Enchanted Forests (40 page)

and I shook my head. I added, as an afterthought, "And they

seek to destroy this forest."

"Nothing can destroy this forest."

"They are able to ride the skies on giant birds, powerful birds

that carry huge containers of poisons, much like the poisons used

against my people. These compounds can destroy foliage...."

"Nothing can destroy this forest," she repeated. "It is the heart

center. You are safe here."

"I don't feel very safe," I said, moving away from her. "I'm

quite uncomfortable, to tell you the truth, though your company

is quite charming and your countenance supematurally beautiful,

believe me. Just the same, I think I shall leave now, if it's alt the

same to you."

"I'm sorry, but I must insist that you stay and talk with me for

HOLY GROUND

263

just a little longer. Were you afraid, too? Do you understand

what I said about your center?"

"Yes, and no. I was very afraid. And rightly so, from what

happened with—Fenris, was that his name?"

"Is," she said. "He has been reborn, albeit in a somewhat dif-

ferent form."

"Damn," I said. "My troubles have a way of doing that."

"It was the least I could do for him. You should not be afraid

of the forest. Or of me."

I gripped the hilt of my sword. "Why not, lady? I've already

been attacked by a giant wolf named Fenris and had my horse

killed. I am now, apparently, trapped inside a tree with its guard-

ian spirit."

Her hair seemed to blow in the wind. "You have reached your

center. It is therefore impossible for you to be trapped here, since

by your race's very existence you are part of the forest"

I frowned. "But if I interpret your actions correctly, you are

not willing to stand aside to let me crawl out of this tree?"

"I'm afraid you cannot leave, without my help."

"Why is that?" I looked down, and slowly came to the reali-

zation that she was correct. My calves and thighs had taken on

a strangely wooden appearance. My boots seemed to have disap-

peared, and I had sunk several inches into the soft wood of the

tree. I felt strangely dispassionate about the whole thing, having

traded one oblivion for another.

I lifted my sword. "If you will not be so kind—"

"I'm sorry," she said, as my sword-arm stiffened and the

sword came clattering to the floor of the hollow. My arm

stretched back, entangled in what seemed to be vines, and my

clothing crumbled to dust and rotted away. I felt my hair, now

black leaves and vines which smelled like the black forest, tan-

gling about my face.

"Please," I said. "I am not really ready for communion with

nature."

"But commune you must. You may be the last one left," said

Alaura. "What was your name again?"

My lips had become wooden by the time she bent to kiss me,

so she gave me a name of her choosing, in a language I did not

understand, spoken in a way I could no longer speak.

She has transplanted me to a new Center, a place where I can

grow as a creature of the forest

Black birds come to roost in my branches, carrying the rem-

264 Thomas S- Roche

nants of eyes they have eaten from the heads of my people, miles

away, outside the burned cities. They build nests with the hair of

my comrades. But in my branches these ravens thrive.

Ataura comes to me sometimes, but despite her appearance,

she is very old. The beauty of her lustrous blue-black lips is de-

ceiving. Her hair sways in the breeze which bears the far-off

odor of burning flesh.

Alaura's people have met their end. But my lover lays a dark-

ened death bed of moss on holy ground, and the sun rises like a

holocaust above the cleansed earth. Alaura is with child.

Gnostwood

by Michelle Sagara

Michelle Sagara writes fantasy because she loves the

genre, whether it is novel-length as in the Books of

the Sundered, or short work. Twice nominated for the

Campbell Award (and now a two-time member of the

Campbell Loser's club), she expects to continue writing for

a long time.

It was winter in a forest that had forgotten spring.

Ice was on the trees, and although sunlight glittered through it,

lacing the shadows with sharp, perfect light, it never melted. Si-

lence reigned; even the breeze moved nothing. It was serene and

calm at the heart of the woods.

Justin woke up slowly. His back ached and his arms were sore

from the previous day's work. The winter air had been dry and

cold enough that splitting logs for the fire was easy. For the first

two hours, at any rate.

He never quit when it was smart to.

"Justin?"

"I'm out cutting wood." He groaned as the door to his room

opened.

"You sleep too much."

"You don't sleep enough. Show a little pity. won't you?"

"How much pity do you want?"

"Any. Which is obviously not what an older sister worth her

salt is capable of giving." He lifted a pillow and hurled it at her;

she ducked.

266

Michelle Sagara

"I'm capable of some. There's coffee on the burner, and it's

fresh. Is that stubble I see?"

"On my face or on your legs?"

She shrieked, laughed, and threw the pillow back at his face.

"That's it—you fend for yourself at breakfast!"

The coffee was good; Chris always made a good cup of cof-

fee. Almost good enough to wake up early for, but not quite.

"I can't believe you're twenty-five and you still can't wake up

in the morning—it must be the city air." She put a plate of

sunny-side-up eggs under Justin's nose and added a few pieces

of bacon to it.

"This isn't exacdy rural," he replied. "You've got electricity,

you've got septic tanks, you've got paved roads and phones—"

"And they cost a lot more than you pay in Toronto."

"I guess that's why you haven't bothered to turn on the heat-

ers."

She smiled at his ill-humor. "The heat's about as on as it gets.

Go sit in the solarium; sun's strong through the windows."

"You mean go out and join the rest of the vegetation?" He

picked up his plate and his mug, dropped his fork on the floor,

and fished around on hands and knees trying to find it before she

Rimed up another one.

"Justin?"

"What?"

"I love you, you idiot."

The solarium was bright with sun, but the light was a cold

light, and frost covered the lower half of the full-length win-

dows. The doors, ostensibly sliding ones, were frozen in their

tracks. Too much humidity.

Plants lined five sides of the small hexagonal room. Justin

shook his head as he looked at the yellow-brown leaves of a

withered wax begonia. The cacti were extremely sorry looking;

there was a green patina on the soil's surface that looked suspi-

ciously like algae. An amaryllis was in bloom, and of all the

plants here, it looked most healthy, although its flowers were

paler than usual.

"Chris?"

She came through the door with a steaming mug of tea.

"Don't give me a hard dme."

"We both know you've got a black thumb. I just didn't realize

the rest of your fingers were that color, too." He ducked as he

GHOSTTOOD             267

said it, and she laughed- "These—it almost looks like someone

gave you all of my plants—and then you killed them.**

Her face froze for an instant; she looked outside, to the snow

across the grassy hills that rose gently on either side of her

home. Then the shadow passed, and she smiled. "You aren't the

only person in me world who knows something about plants, you

know."

"Yeah, but you're one of the seven that doesn't."

"Great, My brother still laughs at his own jokes."

"No one else will." He finished the yolk of his second egg and

started in on the bacon.

"Justin!"

"Yes, Mother." He never liked the whites, and didn't usually

eat them when he was on his own. "You're going to have to let

me do something about these plants, you know."

"Do whatever you like to them—they're officially your re-

sponsibility now."

"Where are you going?"

*Tf I can figure out how to tie these damned tennis rackets—"

"Snow shoes."

"—tennis rackets on, I'm going for a walk."

"It's—it's really cold out there. You're sure you want to go

out?"

"I didn't come all the way up here to be cooped in a house;

I could've saved time and money and just stayed in Toronto."

"You want company?"

"ff you want, but I'm not going to get lost."

She was already putting on an extra sweater. "I don't trust

you," she said. "Here, give me those."

There wasn't another track in sight. Even the path to the house

was remarkably pristine; if Justin had trudged through the knee-

deep snow, no sign of his passing remained.

"How much snow do you get here anyway?"

"Not much." She shrugged; her breath wreathed her face like

smoke in a crowded bar. "The last fall was really heavy for this

time of year. Shouldn't get much more."

He nodded absently, catching half of what she said. It was bet-

ter than he often did, especially when he was thinking. "You

know, Chris, I've never seen the sun look so cold." He pointed

U) the sparkle of light across the winter landscape. "I mean, if it

weren't so cold, I'd say this place looked like a ... a desert"

268                    Mickelle Sagara

She shivered and drew her coat more tightly around her broad

shoulders.

"You cold?"

"A little."

"Go on home, then. I want a little more air before I turn in for

the day."

Justin wasn't used to the forest; he was a city person with the

barest touch of the country wilderness in his heart. He liked to

visit the wild woods only when he had the comfort of modem

conveniences directly behind him; even camping was a discom-

fort that he had only put up with for Chris' sake.

Chris, now she could forage, cook, build and—more impres-

sive—start a fire. She could tell you what the flora and fauna

were, even if she did kill the occasional bits of flora she tried to

pot.

It was her forest in some ways. She loved the oaks, she loved

the pines, she loved the spruces and the funny silver-barked

trees- But she best loved the rowans. Justin couldn't stand row-

ans. Their smell at the height of summer was strong and unpleas-

ant. That made no difference at all to Chris.

In fact, she'd bought this patch of hard-to-reach land because

it had a circle of rowan trees that were, in her words, ancient

They made him uncomfortable, although he wouldn't have ever

admitted it, and whenever Chris could coax him to visit, he went

out of his way not to look at the circle that was her pride-

So he didn't understand how one moment he was shaking the

deciduous spines of a spruce, and the next, he was bumping into

the periphery of that very circle. But he decided that his subcon-

scious hated him. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and

turned to leave the rowans.

Something blocked his way.

It was thin and gaunt, and rags clung to its elbows, shoulders

and waist; its skin was gray, its lips so stretched they were al-

most nonexistent. It had a thatch of white hair over a patchy

skull.

Justin cried out in shock and took a step back, followed by a

second, larger one. He had seen, in museum displays, the mum-

mified corpses of ancient Egyptians. He had never seen one

walk, until now.

He could not take his eyes off the creature as it shambled to-

ward him. But he knew that he stood in the centre of the rowan

GHOSTWOOD

269

circle- Something caught the corner of his eye; he was afraid to

look, but he did. Another creature. And another. And another.

There was no escape; they approached the circle from every

possible direction. He began to turn wildly, first in one direction,

then in another. He ran to the east, stopped short, and scuttled

back to the west. The forest was filled with walking shadows.

Oh, God, he thought. Chris! He listened, but heard nothing;

die forest was silent.

And then they stopped. Magically and in unison. They threw

themselves forward, but seemed to hit an invisible barrier. The

circle.

/ don't believe it. Numb with cold, he let his knees buckle.

They can't get in. Dear God, get me out of here alive and I'll

never avoid rowans again, I swear.

They moved, these creatures; they circled like hungry jackals.

But they couldn't reach him, and after a while, he huddled, knees

to chest, and waited. It got cold, and colder still, as the night fell.

His cheeks began to tingle with pain as the cold bit in.

He sat and watched them, until he could no longer distinguish

them from the shadows of nighttime winter woods. And then his

eyes grew heavy. He knew it was dangerous. He tried to wake

up.

"Justin!"

He screamed, bolted from the security of his bed, realized, in

mid-jump, that he wasn't in the snow anymore, and fell flat out