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  He uprooted the table, throwing both it and Dar to the ground. He snapped his head back into one thug’s groin. The man fell to his knees, and Nolan’s left hand was free. He smashed it into the second man’s groin, rolling across the table, but their cohort grabbed him by the back of his tunic. Nolan tore the fabric getting free, kicking the man in the chest and knocking him over. Dar nearly knocked him over then, standing on the table as he was. He sprang off. He’d been able to catch the men by surprise, but they were quickly recovering. Time for a quick getaway, Nolan decided. This went beyond his hands now. He’d be fast or he’d be dead.

  “Sorry about the nethers, gentlemen!” he said, and ran out of the room.

  Chapter Two

  A Light In The Darkness

  Desmond lounged in the sun, eyes closed, basking in the warmth. Halas sat up against the cottage, fiddling with a small knife and watching him. He wondered how anyone could be so relaxed when he himself was so agitated. The idea of peace was beyond him. His chest was in a knot. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten, and yet he did not feel hungry. His sleep was more fitful than ever before. Halas crossed his arms across his stomach. Halbrick was in trouble; there was no doubt about that. He no longer believed Conroy. There was no way the old man was right. Not after three weeks in…in there.

  “Would you make up your mind already?” Des asked. Halas frowned. They both wanted to go into the forest, but Halas suspected that Desmond just wanted to explore. “I’ve been inside before, you know,” he added. “It isn’t that scary of a place.”

  What Halas really wanted was for Desmond to go away. He willed the thought to him, and was not surprised, though mildly disappointed, when Desmond did not react.

  “No you haven’t! You stepped past the first tree on a challenge and ran out.” He neglected to mention his own previous foray into the wood. Go away, he urged. Leave me alone.

  Desmond grinned. “That doesn’t count?”

  Halas closed his eyes and sighed. Desmond was not leaving, Halbrick was still lost, and the trees had not spontaneously decided to erupt in flame. He supposed there were no other real choices. “Fine,” he said. “Let’s go. While the sun still shines.”

  Des was on his feet in a flash. He smiled as he drew a knife from his pocket. “Come on then.”

  Halas gestured to the blade. “You had that with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh. All right, then.”

  The two ran toward the forest, not wishing to waste any time. But even Desmond was wary. When they neared the Treeline, their movements slowed. Then both greeted the trees. Making the decision to go after Halbrick had been just fine in the safety of the cottage, but what was it now? Halas thought it was something like idiocy, but he said nothing. If he backed down now, he would never get another chance. Feeling very much like boys rather than men, Halas and Desmond exchanged a sheepish glance before stepping inside together. They were immediately cast into darkness unmatched. The canopy was thick and did not allow for much light to shine through, but once his eyes adjusted Halas could see there were gaps where beams of it came through like spotlights. Halas resisted the urge to grab Desmond’s hand. Desmond led the way, creeping softly through the padded moss. Halas forced himself to follow. It went against every instinct he had. There was no noise in the forest. Though their boots were heavy, their footfalls were very nearly silent. Halas touched Desmond’s arm.

  “Don’t slip in this stuff,” he warned. “It makes you sleep.”

  “Right.” Desmond didn’t ask how he knew that. Perhaps it did not occur to him.

  Halas took a moment to look around. There wasn’t much to see. The forest was a mix of trees, mostly tall oak and willow and ash, but with the occasional marauding black spruce mixed in. There was also the moss, white scraggly stuff that felt like a cloud beneath their feet. A cage of red vines had formed around a dead stump nearby. Desmond was well ahead of Halas, and he hurried to catch up. They pushed their way through the thick black boughs.

  The faint sound of a child’s laughter drifted through the air, wafting about their heads. Halas glanced around. Were there children here? The child sounded as if he were playing merrily, unaware of the terror that surrounded him. The laughter changed partway above them. It became a shrill cackle, that of a madman. It sent shivers down Halas’ spine, causing his skin to erupt in gooseflesh. The cackle did not fade, as Halas would have expected, but disappeared abruptly. It was replaced by a growl.

  Halas saw two red eyes in the shadows. They were rimmed by the silhouette of a great wolf. Halas had seen wolves before, and this one was far too big. It was the size of two wolves, or possibly even three. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that this was the creature that had chased him before.

  It growled and started forward, pawing the ground with thick, broad feet. Its tail flicked absently, and its fangs dripped with a dark liquid that was not unlike blood. Halas clutched Desmond’s arm in fear. Desmond himself took a few steps back. “Run,” Halas whispered. He realized that he should probably take his own advice, and turned to Desmond.

  “Run!”

  They ran. They sprinted through the forest, arm in arm, tearing great big gouges in the moss with their boots. Tufts of it flew up behind them. Halas was in the lead, pulling Desmond along. They flew past the trees, all the while chased by the wolf. It gave a bone-chilling howl as it went, loping along close to the ground, its shaggy head bent forward until it was nearly parallel to its knees. It snarled and snapped at the air.

  Neither Halas nor Desmond considered their knives, knowing instinctively that the puny things would not even scratch the great beast.

  Flecks of spittle struck their backs. The wolf was close now, so close it could almost taste them. Halas lowered his own head and willed his legs to go faster. He felt only fear. There would be no escaping this thing. How could they? Desmond pulled ahead. The trees were thickening, growing closer together. It seemed to Halas that they were doing this of their own accord, working together with the great wolf to slow its prey. The walls were closing in. Halas and Desmond had to grip each trunk and pull themselves along, as if they were swimming. And still the wolf gave chase. It plowed through the trees that gave Halas and Desmond such trouble as if they were nothing, splintering them in its wake.

  Branches clawed at them, scratching at whatever they could take hold of. Halas could not believe what was happening. These trees were alive, and just as deadly as the wolf that pursued them. They tore at his face and chest. Fresh bursts of pain blazed to life all across his body. Halas’ breath was pounding. Already his legs burned. Already his side was enveloped in a dull throb. He could not run for much longer.

  If they did not find sanctuary soon, the monster would kill them.

  But luck was on their side in that evil morning. They came to a sharp drop. Roots and trees twisted up and down the hill. At the bottom was a river. The water was surprisingly clear. Halas had only a moment to take this all in, for he had not seen the drop, before he and Des went over the side. Desmond managed to keep his feet as they slid, but Halas floundered on his back, groping madly for purchase. In his panic, he found Desmond’s trouser leg, dragging the younger man down with him. They rolled bodily down the hill. Halas’ tunic pulled up over his head. The world became muffled through the thin fabric.

  His descent was stopped suddenly by a root that stuck a few inches out of the dirt. His foot had caught in it, or it had caught his foot. A terrifying suspicion assured him it was the latter. Desmond continued rolling, bellowing curses. Halas lay backward on the slope, looking up at the top. He tried to sit up, but the stitch in his side was too sharp. He yelled and lay back, yanking his shirt down.

  The wolf was at the top of the slope. Halas was still close enough to see why it had not caught them: its left forepaw was mangled and bloody. It limped to the edge of the hill and growled. Froth spewed from its teeth.

  The root was tighter than it had been moments before. Blinding pain
shot through Halas’ leg, and he screamed, but pain seemed to be the tree’s ultimate goal, not death or capture. Halas’ foot came free, and he slid slowly down the rest of the way, settling to a rest with his shoulders against a pine tree. It beamed down at him and he shied away, crawling over to Desmond. He looked up at the top of the slope.

  The wolf was gone.

  “Are you all right?” Desmond asked.

  “I think so,” Halas replied. He was breathing heavily, and sore all over. He felt as if someone had worked him over with a club. “And you?”

  “If that is the last cliff we fall off of, I’ll live happily ever after until the end of my days.”

  Halas breathed nervous laughter. Desmond helped him up. Halas tested his foot. It hurt to stand on, but he could walk. He’d had worse. “Where are we?”

  He looked around. The moss was gone, replaced by a far more normal looking bed of old leaves. Little bits of grass and ferns poked up here and there. Behind them, the stream gurgled happily along. Halas didn’t like the stream. He felt as if it were mocking him.

  “I don’t know. I know that I do not like it. This place is far too pleasant.” “I agree. We should…”

  He was cut off by a snarl as the wolf flew through the air. Desmond pushed Halas aside at the last second, accepting a nick on his left arm just above the elbow. He threw himself toward the stream. “Halas, come on!” he yelled.

  Halas was just behind him. The two splashed into the water, which moments ago had been only knee-deep. But the stream was deceptively deep and deceptively wide. Before they knew it, it was up to their chests. Still they waded, and Halas dreaded the rest. He reached out for Desmond’s hand and took it. “I cannot swim!” he yelled.

  Desmond pulled him along.

  Water was everywhere. It came at Halas from seemingly all sides. A moment ago it had been a calm, peaceful stream. Now it was a raging river, trying desperately to pull Halas all ways at once. The current tore him from Desmond’s grip. Tall waves crashed over his head, forcing him under. He clawed out ahead of him, scrambling for a hold. If the river had its way, it was going to keep him there forever. He’d stopped moving.

  No! Stop it!

  A hand touched his and retreated. Halas was granted a brief moment of clarity. (That’s enough!) He suddenly felt like he was not under the water, but above it, in a warm and dry meadow. He looked around, stumbling forward. Dead grass stretched in all directions, covered in something Halas’ brain could not immediately identify. He stared at a peculiar looking mound, and gaped.

  Bodies. Bodies everywhere, corpses, a graveyard absent of its grave digger. Some were mere skeletons; most were still fleshy, with pale, taut skin and scabbed muscles and an abhorrent stench that put even the worst of Cordalis’ sewer systems to shame. The hand that had touched him belonged to a small girl of about four years. She cocked her (Stop!) head to the side and looked into his eyes. He could see maggots writhing beneath her skin, little moving bumps just under the surface. The sight filled Halas with sick dread. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream.

  Let him go! You’re killing him! He’ll die!

  But to scream, he’d have to breathe.

  That thought made him instantly aware that he was drowning. The façade meadow melted away, replaced by the bottom of a riverbed. Everything was different, except for the girl. She clutched his shirt with cold, dead fingers, wrinkled patches of flesh stretched across her bones. For a moment Halas could do nothing but gape.

  This was real. It was all happening, and he would die if he did nothing.

  He kicked the little girl aside. Her skin rotted away as she drifted, and she was nothing but a smiling corpse, grinning an evil grin, leaving deadness in her wake. Halas began to pull madly for what he thought was the surface.

  Stop it stop it STOP!

  The water receded. It trickled slowly around his legs, and he stood up in a daze. Des stood halfway to the bank, bent partially over with his hands resting on his knees. He had stopped shouting. The river was once again a stream, and both were glad for it.

  Desmond watched Halas. His mouth was open in a noiseless wail. “Bodies,” he gasped as he staggered ashore. “There’re bodies in there!”

  He stumbled out of the water and tripped. Mud from the bank caked over his hands and knees. He felt something touching him. It was the girl, he was absolutely sure of it. A great sucking sound echoed into the trees as he tore his arms free of the mud. There were bugs on his hands! Slithering things of all sizes. Caterpillars, spiders, flies, worms. They crawled over his skin and made it move along with their rhythm, made his stomach churn. Again Halas wanted to vomit, and this time he gave way to the feeling. He shook his hands in the air and thrust them into the chill waters. The bugs were washed from his skin, but the awareness of them remained. He could feel the things scuttling across his flesh, a million tiny legs coating him like a second shirt. He shuddered, and Des helped him away from the bank. He retched again, falling into the grass, heaving up his breakfast.

  Coming here had been a mistake. Conroy was right. Trying to collect himself, Halas rose and took a deep, steady breath.

  The wolf had disappeared. Halas got a look at Desmond’s arm. The sleeve was a shredded, bloody mess. He took Des by the forearm and tried to examine it. “Later,” Des said. Halas nodded brusquely.

  “Right. Thank you, Desmond.”

  “My pleasure. That’s twice now.” He grinned. Halas forced a smile of his own. It wasn’t as hard as he would have thought, however, for he found himself genuinely happy to see Des. Who would have thought?

  “Where is the wolf?”

  “It slunk into the woods after you went under. I do not doubt that it will be back.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “What do we do now?”

  Halas looked around, taking in the slope. Cordalis was somewhere up there. Garek, Conroy, and Cailin were somewhere up there. But Father’s in here, he thought, his gaze going deeper into the trees. Wherever Halas looked, his eyes inevitably wandered back to that stream. There was a dead little girl in there, floating forever along with countless others. How many lives had this place claimed?

  He dragged his foot through the dirt unconsciously, unsure of which course of action to take. “We must find my father,” he said after a time. Halbrick would know how to get them to safety. Halbrick would make things okay again.

  “Halas…” Desmond began. His eyes were steady, grim, resolute, but Halas could see his brow wavering ever so slightly.

  “Go back if you must. I…I cannot abandon him out here.”

  “And I cannot abandon you, you fool. I have no choice but to follow you.”

  Halas smiled sadly. He looked at his feet, suddenly ashamed of himself. He could not be responsible for Desmond’s death. He wouldn’t be.

  “Never mind,” he said quietly. “Father can fare for himself. I do not wish to cross the river, so let us find a way around. I know that this stream comes in from the east, and does not come out. If we were to go west, we would find its end.”

  “A good plan. Lead on, then.”

  Halas looked up. The sun was high in the sky, having only begun its daily cycle a few hours before. He frowned, unable for a moment to tell where west was. He followed the sun’s arc and nodded to himself. “This way,” he said.

  They went west, and soon came to the end of the Inigo River Tributary. Their footfalls were heavy and tired, their faces drawn tight. The river came to rest in a small pool, but Halas harbored no doubt as to its true depth; it was probably well beyond any sense of normalcy. “How is it that you cannot swim?” Desmond asked. “There are a hundred streams and ponds near your farm.”

  “Father never let us,” Halas explained. He did not know why.

  He and Des skirted the pool and came around at the base of the slope. It was just a few foot-lengths to the top. Desmond helped Halas up.

  Once they stood at the top, confusion set in. There were three broad directions in which they could
go. Cordalis lay in one. He supposed that each direction would take them out of the trees, but how far were the edges? Certainly at least one path would lead them deeper in, and Halas had no desire to cross the forest in full, even in daylight.

  He found himself longing for the mother he’d not had since he was young. Younger than the little girl in the river.

  The dead little girl.

  No time to give up, he told himself. Just set a direction and follow it. You’ll not be alone; Des is here. You just have to trust your luck.

  Halas took a few steps forward on quivering legs. Behind him, Des squatted by a tree, lifted a twig and poked at something. “Halas,” he announced, “I believe that this mushroom is talking to me.”

  “What?” Halas went to his friend. Desmond sat before the biggest mushroom Halas had ever laid eyes upon. He’d had seen smaller dogs. Its surface was a pale white that was somehow inlaid with purple. Its pores sucked in air and gushed faint, odorous green fumes. Des watched it studiously. “Desmond, it’s fungus. Mushrooms cannot speak.”

  “I can hear it.”

  “Desmond, you’re…”

  “Just listen!”

  Halas gave in, and listened. He couldn’t hear anything. With a grunt of impatience, he pulled Desmond away, back to the pool.

  “No more communing with plants. We’re getting out of here.” After a bit, he decided on a direction that he was fairly certain led back to Cordalis. Due in part to the incredible stress both boys were under, it never occurred to either of them that they could just follow the river out. If they had thought of that, they would have found that it was less than a mile’s walk. It would have taken them minutes.