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“Now, focus your mind!” Shallah commanded.
He shut his eyes and did as he was told. Within minutes he’d taken his hands from his ears and was climbing wobbly to his feet.
“What happened?” he asked, surveying Shallah’s wounds and the scene before him. “The wolves have gone mad. Where’s Liam?”
“Find him for me,” she ordered, turning him towards the oaks. “Be my eyes.”
The sun shining brightly on his shoulders, Raulf beheld the gigantic trunks before him. Avoiding the canines swarming about his legs, he scrutinized the underbrush. Shallah put a hand on his shoulder.
“No,” she said over the noise. “Look up.”
Glancing upwards, Raulf felt dizzy. The trees went on and on, their branches reaching to spectacular heights. Turning his gaze to the left, he noticed a shape hanging in the branches of the next oak, yards above his head. As he took a few steps back, the shape arranged itself into a body made of twigs and branches, the wooden ropes woven together to form legs, arms, a torso. Above it, Raulf saw a human face awash with tears; a child’s face.
“I’ve found him!” he cried, grabbing Shallah’s hand. “He’s there! We have to get him down!”
She nearly allowed Raulf to pull her forward, but at the last moment she held him back.
“We can’t,” she said. To attempt a rescue at this moment could be disastrous and she couldn’t risk injuring either of them, not when Liam’s life depended on them.
Or all our lives, Shallah thought, if the prophecy is true.
There was so much Raulf didn’t understand, so much he had to know, but no time to explain. Shallah struggled to find some way to maker herself clear.
“But we have to help him!” he objected. “He could be hurt. He’s crying!”
Shallah felt a wave of anger threaten to overcome her again. If they’d done Liam harm … if they’d hurt him … Throwing caution to the wind, she squared her shoulders, facing the wall of trees.
“Liam!” she cried. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. I won’t leave you.” She searched anxiously for some other words of comfort. What could she tell him? How could she protect him?
Then it came to her.
“Don’t say a word,” she called. “Whatever happens – whatever you see, whatever they do to you – don’t cry out. Do you hear me, Liam? Don’t say a word!”
The wolves formed a ring about the trunk of the oak that held Liam. They sat at attention, a semi-circle of grey and black coats, the chief at the head, and in unison raised their snouts to howl. Raulf watched as though transfixed. The wolf chief’s bay was loudest of all, a wail of both protest and despair. It was quite a sight.
Luckily, Shallah wasn’t prey to such distractions.
Her rage simmering in her blood, she settled into an attitude of wild-eyed determination. Nothing mattered to her except freeing Liam. Nothing else was real. She would rescue the boy if it was the last thing she did. She would free Liam or die.
Raulf watched Shallah with apprehension as she approached him. Her face had taken on a manic expression, her freckled skin sickly beneath the splashes of drying blood.
“Miss,” he said timidly. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why don’t we just cut Liam down? I could easily –”
“I’ve another task for you,” she interrupted, silencing him in an instant. “Tell me what you see. Describe the spectacle to me just as you see it, even if it makes no sense to you.”
Raulf did as he was told. He described the endless line of enormous oaks before them, their branches woven together so tightly that not one shred of light fell through. As he spoke, he could swear he saw the trees themselves draw closer to one another, squeezing together until the bark seemed to meld. In moments there were no trunks discernible at all, only one long black expanse of bark where the individual trunks had been.
He went on to describe Liam’s cage and Shallah recognized it instantly as the same one Petyr had described days ago. Her fears confirmed, she began to find it difficult to breathe.
The moment had come. The oaks had created their weapon. She heard the prophecy’s words again in her mind –
the boy will be the weapon that destroys us all
. She felt sure they would use Liam’s voice for their own purposes, though she couldn’t fathom how they would turn his harming powers away from themselves.
“Does the cage glow?” she asked Raulf urgently.
“Glow?”
“Is there light shinning from it, light like the one you followed to arrive here?”
“No, the cage is quite dark. There is no light but sunlight.”
“Sunlight …” she said faintly, closing her eyes, her grip on Raulf’s shoulders slackening.
The time to act was now. At any moment the oaks would fulfill the prophecy and all would be lost. Shallah felt a genuine pressure building within her as she sought to find some solution. It shocked her that at the moment of reckoning her mind should be so utterly blank. Everyone she knew, everyone she loved, depended on this single decision, this single moment. The time to act was now, but she’d no idea what to do.
She didn’t feel Raulf slipping her dagger from its scabbard.
“I’ll get him down, miss,” he said, trotting forward, dagger in hand. “It won’t take a moment.”
“Raulf, don’t!” Shallah cried, as she heard the faint hooting of an owl above her head. Next, she heard a sound that brought her heart into her throat.
Raulf was screaming.
“Noooo!” he cried. He was down on his hands and knees at her feet. She nearly tripped over him for the second time.
“Shallah!” Raulf said through tears. “No, don’t move. Don’t move!”
Shallah held herself still, desperate to know what he saw. Had the attack begun?
“What can I do?” he wailed. “I have to find Petyr. Oh, you can’t die. I don’t know what to do!”
She frowned. He spoke as though she’d been hurt, but she felt no wound. Her mind swam. What new treachery was this?
It’s the oaks, she realized. They’ve bewitched him somehow, caused visions to appear before his eyes. They’re using his sight against him.
It didn’t surprise her. Together like this, the oaks gave off an astonishing amount of energy. She could feel it in the air. They might be capable of anything now.
“I’m alright!” Shallah said, crouching beside Raulf as his panic began to border on hysteria. “Look at me, Raulf. I’m not dying. Look here.”
She took Raulf’s hand and he turned to look at her, but his face remained blank. He didn’t know her. “Help me!” he implored her, staring at the empty ground before him. “Shallah is hurt. Please help her.”
“But I’m here,” she said, trying with all her might to convince him. “I’m not hurt. I’m right here!”
“Don’t let her die,” he blubbered, weeping into his hands. “It’s all because of me! Help her, Petyr. Save her.”
“I’m not Petyr!” she shouted, pulling herself from his grasp.
As the boy sobbed over a death she couldn’t claim, Shallah began to feel like she might be dying after all. Tears leaked from her eyes though she couldn’t say from whence they came. Her breath was coming so fast she was feeling light-headed. Her thoughts careened in a swirling mess.
The time to act is now, she repeated to herself. The time to act is now, now, now. An awful stuttering noise met her ears. It was a moment before she realized it was her own laughter.
I am dying, she realized. I’m dying of my own failure. I’m killing myself.
She laid down on the ground as her laughter turned to a cackle, then a whimper. As she began to cry, she felt her focus waning and allowed it, for she didn’t have the strength to maintain it. Again she felt the earth beneath her retreating and the moaning cry growing louder in her ears. But the transition was much swifter this time, like being forced down a hole. She fell speedily. In seconds, the howls of the wolves were naught but a faint barking. She thought of Liam, but this time he brought her no release. She could think only of how she’d failed him most of all, and how he would blame her.
“I’m dying,” Shallah whispered, and in truth, a part of her welcomed death, as though she’d been waiting for it.
Certainly, she wasn’t expecting what came next.
“Shallah, wake up!” Petyr shouted, shaking her until she groggily opened one blind eye.
“Let me be,” she said faintly, swatting at his hands.
“Get on your feet,” he said, lifting her under the arms. “This is no time for a nap.”
Shallah’s wobbly grip on reality brought out her sense of humour. She giggled. “Such joking at a time like this,” she slurred. “Highly inappropriate.” Her legs collapsed beneath her and she fell in a heap, her head lolling.
Petyr slapped her soundly across both cheeks, then proceeded to gather her into his arms again.
She was aghast. “I’m dying!” she objected.
“You’re doing no such thing,” he replied sternly. “You’re letting them win, and I won’t have it. Now get up!”
When her feet met solid ground, Shallah came fully to herself and looked up at Petyr blindly, through bloodshot eyes. “You came back,” she mumbled, though he didn’t hear.
“If you focus your mind on something you’ll be alright. I don’t think this cry is meant to hurt us at all. Just think of something else, something pleasant.”
“Petyr, I’m alright!” she exclaimed, putting a hand to her head. “I figured it out as well. But I guess I just gave up. It all seemed so hopeless.” She wiped the tears from her face. “They’ve taken Liam,” she said, pointing upwards.
Petyr took in Raulf and the wolves, Liam and the oaks, all in an instant.
“They mean to attack,” he said, though it was obvious to them both. “How will they manage it?”
“I’ve no idea,” Shallah stated bluntly. She seemed to have found herself in a place beyond feeling now, a place where she could say anything, for nothing made any difference. She kept hold of Petyr’s hand as if to remind herself that all of it was truly real. “I’ve warned Liam not to cry out,” she added.
“And what of Raulf?” Petyr asked with concern, starting towards the boy.
“We can’t help him,” she said. “He’s caught up in some delusion. He thinks I’m dying.”
“You’re
not
dying,” he said adamantly, as though it were she who were delusional, though when Shallah reflected on it she had to admit she might have been.
“I almost lost myself,” Shallah said.
Petyr smoothed her cheek. “But you’re here now,” he said. “We’re both here.”
“Yes,” she said. “We’re finally here.”
They stood side by side, their shadows in pools at their feet.
It was midday.
Liam had cried himself out.
The oaks’ wailing thrummed through his body, but Liam heard nothing. All was silence about him. He felt only the beating, the ongoing beating, as that of a drum being played inside him.
He was at peace.
The oaks had opened themselves to him. He knew their purpose. He knew what was to come. And he knew he couldn’t change it. What was going to be would be. It was nice to be free of worry, to be free of fear. Everything would be all right soon.
The boy looked down at his friends. He smiled. They were so afraid now, but soon their fear would end.
He knew death was a terrible thing. It wasn’t right to look forward to it. It wasn’t right to be glad. But he couldn’t help it. It was as if it were all happening far, far away. He felt like a bird on a tree branch, watching over the world from high above.
And when the time came, he would open his wings and fly.
“What can we do, Petyr?” Shallah asked.
The wind lashed at them, encasing them in a whirlwind. Petyr felt as though his skin was being ripped from his bones, so strong were the furious gusts.
“If only this wailing would stop!” he exclaimed in frustration, gripping his head. How could he come up with a plan when his senses were being attacked from all sides?
“There’s no helping it,” she replied dejectedly. “Try not to let it overcome you.”
“The wolves don’t seem to mind,” he remarked, glancing at the canines. They’d ceased howling, but remained in their circle, gazing up at Liam’s form. As he watched, the wolf chief turned his head and stared back at him, his gaze so piercing that he felt sure it was no casual glance. He felt himself once again lying prone on the forest floor, gazing up at a starry sky.
“Can you see Liam?” Shallah asked anxiously. “Is he all right?”
Petyr hardly registered her words. In his mind’s eye he was flying through time, next finding himself seated at Shallah’s side, confronted with the band of wolves for the first time. The wolf chief was approaching them, flanked by his attendants, the trunks about them glowing orange. The chief halted before Shallah and his kinsman bowed and turned away. Moments later, the chief himself bowed his head.
Petyr tore his gaze from that of the chief, who promptly turned back to his clan. His eyes leaped up to the oaks.
“It’s a ceremony,” he whispered. It was now so utterly clear.
“What?” Shallah cried. The added noise of the wind was making it increasingly difficult to hear.
He drew her towards him and spoke into her ear. “The wolves made me see it,” he said quickly. “This wailing, it’s part of a ceremony. It explains why they didn’t use it against me when we battled. This is some kind of ritual, it has to be.”
“And this crying is their ceremonial song?” she asked doubtfully. “But why would they need a ceremony to undertake a slaughter?”
“Maybe this is no slaughter at all,” he conjectured.
“But the prophecy –”
“Maybe this is … a sacrifice.”
“And it’s
we
who will be offered up!” Shallah said, grasping him by the arms as though hoping to shake some urgency into him. “Petyr, how will this be prevented? I’ve racked my brains but still I come up empty. Can it be that we’ve come to the end only to watch it come to pass? Is there nothing we can do?”
Petyr looked into Shallah’s face and truly saw her for the first time that day. She looked ragged and drained, her features disappearing under the blood and dirt caking her skin. She was shaking, but it wasn’t from fear. She trembled from her core, her entire body quaking under the strain. She was near collapse. But it was her eyes which transfixed him, for in their depths he saw her despondency. She knew he’d no magic answer, either.