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“You intend to go this night,” she stated. Though she sounded calm, her blood had begun to course with the heat of alarm.

“This very moment,” he said.

Shallah blinked several times as though trying to clear her eyes of a vision she couldn’t see. Her heart began to pound.

He’s doing the right thing, she told herself. His children need him now. He doesn’t have a choice, really. He would stay if he could. He
would
.

She closed her eyes.

He’s leaving me behind, she thought.

“I know it must seem cruel to tell you to depend on me, only to leave you …” She could hear the strain in his voice.

He’s eager to be gone, she thought. It pains him to have to explain.

“I don’t need you beside me in order to believe in you, Petyr,” Shallah replied.

“I wouldn’t abandon you this way, but you’ve Raulf to be your eyes now, and the wolves for protection,” he went on. “You’ll be quite safe.”

“Of course,” she said. Her hands had begun to tremble without her noticing. “I understand.”

She tried to breathe calmly, but her breath was caught in her throat. The idea that Petyr might be wounded, might perish, without her knowing, without her being there with him, tore at her insides. This is right, she repeated to herself. This is the only way. But deep inside, a timid, fearful voice was crying, the voice of a thirteen-year-old girl all alone in the world.
Don’t leave
me
, it sobbed.
Stay with me
.

"Shallah?” Petyr asked. His voice seemed to come from very far off. “Are you alright?”

She managed a weak smile, but could find no words. She heard a soft thump as Petyr’s satchel fell to the ground. The next moment he’d taken her in his arms.

"How can I do this?” he asked, clasping her to his chest. “How can I go when it means leaving you behind?”

Shallah buried her face in his neck, cherishing the feeling of his arms encircling her. Relief flooded her body, from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers.

You’re not a fool after all, she thought to herself.

It seemed to pain Petyr as much as it did Shallah to pull away. “What shall I do?” he asked her desperately, stroking her cheek. “Tell me what to do.”

“Petyr,” she whispered, and as she looked up at him, her eyes were full of tears. “I can’t.”The idea of making such a choice, of being the reason for his departure, was too much for her to bear. She pressed her face into his shoulder again.

Petyr held her tightly to his chest, smoothing her hair. “I’m sorry, my love,” he said into her ear. “I should never have asked.”

Shallah felt as though she had two bodies, both sharing the same mind. One body and one heart were reeling at the idea that Petyr could love her, its limbs numb with shock, its spirit so overcome with happiness that all the rest of the world was dim and indistinct, like a mist that could be blown away. Meanwhile, the other body and the other heart were crumbling. Its frame shuddered with tears that wouldn’t fall, and there was a hole in its stomach, a tearing, gaping, hole that could never be mended, its pain striking her to the core.

“We will see each other again,” she was finally able to utter, “won’t we?”

Petyr brushed her tears from her cheeks. “I’ve no other wish,” he said.

It was a great trial for Shallah to hold herself together as Petyr checked his sack one last time. She kept running her fingers through his hair and brushing his shoulders, as though intent on building up as many touches as possible before she could touch him no more. When at last he stood, she did her best to face him bravely.

“Ready?” she asked.

“Not quite yet,” he said softly.

Petyr took her face in his hands and met her lips with his. Shallah felt as though all her senses were exploding at once as she moved her mouth against his, her hands running over his broad back. He gathered her in his arms, literally lifting her off her feet. She felt like she was floating, her arms about his neck, her fingers in his hair, her breath intermingling with his.

Let this moment last, she yearned so hard she feared she might start crying again. Let it last forever.

But it could not be. Finally, her feet met the forest floor again and Petyr loosened his hold on her. Both were breathing hard when they broke apart. Petyr feathered kisses across her forehead and pressed his cheek against hers

“Whatever happens,” he whispered into her ear, nearly choking on the words, “know that I love you. Know that you saved me.”

A red-eyed owl swooped through the inky black air as Shallah and Petyr shared one last embrace. She accompanied him into the trees until the trail began to bend and she knew she had to turn back, or risk losing her way. They parted silently, with one last kiss, their lips lingering.

Only as his step retreated from her did Shallah begin to weep, collapsing gracelessly to her knees, her hair falling over her face as though to shield the forest from her hopeless display.

In her mind’s eye Petyr’s heart had shrunk to the size of a pea. She feared she would lose sight of it forever.

When she thought to listen for his footsteps, it was already too late. He’d traveled too far to be heard.

“Petyr!” she cried suddenly into the dark, desperate for one last contact with her love.

No reply came.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart breaking. “Do be careful,” she whispered.

The rules set out by the Ferukai at their last assembly were simple. No meetings of any kind until the designated hour. Only then could a multitude of their own come together. Only then could the prophecy be fulfilled. It didn’t surprise nor grieve these dark creatures that two of their kind had been destroyed in trying to initiate the prophecy on their own. Such a thing could not be. Only once they were all gathered together would they have the power to make the prophecy come true.

As Shallah and Petyr said their farewells, the last of the dreaded beasts were arriving at the edge of the forest, adding themselves to the ever-lengthening line of their kind. At the very center of the line stood the Guardians, the only Ferukai known to endure in a group. For years they had stood guard over the edge of the forest, holding back any humans who attempted to enter, while encouraging them to exit at will. In recent years, only one being had passed into the wood, and only because they’d allowed it.

Now, as the forest slept, the army of Ferukai focused their attention on that single being, that boy of whose powers the prophecy foretold. So mighty was this combined effort that their very branches fused together in blinding flashes of light. A low humming began to emanate from their roots. The air warmed about them as they tightened their line so only the slightest gaps could be found. There they waited, their concentration unceasing, watching for the morn that would bring them their freedom.

By midday the prophecy would be fulfilled.

At midday, they would make their final stand.

Prologue

The little boy gazed out the window as he ate his porridge. In the distance he could see
the giant trees high up on the cliff. They frightened him because they were so big and tall, but
also because no one ever went near them. It was said the trees would let no person pass into the
wood. The little boy wondered how they would stop him if he tried.

“Gazing at your beloved trees, are ya?” said the boy’s mother. She ruffled his hair. “One
day you’ll disappear and everyone will be in a panic. They’ll ask me where you’ve gone and I’ll
tell them: ‘He’s gone into those trees, he has.’”

“They’re callin’ to me,” the boy said, his mouth full of food.

His mother wiped his face. “Well, you go ahead and call back that you’re in the middle
of your meal and you aren’t free to be receivin’ any messages at present.”

The boy’s father came through the door and sat down on his pallet to tie his shoes.

“Perry’s pig’s run off again,” he said. “His boys’ll be runnin’ all over the countryside
after him. I told him to bar the byre door but he never listens, that one.”

“Stubborn as an ox,” the little boy chimed in.

“That he is,” his father agreed.

“If Perryton Brooker would pay half as much attention to keeping his toft in order as he
does downin’ cups of ale he’d be the better for it,” the boy’s mother said. “But who can blame
him, nearin’ his thirtieth year and still no wife to care for him.”

Oh, poor Perryton!” the boy’s father said, scooping his son into his arms.
“Brokenhearted since the day your Mum turned him down and chose me instead.”

“Since that very day,” the little boy said eagerly. “Tell us, Pap. Tell us about that day!”

“The most beauteous day in anybody’s memory, it was. Birds chirpin’ and flowers
bloomin’. Everyone goin’ around in a good mood and laughin’ and carryin’ on. And all for our
love, all for us.” The boy’s father leaned in and gave his wife a kiss on the left cheek, while the
little boy kissed her on the right. He giggled.

His mother turned bright red and fussed with her apron strings. “Oh, now,” she said.

The boy’s father gave him a wink.

“And what’ll you be up to today, my lad?” his father asked, setting him down on the
table bench.

The little boy thought happily of all the wonderful things he would do that day as his
father crossed to the hearth and stoked the coals. His mind was full of the games he would play
when his mother began to scream.

At first, the boy couldn’t tell what was happening. There were bright flashes of flame and
his mother kept crying out, “Your tunic! Your tunic!” His father rammed his shoulder into the
wall as he scrambled away from the hearth, and the whole house quaked. His mother kept
stomping on the ground, her skirts flying.

“Get back!” his father roared.

Soon, the house was filling with thick black smoke and the little boy began to cough. His
mother’s face appeared before him. “Run.” she said to him. Her voice was calm and sure. She
gave him a little push toward the door. “I’m coming,” she said, then disappeared into the smoke.

The boy stood in a daze by the door. The floor was on fire, and the walls too. He could
still hear his parents thrashing about, though he couldn’t see them. He looked up. The thatch
roof was on fire. It was falling in.

“Mum …?” he called fearfully.

“Run!” he heard his mother scream, and this time he listened.

He ran through the door and into the close. He saw his neighbours streaming forward
with buckets of water. He looked back over his shoulder. Smoke billowed from the windows and
the door. Flames shot high into the air. Any moment his parents would come flying out. Any
moment now.

He kept running until he reached the gate in the hedge. Someone caught him in their
arms.

The little boy stared at the black doorway.

Any moment they would come. Any moment. Any moment.

“Wait!” someone cried. The people stopped in their tracks by the hedge.

The roof of the house fell and two of the walls toppled with it. The black doorway
collapsed into a pile of flaming wood and rubble.

The little boy felt something catch in his throat. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t.
His mouth hung open, but his voice was lost.

His eyes filled with tears.

They never came.

Part 3

Chapter Twenty-Six

It came with the morn.

Neither the wolves, nor Shallah, nor her young charges saw the change as it took place. They slept on, oblivious, as about them the forest awoke in colours, breathing in the warmth of the morning. The ferns, trampled by numerous wolf paws, opened their leaves like arms welcoming the day. The cedars and spruces and firs came to life, their trunks gaining dimension and girth, their branches highlighted in brown and grey and black. The air itself became lighter as the night lifted its heavy blanket and lumbered off to await its next reign.

Sunlight entered the forest.

Beams of light, soft and glowing, fell in swathes across the backs of the sleepers, warming their limbs. The canopy could hardly live up to its name so close to the edge of the wood, the tree branches managing naught but a thin layer to shield the forest floor from the sky. If any had awoken and looked up, they would have beheld patches of blue sky so pristine as to stun their very senses. None of this company had ever seen morning light dappling the wood like this before … none except one.

As the dust motes danced through the sunbeams, a little boy opened his peculiar eyes and looked around.

It was a wonderful dream. Liam didn’t want to wake from it. Lately all his dreams had been bad dreams. He hated bad dreams. He hated the way they followed you all through the day. He hated bad dreams so much he’d begun to dread sleep.

But this dream wasn’t a bad one. It was the most wonderful dream of all. It was a dream he’d had before. It was the dream that had started it all.

His mother was in the dream.

Liam awoke with a smile on his face.

The first time he’d had the dream he’d misunderstood it. He’d thought he was seeing into
after
. He’d thought he was being given a message. But that was silly, he knew that now. Dreams couldn’t give messages. Dreams were just dreams and they didn’t mean anything, but sometimes they could be nice anyway. Sometimes you could see someone in a dream that you couldn’t see anymore in real life.

And if they beckoned you and told you to meet them in the forest of the giant trees, there was no harm in that. It didn’t mean they would be there. It didn’t mean anything at all. He understood that dead was dead and people don’t come back. That was why it was important to protect the people you loved so you wouldn’t lose them. He had failed at this once, but he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Next time, he wouldn’t run away. Next time he would save her.