The Tree of Story (24 page)

Will stood. “I’ll go have a look,” he said. “Come on, Shade.”

The wolf joined Will at the door.

“We’ll check the other rooms on this floor,” Will said before leaving. “We won’t stay away long.”

When they had gone, Morrigan turned to Rowen.

“Where was Shade poisoned with
gaal
?” she asked, her voice even colder than it had been last night.

Now that they were ready to set out, she seemed to have smothered all trace of warmth and concern. They hadn’t spoken of Shade’s condition yet, but clearly Morrigan had guessed what had happened to the wolf.

“At the fortress of Finn’s brother, Corr Madoc,” Rowen said heavily. “Just a few days ago. They used the fever iron on him. They wanted to turn him into one of their killer wolves. He hasn’t been getting any better. In fact, he’s … I didn’t want him to come with us. I saw what would happen to him in the Shadow Realm. But he wouldn’t leave Will. He says he can withstand the poison, fight what’s happening to him.
Is there anything you can do for Shade, Morrigan? I’m so afraid for him.”

“I might be able to help if we were somewhere wholesome, with sunlight and grass and clean water. But here there is little I can do, Rowen. With each passing moment this place falls further under the shadow. And if Shade comes with us deeper into Malabron’s domain, his sickness will worsen and it will be much harder for him to resist. You and Will must be on your guard at all times.”

“On our guard? You mean you think Shade would …”

“It is very likely he will turn against you. I have seen the power of Malabron overthrow other brave hearts and minds. It is what happened to Lotan, after all.”

“Shade wouldn’t … he could never …” But Rowen faltered. She could not deny what her sight had shown her.

“You spoke last night of the thread your grandmother gave you,” Morrigan said. “May I see it?”

Rowen nodded. She took out the tiny ball of shimmering golden thread and handed it to the Shee woman. Morrigan examined it in silence for a long time.

“This is finer than any thread I’ve ever worked with,” she said with admiration.

“You’re a weaver, too?” Rowen asked.

“I was before my people left their home by the sea and became wanderers. The very last thing I wove was a tapestry telling of the battles the Shee fought against the Night King. I was so certain of our victory. And proud of my skill in weaving. As if the work I was doing at my loom was somehow as important as the fighting and dying that others were doing in my name.”

“What happened to your tapestry? Did it survive?”

“I left it when my brother and I fled with the others. I suppose it burned along with everything else.”

“I’ve never woven anything,” Rowen said. “I never learned how. Maybe you should have this instead of me. You might be able to understand how to use it.”

Morrigan gazed at the gleaming ball of thread as if considering Rowen’s offer. Then she shook her head and handed the thread back to Rowen.

“I have never seen anything like this. The power in it is deep, beyond my understanding. But I see a way that you could use it to protect us all from Shade when the time comes.”

“How? You mean …? Oh, no, Morrigan, I couldn’t.”

“Once bound, he would likely be unable to break such a thread.”

“That’s what Grandmother said: that once I wove with it, the thread could never be broken. I don’t know why. But it can’t be for this. Not to harm Shade. I’m supposed to help Fable with it somehow. I’m sure that’s what Grandmother wanted.”

“To help your people you must first find the Loremaster and then return home. You will not accomplish any of this if Shade turns against you. We must be ready to act, Rowen, when the time comes.”

They did not speak again until Will and Shade returned. In his arms Will was carrying a bulging pillowcase, which he emptied on the bed nearest the door. Out fell a jumble of bottles and other objects, pouches or bags made of shiny, crinkly paper.

“I found a few things,” he said. “Things we can eat. And bottled water. I don’t know if it’s enough, but it will help.”

“There’s food inside these?” Rowen asked skeptically, eyeing the strange pouches.

“Potato chips,” Will answered, holding up a crinkly yellow bag. He tore it open and handed it to Rowen. A strong waft
of oil and vinegar rose from the bag and her mouth began to water.

Will held up one of a pile of smaller packages with colourful lettering on them.

“These are candy bars,” he said. “We should save them for the journey. They’ll help keep us going when we get tired.”

Last night Rowen had noticed a strange metal object sitting on a shelf by the door. It had a glass jug fitted into it, and several mugs and a basket of small paper packets beside it. Will went over to this device now and touched something on its side. A red light appeared.

“This still works,” he said with a satisfied nod. He picked up the glass jug.

“What is it?” Rowen asked. “Does it make tea?”

“Something like that.”

Rowen sat in one of the chairs and watched while Will set to work. He filled the jug with water from a tap in the other room, poured it into the device and put the jug back in its place. He opened one of the paper packets and put a small bag into a slot in the device, as well. A few moments later the device was hissing and burbling and a thin stream of amber liquid began to dribble into the jug. When the liquid stopped flowing, Will filled three mugs and added some sugar from another packet. He carefully handed one mug to Rowen and another to Morrigan.

“It’s called coffee,” he said in response to Rowen’s doubtful look. “My dad drinks it all the time. I don’t, usually, but it’s better than nothing.”

Rowen sniffed at the mug, took a tentative sip. The drink was bitter even with the sugar in it, but she felt it warm her and tilted the mug again for another sip.

“It’s good,” she said. “Not like tea, but good.”

A shriek outside brought Rowen up out of her chair. She and Will moved closer together and joined Morrigan at the window. The public park lay below them.

“Malabron’s creatures,” Morrigan said. “They lurk in the trees down there. I have already shown them the folly of coming near the hotel or the camp. But they are many and they will not stay away forever.”

“Can we hide from them?” Will asked dubiously.

“There is a way to hide in plain sight,” Morrigan said. “We
will
march in, Will, just as you feared. With the shrowde to conceal me the creatures of the Shadow Realm will believe I am the Angel, returning to the Shadow Realm at last. They may wonder at Lotan’s long absence, but few will openly challenge the Night King’s messenger or dare to lay a hand on his prey.”

“I see,” Rowen said eagerly. “We’ll be your captives.”

“So it will appear to any who cross our path.”

When they had finished the coffee and food, they made ready to leave. Morrigan went to the window that looked out over the camp, and Will and Rowen joined her.

“Will you say goodbye to them?” Rowen asked.

“If I did that, I would not be able to leave,” Morrigan said. “They would plead with me to stay and I could not refuse. I have cast what charms of warding I know around the camp, but what matters more is that word has got around that this is a safe, protected place. The people of the camp will have some time before it becomes known that I am no longer here. Let us hope it is enough time.”

They went downstairs to the lobby. Before they reached the doorway, Morrigan stopped and turned to Rowen.

“I will take the staff,” she said. “And your sword, Will. Your packs, as well. The shrowde will keep them concealed for now. No prisoner would ever be permitted to enter the
Shadow Realm armed or carrying anything. If you are seen with such things, it would only create suspicion.”

Before she handed over the staff, Rowen opened the little door of the lantern fixed to the top. Sputter, the wisp, pulsed within, but more dimly than Rowen had ever seen him, as if he had somehow understood where they were going.

“Maybe you should stay here, Sputter,” she murmured, regretting now that she had brought the wisp from one danger to an even worse one.

“It’s best if he remains with us,” Morrigan said. “We may have need of him if we get separated.”

After a moment Rowen reluctantly agreed. Leaving Sputter here alone would be like abandoning him and she could not do that.

She held out the staff and her pack, and Will his pack and sword, and the shrowde stretched out two tentacle-like arms and took everything within itself. Rowen could not help but shiver, remembering how she herself had been swallowed up by the shrowde when the Angel found her and took her captive. Inside the living white cloak she’d had the unsettling feeling that there was a vast nothingness all around her, much deeper than the shrowde could possibly contain.

“Now, walk ahead of me, the two of you,” Morrigan said. “We will make it seem as if I am driving you on.”

“Wouldn’t the Angel bind our hands or something?” Will asked. “It might look strange if we’re allowed to walk freely.”

“The Angel had no need of such bonds,” Morrigan said. “No one ever slipped out of his grasp—other than you, Rowen.”

Morrigan turned to Shade and seemed to be considering something.

“I know what you see when you look at me,” the wolf said. “You see one who belongs where we are going.”

“Walk by my side, Shade, as if you are my servant,” she said. “This will give anyone who thinks to challenge us another reason to keep a distance.”

With Rowen and Will in the lead, they stepped out through the shattered doorway and into the street. The rain had drawn off. Just as when they had first arrived, there was no one to be seen. They already knew which way they had to go and so they did not hesitate now but started off across the wet, silent street and through the gates of the park, where the leafless trees bent and swayed in the wind.

After they had gone a short distance, Rowen glanced back at the hotel. She could no longer see it through the dark tangle of the branches, which seemed to have knotted together like some hideous spider web.

They were in the Shadow Realm.

13

A
S HE KNEW HE
would be, Ammon Brax was summoned at last by the Marshal.

The mage climbed the rising path of the grounds toward the Gathering House, the citadel of the Errantry on Appleyard Hill. It was high summer and the apples were green and growing on the trees, Brax noted with a kind of detached surprise, as if it was strange that ordinary life was still going on when so much had changed. At least for him. He had little doubt about the reason he had been summoned by Lord Caliburn. Word had finally reached the Marshal about the activities at the toyshop. So be it. The word had come too late.

When he reached the doors, the sentries let him pass, and he walked swiftly through the great hall, with its tapestries of past knights-errant, trying not to show his haste.

Captain Thorne was standing in the shadow of a pillar, just outside the door to the Marshal’s chamber. The sullen scowl on his face spoke plainly: Caliburn had found out what had been going on and Thorne had just been called to account for it.

“He knows,” the captain said. “He’s waiting for you.”

In the man’s tone Brax heard the hint of a challenge, though his eyes betrayed his fear. Thorne wanted to learn what his new master was going to do about the old one.

“Stay here,” Brax said. “Make sure no one disturbs us.” Brax knocked at the slightly open door. Just before he went in, he took a deep breath and composed his face into a look of grave concern.

The Marshal was studying a map that lay unrolled on his desk. He glanced up when Brax entered, and in the older man’s eyes the mage saw what he had expected to: his welcome in Fable was at an end.

“Master Brax,” the Marshal said coldly. “Thank you for coming.”

“Your servant, my lord,” Brax said.

“Yes. Well. We have much to discuss and I have little time. As you must know by now, the Nightbane massing beyond our borders are not the only enemy we’re facing.”

“I’ve heard the report of these armoured fetches, my lord, yes. Grave news.”