“Leave him then,” Tyrus barked. “Come! We must get past this barrier. Further.”
“I have an idea,” Shion said. “Hold a moment, Tyrus.” He helped Phae sit, which eased some of the stabbing pain inside her. She rocked back and forth, starting to moan. Looking up, she saw Shion withdraw the little golden locket. He opened it and laid it in his palm and the grove filled with the haunting music. She had forgotten about the locket. The memory of the first time she had heard the tragic song came rushing back. Almost instantly, she was transported back to the shell of the stone house that they had rested in. It was as if she could smell the dust and dirt, remember the taste of the pears she had plucked from the abandoned orchard.
The melody filled the air, swirling around them with its plaintive, beckoning sounds. It was the song of lost love, the death of a friend, the anthem of an old widow asleep in her grave.
The song banished the voices of the Dryads.
Phae could sense them withdraw, as if the melody were anathema to them. The compelling thoughts no longer troubled her mind, though the pain had not lessened much. Shion could see the effect it was having and quickly slung the locket around his neck.
“Now!” Tyrus ordered. “Before the music ends. We must go! Quickly!”
The giant Cruithne shook his head, his expression clearing. “What happened to me?”
“Do you remember who you are? What is your name?”
“I’m Baylen. I can’t remember how I got here though.”
“Later, my friend,” the Bhikhu said with a grin. “You are fortunate not all of your memories were stolen. Come on!”
Shion helped Phae rise and pulled her with him as they started after Tyrus, trying to get through the maze of trees. Fog thickened somewhat as they walked, dulling the sounds of the wood. The smell of rotting flesh grew stronger, the scent making her gag.
“What is that carrion smell?” Hettie said. “Can anyone tell?”
“It smells like your cooking,” Paedrin replied, trying halfheartedly to lighten the mood.
“It’s over there,” Hettie said. “Some kind of bird killed. Two more over there. Already dead.”
“What kind of birds?” Paedrin asked her, approaching one.
“Don’t look!” Khiara suddenly shrieked. “Annon! Calcatrix!”
Phae heard the flapping of wings in the trees above them, like huge crows bobbing from branch to branch.
The music of the necklace died away.
“One look in their eyes turns you to stone,” Annon said. “They’re roosting in the trees all around us.”
Tyrus stood stock-still for a moment. Then his arm jutted out and blue fire exploded from his fingers as a hailstorm of Calcatrix swept down on them.
Annon remembered facing the Calcatrix—or Cockatrice, as the Druidecht lore called them—in the Arch-Rike’s temple Basilides. How fitting that he guarded his inner sanctum with the same monsters that guarded his Scourgelands. He remembered their poisoned claws and how the light emboldened their attacks. It was daylight now and they would all be easily seen with no orbs to crush to bring on darkness as Khiara had done.
The gout of flame from Tyrus was broad and expansive, an impressive shield of fire that was more than anything Annon had ever summoned before. The first wave of Cockatrice was incinerated in the flames, but the attack came from all around them, dropping down with flapping wings and hissing beaks. Annon shut his eyes. Pyricanthas. Sericanthas. Thas!
He felt one land on his back and he reached up and blasted it away with the fireblood. Memories of the fight in Basilides hummed inside of him, bringing a panic of dreadful emotions. There was no way to call off the attack, no way to distract the birdlike monsters or keep from being found. Darkness was the only ally and that protection had ended with the new dawn. Surely Tyrus would call on the power of the Tay al-Ard, but would it work so soon? Had enough time passed?
“Hasten!” Tyrus called, answering his premonition.
Keeping his eyes shut, Annon surged forward, reaching Tyrus quickly but butted into by Baylen, who knocked him over. Clawing back to his feet, Annon rushed forward and they all encircled the Paracelsus, much more swiftly this time. Dread filled Annon when he felt the grip of the Tay al-Ard around his middle squeezing him.
But they did not move. The magic failed.
“It’s too soon still! Don’t look at them!” Tyrus bellowed. “We must fight our way through this. Paedrin! You are our best hope. You have the Sword and can see without your eyes. This is your purpose. Direct us!”