There was no time. The Rai were approaching and the people of New Harnwood were on the edge of panic. Their rafts forgotten, their possessions forgotten. The Forestals who had made it back were bent over, shattered from running. Shocked at the death of their compatriots. The forest had fallen silent. To Ont it felt as if Wyrdwood was waiting, holding its breath for a decision to be made but there was no one here to make it.
There was only him.
His mouth dry. His legs, though strong as tree trunks, felt like they would give way beneath him.
“Ranya,” he said under his breath, “guide your servant.” No answer, only the drumming of spears on shields and the hiss of fire. Ont opened his eyes; for a moment he was back in Old Harn as fire was launched from Woodedge, a horrible brightness in the dark. But it was not Old Harn, the fire launched from the forest edge did not light up that village. It hissed into the sky, a bright spot in the complete black of Wyrdwood. A terrible repetition of what had gone before but without any of the protection they had then. “Forestals!” shouted Ont. “Protect us from the fire!” But they did not. Instead the leader of the Forestals, Binor, shouted back.
“We cannot, our focus died out there.” He pointed towards Wyrdwood, beyond the walls; Ont did not understand what he meant. “Find shelter!” The first fireball hit the centre of the village. A splash of fire, incandescent liquid arms reaching out. Burning anyone it touched with a fire that could not be extinguished. The air full of screaming. The hiss of another fireball being launched. Ont paralysed. No help from his god, no whisper in his mind.
Beneath his feet the land trembled.
Running through the forest, pushing trees out of his way with huge arms. Unstoppable, strong. In the distance three, tall, thin and terrifying, sat on thrones of black glass.
He was down on one knee. Head spinning. Was this a message from Ranya? Or was his mind disintegrating, faced with his own lack of power? Was he falling into dreams of being able to do something? What could it mean? What did it mean?
Issofur appeared in front of him, grabbing his hand.
“Come on,” said the boy. “It’s time.”
Time?
“Listen!” Ont shouted. “Listen!” Faces turning to him, the fire coming down, landing on a hut and exploding into flames. Sweat on his face. Listen? Listen to what? To him? What would he say? He had retreated from this place. Hidden in his grove. Why should the people trust him?
They brought him food.
They talked with him.
“We must still leave here, it has not changed.”
“But the walls—”
“Will not protect us from the fire. Ranya has sent night to protect us, we walk under her black cloak.” Ania had told him where to go when all seemed lost. “We must go to her grove.”
“It has no walls.” Shouted a villager.
“Ania instructed me that if New Harnwood was to fall, then we must make for the grove.”
“We are surrounded,” said a Forestal. Binor put a hand on their shoulder.
“If that is what Ania said, that is what we do.” The Forestal nodded. Binor turned to Ont. “It will be hard. They will have moved to surround us.” Binor looked around, at the villagers. “Do you know how to make a wedge with your shields?” Outside the walls of New Harnwood, the drumming and shouting of the Rai’s forces continued. The hiss of another fireball. Nods from the villagers. “Then make a wedge, put the children in the centre. The best archers in the village must provide close cover from the back of the wedge. We will assist, you may not see us, but we will be there.” Ont nodded, glad the Forestal had taken over. “And understand this,” said the Forestal, “not everyone will survive, but you cannot stop. No matter what, you must keep going. When you are into the trees, split up, make for the grove on your own and in small groups. It will make you harder to find.”
“Sengui!” shouted Ont. “Form the wedge and lead it.” His hand was sweating, the grip of his bow slick in his hand. Movement all round, parents grabbing children, pushing them into the middle of the wedge of spears and shields.
“Why aren’t you leading?” asked Manha.
“Sengui has the most battle experience of those here. I will be with the archers at the rear.” He sounded so confident when he spoke. As if this was normal, as if there was no hint of the terror within him, as if he had done this before. It almost felt as though he had.
He tried to conjure up the feeling from his vision, of being massive and unstoppable.
“Wedge is formed,” shouted Sengui. Ont felt the pressure of their expectation. All looking to him and he did not know why. Not until it was spoken. “Should we open the gate now, Ont?” He stared into darkness lit by the flames of the Rai’s fire. It would be darker out there. They would not be able to see much at all, would not be able to use torches. Some would get lost on the way to the grove. There may even be soldiers at the grove already.
He could not know that. He could not know anything except that when he opened the gate, his people would start dying. How did Furin cope? How did Cahan cope?
“If we stay, more will die.” He turned to find the Forestal Binor at his side. “Sometimes there is no choice, monk,” said the Forestal, “not really.” Ont nodded, at the same time feeling a strange sense of pride that the Forestal had called him “monk”.
“The sooner we go the better,” he said, and he raised his voice, took up his bow and breathed in, deep and long. He strung the bow and the Forestals and villagers around him did the same. “We make for the grove. As soon as we are free of the Rai’s soldiers split up. Now, open the gate!” Forestals pushed the gate open and slipped through, the wedge moved after them like some great spiked beast and Ont watched as it vanished into the darkness, fire reflecting off the rearmost. It was eerie, in the darkness, knowing that soldiers must be out there but not where. The lightshow of the forest was almost entirely absent, as if it had fled the violence.
“How can we shoot at what we cannot see?” said one of the villagers.
“They’ll come round the village and through it, and they’ll be in the forest,” said Binor, “there’ll be plenty to loose at then.”
“I see them!” said a Forestal as they ran towards the gate. Ont could just make out the same. A flare where a Rai was beginning to call fire to them and the wedge headed straight for it. A big fireball would destroy the villagers formation before it got anywhere near the enemy troops.
“Out of my range,” said Binor. More fire in the darkness.
“Nothing we can do,” said a Forestal.
“Poor souls,” said Binor, “get ready to run.”
“No,” said Ont. It felt like Ranya talking, like she had put his feet on the path and now he understood why. He took one of his long arrows, licked the flights. Drew. Sighted on the sparks and growing flames so very far away. Used the notches cut in the bow just as Ania had taught him. Aware of the Forestals watching, then not. The gentle kiss of wind on his damp skin. The cold bite of the air. The way the arrow would climb and fall, unseen in the darkness. The burn of the muscles across his shoulders and chest. Then aware of nothing but the brightness as it swelled in the distance.
Release.
The bow loose in his hand. Shouting and screaming. The intent way the Forestals watched and he was only faintly aware of it all, he saw nothing but the fire among the trees. Knew nothing but the death that would rain down on his people if he had missed.
He held his breath without realising.
Counted without realising.
Knowing exactly how long the arrow should take to cover the distance. Tried not to think about the terrible price if he missed the Rai.
Three.
Growing flame…
Two.
… a roiling incandescent ball…
One.
… that flickered out of existence.
He breathed again.
“Good shot,” said Binor softly, but Ont could not relax or congratulate himself. The crash of shield on shield. Sounds of battle rushing in. Screaming. Shouting.
“Behind us!”
“To the sides!”
He turned. Coming through the village were soldiers, made monstrous by firelight. More, coming round the village. The whistle of an arrow and a soldier fell.
“Go!” shouted Ont, and he turned. Ran for twenty paces then stopped. Began loosing arrows together with Binor as the rest of the Forestals ran past them then stopped. They began loosing as Ont and Binor ran past. Twice they did this until it became clear the arrows were not stopping the pursuers. In the day they were terror weapons, but it now was too dark and their effect could not be seen well enough by the enemy to scare them.
“Just run!” shouted Ont.
Running. Ragged breath loud in the darkness. Bodies looming up. He almost tripped over a corpse, a child. A man came at him. Axe raised, screaming. Ont smashed him in the face with the thickness of his bow. Did not stop. Running on, tripped over a spear. Rolling, coming to stop against the corpse of a woman, face a deathly rictus, a wound where an eye should be. He felt he should know her, was not sure. His hand found a spear and he used it to push himself up. Running once more. A screaming soldier came at him and was peppered with tiny darts. Shyun vanished into the darkness as the soldier dropped, convulsing. A falling sword, he tried to dodge, felt it bite his arm. Kept going. Warm blood dripping from his hand. Knew, on some deep level he’d passed from the cleared area around New Harnwood and into trees, the thickly leaved bushes that filled this area hid people well. He stopped. Gave himself a moment. Heard people all around. Screams in the night. Shouts. Excitement. Pain. Terror.
He waited. Given time he knew he would begin to see a little better; even though the darkness appeared complete it never really was. He wondered where the night creatures were? Slowly, he began to make out a glow from the bushes around him, a barely perceptible green. It took time to see it but once he did he could make his way. He found another body. Definitely one of the Rai’s soldiers. Her face contorted as if death had brought her a vision of terror, the Osere rising up to claim her, the Star Path forever denied. In her neck a slender dart. The shyun were still here, still hunting.
“Thank you, forest friends,” he said quietly and continued on. At one point he found himself lost, everything unfamiliar.
“Ont!” he turned at the voice, Issofur, Furin’s boy. There among the trees then gone but Ont went toward where he had been and found himself somewhere familiar. Knew which way to go then. He wondered how many had made it. Had the wedge even broken through the Rai’s forces? He did not know. Had barely been able to see. The death of the Rai should have helped them. What if only he was left?
No. That could not be. Ranya had brought them here. Surely not to die. Surely not.
He continued moving slowly through the forest. The silence broken by echoes of pain and fear, but more occasional now. He heard the enemy around him. Call and response. Finding each other. Homing in.
“What is attacking us?” shouted a voice with the harsh rasp of a Rai.
He smiled at the thought of the shyun, slipping through the undergrowth unseen with their poisoned spears and darts.
When he found the grove he could sense his people, knew they were there, hidden. So he broke cover. If he was wrong and they were the enemy then his end would be quick. But they were not. His people were here, and more were coming, turning up in ones and twos. He stood and waited, watched with his bow ready while they ran past him and into the grove.
Sengui appeared from the dark, shepherding a gaggle of children, Issofur amongst them as they ran past him. Sengui was still holding her spear and shield. She stopped, turned and stood in front of him.
“We did it,” she said. “But they followed us.” He saw torches in the wood. Hundreds of them. Enough that they did not care if it made them targets for arrows or Shyun. He backed up, followed by Sengui until they were in the grove. So many people, he could not count them they were packed so tightly.
“There’s too many out there,” said Sengui. “We can hold the entrance against all but Rai, but the sides of the grove, they can just climb them and rain spears down on us.”
“Where is Ania?” He pushed his way through the crowd, down to the twisted tree that held a taffistone in the tortuous grasp of its wood. “Ania!” he shouted. His people moved aside. “Ania!”
“It will be all right.” He looked down to see Issofur, smiling up at him: sharp teeth, bright eyes. “The forest likes you.”
“I am here, Ont.” He turned from Issofur to find Ania, stood by the taffistone. How? He had just passed it and she was not there then.
“You said to come here but the Rai have followed us, there are hundreds out there in the wood.”
“Do not worry,” she said.
“How can I not worry?”
“Because as the boy said, the forest likes you.” She smiled at him. “You are all about to become Forestals, and the Forestals protect their own.” With that she turned and put her hands on the taffistone, said something in a language he did not know, did not understand and yet he felt the words resonate deep within him as if they were familiar. The material of the stone changed, twisted, bent, folded in upon itself.
What appeared within the taffistone he had no words for, it was like looking into a pool of water that stood on its end, taller and wider than him. But it was not water, because if it was he would see himself in the reflection, his face and body distorted by the ripples and he did not. He saw another place, a strange city illuminated by the explosive light of the forest and cages holding luminescent creatures. He saw people, walking around in the long green robes of the Forestals. A group were gathered on the other side.
“What is this?” he asked.
“It is an older magic than throwing fire or water,” said Ania, “and a secret we have long guarded. Pass through, Ont. Lead your people to safety.” He did not know what to say. The pool in the stone frightened him. He turned, saw the faces of his village, tired, scared, dirty. Only death awaited them here. They had lost everything. New Harnwood was gone, Furin was gone. Cahan was lost somewhere. He turned back to the taffistone. Frozen, he could not move.
But something else could, it came running past him, weaving through his feet, stopped to bark and chitter at him as if telling him not to be foolish. Then Segur, the garaur, jumped into the arms of Issofur, and the boy ran laughing with it through the pool, and, though he could not understand how or why, they appeared on the other side. The child still laughing, the garaur’s bright, sharp mouth scolding his cowardice though he could no longer hear it.
“Follow me!” he shouted, his voice as loud as he could make it.
And he stepped into another world.