He wandered over to the brush where his knife had landed and retrieved it, sheathing it back in the scabbard on his belt.
“If only you had Kiranrao’s blade,” she suggested. “That would have worked.”
Shion shook his head, revulsion replacing his calm expression. “I don’t want it. There is something malignant about that blade. Every time I am near it, I feel . . . whispers . . . in my heart.”
“You feel whispers? You don’t hear them?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s not voices in my head. They’re in my heart.” He tapped his chest with a finger. “They’re familiar to me.” He glanced around at the trees, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. “This place is familiar. I’ve been here before.”
She reached for his hand and then patted it, nodding without understanding. In a strange way, it was the same for her. The presence of ancient Dryads was all around her, making her feel tiny and insignificant. Yet at the same time, their magic was familiar to her, a need . . . a longing inside her chest. It was a strange emotion.
“Come,” Tyrus snapped. “We cannot stop for long. Other dangers will face us if we stay put.” He started off into the trees and the rest gathered to join him.
Paedrin approached Shion. “That was brave what you did. You didn’t know that its magic wouldn’t harm you.”
Shion shrugged and said nothing in reply. He took Phae by the arm and pulled her with him to join her father. The dead hounds were everywhere, marking the ground of the group’s first victory. But instead of feeling joyful, Phae was sickened by the carnage. Would the Vecses hounds return with their master destroyed?
They walked for an interminable distance, craning low at times to pass beneath the huge, swollen limbs of the trees. Phae had a sense when one was occupied by a Dryad and warned her father to steer away from it. She could almost feel them brushing against her mind, trying to coax her to communicate. She shut them away from her thoughts, not wanting to heed them.
Tyrus paused frequently along the way, studying the land as if memorizing a trail or trying to remember if he had passed that way before. Sometimes he looked troubled, as if the memories were too awful. A series of strange clicking noises began to echo through the trees, as if defiantly chastising them for entering the forbidden domain. Some of the party members conversed in hushed tones. They paused after several hours for a quick meal from their packs and a drink of musty water.
As they paused to rest and eat, a sound came from far away—the call of some wild, catlike animal. Tyrus stiffened immediately, tilting his head and listening closely.
“A Weir,” he said sullenly. “Not hunting. It’s alerting its kind to where it is.” He swore softly under his breath. “They are more vicious than the hounds.”
“They’re not two-headed as well, are they?” Baylen asked blandly, chewing on a heel of dried bread.
Tyrus shook his head. “No. But their claws are like daggers and poisoned.”
“Wonderful,” the Cruithne said. “Will we sleep?”
“No,” Tyrus said. “Not unless we absolutely need to and never for long. Staying still is death. We must keep moving. Come.” He rose and started off again, somehow knowing the way to go.
At least, Phae thought he did.
Not farther down the unmarked path, they encountered an unending row of boulders forming a low wall. It looked exactly like the row of boulders they had passed over while entering the Scourgelands earlier. She stared at it in shock. Had they come all this way only to be turned around and reach the beginning again?
Tyrus stiffened when the wall appeared in the shadow of the trees ahead. He stared at it, dumbfounded. “That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“We’re back where we started?” Phae asked, her heart sinking.
He stared at it, his face suddenly turning pale. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening into hooked talons again. She saw the tremor on his lips, the memories spilling into his mind with a thousand fears. She gripped his arm, stroking it.
“Father?”
He stared at the wall, as if it were some perplexing mystery that baffled him. The look on his face was fearful, almost like a child’s.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “You warned us this would happen. The woods are like a maze. They turn us around.” She did not want the others to see her father like this. He was always so certain and determined. “It’s all right, Father.”
His breathing was quickening, but he closed his eyes. He nodded to her, reaching out and squeezing her hand with such intensity that it hurt.
“If only you had Kiranrao’s blade,” she suggested. “That would have worked.”
Shion shook his head, revulsion replacing his calm expression. “I don’t want it. There is something malignant about that blade. Every time I am near it, I feel . . . whispers . . . in my heart.”
“You feel whispers? You don’t hear them?”
“No, that’s not it. It’s not voices in my head. They’re in my heart.” He tapped his chest with a finger. “They’re familiar to me.” He glanced around at the trees, a dazed look appearing in his eyes. “This place is familiar. I’ve been here before.”
She reached for his hand and then patted it, nodding without understanding. In a strange way, it was the same for her. The presence of ancient Dryads was all around her, making her feel tiny and insignificant. Yet at the same time, their magic was familiar to her, a need . . . a longing inside her chest. It was a strange emotion.
“Come,” Tyrus snapped. “We cannot stop for long. Other dangers will face us if we stay put.” He started off into the trees and the rest gathered to join him.
Paedrin approached Shion. “That was brave what you did. You didn’t know that its magic wouldn’t harm you.”
Shion shrugged and said nothing in reply. He took Phae by the arm and pulled her with him to join her father. The dead hounds were everywhere, marking the ground of the group’s first victory. But instead of feeling joyful, Phae was sickened by the carnage. Would the Vecses hounds return with their master destroyed?
They walked for an interminable distance, craning low at times to pass beneath the huge, swollen limbs of the trees. Phae had a sense when one was occupied by a Dryad and warned her father to steer away from it. She could almost feel them brushing against her mind, trying to coax her to communicate. She shut them away from her thoughts, not wanting to heed them.
Tyrus paused frequently along the way, studying the land as if memorizing a trail or trying to remember if he had passed that way before. Sometimes he looked troubled, as if the memories were too awful. A series of strange clicking noises began to echo through the trees, as if defiantly chastising them for entering the forbidden domain. Some of the party members conversed in hushed tones. They paused after several hours for a quick meal from their packs and a drink of musty water.
As they paused to rest and eat, a sound came from far away—the call of some wild, catlike animal. Tyrus stiffened immediately, tilting his head and listening closely.
“A Weir,” he said sullenly. “Not hunting. It’s alerting its kind to where it is.” He swore softly under his breath. “They are more vicious than the hounds.”
“They’re not two-headed as well, are they?” Baylen asked blandly, chewing on a heel of dried bread.
Tyrus shook his head. “No. But their claws are like daggers and poisoned.”
“Wonderful,” the Cruithne said. “Will we sleep?”
“No,” Tyrus said. “Not unless we absolutely need to and never for long. Staying still is death. We must keep moving. Come.” He rose and started off again, somehow knowing the way to go.
At least, Phae thought he did.
Not farther down the unmarked path, they encountered an unending row of boulders forming a low wall. It looked exactly like the row of boulders they had passed over while entering the Scourgelands earlier. She stared at it in shock. Had they come all this way only to be turned around and reach the beginning again?
Tyrus stiffened when the wall appeared in the shadow of the trees ahead. He stared at it, dumbfounded. “That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“We’re back where we started?” Phae asked, her heart sinking.
He stared at it, his face suddenly turning pale. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening into hooked talons again. She saw the tremor on his lips, the memories spilling into his mind with a thousand fears. She gripped his arm, stroking it.
“Father?”
He stared at the wall, as if it were some perplexing mystery that baffled him. The look on his face was fearful, almost like a child’s.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “You warned us this would happen. The woods are like a maze. They turn us around.” She did not want the others to see her father like this. He was always so certain and determined. “It’s all right, Father.”
His breathing was quickening, but he closed his eyes. He nodded to her, reaching out and squeezing her hand with such intensity that it hurt.
