Chapter Seven

“This new man tries us sorely,” said Falcon Scarlet with bitterness. “He certainly makes his presence known in Sherwood.”

“Aye.” Curlew could not help but agree. Night had fallen; the dark came ever earlier now they were well into autumn. He and his uncle sat together in Oakham, sharing a meal and a fire. It should have been a peaceful time, yet for the last four days stories had filtered in about a party of foresters moving hither and yon through the villages that bordered the great forest, searching out evidence of what the Sheriff liked to call the King’s property.

So far, only warnings had been issued—no one had been hauled away for sentencing or punishment. Yet they all felt the new hand descending heavily upon them. No one could doubt it was merely a matter of time before arrests were made.

“I do wish your aunt would return from Sherwood—or Heron,” Scarlet said.

Curlew nodded. Falcon seldom found any ease when Lark was away from him. Yet she still had not returned from her pilgrimage.

Heron’s absence troubled Curlew more. When last Curlew spoke with him, he had said he meant to seek the Lady and a measure of enlightenment. But that had been fully two days ago.

“This is the time when the deer run,” Falcon added. “If this man, Montfort, begins looking in earnest, he will find venison in plenty. And so a new reign of terror begins.”

“I think—” Curlew had just begun to speak when he caught movement from the corner of his eye. A shadow materialized from the darkness, took form, and joined them at their fire. He felt his uncle’s emotions rise in instant gladness.

Aunt Lark. Aye, and there was much of the spirit about her. She often moved soundlessly, and her emotions changed as quickly as the weather. Now she stood for a moment with her hands on her husband’s shoulders—a small woman, but fierce with it—before she bent to kiss his cheek.

But Falcon turned his face so his lips met hers instead in a moment of blinding sweetness. Curlew blinked. As two parts of the guardianship, these souls were linked on a score of levels, not least the physical.

“Love,” Falcon said in joy and claiming.

“Love,” she returned, and added with amusement, “you wished for me; I came.”

“I always wish for you,” Falcon admitted ruefully.

Curlew wondered if they said even more to one another between their minds, words not meant for his ears. Aye, Sherwood gave much. He wondered again if he would ever know this kind of close bond for himself. Having witnessed it all his life, could he hope to be satisfied with less?

“What news do you bring?” Falcon asked his wife even as she seated herself at his side.

“Naught good.” Lark’s bright, golden gaze touched Curlew. “This concerns you, lad, as well as the rest of us. Where is Heron?”

“Not here, but gone into Sherwood on a pilgrimage of his own. Why, Aunt? What is amiss?”

She did not answer at once but instead took the cup from Falcon’s hand and drank deep. Curlew felt the stir of her emotions—he could often glean the edges of feelings from those close to him. Yet he was ill prepared when she settled her gaze on his face and said, “’Tis your mother, lad. I bring grave news.”

****

“I knew something was amiss.” Lark spoke low and steadily so only the two of them might hear. “’Tis what took me to Sherwood, withal. But I did not expect what I found.”

She stopped abruptly and Falcon seized her hand. He had gone pale and sober like a man who had received a blow to the heart.

“What has befallen my mother?” Curlew demanded.

“That I cannot say.”

“She lives?”

Lark nodded. “Oh, aye, she lives, lad. But she has been...stricken. Three days ago, your father said it was. She arose as usual, spoke her prayers, and then went down like a young tree riven by lightning. She lives, she breathes, she shows no sign of pain, but he has been unable to rouse her.” Lark’s lips tightened. “Nor could I.”

Falcon stared in horror. “Gareth did not send us word?”

“He wanted to, but he refused to leave her. You know what he is.”

Aye, Curlew thought, shock and pain curling through him, they all knew of his father’s attachment to his mother. Gareth Champion lived for his Linnet, unsparing. Curlew could scarcely imagine his devastation now.

Sherwood gave, but when it took, it took much.

“What does it mean?” Falcon appealed to his wife.

“I confess, Fal, I do not know. She is there, yet not there. Gareth has tried calling her through his mind, as did I. Both of us can sense her thoughts—they move yet. But she does not respond.”

“Poor Pa,” Curlew murmured, and Lark looked at him.

“He does not do well, Lew. It is as if both his arms have been struck off—he founders in a dark, angry sea. Fal, I came to fetch you. I thought the two of us together might call upon the powers of our bond and so draw her from this dire sleep.”

Such, Curlew knew, had been done before. Members of former triads had been called back even from death. Aye, surely that was the solution.

Falcon asked softly, “What does this mean for the guardianship, for Sherwood?”

Lark made a helpless gesture with her hands. A forceful woman, Curlew saw her so seldom at a loss it shocked him now. “Linnet yet lives, and thus the triad still holds.” Her eyes returned to Curlew’s face. “But I think we must be prepared for anything.”

A shudder moved through Curlew. Anyone raised on the magic of Sherwood—and by its three guardians—learned early of life and death. He knew to his soul that death was an illusion, a mere altering of form, and that all that lived came again. Had he not met with and conversed with the spirits who dwelt in Sherwood? Yet these three, who held the power of the current guardianship, had always seemed unchangeable to him. And his mother—

Memories of her rushed upon him—the warmth of her smile, the otherworldly wisdom in her dark eyes. The gentle touch of her hands that seemed to shed mercy and healing wherever they reached. The constancy of her love for his father, for the members of the family they had created together, for the greater family that included the folk of Sherwood and beyond. She had given so much to others. How might she best be repaid now?

“This will wound us all,” he said. His two sisters, Dove and Petrel, both born after him, were already wed and moved away to neighboring villages.

“You will need to carry the word to your sisters,” Lark told him.

He nodded. Dove lived in Ravenshead, where her husband was smith, and Petrel, who would soon give birth to her first child, in nearby Little Wold. He could not duck the duty of informing them of this tragedy. But what he wanted was to go to the forest and see his mother.

Lark rose and her fingers twitched on Falcon’s. “I go now to my prayers. Come with me?”

He nodded, still looking as if someone had punched him hard in the gut, which was very much how Curlew felt.

“But tomorrow,” Falcon said, “we go to the forest.” He looked at Curlew and vowed, “We will bring her out of this, lad, if anyone can.”