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The villagers broke into applause.
They, too, knew the mistakes they’d made in their despair. Everyone was in a forgiving mood.
It was fascinating to watch the villagers abandon the superstitions they’d clung to for so long. Syward Olney, his fat baby on his knee, swore he’d always suspected the light to have healing powers. His wife Edid rolled her eyes. Grissell Turvey claimed she’d heard her mother mention once that the dark would do them more ill than good. Isemay Wray, once the light’s greatest critic, crowned herself Lady Sunshine and wore a wreath of bright yellow maple leaves. Raulf watched with amusement as Rab and Sedemay Hale quietly took their seats at the end of the table.
The tables had been pushed aside and the children were running wildly about the green when the light began to fade. Raulf was ensnared in an argument with Roana Quigg when it happened. He and Roana were old rivals, and Raulf could never pass up the chance to point out her flaws, of which there were many. Today she’d taken it upon herself to organize the children’s games.
“Did I say it was your turn Leuric Goss?” she demanded, glowering at the young boy who scowled back. “You can’t play if you don’t
listen
!”
“And why should they listen to you at all?” Raulf put in. His sisters smiled at him approvingly. They’d been waiting for their turn for a quarter of an hour.
Roana turned to him with narrowed eyes, her arms folded. They’d sparred like this many times before.
“I suppose you’d rather they play without supervision,” Roana countered. “Didn’t you nearly lose an eye that way?”
Because you threw a rock at my face, Raulf thought resentfully.
“Why do you have this need to order others about?” he asked innocently. “Could it be because otherwise nobody takes any notice of you?”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, Raulf,” she said, “why don’t you go cry in a tree for your poor blind sweetheart who didn’t even kiss you goodbye.”
Raulf made ready to lunge for her when all of a sudden the light dimmed perceptibly. Everything came to a halt. Within moments, the brightness had faded to late afternoon orange. The autumn leaves that had been placed in bunches on the table began to wilt, and the tree branches to droop. The children ceased their frantic galloping and sat in little groups on the ground, feeling the weight of their limbs. Those who had been sickest began to feel their weakness again.
Raulf’s Mam was standing on the other side of the green chatting with Hylde Rundle. Raulf caught her eye.
Not yet
, her look seemed to say.
We’re not ready yet
.
As none could explain the light’s sudden appearance, none ventured an explanation of its departure. The villagers amassed in the roads and stood as though in a trance, watching the light’s retreat. Raulf found their stillness maddening.
His argument with Roana forgotten, he ran to his father’s side. “We have to do something,” he said breathlessly. “We have to stop it.”
Joscelin Guerin gazed fondly at his oldest child. “How can we?” he asked.
Mam will know, Raulf thought. He ran to her. “Help me, Mam,” he said. “This can’t be allowed to happen.” His alarm mounted more and more as the light continued to fade. Why would nobody take action? He could see Roana giving him a strange look as he shook his mother by the arm.
“Darling,” his mother said sympathetically, “think about what you’re saying.”
But Raulf wouldn’t listen. He ran from person to person, begging for help.
“We must stop it!” he cried. “We must keep the light here. We’ll die if it leaves us! Will nobody help me?” He pulled at Malcol Klink’s arm and yelled in Mr. Hale’s ear, but none would acknowledge him. None made a move.
“Look!” someone said. “Look there!”
The villagers looked down the road, the very same road on which Ilara had first spotted the light. Though the green was now black as night, the light still held its brightness at the far end of the path, retreating back the way it had come. At its center, a small dark point could be discerned growing larger and smaller, like the dilating of an enormous eye. The villagers stood mesmerized. Just the sight of that precious light gave them strength, though when they looked away they felt weak again. Staring hard at the dark center, some thought they could see a hand waving.
“It beckons us forward,” Rikild Blighton said. Others nodded in agreement.
“It wants us to follow,” Milo Carberry said. “See how it shows us the way?”
“I don’t see anything,” Rab Hale put in. “This is nonsense.”
None paid him any heed.
“Maybe it will lead us to water,” said another.
“I don’t care where it leads us,” said a very pregnant Gemma Goss. “That light cured my daughter. I’ll follow it anywhere.”
“We should move quickly,” said Thurstan Turvey, “before we lose sight of it.”
“Yes, hurry now,” said Betta Carberry to her brood. “Not a moment to lose.”
The wonderful confusion that followed filled Raulf’s heart with gladness. The villagers scattered in a dozen different directions. Though they’d spent so much time staying put, the villagers of Trallee still knew how to get moving.
Is this really happening? he asked himself as he watched Gamelin Turvey hitching his donkey to a cart. Are we truly leaving our village behind?
His mother and sisters were in the close when he arrived, sorting the family’s belongings. It was disconcerting to see all their things laid out like that. He was surprised to see how little they had. He wanted to have a word with his Mam, to hear what she had to say about this sudden change, but as he approached her she gave him a pointed look and gestured toward the house.
His father was seated on a low stool by the cold hearth. The shelves along the walls, normally full of salves and ointments to cure any ailment, were now glaringly empty. The house seemed abnormally large with everything cleared out. Only the dried herbs remained, hanging in little bunches above their heads.
Raulf regarded his father. He looked so forlorn.
“What is it, Da?” he asked, using that childhood nickname he’d long ago given up. “Do you feel ill?”
His father didn’t raise his head. “None return,” he murmured.
Raulf hated to see his father like this. He tried to think of something that would snap him out of it. “Maybe we’re not meant to return,” he said.
The old man looked up at him. “That wood is evil, son,” he said. “We shouldn’t go in. All who go in are lost. It’s the wrong choice. It will lead to our ruin.”
He balled his hands into fists. “I won’t go,” he said.
Raulf felt his stomach plummet. What had he said?
“I won’t go,” his father repeated.
The boy hardly knew what he was doing. One moment he was standing in front of his father and the next he’d grabbed him by the arm and hauled him to his feet.
“You will!” Raulf said, his voice loud in his own ears. “I won’t lose another person I love to some silly fear. I won’t let you have your way just because you’re old and obstinate and my father. You’re afraid, is that it? You’re too afraid to go? Don’t you think I’m afraid too? We’re all afraid. We’ve all been afraid all our lives!” His father goggled at him as he pulled him toward the door. “You’re coming with us because it’s time you gave up being afraid, and took some action. You’re coming with us because Mam needs you, and because Ilara and Alys need you, and because I need you. You’re coming with us, Da. And that’s
that
!”
Slamming the door behind them, Raulf let go of his father and folded his arms roughly.
He could see Ilara staring at him, her mouth hanging open. He saw his father stand motionless for a moment, before bending down to pick up a cooking pot.
And out of the corner of his eye, he saw his mother smiling at him.
The caravan stretched through the entire town, Rab Hale bringing up the rear. Wagons were loaded and what animals could still walk were saddled. Children were hoisted onto carts or strapped onto donkeys. Homes were left gutted, their doors hanging open, their owners escaping with everything they could carry. Within an hour, the green was empty of all life.
The line advanced laboriously, for there were children and elderly among them, and all were weighed down with belongings. Some hesitated on the threshold of the wood, still afraid. Joscelin Guerin kept tight hold of his son’s hand.
Raulf gazed up at his poplar as they passed under its branches, and his thoughts drifted to Shallah.
We’re coming, he called to her silently. We’re on our way.
“I parted with them early this morning,” Raulf said. “We came an awfully long way.”
“And my daughters?” Petyr asked breathlessly.
“They’re quite well,” Raulf replied. “I spied Alys just yesterday gamboling about with the Blighton girls. Old Brice had Emelota on his shoulders.”
Petyr seemed unable to comprehend this. “They’re not ill?” he asked. “When I left –”
“When you left we’d all but given up hope,” Raulf interrupted. “Much has changed.”
Petyr said no more. He sagged in his seat. Shallah squeezed his arm.
“Did the light cure everyone?” Shallah inquired.
“Our thirst did return when the light left Trallee, and we all felt our weakness,” Raulf replied, “but none were forced to take to their beds. We weren’t cured, but it did heal us somehow.”
“So, Trallee …” It was difficult for Shallah to imagine that she wouldn’t return to her hearth, to her home. She tried to picture the deserted lanes, the empty homes. What is a village without its villagers? “Did nobody stay behind?”
“Not one, Miss,” he said.
“But how did you come to be on your own, Raulf?”
The boy looked sheepish. “I ran ahead,” he admitted. “I thought I would scout out the trail for the others, and report back. But I ran too far. When I turned back I couldn’t find them, and in a panic I ran every which way. Soon, I lost the light as well.” He hung his head.
“Dear Raulf,” Shallah said sympathetically, “how awful. There aren’t many who could stand this dark wood on their own.”
He peeked up at her through his overgrown hair.
“You impress me,” Shallah said.
He grinned.
Though they hadn’t traveled far as night fell, the wolf chief was hesitant to continue. He seemed to know the edge of the forest was near and that it ought not to be reached under cover of night. He sat at attention, staring into the trees.
Rocking Liam to sleep in her arms, a throng of resting beasts encircling them, Shallah thought of her lost home.
“You’ve changed, Miss,” Raulf said as he lay down by the fire.
“Have I?” she asked. Throughout the journey, she’d thought only of how the forest was changing, never herself. “How have I changed?”
“In Trallee,” he began, “you always kept yourself hidden. When I came to see you, I felt it was my job to find you. Sometimes I did, but other times you were too well hidden. You seemed to prefer staying hidden. But now … it’s as though you’ve been found.”
Shallah thought of Petyr, and of Liam dozing in her arms. “I suppose I let my guard down,” she said. “I let them find me.”
“Yes,” Raulf said reflectively, “But you found yourself as well.”
She couldn’t help but smirk. “And where did all this wisdom sprout from?” she teased. “What happened to the boy who used to tumble through my croft, trampling my tomatoes?”
“I’m still here, Miss,” the boy said seriously, “but I suppose I’ve changed as well.”
“If we’re all so changed,” she mused, “how will we recognize each other when we meet at the end?”
“I’d know you anywhere, Miss,” he said.
Placing Liam down at his side, Shallah kissed both boys on the cheek and tugged a blanket over them.
“I dreamed of you the other night,” Raulf said sleepily, his eyes already closed. “The earth was swallowing you up, and I couldn’t save you.”
Shallah stood motionless for a moment. “Well, we’re both safe now,” she finally whispered. “Goodnight, Raulf.”
“Goodnight, Miss.”
Satisfied that the boys were safe within their wolven circle, Shallah got to her feet and stepped away, seeking Petyr. She hadn’t taken one step when she heard his voice in her ear and he took her hand, leading her away from the others.
“Here,” he said, seating them both beside a great boulder. They each took a moment to collect their thoughts before beginning.
“Wasn’t it just as I described it to you, just the same?” he said.
“It must have been the light Liam gave off that night,” Shallah said. “I don’t see what else it could have been.”
“Yes, the eye at the center, the hand waving; it must have been the throbbing form I saw – Liam’s form.”
“But how could it have traveled so far and lasted so long?” she pondered. “He glowed but for a few moments, according to you.”
“I’ve no idea,” Petyr confessed. “But you must see what this means. If it was his light, and the villagers followed it all this way, then the prophecy is coming true. He
is
leading them to safety.”
“Or to their doom,” she said bleakly. “Maybe they were led here to be destroyed as the dark oaks would wish. Another prophecy would be fulfilled that way.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, contemplating this new possibility.
“Petyr,” Shallah said, touching his knee, “they’re safe. They’re in no pain. This has to bring you some comfort.”
“Oh yes, I’m glad of course,” he said, though he didn’t sound it.
“Do your children worry you?” she asked.
“I have to go to them,” Petyr said, and as he did Shallah could feel his determination. His body was taut as a bowstring, ready to fly. “I have to protect them.”
“You fear the oaks –”
“Yes,” he interrupted. “The villagers know nothing of those creatures. And though we’ve not encountered them in days, I know they’re close by. They could easily attack. I could lend the villagers some protection if I were with them.”
“In your weakened state?” she asked quietly, though she knew to reason with him was futile.
“I’ve managed this far,” he replied. He bent to tie his boots and the satchel brushed against her leg. The true extent of his words dawned on her.
