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The nights had been the worst. He hadn’t spent a night without his children in over seven years. On his first night in the wood the loneliness had brought him to his knees. It was the same now. For, to contemplate the loss of one’s home is a lonely thought. One can never truly imagine that any place will feel like home again.

“When I was a boy,” Petyr said, “I couldn’t fathom any world outside our village. I never dreamed of faraway lands. I was content with what I had and where I was. I wanted nothing more. Then I grew and married and had children, and my Marion was taken from me. It was only after her death that I began to look for more, to wonder about the rest of the world. But I never imagined it was so vast, that there was so much of the wood we’d never seen …

“You ask me to imagine a world beyond this forest,” he went on, “and I wish I could. But I can’t. I don’t believe such a place exists.” He could feel her dismay. “But I’ll go with you.”

She didn’t move an inch. She didn’t even raise her head. But Petyr could hear the smile in her voice.

“Why?” she asked.

“It seems I’ve run out of hope,” he said. “I thought you might lend me some of yours.”

“Of course,” Shallah said. “But you mustn’t be greedy.” A scolding tone entered her voice, though she was grinning. “It’s precious stuff. We’ll have to ration it.”

Petyr chuckled. He felt moderately better. He wiped his hands on his tunic as though wiping away his doubts. “I suppose only one question remains. How will we find the edge of the forest without a path to follow?”

“There is one path,” Shallah said. “Liam and I followed a herd of animals into this wood, dozens of species fleeing as one. I remember thinking it was like an exodus. Maybe I wasn’t far off. Maybe they found a way out.”

“And so if we find that path –”

“We find salvation.”

Shallah finished her portion of the meal they’d abandoned earlier, then wrapped up the remains of Liam’s food. Petyr found he had no appetite and could force down naught but a few mouthfuls of bread. His arm ached stubbornly, in time with the throbbing of his head. His entire body yearned for its long denied rest, and he was finding it more and more difficult to resist.

“Petyr,” Shallah whispered, “I have to ask. If the oaks didn’t want to harm Liam, whatever did they want him for?”

“I don’t know, Shallah,” he replied. The words fell from his mouth uselessly. “I don’t know.”

His hand went automatically to the leather pouch hanging from his belt, the square bit of cloth within. He gripped it tightly.

He felt very tired.

Chapter Seventeen

The trio gathered their things in a drowsy daze, less than eager to be on the move again. Having made their plan, Shallah and Petyr ought to have felt light-hearted, but neither was much enthused at the prospect of backtracking to find their path. They didn’t fall back to the cave, but cut across to the east, hoping they would catch the animal’s path further along.

“When we can take a step without getting tangled in the brush, we’ve probably found it,”Shallah said.

“Or when we can take a breath of air without getting a mouthful of needles,” Petyr said darkly. Earlier, he’d gotten a branch in the face in the middle of a yawn. “Like kissing a porcupine!” he complained.

Shallah had to smile. He’d been going on for some time now. “And you’ve kissed a great many porcupines in your day, have you?” she asked cheekily.

“Oh, I see,” he replied. “You think I’m whining for attention, is that it?”

Recalling that he was also nursing a broken arm, she held back a biting retort. “I just think you should leave the poor porcupine out of it,” she said. “You’re still a young man, Petyr. There’s no need to turn to rodents for comfort.”

Petyr gave out a hearty laugh.

Though danger loomed at all sides, the hours passed swiftly for the three travellers as they sheltered in the glow of stories of home. Petyr regaled them with childhood tales of dodging chores and harassing his neighbours. Even solemn Liam had to smile at the image of seven-year-old Petyr chasing after a squealing piglet, as Leland and Balduin Goss, each grasping a flapping chicken, tried to waylay old Mr. Quigg, who cursed explosively, swinging his shovel.

He described his childhood haunts, all those little places the village children imagined were theirs alone, until they grew too old for them and new children came to discover them afresh. His favourite place had been behind the oxen paddock where a family of birch trees bent in upon one another, weaving their branches into a sort of roof. There in the womb of the trees he’d found the solitude he’d craved as an awkward adolescent.

“There I asked Marion to be my wife,” he said, squinting as if looking into the past.

“Were you very happy together?” Shallah asked, though she knew she ought not to; they were treading on dangerous ground. But for the first time she felt the irresistible lure of romance. She so wanted him to say yes, to finish his beautiful painting of the past with one last perfect stroke.

“Not always,” he said candidly. “We bickered, quite a bit, actually. But it’s hard to remember now what all those arguments were about. It’s strange, they seemed so important then.”

Shallah tried again. “But marriage,” she asked hopefully, “was it everything you’d hoped?”

“It was …” Petyr smiled nostalgically. “It was grand,” he said.

At that moment an image appeared in Shallah’s mind, a picture she would always think of as belonging to Petyr. While Raulf was a whirl of motion, and Liam was sweet and soft, Petyr came to her as a human heart. It beat relentlessly, ever tortured. At times it seemed about to burst. Then it would expand, growing robust and strong. And when he laughed, it shone.

Petyr was pushing his way through a patch of tall ferns, Shallah carrying Liam just behind him, when a braying cry met his ears. It wasn’t another assault by the oaks, for the cry wasn’t of the same calibre, but both he and Shallah were immediately on their guard, all the same. They followed the sound cautiously.

“Probably a doe in childbirth,” Petyr whispered knowingly, in a effort to comfort Liam who kept whimpering softly each time the cry was heard.

“Oh yes, I’m sure,” Shallah said, catching the game. Neither sounded very convincing.

As they drew nearer, Petyr spied the spindly branches of their enemy up ahead. He took out his axe, holding the blade downwards, and hurriedly explained what he saw to Shallah.

“We should turn back,” she whispered urgently as Liam clung to her cloak. “We’ll alert them to our presence and force another attack.”

“I spy our path up ahead,” Petyr said, pointing towards a row of flattened bushes.

“Then let’s circle around, giving the oak a wide birth. There’s no need to pass right under its nose.”

The cry rose up again, so loud this time that they all winced.

“I’ve rescued a creature from the clutches of these monsters before,” he replied, “I won’t leave this one to suffer. Besides, what good is it to hide from a confrontation we know will come? Better to get it over with than to cower in fear.”

Shallah shook her head as Petyr peered through the fern leaves.

“You’re being foolish!” she cried.

“You needn’t follow me, then,” he whispered, over his shoulder. “Stay here with Liam and wait for my return.”

“I’ll not separate us again. We might never find each other.” She took hold of Petyr’s hand. He turned to her. Her features were strained with worry. “Please don’t do this, Petyr,” she said. “I fear for you.”

Petyr softened. He’d forgotten for a moment that his actions might affect the others. “I’ll take no unnecessary risks,” he said.

Shallah’s face went suddenly hard, and she dropped his hand. “The act alone is unnecessary!” she objected heatedly. “Why look for trouble when it can be avoided? You endanger us all with your reckless need for conflict.”

Liam looked on silently as Shallah glared furiously at Petyr. He blinked, stunned by her sudden anger. He tried to take her hand again, but she pulled away.

“I would never put you in harm’s way,” he said steadily. “I hope you know that by now. You can follow me at a distance, keeping well back in the trees. You’ll be out of danger there.”

She nodded sullenly, her face averted. “Why must you always go ahead, you men?” she asked, her voice low. “What is it you expect to find?”

“I seek only to keep us safe,” Petyr responded. He couldn’t understand her sudden despondency. Did she doubt his loyalty to her? “I do this for you,” he said.

Shallah’s smile was sour. “For me,” she repeated in a whisper. She raised her face to his. “Go, then,” she said.

Moving off, Petyr felt a tug in his stomach. It bothered him more than he could admit that he’d upset Shallah so. He was more than relieved when he heard her calling after him.

“Petyr!” she whispered, a note of remorse in her voice. “Do be careful.”

“And you,” he called back softly.

Petyr crept toward the beastly tree. The light from Liam’s eyes continued to brighten his way as the boy watched him from yards off. The animal cried out again and Petyr followed the sound, grateful for the noise, for it allowed him to move more easily through the underbrush.

He could make out the animal’s head but nothing more, for it was facing away from him. He was surprised at its size. He’d never seen these beasts attack a larger creature before, other than himself, and in light of their rejection of Shallah he’d come to think of them as the snatchers of rodents and children. If these oaks were able to hold a fully-grown deer, then they could take whomsoever they chose, axe or no axe.

When Petyr finally found himself under the branches of the oak, Liam looked away, leaving him in the dark. The imprisoned animal was no more than a shifting shadow. Then the light flared again and Petyr caught his breath. Before him, tangled in the roots of the monster, was an enormous buck. Its eyes glowed green and pained as the light hit them, then fell black again. It cried out and Petyr winced despite himself, not at the loudness of the sound, but at its cause. This animal had not gone quietly into the belly of the beast.

A twisting root protruded sickly through its broad red chest, pinning it to the trunk. Another cut through the white patch of fur on its rump. Blood seeped over the roots, hinting at further carnage. As it thumped the ground with its two front hooves in wild-eyed terror, more blood ran down the roots to the forest floor.

Petyr saw instantly he could do nothing for the creature. The very limbs that had injured him were holding him in life. If he cut the animal loose, it would surely die. He leaned forward and stroked the buck between its mighty antlers. It let out another mournful wail.

“I’m sorry,” he said as quietly as he could. “I can’t save you.”

The buck caught Petyr’s eyes and went still. He held the great animal’s head with both hands.

“You will not die alone,” he said.

Liam was glad to be doing something.

It was his job to lead Shallah now, because she couldn’t watch Petyr like he could. She had to trust him to do it right, and he was sure he would. It felt good to be thinking about something. It made it easier not to think about all the things he wasn’t thinking about. There were so many things! He didn’t want to think about the story Petyr had told about Trallee, the one they thought he hadn’t heard. He didn’t want to think about the battle with the oaks, and the horrible images that had filled his mind. He didn’t want to think about anything from
before
or anything from
after
.

He didn’t want to think at all. It was best to be doing something.

He lost sight of Petyr for a moment, and his eyes skipped forward. His sight landed on something he couldn’t quite make out. He slowed his step as he tried to see. Shallah tugged on his hand in puzzlement.

He saw the animal caught in the oak’s roots. Its wounds gushed blood so dark it looked black.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“Liam,” Shallah whispered, shaking him by the shoulder, “we mustn’t stop here.”

The boy didn’t hear. He’d shut his eyes tight and stood rocking in place. He’d seen carnage like this once before. He’d seen wood poking through bodies.

He’d seen blood.

He peeked at the animal again, as Shallah pleaded with him to move on. It was the buck they’d seen on the path, Liam was sure of it. He’d been so afraid of it then. And now …

Liam shook his head as new images filled his mind. It was just the same as during the battle. He was seeing into
after
again.

He saw the magnificent animal laid out on the forest floor, its lifeblood flowing into the earth.

He saw its eyes fade to dullness.

He saw death.

All the hurt he’d been holding inside, hurt from
before
, came flooding in. It was almost too much to bear.

Keeping hold of Shallah’s hand, he changed direction and started towards the dying buck.

Shallah’s alarm mounted as they changed course. She couldn’t understand why Liam would run toward his captors. Did they have him under their control? She pleaded with him desperately, pulling at his fingers, but the boy wouldn’t be coerced. As each step drew them nearer to what she saw as certain doom, she became more frantic. Just as she prepared to grab Liam around the middle and haul him away by force, he let go of her hand and continued on alone.

She lunged for him but her arms closed on air and she fell to her knees. All about her the wood was still and she could hear no sound, not of the dying animal, nor of Liam’s retreating footsteps. She cursed her own stupidity. What would become of Liam now? She couldn’t go after him when one trip over a shrub could give them all away.

Still on her knees, she pulled at the weeds growing around her, winding them around her fingers, and waited.

The child was nearly upon him before Petyr sensed his approach. He turned suddenly and was blinded by Liam’s shinning eyes. He looked past the boy for Shallah but couldn’t see her. Had she stayed behind alone?

“What the devil is going on?” he asked the child in a whisper so low it was hardly audible.

Liam made no reply, his sights unwaveringly set on the buck and its wounds.