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“But what of Raulf?” Alys asked her father. “Have you seen Raulf?”

They heard a shout.

Petyr’s eyes widened as a figure came into view atop the hill.

Raulf Guerin had waited until the roar of crashing trunks had subsided before setting off to find Trallee, clambering over the tottering pile of trees with the agility and pluck of the young. He’d no memory of his delusion of Shallah’s death, or if he had he pushed it aside, for his thoughts were entirely consumed with a new concern: if the villagers had been caught under the trees … if his parents hadn’t found shelter …

When he reached the top of the hill, the colour drained from his face.

He wandered through the fantastic graveyard, pulling himself over the majestic spruces and redwoods which had once towered over him, hardly keeping track of his direction. He thought he might eventually come across their bodies, though he knew they were likely too deeply buried. He’d no hope of finding anyone alive. The trees were too large and too many. The landscape before him betrayed the truth.

The villagers had come all this way … only to die.

Raulf, though no longer a child, was not too old to cry.

He was sitting on an enormous tree stump, drying his tears, when he heard voices behind him.

That sounds just like Roana, he thought, bossing everyone about as usual. And that one is surely one of the Carberry girls, lagging behind, begging the others to wait. And wouldn’t that be Old Brice himself, urging everyone to stay together.

How I wish they were real, Raulf though to himself. If only …

His thoughts were interrupted as he was hit on the head by a large piece of bark which promptly snapped in two and fell in his lap.

Raulf turned around. Not far off, standing atop a downed cedar trunk, stood Roana Quigg, her hands on her hips.

“Raulf!” she bellowed, a grin spreading across her face. “Thought you were dead!”

“Thought you were!” he yelled back, chucking the two bits of bark in her direction.

“Too bad,” she called sassily, turning on her heel. “I’ll go tell your Mam!”

“Wait!” he cried. “Wait for me!”

It was a slow reunion, for none could run over the mess of trunks. Raulf saw his neighbours long before he reached them, and was in tears again by the time he found his mother’s arms. Jos sagged with relief as his son hugged him, and Alys and Ilara jumped up and down with excitement. It was some time before he was able to shake off their welcoming arms and announce, breathlessly, “I found them!”

“What did he say?” Rab Hale asked. The noise of the wood’s collapse had injured his ears and he was constantly asking people to repeat themselves.

“He says he’s found someone,” Malcol Klink replied loudly.

“Who’s he found?” Rab asked. Sedemay glared at him. She wasn’t at all amused by her husband’s sudden demotion to village nuisance.

Raulf noticed Alina Fleete watching him avidly.

“Well, don’t keep us in suspense,” Rikild Blighton said. “Tell us who you’ve found.”

The villagers looked at Raulf expectantly.

“Go on, son” Jos said.

A sly smile slipped over Raulf’s face. He stepped forward and took hold of Alina and Emelota’s hands. “Follow me,” he said.

“It’s Raulf,” Petyr said, shielding his eyes. “He’s calling to us, but I can’t make out the words.” Drawing under the shelter of the trees, he squeezed Shallah’s hand. “Maybe he brings good news.”

Shallah could tell she didn’t have Petyr’s attention. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other restlessly, watching for Raulf to reappear, for he seemed to have turned back for something. She knew Petyr would have scaled the barrier of trunks and bounded up the hill after him if he could, but his weakness forbade it.

“Petyr,” she said softly, sure he wasn’t listening, “we really made it, didn’t we?” She spoke the words as though she didn’t quite understand them, as though expecting to be corrected. A nagging thought pulled at her mind, refusing to let her be.

Petyr turned to her and was about to speak when they both heard a sound they’d yearned to hear for so long. Shallah was sure her ears were deceiving her. She heard a chatter of voices, each one as familiar as her own. She heard Betta Carberry’s infectious laugh, and Averill Olney’s girlish giggle. She heard Gemma Goss scolding her husband Leland, and Roana Quigg bossing the other girls about. She heard Gamelin Turvey’s bragging tone, and Hylde Rundle’s scornful retorts.

She heard the sounds of Trallee.

The villagers came spilling down the hill, a mess of shining faces, the children stampeding ahead. Petyr stood frozen to the spot as he glimpsed the two faces that mattered most.

“My daughters!” he exclaimed. “Shallah, they’re here. They’re safe, all of them – the entire village!”

Grabbing her by the waist, Petyr swung Shallah around, powder flying off them both in all directions. He kissed her hard on the lips, smiling like an imbecile.

“We did make it,” he murmured into her neck, grasping her close. “We’re here! It’s done.”

“Petyr,” she said, when he let her go.

“Come,” he said, seizing her hand. “Let’s go and meet them.”

She held back. “Petyr,” she repeated, “do you see Liam?”

All at once Petyr’s giddy motion subsided. He went so quiet that Shallah thought he must be holding his breath. She knew what he was thinking: how could we have forgotten him? Where could he be?

“I-I don’t know,” he stuttered. “I don’t see him, Shallah.” He was utterly at a loss, searching for words that wouldn’t form, struggling to refocus. “Should I …”

She placed a soothing hand on his back. “Go,” she said. She wanted him to know she understood. He’d waited too long for this moment. He couldn’t turn back now. “Go,” she said again, and he sprang forward, out of the trees, out of her grasp.

But Shallah stayed behind.

Chapter Thirty

When the people of Trallee emerged from the remains of their forest, they found themselves in a new world. Spread out before them was a vista so foreign and so beautiful that few could find the words to describe it. Even the most boisterous of children were struck dumb by the sight, shocked into a silence their parents could never recreate, however they tried. Having never known anything but the forest, the outside world was a wonder.

It brought tears to their eyes.

They stood on a field of grass atop a cliff, overlooking the sea. Miles of glittering waves greeted their eyes, extending all the way to the horizon. To a people dying of thirst, the sight of so much water was cause for jubilation, and the villagers embraced one another with relief. The children peered over the edge, goggling at the great distance between themselves and the water below.

Above them the sky stretched clear and blue, the bright expanse so gigantic that some actually shook to behold it. The sun garnered the most attention, as parent and child alike pointed and stared, overawed. None ran for the cover of the few remaining trees. None showed any fear. Even Rab Hale, stubborn fool that he was, couldn’t help but gape at the glowing globe they’d all feared for so long.

Every villager had that same thought: how could anyone be afraid of something so beautiful?

Toward the west, the sea gave way to land, its lush, rolling grasses falling steeply into a valley.

Nestled at the valley’s center was a village.

It couldn’t have been much bigger than Trallee, just a simple collection of homes, no more than a dozen families living together. Already its folk could be seen climbing the winding path up the mountain, their skin the dark bronze of people who’d lived all their lives in the sun, their cheeks ruddy from life by the sea.

The villagers ran forward to meet them.

The wolves came out of the west. They rounded the hill, scuttling over the debris, leaping from trunk to trunk. Their coats shone in the sunshine, though the animals seemed wary of so much light and ducked their heads to keep as much distance as possible between themselves and the sky. They wouldn’t find true calm until night fell and they could enjoy their new land as they liked best; by cover of dark. They’d not yet met the moon.

They traveled side by side, in a line that would never break, for it bore the strength of all their loss, and all their loyalty. At the center of the line was its strongest bond – the wolf chief. With five of his kin on either side, the chief moved forward, nimble as a pup, his dark grey fur offset by the evergreen branches they picked their way through. He chose their path wisely, for he’d sworn to protect not only his band, but the charge on his back. It wouldn’t do to endanger them all so close to the end.

As they approached the cedar trees, the chief slowed his pace, his kinsmen matching him step for step until he gave them the sign to go on without him. Eager to leave the forest behind, the wolves ventured forth at a trot, their silky coats brushing against Shallah’s skirts as they passed through the trees like sudden gusts of wind.

She stood in the speckled shade of the few remaining trees, her hands clasped before her, knowing that it had to be, for the other prophecies had come true, but still worried, doubting.

The wolf chief will return him to me, she thought to herself. The chief will come. The chief has kept him safe.

The chief will come.

As they entered the trees at last, Liam climbed off the chief’s back and ran into Shallah’s arms. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she hugged him close, breathing deeply of his scent. He was so tiny in her arms, so easy to lose.

“My darling,” she whispered.

There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much he should know. She wanted to make him understand that none of it was his doing. The forest would have perished of its own accord, had they been there to see it or not. She wanted him to know the black oaks had used him abominably, but he shouldn’t blame them, for pain made monsters of them all, even herself. She wanted to tell him it was over now, that he was free of their hold on him. She wanted to tell him he’d saved them all.

“I love you,” was all she said. He already knew the rest. He’d known it long before she had.

The little boy gazed at her with his remarkable eyes, those eyes which had led them out of the dark. He kissed her cheek.

Shallah set Liam on the ground and he took her hand. She thought he meant to lead her out of the trees, but instead, he placed her palm on the wolf chief’s back. He led her fingers over his silken fur and down toward his head. Their palms stilled over his snout. She had to stoop to reach it, for the chief had inclined his head.

She was being honoured by a king.

She bowed her head in response, and felt the chief’s mind reach out to her for a moment before pulling back. He proffered to her a single image of her own smiling face. As she saw it she was filled with all the respect he and his kin felt for her, and all the devotion they would give her, for all time.

Then the chief drew away. Liam slipped his hand from Shallah’s and climbed on his back. As they passed through the trees, Liam looked back at her.

“Come,” he said.

It was the first word he’d ever spoken to her.

Shallah smiled. “I will follow you,” she replied.

Petyr craned his neck, searching for Shallah in the crowd. With a daughter on each hip and well-wishers surrounding him on all sides, it wasn’t an easy feat. All were amazed and delighted to see him, all wanted to hear the story of his journey. He evaded their questions deftly. It was easy enough. Everyone was in an easy and cheerful mood. None were inclined to interrogate him.

An air of festivity had invaded the crowd as the townsfolk had joined them, bringing along their jugs of ale and good will. Strangers shook hands in greeting at all sides, as the children ran about in gangs, brown and white faces blending into blurs. Soon the menfolk were singing, arms about each other’s necks, their wives clapping in time. Young men kissed their sweethearts and old women danced as they had in their youth. The celebrations went on for hours, the townsfolk of the valley inviting Trallee back to their hearths to hear the stories of their adventures in the forest which none had ever entered.

When Petyr saw Liam emerge from the trees, he let out a yell and ran forward, seizing him from the back of the wolf chief and hoisting him into his arms along with his girls, their three giggling faces blocking his view of all else. Only one other had sprinted forward as fast as he, a young man from the valley town with an awkward gait and a crooked smile. He stood at Petyr’s side, expectant, though it took a moment for Petyr to notice him, so quiet was he.

“Is that Robin there?” the young man said finally, a funny twang to his speech. As Petyr turned to face him, he saw Liam and the young man lock eyes. Liam held out his arms to him.

“My goodness,” the young man said, as he took Liam in his arms. Already his eyes were wet. “We thought you were lost forever, Robin. I can’t quite believe it’s you. Isn’t this just the best day that ever was? Robin’s come back to us.” He raised his voice so the others could hear. “Did you hear that, everybody? Robin’s come back! Here he is!”

The townsfolk let out a cheer and a number of the women rushed over to kiss the little boy’s cheek. He hid his face in the young man’s neck.

“Is it you who cared for him all this time?” the man asked, full of gratitude. “I must thank you. We’d given up hope of ever seein’ him again. Our Robin … How can I ever thank you?”

“No, it wasn’t me. Please, save your thanks.” Once again Petyr looked about for Shallah so the young man could thank she who deserved it most, but he couldn’t find her.

The young man, too overcome to take in Petyr’s protests, shook him heartily by the hand for so long that Petyr was forced to let his children down, lest they be shaken right out of his arms. The two girls kept close to their father, looking up at the little boy with the strange golden eyes, the excitable man with the strange voice, the dazzling blue sky full of strange puffy clouds. They’d never before seen clouds.

“Are you his father?” Petyr asked doubtfully. The man, though roughly Shallah’s age, more than old enough to have children, didn’t have the air of a father. He was more like an overgrown boy.