Even at a distance Iggy caught the heat of its breath, the stink of its last meal. The primal bellow triggered every survival instinct he had.
Chuckler bucked him and ran.
"Iggy!" Helix screamed, just before his horse, too, threw him to the ground and broke into a mad gallop. Syntal bounced from her litter in a mess of flailing limbs.
Seth scrambled to his feet first, snatching up his spear and readying it.
Weapons! one of the bears snarled. Come to fight, have you? From the tree line it roared as well—then the other bears took up its battle cry, until the ground shook and the leaves of the trees quivered. It is a good day to die, brothers! As Iggy fought to gain his feet, he saw even Seth's face drain of color.
Wait! he screamed. Wait! I was called here! I was called!
"Seth!" He ran to his friend, forced the spear tip to the dirt. "Put it down! You'll get us killed!"
Called? The frontmost animal dropped again to all fours—a maneuver that looked like it should have made the earth tremble, but instead was terrifyingly graceful. You're the speaker? It huffed, nostrils flaring, as its liquid brown eyes fastened on him. You?
I swear it. I'm speaking now, aren't I?
A creature slinked out from between two of the bears. Save for the nub of a small horn between its ears, it looked identical to a red fox—its tail bushy and its ears pricked—but the Pulse betrayed it as something more.
It trotted up to him. Iggy let it sniff him thoroughly until it sat back on its haunches, regarding him with casual disdain.
So young, it said. The Green devastated, the Deep-Tree dreaming, and they send us a pup?
No one sent me, Iggy whispered back. I heard the call, and I answered it.
No one? Where are your elders?
Iggy shook his head. My . . . ma and pa, you mean? They've nothing to do with it. They don't even know I can do this.
"What's happening?" Seth demanded. "Are they―?"
"Hush," Helix said. "Wait."
The animal made a noise halfway between a whine and a growl. Not your parents, child! Your elders! Sha'anthelas, or Barant of the Stones. You mean you've heard nothing from them?
I . . . I've never even heard of them.
Disbelief rippled from the animal. It coughed, a sound surprisingly like a scoff. Do you even . . . You don't know who I am, do you?
Iggy spread his hands, feeling more lost with every question. Should I?
The fox's ears wilted. Its tail sank. By soil and root, it moaned. Behind him, several of the bears exchanged glances.
Look, I'm sorry I'm not what you were expecting, Iggy pressed, but I swear, I'm here to help however I can.
Help? it said, incredulous, and let loose a series of soft, whining yips. The stink of its musk grew sharply more pungent. Can you awaken the sleeping tree, or regrow what is lost? Can you tell us how long we've slept? You don't even know where you are!
I'm at Ordlan Green, and I don't come lightly. I may not be able to regrow your wood, but I do know you've slept for a long time. Thousands of years, at least. And I may just be a pup, but I'm pretty sure whatever elders you're talking about are long gone. So I'm the only speaker you're going to get.
The wind fell silent, and all the animals with it. Iggy waited for his words to sink in. Eventually the wind rose again, bearing with it a riot of bewildered murmurs from the bears.
Thousands―?
. . . long gone . . . ?
He is the only one? This pup?
The Raving Witch! The elders failed!
Seth again brandished his spear, glaring, and Helix pressed the weapon down.
The fox barked, dashing in a tight circle. Enough! Quiet yourselves!
We must take him to Ciir-goath, the nearest bear insisted. He must hear this!
He will! Calm, now! First things first. The fox gave a quick snap of its head, as if to clear its thoughts, and returned to Iggy. I apologize, young Speaker, for my insults. You bring a grim message, far grimmer than we'd . . . A surge of grief emanated from the animal, sharp as its musk. Again, it snapped its head. I am Ciir-kahls, though Kahls is my name to speakers. I invite you to use it.
Kahls met Iggy's eyes and lifted a front leg in greeting. Iggy knelt to accept the cool damp of his paw. Ignatius Ardenfell, he whispered back. You can call me Iggy.
Good, he whispered, wearily. We have questions, Iggy. So many questions. It has been a time of terror for us, and you are the first friendly tall-walker we've seen since the elders left; all the others have been here solely to mete out death. There is no respect for the old treaties, only butchery.
Iggy thought of tree stumps and bear traps. I know. I'm sorry, he said, and meant it.
Ciir-goath is a keeper of wisdom, a teller of stories. He would know the questions to ask better than I, and demand an accounting anyway were I to speak to you without him. Will you come with me to meet him?
I will. Iggy rose. I was hoping to ask some questions of my own.
We will no doubt gain wisdom from the asking. You are welcome.
Iggy nodded and turned back to the others. "They'll let us in," he said. "There's another creature inside who wants to talk to us." He pointed at Seth's spear. "Put that thing away. Do nothing without asking me first."
"We're not going in," Seth said.
"Of course we are," Iggy threw back.
"Can they help Syn?" Angbar asked. Iggy turned back to Kahls.
I've a friend who needs ensilla, and I'm nearly out. Is there some in the wood?
Bloodleaf? Of course. You may take some with you when you leave.
"They have it," Iggy said. Angbar sighed in relief.
"Why don't you go in and get it," Seth said, "while the rest of us wait here?"
"Because the forest is enormous, Seth. It would be hard to find you again. I may end up exiting miles from here, or the loggers could return and force you to leave."
Seth looked at the bears. "There is something wrong with those animals. Bears don't act like that."
"They won't hurt you, as long as you behave. Trust me."
Seth looked at Lyseira, seeking support or direction, but the girl's eyes were nearly vacant. She had been lost in her thoughts for days, and wasn't leaving them now.
"Syn needs you, Lys," Angbar said. "The pain―"
"I know," Lyseira said. "We'll come."
Tightly, Syntal asked: "How far?"
"I don't know," Iggy admitted. "He said we can have it when we leave."
She clenched her teeth and nodded, a pale sheen of sweat on her forehead.
Iggy whistled for the horses. Chuckler! It's safe! Bring the others!
Kahls's ears widened. What are you doing?
Calling the horses. My friend is weak—she can barely walk.
Your friends were not invited, he said flatly.
Iggy drew up short. They have to come with. They can't stay out here.
The fox's nostrils trembled. They stink of chanting! he growled. None but speakers are allowed, let alone Pulse-ravagers!
Iggy glanced back, considered leaving the others while he went in to the wood. How long would he be gone? How long before Seth killed an animal and got everyone slaughtered? The chanters are the least of your worries, he whispered. The girl is weak and can't even walk, and the other will listen to reason. But the one with the spear will cause problems if I'm not there to rein him in.
All the more reason to keep him out! Kahls insisted. We've had our fill of headstrong hunters!
They all come, Iggy said. They're my guests. I'll take responsibility for whatever they do.
The fox whined. No. Impossible.
Then we go, and everyone loses. You get no answers. The Tribunal is hunting us; if you turn us away, I will likely be killed or imprisoned, and there are no other speakers coming, Kahls. I promise you that.
The fox pawed at the ground, mewling. But a chanter?
She knows the most about what's happening. She'll have the answers you're looking for, f
ar more than I will. He caught his breath, tried another tack. Look. I know how awful chanting is. I may just be a pup, but I know that much. I've felt it. It's . . .
Ghastly. Abhorrent. A kind of rape.
It's awful. I know. And I'll make sure they don't chant in the wood. I'll make sure.
The animal watched him, nose quivering.
But these are grim times, just like you said. I'm not asking you to change the rules, but you have to trust me when I say: you need her, and I need them. My pack comes with me, or I turn back.
Ciir-goath will not like this. Ah, Kahls, what madness has gripped you? He pawed at his face, still mewling, then abruptly quit. So be it. Bring your pack. But stay close. If any of them get lost, they may never be found. The wood is not friendly to tall-walkers. And if they chant—the wood will act, and I won't stop it.
"All right," Iggy said. "When we go in, stay nearby. It's easy to get lost in the woods, but the fox knows the way. Syn? Angbar?"
The horses had returned at his call. Angbar, kneeling with Helix to help get Syntal back in her makeshift litter, glanced up at him.
"No chanting in the wood, from here forward. No Slumber, no Spellsight—nothing."
Angbar nodded and turned back to his work.
"Why?" Syntal gasped between waves of pain.
"Because the bears will kill you," Iggy said, and followed Kahls into the trees.
19
i. Iggy
The sun dimmed, nearly swallowed by the tangled boughs of oaks and slender birches. The rich scents of the forest—mold and scat, wood and musk—permeated everything, the air itself choked with life.
Iggy had always loved Pinewood as a child, and Veiling Green had soothed his soul with its beauty despite the curse that haunted it. But something about Ordlan Green went deeper. It was intoxicating, more gorgeous than the most brilliant sunset. He found himself imagining how the trees had sung here when the first Seal had broken and vibrancy had returned to the world. He had never felt such deep contentment, such a powerful feeling of being . . .
Home, he realized. It feels like coming home.
Ahead, Kahls loped easily over a carpet of moss and crumbling leaves, now and again darting over the bodies of fallen trees—trees that had fallen naturally, not been cut down by the thirsting axes of men. But now he scrambled atop one of the stumps and turned back to face Iggy before breaking into a gaping smile, tongue lolling.
Beautiful, isn't it? I can hear your awe.
It's breathtaking, Iggy answered.
Ordlan Green is home to many and all, whoever would seek respite from the world of tall-walkers. The smile faltered as Kahls glanced at Iggy's friends. So it has always been, so it will always be—ere the last tree falls.
The fox's words summoned a vivid warning of the wood's ultimate desecration, the final victory of the encroaching loggers from the south and east. Not while I draw breath, Iggy whispered, vehemently.
Kahls snapped his gaze back to Iggy, his eyes wide. It brings me joy to hear you say it, Speaker. Great joy indeed. He jumped back to the earth. Come.
In dusk's deepening shadows, Kahls sank into darkness. Iggy found himself watching for the flashes of white from the tip of the animal's tail and letting them guide him forward. Slow down, he admonished his guide. We've a girl that can't walk. And I'm losing sight of you. Should we wait for morning?
No! Kahls called back. The falling sun is a boon to us, for tonight rises a full moon. It is many days' travel to Ciir-goath, but the moonways might shorten it, if we're lucky enough to travel them.
Moonways?
Yes. You will see. Until then, watch my tail and follow my voice. I will tell you of your elders.
He went on: I can only imagine, from what you've told me, that they're gone now. The greatest speakers would live long and longer, but none evade death forever. Their loss is sorely felt, for they were as passionate about the wood as you, young pup. Rare indeed to find the tall-walker that recognizes the sanctity of the forest. Rarer still for one to become a speaker, like you. Your elders had been with us for hundreds of years. I cannot lie: you are not their equal. But I am glad of your arrival all the same.
Others like me. The thought warmed him.
Oh, yes. Not many—rare, always, the speakers are. The arrival of a pup, for them, is a happy occasion indeed. Sha'anthelas will . . . would've been filled with joy to see you. Again came the animal's grief, a scent sharp as smoke. Ah, fire's curse, I can't believe she's gone.
I would've loved to meet her, Iggy said, and realized he'd never meant any words more.
And she you, friend. This I promise. Ah, things are changed. The follies of Trinity Hold will ruin us all yet. The fox scrambled to a stop. There! Do you see?
Moonlight filtered through the branches to their right, illuminating a path between the trees that Iggy was sure hadn't been there a moment before.
Oh, mother smiles! The Pulse is strong enough for the moonways to manifest! We'll be at her meadow ere dawn. Kahls yipped, dashing for the silvery light. Come! Come!
"You see the moonlight?" Iggy called back to the others as he made to follow. "That's our path. Stay close."
Kahls fell quiet as he guided them through the moonways. At times the paths would split, one way leading down a ravine and the other perhaps ducking beneath a fallen log, and the fox would pause, ears pricked, before sprinting away.
Wait for us, Iggy called more than once.
Keep up! Kahls called back.
Darkness shrouded the landscape beyond the path, leaving it nearly imperceptible, but Iggy got an impression of shifting trunks and morphing terrain. Sometimes he would glance behind him to check on his friends and find an impassive oak inches behind his head, with his friends struggling along the path from his left or right.
"Am I dreaming?" Angbar asked once as he caught up to Iggy. "Is this a dream?"
"If you are, I'm in it with you."
Keep up! Kahls barked. Almost there!
He couldn't have said how long they followed the fox through the morphing paths of the moonways. Time felt sluggish and fleeting by turns. Sometimes he could remember every step of the last ten minutes; others, he could remember an hour or more of travel, but only as if waking from a sleep in which he'd dreamt it.
Kahls?
You're disoriented, yes, I know. All is well. Follow.
Privately, he thought, If he wanted to make us disappear, to kill two chanters and their friends, this would be an easy way to do it. Perhaps he shouldn't be so trusting. From the streaks of blood the bears had left, it was clear the wood's protectors wouldn't hesitate to kill its enemies.
But the forest called him onward. It was too late, anyway—they had spent hours or days following the fox, and stepping off the moonways now would only leave them at the mercy of the wood.
Just as he had this thought, the moonlight ahead of him waned to nothing. The darkness swallowed his guide.
Kahls? he called again.
The light still shone from behind him, he realized—but Kahls had been ahead.
Mother smiles, the fox whispered as he trotted out of the dark. Turn around. We are here.
Confused, he turned around—and beheld a giant meadow, flashing with fireflies. A grand expanse almost half the size of Pinewood lake back home. In its center rose a great wall of redwood, its bark preserved so that . . .
Wait. Wonder crashed over him. That's no wall.
It was a tree, a living being, so broad that if he and all his friends joined hands they would barely circle a quarter of it. Far above, somewhere in the night sky, its looming canopy sheltered the entire meadow, and beyond.
He tried to imagine the tree's age and came up empty. As old as the mountains, he thought. Sprouted from a seed born at the dawn of time.
The Pulse rushing through its veins shouted of life itself, a wellspring of unfathomable wisdom and power. Perhaps it was his mother, the voice he heard in his times of need and madness. He yearned to crawl to it, to c
aress it, to rest beneath its branches and know peace.
Its magnificence stole his breath and forced him to his knees.
Pup, Kahls whispered, behold the meaning of glory. He, too, dropped to the dirt in obeisance, flipping to his back and baring his belly. Chuckler and the other horses followed, each with a leg forward as they dropped to one knee and dipped their heads.
Mother Ordlan, Kahls went on. The Deep-Tree of Darnoth. Her roots stretch to the sea; her wisdom runs deeper still.
"Wow," Angbar breathed. His physical voice sounded clumsy and primitive here, an unwelcome intrusion into a sacred moment. "That's a really big tree."
Speaker, a new voice said. It wasn't the tree; if he heard her voice, he was sure he would know it. Your arrival is fortunate. Welcome.
A great stag stood near the tree's trunk. Its massive rack unfolded like a dozen hands beseeching heaven, and between its antlers stood a single, proud horn—a fully developed counterpart to the nub on Kahls's head. On his tiptoes, Iggy's crown would barely reach the shaggy mane of the creature's chest.
If he'd had any wonder left in him after beholding the tree, Iggy might've knelt to this being, too.
Rise, it said gently. It is well to be stricken by the Deep-Tree, but were she awake, I promise she'd tell you: she desires not your worship.
Iggy returned the stag's gaze. I've heard her. She held me as I went mad in a tall-walker's city, last fall.
The stag shook his head. You tell of the All-Mother. Proof this is, beyond question, that you are a speaker. He looked back to the great tree. Mother Ordlan is one of the All-Mother's sacred Deep-Trees, but she is not the All-Mother herself. The All-Mother is greater than any one being, even one so great as Mother Ordlan. He looked again to Iggy. You are young, but you will learn.
Iggy climbed to his feet. Ciir-goath?
The stag inclined his head. I am. And you?
Ignatius Ardenfell. Iggy for short.
Ignatius Ardenfell, Ciir-goath repeated. Fireflies swirled around his antlers, diving and looping, as he strode forward. Have you brought tidings?
Iggy glanced at Kahls. The fox mewled—a sound surprisingly like a cat's—and avoided his eyes. But he nodded.
A Season of Rendings Page 35