They walked for an interminable distance, craning low at times to pass beneath the huge, swollen limbs of the trees. Phae had a sense when one was occupied by a Dryad and warned her father to steer away from it. She could almost feel them brushing against her mind, trying to coax her to communicate. She shut them away from her thoughts, not wanting to heed them.
Tyrus paused frequently along the way, studying the land as if memorizing a trail or trying to remember if he had passed that way before. Sometimes he looked troubled, as if the memories were too awful. A series of strange clicking noises began to echo through the trees, as if defiantly chastising them for entering the forbidden domain. Some of the party members conversed in hushed tones. They paused after several hours for a quick meal from their packs and a drink of musty water.
As they paused to rest and eat, a sound came from far away—the call of some wild, catlike animal. Tyrus stiffened immediately, tilting his head and listening closely.
“A Weir,” he said sullenly. “Not hunting. It’s alerting its kind to where it is.” He swore softly under his breath. “They are more vicious than the hounds.”
“They’re not two-headed as well, are they?” Baylen asked blandly, chewing on a heel of dried bread.
Tyrus shook his head. “No. But their claws are like daggers and poisoned.”
“Wonderful,” the Cruithne said. “Will we sleep?”
“No,” Tyrus said. “Not unless we absolutely need to and never for long. Staying still is death. We must keep moving. Come.” He rose and started off again, somehow knowing the way to go.
At least, Phae thought he did.
Not farther down the unmarked path, they encountered an unending row of boulders forming a low wall. It looked exactly like the row of boulders they had passed over while entering the Scourgelands earlier. She stared at it in shock. Had they come all this way only to be turned around and reach the beginning again?
Tyrus stiffened when the wall appeared in the shadow of the trees ahead. He stared at it, dumbfounded. “That’s impossible,” he muttered.
“We’re back where we started?” Phae asked, her heart sinking.
He stared at it, his face suddenly turning pale. His jaw clenched, his fingers tightening into hooked talons again. She saw the tremor on his lips, the memories spilling into his mind with a thousand fears. She gripped his arm, stroking it.
“Father?”
He stared at the wall, as if it were some perplexing mystery that baffled him. The look on his face was fearful, almost like a child’s.
“It’s all right,” she soothed. “You warned us this would happen. The woods are like a maze. They turn us around.” She did not want the others to see her father like this. He was always so certain and determined. “It’s all right, Father.”
His breathing was quickening, but he closed his eyes. He nodded to her, reaching out and squeezing her hand with such intensity that it hurt.
“I’ll be all right,” he whispered. He swallowed and took a deep breath. He turned to face the others.
“We’re back where we began?” Kiranrao said darkly. “I thought if you didn’t look at the trees, you would find our way through?”
Tyrus held up his hand in a placating gesture. “I did. Bear in mind that these woods constantly shift and change. It is easy to lose your bearings without the stars or sun to guide. There is no horizon to fix on. I think we have veered eastward and circled back. This isn’t the same place where we started, but we’ve run into the perimeter again. That means we need to head back away and try to do better at maintaining our bearings.”
Kiranrao shook his head with contempt.
Phae saw the looks in the others as well. Their confidence in Tyrus was starting to weaken. It was easy to second-guess someone else’s decision without carrying the brunt of the trouble oneself.
She put on a brave face, looking at the others and trying to smile confidently. But perhaps they, too, were seeing the fear in his eyes.
It wasn’t the stone wall that had unmanned Tyrus. He had not expected to see it so soon, but he did not believe in his own infallibility so much to think that they wouldn’t get turned around occasionally. As he had walked firmly toward the wall of stones, something caught his peripheral vision. Movement in the trees to the left. He glanced toward it, seeing nothing, and when he looked back he spied her.
Merinda Druidecht.
She was smiling at him, beckoning him to follow her up into the maze of stones blocking their path. She was not spattered in blood with a crooked arm. She looked as she had in the prime of her strength, her reddish-brown hair and expression so reminiscent of Hettie that his heart seized with unquenched pain. There was something . . . otherworldly about her. As he stood stock-still and stared at her, it was immediately clear that no one else could see her.
The fireblood.
Had he used too much of it during the attack of the Shade of Aunwynn and its hounds? Had he crossed the boundary of proper use and entered the boundary of madness? How many times had he suffered the hallucinations of his sister when she went mad? Or Merinda herself when she was afflicted?