Chapter Thirty-Three

“I fear we are being trailed,” Sparrow told Rennie, a new, guarded expression on his face. “I think we need to break camp and move on once more.”

“Who could follow us, here? Who would have the ability?” Rennie asked. Exhausted to the bone, she could barely face the prospect of picking up and pushing on.

Sparrow swept her with one intense glance before looking away again, and his emotions assaulted her: hurt, grief, and need as great as her own. She ached from the rift between them. It yawned inside her, a deep gulf she had no idea how to fill. These many days past, while they fled ever deeper into Sherwood, she had poured so much strength into Martin, trying to keep him alive; she feared she had very little left for enduring her own agony.

“I hoped we might linger here a while. It is unwise to keep moving Martin. He burns with fever.” Wearily, she added, “Perhaps you are mistaken.”

“Perhaps.” But Sparrow did not sound uncertain. He hesitated and then said, “It is possible Lambert has intercepted one of the other parties that lit out from camp when we did. Micah or Trent would have the skill to track us. Or one of the woodsmen from Oakham—”

Rennie struggled to think; her mind moved as slowly as a spoon through treacle. “Surely none of them would betray us.”

“Who knows what a man may do under threat of torture to himself or to those he loves?”

Rennie rubbed her forehead, where a constant pain dogged her. Another pain lodged near her heart, a burning weight. “If we move on, will they not just continue to follow? We cannot move very quickly.”

“I have been thinking about that.” Sparrow glanced round at the trees. “I suggest we gain some distance and then sue the assistance of an ally upon whom we have not yet called.”

“Ally?” Rennie lifted her brows at him.

“Aye. Sherwood itself. The magic of Sherwood is at the center of our triad, after all. Should we not take advantage of that?”

Rennie felt a rush of surprise, and a stirring of awe. This was the Sparrow she so admired, he who now felt so far from her. Suddenly her need to have him back again was so great she nearly staggered. But she said only, “How?”

“It will take the three of us together, I think—joined.”

“But Martin—”

Sparrow shook his head. “It does not matter. Wherever he is, surely he rests closer to the god than we.”

“Very well. It is worth the attempt. When?”

“We will move on a ways. You set the pace and let the forest lead you, Wren. When we stop, we will ask for protection.”

Rennie gave another nod, even though the idea of again gathering their few possessions together made her long to lie down and weep. They were all spent; Simon, pressed into helping Sparrow carry Martin’s litter, usually fell down in a stupor whenever they stopped walking. He had paid a significant price for his betrayal.

She resisted the impulse to reach out and take Sparrow’s arm merely for the sake of touching him. “Aye,” she whispered, “we will go where Sherwood leads us.”

****

The sun disappeared into a haze of clouds and green branches, and shadows came down. Rennie could not be sure if the resultant soft gloom heralded rain or merely a deepening of the forest. Few folk could ever have trod where they now went. These trees, haunted by birds and animals, soared like great pillars in a cathedral and were alive with awareness that teased all Rennie’s senses.

Despite her weariness, she did as Sparrow asked and chose their way by pure instinct, called by the flash of a bird’s wing, a glint of light or a fancied whisper. Silence settled round them as they went, and when she stopped moving at last, it was with knowing in her heart.

“Here,” she said, her voice hushed.

The place was a sheltered dell among the towering trees, formed where one had fallen long ago, steeped in deep green light. The remains of the giant beech still lay like a moldering corpse, and to one side ran a trickle of stream, clear and pure.

All the trees whispered to Rennie’s mind, “Welcome.”

Simon lowered his end of Martin’s litter to the ground, and Madlyn hurried to tend her son. Rennie just stood, drinking in the stillness.

Eyes half closed, she felt Sparrow take his place at her side. Every impulse in her leaped toward him. Whatever she was feeling included him, somehow.

“A wise choice,” he murmured. “There is power here.”

“Aye. He is near—the Green Man.”

Sparrow gave her a sharp look. She returned it, seeming to see him—really see him—for the first time in days. “Were we followed?”

He shook his head. “We lost the pursuers halfway here; I can feel them no more.”

She held her hand out to him. “Then let us do what we can.”

****

When first Lil had brought Rennie to the forest, she had spoken of magic. Real magic, she had called it—the sort connected to life itself. Rennie, battered and overwhelmed, had not understood what that meant then, but the knowledge had come to her slowly, perhaps the most important lesson she would ever learn.

Since then she had felt the magic when she listened to the wind in the trees, when she looked into Martin’s eyes, and whenever she touched Sparrow. But here, at the very heart of Sherwood, it beat at her, a veritable wall of power. A presence.

For all that, though, Martin’s condition had worsened. Passed from fever, he now lay waxen and far too still, his skin almost cold to the touch. Despite all Madlyn’s care, some of his wounds had poisoned. If he survived, he would be marked by many scars, no longer so beautiful.

No matter, Rennie told the trees, speaking to the source of that power—he must survive.

She sat with her eyes closed, one of her hands clutching Martin’s cold fingers, the other clasped tight in Sparrow’s. So did they form a rough circle, there beneath the trees. Their three companions rested at some distance, Simon already asleep, Sally face down, and Madlyn working over yet another batch of herbs.

Rennie could feel Martin. Even though he seemed so far beyond her reach, when she sat touching him this way she connected with his spirit, the one she knew—fiery and heedless. Her heart rose on a surge of gladness.

With her eyes closed, she could also feel Sparrow, even more clearly—all the gentle strength she loved in him, backed by a wall of hurt. Oh, Sparrow, she thought in sudden longing. Her compassion flowed to him as well as to Martin. Pure love, combined with the light of Sherwood, gathered itself and rose.

Something like a sigh issued from the trees and stirred the hair on Rennie’s brow. She felt the shadows—or perhaps the spirits—of birds flutter by. Small creatures, and then larger ones, approached and ringed them, felt but unseen. Everything held its breath.

There was a fourth presence.

Rennie’s entire being leaped in response to it. She felt Sparrow’s fingers clench around hers; Martin’s strength suddenly flared.

And the light grew, spun, brightened, and took form. Rennie opened her eyes.

A figure stood at the center of their circle, tall and still.

Sparrow swore softly in awe. Or perhaps he spoke the god’s name. It was hard to tell.

The Green Man.

The name appeared as if by magic in Rennie’s mind. She blinked, striving to comprehend what she saw. No, not the god but a stag standing upright on its rear legs; a beautiful woman with streaming green hair, who laid her hand on Martin’s heart. No—it was her father, Robin Hood.

He smiled at her, the smile she remembered from her dreams. His eyes glowed blue, picking up the light that surrounded him—radiance that streamed from Sparrow and Martin, and Rennie herself, that mingled and combined to make a circle of power.

Light is love. Love is power. Rennie knew not who spoke the words. They danced through the air and she inhaled them. They took form in her heart. Magic arose, blinding.

Ah, so this was what Lil had tried to tell her—what she, Geofrey, and Alric shared. This marvel formed the very fabric of Sherwood.

Martin stirred. Rennie felt his spirit rear up in gladness, and for an instant she could not tell what had called him, life or death. At that instant both were one. Or, rather, she saw death for what it was—a mere altering of form.

Lil was there, and Alric—Geofrey also, and a woman with long, tawny hair and eyes the color of Rennie’s. Mother.

“Protect us.” Rennie spoke the words aloud. “Confound those who follow us.” She savored the strength that flowed through her. “Save us.”

Her father stepped forward and touched her head. A current of power flowed into her and called upon what she already felt within.

“None shall find you here.” His voice echoed. “Gather yourselves and harbor your power. For the fight is not over. You must return and carry the magic with you. By love shall freedom be won.”

“Martin—”

Behind Robin, two more figures stirred. One, a man with a wild, yellow mane, stepped forward and crouched over Martin’s prone form. He laid a broad hand on Martin’s forehead, even as Robin touched Rennie.

Will Scarlet. The name appeared in Rennie’s mind an instant before Scarlet raised his gaze and met hers, all iron-gray fire.

And the other—

“Da,” Sparrow choked, beside her. The giant of a man smiled. A wild beard obscured most of his face but did not hide the fierce, gentle strength that suffused him. Like his two companions, he reached out and touched the head of his child.

The brightness flared. It rose like a tower of fire that consumed all doubt and all distinctions between the possible and the impossible. The magic of Sherwood streamed up from the ground, through the trees, and reverberated like the chime of a silent bell.

The past had come again, and the circle stood, triple strong.

“Rest now and heal,” Robin said, “and strength find you in your sleep.”