The Whispering Trees (21 page)

“I'm sorry,” he said. “We brought you into this. It's all our fault.”

The old witch hugged him tight and buried her face in his hair for just a moment.

Then shoved him away.

“You really are a foolish little boy, aren't you?” she asked. Taff winced as though slapped, tears already forming in his eyes. “Don't you get it? Your path through the Thickety was charted out a long, long time ago.” She turned to Kara. “Every single footprint you've made is because he wanted you to make it. With my assistance, of course.”

“We trusted you,” Taff said, and Kara winced at the pain in his voice.

“You were meant to! That's why Sordyr, in his infinite
wisdom, allowed you to escape onto the bridge—so I could ‘save' you from the branchwolves. After that it was all too easy. I
pretended
to guide you, but my true role was training your sister to be a
wexari
. The Forest Demon needs her to be strong if she's going to fulfill her purpose.”

Watcher was right. . . .

“From the very beginning, it was all a test,” Kara muttered. “The grettin. Crossing the Draye'varg. The darkeaters. Imogen.”

“At last,” said Mary, “you're beginning to understand.”

“But why would you help Sordyr in the first place?” Taff asked.

“Have you forgotten? I am
Mary Kettle
. I'm
evil
.”

“Not anymore. You feel bad about the things you've done. You want to be
good
.”

Mary grabbed Taff by the chin and tilted his head to the side. She brought her lips to his ear, close enough to bite.

“Heed me and heed me well, child.
I will never be good
.”

“Her grimoire,” said Kara. “That's why she helped him. It's the only thing she's ever cared about in her long, sad life. Sordyr promised to return your grimoire to you, didn't he?”

“Even better,” said Mary Kettle. “The Forest Demon is going to grant me a
new
grimoire. Think of all those blank pages waiting to be filled. I'm going to be a proper witch again. You understand, boy? You were nothing but a means to an end. I was never your friend!”

Mary picked up her sack and carried it toward a waiting horse with black flowers in its eyes.

“I don't believe you,” Taff said.

Mary turned back, shock registering plainly on her face.

“At first it was like you said,” Taff continued. “You were helping Sordyr. But as we traveled, you started to change. You began to like us. Maybe even love us.”

“You don't know anything about me.”

Taff crossed his arms and gave her a challenging stare.

“I guess we'll just have to see who's right, then.”

Mary opened her mouth as though to reply, then shook her head in disgust. “Foolish child,” she muttered. She mounted her horse and, with one last uneasy look at Taff, galloped down the path.

Sordyr led them farther into the forest, the branchwolves trailing behind them. They eventually came to a carriage constructed from black bark. Wheels of dried mud sat upon two parallel sets of roots, raised from the ground and extending along the path. Four horses with mossy flanks were harnessed to the carriage by red ivy.

Kara recognized one of them.

“Shadowdancer?” she asked.

Kara reached out a hand to stroke her old friend's mane, but the beast snapped at her with thorny teeth.

“It's me,” she said. “Kara. Don't you remember?”

Maintaining a safe distance, she peered into Shadowdancer's eyes and saw nothing there but flowers
and evil. The noble soul that had once blessed the horse's frame was gone forever.

During the walk from the beach Kara had felt cold and lifeless, but now coals of black rage flickered to life and warmed her body.

She turned to Sordyr.

“I want my friend back,” she said.

“What makes you think my magic can be undone?”

Kara's reply died on her lips. The very idea of magic implied the impossible—that
everything
could be undone. The thought of such permanence unnerved her.

Shadowdancer might be beyond saving
.

Father as well
.

Sordyr waved his hand and the carriage door opened, revealing a floor of packed dirt from which grew a garden of lavender flowers. The interior of the carriage was redolent with the smell of spring.

“For you,” Sordyr said.

“How considerate,” replied Kara, making no effort
to conceal the sarcasm in her voice. She looked back at Shadowdancer.
There's nothing I can do for her. Not now, at least
. Taking Taff by the hand, Kara led him into the carriage. They huddled closely together on a bench that stretched along one wall.

“I have been waiting for someone like you a long time, Kara,” Sordyr said. He curled a branch hand around the doorway of the carriage, and for one horrifying moment Kara thought he was going to come inside and sit next to her. “Things can go well for you here—if you do what I ask.”

“And what is that, exactly?”

Just as Sordyr was about to reply, his hands shook with terrible force, rocking the carriage back and forth. A low, guttural moan clawed its way out of his throat.

Branches creaked and swayed.

Leaves rustled.

Branchwolves howled their dirt-choked howls.

“What's he doing?” Taff asked, pressing himself against
the back of the wagon. “Is he casting a spell?”

Kara shook her head; if the past few months had taught her anything, it was the sound of suffering.

“I think there's something wrong with him,” she said.

“That's good, right? Wrong is good.”

Before Kara could answer, Sordyr's hands stopped shaking. Within the darkness of his hood, his eyes burned a fierce shade of green, like kindle that had been relit.

“What just happened?” Kara asked.

“Nothing of consequence,” Sordyr said. “Just her pathetic little attempt to control me.”

“Who?” Kara asked.

The carriage door slammed shut.

The journey took two days, their passage remarkably smooth along the root tracks that threaded through the trees. There were no windows in the carriage, but it was quick and easy work to jab four eyeholes in the bark's exterior, allowing Taff and Kara a view of the outside world.
They passed through several more deserted villages—including one that seemed to be constructed entirely of glass—and a large swamp from which crocodilian eyes watched them with insatiable hunger. The carriage cut through a field of pink flowers that whispered their names and was home to a sad, shambling creature entirely overtaken by black fungus. They saw trees that grew upside down in an earthy sky, flocked by thrumming birds whose sole purpose was to catch and replace an ever-falling cascade of soil. They saw purple leaves enfold scurrying mice and then quickly open, releasing something new and terrible into the world.

On the third day they came to the outskirts of a village. Here the carriage abandoned the root tracks for a dirt road cleared of trees. Elderly men and women—some with beautiful ebony skin unlike anything Kara had ever seen—walked along the sides of the carriage, carrying baskets or pushing wheelbarrows. It could have been De'Noran, were it not for their brightly colored clothes
and the canopy of glowing leaves impersonating sunlight.

“Who
are
these people?” asked Taff.

“I don't know,” Kara said. “Maybe they came from the World like the Children of the Fold did, once upon a day.”

“But all the other villages we saw were wiped out. Why not this one?”

“Because they've sworn their allegiance to Sordyr,” Kara said. “Remember what Mary said? About the village where he gathered the survivors?”

“Kala Malta,” said Taff.

Kara nodded. “This must be it.”

They passed an old woman singing to a baby. Kara couldn't hear the words, but the woman's tone was sad, as though she did not want to make any false promises of happiness to her young charge. Kara noticed that many of the villagers bore scars across their arms and unsmiling faces.

“Something's wrong here,” Kara said. Noting the questioning look on Taff's face, she added, “Even more wrong than usual.”

They heard a loud squeaking noise, like a gate swinging open. Shortly after this the carriage ground to a halt.

The door opened.

Kara stepped out first, happy to stand on stable ground after so many days of travel. Without the walls of the wagon to impede her view she was able to see the village in its entirety. The buildings were smaller than those in De'Noran and constructed with red clay and straw roofs. Most looked like residences, but to Kara's left was a store of some sort; through the open doorway she saw shelves stocked with colorful glass beakers and an old man leaning against a counter. Just outside the store, a worn-looking woman with a leaf patch over one eye strung together black shells; farther down the road a little girl turned a skewered, boar-like creature over an open fire. The smell of roasting meat filled the air.

Taff took a step in the meat's direction but Kara held him back.

“Why aren't they coming to greet us?” she asked. “They're barely even looking in our direction.” Deep
within the Thickety as they were, Kara assumed that the residents of Kala Malta would be burning with curiosity about any new arrivals. Their attention, however, remained fixed on the entrance of the village.

They're waiting for something
.

From the shadows on either side of the road came men and women with shaved heads and leafless wreaths of branches encircling their necks. They wore purple cloaks and their ears and lips were pierced with black thorns.

Kara felt Taff's hand slip into her own.

In the distance the main road branched off into two paths: one lined with more huts, the other scarred by sunken wheel lines and hoofprints. Along the latter path came Sordyr, his trot graceful and unhurried, cloak snapping even in the mild breeze. As he passed, each villager fell to his or her knees. Those wearing the purple cloaks raised their voices in long, ardent wails that sounded eerily like rustling leaves. It was not, Kara thought, a sound any human voice should be capable of making.

“No one's going to help us here,” said Taff. “We're on our own.”

Despite her growing terror, Kara managed to smile. “That's always been true,” she said. “And we've gotten this far just fine.”

Behind Sordyr stood a towering gate, part of a huge fence that encircled the village. The fence was constructed from numerous branches woven tightly together like a net. It looked, from this distance, as though it could be easily climbed, and yet something about the fence disturbed Kara even more than the men and women in purple cloaks.

She thought she might have seen it move
.

Two old women led Kara and Taff to a nondescript hut in the center of the village. Here waited dishes of food and, even more important to Kara, two washcloths and a tureen filled with water. Kara tried to ask the old women a few questions, but they just shook their heads and
departed as quickly as possible.

As soon as they were gone, Taff reached for the food. Kara pulled it away, handing him a washcloth instead.

“Fine,” he said, rubbing the small towel unenthusiastically across his face. When he saw the amount of dirt he had removed, however, Taff grimaced with disgust and began scrubbing himself with sincerity. Two sets of clean clothes had been laid out for them, and after Kara was satisfied she was at least moderately clean, she hesitantly pulled on the dress, sleeveless and sewn from a thin, comfortable fabric. The lower half was sky blue and very pretty, but it was the upper half that caught the eye: a perfectly symmetrical collage of yellow and blue patterns. After a lifetime of plain dresses it felt odd to wear such vibrant colors. Kara was certain her brother would laugh at her, but he just shook his head and smiled.

“It looks good on you, but that's because you're a girl,” he said, shifting uncomfortably. “All these colors look ridiculous on a boy!”

He wore tan pants, cut short at the knees, and a loose garment woven with red, green, and purple diamonds.

“I think you look very handsome,” said Kara, biting back laughter. Noticing a spot of dirt he had missed on his neck, Kara bent down to clean it—when the door opened and a large, dark-skinned man with a bushy white beard stepped into the hut. Half hidden behind the man's imposing frame was a girl about Taff's age, with long, braided hair and delicate features.

“So you're them,” the man said with a considerate expression—not unfriendly, but not exactly welcoming, either. He folded his arms across his chest. “Safi, go play outside. I need to talk to our guests.”

If the girl heard him, she gave no sign. Instead she studied Kara with an openly inquisitive look, then nodded to herself as though something had been confirmed.

“Hello,” Kara said, waving her hand.

The girl gasped with surprise and fled through the front door.

“She's a strange one,” said Taff.

“My name is Breem,” the man said. “That was my daughter, Safi. She is my light and joy. Gather? You are not to talk to her. You are not to go near her. Sordyr says you have to sleep in my home, and I am in no position to argue. I am just a simple worker. But I will protect my own.”

“We mean your daughter no harm,” said Kara.

“Hmm,” said Breem. He worked his jaw from side to side, his deep-set eyes boring into Kara's. She tried not to stare at the patches of burned skin that had colonized his face and arms. “I must be honest. I was expecting someone different. You're just children.”

“I'm almost eight,” said Taff, with such an offended tone that Breem almost smiled.

“What do your people call you?” he asked.

Kara told him their names.

“And is it true,” he asked, “that you come from beyond the Thickety?”