By Ways Unseen Read online

  “If we slip through this entire forest without issue,” Haydren said, one night as they prepared to sleep, “I wonder if we could have made it through the lines around Fūnik, too.”

  Sarah shook her head. “The chance is there are few beasts left in the woods; we know an entire army waited to the south. I believe that risk was still greater.”

  “Is that what you do for the Earl of Frecksshire?” Haydren asked. “Assess risks?”

  Sarah glanced at him a long moment from the corner of her eye, trying to determine his sincerity. “Not exactly,” she said, finally. “Or, not entirely. I was sent east to try to determine if the Woods were magical.”

  Haydren looked impressed. “Are they?”

  Sarah shrugged, then glanced around them. “Outside of them? I would say no. There are many, completely natural reasons why a forest grows and expands, lies dormant for a time, and continues to grow at some later point.” She hugged her knees as her gaze continued to rove. “Inside? I don’t see how they aren’t; the life and light that exist in every other forest…well, it exists in every other forest. It’s part of it, somehow; the deeper the dark the less growth. Sure, there’s no life here, as we’ve noticed; but with this little life there should be no life; not even the woods themselves.”

  “Do you study such things a lot?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I have lived a lot,” Sarah replied, a grin beginning to creep onto her face. “And I’ve traveled a lot, and observed a lot. I only study magic; but enough observation is like study, just spread out over time.”

  “Seems like you would need a lot of time,” Pladt said. “My father taught me a lot, but even he didn’t know that much about the woods.”

  “Given a few more years, I’m sure he would have,” Sarah replied.

  Her words hung for a little while as Pladt and Haydren exchanged glances. Geoffrey’s eyes remained on hers. Finally Pladt blurted out: “How old are you?”

  “You shouldn’t ask a woman her age, Pladt,” she chided, smiling.

  “Okay,” he said. “If you were a tree, and we cut you down and counted your rings, how many rings would you have?”

  Sarah laughed outright; Haydren chuckled, and even Geoffrey smiled.

  “It’s a legitimate question!”

  “I was born in 1255,” she replied.

  The forest grew silent, and the men’s faces went slack. Sarah arched an eyebrow at Geoffrey as they calculated.

  “You’re sixty-four?” Pladt exclaimed.

  “You look thirty, at best,” Haydren said.

  “Well, I’m only 63 just yet; but thank you,” Sarah replied, ducking her head with a smile.

  “Magic,” Geoffrey said, a slight growl to his voice.

  Sarah sighed. “Geoffrey,” she said wearily, then stopped and shook her head slightly. “Affinity with an element gives life to the user,” she said in normal tones. “But, use it too much, it takes the vitality back. Many magic-users – overly greedy ones, that is – end up with very average lifespans: sixty to eighty years. Others who only use it when necessary can live…some have lived upwards of three hundred years.”

  “And where do you fall?” Geoffrey asked.

  “Oh, I should have died at twenty,” she said, a spark in her eye. “Death won’t touch me for how evil I am.”

  “Pladt, take the first watch, please,” Haydren said suddenly, as Geoffrey’s mouth opened to retort. “Let’s get some rest, shall we?” he asked, glaring at the old soldier. “All of us,” he added with a swift glance as Sarah’s mouth opened as well.

  The first sign of life in the forest came the next day. As they walked, and Pladt’s eyes roved – almost mechanically by now for lack of anything to truly grasp his attention – something to their right nudged his vision. But it took two more glances that way for him to realize it was indeed a pair of dots that were glossier black than the rest of the blackness.

  He nearly dropped his torch as he hissed an intake of breath, pulling everyone up short; a low snarl, almost contemplative, and he did drop it as his fingers scrabbled for his bow and arrows.

  “Beast!” he managed, bringing the bow up but not loosing the arrow, his constant practice on the Shores taking over, as he had no real target yet.

  “Where?” Haydren said as swords glided from sheaths.

  “Where I’m looking,” Pladt grated. Another pair of glossy specks appeared next to the first, the inky blackness seeming to swirl in them. Whatever it was, it was tall; even with Pladt’s rangy figure, he was nearly looking straight into…whatever it was.

  “Behind!” Geoffrey whispered. Pladt turned, and at the very edge of the light a wolf froze in mid-step. Pladt had seen wolves before, but that had been in moonlight, and they had been only half the size of the creature which breathed at him now. He drew his arrow to his cheek; the wolf turned out of the light and bounded away. Pladt followed as best he could, waiting for a moment to loose his arrow; the wolf turned again and leapt for him; he let fly the shaft, but reacted too slowly and the arrow was swallowed by the night. The wolf closed, jaws snapping; Pladt stepped back, kicking the torch into the dirt with a thump and extinguishing it. The light from the other torches reflected off the gleaming teeth of the wolf as it bore down on Pladt.

  He tripped as he took another step, his hand grasping wildly for another arrow; moments before the wolf would have been atop him, it was viciously punched into the ground. Geoffrey put a foot against the wolf’s side and thrust downward; Sarah’s torch cast the old knight’s face in half-light, and his features turned into that of a specter.

  “Watch your shafts, archer,” Geoffrey rasped. “You must be able to retrieve them.”

  Pladt gulped, and nodded. He rose shakily to his feet and retrieved his torch. “You reminded me of my father just then, Geoffrey,” he said wryly. “See if you can not do that again, okay?”

  Now in different light, Geoffrey’s face returned, and the easy smile Pladt knew best rested on his face. “What do you mean?” Geoffrey asked.

  “It was my first battle against a hydra,” Pladt said. “We were in a room, and the fire from a burning building outside cast my father’s face in a similar light. Some of my shots had missed, and he warned me much like you did.”

  “How old were you?” Sarah asked.

  “Eleven.”

  “A little young, weren’t you?” Haydren muttered, returning his gaze to sweeping the forest around them.

  “Werine couldn’t wait for me to grow up,” Pladt replied quietly.

  Haydren’s gaze returned to his companions, a frown on his face.

  “I never saw the other creature, Pladt,” he said. “Would it not have attacked while we were distracted?”

  Pladt lit his torch, and held it outward: he could see no sign of the swirling eyes. He looked at Haydren. “It’s gone,” he said.

  Haydren sheathed his sword and gazed at his companions. “They will know we’re here, now. We must be more vigilant from now on.”

  Though there were no immediate attacks, his words remained true as shadows of shapes began to collect around them as moths not yet entering the lamplight. First two; then a third; then five: by the time they were preparing to rest, a dozen creatures accompanied them, just out of reach of the light, and just out of Pladt’s ability to dissuade their intent. They did not attack; they rarely made noise, except small welcoming howls and yips as more joined the parade.

  Through their watches, the wolves remained; a few left, but came back shortly with dragging sounds - hunting. What it could be they hunted, no one guessed, for whatever life they found came no where near the torches.

  Hours seemed to drag by, broken only by the sounds of bones breaking and sinews tearing as the wolves enjoyed their meals. It was probably not a full night they spent, as each member of the party woke the next in line to watch when they could bear the noises no longer.

  “Can’t you do anything?” Haydren grated at Sarah as they prepared to leave: more wolves had arrived in the l
ast watch, and he had woken to a pack of at least two dozen surrounding them.

  “I should really be able to see them, to do something, but…” She trailed off as her eyes narrowed; then they suddenly went wide, and her mouth quickly followed suit.

  Haydren gazed at her. “What?” he asked.

  “I can’t…” She took a breath. “I can’t feel anything.”

  Haydren cocked his head; everyone was looking at her, now. “What?”

  “I can’t feel air,” she said in a whisper. “My affinity. How did I miss it? But it’s not there.” Her eyes rolled in their sockets, the whites flashing in the torchlight.

  “Well, isn’t that just—”

  “Haydren! I can’t feel the air!” she said, turning on him; her eyes held not condemnation, but terror. “I have no weapon, and I have no magic, and there are almost thirty wolves out there!”

  Something in Haydren broke, a little bit. “Okay,” he said, more gently, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Okay; they’re not attacking anyway. Here:” he held out his dagger, but she did not take it – she seemed not to even notice it. “Sarah, take this at least. Has anything like this happened before?”

  She shook her head wordlessly, taking the dagger from him finally, but still not looking at it. Her eyes glistened as her lips trembled.

  “Sarah, we need to keep going, okay?” Haydren continued. “Keep a torch for Pladt; he may need to draw quickly. And let us know if anything changes.”

  “Okay,” she replied quietly, taking a firmer grip on the dagger.

  Haydren turned toward Geoffrey, widening his eyes incredulously. Geoffrey cocked his head slightly in agreement, though the eyes he cast upon Sarah mirrored only compassion.

  Without another word the party set off down the path; their lethal entourage quickly fell into step, still silent and out of reach.

  By the time the first attack came, the number of wolves surrounding them could not be counted for how much they darted around one another. Pladt drew quickly, and though Sarah dropped one of the torches and the already-unsteady light around them wavered even more, his shaft flew true and into the lead wolf. Two more came on from different quarters, meeting Follus and flame, and death. The companions turned quickly in place, waiting for another attack, but the circle around them held; it seemed as if the wolves watched them, even – silent and still, considering the effects of what had happened.

  Finally, as their breathing slowed, the companions cleaned and sheathed weapons. Sarah’s white knuckles pinked, and she put away the dagger with a tremulous exhale.

  “Do you think we should just extinguish one of the torches, save the fuel by only burning three?” Pladt asked. “I think I can walk close enough to Sarah to see, but she won’t be in the way if this happens again.”

  “We were trying to spread out to see if the trail turned,” Haydren replied.

  “And I haven’t noticed a thing,” Pladt said flatly. “So why continue to waste fuel?”

  Geoffrey glanced at Haydren with an eyebrow cocked in agreement with the archer; Sarah only gazed outward. After a moment, Haydren nodded. “You’re probably right. Go ahead, Pladt.”

  Pladt dropped the oil-soaked ball into the dirt, rolling it with his boot to extinguish it; the decrease in light was nearly unnoticeable. Without a word they set off again.

  Three more quick attacks came before they stopped to rest, each a little more successful than the previous.

  “They’re learning,” Haydren noted as they finished another cold meal, eyeing the blinking, glowing lights that surrounded them. “That last one nearly got to me.” He drew a long breath, glancing over his companions; his gaze lingered a little longer and a little more sourly on Sarah. It could not be her fault that she was almost entirely defenseless, but it was mostly her words that had convinced him to go through the woods.

  He sighed; perhaps not, he allowed generously: on the map, it did appear to be the shortest route to Frecksshire, and he did desperately want to get there.

  But at least if they had gone south, they would have been through the lines in a matter of miles; now, he had no idea where in the Forest they were, or what day it was, or how far they had traveled, or – most importantly – how far they had left to go. If the trail indeed ran straight, and they did not turn off it, surely they had to be close.

  The next raid came early, before they had finished packing; this time, it let up only briefly, allowing them to scramble together the rest of their packs before forcing them down the trail.

  Haydren struck down another one, his torch faltering in his hand. He glanced up in time to see Sarah make a feeble backhand, turning the wolf a little aside, but not killing it. Geoffrey came to her rescue; more wolves broke away from the outer circle.

  “We must run!” Haydren called. “Sarah and Pladt: in front. Our swords are better, and we may need Pladt’s arrows in the days to come.” Even as he said it, he recognized the staggering optimism in the words; he brushed that aside as his companions obeyed.

  Haydren handed off his torch to Pladt. “Don’t go too far ahead,” he said as they ran a little ahead of the wolves. “But I want both hands for my blade.”

  There were too soon nips at their heels, and the swordsmen turned to fend off the attack. Pladt and Sarah watched, Sarah’s hand flexing on the dagger as she danced foot to foot.

  Three wolves were dispatched, and they ran forward until again forced to turn.

  “They’re really trying, today,” Haydren grunted, his sword in an arc that barely kept jaws away from his shoulder. Geoffrey said nothing, his attention on his task.

  “Haydren,” Pladt said quietly.

  Haydren glanced at him: both he and Sarah were now almost beside them, though they were not looking at the wolves bearing down on them from the pack. Haydren had only time to notice they were gazing further ahead in horror, before he brought his sword up to halt a flying leap aimed straight for his throat.

  The force knocked him backward a few steps, past his companions; he swung downward, and the wolf yelped and was silent. A second leapt at him, and he staggered further back, into a tree.

  His right foot shifted for balance, but it struck the same tree; his weight carried him backward and he pressed harder against the trunk.

  Except the trees in the Forest were thin: this one was broad, and was not as hard as wood. Haydren stepped hurriedly forward, spearing the wolf before turning around to see what he had found - what Sarah and Pladt had been staring at.

  For some reason, he first noticed they were at another intersection: it crossed his mind quickly that they should try to mark this before moving on, if they could. The next thing he saw was a pair of swirling black eyes regarding him with stone solemnity. Haydren blinked, and suddenly realized a massive shape blocked their path: a canine of absurd proportions, almost pony-sized, with short-cropped ash-gray fur. It growled deep in its throat, though its jaws remained shut.

  Another head and pair of glossy eyes appeared to the right and a little above the first, gazing at his companions. A third, to the left, turned too and looked also at Haydren. Thick necks almost entirely of rippling muscle held them, all three looming from the same great body.

  “Geoffrey,” Haydren said, shockingly calm. “We should go.”

  The thrum of swinging Follus ceased, and Haydren recognized no further sound of running wolf’s paws. The creature in front of Haydren remained still, its gazes locked in place. Haydren edged sideways, taking the path to his left. He knew the others followed, as the three heads of the great beast turned to follow them all, though the body remained curiously still.

  The companions backed down the trail, enraptured; step by quiet, careful step the party moved away. The beast remained still, watching them, until finally it was swallowed by the darkness of the Forest.

  The companions stood still for a moment, watching the spot where the thing had been, having the sense finally to gasp for breath. The Forest was gone completely silent; the wolves had di
sappeared.

  The darkness behind them shifted, and the great beast charged. With a cry, swords came up; it leapt over them all with a great bark and bound, then sprinted into the Forest on the other side and back into darkness.

  When Haydren turned back, a host of glistening eyes arranged themselves in a line, but did not move. He and his companions would not be going back to that crossroad.

  They had been forced to turn, and their water and food were running low.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  STRAITS

  “I do not know how you do this.”

  “Years of practice; ages, even.”

  “Without knowing the future.”

  “Correct.”

  1319 – Spring

  “I feel like Sir Cullins should have told me about something like that,” Haydren said quietly.

  They were catching their breath, wondering if moving on would mean coming across that beast again.

  Geoffrey snorted. “He probably told you to stay out of these woods at all costs.”

  Haydren only blinked; it had been something like that. “I still don’t know how we stumbled across it. How deep in the Forest are we, you know? And for it to be right there?”

  “We didn’t find it,” Pladt mumbled. “It’s been following us.”

  Haydren rounded on him. “What?”

  “I had been seeing something,” Pladt said, swallowing. “Something that preceded every attack.”

  “Why haven’t you said anything, then?” Haydren asked, sheathing his sword.

  “Because I didn’t know what it was!” Pladt replied. He sighed, glancing into the woods where the eyes had disappeared. “Before the very first attack, do you remember?”

  Haydren nodded. “You said there was a beast, but I didn’t see it.”

  “I saw what I thought was a bit of shiny darkness in the middle of the rest of this wretched, light-consuming darkness,” Pladt said bitterly. “Not like the way the wolves’ eyes shine; this was as though the eyeball was black: ‘liquid, shiny black, like obsidian, reflecting the light in six points.’ I only ever saw one pair,” Pladt continued. “But that isn’t the legend.” He paused, glancing around the forest. This blindness! He wished desperately to be back on the Shores, where he could see across the ocean and apprehend his foes before they were even close enough to kill. Hydras possessed the ability to kill him, certainly; but they were not upon him suddenly as these wolves could be – or as suddenly as the thing that stalked them.