The Whispering Trees (24 page)

Draped from the stalactites and walls of the cave was a web.

It stretched across the gargantuan chamber, not flat like other webs Kara had seen but with
depth
: multiple levels and ramps and layers upon layers upon layers. Despite the web's intricate design there was an amazing symmetry to its construction; not a single strand seemed out of place or wasted.

“Hello?” Kara asked, her voice echoing off rocky walls.

There was no response.

Kara looked around some more. Though the web was truly impressive, it was not the chamber's only wonder. From a wide cleft in the rocky floor emerged a densely wound mass of black roots, thick as a tree trunk, which coiled to the lower layer of the web before splitting apart. Hundreds of individual roots then climbed the web to the ceiling of the cave, where they crept through crevices and into the black soil above them. From there Kara supposed they could reach almost anywhere on the island.

How do you like my trap?

Kara jumped in surprise, looking behind her for the source of the voice before realizing that it was coming from inside her head.

Of course it would be best to keep his roots from reaching the surface altogether—that would kill him, I think, as he is more tree than man at this point. But such a feat is, quite unfortunately, beyond my diminished powers
.

“Are you talking about Sordyr?” Kara asked. She flashed to an image of the Forest Demon's foot, the roots that pierced his bark-like flesh. “Is that where all these roots go?”

Indeed
.

“But there are so many of them!” Kara exclaimed.

How else do you expect him to move? At any given moment, there might only be a few roots connecting Sordyr to the sustenance he needs, but there are thousands more lingering just beneath the soil, anticipating his next step. Each time his foot touches the ground the old roots pull away and are instantly replaced by reinforcements. My web keeps him from getting too
far, however
. The voice added with amusement:
Like a dog on a leash
.

“But the roots are climbing the web. It's helping them reach the surface.”

Is it? Look again
.

Kara inspected the sections where web and root met and saw that there was indeed a full war raging between them. Some roots had managed to inch their way to the surface and escape through cracks in the ceiling, but others—most others—were cocooned to the web like unwary insects, their progress impeded. These cocoons shook slightly, the roots struggling to break free.

Kara nodded, finally understanding. The maker of the web had compared Sordyr to a dog on a leash, but Kara thought of him more like a kite attached to thousands of strings. Sordyr wanted nothing more than to fly free, but although a single string might unspool and provide him with a small amount of leeway, most were locked in place.

Kara walked along the rocky floor, continuing to search for the voice's owner. She had spoken to dozens of creatures in her mind by this point, but never any as intelligent as this one. The voice was female, with a comforting tone as lulling as a bedtime story.

“Where are you?” Kara asked.

Up, girl. Up
.

In the shadowy recesses of the ceiling, a dark shape watched her. From this distance, the creature looked no bigger than a horse, but Kara knew that was only a matter of perspective. Up close it would be gigantic.

“Rygoth?” Kara asked.

I have been called this
.

“My name is Kara Westfall. I am from—”

I know who you are. I might be trapped in this cave but my senses are still keen. You have traveled long and hard, my child. I see you've brought a friend
.

It took Kara a moment to realize that Rygoth was talking about the cavemole still draped around her shoulders.
The poor thing had begun to shiver.

“It guided me to you.”

A job well done. But perhaps you should return this one to its family. They await dinner, which our little hunter here has promised to provide
.

Kara would have liked the cavemole to guide her back to the surface as well, but she supposed she could always call for it again if she got lost.

“Thank you,” Kara said, stroking the creature's head.

Clearly relieved to be dismissed from its duty, the cavemole dashed back into the tunnel.

You care for these creatures. You do not use them ill, though it is certainly within your power to do so
.

“They are my friends. Come closer. I want to see you.”

I am a monster, child. It will be hard for you to trust me afterward. You are
wexari
, but you are also human
.

“I've seen plenty of monsters.”

Not like me. I used to be beautiful, you know, before Sordyr trapped me in this form. See the moss growing on the walls? That
is his creation. It keeps me from changing back into a human or any other animal small enough to escape this chamber. I am imprisoned not by locks or bars, but by my own size
.

Kara imagined being trapped in this place for thousands of years.
Does she even remember what sunlight feels like anymore?

“That's terrible,” Kara said. “Horrible.”

Terrible. Horrible. So many ways of saying the same thing. But most terrible-horrible would be allowing the Forest Demon to leave the island. He is my prisoner as I am his, and I must keep him here. Otherwise all is lost
.

A
snap
echoed throughout the cavern as one of the roots broke free of the web and slithered upward. In a blur of motion, Rygoth swung down from her topmost perch and grabbed the fugitive root, spinning a pocket of new silk that secured it to the web.

Rygoth was still a good distance away, but Kara could make out several yellow eyes and many, many legs.

When the creature spoke again its words were hesitant,
as though this unexpected chase had tired her.

Look below. Into the chasm. Understand
.

Kara crossed the floor until she stood before the tangle of roots emerging from the depths. She laid a hand on one of them and recoiled at its touch; it was slick with moisture. She could feel something passing through it, a rush of liquid.

Kara peered into the chasm.

A labyrinth of roots extended as far as she could see, tangled together like some secret world of giant worms, shifting and squirming in a never-ceasing battle to reach the surface.

Kara looked away, suddenly dizzy. She had no idea how far down the pit went. For all she knew, it might have been bottomless.

In order to defeat me, Sordyr sacrificed what little humanity he had left and grew himself into something new. He was granted great power, but with a price—he had to remain forever anchored to the earth, just like a tree. Even with this limitation he could
have still left the Thickety—his roots, allowed to extend their full length, would stretch to the ends of the World—so with the last of my strength I changed into a form strong enough to ensnare him from beneath the ground. Sordyr trapped me in return—and so it has remained for over two thousand years. Recently, though, I have found it more difficult to contain him. I try to inject him with my venom as often as I can in order to weaken his powers, but its effect has diminished through the years
.

She remembered Sordyr's screams of pain outside their carriage and his words of explanation afterward:
Just her pathetic little attempt to control me
.

“It hurts him,” Kara said.

I mean only to keep his power from growing too great. Nevertheless, it is only a matter of time before my web begins to snap and his roots are allowed the freedom to go wherever they'd like
.

“Then he'll be free,” Kara said. “And his Thickety will infect the World.”

When are you going to stop lying to me?

“What?” Kara asked.

You act so concerned. So innocent. But I can sense your intentions as clearly as the walls of this cave! You aim to free him!

“No!” said Kara. “That's why he sent me here, yes. But I haven't decided whether or not—”

A strand of web yanked her high into the air. Kara screamed and kicked her legs as cold cavern air gushed past her, the walls blurring by at sickening speed. She closed her eyes for a few moments, afraid she was going to be ill, and when she opened them again the ceiling of the cave was dishearteningly close. The web against her back felt surprisingly frail. Its stickiness, like the flesh of some sweet fruit, clung to the bare skin of her wrists and hands.

“Listen to me,” Kara said. “I am not your enemy.”

Kara felt the web tense as Rygoth approached her from behind. She tried to turn her head, but her neck and hair were enmeshed in the web and would not allow any movement at all.

“You are Sordyr's servant,” said Rygoth, her true voice this time, no longer in Kara's head but muffled, like a mouthful of fangs were getting in the way. “You wish to loose him on the world and undo everything I've done.”

“I'm not his servant!” exclaimed Kara. “I hate him! He has my brother, and if I don't help—”

“One life? In exchange for multitudes?”

“What else can I do?” Kara asked.

The web tensed again, as though Rygoth were about to spring, and Kara reached out with her mind. The bridge was surprisingly simple to make. Kara knew that Rygoth must be lonely, trapped here in the darkness for so many centuries, and loneliness was something Kara knew all about. She built a bridge from years of being excluded from games and conversations, from long days spent walking the fields of De'Noran without a friend to take her hand.

The bridge held true.

Kara knew that Rygoth wouldn't come to her, so she
crossed the bridge into Rygoth's mind instead. Kara gaped, startled by the vastness of it. This was no simple animal, and Kara sensed that it would be dangerous to stay here for longer than a moment or two. She might not be able to find her way back again.

“I can't risk anything happening to Taff,” Kara said, her voice weak and uncertain. “I'm sorry, but I need you to release Sordyr!” The web vibrated and a single root slipped away, madly unspooling from the crevice below them.
I'm helping Sordyr
, Kara thought.
Whatever he does with this newfound freedom will be my fault
. The thought sickened her. She lingered in Rygoth's mind, knowing she should release more roots but unable to issue the command.
I can't do this. There are other families in the World. Innocent people. Why should they suffer so Taff and I can live?

And then Kara felt a gale dragging her back across the mind-bridge and into the recesses of her own consciousness.

A bridge goes two ways
, wexari
. Let's see what your mind holds
.

Kara's body fell slack against the web. She tried to move but could not.

“Stop it,” Kara muttered. “Stop it.”

She felt Rygoth crawling along the lines of her mind as if it were a brand-new web.

You weren't lying. You really do hate him. With such passion too!

“Get out . . . of my head.”

Don't fight me. I want to help you
.

Taking a moment to calm her frantic thoughts, Kara tried breaking the bridge apart with her mind, but nothing happened.
That's not the way to do it
, she thought.
It's not a real bridge, made from stone and mortar. It's made from loneliness
. And so Kara recalled afternoons spent playing Hooks and Ladders with Taff, Mother teaching her the secrets of the Fringe, even—and this surprised Kara—evenings spent around the campfire with Mary Kettle.

She sent all these feelings of companionship toward the bridge, and it shattered into a million pieces.

The connection to Rygoth was instantly severed. Although Kara still couldn't move very much due to the web, her mind was her own again.

“Impressive,” Rygoth said. “You escaped my hold. Only the most powerful
wexari
could do that. I needed to know.”

“Know what?”

For a few moments Rygoth said nothing.

“I am old and weak,” she finally said, “and I don't know how much longer I can hold Sordyr here. I need someone to help me stop him. Someone brave and powerful.”

Kara's thoughts swirled.
She just attacked me—and now she wants my help? How can I trust her?

Do I have a choice?

“I would do anything to destroy Sordyr,” Kara said, “but you told me he's immortal.” She brightened as an idea struck her. “Unless . . . what if we cut these roots?
That should hurt him, shouldn't it?”

“You are welcome to try, but they are immune to blade and fire,” said Rygoth. “And magic too. A good thought, but I had something else in mind.”

Kara felt the web vibrate as Rygoth crept close enough to whisper in her ear, her breath like the fetid air of a just-unsealed tomb.

“Niersook,” she said.