Holiday Magick (22 page)

All I can think to do is keep talking and hope another opportunity presents itself. I shift closer to Gabriel. I'm close enough now to see a flash of bone peeking through the skin near his knee. Suddenly, it's very easy for me to look away from him and back to the thing in front of me. “Why did you take him?”

“The same reason my trees take your kinsmen.” The creature sits back on its haunches.

The black-brown carpet of last winter's dead leaves crunches and crumbles beneath me. “Hunger?”

Its eyes widen, amused and curious at the same time. “I am flesh and blood and bone, the same as you. But hunger is not my only motive.”

“What, then?”

Its head cocks to the side, the fog in its midnight fur beading in the moonlight. “What do your people say of my forest?”

“We don't say anything.” I give the creature the best glare I can manage. “All we know is the trees consume everything in their path. They've been here as long as anyone can remember, and they grow closer each year.”

He pauses, leaning his long neck closer like a curious bird. “Then I will tell you about my trees.”

I'm in no mood for stories. The creature's presence sends my heart pounding in my throat, and I'm sure Gabriel grows weaker by the second. But something—I'm not sure if it's the look in the creature's eyes, or the wistful sound to his dead-bracken voice—holds me in place.

“Centuries ago, before your village was even a distant dream, your ancestors feared the trees,” he said. “The trees made the winters colder and the darkness darker, and sheltered the wolves and bears that preyed on their kind. So they cut them, one by one, for years, until the land was bare enough for a settlement.”

“Cillian,” I say, my smirk betraying my pride. Of course I know the story of how my village came to be—how my brave forefathers battled the forest and kept the trees at bay. “Your trees nearly killed them, but they refused to be broken.”

“Those were
not
my trees,” the creature hisses. “But when your ancestors burned them, poisoned them, cut them apart piece by piece and left them to rot, I heard them.”

Gabriel moans, almost too softly for me to hear. I wince at the sound, but my eyes stay trained on the creature. The knot in my stomach tightens, and when I speak my voice is strained. “They fought back because the forest almost consumed them.”

“No. It was fear, and they wanted to feel they had control.”

Pain twinges through my leg. I look down and notice my knife has worked its way out of its sheath and begun to press on my hip. “What did you do, then? If the trees called you?”

A chuckling hiss, eerily reminiscent of what comes from the trees on silent nights, replies. “I gave them what they needed to fight back. Axes, poison…even fire cannot harm them now.”

A few more feet and I'll be close enough to touch Gabriel. The knife digs against my hip, not hard enough to break the skin, but still painful over the myriad of scratches and cuts that cover me. I could pull the knife free from its sheath, hope for a chance to bury the blade in the creature's throat. Take a risk. But something in its ancient, terrible eyes stays my hand. I have a feeling, deep enough that there's no questioning it, that what I'm being told is the truth. I draw myself up as far as I can, though I still feel as insignificant as a flower on the breeze. “Why not leave, then? Your forest has avenged its kin's blood a thousand times over.” I sound much braver than I feel.

“Ah, but the trees were here first.”

Frustration bubbles in me. Fearing the forest is as natural as breathing, so easy that it might as well come from the womb. That doesn't mean I want to be afraid. “There's no chance of peace, then? There's no way Cillian could redeem itself, in your eyes?”

It levels its yellow gaze at me. “The trees do not forgive. And neither do I. And I am very, very hungry.”

Terror blows through my veins, but the creature doesn't come closer. Instead, it seems to content itself with eyeing me.

“For now, though, I'm more interested in you. As I said before, no one has ever followed me into the trees before. Is the boy your mate?”

Heat floods my cheeks, so strong it cuts through my fear. “He's my friend.”

“Ah.” The creature glances down at its forefeet and, shifting its weight again, begins to pick a bit of Gabriel's shirt out from under a claw. “I see. And would a friend prefer to be eaten first, or second?”

I want to freeze. I want to let terror take over, want it to make me so cowardly that I run, and so fast that I make it back to the safety of Cillian. But I can't. Instead, my fingers move toward the sheath, so slowly I barely even feel them undoing the straps. My eyes lock onto the smooth, ink-black fur at the creature's throat. “Neither.”

In an instant it changes, its entire body slouching forward onto four legs. The almost-human look about it, the curious eyes and gesturing forelegs, vanishes, replaced by slitted pupils and claws that leave holes as big as my fists in the ground. The knife slips out of the sheath, almost as if it had a mind of its own, and slides up my sleeve. Gabriel gurgles, but before I can turn to look, a foot slams onto the hem of my tunic.

“Then I will choose for you.”

Suddenly its face is so close to mine that we almost touch. It pulls its lips back into a hiss, and I'm reminded of every nightmarish whisper, every ounce of dread the forest conjures on the darkest nights. I can see greenish flecks in its eyes, glittering through all the yellow.

Green, like Gabriel's eyes.

I yank backward, and the edge of my tunic tears beneath the creature's claws. I fling myself to the side, barely missing the sinewy leg that slams down where my head was moments before. Before it can twist away, I bury the knife to the hilt in its paw.

The creature roars, every line in its body screaming its fury. It spins, raising its uninjured foot to crush me like an overripe grape. I move back, ducking as it pulls the knife free and sends it flying at my head. The knife hits the ground, spins, and comes to rest a few feet from me.

“Oh, you'll suffer for that, girl,” the creature hisses. Something white and glittering—it takes me a moment to realize that it must be blood—oozes from its injured paw, bringing knots of writhing gray vines bursting from the ground with each drop. “Your death will take hours.
Days.
”

I step back. The knife is close enough now for me to reach it if I dive, but already the creature is slinking toward me on three legs. It crouches, tail twitching, the gesture a nightmarish mockery of a cat stalking its prey.

I shiver, turn, and dive.

I grab the knife and am about to throw it when the creature hits me. For a moment, all I can see are teeth, a wrinkled, snarling muzzle, and flashing yellow eyes.

But the knife is gone from my hand, and the blade is buried in the creature's throat.

It drops, writhing around the knife like a speared fish, all curling limbs and twitching flesh. I scramble out of the way, just in time to avoid its sweeping tail. A cacophony of shrieks fills the clearing until my ears ring from them. If the forest keeper's roar was loud before, it's nothing compared to the noises the trees make now.

The creature gives one final gurgle, then lies still.

Everything stops. The rustling trees stop in mid-sway, their branches frozen in a million different contortions. Flashes of silver and moonlight-gray glint off them in jagged edges, a thousand knives just begging me to touch them.

I crouch, nerves on edge, and wait. I wonder if they're trying to lull me into calmness, or let shock make me stupid. Several moments pass before I dare to move toward Gabriel. His breathing is so soft I almost miss it, but when I press my fingers to the skin beneath his chin, I can feel a strong, thrumming pulse.

“Gabriel?” My voice is soft. Hopeful.

After what feels like an eternity, Gabriel's eyelids flutter, and then open. Slowly, he focuses on me.

“What…?”

“I'll explain later. We have to go.”

A flash of movement catches my eye. The trees are still frozen in place, but when I squint I swear they vibrate, as if something inside them is trying to burst free. A crash echoes in the distance, followed by another and another until the ground shakes beneath my feet. Then, so fast it makes me flinch, the leaves around us jerk and writhe and buzz like bees.

It's not until a resounding crack sounds beside me that I realize what's going on. I jerk my head toward the noise and my suspicions are confirmed—the trees are falling, one by one.

And if we don't get out of the way, we'll be crushed among them.

“Gabriel!”

The too-green eyes shiver and open again. He's barely conscious, but his grip is strong when I stoop and swing his arm over my shoulders.

“Stay with me. I need you to help me.” I grit my teeth and stand, ignoring the fresh wave of pain through my ribs.

Gabriel nods and, though his breath escapes in wheezing gasps, he braces his good leg against the ground. We stumble down a trail I hope leads to Cillian, him grunting with every step and me fighting to keep us upright.

We're less than twenty feet from the clearing when the first tree explodes. Another follows, then another, until they crash around us, branches popping and bursting into millions of splinters that pepper us like tiny knives. I pull us both to a stop just as an ancient alder collides with the ground inches from our feet. Once it settles, I climb over and help Gabriel scramble to the other side.

Another tree hits the ground, and as the leaves and dust and splinters fall I see a set of familiar, rolling hills and a reed-fenced paddock. A hopeful laugh escapes my lips. We've almost made it.

A crunch and a rumble echo beneath our feet, and we pass through the last of the forest. Seconds after our feet touch the mossy grass that marks the beginning of my family's property, the entire forest shudders. What trees are left along the border collapse in a dusty heap. My heart feels lodged in my throat. I can hear shouts coming from the distance, and I recognize Papa and Fagan's among them. Golden light from dozens of lanterns blooms over the hill.

Help is coming.

I drop Gabriel's arm. He wavers for a second before he topples to the ground, laughing.

“We made it,” he says. “We made it.”

I think he's delirious and possibly in shock from losing so much blood, but I allow myself a smile. I drop next to him, my mind full of teeth and yellow eyes and the sad, terrible knowledge of what made the forest what it was.

“We did.”

It's then I see them, littering the ground like dewdrops on grass. They glint from beneath the ruined trees—gold, bronze, and silver in the moonlight. Hesitantly, I pull myself onto my hands and knees and crawl to the tree line, ignoring the nervous noises Gabriel makes behind me.

There are millions of them, from smaller than my fingernails to as big as my fist. I scoop a handful of the smaller ones up and sift them through my fingers. My smile broadens.

Seeds.

At first, the naked hillside is unsettling. I had never realized how accustomed I'd become to the forest's constant presence. Those murderous sentinels—and the creature that tended them—have been a part of my history, of Cillian's history, for as long as anyone can remember.

Until now.

It surprises me, how quickly everyone accepts my story. How the elders nod and make soft noises to each other when I tell them of the Keeper, and how he came to guard the trees. The doubters—well, the seeds speak for themselves.

And how those seeds grow. They leap out of the ground like a song, thousands of them, tiny and fragile and immediately treasured.

When the seedlings reach our knees, all of Cillian takes to the hills, planting another batch of seeds, tending to the young trees, and celebrating as the new forest takes root. Over time, it will grow, and the memory of the blood-soaked ground beneath it will be forgotten. And every year, we plant more trees and put the past behind us, and find new ways to care for the world around us. We till our food scraps into our fields as fertilizer, we treat our farm animals with kindness and compassion, and we do our best to keep our refuse out of the rivers and lakes. Papa even found ways to reuse the reeds from our old fence, turning them into the cane seats of his new wooden chairs. All in our attempt to prevent our surroundings from thinking we take them for granted.

Cillian calls it Earth Day.