She flung the dark thoughts from her mind. The pain in her belly had subsided, but she felt it on the fringes of her awareness, ready to strike her again. She brushed hair away from her ear, annoyed by her damp clothes, the itchy feeling in her blistered feet. Mustering her determination, she pressed on.
Very little light managed to penetrate the interlocking boughs. The Scourgelands felt like a cage. Strange clicking noises intruded sporadically. Pungent smells lingered in the air. The woods were dark and foreboding, void of life and crumbling into ruin. It was an ancient forest—probably as old as the world itself. She gazed down at the spindly twigs snapping beneath her boots.
“Do you sense a Dryad tree yet?” Tyrus asked her, his voice low and guarded.
Phae nodded and pointed to the left. “Through those trees. I sense her and she senses me. She has not communicated with me yet.”
“Let’s go closer then.”
Phae nodded, following his lead until he suddenly stopped short, gripping her arm.
Her heart quickened. “What is it?”
The others stopped, turning to look at him. Tyrus’s face was ashen. “I see her again.”
Phae saw nothing, not even the glimpse of a shadow.
“I see nothing,” Annon said. “I hear nothing.”
“Neither do I,” Hettie added. She had her bow ready and arrow at the string.
“She’s not speaking,” Tyrus said. “Only shaking her head. She’s pointing another way.”
“Why can’t we see her?” Annon said, frustrated. Phae could sense the emotions roiling inside of the twins. Neither of them had memories of seeing their mother. If the shade was real, it would be cruel not to reveal herself to them as well.
“It may be the madness,” Aran suggested, his voice stern.
“I accept that,” Tyrus said. “I don’t feel any different. But I can’t dismiss what I see in front of . . . she’s gone. Vanished.” A frustrated sigh escaped his lips.
Hettie swore softly. Then she looked back at Tyrus and asked, “What direction was she pointing?”
“That way,” Tyrus said, gesturing.
“Do we trust it?” Shion asked.
“She led me to the stone,” Annon said, his expression dark. “It robbed the Fear Liath of its protection. I heard her voice, Tyrus. I don’t think it’s the madness.”
Tyrus sighed deeply. “I’m not fully convinced. To protect you all, I must be open with what I am thinking. If my behavior seems unnatural, then you owe it to yourselves . . . and you owe it to Phae, to carry on without me. If I cannot go on leading, then you should look to Annon for guidance. I’ve given him sufficient information to guide you. He is young but he is also wiser than I was at his age. That way then.”
Phae followed her father into the new direction. The light was beginning to fade, signaling the approach of dusk. Wandering in the dark again was not her first preference, but there was no safety to be had.
Mewling howls sounded deep in the woods. The Weir—she recognized the sound now.
“They’re hunters,” Hettie said. “Did they catch our scent?”
“Not yet,” Tyrus answered, gripping the fabric of his cloak more tightly around his throat. “They are communicating across great distances. When they stumble across that glen, we’ll know it.”
Phae’s legs were tired from the long walk. Her knees throbbed. She hooked arms with Shion, allowing her to draw on some of his unflagging strength. She remembered when he had chased her through the mountains of Stonehollow and had pushed her, relentlessly, toward Fowlrox. The terrain inside the Scourgelands was rugged and brittle. Each step became a blur and she felt weariness stealing over her as the sun faded.
Welcome, Sister.
The voice in her head snapped her awake. She sensed the tree, could almost feel the dense mesh of roots beneath the earth under her boots. A sliver of knowledge came with it. The voice in her mind was . . . unfriendly.
“I found another,” Phae whispered. “That way, beyond those trees.”
“I don’t see it,” Tyrus said, craning his neck. “How distant?”
“A hundred steps maybe,” she replied.
Tyrus looked up at the sky, seeming to judge the time before it was fully dark. “I want you to speak to her, Phae. You need to draw out from her what you can. How far are we from the mother Dryad tree in these woods? What defends it?”
“How can we trust what she’s told?” Hettie asked.
Tyrus looked at her. “Beings from Mirrowen cannot lie. They may trick and deceive. They can veil what they know and reveal what is useful. They often mislead you based on your own false assumptions. But they cannot lie. You are here to set them free. Remind them of that. If we go with you, she won’t appear, so we will stay behind . . .”
“No,” Shion said flatly.
Tyrus gripped his shoulder. “She must.”
He shook his head. “Too vulnerable.”
“It won’t be for long,” Tyrus said soothingly. “If she won’t listen to reason, then we’ll continue on our way. Above all, Phae, you must not look in her eyes. She will tempt you to. You must not give in or all is lost.”