“Cahan!”
He heard his name. His head ached.
“Cahan! Do not leave me here!” Water in his mouth, tried to swallow and got it wrong. Coughed, choked. “Oh, thank Ranya! You are alive!” He opened his mouth to speak. Udinny tried to force more water down him, pushing the gourd against his lips. He looked at a hand to stop her. It was covered by a large leaf.
“What?” he coughed again and it sent shards of pain through him, “what is this?” He looked at his hand. It wasn’t only one leaf, it was many, formed into a large and ugly glove.
“Well, when you passed out—”
“I passed out? How long?”
“It is the same time now tomorrow of yesterday in which you passed out.” He tried to make sense of that but it eluded him.
“Do not speak in riddles, monk.”
“A full cycle of light and dark.” He could not see the sky. They were in some sort of structure.
“Where are we?”
“I built a hut, out of broken branches and fallen leaves.” He was about to admonish her but she shook her head, spikes of hair wobbling comically. “I did not disturb the forest, just like you say I should not. I simply found what it had discarded and used that.” Cahan pushed himself into a sitting position. Within the glove of leaves his hand moved. It felt unpleasantly slimy. “Your hand swelled up,” said Udinny, “and I remembered the Allbalm you used on me. So I made some more from what you had in your pack. But it would not stay on your hand. So I found some leaves and sewed them together to make a glove. I know you said not to go off alone, but I had to get more leaves and fungus. For the Allbalm.”
He slowly pulled the leaf glove off his hand to see it caked in Allbalm mush. It no longer looked swollen.
“You went into the forest alone, for me?”
“Well, I did not fancy going all the way back to Harn without you to watch out for me. Besides, I had Segur to protect me.” She smiled. “Truthfully, the garaur is an easier companion than you…” He stared at his Allbalm-caked hand.
“Thank you, Udinny,” he said.
“What is a foul taste and a numb mouth between friends, eh?” She smiled. “I suppose we have lost the child, though? A whole day gone.” He thought on that, then shook his head. The world wavered and deformed. He breathed in, waiting until his surroundings correctly constructed themselves before he spoke.
“Maybe, maybe not. It could be that we were catching the child too quickly and the forest sought to slow us.”
“You really think it makes decisions like that?”
“No, I think it is more like a nest of vutto.” She looked confused. “They are tiny shelled things that live in their thousands below the ground. They build mounds and carve out intricate patterns on tree bark, they hunt and even grow food within their nest. But they are not clever, they simply do.”
“Yes, exactly like tiny orits. I think the forest is like them. Sometimes it simply does. We cannot understand why and maybe it does not know either.”
“Maybe, to the forest, we are the tiny orits?” said Udinny.
“That could be.” He did not like that thought much, but he did not have to think any more as Segur bounded into the shelter and threw itself at him, hissing and growling in pleasure at seeing him awake. He sunk his non-Allbalm-covered hand deep in its fur. “We should go,” he said. “I would like to make Wyrdwood before the light is gone.”
“You are well enough?” He nodded, then winced at the pain it caused him.
“Yes, we are not far from Wyrdwood now, I can feel it.”
“I have never been there,” said Udinny.
“Few have.”
“Though I had never been to Harnwood before you brought me,” she smiled and stood, leaning on her staff, “and now I am quite the forester.” He smiled at that, and she did, too. Once he had cleaned his hand, which he did slowly to give his head time to clear, they set off once more.
Life grew thicker with every step, and louder, too. They saw many of the four-legged creatures of the forest, the crownheads and raniri that made good eating. But they were not hunting and these creatures were all too aware of them, their presence ghostly and transient. Large structures grew between the trees, like pillars of yellowy white wax. Another one of the many forms of fungus that grew in the forests. These ones were long-lived, and the waxy outer coating could be peeled off and melted into an oil that would burn well. Smaller forms grew in Woodedge. Like a lot of Harnwood, they were both familiar and unfamiliar.
The light began to wane and the trees of Harnwood become sparser, not because they were victim to some sickness, but because they were simply bigger and blocked out the light for smaller trees. Far in the distance Cahan could see a line of black. After another half-hour Udinny also saw the black line. To her it looked like a massive wall running as far as she could see in either direction.
“Look,” said Udinny, sounding excited. “Is that treefall?” She ran ahead a little, the sound of her feet in the leaf litter a rhythmic crackle. “Treefall would be good news for Harn, it would make each and every person living there rich, bring in artisans from all over the north. It would rejuvenate all of Harn county.” She stopped and turned to him. “We could take this gift back in the name of Ranya, she would rise again. I am sure Tarl-an-Gig would not mind if they got such a great gift. And maybe Ranya’s gentle path may become one well-trodden.” Cahan smiled to himself as he caught up with Udinny and stared at the massive black wall, though there was little real happiness in him as he knew he must ruin her excitement.
“I am sorry, Udinny, but that is not a fallen cloudtree, that is only the root of one.” She stopped dead.
“A root?” she said.
“Aye, prepare yourself for Wyrdwood, monk,” he said to her, and shifted the straps of his pack, “it is a humbling experience to meet the true gods of Crua.”