The Whispering Trees (35 page)

Kara knew that better than anyone.

“Good morning,” Sordyr said, opening the door. He was wearing all black: breeches and a borrowed shirt that
was far too large for him. Not a hint of orange.

“Mary said you wanted to see me,” Kara said.

“Yes. Come inside.”

Kara took a step backward, shaking her head. She would talk to Sordyr if she had to, but not in such close quarters. He might look like a man, but in her mind he would always be the Forest Demon. She supposed she was being as unfair as the villagers, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“Outside,” she said.

They walked along the main road. The Divide had been dismantled, the wood burned. Kara didn't know what this meant for the unfortunate people who had been absorbed by the fence. She didn't plan to ask.

“Is Sordyr even your real name?” Kara asked.

He shrugged. His hair, completely brown only a few days ago, was now streaked with gray. New wrinkles lined his face.

“I don't remember,” he said. “I suspect it might be, but
the details of my life before she changed me into that monster are clouded. I was a
wexari
, as was Rygoth. I believe we were even friends at one point. But Rygoth used her magic with wild abandon and sacrificed too many of her memories for power. Eventually she began to forget she was even human.”

Kara bit her lip nervously. Though her magic was gone she had not regained her lost memories, and their absence gnawed at her.

“Is that when you trapped her?” she asked.

“It's not quite as simple as that,” Sordyr said. “The villagers tell a story here. Perhaps you've heard it? A spoiled princess in a castle . . .”

“I've heard it,” Kara said. “But my guess is the roles are reversed. Rygoth was the one who brought the grimoire to the princess. You're the one who tried to stop her.”

“You're partially right,” said Sordyr. “When I began telling the story to the villagers—or rather, when Rygoth planted the story in my mind and forced me to
tell it—she did indeed switch our roles. I think it amused her to cast me as the villain, and it fit my new persona as the Forest Demon. But it
was
me who brought the princess her grimoire.” He paused, looking down with regret. “Her name was Evangeline, and occasionally she
could
be kind—especially to me, the king's adviser. The story always leaves that part out.”

Two former Devoted—one man and one woman—were approaching from the opposite direction. They had shed their purple cloaks and thorned piercings. As Sordyr passed they watched him with vacant, lost expressions.

“It was supposed to be a gift, nothing more,” Sordyr said. “I thought the princess could use it to make her toys fly or for other such frivolous entertainment. I never imagined the grimoire would be as powerful as it was. Even as I handed it to Evangeline, I wasn't even completely sure it
worked
.”

He shook his head.

“I was such a fool,” he said.

“So that part about the princess destroying the kingdom . . .”

“True, all true. And when Rygoth saw the magic that a simple child like Evangeline could wield with a grimoire, she wanted the power for her own. She demanded that I make more grimoires, promising me that together we could remake the world into something new. Of course I refused, so she created Niersook and threatened to take away my powers if I did not comply. I still could have said no. I should have. But the thought of losing my powers . . . I was weak. And then, when I finally resisted, Rygoth changed me into the Forest Demon. Before she gained control of me completely I was able to trap her as well, but it took all my focus to keep her there. There was none of me left to fight back as she injected her venom into my roots and controlled me.”

There was a long, awkward silence. Kara searched for forgiveness in her heart, sensing that now was the time to offer words of compassion.
He was under a spell. It wasn't his
fault
. But when she looked down at Sordyr's shadow her mind twisted his hands into branch fingers. She couldn't see him as anything else.

The moment passed.

“Might I ask you a personal question?” he asked.

“I suppose,” said Kara. “But I make no promise to answer it.”

“What world did Imogen craft for you?”

The question surprised Kara, and it was a few moments before she responded. “I was back in De'Noran,” she said. “Except my mother was alive, of course. And the people in my village liked me. It was a normal life.”

“Were you happy?” Sordyr asked.

“I was.”

“You can have that now,” Sordyr said. “You are no longer a witch. Nothing is stopping you from finding a nice farm and restarting your life.”

Kara supposed he was right. She and Taff could find a safe place to live, a place far from Thicketies and Forest Demons and magic.
It's what Father and Mother would have
wanted
. But could she ever be happy planting turnips knowing what wonders—both fantastic and terrible—existed in the world? Wouldn't she miss it, just a little?

“Imogen's world was a lie,” Kara said. “At one point I might have desired such a life. But not anymore.”

Sordyr looked at her for a few moments with his sad green eyes, then reached into his cloak and withdrew several leaves of rolled parchment bound together with a strand of dried ivy. He handed it to Kara. “Read this. After you've left the island. It's all I remember of the truth.”

“Why does it matter?”

“The more you know about Rygoth, the better. That is, if you're planning on stopping her.”

“I don't have any magic,” Kara said.

Sordyr nodded. He popped a sunflower seed into his mouth and spit out the shell.

“These little human pleasures,” he said. “How I've missed them.”

Kara tucked the parchment away.

“Was that why you wanted to see me?” she asked, anxious to leave.

“Half the reason. Mary told me what happened to your father. I thought I could help.”

Kara felt a rush of excitement. “You know how to save him?” she asked.

“It's dangerous,” said Sordyr. “Beyond dangerous. And you are no longer a witch.”

“I made a promise to my brother. Whether I can still do magic doesn't change that.”

Sordyr folded his hands in front of him. The nails had been well scrubbed and carefully trimmed.

He told her what she needed to do.

“No!” Kara said, a burning sensation in the pit of her stomach. “That's impossible! Surely there must be something—”

Sordyr shook his head. “I'm sorry,” he said. “If you truly want to save your father, there is no other way.”

Kara sat in the center of the road and folded her knees
to her chest, too stunned to speak.
Not that
, she thought.
Anything but that. It's too much to ask
. When she looked up some time later, Sordyr was a small figure in the distance just vanishing around a bend in the road. Kara knew she should have thanked him for giving her the key to restoring Father, but she was too full of cold dread to be grateful right now. All she could think was,
Why did you have to tell me?

By the time the ship was completed, winter had grabbed the Thickety with an icy hold. Mary suggested that they wait until summer to make their journey to the World, but Kara refused. Safi's visions had become more frequent and vivid.

Burning cities. Darkening skies. Screams of horror.

Kara didn't know how she was going to stop the spider witch, especially without magic, but she had to at least try. She was the one who had set her free, and each death Rygoth caused was her responsibility.

“I can't believe Safi didn't come to see us off,” Taff said, staring out at the crowd of people gathered around the ship. A small number of the villagers had decided to make the trek with them, but most had stayed behind. “I looked for her all morning, but I couldn't find her.”

“You two have become close friends,” Kara said. “It was probably too hard for her to say good-bye.”

“I guess,” said Taff.

At some point Kara would tell him the truth, but not today. Safi had assured them that after the battle with Rygoth she had been unable to find her grimoire, but Kara had recognized the haunted look in her eyes, the shaking hands. She had followed Safi one night into the Thickety and saw where she had hid it, and then watched, in horror, as Safi cast spell after spell, unable to stop.

The night before, while everyone was sleeping, Kara had crept into the Thickety and stolen Safi's grimoire. No doubt the girl was searching for the book right now—the real reason she hadn't seen them off.

Even if she hates me forever, it's for the best
, Kara thought.
I'm saving her
.

Mary walked them to the gangplank. She was an old woman today, the same age she had been when they first met. Kara was glad. This was the way she wanted to remember her.

“It's not too late to come with us,” Taff said.

She stroked his hair. “My place is here. These people need my help—they
deserve
it. They have Breem, of course—he'll do a fine job leading them. But they aim to stretch their numbers across the Thickety, and no one knows this place better than I do.”

“Especially now that Sordyr's gone,” said Kara.

He had vanished several nights ago, and the villagers had quickly burned his hut to the ground and scattered the ashes to the wind. Although Kara could never find it in her heart to forgive him, she was surprised to find some pity there.

“I have a gift for each of you,” Mary said.

“We don't need any gifts,” Kara said, while at the same time Taff shouted, “What is it?”

Mary handed him her sack. Inside, the magic toys that had escaped the fire tinkled together.

“You have the heart of a true craftsman, Taff, and these work better for you. Plus you may find some use of them in the World.”

“Mary,” Taff said. “You can't give these to me. They're yours.”

“I don't need them anymore.”

Dropping the sack, he threw his arms around her.

“I won't forget you,” he said. “We'll be back.”

“I know you will,” Mary said, fighting back tears. “I'll be waiting.” She turned to Kara. “Your gift is on the ship already. She came into the village last night. I was going to bring her to you right then, but I thought it'd be a nice surprise.”

Mary gestured to one of the lower portholes of the ship, where Kara saw two brown eyes staring back at
her. Though the eyes were familiar, she did not recognize them right away; many of the memories her mind wanted to pull from had been exchanged for magic.

And then she remembered.

“Shadowdancer!” Kara exclaimed.

Not caring that she was flooding her boots, Kara splashed through the water and stroked the mare's head. She looked thinner, and maybe a little older, but otherwise no different than the first time Kara had met her in the Lambs' stable.

“I thought I'd lost you,” Kara whispered.

“She's not the only one, Kara,” Mary said. “The animals are coming back. And that's not all. Come with me.”

“But the ship is leaving. . . .”

“These people have waited their entire lives to leave this island,” she shouted in the direction of the captain. “They can wait a few minutes longer. Unless they want to anger an old witch!”

Mary brought them to a small glade bordered by gray willows sweeping the ground. A strong breeze shook the branches. Kara braced herself for the resultant sounds of despair but heard only a gentle rustling.

The trees whispered no more.

“Look!” Taff exclaimed, a smile brightening his face.

In the center of the glade was a rose.

It stood out against its drab surroundings like a child's laughter on a cloudy day, the red of freshly painted wagons and bright summer dresses. Kara knelt next to the rose and stroked its petals lightly. Taff did the same. When their eyes met, Kara laughed, a soft, girlish giggle. She couldn't help it. If the Thickety, of all places, could be saved, then there really was hope.

There was always hope.

O
ne of the first things I learned when I became a published author is that there are
way
more people involved in the production of a book than I ever suspected. I won't list all the names here—for fear I might leave someone out—but I want everyone involved with
The Thickety
to know that their contribution is greatly appreciated. I'm lucky enough to get my name on the cover, but this is definitely a team sport.

My agent, Alexandra Machinist, is the hardest working person I've ever met, and yet somehow manages to
maintain her sense of humor at all times. She also solves all of my problems before I even have them. It's supernatural.

Katherine Tegen and Sarah Shumway took a leap of faith on an unpublished elementary school teacher. As if that wasn't enough, their editorial skills have made these first two books infinitely better. And if
those
two things aren't enough, they are genuinely wonderful human beings.