Page 39

THE TREE IS DEAD

WREN

T hey race from the tree like chickens from the slaughter, squawking and squalling, arms flapping as they push by each other, scrambling to go back through the Silent gate.

I can’t move, can’t stand, muscles trembling from the effort it took to bury the blade in the Blood Tree, and can’t force myself to focus on anything beyond the sickening memory of the way the blade swallowed in my hand, the way I felt it as though my fingers were wrapped around a throat.

Swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, like it was drinking an ocean.

And then, suddenly, it felt empty again, as though it had never spoken, as though it hadn’t drained the tree dry of the red sap that is so vital to our people.

As though it hadn’t severed something deep inside the trunk, woken something deep inside the earth and high above in the mountain.

Behind me, the tree cracks open, straight down the center, and Lorcan’s sharp voice pulls me from my stupor.

Little Keeper! UP! Now!

The relief to hear his voice is so strong I almost cry, and his tone softens, but is still urgent.

Up now! Get back through the arch. The ground is unstable here .

Shaking my head, I ignore him. I won’t go back through — who knows what will happen to him? He barely made it through the first time. There will be another way.

Keep your hand on me he says reluctantly. The blood will protect me, I think.

Trembling from exhaustion, I get to my feet and stumble toward the gate, unsteady like a newborn kitten.

As the tremors increase, my knees fold beneath me, and I realize in sudden fear, and more frighteningly, in unexpected relief, that I’m not going to make it.

That the earth is going to open beneath me and swallow me whole, and that, perhaps, that’s not the worst thing.

That, if it takes me, at least I won’t be here anymore.

The thought is disturbingly comforting, and for the briefest of moments, I stop moving.

Wren–

But his voice is cut off by the feel of strong hands on either side of me, taking my arms and draping them around broad shoulders.

“Quickly, Rannoch!” The Father is urgent, and Rannoch, on my other side, is just as frantic.

“Hurry! Please, Ceridwen!” He’s begging me not to fight them as they try to drag me toward the gate, but I need my hand on my neck or I will lose my Protector, so I’m writhing like a fish on a bank.

Silas makes a noise of pure terror and frustration, and swings me in one motion into his arms. I immediately cover my necklace with my bleeding palm as Rannoch steadies the Father on the boiling dirt.

We make a strange trio, floundering at the last minute through the dubious safety of the bone arch.

Lorcan vibrates beneath my skin but then strengthens as we turn back to look at the carnage happening on the northern path.

The earth has cracked open completely and is devouring the tree.

In a horrifying, eerily human pantomime, the shaking limbs and thin branches seem as though they’re grasping fingers, clawing at the edges of the pit that is engulfing the trunk.

If I didn’t know better, I would think it was actively fighting against the pull of the earth, trying to climb out, save its devastated body from the inevitable .

But the Earth always wins.

The Tree seems to squeal again as its last limb disappears, though it could just be the sound of the bark being crushed by the quaking earth, and then, for a brief, heartstopping moment, everything is silent.

Raek has just enough time to turn to me, face lit with fury like the Everfire, and takes a single step, before he is thrown from his feet by the force of the falling rocks above us, the mountain releasing thousands of pounds of rock in a massive landslide.

They pour down, flowing like water, tearing trees and crushing plants beneath them, in a steady stream as though being poured from a cup.

Silas drops to his knees but somehow, between him and Rannoch, manages to keep me from hitting the dirt next to them, and then, as gently as he is able, sets me on the ground.

“Will it crush us, Keeper?” Rannoch asks, both scared and resigned, as though he has looked death in the face before and has made his peace with it.

I don’t know why he thinks I can answer his question, but somehow, in my heart, feel that we are safe now.

So I shake my head minutely, and he sighs, relief clear on his face.

The men around us are shouting and screaming; our silent, stone-still group is a sharp contrast to the rest of the Council, and even in the chaos, I feel considering eyes note the difference.

Outside the bone archway, near enough that tiny pebbles fling up and pepper the faces of the Councilmen closest to the opening, the landslide rushes by, cascading toward the gaping wound in the ground, then flowing into it, filling the emptiness, piling tons of rock and stone and dirt on top of the swallowed tree.

It continues until there is a heavy mound there, until the curving roots are ripped from the ground, until the creeping vines are torn from the bone wall, leaving nothing but jagged, dripping red wood hanging from the white structure, and then stops.

All is silence. All is dust. The earth stills and settles; the mountain sighs and softens.

In the lull, across the path, Raek and Nickolas help each other to their feet, murder clear in their eyes and snarling mouths.

Silas shifts away from me, stands, and brushes himself off.

Looking down at me with an inscrutable expression on his face, he points at me with an unwavering finger, and issues a clear, biting command to Rannoch.

“Take her. Brother, remove her immediately to the Council House for questioning.”

Rannoch leaps to his feet and drags me roughly to mine, then wraps a hand around my vertebracelets.

“Yes Sir,” he snaps back, yanking lightly on my arm, pulling me off my feet for a brief moment before surreptitiously pushing back again to steady me.

Across the rockstrewn path, Raek and Nickolas pull to a stop, watching the interaction through smirking faces.

“I can help escort her, Father,” Nickolas calls, mouth salivating, words thick and worm-filled.

“Rannoch can handle a little girl, Nickolas,” Silas says, not looking away from the two of us. “I’ll ask that you and your brother walk with me, though. I would seek your counsel, if you’re recovered enough.”

Triumph flashes on Raek’s face, lightning quick, but obvious, and he presses his hands together before bowing slightly towards Silas. “Of course, Father. Anything we can do to help.”

The Father’s shoulders tighten minutely as he inhales deeply, then jerks his head at Rannoch, before turning to face the rest of the Council.

Rannoch pulls me immediately away, escorting me in the direction of the Council House, away from the prying eyes of the men behind us.

As soon as we’re out of sight, his grip loosens, though his face stays hard and his hands remain wrapped around my wrists.

Lips unmoving, jaw tight, he whispers frantically and almost unintelligibly to me, “Are you alright? Keeper, are you hurt?”

If you were not within a breath of us, you would never have known he spoke, so I respond in like, just a single downward motion of my head in a half nod. I am both — hurt, but not desperately. His relief is palpable but short lived.

“What in the world have you done, Keeper?” he mutters, mouth still immobile, shock clear in his voice. We are a year and a mile away from the man who traced my lips in the shadow of the bone wall; it seems a dream in the Nowhere now. “What have you done?”

I don’t answer; we are approaching the center of the town, where villagers observe our progress, shock and concern clear on every countenance.

What have I done?

I wish I knew.