In the morning Cahan was first to wake. There was still the faint glow of the night forest in the air as the light was not yet strong enough to banish it entirely. In a way he thought himself lucky to be here, seeing displays of beauty few would ever witness.
He scouted around the campsite, finding more of the stick shrines of the shyun. They looked new. The forest children had been watching over them during the night, though he did not know why they would: Udinny had no more sweetcakes, but Cahan had some dried meat left, which he put on one of the shrines. Segur would have taken the meat had he not rebuked the garaur when it made an attempt steal it. It slunk away to hunt in a way that made him sure it would not be sharing its catch with him today.
When Udinny awoke they made their way carefully around the littercrawler’s leafpool, giving it a wide berth. They had witnessed how long the reach of the beast was. More signs of it were apparent in the light, scars on the thick trunks of trees where it had lashed them, wounds where low-hanging branches had been ripped away. When he felt they were opposite the bank they had set out from, he started to look for signs of the child’s passage, carefully probing the ground with his staff to make sure it was hard beneath the leaf litter and he did not stray into the crawler’s pool. Udinny did the same, she learned quickly.
In the end it was her, not Cahan, who found the child’s tracks.
“Here, Cahan,” she said softly, “there is a scrap of wool on this thorn.” She was right, and from there he could see the child’s tracks going straight as a thrown spear, deeper into Harnwood.
“We should catch him soon,” he said, though more through hope than surety. They set off down the track following the child. When they stopped to eat lunch he found a patch of mintwort, and showed Udinny how to weave it into a chain to wear around her neck that would keep away the smaller littercrawlers. He should have shown her that on their first night but, like all people, sometimes he knew he could be small and cruel, and though Udinny could have rebuked him for it, she did not. She only thanked him for sharing his knowledge and they sat together in silence and ate while Segur watched intently, awaiting its turn to be fed. Cahan gave the garaur some of his food and it curled up around his feet, the disagreement from the morning forgotten.
They did not stay for long, and were soon on their way once more.
Udinny let him lead.
“I had been to many places before Ranya found me,” said the monk as they walked through a field under huge, bright purple mushrooms with equally bright yellow gills. The monk had come up behind him so quietly he had not heard her, “and Ranya has walked me to many places since. But nowhere has been as beautiful or as terrifying as this place.”
“And we have barely seen a hundredth of it, monk, it is like the trees.” He stopped and knelt down, clearing a patch of ground before him of leaves and disturbing a whole world of small creatures most barely gave a thought to. “We see the trees above us, and these mushrooms around us and we think of them as massive.” Udinny nodded. “But that is barely half the forest. Most of it,” he traced a root as thick as his thigh across the ground, “is hidden beneath our feet. It is the roots that create the gaps between the trees. There is a constant hidden war for water and food going on beneath the ground. We consider trees peaceful, but they are not. They are warriors, fighting a very slow war.”
“I did not know any of this,” said Udinny. “I see a tree and think it is simply a tree.”
“It is all connected,” he covered the root back up as best he could. Udinny was staring at the ground, deep in thought. She scratched at the base of one of the drooping spikes of her hair.
“Ranya’s web,” she said quietly to herself.
“What?”
“Years ago, when I first heard her call, I searched for knowledge of her. At first I used what money I had, books that mention Ranya are rare and expensive. Hush money had to be paid also, the wrong books and beliefs, even then, could get a person in a lot of trouble.”
“Did you get in a lot of trouble, Udinny?” She nodded and grinned.
“Oh aye, my family were bottom of the spire types, rich as you can imagine but even their money could not save me.” Her usual playful demeanour fell away. Something must have shown on Cahan’s face and she raised a hand. “My firstmother, firstfather, trion and the rest put up with a lot from me. I spent my youth chasing excitement, and found it. Mostly in drinking, fighting and thieving.”
“That is how you got your nose slit?” She nodded, her smile entirely gone.
“My friends, those who fought and thieved with me, they died screaming as the Rai took them. My family’s connections saved me. They wanted me to become Rai once, but that questionable honour went to my younger sister and brother. It was their cowls my friends fed while I watched.” She was staring deeper into Harnwood, but no doubt seeing somewhere else. “When I found Ranya I was quiet at first. Kept it to myself, but I could not contain my knowledge, my joy.” Her smile was back. “I shouted of her on the streets of Tiltspire, and, well,” she traced her staff through the dirt, the smile falling from her face and voice, “I suppose you can imagine how that went. My family gave me up rather than be shamed. Locked me in my room to await the Skua-Rai of Chyi and her troops. It was Chyi then in Tiltspire, not Tarl-an-Gig.” The monk looked up at him, shrugged. “The skills I had learned as a thief saved me. I escaped by unlocking a window, then spent many years travelling, trying to find what I could of Ranya. Sometimes I would begin to lose faith, to think myself mad. Then I would hear her, this voice that brought me a peace like no other I have ever known.” She sniffed her necklace of mintwort, smiled at the pleasant aroma, but when she spoke again she sounded distracted. “I found a book once, dusty and old, in the house of a rich merchant who collected things purely for the sake of owning them. In it I found mention of Ranya’s web. It said, ‘Those who know of Our Lady are never truly lost, for her delicate web touches all things.’” She sat down next to him, and picked up a twig, using it to flip a tiny crawling thing that was stuck on its back onto its legs. “Few are those who know her name, Cahan Du-Nahere.” He knew she wanted to hear from him how he knew of Ranya, but he was not ready. Did not want to talk of the old times, before he knew the great lies people told each other. Besides, it was not the name of a god that had sent him into the forest. It was the promise from the Leoric to look after him, and the guilt he felt at failing people he should have tried to help.
“The child is making better time than I thought, monk,” he said. Did she look saddened that he did not share his confidence with her the way she had with him? A little. “I had hoped to catch the boy before he made it to Wyrdwood.” He looked up and into the canopy. The light was up and a mist hung between the trees, obscuring the way forward. “But that is not going to happen.” He sighed. “I feel that somehow the forest slows us and speeds him.” Cahan gently flicked a creature off his face. “There is real danger in Wyrdwood, Udinny. I had hoped to avoid it.”
“Unlike the pretend danger we have faced here in Harnwood,” said the monk, a smile in her voice.
“Wyrdwood is different,” he said. “I do not want you to think you have to come with me.”
“You think I wish to stay here alone?” The monk grinned. “You made it plain to me it was dangerous to be alone in Harnwood. That once I had committed I could not go back.”
“The shyun are watching,” he told her, “I found their shrines.”
“They threw spears at me,” she said.
“Their spears saved your life. If you stay here you should be safe enough. I will leave you some spikes so you can climb one of the trees if you need and—”
“Stop, Cahan Du-Nahere,” said Udinny, raising a slender hand. “It is good of you to worry about me, truly.” She turned to look out into the mist. “Ranya led my feet to you, so I will go where you go and trust to my lady to keep me safe.” She grinned. “You also, Cahan, I trust you to keep me safe. Our Lady works in you.”
He said nothing. Venn had also put their safety in his hands and he had let them walk back into the hands of creatures that scared even him.
“Pick up your pack then, monk,” he said, “the day is wasting.”