The Forked Path E-Book

T.R. Thompson

• Herausgeber: Odyssey Books
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Serie: The Wraith Cycle
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Seitenzahl: 460

Beschreibung

Future and past entwined.

Despite the victory over Cantor Cortis, the dark power still spreads. Nightmare creatures are wiping out villages all along the southern edge of the wild Tangle forest, causing a stream of refugees to flow into the capital of Sontair in the hope of finding protection.

All who helped overthrow the Nine Sisters of Redmondis have been touched by what they experienced and those they lost. Dark visions sap Petron and Daemi’s strength even as they try to heal the rifts within Redmondis and forge a new path for the wielders, crafters, and guards who make up its three main schools.

Wilt must enter the Tangle to seek out the source of the power that calls to him. Visions of the past seen through other eyes haunt his days, and he finds it harder and harder to resist the pull of his wraith form.

The Guardian is old and weak, and the Tangle is no longer secure…

Leseprobe

The Forked Path

T. R. Thompson

www.odysseybooks.com.au

First published in 2018 by Odyssey Books

Copyright © T.R. Thompson 2018

The moral right of T.R. Thompson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available from the National Library of Australia

ISBN: 978-1-925652-39-0 (pbk)

ISBN: 978-1-925652-40-6 (ebook)

Cover design by Michelle Lovi

The roots that sink the deepest

The forked path of the mind

The soul that splits is weakest

Future and past entwined

Contents

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part II

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Epilogue

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Part I

He is fifty feet above ground when the first rock hits. It cracks into his left thigh, sending pain burning up his leg and freezing him in place, his hands clinging to the surrounding branches. The next stone rips through the wet leaves beside his ear, and he surges onward, upward, away from the threat below.

He climbs faster than he ever has before, forcing the pain out of his mind, no longer looking at the ground disappearing beneath him, eyes always searching for the next hand and foothold, scuttling up the enormous trunk of the tree.

Another rock strikes him, in the back this time, and his right hand flies from the tree, out of control, almost twisting him free of the trunk. His arm spins in the air wildly, windmilling himself back against the trunk, his cheek pressed against the rough bark as he gasps in and out.

Not fair. Not now, now he was so close.

A cackle of laughter below, and another stone thuds against the trunk beside his head. Six inches to the left and he would have been done for.

He feels the first tickle of fear bloom in his chest; the doors swinging open inside his mind.

Forget that. Forget everything. Just climb.

When the final rock hits, he doesn’t feel it. Suddenly the tree is no longer beneath him, he is falling, the world silent and shrinking down into a dark tunnel. He closes his eyes as the branches tear past, surrendering, waiting for the ground to take him.

The vision fades and I am alone again, wandering these endless paths. Time has narrowed my senses, wrapping itself around me, pulsing into my nostrils and swamping me, churning me inside out until I no longer recall which way is up, which direction is forward, what is past, and what is yet to be. This is what death is, perhaps. A falling out of linear time. A narrowing of possibilities down to a single, final point.

I remember how time once stretched before me, its passing painfully slow, each year an eternity, unable to be fully glimpsed. Now the weeks and months flicker by, their advance unmarked.

The trees toy with me, aware of my age, my weakness. They trap me in place, wrapping themselves around me and forcing me to bear witness as their strange children run wild. I do not remember ever being one of them, and yet I must have been. They play their cruel games on each other, but the trees do not recognise how flawed their creatures have become. How darkened.

The wind shifts and I find myself free again, my thoughts travelling back in time and pulling me with them, down into the damp soil at my feet, recognising the pull of the earth, the yearning to return. And I feel again the tremor of his presence, shocking me into action.

He is coming. The spark flickering into flame, seeking out the shadows to chase them away. I can feel the warmth and sway of the trees he passes through, ever deeper, pushing down toward the end of my days. He is a harbinger of change. I should not fear him, but I cannot do otherwise.

The trees do not yet recognise what he might become. His threat. His promise.

Only a final few steps remain for me. I force myself forward and block my ears to the warnings whispered on the wind.

1

The cat stalked through the broken shadows of the forest, belly low to the ground, eyes wide and staring out through the dimness at its prey. A heavy, constant rain drummed on the leaves and trees, a rolling applause that drowned out all other sound. The cat crept along slowly, circling around behind the large wild pig that snuffled industriously at the foot of the tree. The pig seemed focused on its task, oblivious to all else, but the cat knew better. He had been tracking this one for most of the morning and had already spooked it twice, a careless step cracking a twig the first time, a sudden change in wind direction betraying his presence the second. The wind had brought with it the rains, and now the cat shivered as he readied himself to spring.

Don’t mess this one up. I’m hungry.

The cat’s features twisted into a scowl as the strange thought brushed across his consciousness.

Leave him be, Higgs. Besides, you can’t be hungry, there’s nothing of you to feed.

I don’t care what you say, Biore. I’m still hungry. And cold. What we need is a nice dry cave, a roaring fire, and this pig roasting over a spit. Then I might be in the mood for your lectures.

The cat licked his lips, the strange thoughts forgotten as he concentrated on the task at hand.

The pig had scratched out whatever had interested it at the base of the tree and now held its head high, sniffing the air. The rains were waking the forest, a wet, earthy smell rising from its floor. The cat waited, satisfied that his scent was covered. There would be no mistakes this time.

The wild pig stood at least two feet high, its haunches roped with muscle, its dark brown skin glistening in the rain. Its hooves were large and well used, pointed at each end as though sharpened purposefully, and two long tusks curved out from its lower jaw, reaching almost to the level of its eyes, prodigious weapons when wielded by the thickly corded neck of the beast.

Don’t give it a chance to use them.

The cat allowed himself to enjoy the tickle of his silver claws sliding out from the ends of his paws, then sprang.

He landed on the pig’s back, claws digging into flesh and clinging on as the pig bucked and screamed, kicking its back legs high into the air. The cat tried to reach a paw around to get at the pig’s throat, but it bucked again, almost throwing the cat clear if not for its claws locked deep into muscle.

The beast ducked its head and launched forward, trying to pin the cat between itself and the trunk of a large tree, but the cat swung to the side at the last moment, releasing his hold to land safely on the ground as the pig crashed full bodied into the thick trunk. The cat didn’t hesitate, swatting out with both paws to almost sever the pig’s head from its body, hot blood pouring out in a sudden rush as the creature’s veins were sliced open. The pig collapsed, a long last sigh of life breathing out as it sank into death.

The cat stared at it, watching the light fade from its eyes.

Constant rain still filled the air, washing the blood of the fresh kill deep into the soil and the waiting roots.

The next moment the cat was gone; in his place was a young man, squatting on his haunches, a long silver knife hanging from his hip. Wilt tossed his hair back from his face and stood up, tugging his worn black cloak around his shoulders.

Now what?

Now we find somewhere warm and safe to cook our meal.

Wilt bent down and pulled the pig’s legs together, steadying his feet in the mud. With a grunt he heaved the carcass up onto his shoulders, almost slipping with the sudden weight. There was enough meat here to last them for days.

Him. To last him for days.

By the time he’d stumbled back to the cave with his prize and had it stripped and dressed and roasting slowly over a low fire, Wilt was exhausted. He lay on the smooth dry rock of the cave floor and stared at the fire, letting the dance of the flames wash his mind clear.

The heat from the fire was fighting a losing battle against the unnatural cold that filled the enclosed space, but Wilt felt none of it. He was floating in a still, grey emptiness.

You’re wearing yourself out like this. You’re no ranger.

Wilt allowed himself a small smile in reply. What am I then?

You’re a Black Robe. One of the skilled. And one of the most powerful of our kind I’ve ever encountered.

Biore. Wilt let the words dredge up a memory: him standing on a stage, facing down the combined might of the Nine Sisters, becoming one with the weld within him, turning their power against them.

You’re a thief. One of the Grey Guild.

Higgs’s voice brought forth a second memory: he watched himself run along the night highway in Greystone, leaping over gaps between buildings, a shadow against the night sky.

The shadow darkened, and the world dropped away, and he was a cold, still emptiness standing alone in the centre of a room, reaching out again and again to the onrushing guards, his hand a thousand writhing black snakes, his touch death.

I’m a killer.

You’re my friend.

Delco. Wilt let the dark memory sink back into the depths.

Where have you been hiding? I’ve been trying to run things practically single-handed.

Sorry, Higgs. When I’m with Rawick … it’s hard to keep track of time.

At least you two know some forestry skills. More help than Biore’s been.

Wilt sat up and drew himself away from the chatter inside his mind, the impossible separate consciousnesses that dwelled somewhere within the welds themselves, inside the depths. Depths that were now a part of him.

He pulled out his long silver knife and sliced a thin strip of meat from the roasting carcass. The flesh was still slightly pink, but looked cooked enough.

Wilt bit into it and hot juice filled his mouth, the texture and pull of the meat against his teeth bringing him back to the physical world, the grey shadows of the cave brightening into colour, the cold air warming for a moment as life re-entered the room.

He swallowed and immediately cut another slice, wolfing this one down as well, leaving the cold and silence of that other world far below as he gave into his hunger. He hadn’t eaten properly in days, and now attacked the carcass with an animal rush, ignoring the hot fat that seared his throat. Its warmth filled his belly, silencing every other thought. Only this was real. The heat of the fire, the taste of the meat.

Some time later he lay back on the warm rock, watching as the bright colours of the cave walls faded back into uniform grey. The cold settled over him like a blanket, separating him from the living world.

Feel better?

Wilt lay his cheek against the stone and closed his eyes.

Higgs?

Yes, Wilt?

Go to sleep.

The wind shifted again in the night, bringing with it a drop in temperature, whistling through the high stone ceiling of the cave and sparking the low coals of the fire into a dull red glow. With it came the murmur of the Tangle, the deep mutterings of an ancient consciousness. Wilt’s dreams morphed as it washed over him, and his unconscious mind could almost make out the words the wind whispered into his ear.

Words of longing, words of pain and patience and an inhuman yearning for eternity. Words of warning. Words of fear.

The words brought with them visions that slid across his mind, not leaving any trace in his memory as he slept on, the Tangle murmuring its dark lullaby into his ears.

Stop! Thief!

He ducked under the guard’s swinging arm and swerved into the alley, dropping half his haul as he went, not thinking for a moment about stopping to recover any of it. A loud crash behind him told him the guard hadn’t been quick enough to change direction and had crashed into the fruit stall that lined one wall.

He grinned, tucking the two loaves he still held into his shirt as he ran, turning again as the next opening reared up, not slowing until he could no longer hear the heavy boots of the guards stomping after him. Even then he took two more twists deeper into the nest of alleys behind the market square before he slowed and risked a look back.

Safe. He was safe.

He leaned back panting against the nearest wall, tying his shirt tighter around the bread he’d swiped and glancing around the narrow alley to be sure no other street rats were thinking of trying to relieve him of his hard-won prize. After a moment to catch his breath, he turned to the wall and began to climb.

In seconds he was up on the roof, scurrying along the night highway, angling his path to the north of the market square, to his sorry excuse for a home. The grey skies opened as he ran, a heavy rain soaking him to his skin, threatening to turn the fresh loaves he carried into sodden mush. He slid and skidded across the greasy roof tiles, finally recognising the twisting lanes below him and dropping to the street, out of the worst of the weather.

All around him poor folk were fussing with their hovels, pulling thin wooden coverings into place to shelter from the persistent rain. He scurried past, holding his arms against his chest to protect the bread from the weather and hide it from any curious onlookers.

He turned into the small narrow opening between buildings that he called home. He pulled the thin canvas sheeting closed behind him as he entered and sat down on his pallet, eager to eat. Eager to ease the angry ache in his stomach.

‘What do you have there, Meat?’

He curled into a ball, but it was too late. His father reached for his arm and tore it away, almost wrenching his shoulder out of its socket and sending the two loaves spilling into a scummy puddle on the ground.

‘Look what you’ve done now!’

He tried to shrink himself tighter as the blows fell, his red hair streaming into his face as the rain and tears blinded him.

When he awoke, dawn was breaking grey and still across the sky. Wilt busied himself blowing life back into the coals of the fire, though his body felt no need for its heat.

What we need now is coffee.

Wilt smiled at Higgs’s words and sat back as the flames caught. Coffee. Fresh bread. Bacon and eggs. He’d almost forgotten what such luxury tasted like. How long had he been gone? How long had he been out here, alone?

Too long. Too long with only our voices for company. Too long in your other form, your mind lost to human thought.

Had it really been so long? The dawn seemed earlier each morning, and frost no longer marked the grass of the forest floor, but were the seasons changing or were these merely signs of his steady progress south, toward the warmer weather, away from the high cold stone of Redmondis?

He caught himself. Human thought?

You’ve been spending more time away, Wilt. Ignoring us.

It was true the voices in his mind were more distant in his animal form. The world itself was different, brighter, sharp-edged, more immediate. The smells and textures a thousand times more vibrant. Was that why he spent so much time there, or was it this place, the Tangle itself, that made his other form seem more fitting? Perhaps it just took less food to fill his belly.

There are other hungers.

Biore’s words brought his mind back to the present. He was right; the call of the depths and his other, darker form had been getting stronger each day, and it was becoming a burden to resist them. Why fight it, especially here, where he could do no harm?

Why else was he here at all? The Tangle was where he had thought to find answers to his some of his many questions—the true nature of the shadow form Wilt and Biore had both shared, the source of the still darkness beneath the chaos of the depths, the power that lay there, waiting for him.

He rubbed the strange lenses Higgs had formed that covered his black eyes. They itched.

Delco?

Yes, Wilt?

Any luck getting Rawick to open up about where in this place we should start looking?

It’s … not that simple. The trees are troubled, that much I can say. But what causes it is … concealed. I am trying, Wilt. But their way of thought is so alien. South. There is a pull in that direction.

Biore?

Just another reason to give ourselves free rein, at least for a while. Let us see what the shadow realm can show.

Higgs?

I prefer our animal form, but if you must. Just be sure not to spend too long. You know the dangers.

Wilt rocked to his feet, his mind made up. He kicked at the fire, scattering the coals and banishing the flames back into nothingness. A moment later and all that remained was a black scorch on the rock floor. He looked around the cave for any other signs of his presence. It was empty and still, already waiting for its next occupant.

Very well. We should pick up the pace anyway.

Where are we going, Wilt? What is our destination?

South. Delco is right; it’s calling, drawing me toward it. Something that knows the depths as I do. Something that waits for me.

With a whisper Wilt’s human form was gone and a dark shadow blew out of the cave, cutting down through the forest. It snaked through grey shadows, ignoring the curved animal track that marked the forest floor, slicing straight through any tree or barrier that blocked its path.

There was nothing to mark its presence, just a thick bubble of cold silence that moved through the forest, stifling all animal noises as it passed. The trees themselves seemed to bend out of its path, and no life stirred in the cold earth left in its wake.

2

Shade ran through the forest, flickering in and out of the sunlight that filtered through the trees high above, dancing between and around the roots and branches that reached playfully into his path. He was fast, faster than any of the Others. He was just as Nurtle said he was: fast as a shadow, just as fast as his name.

Shade felt a smile stretch across his face as he moved, forgetting everything but the rush of air past his cheeks, the smell of the packed dirt forest floor, the whisper of the wind in the leaves. Suddenly the sound changed, and a muffled laugh from the Others cut across his thoughts.

He reached out his senses to identify the threat. He flew around the next tree, and there it was: a thin wire line stretched at neck height across the path. Shade didn’t slow, he merely dropped his body to the ground and dived into a skid, leaning back as he moved under the glistening thread. He kept his eyes locked on the wire as he slid beneath it, feeling the forest floor against his back, seeing the ground through his own body as the physical world disappeared into grey shadow.

No fair!

A voice protested from off the side of the path, then was silenced by other whispers. Shade lay still on the path, the world dark around him, the light and heat of life in the bushes to his side showing him where the Others hid, watching. He reached for them, something inside him yearning to stretch out and grasp them, then he shook his head and the shadows retreated as the light of the forest returned.

A hurried scuffle of footsteps in the bushes and the whispers and laughter returned, fading from hearing as the Others moved farther away. Shade listened to them, trying and failing to picture their smiles. Then a leaf from high above drifted across his vision as it spiralled through the air, and he forgot about everything else.

The leaf swayed back and forth as it sank, until it cut across the waiting wire line, the sharpened thread slicing through it easily, and the leaf became two, each half falling faster now, in a race to the bottom.

One becomes two,

Sliced right through.

Shade stared up at the wire, running the simple rhyme back and forth in his mind, watching the sunlight glint along the stretched, thin metal. Just staring at it like this brought forth many different thoughts. Many different possibilities.

Finally he sighed and pulled himself to his feet, reaching into his pocket for the small folded blade he always carried, the one Nurtle had given him. He cut the wire at both ends, enjoying the humming twang as it snapped loose, then wound the metal thread into a tight loop and slid it into one of his many pockets.

For the Guardian, a gift,

To help heal the rift.

Then he was moving again, racing through the shadows, gliding on the breath of the trees.

Hours or perhaps days later Shade followed a well-beaten trail through the trees, a wide path made for more than one man to pass along, as close to a main thoroughfare as the trees ever allowed to form. Usually these trails curved around the few villages spotted along the edge of the forest, and Shade kept off them, not liking the heat and scent of human life that swamped them, knowing that Nurtle had warned him to be careful not to be seen. Humans didn’t understand. And what they didn’t understand, they feared. And what they feared, they hated.

Shadow and silence both were made,

Safe for little wandering Shade.

This path, though, this one was different. It was cold, with no recent life marking its surface. Even the trees on either side had bent in toward each other, beginning the process of closing it off, erasing it from existence.

He felt lightheaded and satisfied, his belly still warm from the treeblood he’d taken from one of the Elders that morning. It wasn’t stealing, not from the old ones. Not when it was just a little taste. It filled his belly and helped to silence the Others for a time, letting him enjoy the morning air in peace. He wouldn’t tell Nurtle though; she was always warning him not to take too much.

She was always warning him about everything. Stay hidden. Watch out for the Others and their tricks. She warned him about the trees themselves sometimes, when she could tell he was really listening. He liked to please her, even though he knew she couldn’t understand it. She was only human after all. He was something more.

He looked down at his hand as he walked, trying to will the change on, to sink down into that silent grey world that opened around him all too rarely, all too fleetingly. He could never hold on to it, like a pool of water pouring out of his palm. The tighter he gripped it, the quicker it faded away.

For a moment he thought he saw his hand fade, but then the wind shifted and the leaves above him swayed with it, and a bright glitter of sunlight brought him back to the surface.

The morning light shone down on his matted black hair, his grime-coated face. His clothes were a muddy mix of greens and browns that smeared into each other and merged with the surrounding forest, almost completely concealing him. He was short, four-foot tall on tiptoes, and as his cloak swayed and folded around him in the breeze it revealed there was nothing to his body. He looked like he was in danger of the wind lifting him away were it to get any stronger.

All that marked him as anything more than a mischievous young boy were his eyes. They were dark, too dark on closer inspection, as though the whites themselves had become stained a dull grey. They darted around as he walked, like those of a wild animal, flitting from point to point, always on the lookout for the next danger, the next threat.

Shade froze as he realised he had reached the end of the trail and was standing at the edge of a large clearing, at the border of a village. He slid off the trail into the trees, melting into the shadows. He almost turned and fled, but something in the air held him in place. A silence. A burnt silence. And something else. Death.

He slunk further back into the forest, keeping his eyes locked on the village, but there was no movement. No threat. All was still.

His boot crunched on something and he looked down to see a small pack lying in the undergrowth. He crouched and flipped it open, eager to discover new treasures.

Something sharp sliced into his finger and he jerked it back out with a hiss, thrusting the bleeding finger into his mouth and sucking the metallic warmth back into himself. With his other hand he pulled the bag upside down and poured its contents onto the ground in front of him.

A small glass statue—that was what had cut him. It looked like it had once been shaped into a tree, or something like it perhaps. It was beyond repair, not even a shard large enough to form into a blade, or perhaps a necklace. Shade sighed at the waste of it, the possibilities all shut off with one careless crunch of his boot.

Beside the scattered glass was a small hard biscuit. Trail food, the sort that humans often took with them when travelling. Shade had tasted its like before. It filled the belly but made the mind slow, stopped the ears, and dulled the senses. He left it where it lay. Some other forest creature would find it and enjoy a feast.

He pulled his finger out of his mouth and studied it. A single thin line cut across the tip of his finger; it darkened and filled, then pooled into a round droplet of black blood. He shoved the finger back into his mouth.

Why was the pack left here, in this bundle of bushes?

Shade looked around and noticed it immediately. The tree here, just next to where the pack had lay. It was different. Silent.

He stood up and studied the wide trunk, walking slowly around its base. There. Just above his head on the far side. Something horrible.

Shade held his breath as he watched it, and the wounded finger dropped out of his mouth. He’d never heard of such a thing, not even from the foolish villagers that Nurtle suffered to live with. Someone had wounded this tree.

He reached out and traced the outline of a rectangular gash in the trunk of the tree, not even just in the bark but cut into the timber itself, inches deep, a handhold or foothold. And above it another one, then another. Shade leaned back and followed the path of steps that had been cut into the trunk, all the way to the first thick branch that thrust out ten metres above the ground.

Why would someone do this? To climb it? Why couldn’t they use their hands and feet?

He placed his whole hand inside the horrible thing, feeling for any sense of life underneath the silence. Nothing. Then his wounded finger scratched along the rough inner surface of the foothold, a single drop of blood streaking across its ridged surface, and the world dropped away.

Ache. A sick ache. Deep within the roots. Pulling on it, pulling on all its brothers and sisters, calling for it to sink back down into the soil, pull into the past, into safety.

Night. Still and calm, the forest silent. One of the humans who had hurt it perched up in its limbs, cradling a bow. Arms wrapped around legs in the chill air, eyes staring out into darkness.

Then the scratching ache again. The spreading stain as the dark things came. Leaking out of the night itself. Passing through the weakened barriers no longer strong enough to hold them back. Pouring into the village and snuffing out every life they met in an instant.

The human stands and looses its first arrow with a terrified scream, but all it does is advertise its presence. In moments one of the dark things is upon it, silencing it forever, leaving it to drop to the forest floor and drain its life into the waiting soil.

Familiar, these dark things. From a time long past. A sickness that should not be suffered inside these borders.

Brothers and sisters. So weak. So distant. Retreating down into the roots, away from the light and dark of the world.

Shade pulled his hand back with a gasp and fell onto his back, his mind still reeling from the vision that had swamped it. His heart was racing. Dark things. Evil things. Spider-shaped and impossibly fast. Here, inside the Tangle.

He rolled to his feet and stuttered up into a run, gaining pace with every step, leaving the dead village behind. He ran faster than he ever had before, faster than thought, his mind dropping into the grey world of shadow, fleeing the dark wake of the past.

3

The shadowed world drifted by; now and then a bright flash of life illuminated the grey fog, the sign of an animal too foolish to heed the unnatural silence of the forest. Some were ignored, spared and left shivering in the sudden cold that seemed to drop over them from the sky. Others were not so fortunate. They flashed briefly as he touched them, their final memories filling his vision as their life burned out in the cold depths.

The voice of the Tangle spoke to him as he went, the whisper clearer in this form, though his conscious mind was too distant to understand its words. Its heavy, ancient voice rumbled through his core, the burning flashes of life and deep silent pools of shadow adding to the strange language he swam through.

He forgot all else, letting the voice of the Tangle carry him onward, deep into its heart and out the other side, the air warmer now, thick with a jungle scent. The flashes of life became more frequent. He found his pace slowing as he allowed the endless hunger that swirled within him try to sate itself, but no matter how many times he let himself turn from the path, no matter how many bright flashes of terror and sudden silence he encountered, the hunger stayed the same. Always turning, an endless whirlpool roaring within him, too deep to ever be filled, to ever be contained. There could be nothing else.

Wilt.

The grey trees shot past, each shape the same as the last. Even the voice of the Tangle seemed muffled and distant now, lost in the depths.

Wilt. Stop this.

He could spend eternity haunting these shadows, snuffing out any life he found. He could become death itself, and still nothing would change. Nothing would alter the flow of the great vortex surging within him.

At the edge of his vision a small glowing spark drifted, catching his eye, leading his mind back from its contemplation of the dizzying brink.

Wilt. Come back.

That voice. He knew that voice. It wasn’t the Tangle; it was a part of him. Within him. He was human.

Wilt.

Higgs.

The grey world bled away and Wilt found himself standing in a small forest clearing, the flickering sunlight glowing down through small breaks in the tree cover, reflecting off tiny mites of dust that floated back and forth in the fresh breeze. He took a deep breath, his first in days.

Well, it’s about time. We were beginning to worry.

Biore? How … how long have I been gone?

Too long, boy. Days at least. Far too long for any to spend in the shadow realm. Any who still wish to return. It was only through Rawick that we could lead you back at all.

Rawick. Wilt saw again the spark floating past his vision, dancing before his eyes, leading him away from the sucking depths.

I … I asked him to help find you. I think he understood me.

Delco. I saw him, I think. At least, some manifestation of him. He helped me—

Helped you back from the edge, from the lure of that which turns in the depths of the welds, that which calls all of those who draw on its powers. You lost control of your hunger, and it led you away. It is much stronger in that form. I should know.

Yes, Biore.

Perhaps we should take things a little slower now. It was foolish to go as far as we did, especially here. This forest shares an ancient connection with that which lurks beneath—you can feel it in the air itself. The stillness and silence. We will need to be more careful.

Besides, we’ve travelled a long way. Look around, even the trees are different here. We’re near the southern edge of the forest, I believe.

Biore was right. As Wilt looked around, he realised he was in a whole new world from the one he had last seen. Great pines no longer towered above him; now thick vines twisted around themselves to form a jungle of vegetation, a solid green wall that funnelled him down a thin forest trail out of the small clearing. The air smelled different, heavy with moisture and heat, sticking his shirt to his back. He slung off his worn old cloak and dropped it to the ground.

Won’t be needing that anymore.

Above him the trees still closed off the sky, reaching out to wrap their branches around each other in a protective shell, only allowing the smallest slivers of sunlight to leak through. The forest floor was thick with rotting leaves, the cloying scent of death undercutting the fresh breeze that forced its way through the walls of vegetation around him. Even the sounds of the forest here were different, louder. More filled with life.

A human voice called out, followed by the sound of something heavy moving through the undergrowth, and suddenly the cat was high above the clearing, perched on a thick branch, peering down into the space where Wilt had stood a moment before.

‘You could at least try to move more quietly,’ a gruff voice called from further down the path. A soldier appeared under the cat’s tree and stopped when he saw Wilt’s cloak lying on the ground. ‘Emaus! Look at this!’ The man crouched down and examined the ground around the cloak as his companion huffed into the clearing.

‘What is it, Gul?’

‘What’s it look like? Someone’s been through here.’ Gul picked up the cloak and weighed it in his hands. ‘Still feels warm.’

Emaus stood panting, resting his hand on his sword hilt, peering around the clearing. ‘Well, you’re the tracker, Gul. What does the trail tell you?’

Gul was still examining the ground around the discarded cloak. ‘I don’t know, it’s strange.’ He walked further into the clearing then turned around again. ‘There are footprints, but they appear out of nowhere, then disappear again just as suddenly. Into thin air.’

Gul stood back up and both men drew their swords.

‘Do you think—?’ Emaus’s voice was no longer gruff. It was almost a whisper.

‘I don’t know. There have been no sightings this far south before.’

‘But the others—’

‘The others haven’t seen anything either. It’s all been vague reports of strange sounds, sudden cold. Soldiers with loose tongues making each other nervous.’

‘This cloak though.’

‘It’s just a cloak.’ Gul bundled it up and wrapped it under his arm. ‘C’mon, we’ll have to report this. Keep your eyes open.’

He turned on his heel and marched out of the clearing, back down the path from which they’d appeared. Emaus followed, his eyes still scanning the surrounding trees, as if he expected an attack at any moment. Neither man sheathed their sword.

The cat watched the humans disappear back into the forest, the sounds of their movement fading into the general jungle hum.

Careless.

I know, Biore.

Wilt landed lightly back on the ground and stared down the path the two men had taken.

They were guards.

Soldiers. From the capital, to judge by their uniforms.

From Sontair? But we’re still miles from there, aren’t we?

Yes. Something big must have happened to bring them this far into the Tangle.

Wilt still stared down the path. He felt a sudden rush of loneliness and for a mad moment considered calling after them. Just to have another human voice to talk to. There was something else there too. A deeper craving, waiting to be acknowledged.

Don’t be foolish.

They were nervous. As though they were expecting something. Something bad.

Maybe we haven’t been careful enough, in our other form. Too rushed. Too eager.

No. They weren’t thinking about us. It might be wise to follow them, find out more before we stumble further into trouble. Soldiers from Sontair patrolling this far into the Tangle must be looking for something.

Or someone.

Come. Let us see what we can learn. Wilt, perhaps your cat form would be most appropriate.

With that the conversation ended, and the cat trotted out of the clearing, down the forest path, following the scent of the two soldiers. The wind brushed through the trees, whispering its secrets as it went.

4

Shade sat alone high in the trees, squatting on a round, thick branch, watching the clumsy humans pass below him. They rattled and stomped and cursed, shoving branches out of their way as they moved, eyes forever shifting left and right, searching for some threat or victim to take out their nervous energy on. They stunk of sweat and fear.

But the treasures! So many glittering, colourful things, stark against the dull greens and browns of the forest, calling out to Shade to reach down for them, free them from their current resting places. He rubbed his fingertips together as he watched, rocking up on his toes, the thrill of anticipation tickling down the back of his spine.

It wouldn’t be long now until they stopped to rest at a clearing the Tangle opened up for such a purpose and surrendered to their fatigue. They would pitch their heavy tents and stoke their fires, cook their strangely scented meals and sleep deeply, far too deeply to notice little Shade passing among them, lightening them of what treasures called to him.

All he had to do was wait. Wait and watch and, when the time came, slip past the weary guards who patrolled the edge of their camp, eyes blind in the darkness, ears filled with the thousand strange shiftings and callings of the forest. Never hearing Shade’s furtive steps.

The last of the column moved past and Shade placed his palm against the trunk of the tree, closing his eyes and listening for the deep murmur just below hearing. It was like the treasures the soldiers carried, out of reach yet still calling to him, urging him onward.

He could almost grasp it, almost hold it in his mind, yet it slipped away again. All he caught was a glimpse of a clearing, a clear night sky, and a scattering of campfires burning low in the cool air.

Very well. He would follow them, let their clamour and noise lead him on his way.

From darkness to light.

Silent as night.

He dropped out of the tree and slipped effortlessly into the shadows, stepping around fallen roots and leaves, his feet almost floating above the forest floor so silently did he move. He kept his eyes up, trusting his instincts to stop him from stepping anywhere he shouldn’t. Now and then a glint of colour flashed out through the shifting leaves as he trailed along behind the soldiers.

‘How much farther, Ged?’ A panting, heavy voice. Husky with fatigue.

‘Can’t be long. Last glimpse of sky I seen looked grey, have to be almost twilight by now, not that you’d know it in this place. Sarge’s probably just waiting to find the right spot.’

‘Hope so. I’m done. Too much marching. Give me a real fight any day, not this wandering about.’

‘Don’t be so sure, Thron. You saw that village yesterday same as the rest of us. And you’ve seen the others. Don’t know anything that can do that. Don’t think I want to meet it anyways.’

‘My own damn fault for signing up in the first place, I suppose. Thought I’d get two hots and a cot and all the fighting my sword arm could want. Never thought it’d mean trudging around the Tangle. No good can come—’

‘Hold! You feel that? It’s ice cold.’

Shade immediately stopped, and only now realised he could see the two figures clearly in front of him, shining lights of life against a dull grey background. Past them stretched the whole column of men, at least twenty of them all turned toward the rear, toward him, weapons drawn and ready.

For a silent moment he felt himself pulled toward them, called onward by the glittering lights.

Then he fled, the forest a blur as he shot through it, away from the soldiers and their treasures, away from the shining figures of light. Away from the call that came from somewhere both without and within, urging him ever deeper.

Shade recognised the trap, a scattering of leaves somehow too randomly strewn across a bare stretch of path. The colour of the dirt was wrong as well, too dark compared to the rest of the packed earth, too loose and recently disturbed. The Others were getting bolder with their tricks, but not clever enough. Not for his eyes.

He stepped along the edge of the suspicious patch and passed around it, grabbed the nearest heavy rock his hand came to, and tossed it lightly over his shoulder to land smack in the centre of the path. As soon as it landed the ground itself seemed to open, a stretched and tanned hide folding in on itself as it collapsed into the pit below.

Shade edged up to the hole and peered in. Sure enough, multiple sharpened stakes lined the floor of the trap, shining strangely in the dim sunlight. Coated with something, some sort of poison. There were a thousand possibilities, and the Others knew all of them. As did Shade. Nurtle had taught him most of them, and the few really nasty ones she’d kept silent about he’d discovered in the heavy journals of knowledge she kept so carefully hidden in her cabin. Not carefully enough. Not from fingers as quick as his.

He lay on his stomach and leaned over into the pit, careful not to touch any of the spikes, eventually wresting out the thick hide that had fulfilled its part in the trap. It was heavy, coated in mud to help it blend with the ground, but not too worn and seemingly only a few weeks old, judging by its smell. He gave it one solid shake, scattering leaves everywhere, then balled it up as best he could and continued on his way.

Warmth from the cold,

For bones shrivelled and old.

He broke into a giggle at his little joke but immediately caught it. It wouldn’t do to add further insult to what the Others already put the Guardian through. That trap was another sign of their growing confidence in their little mischiefs. He didn’t want to be like them.

The hide would make a fine addition to the offerings. And who knew? Perhaps there would be a gift for him waiting in the secret knothole. Some sign. The forest was on edge these days, troubled as it had never been in Shade’s memory. Perhaps there would be something to show him the way.

Less than an hour later he drifted off the path he had been following, careful not to appear too sure of his surroundings, stepping through the shadows of the closely grouped trees, ears alert for any sign of danger. There was nothing. He was alone. Suddenly he ducked around the corner of the tree he was passing and seemed to completely disappear.

In reality, he dodged under an exposed root and slid down a short incline into his secret place: a small circular grove only a few feet wide, surrounded by an almost solid wall of thick trees. The sunlight seemed unwilling to intrude into the space, and Shade waited a full minute for his eyes to adjust before crouching at the base of one particularly large tree.

He lay the hide he had just discovered out on the ground and rummaged through the multiple secret pockets of his cloak. Moments later arranged neatly on the hide were a bright red sweat-stained kerchief, a goblet formed from dull silver, and the thin, sharp wire one of the Others had tried to hurt him with days before. Shade sat back on his haunches as he stared at the loot and nodded. A good haul.

With a sigh he wrapped the hide closed and stuffed the whole package deep into the knothole at the base of the tree, determined not to look at the treasures any longer. As he reached in, he tensed, as he always did, his fingertips electric for the touch of anything the Guardian may have left for him in return. Sometimes it was something simple, like a sweet fruit from the distant reaches of the Tangle. Other times it was more elaborate, like the strangely carved wooden mask he had found over a year ago that now adorned a wall in Nurtle’s hut. Most times there was nothing at all.

But today there was. Shade caught his breath as his fingers brushed across a thin cloth bundle. He let his hands tickle its surface, prolonging the tension, trying to form a picture of what it could be. Finally he gave in and grabbed it, pulling it free.

It was a dull, dirty green cloth, rolled tightly, held in place by a simple loop of twisted wood. For a moment Shade felt a pang of disappointment, then shook his head and held the prize up to the light. There was something carved into the coiled wood. Words of some sort. As his fingers moved across the clasp, it seemed to come to life and sprung open, toppling the cloth to the floor.

He turned the opened clasp back and forth in the dim light, trying to make out the words scratched into it. As he recognised the characters, his lips moved automatically, the power in the words forcing themselves to be heard.

Future and past entwined.

The surrounding forest dropped into instant silence, and he stood perfectly still in the hush, waiting until the first scratchings and shufflings of the trees filled the air again. It was as though the forest had caught its breath at his words and was only now slowly exhaling.

He looked back at the clasp. As though the words themselves had unwound it, it was now three separate long threads, sticks really, nothing special about them. He dropped the twigs to the floor, and they seemed to disappear into the scattered refuse of the forest.

Shade nodded to himself. That treasure’s job was done, whatever that job had been. The real gift must be the green cloth.

As soon as he grabbed it he knew he was right. A spark of familiarity lit his fingertips as he touched it, and raising it up from the ground he could see it was a cloak, just his size of course, lighter and richer by far than the worn cloak he currently wore. He hurried out of his old garment and slipped the prize over his shoulders, feeling it wrap itself around his shoulders.

Immediately he heard them. The Others, whispering to each other, giggling and scheming. Impossibly close. He dropped to the ground and scuttled as far into the shadows of the trees as he could, desperately hoping for the voices to pass by and leave him undisturbed. How had they snuck up on him?

Well, it’s about time, I say.

Time has nothing to do with it. Action is what matters.

He’s old and weak. That’s what matters.

But only one of us can replace him. You know the rules. You know what the forest asks.

You heard it just as clear as me. He’s done it. Must be desperate to use a kid like that.

We’re all kids. And if you’re right, he can probably hear us right now. That’s how it was when he chose me.

And you failed just like the rest of us. Just like he will. Isn’t that right, Shade?

Shade froze in place, all senses on edge as the voices called to him. Without thinking he dove into himself, dropping into the shadow realm where all life stood starkly against the shifting grey background. He scanned the area, turning a full circle to seek any lights of life. There was nothing. He was alone.

Ah, leave him be. Let the challenge do its work.

And just like that, the voices ceased.

5

‘Report.’

‘We found this, Sergeant.’ Emaus proffered the bundled cloak, but the sergeant simply stared at it, keeping his hands locked behind his back.

‘And what is this?’

‘A cloak, sir. A … It was left in the middle of the trail, still warm from its owner.’

‘Or some other creature that stumbled across it.’ The sergeant sniffed.

‘There were no trails to or from the area.’ Gul interjected, then immediately regretted it. The sergeant stared down at him as though Gul were something unpleasant he had stepped in. Gul swallowed and ploughed on, determined to make his point. ‘We found human footprints around the cloak, but they went nowhere. As if whoever had made them just disappeared.’

‘Yes, well, let’s not make too many assumptions.’ The sergeant hiked his belt up higher around his ample waist as he considered the news. ‘Sounds like the Tangle is continuing to play its games.’

He swung around to scan the line of dark trees bordering their camp as if expecting an answer. When none came, he turned back to the two soldiers.

‘Good work, I suppose. Go and get some hot food into you. We’ve had reports of another village attack. We move out at first light.’

The sergeant turned to the chart spread out in front of him, and Gul and Emaus saluted quickly and moved off toward the nearest campfire to see what food they could scrounge up.

The camp was large, with five separate main tents billowing in the light breeze, each with their own fire blazing. Shadowed forms moved in and out of their light. A double guard patrolled the border of the clearing, the men alert and nervous, making Wilt’s job of sneaking past them more difficult than he’d expected. Eventually he found himself curled on a high tree branch looking down at the patrolling guards. As the men passed beneath him they shivered in the cooling night air.

Can they feel us?

I don’t think so, Wilt, it’s just the cold. The whole camp looks built for warmer weather. Look at the tents, the thin canvas walls. And the soldiers, all with cloaks over their armour. No, these men are used to a warmer climate. Southerners.

And their banner?

The cat peered out over the camp, studying the pennants of each tent fluttering in the evening breeze.

Sontair. The jewel of the South. These soldiers are from the capital.

We need to find out what they’re doing here.

Another soldier had just passed beneath the tree, and the cat waited for him to move on before scampering down the trunk and creeping further into the camp. He angled toward the nearest campfire and crouched low in the flickering shadows. The fire was burning in front of a large tent, its front flap flung back and pegged into the ground. The cat slipped behind this and settled down in the shadows to see what he could learn.

Almost immediately, soldiers began moving back and forth from the fire, spooning out stew from the large pot that bubbled over the flames. The smells of cooking meat and rich gravy wafted over the cat, filling the air with a rich, warm scent.

Gods. Smell that. We haven’t had a real meal in ages.

Higgs was right. Wilt hadn’t eaten in the traditional sense since the wild pig he’d killed days ago, yet he didn’t feel hungry. The thought skated across his animal mind, unable to find the purchase it should.

Listen now.

Two soldiers strode up to the fire and helped themselves from the pot, not interrupting their conversation.

‘And the third patrol reported it too. I tell you, Jenks, there’s more to it than the usual soldier’s nerves.’