By Ways Unseen Page 17

  “Pladt, what legend?” Geoffrey asked quietly.

  “I heard it when I lived in Quaran,” he replied. “Back then, patrols investigated the Forest frequently. But if a hundred went in, they found nothing; ten go in…” He trailed off, gazing around the Forest. “They wouldn’t come out.”

  “Except one time,” Sarah said quietly, glancing between Haydren and Pladt.

  “Except one time,” Pladt confirmed, “one man did. He was almost out of his mind with terror, and babbling incoherently. After several days, we finally pieced together something of a story; it concerned the Cerberus of Kalen.”

  “I have heard of the creature, though not his association with the Kalen,” Geoffrey replied. “There are some in remote regions of Andelen – far from men, though, after Sheppar, Kinnig of Andelen, cleared most of the man-hunting beasts away from their cities.”

  “Well, this one protects the kingdom of the Kalen,” Pladt replied, heaving a sigh as he glanced around the forest once more. “It’s said he guards the forest, allowing none to escape once they are inside.”

  “This would have been good information two weeks ago,” Haydren said bitterly. “You, too, knew what he was talking about,” he threw at the sorceress.

  “As Pladt said, it was a legend, nothing more,” Sarah said quietly.

  “Apparently those in Quaran were not convinced of its truth, either,” Geoffrey responded.

  “Who would be?” Pladt asked. “Who would believe a story cobbled together from the rantings of a lunatic about a three-headed creature that roams the entire breadth of the forest and kills those who enter in? You’ve seen the maps: the forest is enormous. According to the legend, it does not matter where you enter. How could such a creature know, and find you?”

  “You did not believe it either,” Haydren said.

  Pladt shook his head. “I had forgotten the story; but I have not lived in the shadow of the forest for almost fifteen years, Haydren. It came back to me just now.”

  “So,” Haydren said, planting his feet. “Not only must we be assaulted by wolves at every hour, but we are to be stalked by a three-headed beast that will ensure, should we find the exit, that we will not escape.” He pursed his lips and nodded. “This was a really good idea.”

  He turned without another word, held forth his torch, and began walking. Sarah gazed somberly at the others, then turned to follow.

  “I don’t think he blames you two,” Geoffrey whispered. “You were not alone in forgetting, it would seem; though perhaps the survivors in Quaran were too delighted by potential rescue to say anything that might dissuade us. Either way, you are not to be blamed for forgetting an improbable legend.”

  Pladt nodded, keeping a grip on his bow as he searched for the tell-tale glows of the Cerberus – for he was sure that was what watched as they were attacked time after time.

  “We’ll turn right at the next crossroads, if we can,” Haydren called back. “Then hopefully right again, and left – and hope it works that easily.”

  But they found no crossroads the rest of that day. No beasts had harried them, at least; but perhaps they no longer needed to.

  “Their entire purpose may have been to keep us moving to the Cerberus,” Haydren agreed when Geoffrey suggested it.

  “But if he’s been following us,” Pladt began.

  Haydren shook his head. “There’s no way to know, and no use in thinking about it.”

  Everyone stared at him, until he glanced around and noticed. “What?”

  “That never stopped you before,” Pladt said, one half of his lips turned full upward, the other half trembling.

  Haydren gave him a withering look, though he grinned in spite of himself. “Maybe these woods are making me mad,” he said. He pulled out a water-skin and shook it. “Uh oh.” He glanced around the circle.

  “I might have run out a while ago,” Pladt said apologetically.

  Sarah shrugged. “I have one or two left, I think.”

  Geoffrey shook his head grimly.

  “Well,” Haydren said after a moment. “I guess there’s nothing for that, either; we find water soon, or we don’t.”

  Sarah redistributed hers – she indeed had nearly two full skins left – and they arranged their beds, thankful it was cool in the forest.

  But for two more cycles, they had found neither water nor a crossroad. The skins were empty and wrung, and even with cool air their throats itched and their tongues began sticking in their mouths. They walked silently and breathed shallowly, that the passage of air through their throats would not dry them further.

  After a brief lunch on the third cycle, walking at the head of the line, Haydren suddenly cried out, casting his torch aside. He slumped, seating himself upon the ground as the others ran up. It was finally another crossroads; the three followed Haydren’s gaze to the side of the path. There, in the dirt, were two strips of bark in the shape of an arrow, pointing down the path to the left of their line of travel.

  “It curved,” Haydren said, his head bowed. His shoulders shook in silent laughter. “But to where? This could be any one of the crossroads we passed since entering.”

  They stood – and sat – for several long moments in silence. Haydren chewed his lip, his mind racing a hundred different directions. He was the leader of this party; this was his choice; they could not stay where they were, that much was certain. If they went backward – it might be another week or more before they returned to Quaran. Forward on their current heading might take them northward into the very heart of the forest, and they did not have the torch-fuel for such a journey, and they could not last much longer without water.

  Sarah approached and knelt beside him. “You’re not alone, here,” she said. “Don’t take all the blame for every wrong turn.”

  “Oh, I definitely don’t blame myself for forgetting the Cerberus,” Haydren shot back.

  Sarah gazed at him the way Mickel would have for such a statement, but her voice remained gentle. “Because Pladt and I are sure to survive even if the rest of you die?” she asked. “Our slip could cost us exactly as much as you. But I’ve seen you work, Haydren; I know you’re thinking something right now: act on it.”

  Haydren scrubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, and sighed.

  “How much fuel do we have left?” he asked, rising to his feet.

  “We should have something like two weeks’ worth,” Pladt replied.

  Sarah rose, smiling.

  Haydren picked up his torch. “We’re going to turn left here,” he said. “We’ll judge about how far the next intersection is; remember they were closer together at first? At some point, we’ll make a right turn; hopefully it will be near the apex of the curve, and should point us toward the western edge of the forest. And hopefully water appears somewhere along the way, that we didn’t notice before.” He shook his head; this wasn’t going to work, but what other choices did they have?

  No one spoke: it was as close to agreement as seemed likely for now, so he turned left onto the path they had already trod. He cut off another strip of bark, laying it beside the arrow.

  “First intersection,” he said. “If we somehow circle back once more, we’ll know at which intersection we have arrived.”

  They continued until they were tired, and took their watches for the night. They had not been attacked, and they had not come across another intersection; wherever the loop had brought them, they were evidently still deep in the forest. Studying his maps that night during his watch, Haydren felt confident he knew the general size of the loop in the trail, and determined to make the right turn during their second day of travel.

  At each intersection they passed, the arrows were still there; and Haydren would cut off bark and lay it next to the arrow indicating which number intersection it was. After two days, he turned right; he marked a new arrow, with the appropriate number. They continued until dinner, and then until weariness overtook them.

  But time slowed once more, while their s
upplies continued to dwindle. Geoffrey found, one night while rummaging through his fuel tins, a water-skin that had somehow slipped to the bottom of his pack. But soon, that too failed, and they could do nothing but continue to walk with parched mouths.

  Ten cycles after meeting the Cerberus, when they had just set out for the day, above the rushing of the torches a new sound rose almost to a roar. They glanced around in fear as the sound of a thousand wings echoed through the woods, though not a speck of dirt moved as by a wind, and all was stillness around them. As they watched, the darkness of the canopy above thickened and began spreading down the trunks, swallowing the trees and the torchlight.

  “Sarah?” Haydren asked, instinctively ducking, fearing the void would swallow them too by the time it reached the ground.

  “Well this is new,” she replied, her casual tone wavering with the terror they shared.

  “Is it magic?”

  She remained silent as the forest continued to descend; but it did not snuff the torches entirely as it gleamed against the tree trunks and finally soaked into the earth.

  Suddenly, Haydren reached out a finger, touched the trunk, then touched his finger to his tongue. “Grab the taps!” he said quickly.

  Pladt swung his pack from his shoulder and began searching for the metal spouts. “What is it?” he asked.

  Haydren laughed. “It’s raining; the water is funneling down the trunks. We have water!”

  With broad grins they tapped the trees, driving the taps in just far enough to funnel rain and not sap, and watched as life-giving water dribbled into the waiting skins. When the roar above had finally stopped, they had filled enough water skins for another week of rationed liquid.

  As they capped the last skin and put it into their packs with broad smiles, Geoffrey cautioned: “we must be on our way quickly; we’re not out of these woods yet.”

  As the journey wore on, and as their fuel tins emptied more each day, their spirits sank from their former high. They knew the year was approaching summer, and knew that rains such as they had had could not be counted on. The attacks had suddenly resumed, heralded as Pladt double-glanced at the familiar swirling obsidian points from the woods beside them.

  There was not a circling entourage as before; these wolves would appear straight out of the forest, leaping and snapping – and they were soon joined by kobolds. Pladt had never battled the strange humanoids with dog-like heads; Haydren had only learned of them; Sarah and Geoffrey had not fought ones such as these, who managed with silvery eyes to see as well in the dark as they did in torchlight. The four companions were on constant, wearying vigilance, for at any moment, once Pladt spotted the eyes of the Cerberus, their foes could appear. Now, the kobolds would sometimes launch spears at them from beyond the reach of their torches before rushing in with yips and growls and short swords raised. The companions walked constantly with swords drawn; Pladt kept an arrow nocked, changing strings when he could feel one loosening. If there was any good from these events, it was the indication that they were walking through a different section of the Forest.

  After eight cycles since the rain, they were settled down for another “night.” They had discovered through desperation that a taste for – or at least a tolerance of – wolf meat could be gained, though they worried it might only incite further attacks as they sat around their evening meal. The wolves seemed inclined to attack regardless.

  Haydren sat by his torch with sword drawn; Geoffrey, Pladt, and Sarah were lying on their blankets, though not under them: if they needed to rise quickly, they did not want to be tangled in bedclothes.

  Pladt drew a long sigh. “We’re not getting out of here, are we?” he asked, though he kept his eyes closed.

  Haydren did not look up; the thought had long been with him since turning. Their water had again dwindled to mere drops; the forest stretched endlessly around them, it seemed; they could not travel a thousand paces without being attacked; and they did not even know if they were going in the right direction. Haydren opened his mouth to reply, could think of nothing to say, and slowly closed it.

  “Once, when I was a soldier,” Geoffrey began, lying too with his eyes still closed, “we were dispatched to put down a band of rebels calling themselves Uv Fehn. They said it translated as ‘The End;’ I imagine they meant the end of the current ruler, though they might have meant the end of sanity. Either way, winter was well upon us when we left. Upon nearing their stronghold, a blizzard struck, and we could not move through the deep snow. They began attacking us in short, fast raids in the night. They had strange devices on their feet, like webbing, which allowed them to walk on the snow; we floundered in it in our iron boots.”

  Everyone had turned to look at Geoffrey as he spoke; Sarah had a strange, reserved look on her face.

  “For weeks they harried us; they killed as little as possible, instead stealing our supplies. The blizzard so blinded us, eventually we had no idea where we were. We thought we were all going to die, too.”

  “Obviously you didn’t,” Pladt said, yawning.

  Geoffrey chuckled. “You always were astute, Pladt.”

  “So what happened?”

  “After three weeks, they led us out,” Geoffrey replied. He paused a moment. “They retreated, or so we thought; our captain was so blinded by his orders, he followed them, still hoping to kill them or bring them to justice. We argued with him, saying we needed to return to the castle for resupply: fortunately he did not listen to us, and their tracks led us back.”

  “Why did they do that?” Sarah asked quietly.

  “To show us they could do as they pleased, and we could not stop them,” Geoffrey replied. “Or, at least, that is what the lord of the manor concluded. A week later, he handed rulership over to one of his counts, a man to whom the rebellion was agreeable. The Uv Fehn were never heard from again.”

  “So these beasts are going to lead us out, then?” Pladt mumbled, beginning to fall asleep.

  “The God knows,” Geoffrey replied quietly.

  After several moments, the torches’ rush and Pladt’s snoring were the only sounds in the woods.

  “Geoffrey?” Haydren asked quietly.

  “Hmm?”

  “There never was Uv Fehn, was there; you made it up to make us feel better.”

  Geoffrey was silent for several moments; Sarah, her eyes glittering in the torchlight, watched him. “Keep watch, Haydren,” he said finally, and turned over.

  Haydren sighed, gazing into the darkness. Keep watch of what? A Kobold’s spear could pin him to a tree before he could see it. He sighed again, shook his head, and continued watching.

  Later in the night, as Sarah was preparing to watch and Geoffrey preparing for sleep, the sorceress glanced a few times at Haydren and Pladt, ensuring they were asleep.

  “Geoffrey,” she asked quietly, when the air going in and out of their lungs assured her they were unable to listen; “from Haydren’s and Pladt’s response to your story, I assume that was the first time you’ve talked about such things to either of them.”

  Geoffrey continued settling himself and his blankets, but said nothing.

  “I seem to recall some stories coming out of Helgsciow about such a band, around that time.”

  Silence, and stillness.

  “It wasn’t as clean as you made it sound, though.”

  More silence; and then: “No.”

  “Is that why you hate magic so much, and those who use it?”

  Geoffrey let out a long sigh. “I do not hate those who use it; but the words of the God of All should not be used by those who have so little understanding of it.”

  “We understand a lot more now than we used to,” she replied.

  Geoffrey’s head twisted to look at her. “How many words?”

  Sarah shrugged. “More than several hundred, across all elements.”

  “And how many words do you know in Rinc Nain? And how much damage do we still do to one another with those words, as well as we know them?” />
  Sarah did not roll her eyes as much as she was tempted to. “That’s not the same, and you know it.”

  “You know it,” Geoffrey corrected, and he settled in again. “I do not.”

  Sarah’s mouth twisted, but she made no reply. As Geoffrey’s breathing deepened, she began to wonder whether light was air, and could be manipulated. It would be fascinating, if so.

  The next morning they were hoisting their packs and trying to prepare themselves for another day, when a shrill cry echoed faintly down the path ahead of them. Everyone but Geoffrey straightened immediately, looking at one another to see if they had heard it, too; Geoffrey glanced at them curiously.

  “What is it?” he asked. “I’ve not heard—”

  He was cut off by another cry; it was high-pitched, yet muffled, and warbled like someone screaming underwater.

  “Macao?” Sarah asked.

  “What’s that?” Geoffrey asked.

  “It’s a bird,” Pladt replied. “But it lives only on the fringes of forests; never deep within them.”

  “Let’s go!” Haydren urged. They moved at a fast walk down the path. Haydren, in the lead, noticed the light around them grow suddenly dimmer. He glanced back; Pladt’s torch had gone out.

  “Relight it!” he said. Pladt looked at him somberly.

  “There’s no more fuel,” he said, casting the used-up fire-ball onto the path.

  Haydren pressed his lips together, and shook his head. “Let’s continue; Sarah, since Pladt seems to be able to see the advance warning of…attack” – he did not want to say ‘the Cerberus’ – “give him your torch: will you be all right without it?”