Fyrian's Fire Page 7

  The prince tightened the leather vest across his chest and covered his shoulders again with his cloak. He could not live in the past. Glademont’s future needed to be different. He would see to that. All he could do now was deliver the note quickly, cautiously, and then return to train his militia. Linden turned to leave his beloved Armory, perhaps for a long while, when he saw something lying on the worktable. He laughed dryly and shook his head. A new sling he fashioned only a week before as a gift for little Ryon Canyon. It was more powerful than the first sling, and more elegant. Should he take it now? No, it would only upset Lady Tessamine the more. Though what living creature could avoid upsetting the lady? Linden hung the sling on a nail by the door and promised himself he’d take Ryon here in secret one day, wife or no wife.

  He blew the lantern out and closed the door, careful not to break the tip of his longbow against the low frame. Laden with his weapons, Linden paused at the base of the broad branch to test his balance. But before stepping out, a shrill neigh pulled his attention to the forest floor. His mare shied from under the beech, and some flying creature glided over Linden’s head. Its feathers rustled inches from the prince’s ear. He dropped to his knees and froze, listening for where the creature went. But no more sounds came, except from his perturbed mare.

  Only one other Hinge Forester had dared go near the prince in all the months they had hidden among these trees to train. And he didn’t fly.

  Chapter 7

  Tess stared at the large red owl hooting at her feet. Surrounding them in the trees, an impressive array of smaller birds raised their high-pitched voices, apparently in support of the owl’s chagrin. With great effort, Tess again recalled General Bud’s instructions for journeying through the forest.

  “We are foreigners to these lands . . . merchants,” she stammered. “We are passing through this forest only to reach the lands west of here.” Tess could feel Ryon’s eyes on her. She prayed he would keep still.

  “You and your party will follow us,” the owl replied. Her words were clipped and on edge. It seemed the merchant story was no good. Tess wondered petulantly what reasons this nocturnal creature had for patrolling at this hour.

  At once the trees swarmed with fluttering yellows, oranges, and blues. Most of the birds took to the sky and disappeared, but two dozen remained, flocking around the Canyons and their horse. Tess grimaced at the abundance of high-pitched chattering. To Tess’s left, a row of birds sat expectantly on a pine branch. When she turned to discuss this strange occurrence with Ryon, she found that the same was also true to her right.

  “This is absurd,” Tess muttered.

  “I don’t believe we have a choice.” Ryon took his sister’s hand and began to walk.

  Twenty paces later, the birds abandoned their branches with great commotion and assumed new ones along the path. Tess felt Ryon’s hand squeeze hers. He nodded toward the braid down her back. Carefully, Tess pulled the shenìl free of her hair and gathered it into her fist. It was only a precaution. Surely these wild animals knew nothing of the object. Then again, why would Prince Linden be instructed to hide his nationality from them?

  “Excuse me,” called Tess to the owl. The sentry birds near her shoulder tweeted and sang in admonishment. Tess winced but ignored their screeching. “Are we nearing the kingdom of Atheos? Or have we turned east to Glademont?” Tess hoped she was giving a convincing impression of mild interest. She squinted up at the treetops where she knew the owl was waiting impatiently for them to catch up.

  The owl swooped nearer but not lower, forcing Tess to look into the sun. Tess heard a sharp suspicion in the bird’s voice.

  “Have you business in those lands?”

  Tess cleared her throat as Ryon squeezed her hand again. “Only to sell our wares.”

  “You have no wares, girl,” said the owl. “You have only two bags and a horse. Those who travel between the human lands know to go south through the hills. This land belongs to the wild, but it seems your kind have found reason to break that agreement.”

  “Whatever your dispute with Glademont, we are not a part of it—”

  “Our dispute is with humankind.” The owl hooted, and her many sentries fell upon Tess, pecking at her hair and temples. Clinging to the shenìl in panic, Tess turned toward her brother. He reached for her hood and covered her head.

  “You try to deceive me as Glademont deceived our ancestors,” called the owl. “The cycle will not be repeated; the council is determined of that.”

  Tess curled in on herself, grasping the shenìl until finally the owl called off the tiny attackers with another shrill hoot.

  Ryon swatted at the last of the finches about his sister’s covered head. “Where are we going?” he asked angrily.

  “Close your beaks and do as you are told,” came the owl’s reply, and again she disappeared into the treetops.

  Tess’s hope grew dimmer at the passing of every hour. Even if they could escape these birds, how would Tess find her way back to the edge of the forest? How long would Profigliano wait with news of her family? Tess’s sockless feet ached in her riding boots, and the red owl eyed her as she swooped to and fro between the trees. Finally, Tess’s limbs and stomach could be ignored no longer. With no more than a few hours repose in two days, she chanced another exchange with the owl.

  “Could we rest?” she called at the treetops once more. “We’ve been walking for so long, and my brother and I must eat.”

  She expected no more than a spiteful glance from their captor. But to Tess’s surprise, the owl glided straight for her. Instinctively, Tess adjusted the shenìl in her moist palm and rubbed her finger over one of its orbs. The object snapped into a quiet buzz. Then the owl’s round eyes met Tess’s, and something odd happened.

  As Tess and the owl gazed at each other, all the world seemed to pause. The owl hung in the air with rays of sunlight glistening on her wings, so that some feathers even seemed to glow like precious metal. Somehow, Tess found solace in the gleam of the owl’s wings, and she forgot the pain in her feet and the emptiness in her stomach. Then Tess heard a soft voice, sounding remarkably like her own.

  Trust her.

  But the words had not left Tess’s lips; she had heard them only in her thoughts.

  Trust her, rang again in Tess’s ears, but not in the air.

  It occurred to Tess that she might be half-dazed from exhaustion. Confused, Tess tore her gaze from the owl.

  “Keehee,” screeched the owl as she tumbled into the brush. Rushing toward the fallen creature and shooing away the chickadees and finches to get a better look, Tess found the owl crumpled in the prickly leaves of a holly bush. The persistent birds swarmed about the owl, straightening her feathers with their beaks. But the owl paid no heed, staring up at Tess.

  “If you are tired, you may ride on the horse,” she said.

  “What happened?” Ryon ran to Tess, despite the objections of the cardinals who stayed behind to watch him. Seeing the owl in the bush, Ryon couldn’t help but grin. “Holy cider, did you knock her out, Tessy?”

  The owl’s feathers now in place, she returned to the air with two swift flaps of her wings. Then she circled overhead and addressed Jesse directly.

  “Sir, I have given permission to ride on account of bodily fatigue. Nevertheless, you and your party are our prisoners. If you attempt escape, you will not get far in this part of the Hinge.”

  “Tessy,” whispered Ryon, “do you think she knows about noble horses?” Jesse shifted nearer to his human companions. His soft lips moved briefly, but no words came.

  “At this point,” Tess said, “I am sure of nothing.” She swung onto Jesse’s back and waited for the chirping birds to resume their formation.

  Chapter 8

  Judging by the setting sun, Tess and Ryon had been traveling south and a little west through the Hinge Forest for much of the day. With only a few minutes of su
nlight left, Tess wondered if they would continue on through the night. She had twice dipped into her satchel for some bread and a green apple. Ryon, who had joined Tess on Jesse’s back, reclined against her shoulder.

  As twilight settled in, they approached a cluster of enormous brick-red trees, their trunks riddled with holes large enough to fit a human fist. Each hole teemed with glowing fireflies. Tess couldn’t help but admire the display.

  “Come, the council is anxious to see you,” the owl said.

  “Our presence in the forest has offended you.” Tess had to bring Jesse to a trot to keep up with the owl. “But I can assure you, bringing us here—wherever this is—is unnecessary. We are willing to take our leave.”

  “This forest has not seen humans for over two hundred years. Now they are appearing everywhere. Forgive us if we are inclined to investigate.” As they drew near the red trees, the owl alighted on a low branch. “The creatures of the Hinge are accustomed to a certain degree of formality. I advise you watch what you say and do.” The red owl turned to face the trees and hooted. “I will see you inside the nest,” she said as her head swiveled. Great wings swooshed against the dusky air, and the owl disappeared.

  Tess waited in the silence for several slow seconds. Their chattering sentries had left. It was too dusky to see much of anything except for the fireflies gathered inside the tree trunks. The scene was almost peaceful.

  Finally, Ryon dismounted and tucked his soiled shirt into his trousers. Wanting to regain feeling in her numb toes, Tess landed beside her brother and pulled her cloak around her shoulders. Jesse tossed his white tail. They waited silently for what seemed another age. Nightfall was almost upon them.

  From the nearest tree trunk, one of the glowing holes emptied itself of fireflies, which then floated delicately toward the three Glademontians. Two hovered in front of Tess’s nose, two in front of Ryon’s, and two on either side of Jesse’s butterscotch head. Tess’s eyes crossed as she tried to focus on the glowing insects.

  “Does this steed call himself Jesse?” the sharp voice of a robin called out from the vacated hole.

  “Yes . . . yes, my lord.” Tess was not sure as to the proper way to address a bird. Did they hold rank like the governors back home? If so, she certainly didn’t want to guess incorrectly.

  “Silence, girl,” the robin said, hopping slightly farther from Tess.

  Counting on the fireflies that illuminated her face, Tess shot the bird a withering glare. The robin twittered and rephrased his question.

  “Sir, are you Jesse? Rumored to be the swiftest steed on Diatonica?” he asked.

  No one moved. Tess glanced at Ryon, who was looking at Jesse’s glowing face expectantly.

  “I am,” Jesse replied. Tess heard Ryon gasp. She bit her lip and shook her head in disbelief. The pitch of the stallion’s voice sounded like a young man’s, but the quality was airy and quiet, as though he had just woken from a restful sleep. Tess never dreamed she would hear that voice. And despite the shock, she smiled inwardly; he sounded exactly as she imagined he might.

  “I am Jesse of Glademont, beast of Lady Matilde Canyon. Yesterday, our household was attacked, and we fled into the forest.”

  So much for keeping their identities a secret.

  “I see,” the robin replied. “I assume the horse clan in your land does not normally communicate with humans?”

  “Many choose the Way of Silence.”

  “A wise decision, no doubt. Although it is better to avoid humans altogether.”

  “We disagree” was the horse’s reply. Tess smiled, outwardly this time.

  “Yes, yes, I see.” The robin hopped to the rim of his hollow. “Then you are indeed the one called ‘The Rushing’?”

  “The Rushing?” Ryon cut in, gazing at the stallion with a wide grin.

  The robin ignored Ryon. “The council requests the Rushing act as ambassador for these prisoners,” he announced. “Do you accept this proposal?”

  “I do,” Jesse said quietly.

  “Good.” The robin sighed and spread his wings. “This way, please.”

  The fireflies darted after the robin. Jesse moved forward deliberately, and his companions followed. A path was lit for them past the outstretched branches of the red trees. And as the brusque robin hopped impatiently from one trunk to another, Tess, Jesse, and Ryon carefully navigated the twisted branches of the trees.

  “Come along, prisoners,” chirped the robin.

  Finally, they cleared the twisted ruddy trunks and came to what looked like an enormous upside-down basket reaching four stories high. The skeleton of the structure consisted of live trees, all arching toward the center. Brambles and leaves were carefully woven in the spaces between the trees, forming thick, curved walls. The result, in fact, was an enormous nest. Two openings punctured the structure: one at the top, and a much narrower one accessible from the forest floor. Although the latter threshold was easy enough for Tess and Ryon to pass, Jesse stepped through it with some difficulty.

  Inside, they found the branch-lined walls covered with birds. There were ten times as many as that morning. A large, shallow pool sat still and silent on the floor of the nest. Moonlight glowed on the surface of the water, illuminating above it seven dignified-looking owls, each on its own perch extending from the walls of the nest.

  A small, round owl on the right squinted at the three Glademontians before squawking, “The Fourth Council of the Nest, in this third session, requests the full cooperation of Jesse the Rushing, and Tessamine and Ryon Canyon of Glademont. Do you comply?”

  “No,” answered Jesse.

  Tess thought this an unpromising start.

  “You do not?” the owl replied. “I see no reason for noncompliance.”

  Jesse flicked his tail. “Like you, we prefer to be cautious. Considering this creature’s courtesy”—Jesse nodded toward the red owl, who was perched among the seven—“we will match it.”

  The round owl blinked twice, which was a noticeable gesture for an owl. His head swiveled toward the other six owls, after which they all blinked significantly. The red owl, who was perched third from the left, hooted for their attention.

  “Jesse the Rushing,” she said. “I am Wyndeling the Red. These with me form the Seven Wise of the Fourth Council of the Nest. We have established this council due to disturbing events here in the Hinge Forest. Your presence in the wood has complicated matters.” The round owl, who seemed to be the eldest, issued an ill-tempered squawk, but then was still.

  “How did this council learn of our names?” Jesse said.

  “Ho ho ho!” cried a familiar deep voice. “I-eee think I can take it from here, Chiefy.” An enthusiastic bird with a bright white-and-red breast descended haphazardly from the wall of the nest and landed on his favorite perch: Jesse’s haunches. “Did I promise a quest or did I promise a quest?”

  Chapter 9

  The prince’s detour to the Armory cost him precious time. If he wanted to be back in Glademont Castle, training his militia within the fortnight, he would need to cross through the Hinge Forest at its center. Too far north and he risked the snow wolves, which he knew came down from the mountains when the weather started to change. Too far south and he’d never make up for lost time. He knew cutting through the heart of the Hinge could mean clashing with any number of hostile animals. But if he stayed close to the forest center on his way to Atheos, in case of grave danger, he could retreat to the realm where his friend lived. Linden would trust that creature with his life, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to.

  He spent half the day picking through the soft forest floor on horseback, heading south by southwest. By midday Linden reluctantly turned due west by his compass. Though he’d like to have gone farther south, he had run out of time. It would take him four days to reach the western border of the Hinge as it was. Then seven more leagues to the Atheonian citadel.
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  Empty, gnarled branches loomed over the prince. Not a single living thing seemed to crawl or flit around him. The silence unnerved him. He thought it was like this only on the forest edges, where animals avoided chance encounters with humankind. But if they did not dwell in the center of the forest, then where?

  Hours passed without incident. Linden finally relaxed from straining his ears and eyes enough to notice the golden light filtering through thin tawny leaves. It splashed pleasantly across his shoulders, then spilled onto the brown leaves and ferns. His mare paused and nickered, resisting the prince’s command to continue. They had reached a shallow brook. Linden stroked his mare’s neck.

  “We must develop more enduring constitutions, Casion.” He dismounted and stretched his stiff legs. “And in short order, for I intend to pass through these trees in excellent time.” Having chastised his mare to his satisfaction, Linden retrieved his waterskin and knelt by the brook.

  “Maybe two more hours before sundown,” he muttered. Casion the mare dipped her lips in the crisp water, ignoring him. He shook his head at her, wondering what real warhorses might have been like in the golden days of Glademont—in Old Glademont. Surely they were stout, fearless creatures. Records of cavalry marches told of some battalions that could travel a day and night without rest.

  The forest stream ran cool and clear, with a few minnows nestling between stones for the evening. They reminded Linden of the scarce times his father took him fishing in the mountain streams north of the castle. Before dawn, they would hike up the face of Zere together, searching for the perfect hideaway to drop their lines. Then, as the early sun colored the mountain skies, they would sit together on slick boulders, watching their lines and talking low. Those precious mornings were some of the only moments Linden spent alone with his father. King Antony seemed to sense the importance of their retreats, and he’d fill the hours asking Linden about his studies at the academy or offering advice.