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  Keeping low to the ground, he crept forward, his gaze fixed on the black branches ahead. It was likely this oak was the culprit he sought, for the beasts didn’t covet one another’s company. There wouldn’t be another for miles. Yet, as Petyr drew nearer, the knotted arms almost overhead, he saw to his dismay that he was wrong. To the right of the first oak stood another rotting trunk, taller that the first, its gnarled branches twisting about themselves. At its base, nearly concealed in the brush, he spied a small woven mound of roots, and extending out of it, a small pair of feet. One of Liam’s shoes had fallen off.

  Petyr’s first instinct was to leap forward and tear the child from his captivity. He’d not forgotten that it was his word that had cast this boy into the wood. He cringed to remember it. At the time, he’d been revelling in his own misery for so long that blame had become his only release. What sudden form of madness had seized the crowd that day to make them believe in the words of a man so broken, so vile? He’d thought himself caught in the deepest despair. He’d since learned that one can always go deeper. Despair knows no bounds

  Crouching on the forest floor, Petyr reviewed his options. He’d never faced two of these foes at a time before. Perhaps, working in tandem, they had heightened hearing. Perhaps one had been stationed to stand guard. His mind whirled with possibilities. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he needed to know.

  He didn’t know the significance of finding two Ferukai standing together. He didn’t know their people had taken an oath long ago to keep their distance from one another for all their days – all their days, but one.

  He didn’t know of the prophecy.

  Had he known, he would have been stricken. Had he known, he would have fled. But Petyr had no idea of the grave risk these Ferukai were taking, that they’d broken the oath and stolen the boy, endangering themselves and their people.

  They’d risked everything for this moment and the promise of eternal glory.

  They were putting the prophecy into effect ahead of time.

  Petyr closed his eyes, trying to steady his nerves. From a pouch at his belt he retrieved a small square of blue cloth. He pressed it to his lips.

  Speediness is key, he thought. Risk be damned. I must free him before it’s too late.

  Taking a deep breath, he ventured forward. At the same moment, less than a mile away, a large red-eyed owl hooted once and took flight.

  Not far off, Shallah awaited Petyr’s return. She rocked back and forth, thinking of all that had befallen; of Trallee, of Liam, of Petyr. She felt no fear, no pain, no guilt – nothing at all. Under her breath she repeated a phrase, its syllables keeping time with her rocking.

  Come back, she said. Come back. Come back. Come back.

  She might have gone on like that all night if it weren’t for an odd sound which came through the trees. It approached her in a looming wave, its volume rising. When it broke upon her, feeling flooded back into her body. A horrible moaning the likes of which she’d never imagined filled her ears. Shallah had the distinct feeling that the trees themselves were crying out in pain. The sound was so all-consuming that she had to cover her ears with the blanket, but even so she could still hear the crying as it built in strength and intensity. It was almost as if it came from within herself and was battling with her body to be free.

  The sound persisted for a great while before dwindling off, though it didn’t stop entirely. Shallah was left panting, wondering frantically what the noise meant for Liam and Petyr. But before she had a moment to consider this, a new sound greeted her.

  Somewhere off in the wood a great fight was taking place. It began with a terrible creaking, much like the sound of a breaking tree branch. Then the ground began to shake, and Shallah heard the unmistakable sound of blows being cracked. Unable to picture the fight, she sat in an agony of anticipation, grinding her fists into the earth.

  I must do something, she thought to herself. I can’t sit here and wait. I can’t sit here as they die.

  A human howl of pain rose in the air, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She tore off the blanket and got to her feet. The pain from her wounded foot ran up to her knee, which nearly buckled. She cried out, grabbing the branch of a nearby tree to steady herself. Gripping the bark with her bloodied fingers, she forced herself to breathe through the pain.

  If you can’t walk, she told herself, you are of no use to anyone. You have to take this step, or you’ve truly failed him.

  Holding her breath, Shallah straightened her back and placed all her weight on her wounded foot. The pain shot up at once, but not as intensely this time. She thought the ankle might be merely twisted, not broken. Still, when she attempted to take a step, her eyes filled with tears and a whimper escaped her lips.

  The ground shook beneath her feet as the far-off battle continued. She imagined Petyr broken and bleeding, saw Liam weeping as his captors carried him away. A steady strumming took up within her at these images, and so strong was this beating, like that of a single drum, that it blotted out some of her pain and she was able to go on.

  Gingerly, she walked a few paces through the trees until she came upon her satchel. Feeling in the grass by its side, she found the dagger and took it up by the handle. This time, as she held it in her hand, she didn’t tremble. She set her jaw. Then she turned and, with a pronounced limp, set off through the trees, using the dreadful sounds of battle as her guide.

  It took Petyr some time to reach the base of the monstrous tree. In his close proximity to the trunks, he had to be especially careful not to make the slightest sound. As he inched along, itching to run, it struck him that the wood had gone silent, almost as though the forest was anticipating his attack. He pushed this thought away. It wouldn’t do to be getting nervous at this point. Besides, if the trees were aware of him, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

  When he was within a few feet of Liam he lowered himself to the ground and crawled forward, his sights set on the woven cocoon. It was shaped like a cone, and jutted out of the trunk a foot off the ground. Liam’s feet poked out of one end, one in bare hose, the other shod. Leaning forward, Petyr peered through the tiny gaps in the weaving, desperate to make contact with the boy. He couldn’t see a thing. It was like staring into a rabbit’s hole.

  Aware that at any moment the owl might sound the alarm, Petyr reached forward and took hold of one of Liam’s feet, shaking it gently. Immediately the child stirred and opened his eyes.

  Petyr stared.

  Liam’s golden eyes were luminous. They shone as bright as the moon.

  Blinking in the startling glare, Petyr pushed his face closer to the gap in the roots.

  “Liam,” he whispered urgently, and the child’s face softened at the sound of his own name. “Boy, I’ve come to help.”

  A rush of wind blew through the wood, showering them with needles. Petyr looked about anxiously before going on.

  “Don’t fret now,” he said, his words barely audible over the gusts. “I’ll soon have you free.”

  He pushed a finger through the tiny hole and Liam grasped it gratefully, warm tears of relief bathing his cheeks.

  Chapter Eleven

  There was no way around it; he would have to use the axe.

  Petyr patted Liam on the knee as he regarded the weapon in his hand. No amount of pulling had loosened the boy to the smallest degree. The roots holding him would have to be severed and his axe was the only available tool. But the danger was real. At the first cut the tree would lash out. Both their lives would be in peril. Not to mention the danger to the child at having his bindings chopped away. One swing too large, one cut too deep …

  The wind picked at Petyr’s clothes as he watched his foes warily. Something wasn’t right. In truth, he should have been discovered by now, for his attempts to free Liam had been less than silent. At any second he expected an attack, a sudden blow to the head, but nothing came. It worried him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d willingly walked into
some kind of trap.

  But the time to stall had passed. If he was to save this child, he had to act now. Leaning toward the cocoon, he focused on Liam’s startling eyes.

  “It’s time now,” Petyr whispered, and the child nodded. He was astounded by the boy’s composure. Any other child would have been wailing. “Hold as still as you can and the moment you’re free, run. I’ll come after you.” Again Liam nodded. “Good,” Petyr said, mostly to himself. “It will all be over soon.”

  The wind died down abruptly as he raised the axe above his head. No hooting greeted him. He took a deep breath, readying to swing.

  Then something miraculous took place.

  The roots that held Liam captive began to unravel. One by one they retreated back into the ground, slithering away like garden snakes. Within moments Liam’s face was visible, then his entire torso. Wide-eyed, his axe still raised, Petyr watched as the cocoon collapsed before him and disappeared into the earth. Only the boy’s wrists and ankles remained bound, leaving him suspended. Petyr dropped his axe in amazement.

  “What devilry is this?” he whispered as he braced his hands behind Liam’s back, holding him as he would a babe. The boy looked up at him in confusion. “Quickly,” Petyr said. “Quickly, now.”

  He immediately bent to work, tugging at the roots which held Liam’s wrists, supporting him with his knee. The binds held fast, wound so tightly they seemed to have become one with the boy’s skin. Again Petyr resolved that he’d have to use the axe, and turned to find it on the ground. His body pulsed with urgency. He had to strike before the next trick was pulled. In a moment it would be too late. In a moment all could be lost.

  Then that moment came.

  For, just as he took up his axe, a great wailing grew up out of nowhere, knocking him to the ground. It was the sound of a hundred mourners, though many times harsher and so loud it could hardly be withstood. Liam opened his mouth in a soundless scream and tried in vain to cover his ears. Without abating, the noise rose until Petyr couldn’t fight it back. He gripped his head, unable to think or move. He could only lay where he’d fallen, staring ahead.

  Directly in his line of sight was Liam’s shackled form, his luminous eyes shut tight. Though Petyr was no more than an arm’s length away he no longer had the strength to extend his hand to him. He could do nothing but watch as Liam’s head fell to the side, and his body went slack with the exhaustion of pain. He focused on the boy’s shoeless foot. His hose was too big for him and it bunched around the heel. It reminded him of his daughters’ stockings.

  Then, all at once, the foot vanished and Petyr was left blinking at the place where Liam had been. It gaped like an open wound. As the terrific noise kept on, he tried to understand what had happened, but could not. The spot stayed empty, the Liam’s abandoned shoe the only clue that remained.

  The child was lost again.

  Petyr knew nothing for a great while. The world consisted of a greyness swimming before his eyes and a faint ringing in his ears. His prone body was limp as a doll’s and his face held no expression. It was as though he’d surrendered himself to nothingness.

  He’d no knowledge of the further pain he would soon endure.

  All at once he found his mind clearing. The horrific wailing had abated to a mere murmur. With some effort he was able to open his eyes and sit up. The trees were quite still and the wind had died away, though its cold shadow remained. A white mist had developed near the ground and only his head and shoulders emerged from it.

  He was unsettled by the continuing murmur for he couldn’t locate its source. It seemed to come from all directions. He shook his head briskly, as though to clear it. He wouldn’t waste a moment at this dreadful scene. He focused his mind on Liam and the task of retrieving him, though he’d no idea where he’d gone. Musing over the impossibility of so much that had taken place, Petyr took a last glance at his enemies as he got to his feet.

  The blood drained from his face.

  He reached for his axe on instinct. It was such an innocent mistake. It was the mistake of a farmer forced into battle, of a father seeing a child in danger, of a man …

  Petyr heard wings flapping. A great creaking sound filled his ears as he stared upwards in disbelief.

  The ground began to tremble.

  Liam’s eyes snapped open as he felt himself lifted off the ground, but his mind remained firmly shut. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t feel, or react, or understand. He could only see.

  He saw a branch grasp him by the middle.

  He saw the ground retreat beneath his feet.

  He saw the limbs of both oaks reaching for him.

  He saw new branches emerge where none had been before, saw their twiggy fingers pulling him up.

  He saw his body passed from one branch to another, higher and higher.

  He saw the tops of the trees.

  Then he saw his legs and arms stretched apart, saw his left hand and foot shackled to one trunk, and his right to another.

  He saw the twigs begin to weave about his legs.

  The world rushed back in. Liam felt a new pain: terror. His body hurt where the oaks held him, and his head hurt from the wailing. But the terror was worst of all. It made his breath catch and his eyes bulge. It made the forest tilt and shift. It made the world huge and then small and then huge again.

  He’d felt terror like this only once before.

  The branches worked quickly. They’d already moved over his knees. The branches were like arms and the twigs were like fingers. It wasn’t right for a tree to have hands and arms that could move on their own. He looked down at the twigs all moving together, covering his thighs. He decided never to look at them again.

  When the cage reached his chest, he began to struggle. A moment ago Peter had been about to set him free. A moment ago he’d been rescued. Liam’s vision blurred. He pulled at the manacles with all his might but couldn’t get free. He thrashed about in anger. He wanted to scream.

  This was just like before.

  Liam wanted to go back to before. He wanted to go back to before Shallah, before Trallee, before the forest, before, before, before.

  He wanted to go home.

  But he couldn’t.

  The twigs wound together like braids. They cut into his back and his shoulders and his neck. He couldn’t turn his head. He looked down because there was nowhere else to look.

  He saw Petyr lying on the forest floor.

  Liam stared. He couldn’t tell if Petyr was dead or alive. His body was so small and still. He willed Petyr to move. His lips trembled with the desire.

  As the twigs began to weave over his ears and chin, it occurred to Liam that they would soon cover his eyes and he wouldn’t be able to see Petyr. This was too much. The little boy’s eyes filled with tears – tears that would never fall.

  For, all of a sudden, the wailing became much softer. Liam looked down.

  He saw Petyr stir.

  He saw him stand.

  He saw him look up.

  They stared at one another.

  The owl’s screech was like a whisper. Liam felt the prickly motion of the twigs come to a halt just over his cheeks.

  Then a sound like the snapping of a thousand branches filled the air.

  The oaks began to tremble.

  Petyr nearly lost his footing as the ground beneath him buckled and rolled. The creaking seemed to come from all sides, and just as with the wailing, he couldn’t locate the source. In bewilderment he looked from Liam in his cocoon high above, to the trees that held him, to the leagues of trunks all around. He knew this could be a manipulation. The oaks thrived on trickery.

  The ground shook more violently still and he lost his grip on his axe as he flung his arms wide to regain his balance. It flew into the underbrush over his shoulder and he turned to seek it out, falling to his knees.

  “Not now, not now,” he muttered under his breath as he plucked at the earth, squinting in the dark.

  Leaning back on his haunches
to take a breath, he felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, a feeling he remembered from childhood when his brother would sneak up behind him and yell in his ear. Petyr began to tremble as he strained to see his attacker out of the corner of his eye. He knew in an instant that all his cocky bravery in the face of these foes had been a farce.

  He felt his blood run cold and closed his eyes.

  He was too afraid to turn around.

  Chapter Twelve

  All had gone quiet.

  Petyr stood still as a statue, his breath billowing before him. He’d just begun to think it was safe to turn around when he felt a rush of wind at his right side and ducked on instinct, looking over his shoulder. What he saw would remain in his memory as the most amazing sight of his lifetime, one that still brought a chill of fright to his heart years later.

  The black oaks had advanced upon Petyr while his back was turned. As he swung to face them, he found the beasts towering over him, their massive trunks planted no more than a foot away, Liam’s cocoon swinging between them. In their rage, they’d grown precariously in height, their branches doubling in size, their trunks thickening. Their very bark had spiked with fury, and their branches swung wildly, searching for a victim. But it wasn’t the might of the trees that bewitched Petyr, nor their sudden proximity. As he cowered before them, he was suddenly dazzled by a blinding light which, for an instant, brought everything to a halt.

  Liam’s cage began to throb, flexing in and out like the beating of a gigantic heart. A pure light began to emanate from its depths. It spread to the edges of the cage, appearing to Petyr as a fiery star against the canopy, before bursting from its confines, blasting the forest with a display of light so brilliant it brought tears to his eyes.

  Colours emerged. The shrivelled leaves of saplings opened, gleaming, to the warmth. Matted grass perked and stood on end. Birds and small rodents shot out in all directions to escape the sudden onslaught of light. And at the heart of the eruption a tiny figure hung, throbbing like a swollen wound, as from its centre daylight flowed freely, lighting the wood.