Jinx's Fire (26 page)

“Do you imagine I don't know that?” said Reven.

“When this is over, whatever happens, don't stay to fight them. You'll have ten days to get out of the Urwald. I can't guarantee your safety after that.”

“It would take us two weeks to get out of the Urwald,” said Reven. “Assuming we wanted to go.”

“Ten days,” said Jinx. “If you're not out in ten days,
we'll take whatever steps we have to to get rid of you.”

“Some people might say, under the circumstances, that you are delusional,” said Reven.

“Just remember what I said. Double green flash; lie down. Tell your men.”

Jinx cast a look around the camp, and then at Reven, and wished he hadn't. It was better not to have to look at people.

He nodded, and turned, and walked quickly out of the camp.

Deep Green Magic

S
imon was right. The wizard Frank Magus went missing in the night. The Urwalders set out to attack Reven's forces at dawn.

They advanced cautiously, hiding behind the trees. Jinx moved forward with the rest. He sensed werewolves creeping in from all sides. He heard the stomp and crunch of trolls behind him.

The whole forces of the Urwald were here today . . . they'd been coming in from the remaining clearings, from the Glass Mountains and from Salt City. If they lost today, there wouldn't be another chance.

Ahead of him, Jinx sensed Reven's soldiers, lying in
wait. He sensed their feelings—worry, fear, excitement. Loyalty. They were all very loyal to Reven. It was that king thing.

They were eager to fight. And they were afraid to die.

Terror,
said the trees.
The Terror has reached the heartwood.

It was different with the Urwalders. They were angry. Much more angry than afraid. But afraid, too—each of them. Jinx saw clouds and blobs and swirls of fear all around him, purple and green, blue and pink, yellow and orange.

Elfwyn was sticking close to him. Jinx was annoyed. She was waiting for him to . . . He didn't think he could. Not with all these terrified people.

Let us fight, Listener. Let us strike the Terror.

“Just let me know when to send up the—” Elfwyn began.

“I don't think I can do it,” said Jinx. “Everyone's so afraid and—”

FIRE! Pain! Listener! FIRE!

The forest's agony and terror almost knocked Jinx over. He had to stop and clutch a tree for support.

“Jinx, what's wrong?”

Vaguely, through the cataclysm of fire and fear, Jinx felt Elfwyn's hand on his shoulder. And vaguely, he was aware that there was no actual fire where he stood.

“The Urwald's burning,” Jinx said. “They're . . . everything.”

“Where?”

“Around all the clearings,” said Jinx. “They've . . . set . . .”

“You mean the soldiers they've left there have set fires?”

Jinx barely heard her. Flames were roaring in his ears, climbing his bark, crawling along his roots. His sap boiled and crackled.

Wait. Stop, he told himself. The fire isn't everywhere. He needed to concentrate.

He reached through the root network, mile upon mile, and found the burning trees. He drew the fire to himself. He could do this now; he was the Urwald.

He felt the forest's lifeforce all around him, beneath him and above him. It flowed through the trees, branches, leaves, and roots. It flowed through the undergrowth and the moss beneath the trees, and the vines that climbed the trees. It flowed through the Restless—the worms and the birds and the bugs, the porcupines and the bears, the squirrels and the bats. It flowed through nixies and werewolves, trolls and ghouls, humans and vampires and firebirds and dragons. Everything that lived in the Urwald was part of it.

And it reached down, deep down, deeper than the roots of the trees, down onto the Path of Fire, though Jinx was the only one that could sense it there.

He reached down and touched the Path of Fire, and he drew its power up, up through the paths, up into the trees' roots, up into the trunks and . . .

. . . and he was forgetting something.

“Double green flash!” he yelled to Elfwyn. “And get down!”

And he didn't know if she obeyed or not, because he wasn't really seeing at that point. Not with his eyes. He was feeling, power coming up through his roots and into his trunk, through his xylem and phloem, along his branches . . .

. . . except that he didn't have branches. Because he was one of the Restless, and that meant he could
move
.

He moved.

Not his feet. That wasn't possible, because they were rooted too deeply into the earth. But his arms, his hands, his head—these could move. As he'd been yearning to do for a hundred years, he moved his branches.

And then he could see. He could hear. He smelled the smoking remnants of the fires, and it made him angry.

He was a tree. He was a forest. He was the Urwald. And he could move. The Terror was attacking, and finally he could fight back. He swung his branches. There was scurrying and skittering as squirrels and chipmunks scrambled for safety. A million birds took to the air as the great branches thrashed out, lashing at the invaders. Thousands
upon thousands of limbs whipped and tore at anything within reach.

From the east to the west, across hundreds of miles, the forest fought back. The towering giants had few branches that could reach the ground, but the younger trees bent, swayed, and struck. The sprawling old oaks swept their thick branches inexorably across the forest floor. The spiny spruces slashed at the intruders. The Terror that had tormented the trees for so long finally ran, screaming. It ran onto the overgrown paths, it fled into the Storm Strip, it leapt into canyons. It tried to hide in the clearings, but the wards stopped it.

In one part of his mind Jinx saw that it was
people
running, and he tried to save them from the trees' anger by pulling down the wards. He tried to stop hitting them, once they'd dropped their weapons and were running away. But his ability to move belonged to the trees now, and the trees were striking the Terror as hard and as often as they could.

Some of the Restless stood their ground and tried to fight, broke their swords against the branches and trunks that felled them.

The trees didn't hear the screams like Jinx did. They heard noise, running, the usual sort of desperate, impetuous churning in which the Restless spent their lives. They didn't care. They gloried in the ability to move, to
see
the
enemy, to chase him, to strike back, to exact revenge for the chopping and the Terror and the fires.

It must have gone on for a long time.

Then it stopped, and the motion slid out of the trees, and back down through the roots, and down, down, down into the Path of Fire, and Jinx went with it. He left his body behind. He found himself walking along, between high glass walls that were so narrow his shoulders and elbows brushed them on either side.

There was none of that zapping shock that Jinx remembered from the Ice. And yet he couldn't feel the fire anywhere.

“He can't seem to find his way back,” said a voice he thought he remembered, but the memory didn't seem attached to anything, nor did he.

“He'd better. If he knows what's good for him.” An anxious voice, warm and blue, but Jinx didn't know anything about that voice, either. There were a lot of voices, and they bothered him, so he walked on until he couldn't hear them anymore.

Then a voice was right in front of him.

“What do you think, now, about good and evil?” it asked sweetly.

And then Jinx knew where he was. He was standing
on a broad agate floor, beside a crystal waterfall that didn't move, that didn't really have water in it and didn't actually fall. A beautiful, slightly glowing blue lady stood beside him, and looked at him with deep amethyst eyes.

“Uh?” he said.

“Or more specifically, evil,” said the lady. “What do you think about evil?”

Jinx had to think hard just to remember what thinking was. Once he'd got that in order, he had to remember how to speak, and who he was talking to.

“I think it depends on what you actually meant,” he said.

The Elf Princess looked beautifully puzzled. “Oh?”

“I mean, what you meant to accomplish. When you did the thing. Whether your intentions were evil.”

“That may be part of it,” said the Princess. “But it is also very much a matter of what you've actually done.”

“I guess.” Rearranging his thoughts into words that came out of his mouth felt strange. He felt as if he would rather speak with his roots.

“You can't stay here,” said the Elf Princess. “But you can go on from here.”

Jinx frowned. A vague memory pushed at him. “I think I'm supposed to go back.”

“If you go on,” said the Princess, “you need never face what you've done.”

“Are you sure about that?” said Jinx.

The Elf Princess frowned. “It's not really my concern.”

“Yeah, but it's mine.” Jinx collected his thoughts, which seemed to have scrambled off in thousands of different directions, like leaves in a sudden October whirlwind. “I . . . um, I at least have to find out. And there's people. I'm pretty sure there's people I want to check up on. I can't remember who they are, but it'll come back to me, and . . . I don't really know what happened, but I'd better go find out.”

There was a purple cloud of irritation from the Elf Princess . . . that's right, Jinx remembered. He could see stuff like that. He could probably do other stuff, too. He had some memory of that. And he had memories of other people, orange and brown, blue and green, and he wanted to talk to them more than he wanted to talk to the Elf Princess.

“Right, I'll be seeing you,” said Jinx. “Or not.”

And he walked away from the waterfall that wasn't, and found himself back on the path.

A Spell for Simon

E
verybody fussed far too much. Especially Sophie. It was days before Jinx was allowed to get up, and he could feel people carefully not telling him things.

Of course, it wasn't as if everyone spent
all
of their time fussing over Jinx. There were flurries of activity away from the south wing, in the main part of the house, and much coming and going through the big front door, and even some coming and going through the secret door to Samara.

When he could finally escape, Jinx didn't feel like going into the forest. He wasn't ready to talk to the trees. He went to Samara instead.

He walked the moonless streets at night. He could tell there were people following him, on the rooftops and in the shadows. They could follow him all they wanted; he wasn't going anywhere.

He almost wished someone would attack him. It would have distracted him from his thoughts. But no one did.

On his third night of wandering, he let some of his stalkers catch up with him and surround him. They were Elfwyn, Wendell, and Satya.

“You shouldn't be doing this,” said Elfwyn. “There've been all kinds of people following you.”

“That's their problem,” said Jinx.

“There was a spy for the preceptors,” said Satya. “It took us hours to lead him astray last night.”

“And you know we can't keep doing that,” said Wendell. “What if the preceptors started having Satya followed?”

That was a point.

Jinx let himself be led to the Twisted Branch, down near the Crocodile River, after Satya and Wendell had scouted the rooftops to make sure no one was following. Inside, the inn smelled of spices and cooking. The place was cheerful with torchlight, and full of people eating, talking, and shouting in different languages. Wendell bought some spicy chicken pies from a barmaid. Then he led them all up several flights of stairs, past halls that rang with laughter, music, and argument, to his room in the attic.

Jinx ate his pie in six large bites. He had a feeling he'd spent weeks or months without eating again. It suddenly occurred to him that after all his journeys underground, he no longer knew how old he was.

He got up and paced back and forth, running his finger along the rooftiles that formed the slanted ceiling. Elfwyn, Satya, and Wendell sat on the bed and watched him with their different colors of worry.

He turned to them. “Is someone going to tell me what happened?”

“Yes. The trees fought,” said Elfwyn. “With their branches.”

“I know that,” said Jinx. “I was there.”

“Well, you asked. A lot of people survived, though,” said Elfwyn.

“Great.”

“Reven survived,” she said. “In fact, he's the King of Keyland now.”

“Really?” said Jinx.

“Yes.” Elfwyn didn't say anything about that being a question. That was how delicately people were treating Jinx these days.

“King Bluetooth of Keyland was killed,” said Wendell. He looked at Jinx as if anxious to see how he would take this.

“By a tree?” said Jinx.

“Yes,” said Wendell.

“Well, he was a murderer anyway,” added Elfwyn hastily.

“How many—”

“We don't know,” said Elfwyn.

“But enough of Bluetooth's followers were killed that the rest thought they might as well change sides and follow Reven,” said Jinx bitterly.

“Well, he
is
a king, obviously,” said Wendell. “And that means something to people. I think there were a lot of people who, if they couldn't have Bluetooth, would just as soon have Reven. Royal blood, you know. Grandpa's arse, would you quit sulking?”

Jinx couldn't help smiling, despite his mood. It was a relief to have someone lose patience with him. “Sorry. But I . . . well, I guess I'd just feel better if I knew that everyone who got killed was a bad person.”

“That's not really how wars work,” said Wendell.

Satya stood up suddenly and dusted her hands off in a businesslike manner. “The Urwald's going to need to make terms with Reven. There'll be a dispute over the Edgeland—”

“They're not getting the Edgeland,” said Jinx.

“—but really, it seems like you could have worse neighbors than Reven.”

“Like King Rufus the Ruthless,” said Elfwyn.

“Did he die?” said Jinx.

“No,” said Elfwyn. “That was a question.”

“He did retreat though,” said Satya. “All the way back to his own capital in Bragwood. You'll have to make terms with him, too.”

“I bet I killed a lot of his men, didn't I,” said Jinx.

“Look, I know how you feel—” Wendell began.

“Really? How many people have you killed?” said Jinx.

“You didn't kill them,” said Elfwyn. “The trees—”

“Couldn't have done it without me,” said Jinx.

“So?” said Elfwyn. “Didn't they have the right to defend themselves?”

Jinx looked at her in surprise.

“I don't really see what else you could have done,” said Wendell.

“Except nothing, and let the Urwald be conquered,” said Satya. “Now, there will be treaties that have to be made, and agreements that have to be reached. Who's going to do that?”

“You're talking about diplomacy, right?” Jinx thought about Simon, and himself, and Urwalders in general. They were probably going to need help with that.

By the time Jinx was able to bring himself to go and talk to the trees, summer was brightening into autumn. He walked through the forest for a long time. It knew that he
was there, and it murmured to itself, telling itself that the Listener was back. And it waited for him to speak.

We're not going to do that again,
said Jinx.

If it becomes necessary, if the Terrors return, if.

Well, we'll just have to make sure that doesn't happen,
said Jinx.
Now, can we talk about the paths?

The ancient agreement was broken.

Yes, and you told me I had to unite all the thinking beings of the Urwald and get them to agree to a new treaty. I think I can do that now. At least, we've got the werewolves and trolls, and that's a start. We'll get the nixies and ogres and the werebears and werechipmunks. The vampires . . . I don't know about vampires. But I need to tell them all what you're offering
.

Jinx had never made such a long speech to the trees before, and he wasn't sure how they'd take it. They murmured and muttered to each other for a long time, discussing his words along the root network.

Offering?
they asked at last.

As your part of the new agreement,
said Jinx.
They'll want the paths back, of course. And possibly some of the Storm Strip, for new clearings. I don't know about the burnt area—

No. Not the burned ground. It is ours, the burned ground. Fire builds the forest.

It sounded like they might concede the new Storm Strip clearings. Jinx didn't press them. He'd give them time to think.

There are a couple other things I need,
he said.
If you don't mind. I need to use the lifeforce power for a couple of spells. Kind of big spells.

It is your power. We are only part of it. You are only part of it. We are the Urwald. The Urwald is only part of it. Your roots are deeper than ours. You will use the power. We will allow it. We will help.

He'd figured they would. It was to their advantage to help him when he asked.

The Urwald knew how to look after itself. And it knew it needed a Listener to explain it to the Restless. And it would do what it could to . . . hm. Come to think of it, Jinx wondered if his being found by Simon, all those years ago, was quite the accident it had seemed.

It was no good asking the trees. They'd pretend not to understand the question. They'd say they couldn't tell the Restless apart.

He couldn't always tell when they were lying.

Jinx turned and started homeward, watching the ground to avoid trampling small seedlings. He saw a row of hemlocks growing along a fallen, rotted trunk, their roots wrapped around it. When the old trunk was gone, they'd stand as if on stilts, reaching down to the ground and into the Urwald's root system, and the Fire.

He heard a crunch of footsteps and looked up. Elfwyn was coming toward him through the forest. Nobody would
leave him alone for a minute!

“I just came to see—” she began.

“I'm fine,” said Jinx. “Stop fussing.”

A large blue glow of hurt. Really disproportionately large—he hadn't exactly snapped, had he?

“Sorry,” said Jinx. “I didn't mean—”

“I wasn't fussing.” Elfwyn shrugged. “I just thought maybe you'd like to talk.”

“Yes,” said Jinx. “I would like to talk.”

They looked at each other and didn't say anything.

Elfwyn was surrounded with a warm green glow, which was very Elfwyn-like and had been there for a long time. And maybe the green glow was also coming from Jinx, now that he really looked at it. And maybe that unreliable pink fluffy stuff (which still hadn't shown up, and never would) was completely irrelevant, when you had a green glow.

Sometimes, Jinx thought, he really was a little slow on the uptake.

He was right about one thing, though. Sticking your face at someone was extremely awkward.

Jinx was glad that it wasn't going to be his job to restore Simon's life, after all. He knew he wasn't very good at spells, and this was a horrendously difficult one. He'd dreaded messing it up, which would result in Simon being
either 1) dead or 2) very angry or possibly even 3) both.

Elfwyn and Sophie were in charge. They had studied the Crimson Grimoire while they were captives at Bonesocket. Sophie seemed to understand the spell perfectly in theory, and Elfwyn might actually be able to do it.

There were other people there to help—Dame Glammer, and Dame Esper. And Wendell and Satya had come to help carry torches.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Simon?” asked Satya. “After all, you're not dead, like Jinx says he was when you put his life back—”

“He wants to do it anyway, dear,” said Sophie, before Simon could snarl.

“Yeah. Having your lifeforce missing makes things feel . . . weird,” said Jinx. He remembered how the Bonemaster had described the feeling: not quite whole.

“But no one's ever done it this way before—” said Satya.

“And now they're going to,” said Simon. “Right, are we ready?”

“Yes,” said Sophie. Her thoughts were all jittery brown-and-blue nervousness. Jinx wished they weren't.

“Better lie down, dearie!” Dame Glammer said.

Simon stepped in amongst the carefully chalked figures. He had drawn most of them himself, with Elfwyn's help, on a patch of dirt that Jinx and Wendell had carefully swept free of leaves and humus. Because they were doing
it in the forest, of course. They were going to use lifeforce power instead of deathforce power. And they were going to use a lot of it.

Simon propped himself on his elbows and glared around at them. He had acquired a jagged scar over one eye in the war. It had definitely improved his glaring skills.

“Just trust us, dear,” said Sophie, sounding as tense as Simon had when he'd done the spell on Jinx. She even managed to make
dear
sound like
idiot
.

Simon lay down, sat up suddenly, dug a sharp rock out of the ground, and tossed it into the forest. He lay down again. “Right. Let's get this over with.”

Jinx was relieved that all
he
had to do was provide the power. He would have felt very nervous if he'd had to stand there holding a torch with the others. They were now marching around Simon widdershins, and Elfwyn was chanting the Qunthk words that Jinx had helped her learn.

Jinx reached down deep into the Path of Fire. He drew power up through the tree roots. The flames on the torches flared higher. They became a tower of fire—higher and higher, as Jinx drew more fire from the Path. But the fire didn't touch the trees. Jinx was controlling it. When Elfwyn knelt to put the bottle to Simon's lips, Jinx brought the fire down into the spell.

Flames leapt and scurried along Simon's still form.

And then the spell was finished.

Simon lay there with his eyes closed. They all gathered around. Simon's eyes remained closed. Why didn't he open them?

It was Jinx's fault. He shouldn't have suggested using lifeforce for a deathforce spell. He shouldn't have insisted on not using ghast-roots. There was a way around
most
things in magic. But not everything.

Jinx leaned down, anxious, and then jumped as Simon's oddly yellow eyes flew open.

Simon blinked. He sat up. He looked around. He stood up. He shook his head furiously. Then he shook it again. Jinx wondered if a bug had crawled into his ear.

Simon blinked some more. He looked around at all of them.