The Tree of Story (4 page)

A
SHORT TIME LATER
Rowen, Will and Shade were hurrying along Pluvius Lane, followed by a tall figure, hooded and cloaked and leaning heavily on the Loremaster’s staff. The lane was busy at this time of day, and more than a few heads turned at the sight of the wolf at Will’s side and the silent, cloaked figure behind them. Rowen walked quickly, eyes fixed straight ahead. She was hoping to avoid meeting anyone she knew, with all the delay and awkward questions that would bring.

When they reached the toyshop at the end of the lane, Rowen rapped on the door and stepped back. There was a long silence. Will resisted the urge to look behind him.

Just as Rowen was stepping forward to knock again, they heard the sound of the bolt releasing. The door slowly opened and the mage, Ammon Brax, stood before them. He must have had some means of seeing who was outside the
door before he opened it, because his face was already composed into a look of glad surprise, though Rowen saw a flicker of fear in his eyes when they fell on Shade. But he masked his alarm swiftly and opened the door wide.

“Thank the powers you’ve come home, child,” he said to Rowen. “I was beginning to fear the worst.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Rowen said coldly. “And I’ve found Grandfather.”

The hooded figure standing behind them moved forward and lifted his head. The mage’s mouth dropped open. Clearly he was face to face with the last person he had expected to see: Nicholas Pendrake, the Loremaster of Fable.

“Ammon,” Pendrake said. His voice was low and strained.

Brax clutched the door frame in a white-knuckled grip.

“Master Pendrake …” he breathed. “You’re—”

“Grandfather is tired, Master Brax,” Rowen said, nodding toward the doorway. “Please …”

Brax recovered his wits enough to nod quickly and step out of the way. The old man strode through the doorway, followed by Rowen, Will and Shade. Once they were inside, Brax hastily shut the door, while still staring at Pendrake in disbelief. One could almost see the mage’s thoughts working, scrambling for some way to turn this unwelcome surprise to his advantage. Rowen noticed with a pang that the toys on the shelves lining the front hall had been upended or pushed aside. No doubt by Brax in his search for her grandfather’s secrets.

If Edweth were here … she thought. The housekeeper always kept the shop neat and tidy. But Brax had forced her out, too, and now she was locked up in Appleyard. Was she all right? Rowen wondered.

Then she caught sight of the mage’s polished ivory staff leaning near the door, in the place her grandfather always set his, and a spasm of anger shot through her. She wanted
to knock the mage’s staff to the floor and scream at him to get out of her house, but she knew she had to play her part and let Riddle play his.

“Tell me what happened, Nicholas,” the mage said. “Where were you captured? How did you escape?”

The old man still had not lifted his hood.

“I escaped,” he said heavily. “That is all the answer I can give you for now, Ammon. There is much to do and time is against us.”

“I never gave up hope that you’d return,” Brax gushed. Rowen saw beads of sweat glistening on his brow. “With all my efforts I could find no trace of where you had been taken. And then your granddaughter disappeared and—”

He darted a suspicious glance at Will.

“This is Will Lightfoot, a good friend,” Pendrake said. “And Shade.”

Brax nodded quickly to them both. His gaze lingered on the wolf.

“Thank you for all you’ve done, Master Brax,” Rowen said. “But Grandfather is very tired and needs to rest.”

“There is much to do,” Pendrake said brusquely, still leaning on his staff. “We have little time.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Brax said. “We’ve been aware of the Night King’s rise for some time at Kyning Rore, but none of us imagined he would trouble himself with remote places like the Bourne. That is strange indeed. But rest assured, Nicholas, I will stay and do what I can to help. After what you’ve been through …”

He paused and studied Pendrake’s hooded face doubtfully.

“Master Nicholas,” he said. “Forgive me, but your eyes …”

“Yes, my eyes,” the Loremaster murmured, lowering his head slightly. “The ordeal I’ve been through has left its mark on me. It will pass.”

“Are you certain everything is all right?” Brax persisted.

“Everything is
not
all right,” Pendrake said with a trace of anger in his voice. “Dangers surround us and every moment counts. You must …” The old man hesitated and glanced at Rowen. “You must return to Kyning Rore as fast as you can, Ammon. Your fellow mages will have need of your wisdom and guidance in the days to come.”

“That may be so, but I do not feel right about leaving you. What if more of those creatures, those thrawls, return? The two us together have a greater chance of fending them off than either of us alone. Besides, Kyning Rore is far away, and the true threat is here.” He shook his head as if struggling with himself. “No, Master Pendrake, forgive me, but I must disobey your wishes. The council of mages will have to do without me for the present. What kind of a friend would I be if I left you at such a time?”

Pendrake did not answer. He stared blankly at the mage, then glanced again at Rowen. After a pause she stepped quickly forward.

“Grandfather just needs to rest, Master Brax,” she said firmly, and grasped the old man’s arm. “We will be fine now, really. We have Shade with us. He can protect us from anything.”

The mage darted another uneasy glance at the wolf, who stood watching him with a steady, impassive gaze that gave even Will a shiver. Shade truly was a frightening sight, and this was clearly not lost on Brax.

The mage nodded slowly.

“Yes, I see,” he said. “Perhaps you’re right. Very well, I will take my leave if that is your wish. I pray that you will not need me. And I hope, Nicholas, it may ease your mind to know I made sure the toyshop was not disturbed by vandals or curiosity seekers while you were gone. I assumed there
must be things here that you would not want falling into the wrong hands.”

“You have my thanks, Ammon,” Pendrake said, placing a hand on the mage’s shoulder. “Though there’s precious little here worth stealing.”

“As you say,” Brax said with a slight bow. “Be well, Nicholas. Rest and mend yourself. I hope we’ll meet again under happier circumstances.”

“As do I, Ammon. Go safely, my friend.”

Brax gathered his cloak, staff and travelling bag from beside the door. With one backward glance at Shade, he opened the door and strode out.

Will shut the door firmly behind him and bolted it. When he turned back to the others, Riddle, the cat, was crouched where the Loremaster had been standing. The staff was back in Rowen’s hand.

“It worked,” Will said, his shoulders sagging with relief. “He’s gone.”

“You did it, Riddle,” Rowen said to the cat. “I almost believed you were Grandfather.”

Riddle licked a paw, as if nothing that had happened held any interest for him. He was a cat again and acting like a cat.

“The mage will come back,” said Shade, and they all turned in surprise to the wolf.

“How do you know that?” Rowen asked him.

“Before the Stewards granted me speech, I was a hunter,” Shade said. “I stalked other animals and learned their ways. Sometimes an animal I hunted would pretend to be injured, then when I neared, it would rear up and strike. The mage is like that now. I could smell it on him. He wants us to believe he has given up, so that we will lower our guard.”

Rowen frowned and looked away. She righted one of the fallen toys on the shelf beside her.

“Yes,” she said. “He’ll be back.”

“You’re the one he’s really afraid of, Shade,” Will said. “With you here Brax won’t dare set foot in the toyshop.”

He had spoken in the hope that he could still prevent Shade from accompanying them to the Shadow Realm. Rowen’s dark hints about what might happen to their wolf-friend there had not left his thoughts for a moment.

“I will be not be staying here, Will Lightfoot,” Shade said. “I am coming with you.”

“You can’t do that,” Will said quickly. “We need you here. In case the mage—”

“I am coming with you, Will Lightfoot, wherever you go,” the wolf repeated, with a rare trace of anger in his voice. “You should understand that by now.”

“But what about Brax?” Will said. “Rowen, you know I’m right. Tell him. Shade has to stay in the toyshop. He can’t come with us.
Tell him
.”

Rowen gave them both a look of pain and sadness.

“We can’t force you to stay here, Shade,” she said. “You have to do what you think is right.”

“Rowen …” Will began, and to his shock she turned on him angrily.

“We have no choice,” she said in a choked voice. “None of us.”

“I will stay in the toyshop,” said Riddle.

Will nearly cried out in shock when he looked in the direction of the small tawny cat and found in his place a huge tiger. Rowen had told him that this was Riddle’s original shape, but Will had not yet seen it for himself and he stared in awe. So
this
was Riddle, this magnificent creature even larger than Shade, whose shaggy coat seemed made of rippling flame and shadows. He was from the Weaving, Rowen had said, and the sight of him now gave Will
his first inkling of what that strange place might be like.

“You’ll have to keep pretending to be Grandfather,” Rowen said to the tiger, “no matter who arrives at the door. Just keep Brax and everyone else out as long as you can, no matter what.”

“I will keep them out,” the tiger said. “But, Rowen, the Weaving is my home. Without me guiding you, you may be lost there.”

“I’ll have Will with me,” Rowen said. “He’s the only one who can help me find the Fair Folk. He’s the Pathfinder. That’s what Grandfather called him. We’ll be all right, Riddle.”

She turned and hurried along the front hall. They all followed her into the kitchen, where she proceeded to fill a small pack with bread, cheese and whatever else she could find in the cupboards.

“No telling how long we’ll be gone,” she said.

“Remember what Balor said about Brax moving swiftly?” Will asked. “If he’s got powerful friends at the Errantry, they might help him try to force Riddle out of the toyshop.”

Rowen had finished gathering supplies and slung the filled pack over her shoulder. Her mind was made up and she was clearly impatient to be going.

“We can’t do anything about that now,” she said shortly. “Just keep everyone out, Riddle. No matter who they are. No matter what it takes.”

“I will do what I can,” Riddle said. “But I do not kill. Now that I remember what I am, I will not take the life of any being.”

“I know that,” Rowen said quickly, her face flushing as though she saw Riddle’s words as a rebuke. “But remember when you lived in the forest how you tricked people with voices? You made them lose their way and then played your riddle games with them. Can you still do that?”

“I can still do that,” Riddle said, and now it was his turn to sound stung, as if such foolishness was beneath him.

Rowen was heading for the doorway and then stopped.

“If anything goes wrong,” she said to Riddle, “if you have to leave here, will you be able to find us?”

“I am a creature of the fire. I can go anywhere it goes. But I have never been beyond the black river. I do not know what would happen if I crossed into the Shadow Realm.”

“Well, if you can’t find us or you’re not able to join us, then return to Grandmother, Riddle. Stay with her, please.”

“I will.”

It looked to Will as if Rowen was about to throw herself into the tiger’s arms. But instead she nodded hastily and hurried from the room.

Will and Shade followed her down the hall and up the winding stairs. They climbed to the top floor, where they found the Loremaster’s workshop door wide open. Clearly Brax had moved things around: many of the heaped and piled books had been placed in smaller, neater stacks, each with a scrap of paper sticking from its pages. Will guessed these were Brax’s notes to himself about what each book contained.

“He’s been cleaning up,” Rowen said, then she smiled bitterly. “Grandfather won’t be happy to see that when he gets back.”

She paused a moment, then picked up a small lantern from the desk. Will remembered that she had carried a lantern like this when he’d first met her, in the Wood outside Fable. It was a called a waylight and it enabled the one who carried it to find hidden refuges called snugs. Rowen opened the little glass-paned door of the waylight and looked inside.

“He’s gone,” she said, glancing around the room anxiously. “What did Brax do with him?”

Will realized she meant the wisp, Sputter, who lived in the waylight and could be sent to deliver messages. Rowen set down the lantern and looked around the room.

“Sputter,” she called. “If you’re here, it’s all right. You can come out now.”

They heard a faint crackling sound that made Will think of the sparklers put on birthday cakes. The sound issued from behind them, from an old clock hanging on the wall above the Loremaster’s desk, a clock shaped like an owl. The hands on the clock face in the owl’s belly were spinning wildly and the crackling sound was getting louder.

“Sputter, are you in there?” Rowen said, leaning close to the clock.

Without warning the clock face sprang open. A tiny ball of fuzzy blue light shot out and bobbed above Rowen’s head.

“Sputter!” Rowen cried. She held out her hand and the wisp descended into her palm, trembling and buzzing like an insect. “I’m so happy you’re all right, Sputter. It’s good he didn’t catch you. But I have to go now. I can’t stay. So I want you to leave here and find Edweth at Appleyard. When she sees you, she’ll know I sent you and know I’m all right. Go on now.”

The wisp buzzed more loudly in Rowen’s palm but stayed put there.

“Don’t be afraid,” Rowen said softly. “You’ll be safe with Edweth.”

“I think he wants to stay with you,” Will said.

“I wish I could take you with me, but where I’m going is worse than staying here.”

The wisp’s pulsing light flared brightly, casting a pale blue glow over Rowen’s features. The tiny creature had no eyes, no face, but there was no doubt it was agitated and frightened. Rowen pulled in a deep breath.