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Still, even with this bit of knowledge, he’d had little hope. He’d known he couldn’t fight off this enemy forever. There’d been no way back, no way out. A painful death had seemed to await him no matter where he turned.

There was nothing he could do.

Lying across the ground where the oak had left him, only one thought had lent him strength: when there’s nothing you can do, you can still fight.

Throughout that night Petyr had transformed himself, drawing on skills he’d hardly known he possessed, disguising himself in the clothes of survival. Realizing the oaks were drawn to their prey by sound alone, he’d taught himself to be fluid and silent as a shadow. It had been easy enough, for he’d spent his childhood creeping about the village pilfering carrots from his neighbours’ tofts. By night’s end he could move through the forest at a run, sensing the next opening in the undergrowth without having to see it, slipping between the densely packed trees with ease. He might have been able to evade the oaks completely had his anger not drawn him back.

As morning dawned he’d found himself stalking the oaks as they stalked their prey, utterly defiant of their might. By mid-afternoon he’d managed to get close enough to cut a coyote free just moments before it would have died. That night he’d again evaded capture by standing stock still right under an oak’s branches. He’d begun to thrive on the high of the escape, and had taken greater and greater risks at each encounter. He’d begun to fantasize about chopping an oak to pieces.

Only one thing had worked against him. The oaks were not alone.

They had a counterpart, a messenger to warn them of the danger they couldn’t see: the red-eyed owl. Its hooting call had spoiled Petyr’s attacks, alerting the oaks to his presence whenever he’d gotten near. Already he’d come to abhor the sound of its wings flapping through the air. His only advantage had been that it only seemed to respond when he had his weapon raised, as though the glinting metal of the axe blade was the oak’s one true foe. If he faced the oak defenceless, or with his axe tucked away, the owl remained quiet. Its slowness had worked against it as well, for he could outrun the bird. If he was quick as well as silent he could do some damage before it appeared.

Until he’d come upon Shallah, Petyr had been lost in hate. It had consumed him utterly, blocking out all else. He’d lost three days to its hold … Three days. Now, as he flew through the wood to save the boy, everything he’d left behind in Trallee came back to him. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop the memories flooding in.

Much had changed in the village since Shallah and Liam’s departure. The people had long since given up on their fear of the boy as their minds were crowded with more immediate worries. As Petyr paused in his step, spotting what he’d been searching for up ahead, he wondered what had become of Trallee in the three days he’d wasted. Who would be there to greet him if he found his way back there again? When he tried to take rest, their wails came to him, rising out of the dark. And so, he did not rest.

Keeping low to the ground, he crept forward, his gaze fixed on the black branches ahead. It was likely this oak was the culprit he sought, for the beasts didn’t covet one another’s company. There wouldn’t be another for miles. Yet, as Petyr drew nearer, the knotted arms almost overhead, he saw to his dismay that he was wrong. To the right of the first oak stood another rotting trunk, taller that the first, its gnarled branches twisting about themselves. At its base, nearly concealed in the brush, he spied a small woven mound of roots, and extending out of it, a small pair of feet. One of Liam’s shoes had fallen off.

Petyr’s first instinct was to leap forward and tear the child from his captivity. He’d not forgotten that it was his word that had cast this boy into the wood. He cringed to remember it. At the time, he’d been revelling in his own misery for so long that blame had become his only release. What sudden form of madness had seized the crowd that day to make them believe in the words of a man so broken, so vile? He’d thought himself caught in the deepest despair. He’d since learned that one can always go deeper. Despair knows no bounds

Crouching on the forest floor, Petyr reviewed his options. He’d never faced two of these foes at a time before. Perhaps, working in tandem, they had heightened hearing. Perhaps one had been stationed to stand guard. His mind whirled with possibilities. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he needed to know.

He didn’t know the significance of finding two Ferukai standing together. He didn’t know their people had taken an oath long ago to keep their distance from one another for all their days – all their days, but one.

He didn’t know of the prophecy.

Had he known, he would have been stricken. Had he known, he would have fled. But Petyr had no idea of the grave risk these Ferukai were taking, that they’d broken the oath and stolen the boy, endangering themselves and their people.

They’d risked everything for this moment and the promise of eternal glory.

They were putting the prophecy into effect ahead of time.

Petyr closed his eyes, trying to steady his nerves. From a pouch at his belt he retrieved a small square of blue cloth. He pressed it to his lips.

Speediness is key, he thought. Risk be damned. I must free him before it’s too late.

Taking a deep breath, he ventured forward. At the same moment, less than a mile away, a large red-eyed owl hooted once and took flight.

Not far off, Shallah awaited Petyr’s return. She rocked back and forth, thinking of all that had befallen; of Trallee, of Liam, of Petyr. She felt no fear, no pain, no guilt – nothing at all. Under her breath she repeated a phrase, its syllables keeping time with her rocking.

Come back, she said. Come back. Come back. Come back.

She might have gone on like that all night if it weren’t for an odd sound which came through the trees. It approached her in a looming wave, its volume rising. When it broke upon her, feeling flooded back into her body. A horrible moaning the likes of which she’d never imagined filled her ears. Shallah had the distinct feeling that the trees themselves were crying out in pain. The sound was so all-consuming that she had to cover her ears with the blanket, but even so she could still hear the crying as it built in strength and intensity. It was almost as if it came from within herself and was battling with her body to be free.

The sound persisted for a great while before dwindling off, though it didn’t stop entirely. Shallah was left panting, wondering frantically what the noise meant for Liam and Petyr. But before she had a moment to consider this, a new sound greeted her.

Somewhere off in the wood a great fight was taking place. It began with a terrible creaking, much like the sound of a breaking tree branch. Then the ground began to shake, and Shallah heard the unmistakable sound of blows being cracked. Unable to picture the fight, she sat in an agony of anticipation, grinding her fists into the earth.

I must do something, she thought to herself. I can’t sit here and wait. I can’t sit here as they die.

A human howl of pain rose in the air, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. She tore off the blanket and got to her feet. The pain from her wounded foot ran up to her knee, which nearly buckled. She cried out, grabbing the branch of a nearby tree to steady herself. Gripping the bark with her bloodied fingers, she forced herself to breathe through the pain.

If you can’t walk, she told herself, you are of no use to anyone. You have to take this step, or you’ve truly failed him.

Holding her breath, Shallah straightened her back and placed all her weight on her wounded foot. The pain shot up at once, but not as intensely this time. She thought the ankle might be merely twisted, not broken. Still, when she attempted to take a step, her eyes filled with tears and a whimper escaped her lips.

The ground shook beneath her feet as the far-off battle continued. She imagined Petyr broken and bleeding, saw Liam weeping as his captors carried him away. A steady strumming took up within her at these images, and so strong was this beating, like that of a single drum, that it blotted out some of her pain and she was able to go on.

Gingerly, she walked a few paces through the trees until she came upon her satchel. Feeling in the grass by its side, she found the dagger and took it up by the handle. This time, as she held it in her hand, she didn’t tremble. She set her jaw. Then she turned and, with a pronounced limp, set off through the trees, using the dreadful sounds of battle as her guide.

It took Petyr some time to reach the base of the monstrous tree. In his close proximity to the trunks, he had to be especially careful not to make the slightest sound. As he inched along, itching to run, it struck him that the wood had gone silent, almost as though the forest was anticipating his attack. He pushed this thought away. It wouldn’t do to be getting nervous at this point. Besides, if the trees were aware of him, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

When he was within a few feet of Liam he lowered himself to the ground and crawled forward, his sights set on the woven cocoon. It was shaped like a cone, and jutted out of the trunk a foot off the ground. Liam’s feet poked out of one end, one in bare hose, the other shod. Leaning forward, Petyr peered through the tiny gaps in the weaving, desperate to make contact with the boy. He couldn’t see a thing. It was like staring into a rabbit’s hole.

Aware that at any moment the owl might sound the alarm, Petyr reached forward and took hold of one of Liam’s feet, shaking it gently. Immediately the child stirred and opened his eyes.

Petyr stared.

Liam’s golden eyes were luminous. They shone as bright as the moon.

Blinking in the startling glare, Petyr pushed his face closer to the gap in the roots.

“Liam,” he whispered urgently, and the child’s face softened at the sound of his own name. “Boy, I’ve come to help.”

A rush of wind blew through the wood, showering them with needles. Petyr looked about anxiously before going on.

“Don’t fret now,” he said, his words barely audible over the gusts. “I’ll soon have you free.”

He pushed a finger through the tiny hole and Liam grasped it gratefully, warm tears of relief bathing his cheeks.

Chapter Eleven

There was no way around it; he would have to use the axe.

Petyr patted Liam on the knee as he regarded the weapon in his hand. No amount of pulling had loosened the boy to the smallest degree. The roots holding him would have to be severed and his axe was the only available tool. But the danger was real. At the first cut the tree would lash out. Both their lives would be in peril. Not to mention the danger to the child at having his bindings chopped away. One swing too large, one cut too deep …

The wind picked at Petyr’s clothes as he watched his foes warily. Something wasn’t right. In truth, he should have been discovered by now, for his attempts to free Liam had been less than silent. At any second he expected an attack, a sudden blow to the head, but nothing came. It worried him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d willingly walked into some kind of trap.

But the time to stall had passed. If he was to save this child, he had to act now. Leaning toward the cocoon, he focused on Liam’s startling eyes.

“It’s time now,” Petyr whispered, and the child nodded. He was astounded by the boy’s composure. Any other child would have been wailing. “Hold as still as you can and the moment you’re free, run. I’ll come after you.” Again Liam nodded. “Good,” Petyr said, mostly to himself. “It will all be over soon.”

The wind died down abruptly as he raised the axe above his head. No hooting greeted him. He took a deep breath, readying to swing.

Then something miraculous took place.

The roots that held Liam captive began to unravel. One by one they retreated back into the ground, slithering away like garden snakes. Within moments Liam’s face was visible, then his entire torso. Wide-eyed, his axe still raised, Petyr watched as the cocoon collapsed before him and disappeared into the earth. Only the boy’s wrists and ankles remained bound, leaving him suspended. Petyr dropped his axe in amazement.

“What devilry is this?” he whispered as he braced his hands behind Liam’s back, holding him as he would a babe. The boy looked up at him in confusion. “Quickly,” Petyr said. “Quickly, now.”

He immediately bent to work, tugging at the roots which held Liam’s wrists, supporting him with his knee. The binds held fast, wound so tightly they seemed to have become one with the boy’s skin. Again Petyr resolved that he’d have to use the axe, and turned to find it on the ground. His body pulsed with urgency. He had to strike before the next trick was pulled. In a moment it would be too late. In a moment all could be lost.

Then that moment came.

For, just as he took up his axe, a great wailing grew up out of nowhere, knocking him to the ground. It was the sound of a hundred mourners, though many times harsher and so loud it could hardly be withstood. Liam opened his mouth in a soundless scream and tried in vain to cover his ears. Without abating, the noise rose until Petyr couldn’t fight it back. He gripped his head, unable to think or move. He could only lay where he’d fallen, staring ahead.

Directly in his line of sight was Liam’s shackled form, his luminous eyes shut tight. Though Petyr was no more than an arm’s length away he no longer had the strength to extend his hand to him. He could do nothing but watch as Liam’s head fell to the side, and his body went slack with the exhaustion of pain. He focused on the boy’s shoeless foot. His hose was too big for him and it bunched around the heel. It reminded him of his daughters’ stockings.

Then, all at once, the foot vanished and Petyr was left blinking at the place where Liam had been. It gaped like an open wound. As the terrific noise kept on, he tried to understand what had happened, but could not. The spot stayed empty, the Liam’s abandoned shoe the only clue that remained.

The child was lost again.

Petyr knew nothing for a great while. The world consisted of a greyness swimming before his eyes and a faint ringing in his ears. His prone body was limp as a doll’s and his face held no expression. It was as though he’d surrendered himself to nothingness.