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  She didn’t notice the remarkable width of the oak’s trunk, nor the many knots in its deeply furrowed bark.

  Liam hummed a lullaby as Shallah unfolded the blankets, the soft melody like a caress coming out of the darkness. When he left off suddenly, she thought little of it, for it was likely he could barely keep his eyes open.

  This rest will do us good, she thought to herself.

  Already her limbs were heavy with sleep, and she was finding it difficult to concentrate. She should have been alarmed by the ferocity of her exhaustion, she should have been on her guard, but she didn’t have the energy. Suspicion was beyond her now. She could only think of sleep.

  With her last bit of strength, Shallah picked Liam up and placed him among the covers. His body was awfully cold, and she wondered if she ought to surrender her blanket to him for the night. She didn’t smell the fear beading on his skin, nor hear the panicked whining in his throat, until she leaned in to kiss his cheek and he pulled her toward him so sharply that she bumped his nose with her forehead.

  “What’s the matter, Liam?” she asked urgently, shocked out of her trance. “Why do you tremble so?” His fingers bit into her arms.

  Again she sensed a sudden movement behind her. Liam’s body went rigid.

  Shallah was breathless. “What is it?” she asked, her eyes wide and terribly desperate. “What do you see?”

  Reaching for her belt with shaking fingers, she pulled out her dagger and held it at the ready. All of a sudden Liam sucked in a breath and shrank back with such force that she swung about to face whatever it could be, attempting to shield Liam with her body. She was met with a flurry of wings and a loud hooting. A blinding pain spread across her temples as a pair of claws became entwined in her hair. She held up her hands to fight off the beast, gasping as the talons slashed her fingers. Awash in terror and desperate to protect Liam, Shallah jerked herself away violently, finally freeing the creature which flew off through the trees.

  She fell to the ground, landing awkwardly on her side, and lay still for a great long time.

  When Shallah awoke, she found the world much changed.

  A cold wind whistled through the trees as she pried her cheek from a gnarled root. Her temples throbbed painfully and a chill had crept into her breast. Her breath clouded the air before her as she sat on the forest floor, the edges of her cloak quivering as her frame trembled within. Her worst fears realized, Shallah regarded the trees with bloodshot eyes.

  Liam had been taken.

  “No,” she whispered, the word repeating itself inside her head: no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

  Crawling on her knees, she searched along the ground for the queerly shaped roots she’d been so glad to come across in her fatigue, but they were gone. Like Liam, the oak had disappeared, taking with it all the life, all the joy of this dark place. She beat on the useless trunks, breaking her nails on the wood. How could this be? How could she have lost him?

  As she fought to catch her breath, Shallah tried to piece together what had taken place. It was an owl she’d fought, she was nearly sure, a large one. She didn’t know if it had attacked her purposely, or if she’d frightened it. But why had Liam been so afraid? And where was he now? Who had taken him?

  What is this place? Shallah asked herself.

  There was more to this wood than met the eye. There was an absence in the air, like that of an abandoned home, left to rot and fall to pieces, unlived in, undone. Not only was there no light, but no growth, no renewal of life. Worse than the silent wood they’d passed through after leaving Minnow Lake, where she’d felt death in the air, this forest was alive and thriving on its own anger. By entering its tangled depths, she and Liam had aroused that anger. It had laid claim on Liam, and soon, Shallah felt sure, it would come after her.

  But where was he? Why had he been taken instead of her? How could she find him again?

  Finding her voice, like a weapon she’d thoughtlessly thrown aside, she called out to Liam on shaky lungs. Her calls were weak at first, but found strength in her panic, and rose loud and clear through the woven branches. She cried out to the boy until she’d spent her voice, only then thinking to get to her feet so her calls might carry further. But as she tried to stand, a terrible pain struck through her left foot and she tumbled forward onto her hands and knees, the child’s name coming out a final time in a strangled scream.

  But for the fear pumping through her, she might have fainted again, so bright and striking was this new hurt. Like a wounded animal she clawed at her ankle, gritting her teeth. Though she valiantly attempted to throw herself to her feet and propel herself into motion, it was no use. The pain was too acute. She couldn’t walk.

  Leaning back against a tree, utterly spent, Shallah felt her own uselessness as she’d felt the cold upon awakening, like a palpable weight holding her back. Her despair was pure. It filled her so completely she was almost glad it had come to conquer her. She’d been fighting it since the journey had begun, and now, finally, it had won.

  There’s nothing I can do now, she thought. I can’t even come to his aid. They all knew it would be this way, and so did I. I always knew.

  Admitting defeat was easier than she’d imagined. She shed no tears for her failure. She was beyond tears. She’d fallen into a pit of stone. Her leg was stone, and her face was stone. Her heart was stone.

  And stone does not yield.

  Shallah was plagued with troubling dreams. She felt her pursuers drawing nearer, their jaws snapping at her very heels. She heard Liam crying, his sobs echoing. She felt a bright light burning upon her, cracking her skin into blisters and sores. And through it all she felt herself followed, heard heavy footsteps approaching, branches snapping as something crashed through the undergrowth, coming at her, louder and louder and louder.

  She snapped awake. She pulled her dagger loose of its scabbard and clutched it in her hand. They’d found her at last. They would come from all sides, snarling in a frenzy. A twig snapped somewhere to her left, then the leaves of a bush rustled to her right. Shallah held her weapon tightly, the handle against her shoulder, the blade extended outwards. She tensed for the first blow. All was silence.

  It came at her.

  She cried out, a yell that was as much a battle cry as a scream of terror. A body crashed through the foliage and flew headlong into her. She tensed her arm to stab, but hesitated when she felt a knee in her side and hands pushing her back.

  This was no animal.

  “Who are you?” Shallah gasped as she scrambled away. “What do you want from me?” She held her knife out defensively, slashing the air so the person couldn’t draw nearer.

  “Only a traveller searching for a way out of the wood,” a man’s voice replied. “Please sheathe your weapon. I mean you no harm.”

  The voice sounded slightly familiar but she pushed recognition aside. She got to her knees and edged still farther away.

  “Why did you rush at me, then?” she asked. The man hesitated. “Answer me!” she cried, brandishing her dagger. “Tell me or I’ll wound you, I swear it!”

  “I-I thought you were a tree readying itself to attack,” the man said, his words falling over themselves as he hurried them. “I heard moaning and I thought you were … I thought you were a monster.”

  “What do you know of these trees?” Shallah demanded.

  “Put down your dagger and I’ll tell you.”

  “Not a chance,” she said, squaring herself against the man as he took his arm away from his face and looked at her for the first time.

  He gasped.

  Shallah faltered, the blade wavering in the air. What did he see?

  “It’s you,” the man said.

  Again she felt his voice was familiar. It wasn’t a voice she knew well, but one she’d heard before – a voice from home.

  “The blind girl,” the man said.

  “The Fleete boy,” Shallah said.

  For a brief moment they considered one another. Then they rushed in
to each other’s arms and embraced. It wasn’t an embrace of love, nor one of need, nor one of loneliness. It was a hard embrace, a strong embrace – an embrace of hope.

  Quite soon thereafter, Shallah found herself alone again. The Fleete boy went off in search of Liam almost as soon as she told him what had happened. He left her his blanket as well as the food in his satchel.

  “There’s plenty, so you needn’t worry,” he said as he tightened the laces on his boots. When she hesitated, he touched her hand. “We’re in this together now,” he said. “You have to keep your strength up.” He handed her a piece of bread.

  “You must find him,” Shallah said.

  She sat facing into the woods, her hair falling over the edges of the blanket he’d put around her shoulders. She held the crust of bread between her bloodied fingers. It would stay there all night, untouched.

  “I ought to see to this,” he said, touching her hand again. “Your foot needs to be bound of course, and you seem to be bleeding from the hairline as well, it’s difficult to see without any light.” He frowned at her forehead.

  Shallah turned her face in his direction and said again, “You must find him.”

  The man pried his attention away from Shallah’s wounds and looked at her. He was close enough now that he could make out her features. She had the desperate look of a wild animal. Her delicate face was marred with blood and streaked with dirt, weakened by pain and fatigue. Her clothes were a shambles, the soles of her shoes nearly worn through. Her curling hair was knotted and hung about her in a blanket of tangles. But beneath all this disorder, behind the vacant look in her eyes, he could spy a core of strength that had brought her thus far. It shone through, brilliant as the sun he’d never seen.

  “I will find him,” he replied. “I promise you.” Shallah nodded and turned her head away. “And by the way,” he said, before slipping off through the trees, “my name is Petyr.”

  She made no motion to show that she’d heard.

  Chapter Ten

  Liam couldn’t move. His shoulders were pinned and his arms and legs were bound. He could turn his head and wiggle his fingers, but nothing more. He thought he might be in a small cage or a box because there was wood all around him. It pressed against his skin. It was an awful feeling. It was like being trapped inside a burning house, and the roof is caving in.

  He wished he could sleep, but whenever he closed his eyes they were waiting for him. The two red eyes watching him out of the dark. They were monstrous eyes of the sort found only in dreams. But this was no dream. The eyes come forward to meet him, growing enormous wings and talons. They grew so large they were all he could see. And he heard Shallah screaming …

  He didn’t know how he’d come here, but he knew he’d been taken from Shallah. Shallah was far away. At certain moments he thought he heard her calling his name, but the sound was so faint he couldn’t be sure it was real. Nothing seemed quite real to him now.

  Liam wanted to be with Shallah and for none of this to have happened. He wanted to be with her so he could protect her. After he’d saved her from the buck he’d thought he was good at protecting her, but that was wrong. If you were good at protecting someone you were never afraid.

  A strange noise made Liam shiver. He felt empty and cold. It was worse than when he’d been lost in the fog. Now he felt so lost he thought he might never be found again. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what was going to happen after.

  He’d begun to think after might never come.

  Petyr ran through the trees with hardly an upward glance.

  His thoughts were simple and exact: save the boy. He thought of nothing else. He’d discovered it was easier to move through the trees if he emptied himself of thought, and of emotion. Emotion only slowed you down. He’d certainly had plenty of time to figure that out.

  Petyr had been trapped in the black wood for three days.

  On the first day he’d thought himself clever. To him, the thicker canopy of the black wood had seemed an elaborate ruse, a natural effort to bar entry into this part of the forest. As he’d passed into its depths, he’d actually let out a laugh. He’d been so sure he would find what he sought here, so sure of his own safety.

  Darkness! he’d thought to himself. What have I to fear of darkness?

  But there was a great deal to fear.

  As he leaned against the trunk of a fir, wiping the sweat from eyes, he thought over his task. He knew who’d taken the child. There was only one predator in this wood, and he knew their devilry well. They were vicious, mindless, and they knew no mercy. They were the dark oaks of the north – the first beings of true evil Petyr had ever known.

  On the morning of that first day, he’d come upon an oak squeezing the life out of a bear. It had been a long day. His early confidence had worked against him, for in his eagerness to explore the black wood he’d quickly lost his bearings. He’d spent many hours trying to find his way back out, but every time he’d tried to move southward some misfortune had befallen him. He would trip on a tree root and land on his face. His surcoat would get tangled in the branches of a tree. His way would be blocked by an enormous log or a dozen exhausting obstacles. He’d begun to notice a menacing black oak lurking in the corner of his vision.

  The message was clear: there would be no going back.

  He was trapped.

  He’d only begun to realize this when he’d heard the cries of the bear. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw next.

  It was a cub. Its body had been wrapped by the roots of the oak – roots that sprung free of the ground to catch it. Its hind legs alone had protruded from the cage of roots, and it had kicked them furiously, its claws leaving gouges in the oak’s trunk. The oak itself had been monstrous to behold; sickeningly bloated, black as night and covered in stunted branches. As Petyr had watched, too stunned to react, its roots had tightened around the bear until its cries had subsided. Then, when he’d looked away, the oak had disappeared into the wood, leaving the corpse of its victim behind.

  In the days that followed, Petyr had learned to fear the oaks above any foe he’d ever faced. They could move at will, though he’d never seen one take a step. They would follow their prey for miles, falling still when gazed upon directly.

  They killed for sport.

  That night, Petyr had awoken to find himself trapped in the roots of one of their kind, and had only escaped with his life by chance. By some miracle the sleeve of his tunic had hidden his axe which lay across his belly, encased along with him. Though it had taken some time, he’d hacked himself free of the roots with his weapon, as the oak squealed in pain. Another root had sprouted out of the ground to catch his feet and in wrenching himself free he’d been sent sprawling, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He’d thought himself done for, but again he’d been spared. There had been a moment of excruciating silence as the root had twisted this way and that, trying to locate him. Unable to do so, it had retreated into the earth and in the blink of an eye the oak had vanished.

  Petyr had discovered the oaks’ one weakness.

  They were blind.

  Still, even with this bit of knowledge, he’d had little hope. He’d known he couldn’t fight off this enemy forever. There’d been no way back, no way out. A painful death had seemed to await him no matter where he turned.

  There was nothing he could do.

  Lying across the ground where the oak had left him, only one thought had lent him strength: when there’s nothing you can do, you can still fight.

  Throughout that night Petyr had transformed himself, drawing on skills he’d hardly known he possessed, disguising himself in the clothes of survival. Realizing the oaks were drawn to their prey by sound alone, he’d taught himself to be fluid and silent as a shadow. It had been easy enough, for he’d spent his childhood creeping about the village pilfering carrots from his neighbours’ tofts. By night’s end he could move through the forest at a run, sensing the next opening in the undergrowth without
having to see it, slipping between the densely packed trees with ease. He might have been able to evade the oaks completely had his anger not drawn him back.

  As morning dawned he’d found himself stalking the oaks as they stalked their prey, utterly defiant of their might. By mid-afternoon he’d managed to get close enough to cut a coyote free just moments before it would have died. That night he’d again evaded capture by standing stock still right under an oak’s branches. He’d begun to thrive on the high of the escape, and had taken greater and greater risks at each encounter. He’d begun to fantasize about chopping an oak to pieces.

  Only one thing had worked against him. The oaks were not alone.

  They had a counterpart, a messenger to warn them of the danger they couldn’t see: the red-eyed owl. Its hooting call had spoiled Petyr’s attacks, alerting the oaks to his presence whenever he’d gotten near. Already he’d come to abhor the sound of its wings flapping through the air. His only advantage had been that it only seemed to respond when he had his weapon raised, as though the glinting metal of the axe blade was the oak’s one true foe. If he faced the oak defenceless, or with his axe tucked away, the owl remained quiet. Its slowness had worked against it as well, for he could outrun the bird. If he was quick as well as silent he could do some damage before it appeared.

  Until he’d come upon Shallah, Petyr had been lost in hate. It had consumed him utterly, blocking out all else. He’d lost three days to its hold … Three days. Now, as he flew through the wood to save the boy, everything he’d left behind in Trallee came back to him. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the memories flooding in.

  Much had changed in the village since Shallah and Liam’s departure. The people had long since given up on their fear of the boy as their minds were crowded with more immediate worries. As Petyr paused in his step, spotting what he’d been searching for up ahead, he wondered what had become of Trallee in the three days he’d wasted. Who would be there to greet him if he found his way back there again? When he tried to take rest, their wails came to him, rising out of the dark. And so, he did not rest.