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The owls didn’t need to be told twice. A great plumping of feathers followed, a mass launching from the car. Ling counted seven, eight, nine of the birds. All owls, various sizes, flying overhead now, heading for the treeline. Ling followed them, hugging herself, heavy-footed.
A bad idea, she thought as she walked closer to the trees looming up to meet her. A very bad idea. The river over to her left gurgled in agreement, and she wanted to raise her fist to it in the gloom, cursing the swift water for taking her oldest daughter.
But what if it had spit the girl out and Jordan was somewhere in this mess of trees, alive, breathing, calling for her mother? An owl dipped down above her, and she felt the feather-soft grazing of its wing against her head before it swooped upwards again and on relentlessly towards the trees.
The trees stepped out to meet her, just one or two to start with, and then they were crowding around, beckoning her on with twiggy fingers, catching at her clothes and hair, lifting a strand, letting it fall, and she dodged one only to press against another.
The owls fluttered from branch to branch, turning to look at her, their eyes wide, unblinking, reflecting the fading light. They led her onwards, deeper into the forest, and she stumbled after them, hands out in front of her, feet stumbling over roots, shrubs, stones.
It seemed she had walked for hours deeper and deeper into the gloom of the trees, but common sense told her it had only been minutes. The owls flew in relays from one branch to another, leading her on, showing her the way. There was no pretending anymore, about what they were doing, Ling didn’t even try to deny it. He heart was pounding in her chest, smashing against her ribs like a rock. Every step she took tore at her mind, forced it open, peeled the edges back until she was sobbing as she stepped over root and shrub, unable to keep the wild knowledge at bay.
She felt the tree’s song first in her feet, a soft vibration that hummed in the soil, dug down in there through the roots. Then the very air seemed to shiver around her, and she stopped walking for a moment, blinking in the darkness, holding out a hand as though to touch the electricity she could feel in the air around her. Frowning, she looked for the owls, but they were all on ahead, perched on branches, looking forward, their backs to her, and she realised there was a dim glow in the forest ahead, and there was also the sound of someone singing.
She heard the words, and recognised the language, and for a moment, her legs weakened so that she thought she must surely fall forwards into the dirt amongst the trees. She heard the words, recognised the language, and knew the voice.
It was the voice that had her stumbling forward, arms flailing out to the side, waving wildly, touching trees here and there as she ran, feeling electric shocks from the touch of their bark to her fingertips but not stopping because she knew that voice even if she’d never heard it say those words before, she’d still recognise that voice anywhere.
Jordan. Jordan was alive. Her daughter had fallen in the river and come out alive, was here in this terrible, strange forest, and she was alive and breathing, and that was all Ling knew, all that counted.
A hazy glow brightened between the trees and Ling’s eyes widened as she ran. Everywhere, there was light, gathering around the trees, spreading from one to the other. Faltering a moment, she stared upwards, watching the glow, seeing how it seemed to breathe to the rhythm of the words Jordan was chanting. She swallowed, her mouth dry, and felt wonder and awe washing over her. What was this place?
Her hair crackled with static electricity, and she raised an absent hand to smooth it back down, then lost her balance, and reached out for a tree to steady her. The bark was rough against her hand, and she jerked away from it. Not because of the roughness, but because the tree was warm to the touch – or if not warm, exactly, then alive. Alive, humming, surging with some ancient, powerful, and so dreadfully foreign energy.
Ling stared at the palm of her hand, as though expecting to see a burn, or mark, the imprint of bark seared into her flesh. But in the eerie glow, her hand was the same smooth skin she saw every day, although tingling. It tingled in a series of tiny aftershocks.
Tentative, she reached for the tree again, forgetting for a moment that her daughter was up ahead, singing in a language she’d never been taught. The tree had her attention, the tree with its strange humming, throbbing energy and its glowing light that seemed to come from its very branches, leaves, trunk.
The next touch didn’t shock as much, and she flattened her hand against the bark, closing her eyes as the sensation of humming power flooded through her. It was as though...as though the tree was alive. Alive and awake.
Snapping her eyes open, Ling jerked her hand back and shook herself, tuning again into the fact that her daughter was just up ahead. The daughter she’d thought dead, just a scant hour ago.
When she moved again, it was cautiously, wanting to rush headlong into the great glow ahead of her to find Jordan, but everything inside of her was screaming at her to sidle up, to creep and crawl, to gain the clearing unnoticed. Because something was happening up there, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to know what.
Closer, she realised there were two voices chanting. And the other was her own mother. Of course it was. An old anger nipped at Ling’s mind, and pushed itself into her – what was her mother doing now? Why did she always want to sink her superstitious claws into Ling’s daughter? Couldn’t she leave well enough alone?
Ling shoved the voice away. Something was happening and understanding and ignorance warred with each other inside her, demanding that she choose a side. For a moment, she wanted to hide, to crouch down beside this rock and close her eyes, shut her ears, turn, and run for the car. She did not want to be like her mother and believe in gods and demons. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and trembled there, vibrating in the hum of the trees.
But it was her daughter up ahead. Her daughter’s voice ringing out clear through the forest. Sucking in a deep breath, Ling moved forward again, touching the trees for support, feeling their humming trembling vibrate up her arms and blinking in the glow. The owls were still with her, but within five steps, they spread out and settled onto branches like taking seats in an arena. She was almost at the clearing, almost about to see...
Her mother’s voice stopped its chanting, and for a moment the whole forest fell silent, and it was almost the longest moment of Ling’s life, and the hairs on her arms stood up, and her breath caught in her throat.
The moment ended, breath and movement released, and Ling pressed forward, and came into the clearing just as her mother screamed.
It was a scream that made the trees shiver, that had Ling pressing hands to open mouth, eyes turning to seek her mother in the clearing and finding her, and wishing she’d never gotten out of bed that morning, that the whole day had never happened, was no more than the wispy remains of a nightmare, a touch of indigestion.
Ling stood stock still, rigid, hands reaching into her mouth to grab the scream lodged in her throat, and gaze held horrified by what stood in the clearing, the thing that stood towering over her daughter, the thing that had her mother clasped in clawed hands, the thing that was biting deep into her mother’s side as Chenguang screamed again.
Turning her head away, Ling pressed her hands outward to deny what she saw. It was a nightmare, nothing more, something she had dreamed of once, that was all, it wasn’t real, there was nothing true about this, it was just an ugly, dirty dream, and she never wanted to go in the woods ever again. She forced her eyes shut, brought her hands to her ears to block out the screams, and shook her head.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not for real.