became dizzy and nearly barfed just walking around the upper tower in Largone Castle with me once. I can only imagine how motion sick he’d get being handed off from tree to tree by the dryads. I face Chieftess Mizzorami. “It probably would be best if we walked. Unicorns are creatures of earth, not earth and sky the way the Tree People are.”
“I see.” Chieftess Mi
zzorami flicks her hand.
A young girl steps forward from the crowd of dryads, a staff in her hand. It’s hard to tell on her smooth face but she looks about our age or perhaps a little older. Like trees, dryads tend to be both ageless and aging. Growing older, but never looking truly old until near their death.
The chieftess waves a hand at the girl. “Flioria can guide your companion to the clearing tonight and lead both of you from the forest tomorrow morning. If you need anything, please ask her for it. If you wish, Princess Amarani, my people can take you through the trees while your companion walks.”
I don’t like the thought of separating from Trygg, not even in the safety provided by the dryads. But Trygg isn’t paying any attention to me. His eyes, a little too wide, are fixed on the dryad girl as if he’s never seen anything as dazzling as her.
Boys.
I want to roll my eyes, but I can’t. Not with the dryads watching. I smile at the chieftess. “I would appreciate it.”
I only have time to glance at Trygg before hands grasp my shoulders. I’m pulled into the trees and whisked into the dark forest. Hands grip and release my arms, my ankles, but the touch is so light and quick it almost feels like I’m floating. The cool breeze whips past my face. Leaves brush my face, not with the hard, sharp fingers I would expect considering the pace I’m going, but with a feather-light caress.
Brett must’ve been terrified when this happened to him. He would’ve struggled, and the dryads’ grip on him might’ve tightened, felt dangerous. He wouldn’t have relaxed into the motion the way I do now or enjoyed the sight of the forest flying by while being tossed through the upper branches of the trees.
Mere minutes later, I’m set at the edge of a clearing as gently as a butterfly alighting on a flower. My pack lands softly next to me. I peer into the branches overhead, nothing except dark silhouettes against the deep blue of the twilight sky. “Thank you.”
Two dryads drop to the ground in front of me, a woman and a man. Both carry bows. The woman waves to the far side of the clearing. “I will return shortly with food and drink for you. Your companion may eat of the grass when he arrives. We request that you refrain from lighting a fire while you remain in our forest.”
“Of course.” I pick up my pack, leaning to the side with its weight on my shoulder.
The man bows to me. “We will remain on guard tonight. None of the creatures of this forest will come near you this night.”
That’s a big relief. With night closing in, the shadows beneath the trees are beginning to look a lot like borsins and hercos. I don’t want to meet either of those in the daylight, much less at night.
Before I have a chance to thank them yet again, both of the dryads swing back into the trees.
I grip my pack and step into the center of the small clearing. It is barely bigger than my room in the farmhouse, ringed with thick brush on all sides. Far above, the first star winks into view, twinkling brighter and bluer than the stars over Michigan.
Where should I sleep? Should I sleep in the center or near the edge?
I really should’ve paid more attention when Ryan watched all those survival shows on TV a few years back. What is the first thing a person should do? Build a fire or build a shelter?
Doesn’t matter, really. I can’t build a fire, and I don’t dare build a shelter, not even one from dead sticks, until I have the dryads’ permission. Hopefully my bedroll in my emergency pack will be warm enough. I’m certainly not going to snuggle up to Trygg to stay warm. Talk about awkward.
I sit down in the center of the clearing. The grass is soft and springy beneath me, though damp. Opening my pack, I take stock of what I have with me. One blanket roll wrapped around a pillow. One change of clothes. Some packs of dried food that I can eat if whatever the dryads’ bring me is inedible for humans as well as a canteen filled with water. A thick bladed knife in a sheath can be used as an ax in a pinch. I hide it in the spare set of clothes. I’m not sure if the dryads’ would be offended, but I don’t want to take the chance at the moment.
I pull a glowstone from my pack and rub it for a few minutes until it glows with a soft, blue-white light. The dryads’ surely wouldn’t argue with a glowstone, since it is magic rather than fire.
I almost wish the emergency pack had a message mirror in it so that I could talk to my parents. Explain. Reassure them that I’m all right.
But the point of an emergency pack is to help me disappear. Dad had thought about including special mirrors, ones linked only to each other, but eventually he decided even those would be a risk. If one member of the family was captured, their message mirror could be used to find the others.
With the barest whisper of rustling leaves, the woman dryad returns to the clearing. She carries a wooden plate in one hand and a pitcher in the other. When she holds the plate and pitcher out to me, I scramble to my feet and take them.
The plate contains various woodland greens topped with berries and a thick dressing the color of a blushing pink sunset. The pitcher is filled with water. A wooden cup hangs from a hook set into the pitcher’s handle.
“Thank you for the food.” I tilt my head toward the edge of the clearing. “Will it be all right if I build myself a shelter from the deadfalls? I wouldn’t use anything living.”
“There’s no need.” The dryad woman flicks her hand at the trees at the far side of the clearing. They bend, twist, and twine their branches together with a rustle and a deep groan of moving wood. Moments later, the trees form a hammock in their intertwined branches, its curve padded with layers of leaves. Above the hammock, the branches also lock together to shape a thick canopy.
“Wow.” I breathe out slowly. I know I’m staring. As the princess of Averell, you’d think nothing would surprise me about this place I call home. But I’ve never seen the dryads work their particular magic quite like this before. “That’s amazing.”
The woman gives me something that might have been smile for a dryad. “It’s a nest like each of us sleep in, though ours are farther from the ground. Do you require anything else?”
“No, but thank you. You have been more than kind already. Could you please thank your chieftess once again for her hospitality?”
The dryad woman nods and disappears into the trees once again.
I return to my seat on the ground and dig into the food with the Averellian utensil provided. It looks a bit like a spoon on one side and a six-pronged fork on the other. The salad is rather good. The dressing is a tad on the sour side, the greens bitter, but the fruit balances it out.
I wash the salad down with the water, thankful that the dryads went to the trouble to get water for me. They probably have an agreement with the naiad at the stream for their water supply, but since I don’t have an agreement with him, it would’ve been a lot more of a hassle for me to get water myself.
Once I’m finished, I lay out my bedroll in the tree hammock. I have just positioned my pillow when the dryad girl glides into the clearing, Trygg trotting at her heels in human form. If he had been a werewolf, his tongue would’ve been hanging out.
It is pathetic, really. Teenage boys.
I roll my eyes and ignore him as the girl tells him he can eat the grass and she’ll bring more water, all while giving him doe-eyes of her own.
Doing my best to ignore them, I gather my pack, stow it beneath my hammock, and crawl into my bedroll. My blankets are warm, even though they aren’t thick. They are made from the wool of the yakkalack goat that lives in the high mountains in the northern part of Averell.
The girl leaves, and Trygg flops onto the ground. “I think I’m in love.”
I snort. “You’ve been in love seven or eight times in the years I’ve known you.”
“I know.” Trygg heaves a long sigh. “I might have to get over my fear of heights.”
“I don’t think that will happen overnight.” I snuggle deeper into my blankets and stare up at the stars far above me.
I haven’t done a lot of camping
under the stars. Dad and Mom took us camping a few times at local campgrounds in Michigan and a few times in our backyard, but that’s it. The bad thing about Dad being king of Averell and Mom being the Guardian is that we can’t travel far from the portal.
We haven’t gone camping in Averell either, for obvious reasons. Kings don’t camp, and Averell isn’t a place where you can just set up a tent, build a fire, and roast some marshmallows in a tranquil forest setting. Everything in Averell has rules, down to what stream you can get water from and where you can walk without asking permission first.
On top of that, I can’t think of a time when I’ve been this far away from my parents. At least, not like this. I’ve gone on a few sleepovers at Erin’s house, but that’s always with a phone easily reachable. Mom stays in Michigan on those nights to make sure she’s on hand in case we need her.
Now, I have no way to communicate to my parents. I’m alone except for love-struck unicorn boy and a forestful of dryads who are currently friendly, but could become far less so if I do or say the wrong thing.
I shiver and burrow deeper into the blankets. “Trygg, have you ever slept away from your herd before?”
He sits up and swipes at the lock of black hair falling across one of his eyes. He cocks his head, as if thinking about his answer. Something rare indeed for Trygg.
When he speaks, he’s the most serious he’s been this entire day. “No, I don’t think I have.” His buck teeth flash in the starlight when he grins. “I’m not sure why I haven’t. It’s a great way to get into trouble. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m hungry and there’s a whole clearing of lush grass that I may eat. I’d better start if I’m going to eat all of it by morning.”
“Don’t stay up too late.” I roll over and tuck the blanket under my chin.
As my body relaxes into the surprisingly comfortable hammock formed of leaves and branches, a pang forces me to catch my breath. I shouldn’t be so comfortable. Not when Brett is somewhere in ogre territory tonight. Lost. No supplies, not even a blanket to keep warm. Disoriented. Thirsty if he hasn’t dared drink anything. Sick if he has.