Despite the limited sunlight, the Scourgelands were deep and impenetrable. The trees were huge and twisted, thick with moss and lichen. As they entered the shadowed realm, Paedrin felt his pulse quicken with dread. He scanned everywhere, gazing quickly at the trees but never lingering to stare at any one of them for longer than an instant, having been warned by Tyrus that doing so would jeopardize his memories by exposing them to the magic of the Dryad sentinels.
Phae explained that a Dryad could snatch away a single memory or purge a person’s entire remembrance of himself. It was a fearful power and Phae warned that they should avoid the complete mind purge altogether by not looking directly at any tree. Which was difficult to consider since the size of the oaks defied belief—they towered over everyone, their warped branches braided to prevent him, or any Vaettir-born, from escaping the net of hooked limbs. The power of flight would be hampered, but there were pockets of space where he would be able to maneuver and use the advantages that his race and the Shatalin blade provided.
The ground was a whorl of desiccated leaves and twigs that snapped and crunched with every step. Even as light-footed as Paedrin was, he could not pass soundlessly through such a field. The sound of Baylen’s boots filled his ears with the hissing noise of the thick ground cover. He searched from side to side, up and down, every muscle tense.
Hettie was chosen to take the lead, her bow drawn and an arrow ready in the nock. He watched her from behind, admiring her cautious gait, her deliberate movements darting from tree to tree. He would not let her slip too far ahead, for fear of the creatures waiting to ambush them.
Shortly after passing into the shadowed realm, they were met by a barricade of mossy stones, intermeshed with the trees to form a rugged form of wall that stretched endlessly in both directions.
“We called this the Fell Wall,” Tyrus said, his voice betraying tension. “We were attacked as soon as we crossed it.”
“Let me go first,” Paedrin offered. “I can glide up to the trees and see if anything lurks on the other side.”
Tyrus looked at him and then at Phae. “Are any of these Dryad trees?”
Phae’s face was ashen. She shook her head no and pointed off to the west. “Over there. I can sense her. But this way is safe.”
The Paracelsus looked back at Paedrin and nodded curtly. Grateful for the opportunity, Paedrin sucked in a steady breath. He swiftly rose, feeling the welcome giddiness that accompanied flight, and nestled on a huge, bent branch, almost forming a cradle amidst the boughs. The bark was rough with dabs of orange sap, which he avoided. Landing gracefully, he crouched and peered down the other side of the Fell Wall. He studied the ground for movement, letting his eyes linger on the gloom, trying to penetrate it.
The maze of trees went on in every direction.
From his perch, he saw no movement, heard no sound except for the rustling of the branches as the breeze fluttered overhead. This was no forest like he had seen. The hush was palpable, the dim, vague shapes of trees and shadows playing tricks on his mind. He studied the ground, searching both ways as well as up into the trees. He motioned for the others to start climbing.
Hettie came first, bounding up the rocks with agility, reaching the base of his tree in moments. The others were more cautious as Baylen brought up the rear with two huge broadswords clutched in his meaty hands. He faced the woods they had already crossed, forming a wall to defend the others as they climbed.
“It’s so dark,” Hettie murmured. “What do you see from up there?”
“Not much more than you can. This place is . . . I’m not even sure I have the right word. Loathing comes close. Dreadful.”
“It is ancient,” Hettie said, rubbing her gloved hand along the craggy bark of the oak. “The trees all feel like they are watching us. We are intruders here.”
Paedrin did not want to be distracted by their conversation and kept staring down at the other side, crouching even lower and leaning over to grab a tree branch to steady himself. As soon as he did, an overwhelming impulse to jump seized him, jolting him with the suddenness of the emotion. Not to float down, but to let himself crash to the ground, face first, and die. The emotions were powerful, and he felt the urge to obey grow stronger.
“Don’t touch the trees,” Paedrin warned, releasing the branch and floating down to avoid the impulse to kill himself.
Hettie’s eyes widened. “Are you okay?”
He reached her side, grateful that the terrible urge subsided. “That was awful,” he confessed.
“What?”
“Touching the tree with my bare skin made me want to kill myself. I nearly did.” He looked at her hands and saw her wearing her bracers and gloves. The same impulse had not come to her at all.