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By mid-morning, the villagers tired of him and made a meagre collection of supplies to send him on his way.

He put his children with the Gosses, where he knew they would be well taken care of. Though it was nearly midday, Alina feigned sleep in the hopes that he wouldn’t leave without bidding her farewell. He carried her over in his arms and then took Emelota on his knee and sat with them until early afternoon, reluctant to go.

“I don’t think you should go, Papa,” Emelota said. “Who will untie your boots at night?” Since his drastic softening of character, the girls had taken to babying Petyr as though he were a younger brother instead of a father.

“I suppose I’ll have to sleep with them on,” he replied innocently.

Both girls looked scandalised.

When he rose to leave, Alina had him promise he would return to watch the leaves change with her. He left to the sound of his children crying.

He feared they wouldn’t live to see the trees go bare.

Shallah felt a draft brush her hair, and shivered. She couldn’t quite understand what she’d heard. In her mind’s eye she saw Trallee just as it had been when she’d left it. Now she saw this image crack and fall to pieces. She felt a great ache within her, a desire to be near the people she’d known all her life. The desire was so strong. It reminded her of the way she’d felt upon coming home day after day as a child, hoping her father had returned, only to find that he hadn’t.

“How bad had it gotten, before you left?” she asked. It pained her to go on. “Had any perished?”

“Only Manfred Rundle, Amaria’s father. But he’d been ill for quiet a while,” Petyr said as Liam came to sit close by him, leaning into his chest as his daughters would. Speaking of these sorrows always brought his girls to mind and he longed to turn his thoughts away.

“But why did you come so far?” Shallah asked. “Why didn’t you turn back as soon as you found a water source?”

“The answer to that is simple enough,” Petyr replied. “I didn’t find one.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning. “How can that be?”

“It mystified me as well, but there it is all the same.”

“But what of Minnow Lake?”

“The lake was dry. I knew that even before I set out. A few brave souls dared to venture at least that far when the well first dried out. They found naught but an expanse of bare ground, the earth just barely damp. They came back shaken, and refused to go any further, if it can be believed. Three grown men afraid of an empty lake.”

“My God,” Shallah said, remembering their own discovery days before.

So, it had already begun, she thought to herself, and we could have warned them.

She sat very still for sometime, as though in a trance, Petyr watching on curiously. Then, quite suddenly, she shook herself and seemed to awaken with more questions.

“And you’ve found no water at all since the lake? No ponds or streams?” she asked.

“Not a drop, I’m afraid. Not even any rain until last night.”

“We crossed at least two streams, of that I’m sure. We bathed at one point, and filled our flask. But I can’t remember exactly the day, the hours run into each other. It seems an endless tiring moment.”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Shallah. I can assure you there were none when I passed through behind you. They’d all gone.”

“Between our crossing and yours they dried up completely? That’s a matter of days. It can’t be possible.”

“And yet I fought a battle with two trees last night, and nearly lost. Something’s happened to this forest, this wood we once called our own. Some great change is taking place.”

“And we’re caught in the retreating tide.” Shallah said.

Petyr regarded her quizzically as he smothered the last of the fire.

“The tide?” he said.

“Something my father told me once,” she replied. “He spoke of great expanses of water meeting the shore’s sandy dunes, and then at times falling back so far that miles of waterbed can be seen; miles of earth where water has been but now none resides.”

“I’ve never heard talk of such things,” he said. “Your father must have been a wise man.”

“My father was lost,” said Shallah.

With the fire out, the cave grew dark and Petyr and Shallah hurried to be out of its dank smell. Liam sat still as the others bustled about him. His eyes, which could have thrown some light on the task, were of little help. He gazed steadily at his own hands in his lap, and the flask of water that sat between them.

Chapter Fifteen

Petyr scanned the twisted cottonwoods outside the cave, trying to get his bearings. Shallah’s foot throbbed persistently as she stood by his side. She saw it as a reminder of what had to come next.

“Petyr,” she said with awkward formality, “I hope you know how much I appreciate the help you’ve given us. We’d have been lost without it. But I understand that you’ve your own task … your own worries … and as we’re out of danger now … well, as it seems we are … I don’t want you to feel as though we need you … though of course we don’t want to see you go … not that I … that is to say … I don’t mean –” she broke off, flustered.

Petyr put a hand on her shoulder. “Shallah,” he said, “I’m not going to leave you.”

She raised her chin and tried to keep the quaver out of her voice. “I’m perfectly capable of going on alone.”

“Do you think I doubt that?” he asked.

“You needn’t stay with us just because of your guilt,” she went on pitifully.

Petyr didn’t respond. He seemed agitated by her mention of guilt.

Shallah went on, “I realize we were in a right state when you found us –”

“I know,” he said. “How it pains me to think of it …”

“But, you needn’t feel obligated …”

“I feel so to blame, it was all my doing …”

“I have no desire to be a burden …”

“I will never forgive myself. To think of how you suffered …”

“Perhaps it would be best if we part ways …”

“I will accompany you as far as you need go …”

“For I am sure we can make do without your protection …”

“I vow to keep you safe, to protect you from all dangers …”

“I shall find my way. I’ll not fail again!”

“I swear to you, I won’t fail you again!”

As she heard Petyr’s words echo her own, Shallah paused to catch her breath. She realized that, in his agitation, Petyr had taken both her hands in his. He stood so close that they were nearly embracing. She took a step back and disentangled their fingers, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Petyr didn’t seem to notice her embarrassment. He stood penitently still.

Finally, she registered his words. “Fail me?” she said. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I know how you must despise me,” he said, his voice thick with shame. “It was I who sent you here, for I convinced the village that Liam … What a fool I was. I will never forgive myself!” Self-disgust wracked his frame.

“Petyr, please,” Shallah said, her voice taking on the soothing tone she often used with Liam. Though she masked it well enough, she couldn’t have been more astonished. “You can’t truly think I blame you. It was the fears of the village that brought us here, not of one man.”

“But I voiced their fears,” Petyr spluttered. “I rallied the crowd!”

“Don’t do this. The hate you bring upon yourself will only sap your strength, which you’ve little of already. Believe me when I say I don’t blame you. If you’re looking to me for forgiveness, which I’ve no right to give, then here it is.”

Petyr shook his head in disbelief. “How can you be so good?”

“Me?” she burst out. Now it was her turn to bow her head. “How can you say so?” she asked miserably. “I’m no good at all. The whole village knows it.”

“You did what was right when all others wouldn’t. You fought for this boy’s life!”

“I’ve risked his life, and mine on this ridiculous trek. I’ve allowed my stubborn pride to lead us astray!”

“Your bravery –”

“My stupidity,” she corrected.

“Your courage is astounding, Shallah. Look how far you’ve come. With both my eyes to lead me I barely made it this far.”

“If not for you, we’d both be dead! Don’t you see, Petyr? It’s you who deserves the praise. I did nothing but mire us in this awful mess. You saved us!”

“There’s no shame in needing the help of another, my friend,” he said gently. “It hardly lessens your valour”

“You assign me virtues I don’t deserve.”

“As you do me,” he assented.

Shallah managed a weak grin. “How shall we proceed?” she asked cautiously.

“Together,” was Petyr’s immediate reply. Before she could protest, he went on, “Neither of us has any idea where we’re going, so you can’t say you’ll be leading me away from my goal. And I could never forgive myself if I left you now.”

“But your task needs haste. We’ll only slow you down.”

“Thus far my haste hasn’t done me much good. It may take more than strength to find our way out of this wood. We’ve a better chance if we put our heads together.”

“I’ll never be able to change your mind, will I?”

“It used to drive my wife mad,” he said with a smirk, though it faded quickly. Shallah could tell it pained him to speak of Marion. He always took a deep breath afterwards, as though the thought of her made it difficult to breathe.

Shallah called Liam to her, and they both drank from the flask. As she wiped his cheeks, she calmly asked Petyr how much water he had left.

“Enough to last a day,” he said, looking down at the muddy earth, “two at most.”

“We’ve half as much,” she said in low tones. “We should ration ourselves from now on. For, if it is as we fear, we won’t find a drop of water in this forest.”

“All the same,” he said, “your wounds need washing. We’ll have to sacrifice some water for that.”

She stretched the fingers of her hand. The dried blood caught at her skin.

“Nonsense,” she said, bending down to lace her shoe. “I won’t waste drinking water on a few scratches.”

She extended her arms to Liam, but he wouldn’t be taken. He looked at Petyr.

“We’ll all suffer if your cuts don’t heal properly,” Petyr said. “I’ve seen what that can do. You could fall ill.”

A gust of wind blew through the cottonwoods. The wet leaves showered raindrops on Shallah’s cloak and hair.

“A compromise, then,” she said, pulling free a heart-shaped leaf. “Use the water caught in these leaves to cleanse my cuts.” She held it out to Petyr. “Would that satisfy you?”

“Enormously,” he replied with a grin.

Liam held Shallah’s hair out of her face as Petyr washed her wounds. Her face began to emerge out of the mess of stains, like a flower bud pushing out of the tangled undergrowth. With each pass he made with the leaves, another feature peered out at him: her freckled cheeks, her pale skin, her delicate fingers. Her beauty was nothing like the conventional good looks he’d been so praised for growing up, as if he’d done something to deserve them. Shallah’s was a pure beauty, like nature itself. When she opened her eyes to him, their watery blue depths took his breath away.

“The forest that caused your wounds is cleaning them as well,” Petyr said. “That’s fitting, isn’t it?”

He placed a leaf against Shallah’s forehead and the drops of water ran down her face, like tears.

“It’s not the forest that’s cleaning me now, Petyr,” Shallah said. “It’s you.”

Petyr rebound Shallah’s foot, adding some small branches to support the ankle so it wouldn’t twist again as they traveled. The satchels were another challenge, for the shoulder of Petyr’s wounded arm could handle very little weight. They attempted to lighten the load of his sack by transferring the heavier items into Shallah’s, but it did little good. Petyr’s satchel had to be left behind, leaving Shallah to carry the entire load on her own.

“Is it too much for you?” Petyr asked as she hoisted the heavy bag onto her back.

“When it comes to the food that will sustain us, you’ll find I can take an awful lot,” she responded bravely as she tested this new burden on her weakened ankle. But as she turned away Petyr saw her grimace. He determined to keep a close watch on her limp, and to take frequent breaks. He had the feeling she would walk through her pain until she collapsed.

Why are women so stubborn? he thought to himself.

He hoisted Liam up with his good arm and the boy looked ahead, illuminating the twisting path they would take between the mossy firs and spruces ahead. Petyr found it a comfort to be able to see the way before them. Up until then he’d been traveling in darkness, for the dryness of the wood forbade the use of a torch.

“We should move swiftly,” Petyr went on. “We’re sure to be pursued.”

“So … these oaks … you think they’ll come after us?” Shallah asked. This was the first time she’d referred to their enemies by name. “I was hoping they’d disappeared for good.”

“It wasn’t my heartfelt thrashing that frightened them off, that’s for sure. It was something else entirely, some threat much larger than us, though I don’t know what it could be. Still, we’ve no reason to believe that they won’t come after us again. I’m afraid I made quite a nuisance of myself.”

“And you truly believe they have the capacity to remember and revenge?” she asked.

“I do.”

Shallah frowned and shook her head. “I have to ask you to do as you promised and explain these beasts to me, Petyr,” she said. “I’m thoroughly baffled.”

“That I will do,” he replied, “but we must be off now.”

“I’ll have to hold your arm if we’re to be moving quickly,” she said bashfully. “Without a path, I’m not much good.”

“It’s incredible to me that even following a path you managed to travel so far from Trallee,” Petyr said, adjusting his grip on Liam so Shallah could take hold of his good arm. “You amaze me,” he said sincerely.

“Oh, let’s not start this again,” she said, turning her face away as her cheeks pinked. Still, the praise seemed to please her, for she smiled.

“My Alina hates a compliment as well,” he said, to lighten the moment. “She once shoved a boy to the ground for confiding he fancied her golden hair.”

Shallah frowned thoughtfully, “You’re trying to trick me out of my embarrassment, aren’t you?” she said bluntly.