Барб Хенди - Of Truth and Beasts

Ore-Locks whispered, “Why did they bother inspecting our horses for wounds before letting us onto the plain?”

“I don’t know,” Wynn answered.

Neither did Chane. He still puzzled over Wynn’s instruction that no blood be spilled in this place.

“Wait!” Wynn whispered excitedly. “Stop the wagon.”

The wagon lurched to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” Ore-Locks asked.

“Look at all of this,” Wynn breathed.

Chane frowned. This was no time for her to be taking in the view.

“Just flowers,” Ore-Locks scoffed. “Strange enough, but nothing to—”

“Not just wildflowers,” Wynn answered. “They’re anasgiah , a sacred—”

“What did you say?” interrupted a third voice.

The strange accent and blunt tone marked it as the patrol leader, the one who had finally introduced himself as Althahk.

“The flowers,” Wynn answered. “Why do you have anasgiah planted all over here?”

A long pause followed.

“You mean anamgiah? ” he asked. “It is a healing and cleansing herb that grows wild, suitable to this plain’s tranquillity.”

Chane was already trying to get his mask and glasses back on. Premin Hawes had corrected him the same way when shown translated notes from the Seven Leaves of Life . If he had heard right, one of those seven was here, all around him.

“Yes, um, that’s what I meant,” Wynn answered.

Chane heard Ore-Locks cluck and then flick the reins. As the wagon lurched, Chane peeked out from beneath the canvas’s edge.

The sun had not fully set, and he ground his teeth as the glasses darkened. He waited for them to adjust, hoping he would not miss what Wynn had seen. As the wagon moved onward, a small bit of white appeared in the tall grass beyond the road’s edge.

Chane’s gaze locked as it slipped slowly by.

The dome of tiny, pearl-colored flowers was almost phosphorescent in the fading light. Their leaflike blossoms grew in clusters that shimmered like white velvet. The stems appeared so dark green, they were nearly black.

All Chane wanted was to climb out and snatch them up. Then they were gone. As the wagon rocked down the road, he searched the grass, though his view was far too limited. He caught only two more glimpses of white too far out in the deep grass to see clearly.

“Hand me the reins,” Wynn said.

“Why?” Ore-Locks returned.

“We’ll be entering the forest shortly, and I should drive.”

This was not an adequate answer to Ore-Locks’s question, but it said much to Chane. Wynn had told him of her experiences within the Elven Territories of the an’Cróan, and of what Chap had learned concerning the Ancient Enemy’s hordes of long ago.

No undead could enter an elven forest. Or, specifically, by Wynn’s reasoning, no forest protected by an ancient tree called Sanctuary, or its like offspring on Chane’s own continent.

The forest itself would sense any undead and confuse it with madness and fright. Then the majay-hì would come to pull it down and slaughter it. In Chane’s time with Welstiel, that cold madman had also mentioned this.

As an undead, how could Welstiel have known and survived to speak of it?

Chane stroked his thumb over the ring of nothing, fitted snuggly on his left third finger. Perhaps the forest had not known Welstiel was there. Chane braced himself, waiting.

He did not know what to expect, and Wynn had also worried about this moment. He lay there so long in hiding, wondering how close they were. He began feeling exhausted by tension, and at last his grogginess began to wane.

Had the sun finally set?

“Chane, you can come out,” Wynn said softly. “We’re there!”

Chane flipped the canvas aside and heard Shade, who was also in back, growl as its corner flopped over her rump. Darkness filled his view, and he pulled off the glasses and mask, immediately pivoting onto one knee. They were surrounded by the trees.

Wynn glanced over her shoulder, first at him and then beyond. He followed her gaze to the two elven patrollers still behind the wagon. They both took note of his sudden appearance and frowned slightly in silence.

Likely Althahk was out in front. This was not good. If Chane was wrong about the ring, the last thing Wynn needed was to be caught bringing an undead into their land.

Chane began to feel ... something.

A nervous twitch squirmed through his body. Perhaps it was only some effect of the violet concoction amplified by his anxiety. He peered into the trees all around. They were everywhere. One passed by right next to the wagon, and he leaned away on instinct.

The trunk was as large as a small fortification tower, and at least so wide that the wagon did not reach its far side before the trailing riders drew parallel with it.

A tingling, annoying itch began swarming erratically over Chane’s skin. There was no breeze in the forest, but the sensation was like streams of dust blown over his exposed face and hands.

The prickling grew.

It brought a memory of toying with an anthill as a child. Chane remembered speck-sized insects crawling over his shirtsleeve, looking for a way to get in ... to find out what he was. He pivoted slowly, beginning to shake, until he faced Shade sitting on the wagon’s far side.

She watched him silently, her large, crystalline irises too bright in the dark.

Chane turned away. He knew the forest’s wards, or whatever guarded it, were no superstition. But even that told him more as his thumb rubbed nervously over the ring he wore.

His thoughts were still sound and clear beneath the fear.

“Are you all right?” Wynn whispered.

“Yes ... I am fine.”

Wynn pulled out a cold lamp crystal, rubbing it brusquely on her thigh until it brightened, and handed it off to Ore-Locks.

She’d been so eager to get here that she’d been careless and forgotten good sense. She hadn’t thought of what Shade’s presence might evoke from the Lhoin’na, let alone about running into any of them before reaching her destination. Now traveling with this armed escort, she couldn’t shake all she’d learned in her time among the an’Cróan concerning the undead and their forest.

To complicate things, she’d just rolled Chane right into such a place.

There’d been no chance to let him test it cautiously. They’d both known this was coming, but reality was a far cry from anticipation. Bringing him here had been a blind gamble, for her as well as him, all the while hoping that tiny ring would protect him.

He seemed all right, though his eyes were wide and watchful. Then she noticed his left hand trembled as he fidgeted with the ring.

Ore-Locks remained silent, studying their surroundings, and Wynn turned her attention ahead.

Above them, the lowest branches of the largest trees were thicker than her body. Higher still, they had long since twisted and intertwined. Not a single night star showed through the canopy. It was all too quiet.

“What is that up ahead?”

Wynn flinched at Chane’s rasp right behind her head. At first, she couldn’t see anything beyond Althahk and his horse. A slight flicker appeared, followed by more. As they drew closer, those glimmers took shape as distinct lights. Some of them were too high above the ground.

“Dwellings ... in the trees,” Chane whispered.

Wynn couldn’t quite make out what he saw. His vision at night was far better than hers. Shade huffed once, and Wynn twisted her head. The dog stared back and huffed once more—one single utterance, too startlingly familiar.

Wynn remembered Chap’s system used with Leesil and Magiere. He’d used one bark for “yes,” two for “no,” and three for “unknown” or “uncertain.” Had Shade seen this in some memory of Wynn’s, and then added it to her own reluctant vocabulary?