Laura S. Fox
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Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 8
🕑 Added 2022-01-16 20:00:00 +0000 UTCChapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six / Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight – I Will Take Your Breath Away
A moment of silence embraced the group, but the next, it coiled around them in a fierce grip. Shouts exploded from dozens of chests, everyone talking at the same time.
“Who are you?” Beast bellowed. “Whom does this little voice belong to?”
Toru hadn’t quite expected the bearshifter to hear the conversation between him and the witch, but in all honesty, he was as bewildered by her words as everyone else. “How can you ask such a thing, old witch?” he hissed and tried to shake his shoulder free of the tiny bug, now feeling like a fool for having listened to her.
“Listen to me, Toru,” Shearah implored. “I wish there was another way.”
The bodies of shapeshifters thrashed in the dark like the waves of a stormy sea. Some cried out, others demanded explanations, and in that ruckus, Toru noticed something, or better said, someone standing proudly in the light of the moon, his black silhouette against the sky, bigger than life.
It was Claw, watching over his friends, not saying a word, not budging a muscle. Toru couldn’t fathom what could be going through the bearshifter’s head. Why wasn’t he mad? Why wasn’t he yelling and shouting and demanding for things to be explained?
“Claw,” he called desperately for him, “Claw! Get this witch away from me!” He was running around now, with Shearah buzzing after him, the sounds she was making the echoes of desperate pleas, and he didn’t want to hear a word of them.
Varg was busy trying to keep the shapeshifters in some kind of order, shouting words that were meant to be soothing and commanding at the same time. But it was a lost cause, and no one, but no one, wanted to hear any more of the witch’s strange words.
A powerful roar made all the noises die down. Only then, Toru realized that Claw had turned into his beast and stood perched on a small cliff, higher than everyone else. “Listen, brothers and sisters,” he boomed, his voice more sonorous and deep in his bear than in his human. “I’ve come a long way to be here with my friends. And I have found strangeness in our forest, and you, here, turned into trees. And not just any trees, but of a foul kind, with a bad reputation to precede them.”
Everyone was quiet, and Toru stopped, as well. Shearah landed on his shoulder again, and he swatted her away, but, like any old witch, she was a tough one to get rid of. She buzzed and returned stubbornly, bent on staying there, despite all his protestations. He needed to listen to what Claw had to say in this unfathomable situation. He was a wise bear; he would know what to think about it all and decide that Shearah, the old witch, was crazy, and that there had to be another way, one that didn’t involve hurting close friends of the one he, Varg, and Duril had come to name one of their own.
“You don’t remember your day before today,” Claw continued.
“We do,” Beast replied. “The days here are always the same, traveler.” He spat the last word like it was something he didn’t want to hold in his mouth for long. Toru felt that the bearshifter was unjust toward Claw, and yet he couldn’t blame him, not entirely, for feeling the way he felt. “And we are happy with the way things are.”
All of his life, Toru had been a traveler. He had been an adventurer in his own right, someone without roots. Today, he carried his roots with him, which meant that he could continue his ways without hurting anyone. All who he held dear were traveling and adventuring with him. But it wasn’t the same for Beast and Willow and everyone else. They had reasons to be upset with Claw for leaving them behind and forgetting about them for centuries.
“So, if you recall your days as being nothing but the same one after the other, doesn’t even that feel strange to you? Even here, in The Quiet Woods, things happen. I remember that when I was here, each day we got up to a different kind of mischief.” There was warmth in Claw’s voice. He surely wanted to get through to his old friends, but to what end?
Could it be that he really believed the old witch was telling the truth? That there was no other way but that abominable solution that Toru couldn’t even want to wrap his head around for a moment.
During times like this, what would Duril think? Toru wished with all his heart that his friend and lover was there, by his side. What would he do with a terrible choice such as the one Shearah foisted upon them, like a gnarled hand reaching from the dark?
***
“I… don’t believe I heard you correctly,” Duril said after a short moment of silence and hesitation. “What could you possibly mean--”
“It is as simple as it fell on your ears, healer,” Amarant replied, his voice as serene and at peace as before.
“You are an ancient creature. You do not die,” Duril pointed out, while his mind began to search frantically for answers. Maybe he was dreaming or hallucinating. At The Quiet Woods, nothing was as it should have been. Who could tell if he wasn’t possessed by a terrible spirit at the moment, prying his mind open to suggest a thing that was unbearable and inapprehensible at the same time?
“I never said that it would be easy. Quite the opposite,” Amarant reminded him.
“But without you, wouldn’t Shearah be left without protection? Wouldn’t the entire forest die?”
“It died already. How can it live like this, in such a state? As much as my old bark has been witness to vicissitudes of all kinds throughout the millennia, it doesn’t mean that my heart should be forced to bear it forever. Don’t you agree?”
Duril pondered. What could he say to a thing as astonishing as this? He wasn’t, for sure, prepared to do what he was being told to do. All his boasting from before seemed full of empty air. He rested his hand on the inside of the trunk, feeling the stories that had been written there by colonies of ants and other creatures that had called the ancient body of wood their home, generation after generation.
“What kind of world would there be without you?” he asked, remembering how they had lost Demophios out there in the desert, and how Toru had felt abandoned once again.
“We all have our purpose to fulfill,” Amarant replied, and this time, Duril read pity in his words, as well. “Yours now comes to a crossroads. Will you do as I ask?”
“What happens if I refuse?” Duril asked.
“Nothing. And that’s the worst thing that can happen in anyone’s life.”
The cryptic words reached him in a way nothing had before. Amarant was telling him a cautionary tale; having no growth, no higher calling, no goal, was, in a way, like death.
“I believe I understand,” he said softly.
Will my hand tremble? Will my will falter?
“I’m glad that you do. You are as wise as you are kind. And do not worry about this old body that’s lived long enough as it is. Old roots die to make way for young offspring to sprout and lift their heads toward the sun.”
Was it truly the right thing? A part of his mind told him that he should wait, that he should think about it a little more, but the other, the one connected with the heart and the gut, told him that it wouldn’t help anyone to dwell on things he couldn’t change.
Yet, the same part revolted and wanted to be heard. “I need you to tell me one thing, Amarant,” Duril said. “What will happen to Shearah after you die?”
“She’ll die with me, as well. The forest must be left to live on its own if it can.”
If it can. The words resounded in Duril’s ear, ominous and full of dark promises and hidden dangers. Before Shearah, there had been no forest there, no trees, no wonderful fruits and flowers, no sparkly rivers full of fish. Without her, could this part of the world survive? It was Claw’s home, and others’, and it didn’t feel right. He still wept at night for Whitekeep and its smoking ruins, the last impression of the place living in his memories.
“She should know,” he said.
“Know what? That I’ll be gone and she, as well?” Amarant asked, slightly surprised by his words.
“Yes. This place belongs to her. She made it. Wouldn’t it be the right thing to let her know of your decision? She trusts you.”
The old trunk trembled under Duril’s fingers. In a way, it felt as if he held the ancient creature’s heart in his hand. It didn’t mean that he understood it completely. For a long time, Amarant must have thought here, in the dark, of a solution to the terrible situation that had gripped The Quiet Woods in its claw.
“Shearah?” he called loudly when the old oak remained silent. “Wake up, Shearah.”
“She wouldn’t agree,” Amarant said reproachfully. “She would rather just wake up every day and start everything over, only to make the same mistakes again. This chain must be broken.”
Duril went with his heart and gut. “I know you must be right. I respect your old years and wisdom. But maybe after growing stale in this place for so long, you need a fresh pair of eyes to look at this. Why not just talk to her? She can hear you, can’t she?”
“She knows what I think already,” Amarant said. “And for this reason, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that she cannot simply agree to my solution. She has turned a deaf ear to it for years now. And in the morning, she forgets again.”
It was her life’s work, this forest. Duril understood the wind spirit in her denial of Amarant’s ultimate solution. Why would she give up something she had built since she stumbled upon this place? It was her heart, and no matter what ancient creatures said and believed it, there was another side of the coin that they didn’t seem capable of seeing or understanding for that matter.
“I want to hear her, too. I want to hear the two of you talk about it,” he insisted. “This cannot be the end. Why would you even wish for death?”
“Because it is what serves the higher purpose,” Amarant explained. He no longer seemed surprised by his insistence that the wind spirit should be awakened and asked to tell her story, too.
“There must be more to this higher purpose you’re talking about than the killing of a forest that is still home to so many creatures and trees.”
“They’re not truly alive. They live the lives of bugs, as short as from dawn till dusk,” Amarant argued.
“Yet, still, there must be another way. You cannot decide for her. Let’s hear her out,” Duril insisted. “Shearah, Shearah, wake up!”
***
Varg understood a little bit more of what was making his hackles rise now that the truth was out in the open. What craziness was that old witch spouting? And what could Claw mean by talking to his old friends like that? Wasn’t he afraid of the terrible thing Shearah was asking them to do? He couldn’t see himself raising his hand to kill another shapeshifter. It was a mortal sin, the kind you could never come back from. It ensured that clans of shapeshifters didn’t wage wars against each other, and it was part of what made the fabric of the world what it was, with its rules and order for peace.
And now, an old witch in a magical forest wanted to push them into that, as if it didn’t require them to give up their hearts. He growled loudly and turned into his wolf. Without effort, he climbed the cliff on which Claw stood. “You cannot be serious about listening to that old witch,” he told him under his breath. “No way in hell or heaven will I be a willing part of this.”
Claw didn’t turn to face him. “Look at them. They no longer know who they are. But to answer your concerns, I don’t intend to listen to the old witch, no matter what her intentions might be. What I want to say to everyone is this.” His voice rose over the mist of the forest at night once more. “Brothers and sisters, I know you’ve always called this place your own, but now I’m asking you, no, I’m pleading with you. Leave it behind. Come with me and let’s find another.”
So that was what Claw planned. He was a true leader to his people, ready to offer them a way out of the fate of forgetfulness that circumstances independent of their will had carved for The Quiet Woods.
“What foolish things are you saying?” Beast asked. “Our lives are here. Why would we leave and join you on some adventure that might end up with our hides skinned from our backs and stretched to dry in the sun?”
“You’ve lived in peace, quiet, and happiness, here. I’m not willing to be the one to uproot you from your place of birth, as much as you are. But can’t you see? You live your days as trees, stuck in time, not quite alive, not quite yourselves. And then you turn into your own, but only for mere hours.”
“You’re only ranting whatever mad thoughts cross your mind,” Beast argued some more. “How can we even believe you? You’re nothing but a stranger.”
“Can’t you hear what the old witch is saying about what needs to be done for you to be freed from your fate?”
“Our fate is fine,” Willow intervened. It appeared that the others were more than willing to let these two be the spokespersons of their wishes and thoughts. Varg couldn’t say that he had anything to argue against that.
“What old witch?” Beast asked. “There’s some odd bug whispering crazy things in your ear. Your mind must be in pieces from all that adventuring, Claw. Admit it that you no longer have a heart, because you decided to leave it behind. Just because you cannot find it, don’t ask us to do the same. You’re not welcome here anymore. Leave.”
At that, Willow placed a placating hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Claw must think he’s doing the right thing, asking us to leave our beloved forest behind the way he did. You’re correct about him not realizing that his mind and heart are not together in the same place anymore. But let’s not judge him too harshly. What is he saying? That we are trees and that we forget who we are? How about just proving him wrong and letting him stay with us until dawn so that he can see that we’re not turning into whatever he believes we turn into. And if he still doesn’t want to see the truth, then we will just tie him to a tree and let him stare at us, alive and well, in our old hides, until he cannot deny the truth anymore.”
Varg liked Willow. He liked him more and more, but the most gut-wrenching thing was that Willow was wrong, as well as everyone else there, at The Quiet Woods.
***
Toru listened closely to Claw’s words. “He’s right. If everyone leaves this cursed place, they’ll be fine, right?” he asked Shearah, forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to trust her anymore.
“They cannot leave. Their roots are here. And how are they going to do that once they turn into trees again?” the old witch said.
“But they’re not trees now,” Toru argued. “They have legs, and I bet that they can run fast.”
Just as he said that, one of the shapeshifters standing at a fair distance from them, fell to the ground. Everyone stopped talking and stared at him on the ground. The young shapeshifter growled and writhed on the cold earth, shifting into his bear from time to time, only to revert to his human, and then the source of his predicament became clear.
Instead of arms, he began sprouting branches, gnarled and dark.
“What’s going on? What’s happening to him?” voices called from all sides.
“He’s turning into a tree!” Toru shouted at the top of his lungs. What better way for these people to realize the dark magic or whatever it was at work than to see it with their own eyes?
But if they all turned into trees, then how were they going to leave The Quiet Woods? Toru had seen the trees moving and they couldn’t be too fast. Also, his knowledge of the things here so far told him that they couldn’t leave the forest if they were trees. If the Vrannes keeping them in that state were so deeply connected to this place, how could they allow anyone to leave?
Such thoughts only hurt his head, and while he struggled to make sense of them all, more and more shapeshifters began falling to the ground and sprouting branches and roots, while letting out agonizing sounds. Toru covered his ears for a moment, and by the next, he was already ashamed of his cowardice. This wasn’t the time for him to shy away from the challenges fate threw at him. He saw Beast swinging his arm, the new one that was no longer a human’s or a bear’s, but a long dark branch and hurried to him, without knowing what he was supposed to do to help.
“Old witch,” he called out, “what should I do?”
“Cut his arm completely off, and it won’t grow again,” Shearah told him.
“Like I’d do something as horrible as that!” he shouted back.
***
“Why would you wake me from my sleep?” the wind spirit’s sleepy voice could be heard. “There is so much I must do, so many things. Are you going to do them for me?”
It seemed like someone was the irritated kind when roused from her sleep, Duril noted, but there were much more pressing matters that he needed to work on. “Shearah, I know who you are,” he said directly. “Amarant told me about you.”
“The old one?” The wind spirit seemed baffled. “But he only talks to me…” her voice trailed off, full of uncertainty.
“He chose to talk to me, as well,” Duril explained in a placating tone. “He said something happened here, and that you have worked tirelessly every day ever since.”
“I do work a lot, but nothing ever happened. I don’t know why he’s saying that.” Now the wind spirit sounded defensive, and fear was creeping into her voice.
“Please, don’t deny it. I can hear in your voice that you are hiding something,” Duril insisted. He would never have behaved like that, pressuring someone into admitting a thing they were afraid of, but he had no choice. Amarant was determined on a horrible solution, while Shearah was stuck in time, with nowhere to go, and no freedom to be alive and allow the forest to be truly alive either.
“I’m not…” her voice faltered.
“I know about the Vranne saplings. I understand why you would be shocked by their appearance. I was in a war and went against them with other people,” Duril explained.
“What is a Vranne?” Shearah asked.
Duril reined in his own feelings and rummaged on the ground for one of the tiny creatures. He grabbed hold of one and held it in his palm. “This is a Vranne. It is young and needs your help.”
“No!” Shearah shouted petulantly. “They’re just ugly creatures! They should be grateful I let them live!”
“You wouldn’t kill them even if you could,” Duril insisted. “I trust you are a kind being, Shearah.”
At least the wind spirit didn’t deny that Shearah was her name. The more she accepted, the more trust in finding the right solution with her grew inside Duril’s heart. She was life, she was a force of nature; for sure, she wouldn’t let her precious forest die. It went against everything Duril had ever learned about the world. Amarant was an ancient being like Demophios; for them, life and death didn’t hang in the same balance as for the rest of the world. There was no evil in the old oak, as there was none in the ancient serpent Toru had grown to like after a while.
But their way of thinking was ancient, too, and it was time for a new branch to grow out of that ancient wisdom.
“Amarant tells me that your work comes undone overnight. That you need to start over with each dawn.”
“That’s not true,” Shearah denied hurriedly. “It’s just what I do. I bring new seeds here--”
“When was the last time you did that?” Duril asked. “Amarant, tell her.”
“I will, healer. To what good, I fail to understand, but I’ve been here for so long that I can indulge you in this delay only so that you are convinced of the justice of my solution.”
“My old oak,” Shearah asked in a whisper, “why do you speak to a mere mortal like this one? Don’t you belong to me?”
“This mere mortal, as you call him,” Amarant said calmly, “can talk to trees. He has the old gift and speaks the language. It is my duty never to ignore someone versed in this power.”
“But--” Shearah tried to argue.
“He knows already everything you keep forgetting at the break of dawn.” Now, he sounded a bit sad and weary. “I told him. He must kill me so that the world can live on. You cannot hold on to it, hoping for the best, when you don’t change anything.”
“You’re mean,” Shearah reacted like a petulant child. “Why are you mean to me? You love this forest, just like I do! What will happen to it if you go away? And he cannot kill you, anyway!”
Duril understood the plea in the wind spirit’s voice. Shearah couldn’t accept what Amarant presented as a solution, and she also knew what it would mean for the rest of the forest, and, without a doubt, even herself. But those were all things he already knew, and he needed to steer the conversation in the direction of identifying another way of solving the conundrum. The chain had to be broken, without a doubt, but it didn’t mean that it had to be on Amarant’s terms, even if he faced his own demise with a peaceful heart.
***
They were running out of time, that much was clear. Varg watched as one after the other, the shapeshifters fell to the ground, only to writhe there in what looked like excruciating pain as they turned into the hard, dark bodies of Vrannes. Claw was growling, asking them to follow him, confused cries of help rose from one chest or another, and Toru seemed as helpless as he was, trying to make sense of the old witch’s words to no avail, turning this way and that, unsure where to start or what to do to help those in need.
Varg raised his eyes to the sky above. Was there a full moon again? His wolf wanted to be let out and howl, and so he let him, and when his voice rose over the din of pain and confusion, a moment of silence followed, deep as the night.
The silver light of the celestial body cast soft shadows everywhere, seeming so peaceful and at odds with what appeared to be going on. Varg jumped on the high cliff again. Some believed that the full moon made wolves go mad, but he knew better than that. The moon made each wolfshifter understand his or her true power. “Follow me,” he growled, and he knew, that very moment, what needed to be done.
When the course of life was turned inside out, it needed to return to its point of origin. From Claw’s tales, he knew of one thing for certain, and that was the forest, with all its beings in it, had such a place where they could go to search for answers.
***
What was Varg talking about now? How could anyone follow him anywhere? Toru wondered. Yes, the trees could move, but not very much, right? The old witch kept spouting her ominous words, and Claw was in pain over seeing his brothers and sisters turning into something they should have never been able to turn into. And now Varg seemed to be coming up with strange ideas, too. Wouldn’t they follow Claw instead if they could? Why trust a stranger?
“Toru,” Varg called for him. “We’ll take them to the old oak. Come, be quick. The night is halfway over.”
Toru smiled when he finally understood what his companion meant for them to do. Without hesitating for a moment, he grabbed one of the shapeshifters already turned into a tree and hiked him on his back. He steadied him with one hand and reached for another he could carry under one arm.
Claw was the only one who didn’t appear to understand what Varg meant to do. “What are you thinking?” he growled at the wolfshifter.
“That old oak holds Shearah inside him, doesn’t he?” Varg argued. “We must take everyone there and ask for advice. And Duril is inside the oak, safe, if what the old witch tells us is true, and he might be able to help us. Don’t you believe that everything that has happened since we arrived here has happened for a reason?”
Claw hesitated, and Toru waited, his arms full, to see where the conversation between the two would go.
“Help me make a raft,” the bearshifter eventually said.
Toru put the two trees he had intended to carry down on the ground. “We need some pliant branches,” he said out loud to no one in particular.
With Claw and Varg in their beast coats, it fell on him to work quickly. To his surprise, the old witch began to guide him and help him find what he needed. He was a warrior, ready to fight, but there he was, crafting a makeshift raft to carry all those trees. Not that he minded; since the start of this adventure, it appeared that he needed more skills than how to bring enemies down through the power of claws and fangs alone.
The tiny bug containing the spirit of the old witch moved about, leaving traces of gold in the air. As Toru pulled away flexible branches from the trees, the witch wove them, creating the thing Varg needed. At least she was helping, and Toru knew that there was no time to waste.
Varg and Claw waited for the improvised yoke to be placed over their necks, and Toru made quick work of carrying the trees that seemed unmoving and unfeeling onto the raft.
They were heading toward the old oak. That was where Duril must already be waiting for him. Like Varg, the healer was wise. If there was something they could do about the ailing shapeshifters, maybe he knew what it was.
***
“I do not intend to kill Amarant,” Duril explained, trying to sound as placating as possible. “He did ask me to do this astonishing thing, and I wanted to hear what you have to say about it, too.”
“You’re a stranger! You should have never come here!” Shearah’s voice grew more and more agitated.
“I’m on your side,” Duril made another attempt to convince the wind spirit. “I’m a healer. How could I possibly hurt someone, especially in good conscience? Amarant says that he believes this to be the only solution, but I think he’s mistaken.” He addressed a silent apology to the ancient oak, but he somehow knew that Amarant was above petty resentment. Now, what he needed to achieve was to convince Shearah to think of a different solution.
And he knew what it was. With outstanding clarity, he saw it clearly, right in front of his eyes. Amarant was talking about split wholes, but he didn’t see the simplest way of getting out of this situation.
“Shearah, you must embrace what you also think is ugly and undeserving to live.” He picked a few more Vrannes up from the floor, as many as he could handle with just one hand. He lifted them up, cooing gently so they wouldn’t be scared. No matter what his memories of the war were, these young saplings were not to blame. And even those that had given them life had been under a dark spell to uproot themselves and wage that war upon the north. He was sure of that much, that much was true. “Please,” he added in a whisper. “Give them true life.”
The Vrannes were knocked out of his hand by a sudden gust of wind. The creatures scurried away, frightened by that unexpected attack.
“No!” Shearah said harshly. “I can never accept such things becoming part of my beautiful forest! I should have chased them away, destroyed them!”
“But you couldn’t,” Duril insisted. “Can’t you see that there is no other way? I don’t want to do as Amarant says, but what if, one day, someone walks into this forest and has no qualms about doing what he’s asking? What are you going to do then?”
“No! No! No!” Shearah’s voice grew more agitated, and with it, the wind from before appeared again, as if out of nowhere. “Don’t speak to me anymore or I will take your breath away!”
Duril fell to his knees and choked, as the powerful wind made him stumble. He tried to protect his mouth and nose, but he couldn’t breathe anymore. Above him, the ceiling made from Amarant’s body blew wide open.
TBC
Comments
Karel de Boer
Ouch, did it again! Ignore my comment
Karel de Boer
I don’t get it: Loren goes on neck breaking mountain climbing expeditions without any hesitation, yet he is traumatized by Jay getting his shins kicked at a game. He is complex indeed.
