Alys Clare - The Enchanter's Forest

‘What tale did you tell her this evening?’

‘One about a little girl riding through the woods on an enormous horse that was very special because, if he had to get away from his enemies, he could grow wings and fly high up above the treetops.’

‘Did she like it?’

‘Aye, she did. She wanted to know if Horace could grow wings.’

Joanna felt a chill run down her back. Trying to sound casual and unconcerned, she said, ‘Does she think he’s going to need them?’

Josse met her eyes. ‘No, Joanna. She feels no threat at the moment, I’m certain of that. In fact-’ He stopped.

‘What?’

Josse was looking perplexed. ‘Well, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but when she was riding with me this afternoon, she said there was someone following us but that we couldn’t see him because he was magic and therefore invisible.’

Joanna was horrified. ‘Do you think there really was someone there? Oh, and Meggie saw him?’

Josse put out his arms and she sank against him. As ever, the sheer bulk of his broad chest and the steady thump of his heart did much to reassure her. ‘No, she saw nothing,’ he murmured into her hair, kissing her to punctuate the words. ‘She said, as I just told you, that he was invisible.’

‘Then how could she have known he was there?’ she whispered.

Josse shrugged. ‘It was just a game, Joanna. Didn’t you have imaginary friends when you were little?’

‘Yes, but it’s different for Meggie.’

‘How is it different?’

She baulked at the enormous task of explaining how Meggie’s extraordinary heritage made her a child who had a power to see, hear and sense things that were undetectable to others. But then she is his child too, she reminded herself. Doesn’t he have the right to know? ‘Because,’ she said slowly, ‘Meggie’s imaginary friends are in all likelihood inhabitants of the spirit realm. Oh, Josse, don’t look like that’ — his expression was aghast — ‘they wouldn’t harm her for all the world! They wish only to protect her — she’s very special, you know.’

He relaxed again, but she sensed that he was only partly reassured. ‘So you keep telling me,’ he grunted. Then, his tone still gruff, he added: ‘We have another long day’s riding tomorrow. We should sleep.’

She settled down beside him. He had turned his back and she read his mood: he was emanating distress and she was sure it was because she had just been speaking of that other world that was her and Meggie’s true home. The world of the forest people, with all its magic, mystery and secrecy.

The world to which she and her daughter would soon be returning. The world where, no matter how much he loved Joanna and Meggie and they him, Josse could not follow.

No wonder he had turned away from her.

Struggling to control the grief that rose up in her, Joanna tried to relax into sleep.

Out in the dense forest at the foot of the low hill, the tall man waited. He had kept his distance today for he had sensed that the child felt his presence. It was strange, because she displayed no fear, but all the same he had seen her brown eyes with the dancing golden lights turning his way more than once and he knew he must not risk following the little party too closely.

He had the strong sense that they were now near to the forest fringes. Tomorrow, perhaps quite early in the day, they would emerge into the world of well-used tracks, small hamlets, villages and, eventually, towns. It would then be much easier, if he made some mistake, for a man on the run to melt into the crowd.

He had no real fear that he would make a mistake, for he knew what he must do and the task held no terror for him. He must take life, yes, but then he served a stern and uncompromising master and he had been given his orders. It was not for him to question what he was instructed to do. The deaths, he had been firmly instructed, would be marked down on his master’s account and not his own.

He would strike tonight. Then, if anything did go wrong — again he reminded himself that he did not believe it would — he could readily and swiftly escape into the world beyond the forest. Yes. It was good to have an emergency plan, even if he was not going to need it.

Time passed. Dawn was not far off but for now it was fully dark and he had known there would be but a sliver of moon tonight; he had been watching the steady waning for these past few nights. Scarcely a moon and no light save the bright starlight; conditions were perfect.

He drew his long knife. Its blade was honed to razor sharpness; it was not his intention to cause his victims unnecessary suffering and when he struck it would be with a sure, strong hand. They would die quickly; perhaps even before they woke.

For a killer, he was a merciful man.

Stealthily he crept out from under the hazel bush where he had hidden himself. One step, two, three, his feet falling so softly on the springy forest floor that even the most acute ears would not have heard a sound. Onward and upward, beginning now to climb the base of the hill where his prey had made their camp.

A sound from his left. He froze, as still as the tree trunks on either side of him. He listened, ears straining.

Nothing.

He crept on. The slope was steeper now and he went more slowly. Fit as he was, even he might pant for breath if he attacked the hill too fast. In any case, the snail’s pace was better because he was less likely to put a foot where it ought not to go. Such as on to a twig, which might snap under his weight. A small sound in the daytime, when the forest was alive with noise, but now, in the silence of the night, it would be like a man shouting in an empty church.

On, on, up the slope. He could see them now. The man and the woman lay close, her head resting on his shoulder. It was a position that spoke eloquently of trust and tenderness but the tall man was unmoved. He had trained himself long ago to remain aloof from human emotions. The child lay curled up beside her mother, tightly wrapped in a blanket. That was good, he thought dispassionately, for it would be a simple matter to tie her up in the bedding, cover her face and take her with him when he fled the scene.

He moved closer. Earlier they had made a fire — he had seen its flames — and now he could feel the heat from its still-glowing embers. By its light he saw that they lay on the far side of the makeshift hearth.

He studied them. The man had settled half on his back, face up to the stars, neck exposed. The woman was on her right side. The tall man stood lost in careful thought; soon his mind was made up. He would step around the fire and strike swiftly, first at the throat of the man, then through the ribs on the woman’s left side and straight into her heart. It would be just as he had hoped: they would not even wake up.

Then he would swiftly pick up the child and set off out of the forest, running as fast as he could until, coming to the first hamlet or outlying cottage, he would check for the signs that the place was inhabited and then leave his small burden on the doorstep.

Then he would go home.

He drew his knife. The metal made a tiny, harsh little hiss as it emerged from its scabbard. He pulled it clear and weighed it in his hand, letting it settle until it felt like an extension of himself.

Then he struck.

In the same instant Joanna shot up screaming like a vixen and Josse, already on his knees and rapidly pushing himself on to his feet, grasped his sword and his dagger from where he had hidden them beneath the blankets.

Even as Josse’s fighter’s brain coolly sent instructions to his limbs, he found the time for a swift prayer: Thank God for Joanna’s acute sensitivity, so that she knew danger was approaching and gave us the time to be prepared . Without that forewarning, he would now be lying there with his throat cut.