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He heard Shallah call his name once, sharply.

Then he felt himself falling.

As he could scarcely bring himself to his knees, there was no question of going on. Shallah ordered him not to move an inch, her stern tone bringing a faint smile to his lips.

It’s not as though I’m going anywhere, he thought.

They’d come to a stop at the base of one of the largest redwoods in the area, its trunk wider than the length of Petyr’s body as he lay stretched out on its roots. The wilted sorrel and fern bushes grew thickly about the trunk, and by some miracle the fairy lantern plants had managed to produce berries. They glowed white in the dark. Shallah brushed the cones aside, clearing a space for the fire. They went rolling across the earth, clicking as they bumped against each other.

As Shallah gathered the blankets, Liam sat at Petyr’s side, his hands placed firmly on Petyr’s chest. Hardly strong enough to raise his head, Petyr couldn’t see the determined look on the boy’s face as he watched the rise and fall of his ribs, nor could he perceive the likeness of this pose to another the child had held a day before. When Shallah came to collect the boy, Petyr
did
notice that the cloth of his tunic was soaked through. Liam had left two sweaty palm prints behind.

The meal they ate was unappealing at best and without any water to help it down, near inedible. Shallah had to coax Liam to eat anything at all. Petyr watched them, the satchel under his head as a pillow, the square of blue cloth clutched between his fingers.

They were bonded, the two of them. He could see it in the easy way she held him, speaking in low half-sentences. Liam always seemed to understand what she meant, without having to listen. He kept up with her blindness unconsciously, handing her what she couldn’t reach, leading her fingers to the right place. Their dance was only heightened in moments like this, when they were in disagreement. They both had to move quickly, giving and taking, leading and evading, holding and urging and asserting, each in quick succession.

Petyr watched in tired awe.

Shallah and Liam hunched by Petyr’s side, a blanket around their shoulders. Shallah remarked that the wind had gone without ever presenting its oft-boasted rain. Though she was trying her best to behave normally, she was greatly disturbed by Petyr’s condition, and could hardly bear the frustration of being unable to help him. She rocked on her haunches, compulsively smoothing the blanket over him. It pained her still more to think of the awful pressure he must feel, with so many depending upon him, and his body unwilling to cooperate. She’d never felt such agony in the face of another’s pain before.

Now look what you’ve done, she admonished herself. You’ve gone and fallen in love with him.

She was still thinking about this when Petyr spoke.

“How long have they pursued you?” he asked. His eyes were closed, Liam’s light speckling his face.

Shallah felt as though she’d swallowed a mouthful of rocks. When Petyr had collapsed she’d finally been able to push the wolves from her thoughts. Now, all her worries came flooding back. She nearly gagged.

“From the beginning,” she responded once she’d recovered her composure. Liam leaned back against her chest and gazed up at the branches above them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Petyr demanded.

“At first I’d forgotten, stupidly I’d forgotten. And then … I didn’t want to trouble you further.” She couldn’t explain that she’d held back because he’d been cold towards her – it was far too humiliating.

“You shouldn’t try to shield me,” he replied, and his tone told Shallah that the old Petyr had returned. She nearly sighed with relief.

“And you?” she asked, suddenly emboldened. “Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling so poorly? We might have rested more often, kept a slower pace. Or didn’t you think I could handle the truth?”

Petyr shook his head. “Shallah,” he said, and it seemed to her that he’d never said her name quite like that before. “I couldn’t bear to tell you,” he murmured.

Comprehension dawned on her all at once. “Is that why you were so distant all day? You were afraid I would find you out?”

“What good am I to you without my strength?” Petyr asked. “What am I then, a dead weight for you to carry?”

“I would carry you,” Shallah said softly, “if I had to.”

Neither knew how to continue after this, though Petyr placed his hand on Shallah’s knee, the only part of her he could reach.

“But how did you know we were being followed?” she inquired, after a time.

“You might have thought me distant all day, but I wasn’t entirely absent. I watched you hearing them, always listening. And now, I hear them too. What do they want with us?”

“I didn’t tell you of the third prophecy,” Shallah said.

“Tell me now,” said Petyr, and Shallah could hear him fighting to put strength in his voice, to convince her he could stand anything she might say. It was a feeble attempt, and not at all successful.

She told him all the same.

“The third prophecy was delivered to the wolf chief of the western valley. Like that of the oaks, it can only be known to us if passed on by a willing member of the race. But as they’ve pursued us for days, I can only assume their desires are the same as our current enemies.”

“How close do they come?” Petyr asked.

“Close,” she replied.

Petyr stared pensively at the earth for a time, digesting this news. Then he turned to face Shallah, and his eyes, though she couldn’t seem them, were full of fear.

“I feel as though the very air closes in on us,” he whispered. “Shallah, we’re doomed. Trallee languishes and we will perish here, far from home. How can you bare it? How can you rest with this weight? I try with all my might to lose it, but it will not give. I long to be rid of it. I long for sleep.”

Petyr began to weep, his body shaking with each shuddering breath. Shallah took him in her arms and wiped his cheeks, her tears mixing with his. Liam cradled Petyr’s good arm and held quite still until finally, in a quiet burst, he began to sob as well. Shallah put her arm about him and the three of them became one huddled, weeping being, their heads locked together, their limbs interwoven.

When all were spent, they fell back on the forest floor, Petyr on his back, Shallah and Liam curled into his good side. Shallah thought idly of a time when she’d adored sleeping out of doors and had lain for hours like this, feeling the cool night air on her skin. She recalled the feeling of her father’s broad chest behind her as he kept watch over the dark. In Petyr’s chest she felt the same wakeful tension. Even his tears hadn’t brought him rest.

“Let it come,” she said, encircling his chest with her arm.

The wood was still. The trees, so roughly thrashing throughout the day, were taking their due reprieve. The dark silence was lulling, making for easy confusions of place and time. Petyr closed his eyes for a moment, and when he reopened them couldn’t be sure how much time had passed. It might have been the middle of the night when Liam sat up at his side.

Only later did he realize that the darkness hadn’t been disturbed, which meant Liam had kept his eyes shut. The child sat motionless for a moment, his head cocked to the side, facing his companions. Then, quite naturally, he began to hum.

Neither Petyr nor Shallah tried to stop him. The day had taught them this lesson. The oaks wouldn’t be attacking them this night. They’d already passed through these parts, destroying all in their path, and now they collected somewhere and waited.

His tune rose up through the trees. It was a lullaby like no other, lilting and coloured with sadness. Petyr allowed the song to wind its way around his mind until his thoughts were wrapped in the notes. Slowly he felt himself drifting into that sweet drowsy state that comes just before sleep.

Take me, he pleaded. Take me now.

He slept.

Chapter Twenty-One

Petyr slept the sleep of the dead that night. He didn’t move a muscle until Shallah woke him in the morning. The air was cold on his face as he opened his eyes.

“Wake up, Petyr,” she said.

She was sitting just next to him and there was a leaf stuck to the back of her cloak. Petyr reached up to pull it off, running his palm down her back affectionately. Shallah turned to him. Her face was grave.

“They’ve come,” she said.

As he sat up, Petyr felt the warm comfort of rest fall away like a blanket falling from his shoulders. Before them, sitting in a horseshoe formation, were eleven large grey wolves. Their yellow eyes were trained unfailingly on himself and Shallah.

Petyr reached for his axe, knowing full well that it gave him little advantage over such a pack.

At the top of the ring, directly in front of them, one of the wolves was on his feet. He was larger than the rest, each of his paws the size of Petyr’s hand. His gaze was fierce, a gaze that commanded attention. Petyr stared intently at his face, watching for the bared fangs, the wrinkled snout, the tell-tale signs of threat. A movement above the animal’s head caught his attention.

A face emerged out of the dark.

Petyr froze, entirely disarmed.

Liam sat upon the wolf’s back.

The silence stretched on without any hint of action. Petyr became restless. He gazed at the ridged orange bark of the redwoods, the colour so vibrant that he wondered how he’d never noticed it before. The trunks were positively glowing. Suddenly, he realized what he was seeing. It wasn’t the trunks that were glowing at all.

It was the eyes of the wolves.

Petyr glanced from one wolven face to the next. Each pair of eyes glowed back at him, their combined brightness lighting the clearing. Liam’s own light, so much dwindled the day before, had regained its former brilliance. He seemed at home, sitting amongst the wolves.

Petyr wondered, Have we found his people? Have we finally brought him home?

“What do they do?” Shallah asked.

“They sit watching us, a dozen of them,” he replied.

“Liam is with them.”

“He sits on the back of the leader.”

“He’s met them before,” she said.

Petyr’s exhaustion began to plague him as the expected threat failed to present itself. The wolven light gave off a drowsy warmth, like a roomful of candles. He began to have trouble focusing his eyes, and felt his head fall forward in a doze. How embarrassing to be caught napping when the charge finally comes, he thought to himself. Though, in truth, he’d begun to doubt the charge would be coming at all.

Some time later, a disturbance in the light awoke Petyr from a light sleep. The wolves had gotten to their feet, and the two sitting at the far ends of the ring were approaching their leader. The wolf chief stepped forward and they flanked him, one on either side. They began to advance, Liam still astride the back of the chief, like a child king.

Petyr explained what he saw to Shallah in hurried whispers. He broke off when the three beasts stood before them, not a foot away. His heart hammered in his chest and out of the corner of his eye he saw Shallah stiffen. Would they attack now, in such a dignified fashion? He took his axe into his lap.

But the attack didn’t come. The three animals stared ahead as though awaiting approval. Their bright eyes were near blinding at this distance, but Petyr didn’t have to shield his face.

Their gaze focused on Shallah alone.

Petyr saw a bead of sweat roll down her cheek as the heat of their eyes burned into her. He took her hand and pressed it in his own. She gave a grateful squeeze in return.

The two flanking wolves bowed, extending their necks until their snouts brushed the earth. Upon rising, they returned to their respective places in the ring without an upward glance, their paws crunching on the carpet of fir needles. When they’d rejoined the ring, all the wolves sat down, and the light in the small clearing dimmed perceptibly as the lot of them closed their eyes. The lead wolf alone remained on his feet.

Petyr could smell his fur. He smelled of the air, of the wood and of travel, and of something simmering beneath: ferocity. He was large, but thin and taut as a muscle. His fur was luxurious, but hung on his body like a coat too large for the child that wears it.

He starves just as we do, Petyr thought. He would devour us if he could.

There were only two pairs of eyes to see by now, Liam’s and the wolf’s. As Petyr watched, the chief raised his head and howled into the dark three times. The other wolves showed no recognition, but Liam bowed his head as though listening, and when the last howl was done, the boy got down from the animal’s back. Petyr immediately pulled him away from the great beast, wrapping his good arm about him protectively. He found to his surprise that he was panting, though Liam remained quite calm. He looked up at Petyr in puzzlement.

The wolf chief flicked his tail once and bowed before Shallah as his attendants had done. However, unlike them, he didn’t rise, but kept himself prostrated. Shallah frowned in confusion.

“He bows before you,” Petyr said. Glancing from the ring of wolves sitting at attention, to their leader with his snout on his paws, he suddenly understood.

“It’s a ceremony,” he whispered. “Of course!”

Unsure of how to react, Shallah remained seated before the humbled chief. She’d pulled her hair back from her face, and looked awfully pale and serious. All of a sudden, Petyr felt very protective of her.

What do they want with her? he asked himself. What happens next?

For a few long moments nothing happened at all. Then Liam got to his feet and stepped towards the two. Petyr reached forward to pull him back, grasping him by the arm, but the boy knew his duty. He paused in his step and put his hand over Petyr’s, turning to look at him. His eyes glittered golden. Don’t you see? the child seemed to be saying. Don’t you understand?

Petyr let go of him.

Leaning forward, Liam gently took hold of Shallah’s hand and placed it on the wolf’s head, just above his eyes, where the fur was short and smooth. Comprehension dawned on her face. Petyr caught on a moment later.

Here were the wolves of the west come to deliver their message. The third prophecy would soon by known.