24

He was woken by the sound of movement.

The light had not yet risen, the air was thick with darkness. Years of spending time in the forest had sharpened his senses and now the slightest out-of-place sound brought him instantly to wakefulness.

For nothing.

It was the monk, Cahan snorted in annoyance.

She had left her bedroll and was wandering towards the edge of the clearing, each step slow, as if she was not yet truly awake. Cahan gathered his blanket around himself and rolled over. As he moved something in the forest, past the monk, caught his eye. He sat up.

Something in the light. A million glowing points lit the forest; plants and creatures of every colour filled the night. Most were normal, harmless; but not all. Within the chaos of soft and shimmering light existed all the life of the forest, prey and predator alike: the panicky flashing despair of dying things, the throb of pleasure from creatures that knew they would not go hungry. The staccato excitement of creatures trying to attract a mate. In among the riot of organic illumination Cahan recognised another, fainter, but far more dangerous glow. A limpid green amid the bright primary colours, something flashing rhythmically against the trunks of the trees. He threw off his blanket and scuttled across the clearing until he was behind the monk, keeping her between him and the glow. Udinny remained unaware of him, unaware of anything but a pattern of light against the trees. Cahan reached around her, placed a hand across her eyes and pulled her close, shutting his eyes tight as he did. She struggled, fought, but was little match for the forester’s strength. He knew her fight would not last long. It was not the monk that fought him, it was the thing she walked towards. The thing that had put into her mind the need to leave the camp. And though its draw was powerful, it was short-lived without constant interaction. When the monk stopped struggling he dragged her back to the centre of the clearing. When she started struggling again, this time trying to speak, he let her go.

“What are you doing?” she said. Pushing herself away from him, pulling her ratty old robe tighter against her body as if he was the threat.

“Saving your life,” he said, picking up his pack and reaching in for some of the berries he had picked on the journey. As he did the monk turned away from him. “Stop!” She did. The warning in his voice shrill, hard. A memory of someone used to being obeyed.

“Why?”

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“Needing to pass water,” she said, “and I still need to pass water so if you would allow me to…” she gestured towards the edge of the forest. He sat on his bedroll and put his hand out, stroking Segur’s fur. The garaur let out a low, comfortable growl.

“You walked to the edge of the forest, Udinny, and then what?”

She frowned at him. “Well, then I pulled up my robe and…” her voice tailed off. “I… saw…” Her face twisted, and she scratched at the base of one of the tall spikes of her hair. “My older brother? But he has been dead many years…”

“Do you remember the lights?” he said.

She blinked, nodded. “Yes, he was surrounded by lights, they felt warm.”

“It was a golwyrd.” She looked blankly at him. “I will show you, in the morning when the light has risen. But for now, pass your water with your eyes down and your back to the trees.” The monk sat down. Then she let out a screech and stood again, pulling up her robe to show her scrawny legs. Attached to one was a small black creature, four tentacles around a hard black body that stuck out of her flesh. The monk raised a hand to kill it. Before she could he grabbed her arm with one hand, using the other to pluck the creature from her flesh, making her yelp again as he did so. “As little harm as possible, remember? This littercrawler,” he held up the thing, it waved tentacles vainly in the air, “was simply doing what it does.” The monk stared at him.

“I think I may hate this place,” she said.

“It has no love for us either, and it will not get easier.” She looked away, shrugged.

“So, you are saying that if I kill some awful biting creature a hoard of monsters will come out of the trees for us?” He stared at her.

“If you had killed the littercrawler,” he told her, “the mouthparts would have stayed in you and festered. I would have had to cut it out, you would have been unable to walk and I would have had to leave you behind while I searched for the child.”

“I really hate this place,” said Udinny.

“Maybe if you eat, you will feel better?” She stared at him.

“More foot meat,” she said. She vanished behind a tree to pass water, then returned to kneel by her pack, sorting through it until she found some food. They ate in silence, Cahan sitting on his bedroll and the monk standing, occasionally moving to one side or the other of the clearing. He presumed she wanted to avoid another tangle with a littercrawler. By the time they had finished their food the light had risen enough for them to see and the display of the forest had faded. Cahan packed his bedroll, the monk did the same and they started to walk again.

He found no signs of the child, but knew the direction in which he was heading. Before they set out he wanted to show the monk how close she had come to death. They walked in the direction she had been trying to go in the darkness. Down a thin path, Cahan pushing aside the vegetation, causing a flurry of petals to fall from above as he struck a pipvine. Not far along the path he stopped and brought the monk forward.

“This is what you saw in the night,” he said, pointing with his staff. “A golwyrd.”

Udinny stepped forward carefully. He heard her swallow. The golwyrd was a pit, no wider than the outstretched arms of a tall person. If Cahan had stood in the pit it would only have come up to his hip. But in the pit the golwyrd grew sharp spikes, and from them leaked a pale green liquid that was as poisonous as it looked. Among the spikes were the bones of many animals. It had not occurred to him until that moment that they might find the child in there, but there was nothing of the people among the bones. Around the edge of the pit he could make out the tips of the tentacles that, at night, would extend and dance their hypnotic dance in the darkness.

“Ranya help us. It is not even safe to look at this place,” said Udinny, staring into the pit.

“It is, but you must be careful. The draw of the golwyrd gets stronger the more you look. You will recognise the feeling now, and know to look away.” He turned, and started to walk in the direction the child had been heading. “But be careful not to simply blunder into their pits, of course.” The monk did not follow him immediately, then he heard her crashing through the brush behind him.

“And what of that other thing, the littercrawler?”

“Littercrawler bites are simply part of being in the forest. You must learn to live with them, it could be worse.”

“Worse?” she said, but he did not answer. They still had a long way to go and he would save his strength for walking.

They carried on through Woodedge, it always struck him as odd that the deeper into the forest you went the easier the walking got. The hardest part to get through was always Woodedge, for the tree cover was not as complete and that led to exuberant growth on the lower levels of the wood. As they passed from Woodedge to Harnwood the thick carpet of fern remained, vines ran from tree to moss-hung tree and floating or flying creatures zipped around through the air, but the way became a little clearer, there were less of the strong woody shrubs. The child had not kept to a path here, which made him easier to follow, the history of his journey writ in broken stalks and bruised leaves.

Cahan would have liked to enjoy the journey; the light was clear, the air crisp but not too cold. However, the monk was incapable of silence despite his warning them that sound brought the forest creatures. If she was not talking to him about inconsequential things she was trying to befriend Segur, who wanted little of her. The garaur had always been sensible.

“Segur will bite you if you do not leave it alone,” said Cahan.

“So will every other thing in this place. It seems unfair to deny your pet the opportunity.” The monk continued trying to tempt the garaur with dried meat.

After they stopped for food he noticed the monk was sweating, despite the brisk air, and scratching at her leg where the littercrawler had bitten her.

“The bite itches?” She nodded. “Show me.” She lifted her robe to show her leg. The littercrawler bite was red and angry looking, a large raised circle of flesh around it. “Wait here,” he told her and walked back a little along the path until he found a patch of wide, dark green leaves, surrounded by bright yellow mushrooms that looked like fingers reaching from the ground. He picked some of the leaves and some of the mushrooms and took them back to the monk. Giving her two leaves and one mushroom. “Chew these into a paste,” he said, “but do not swallow. Spit out any liquid.” She nodded, and placed them in her mouth, making a face a moment later.

“This tastes vile,” she said.

“That is why I am not doing it,” he told her. Udinny looked around.

“I think I am starting to get bored of green,” she said, while chewing and scratching at her leg.

“You should get used to it, there will be little else until we find the child.” He left her to her chewing and scratching, then went to find and cut some flatleaves; common enough in the forest. When Cahan returned the monk still chewed.

“Ma out ist umb,” she said. He nodded.

“Your mouth will be numb for an hour or so, maybe more. Numbing is one of the properties of the Allbalm leaf.” He held out the flatleaf. “Spit the paste into this.” She did, looking quite miserable. Then he wrapped the leaf around her leg, making sure the paste was up against the bite. He secured it with vine; tight enough not to slip but not so tight it hindered the flow of her vital fluids. Then they set off once more. One of the more pleasant effects of Allbalm for Cahan was that the monk was quiet for a time. They walked in silence for most of the afternoon. Segur hunted, bringing back four histi which Cahan gutted and skinned. As before they placed some of the fillets in their shoes. Eventually the monk got her voice back but she stayed quiet. He thought the walk was beginning to tire her, but she did not ask to rest, which was good. Cahan had no intention of stopping.

“What is that?” she said. He turned, expecting her to have asked a foolish question about something obvious, and have to say once more, “it is a tree” or “it is a bush”. But this time her question was not foolish. She was pointing at a construction, three or four sticks about as long as the forester’s arm. The sticks were arranged as a pyramid, the points coming together at the top. Within the triangle of sticks was a small pile of rocks. Udinny blinked. “Is it the work of swarden?” Cahan stepped past her.

“No, if it was the work of swarden we would be hiding. This is a shyun marker, no one knows why they leave them, but it means we are in their territory.”

“Shyun?” repeated the monk.

“You may have heard them called forest children?”

“They murder travellers,” the monk sounded alarmed.

“The shyun will kill if they are threatened. But they are more likely to hide than attack us.”

“You are sure of this?” He shrugged. The Shyun were unpredictable but there was no point in giving the monk more to worry about. He kept his eyes open for more signs of the forest children, but did not see any. Truthfully, he felt a little calmed by the shyun marker. Since they had entered the forest he had not been able to shake the feeling they were being followed. He did not feel a threat from it, only a presence, though not one he was sure enough of to mention. His suspicion that it was the reborn made him not want to think about it. It would only mean more questions from Udinny.

An hour later the forest children sprung their trap.

They were passing through a clearing. The ferns driven out by short grass as thick and luxuriant as Segur’s fur. When they reached the centre of the clearing, a shriek went up and a wooden spear pierced the ground in front of Cahan. He stopped, the monk turned to run but he grabbed her by the scruff of her robe, pulling her back.

“We are attacked!” she hissed.

“Maybe,” he said, looking round the clearing. Thick ferns walled them in where the grasses ended at the treeline. “We’re most likely surrounded. Run and you run to them.”

“My doom is upon me,” Udinny fell to her knees. “Ranya, hear your servant—”

“Quiet,” hissed Cahan. “That was not thrown to kill.” He waited to find out if the spear was a warning, or simply badly aimed. Nothing happened. Nothing appeared. He waited, studying the weapon.

It was not a large spear, more like a toy for a child, and it did not look like it could really hurt. Unlike the spears used by the people of Crua it had not been hardened in fire, it was simply a sharp stick. But he had heard the shyun used poisons, and if so all they needed to do with their weapon was pierce the skin. The size of it did not matter.

The shrieking started again.

It was not constant, never coming from the same place twice. Quickly changing position in the ferns around them, and at the same time the plants began to shiver and shake. The forest around them coming alive with noise and movement, as if it waved its plumage at them in threat. Surrounded, as he had thought. Udinny continued her prayers, albeit quietly.

Cahan knew little of the forest children, having seldom come into contact with them. Always choosing to avoid their places when he had seen the signs. They existed in the between place of nature like the rootlings, neither intelligent like people, nor simply working off instinct like an animal. Segur knew what it thought of them: the garaur’s teeth were bared and it let out a constant low growl. “Down, Segur,” he said, and with a final hiss it sat at his feet. He placed his pack and staff on the ground, motioned for Udinny to stop praying and do the same.

The first of the shyun emerged from the bracken.

Calling them forest children made sense when you saw them. The creature was no larger than a child. From a distance it could easily be mistaken for one, though up close there was little chance of confusion. It had grey skin with an unpleasant oily sheen. Its head was elongated when compared to a person’s, completely hairless and it had three long, black, lozenge-shaped eyes, one on each side of its head and one on the top. For a mouth it had a nest of tentacles that moved constantly, and within them a sharp beak opened and closed. Its body was clad entirely in large green leaves and Cahan could not see if they were attached as clothing or part of it. In one hand it held another of those short spears.

The shyun moved towards them in half-crouch, a few steps forward, pausing to sniff the air, another step. As the shyun’s mouth tentacles moved Cahan realised it was making a noise, a low hiss like the wind passing through the branches of the trees. He felt Udinny move closer, her hand closing around his bicep.

“Chyi’s breath,” she said, “kill this monster before it brings its fellows down on us.” She crouched, letting go of him and reaching for her staff. He grabbed her arm and slowly pulled her back to him.

“How many times must I tell you,” he said quietly, “we do not act against the forest unless given no other option.”

“There is a monster with a spear,” hissed the monk, “I think our options are limited.” Behind the first shyun two more emerged. The sound of the wind became louder, passing around each of the forest children, out into the ferns and moving around them. The lead shyun had its head angled towards Cahan. Whether it was staring at him or Udinny it was difficult to tell as its eyes were fixed and did not move, they were simply black stripes on the skull.

“Udinny,” said Cahan softly, “do you have any of those sweetcakes left in your pack?”

“This is not the time for…”

“I once heard that the forest children liked sweet things, so go in your bag, gentle and slowly, and get out any cakes you have left.” Udinny looked around. More of the shyun were emerging. There was little to tell them apart. Cahan only knew which of them had been first to leave the forest as it stood a little further forward than the others. It appeared to be considering them. The others stood quite still, heads raised to the light as if breathing it in. Udinny opened her satchel and the lead Shyun moved, fast, spear pointed at her throat. The monk shrieked but did not move. Cahan raised his hands, showing them as empty. The shyun moved its head towards him. Cahan pointed at Udinny and mimed eating.

“Do not tell it to eat me!” said the monk.

“If that is their wish, monk, there may be little we can do.”

“Little I can do anyway,” said Udinny, glancing up at him. He wondered if she knew more about him than she had let on. Then she found the sweetcakes, wrapped in cloth, and passed them slowly across to him. “Save some for me,” she said, “they are hard to come by.” He took them from her, there were six of the sticky buns wrapped in the package. He took one out and held it towards the leader of the Shyun. It took a step forward, the tentacles around its beak opening and waving. Then the sound of whistling wind around the clearing became momentarily louder and it hopped backwards. Pointing with a three-fingered hand at two other shyun. They vanished into the ferns.

“Is that good or bad?” whispered Udinny.

“We will soon find out,” he said. They waited, surrounded by unmoving shyun, until the two who had gone into the bracken returned. One held sticks, the other rocks and they quickly constructed one of the small pyramids Udinny and Cahan had seen before. Then they backed away, making the noise of a gentle breeze. The first shyun whistled, a soft up and down noise, and nodded towards the shrine. Cahan stepped over, slowly and deliberately, then placed the cakes on the rocks beneath the pyramid of sticks.

“Oh no, not all of them,” said Udinny mournfully. He stepped back, looking around him at the other shyun. There was a moment of excitement, the wind of their voices rising to a crescendo, then silence. The shyun vanished into the ferns and, shrine and sweetcakes aside, it was as if they had never been.

“Come,” said Cahan, picking up his pack and stick.

“What was that about?” said Udinny.

“I do not know, but if it was a test it seems we passed.” He walked towards the edge of the clearing and heard Udinny follow, then her footsteps stopped. She stood in front of the shrine.

“Do you think they will leave them there?”

“It is not our concern.”

“What a terrible waste,” said Udinny. He walked back, took her arm and pulled her away from the shrine before her sweet tooth overwhelmed her good sense.