The Shadow of Malabron (19 page)

It was not long before the wolf halted, and for once he seemed uncertain.

“She came this way,” he said. “I am sure of it. But now there’s nothing.”

Will looked around the glade they had come to and noticed something odd. The trunks of the trees were all smooth and straight, like columns. The floor of the forest was hard, bare earth, almost completely free of leaves and other litter. There was no wind here, no creaking of tree limbs, no sounds of forest creatures. The dim amber light in the glade did not seem to be coming from the moon but from all over and from nowhere. It almost seemed as if they had left the forest without knowing and entered a vast pillared room lit by dim unseen fires.

“Rowen?” Will called, and the echo of his voice seemed to return from all directions at once.

“I’m here,” Rowen shouted, her voice echoing from all sides, as if bouncing like a ball around the glade.

“Where are you?” Will said. “We can’t see you.”

“I can’t see you either,” came the answer from many places. “But I’m not hurt. He just wanted someone to talk to.”

Will and Shade exchanged a baffled look.

“He?”

Rowen didn’t answer.

“Who’s … there with you?” Will asked warily.

“I don’t know, exactly,” Rowen said, and then there she was, standing in the middle of the glade, as if she had materialized out of thin air. “I don’t know if anyone is.”

Did you like the game?
asked a strange voice, like a chorus of echoes. It seemed to come from far off and from right by Will’s ear, so that he jumped in surprise. Shade growled.

“Who’s there?” Will said angrily.

Who is who is who is who
… the voice echoed, trailing off into silence.

“Answer me!” Will shouted.

“He’s all around us—” Rowen began, but she was cut off by a burst of giddy laughter.

Who is all around who?
said the voice, but now it was quieter and more urgent.
Answer this true
…

“You’re the one who made us hear all those sounds, aren’t you?” Will said.

“He did,” said Rowen. “I don’t think he meant any harm.”

There was a sound like a gust of wind sweeping through the glade, though no wind touched their faces. They caught sight of shadowy shapes moving through the trees.

Someone made the sounds, you heard them
, the voice said eagerly.
Or maybe you made them and someone heard them. Someone is never sure about that, but we did it together. That’s the game
.

“It’s not a game,” Will said. “We have to find—”

Lost
, the voice interrupted.
That’s the game. The game and its name are the same. Shall we play some more? Someone can make many things. Someone can be many things. Because someone’s not really here. Isn’t that funny? Here, there, anywhere. Someone, somewhat, somewho
.

The sound of wind keened and moaned around them again, and then all the flitting shadows seemed to flock together into one spot, high among the branches of a tree. Something large and shaggy began to take shape. The amber light picked out the sheen of golden fur, wings, a curling tail. Two huge round yellow eyes gazed down at them.

The game is getting lost and found
, the voice from everywhere went on.
To wit, to woo. To rue. Someone got lost a long time ago, and never found again. Isn’t that sad? Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s funny. Sometimes it turns us inside out. But we can make it a game. That’s what we’re doing, now that we’re all not here. We’re all not here, together
.

“Whoever you are,” Will said, moving to stand beside Rowen, “we need to go now. We’re looking for someone. We can’t stay and … play. I’m sorry.”

The creature in the tree seemed to shiver all over. All at once it vanished, and immediately reappeared higher up and in another tree, its yellow eyes peering out from a screen of leaves.

There is another one, too
, the voice said.
Another someone looking for you
.

“Grandfather!” Rowen exclaimed. “Do you know where he is? An old man with a staff.”

Not that one. No, this is another one. He is not old, not young. He is coming this way very quickly. He walks like a man, but he isn’t. That one is even more not here than we aren’t. Isn’t that strange? Or is it funny? Someone doesn’t think that one thinks it’s very funny. If he comes here, there will be no game. There will be no you, someone thinks. You won’t be lost, you’ll be gone. You’ll be Not. You don’t want to be Not. Not with that one
.

“You’re right about that,” Will said. “We don’t. So we need to go.”

There was a sound like a vast sigh, or many sighs rushing together.

So someone will let you go
, the voice said at last, and its tone was no longer lively.
The one who keeps his promises. But first you have to do something that someone wants. First we play another game
.

“Another game,” Rowen said, her shoulders drooping.

The game is a riddle, the riddle is a game. Someone will riddle it, and you have to answer. One guess. Only one. One riddle, one answer. Are you ready?

“We’re leaving,” Will said angrily.

You can’t!
the voice shouted in a thunder of echoes. The sound of wind rose to a roar. The leaves of the trees hissed and shivered.

Ask that red-haired one
, the voice said more softly after a long silence.
She tried. She found out that here is there and there is here, where we aren’t. Until the game is done. Until the riddle finds its answer
.

Will turned to Rowen, who nodded.

“This glade is his home,” she said. “It’s a maze. Only he knows the way out.”

“Shade?” Will said.

The wolf shook his head.

“It’s as if we’re nowhere, to my nose and ears,” he muttered. “I don’t understand how that can be…”

Will’s frustration was greater than his fear. He sighed.

“Is this one of those riddles that no one could guess in a hundred years?” he asked.

The creature in the tree disappeared again without answering. Shadows swooped high and low about the glade. Then the voice spoke again, and this time it came from behind them. They all whirled. Leaves were swirling round and round, like a small cyclone. They spun faster and faster, and drew closely together, until all at once they stopped and settled. A small, pale-skinned boy stood there, dressed in rough garments made of brown, brittle leaves. His eyes were large and seemed to shine with their own light, but there was something eerily familiar about him. Will realized with a shudder that he was looking at his own face.

“This one will ask the riddle,” the boy said, and his voice had lost its echoes and had become one single voice, both Will’s and not Will’s. “Here it is. Pay attention now.

He stopped and gazed at them expectantly.

“So,” he said. “What am I?”

Will and Rowen turned to each other with blank looks.

“Do you have an answer?” the boy asked urgently, his wide eyes searching all three of them in turn. “You must have an answer. There has to be an answer.”

“We need to think about it,” Rowen said. “Just give us a moment.”

“It must be answered now,” the boy shouted, stamping his foot. “Before the one with the toys comes. He played the game before. He guessed. He knew.”

“The one with the toys,” Rowen cried. “Is he coming this way?”

“You don’t know the answer,” the boy said, ignoring her question. “You could guess another guess. Name another game. Game another name. You could tell someone the answer inside the answer.”

“Where is the toymaker?” Rowen tried again. “Can you lead him to us?”

The boy closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.

“He’s on his way,” he finally said. “Wait. No. He’s where we’re not now.”

And there was Pendrake. The toymaker hurried to them, embraced Rowen, then turned to the boy.

“The answer to the riddle,” he said, “is
a riddle
. When it’s answered, it’s not a riddle any more. The moment it’s found, it’s no longer here.”

The boy gaped at Pendrake with hurt and fear in his eyes. The leafy garments he was covered in began to fly from him as if they were being torn from a tree in a strong gale. Again the wind roared and the trees thrashed. Moments later there was nothing but a swirl of dry leaves blowing across the ground. The boy was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the creature in the trees.

It’s not fair
, the strange echoing voice wailed from all around them.
You guessed that when you were not here before. Someone let you go then, and now you’re not here again. Not fair. You didn’t let the others guess. It was their game. It was their turn
.

“The riddle has been answered,” the toymaker said. “Those were the terms. You have to let us go now.”

But the answer
, the voice cried, rising to a wail like the wind.
The answer is a riddle, but what is the answer to that riddle? What is inside the inside? Who is there? Someone needs to know what it is. Someone…

The voice trailed off.

“I’m sorry we can’t answer that riddle for you,” said Pendrake, “but something is hunting us. A terrible thing. You must know of it. We have to get away before it finds us. Perhaps you can bring it here, into your house. You can play the game. That might keep it from finding us. It would be very kind of you to do that.”

The roaring of wind grew even louder and then subsided.

Someone doesn’t want to play the game with that one
, the voice announced like a pouting child.
That one is a riddle, too. A riddle that no one wants to answer. Someone is … afraid
.

“But remember,” Pendrake said, “you’re not here. And it’s not here either. It can’t find you. It can’t hurt you.”

They waited for a response, but none came. The glade was silent.

“Let’s go,” Pendrake whispered. They followed him as he strode quickly out of the glade. After a short time the straight, column-like tree trunks gave way to more familiar shapes, surrounded by thick leafy undergrowth.

“We must get away from here,” Pendrake said as they went along. “Shade, we will need your eyes. Make sure no one strays. Follow me, and not another sound until I give the word.”

On they went, moving slowly and cautiously through the thick, clinging undergrowth. Will scarcely dared to breathe. He sensed rather than saw Shade at his side, and whenever the wolf moved further away he had to stop himself from reaching out. The wind grew stronger and whispered in the leaves. This helped to conceal the sounds the companions made as they crept along, but it also meant that every creak of a branch in the wind, every moving shadow, brought fear.

Will was suddenly aware that Shade was not beside him. He stopped. He couldn’t hear the sounds of the others. Panicking, he started forward again, shoving the clinging branches out of his way, but not daring to call out.

Then his feet slid from beneath him.

Will threw himself backwards and grasped for a handhold. He clung to a tangle of branches and pulled himself back up onto level ground.

Breathing heavily, he looked over his shoulder. A stray beam of moonlight revealed a sheer drop, into a stony darkness. He had almost fallen into what looked to be a deep, narrow gorge. As he backed away instinctively from the drop he saw the gleam of wet stone plunging down into blackness, heard the faint trickle of falling water.

As he picked himself up off the ground, Shade and the others appeared.

“That would have been a nasty fall,” Rowen said.

On they went, until at last Pendrake halted them with a word. The canopy of trees was not so thick here, and by the brighter moonlight Will could see that they had come to a sheltering hollow beneath the mossy overhang of a dry stream bank. Wearily they sat down in a huddled group.

“I think we’re safe, for now,” Pendrake said.

“From what, Grandfather?” Rowen asked.

“It was a true waylight that we saw,” Pendrake said. “But the snug had been broken open.”

“I thought they were hidden,” said Will.

“They have always been safe against most intruders, but as Moth suspected, another power came into the Bourne with the fetches. The secret of the snugs has been found out, and their light can now be used falsely to lure us into a trap.”

“Did you see anything?” Rowen said.

“No, but something warned me to keep my distance,” Pendrake said. “I felt a presence, like a dark thread in the weave of the Kantar. We are hunted, by someone or something I have never encountered before. A being of great strength and malice, that much is certain. I do not think it was aware of me. If it had been, I doubt I would have escaped to return to you. I don’t sense it now. We may have given it the slip, with a little help from our friend in the glade.”

“Whoever he is,” said Rowen.

“Some call him the Woodwraith. I came this way before and ended up in his house, as he calls it. From what he told me then I guessed that he had been lost in the forest long ago, in a story that ended without his being found. He doesn’t know who or what he is any more. Or even if he is anything at all. He seeks the answer to that riddle, though there doesn’t seem to be one. It has driven him more than a little mad, poor thing. But he is not wicked. He lures the unwary into his game, but always lets them go, eventually. He may even have decided to help us, by distracting our pursuer. Where we go from here, though, is the next question.”

Just then Shade raised his head and gave a low growl. Pendrake stood hastily and the others did the same.

“What is it?” Will whispered.

“I know that scent,” the wolf snarled, his voice colder and more frightening than Will had ever heard it. “The enemy is near.”