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  Petyr saw all this in an instant before being jerked back to his own peril as a branch cut through the air like a knife and embedded itself into a tree trunk, not three feet above his head. If he had not ducked at that exact moment his body could easily have been sliced in two. Almost instantly another branch jabbed at him from the front and he had to roll aside, grateful for the incredible light that allowed him to spy his axe a few feet off.

  He went for his weapon on his hands and knees, dodging blows at every pace, now on his stomach as the oaks swung for his ribs, then leaping to his feet as they struck low to the ground. Oaken limbs smashed into one another left and right, spraying splinters. His axe in sight, Petyr reached for it with all his strength, his fingers brushing the handle, when a twiggy claw caught him by his surcoat, wrenching him to his knees. Stripping off the garment, the branch sprang away and he fell backwards, spread-eagled, rolling to avoid a stab through the chest. On his feet again, Petyr lunged another time for his weapon, impeded this time by a root gripping his ankle. Cursing, he looked down and saw more roots pushed out of the soil, binding his feet to the ground.

  He was so distracted that he missed the thick branch swinging at him from the side. The bark impacted with his arm.

  Bones cracked.

  Petyr roared.

  With the strength of agony he jerked a foot free before flinging himself to the ground, averting a swipe at his head, banging his broken arm painfully. Dizzy with pain, he threw himself across the last yard and grabbed his beloved axe. Weapon in hand, he aimed for the roots at his feet.

  Free at last, Petyr turned upon his assailants. He struck out at all sides as the dual trunks stood firm, their limbs thrashing. At once he severed a branch clean through, jumping back as the dead wood fell. A piercing squeal rang out and a root as thick as a man pulled the branch into the earth. Exhilarated, Petyr kept on, aiming not to maim but to break. The oaks hit back at triple force, their branches reproducing at will, coming at him from all sides. Though Petyr fought with all he had, his wounded arm was sapping his strength and he felt himself slowing.

  He knew he couldn’t hold them off for long.

  Liam felt each blow.

  There was light everywhere – so much light. He couldn’t avoid seeing it all. His cage shuddered with each hit, and with each hit he cringed. He couldn’t forget that he was inside these beings that were fighting Petyr.

  It was almost as though he were fighting Petyr himself.

  Liam watched the action like a hawk. If Petyr were to fall, he wouldn’t miss it. If Petyr were to die, he’d be there with him. He wouldn’t leave him alone. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  Utterly consumed by the battle, the boy failed to notice the unusual quality of the light all around him. He didn’t realize that the light shone more brightly as his emotions surged, that it poured more light on the places he set his gaze. He didn’t see that when Petyr’s arm was hit and tears filled his eyes, the light flickered like a flame licked by the wind.

  The battle was all he knew – nothing else mattered. Nothing else seemed quite as real.

  He wished he could do something to help Petyr. If only he knew how to make the oaks stop. If only he knew how it would end. He tried with all his might to see into after, but it was no use. After had gone dark for him. He let his body go limp, the strain of concentration falling away.

  Then he saw it.

  At first he didn’t realize what he was seeing. He saw Petyr fighting on, looking haggard. He saw the oaks begin to hold back. He saw Petyr frown as the branches retreated to their trunks. He saw his eyes widen.

  The branches were winding themselves into one, much like the twigs had braided themselves to bind him. They became two enormous branches, one from each trunk, each one thick as the trunks themselves. In a flash, he saw the oaks from Petyr’s view.

  It looked like a giant doll with Liam’s cage as its head, its enormous arms reaching.

  Liam felt Petyr’s surge of alarm.

  He stood frozen, his axe held limply in his hand. Liam saw the boughs catch him by the waist. He saw him struggle in vain.

  He saw him fall.

  Unsure if what he’d seen was present or future, Liam opened his mouth and screamed. The sound reverberated against the trunks. For a moment, it was as though time had stopped. Then he felt himself falling. His bindings no longer held him. He felt the air against his skin and a wonderful sense of gladness came over him.

  His last thoughts were of the sky.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When Petyr opened his eyes he wasn’t certain he had survived. Above him, a myriad of stars twinkled gently in a sky he’d never seen before. He watched them for a long time, breathing in the cool air, and with each breath the spots of glowing light seemed to draw nearer. He felt sure that if he reached out he would touch their jewelled surface, but he made no such attempt. Instead, he shifted his gaze and saw a great wolf sitting by his side. His eyes glowed yellow in the dark and the sound of his panting was loud in Petyr’s ears.

  He was watching him.

  A strange calm fell over Petyr as the wolf’s gaze met his own. He felt no fear at all, no urge to run and save himself. Instead, he felt strongly that all would turn out well. It was as though peace itself was stored within the wolf, and it was being extended to him, offered up through his stare. Petyr dared not look away.

  After a time, the animal got to his feet. Petyr could feel his breath against his skin. The wolf stood looking at him for a moment more before turning, as though called away, and trotting off into the wood. Petyr closed his eyes and drifted back into sleep.

  When next he awoke, it was to a cold hand on his cheek. As he stirred, a great burning lit up his arm and he groaned. He opened his eyes to see Shallah leaning over him in the gloom.

  “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice tight. “What’s happened?”

  “Is he with you?” Petyr asked, a terrible scream echoing in his ears.

  “No,” Shallah said in a whisper, for she feared the worst. “What went on? Has it taken him again?”

  He shook his head.

  “They’ve gone away,” he said. “Something frightened them off. They might have let him go.”

  Shallah didn’t seem to know what to make of Petyr’s ‘they.’ She stared at him. He had to remind himself she couldn’t see.

  “Do sit up, and look about,” she urged. “He might be close by. Are you injured?”

  Petyr grimaced as he pushed himself up with his good arm.

  “Not much,” he lied.

  He waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark. He couldn’t see Liam anywhere, nor the oaks. Oddly, there was no evidence that a battle had taken place either. Not one chopped branch or trampled bush remained.

  In place of battle scars, a white powder covered the entire area. It blanketed the earth like snow, but didn’t melt on his skin. It hung on the bark of the trees all around, on the leaves of the shrubs and ferns, and in his own hair.

  Touching Petyr on the arm, Shallah found her hand covered in the fine dust. Confused, she wiped it away. “You must explain it to me, Petyr,” she said intently. “I don’t understand it. I don’t understand this wood.” She had that tormented look on her face that Petyr knew so well. He’d seen it on his children after their mother died.

  “I’ll explain it all, in time,” he said, laying a kind hand on hers. “But how did you find me here? The path I followed was dense and winding.”

  “I can’t tell you,” she said with a shrug, “for I hardly know myself. The sounds of the battle guided me at first, and when they died out I could only go on, for I couldn’t find my way back. I simply walked on until I nearly tripped over you. It seems a miracle.”

  A sudden movement over Shallah’s shoulder caught Petyr’s attention and he noticed a pale figure in the trees. It was Liam, his tunic powdered white by the same strange dust. He leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree, almost as though it held him up, his cheek pressed into it
s bark.

  “Liam!” Petyr called out on impulse. Shallah spun about expectantly.

  The child seemed to awaken upon hearing his name, in body at least, if not in mind. He regarded them both with a cautious air, as though he didn’t recognize them. He might not have approached them at all, had Petyr not beckoned him. His step, when he came to meet them, was slow as one condemned.

  As he stood before Shallah, his gaze riveted on a fir trunk over her shoulder, Petyr began to fear the worst. We’ve lost him, he thought. His mind is gone. Petyr feared the shock of it would break Shallah. He knew what it was to lose a wife. He’d never lost a child.

  Shallah took the child’s hands in hers and spoke the first words in what seemed an hour. “Liam, darling,” she said, “don’t you know me?”

  Petyr held his breath. The child’s reaction would say it all.

  Liam lowered his eyes to Shallah’s face. At first, his expression remained blank, his eyes dull. Petyr couldn’t help but stare at those eyes. The light that played over Shallah’s face was yellowed and murky – a sickly light. But Petyr remembered how brightly it had shone when he’d first come upon the boy, bright with the strength of life. He looked away. He wouldn’t watch the light go out.

  What Petyr didn’t see, what no one saw, was the change that happened next. For, as Liam gazed upon Shallah, a shadow of recognition passed across his face, and the light from his eyes began to strengthen. In moments, it had regained its former brilliance and bathed the clearing in brightness reflected by the white powder all around. Nearly blinded by the glare, Petyr turned back to his friends in astonishment. Liam had fallen to his knees. A smile graced his lips.

  They seemed to become one being, so tightly did they hold each other, the child’s legs hooked about Shallah’s slim waist, her hair falling over his as she hugged him to her, kissing his cheeks.

  “Is he hurt, Petyr?” Shallah managed to ask finally, her face aglow with relief. She sat the boy in her lap, unwilling to let him go. “Check him, please.”

  Liam’s face regained its animation, and he kept looking up at Shallah as Petyr examined him, as though unwilling to believe she was real.

  “How can it be?” Petyr asked aloud as he rolled up the boy’s sleeves, searching for bruises and cuts.

  “I don’t understand it,” he said. He retrieved the boy’s shoe and tied it on, shaking his head. “I can’t see how.”

  In the end, Liam hadn’t a scratch on him.

  Petyr continued to puzzle over this wonder as Shallah rocked Liam in her arms. It was only when he fell quiet that he heard the words she whispered softly into the boy’s ear.

  “You came back,” she said.

  The trio decided to collect their packs and find some shelter for the night. Fatigue plagued them like a fog, for it had been days since any of them had rested rightly. Shallah’s foot had swollen greatly, and though on her journey to find them she’d felt little pain, it bit her cruelly now. She walked with an obvious limp, nearly falling with each step until Petyr convinced her to take his arm.

  Liam clung to Shallah like a spider, his eyes wide with severe exhaustion. Still, his sight held its glow and helped to distinguish the path.

  “Do you know about his eyes?” Petyr asked Shallah as they ducked under some low hanging branches.

  “What of them?” she asked.

  “They glow in the dark.”

  “What ever do you mean?”

  Liam leaned into Shallah, pressing his cheek into her hip

  “His eyes give off light,” Petyr said. “I can see ten feet in front of us at this moment.”

  Shallah put her arm about Liam’s shoulder. She recalled her gladness as their journey had begun that the child was unafraid of the dark.

  “He’s lighting our way,” she said.

  They took shelter in a small cave hidden in the side of a hill. Petyr had found the place a few days before, and had left markers in the earth so he could find his way back. Shallah marvelled to hear that Petyr had been stranded in the black wood for three days. When she asked him how he’d managed to overtake them, his answers were evasive.

  “Didn’t you keep to the path as we did?” she asked as she folded a blanket over Liam. The child drifted off as soon as he laid down his head, his body curled, his thumb in his mouth.

  Petyr was building a fire in the cave’s entrance. “I ignored the path,” he replied.

  “So, you came directly north,” Shallah said contemplatively, stroking Liam’s hair. “Still, you ought to have been days behind us. You must have taken very little rest.”

  “None at all,” he said as the kindling began to burn. He couldn’t see Shallah’s reaction, for his back was turned. He fed the flames before him with a deliberation the task didn’t deserve.

  “No rest at all,” she said, “in more than four days?” The cave began to fill with the silent weight of things unsaid. Though the question was on Shallah’s lips, she couldn’t voice it. “My goodness, Petyr,” was all she said.

  Let us leave it till the morning, she thought. I may have the strength to bear it in the morning.

  Shallah considered her new companion. Distrust, her old friend, flared within her as she realized she knew next to nothing about him. Raulf had described him as volatile, monstrous even, but he’d shown her and Liam such kindness thus far. Might it be an act? She wished she’d had more experience with men. They’d always seemed such troublesome creatures who drank too much ale, ate too much food, and made too much mess. And just when you needed them most …

  But Petyr seemed different. Could she trust him?

  She’d never felt easy around men. When asked if she planned to marry, she always replied, “Why would I want to do that?” She prided herself on being able to do anything a man could, as though to prove that she didn’t need one, didn’t want one. But in truth … She’d been so young when her father had left her, her body just beginning to bloom. His departure had wounded her more than she would ever admit. Young Shallah had come to see herself as a ruined thing, a piece of fruit spoiled by the sun. She’d decided to turn her back on romance, to save herself the humiliation of wanting and being turned away. She’d washed her hands of men.

  The truth of it was, she’d always felt sure no man would ever want her.

  Now, faced with a man she couldn’t avoid, Shallah couldn’t help but wonder what Petyr must think of her.

  He certainly can’t be much impressed with my looks, she thought gloomily.

  Her hair hadn’t seen a comb in days. Her kirtle was spattered with blood and dirt it, her stocking ripped, her shift filthy. What a picture she must make! Shallah recalled that Petyr and his bride had been heralded as the best looking couple to grace the village in ages. She could remember thinking Marion beautiful when they were children together.

  Suddenly she remembered the state Petyr had found her in – wild with fear, sick with self-contempt. Had he heard her wails? Her pride sank lower still.

  He knows I’ve failed, she realized. He’s taken pity on me, that’s what keeps him here.

  And I owe him my life, she thought.

  She didn’t know how she would ever repay him.

  As Petyr showed little desire to strike up a conversation, it was Shallah who broke the silence. “You’ve broken your arm,” she said.

  He looked up at her, startled. “How could you possibly know that?”

  “It was in the way you held yourself as you walked,” she replied simply. “You should have told me, Petyr.”

  “I didn’t wish to trouble you,” he said, drawing away from the fire. He looked down at his left arm hanging limp at his side.

  “I’ll fashion you a sling out of the extra blanket. It’s too thin to be of real use anyway,” she said.

  “And your foot,” Petyr said, sitting next to her against the cave wall. “You can’t sleep the night without binding it. It’s terribly swollen.”

  “We are a sad lot, aren’t we?” Shallah said with a weary smile a
s she pulled the blanket from her pack. “But it could have been much worse, if not for you.”

  “Please, don’t,” he said. He bowed his head and folded and unfolded his hands.

  “Petyr,” she said gently, “you won’t even let me thank you? When I owe you so much –”

  “Please,” he interrupted. “There’s no need!” His words were so vehement that to go on seemed cruel. An awkward quiet fell over them.

  “We will get him home,” he said finally. “You mustn’t lose faith in that.”

  Shallah frowned as she tugged at a tear in the blanket. He’d said ‘we.’ They hadn’t yet discussed where they would go from here. Just the thought of the road ahead brought her spirits down in a rush. She yearned to discuss her feelings with Petyr – it had been so long since she’d had another adult to talk to – but she hesitated. She didn’t want him to think any less of her than he already did.

  “It’s so difficult,” she said abruptly. Her mouth was dry.

  Well, now that I’ve started I’d better keep going, she thought.

  “I grow weary of this trek,” she said softly. “I find it hard to keep believing it will turn out well. When you first came upon me I was … I’d lost all hope. I couldn’t –”

  “You were afraid,” Petyr said. There was such empathy in his voice.

  “Yes,” Shallah said, almost choking on the word.

  “So was I,” he said.

  Somehow, Shallah found herself smiling. “Do you know what I thought about?” she said. “As I walked through the forest to find you, when all had gone silent, I had to think of something to keep myself from going mad. I thought about a dream I had a few nights ago. It was a lovely dream. Liam and I were standing by a great expanse of water, the breeze blowing our hair. Liam was laughing at something I’d said. We were both so happy. All the darkness of this wood has left us.” She paused shyly. “I imagined you there as well. You were running after your children, and you caught them up in your arms. You have two little girls, isn’t that right?”