The Whispering Trees (7 page)

“That's not what was watching us,” she whispered. “I was tempted to fire anyway for the sake of tonight's stew, but I'm not sure how you two would feel about stitch-rat. It's more of an acquired taste, and it spoils quickly. Not a good catch for a morning hunt. Besides, it's Blighted. I'm hesitant to eat those.” Noting the confused expression on Kara's face, Mary elaborated. “The black mushrooms? Sordyr's evil courses like poison through many of the plants and trees of the Thickety, and it has infected that creature. Could have been something it ate, the scratch of a thorn as it passed. Anything, really.”

“Is it going to die?” Kara asked.

“No. Physically, it's probably never been better. But . . . do you believe animals have souls?”

“Of course!”

“Well, not that one. Not anymore.”

They continued onward over a knoll overgrown with gummy grass that stuck to Kara's boots and past a boulder dimpled with recesses, as though something had tunneled its way in and out again. As they walked, Kara caught glimpses of animals squeaking through the undergrowth or prancing from branch to branch. Many of them had been scarred by sickly yellow fungus or withered flowers.

I'm not the only one he torments
, Kara thought.
Everything he touches is diseased
.

“This path leads up the hill here,” Mary said. “At the top—that's where the spy was watching us. I'm hoping we can catch him unawares, but there's a good possibility he's long gone by now. Then again, what we're dealing with might not even be human.” She nodded in Kara's direction. “You sense anything?”

“Me?” Kara asked.

“Yes,
wexari
! You!”

“That word again. I don't even know what it means!”

Mary buried her face in her hands. “I'm sorry. I forget how little you know sometimes. A girl with a talent for witchcraft is rare enough, but for every thousand witches there is only one
wexari
. One who does not need a grimoire to cast spells.”

“But I
do
need a grimoire! I've never used magic without one.”

“Don't be so sure. My guess is that you've been using magic for years without realizing it. See,
wexari
are different from other witches in a number of ways. They aren't beholden to a grimoire—though they can certainly use one—and their magic is more specific. Some
wexari
can control the weather. Others can create illusions. Your talent involves animals—though that may evolve as your powers grow.”

Kara thought about this. “I think you're half right,” she said. “It's true that every spell I've ever cast involved some sort of creature, and I guess that makes sense. I've always been able to somehow . . .
communicate
with them, ever since I was a little girl. But it's the
grimoire
that made that
connection magical! I can't just wave my hand and make animals do my bidding, not by myself.”

Mary Kettle gave Kara the same look a schoolmaster might reserve for a particularly slow student.

“Have you ever tried?”

Kara was about to respond when Taff spoke instead. “Remember when poor Shadowdancer came to help us?” he asked. Of course Kara remembered; the villagers, under the spell of Timoth Clen, had been on the verge of overtaking them. She had called the mare in her mind and Shadowdancer had simply appeared. “That was definitely magic, and you didn't have the grimoire then!”

“You can
use
the grimoire, but you don't
need
it,” Mary continued. “Not when it comes to animals. That is your special gift. This is
true
magic, not magic stolen from the pages of a spellbook. You will have to learn how to wield it. It will not be easy.”

“Anything would be better than using a grimoire,” Kara said.

Mary Kettle's old eyes narrowed with pity. “Poor girl,” she said. “You really don't know anything at all.”

In less than an hour they reached the top of a large hill that gave them an excellent vantage point. It reminded Kara of the place she had often met her friend Lucas for lunch.

By now he should have reached the mainland
, she thought. A weak smile touched her lips.
At least one of us is safe
.

Creeping on soft feet, avoiding the snap of branches and crackle of leaves, Mary Kettle leaned over the side of the hill.

“It was watching us from a tree down there,” she whispered.

“How do you know?” Taff asked.

“You don't survive in the Thickety for as long as I have without developing a sense for these things. My guess is Sordyr himself sent it to spy on us.”

“What is it?” Kara asked.

“I thought you could tell me. Maybe
where
it is, while you're at it.”

“But . . . even if I
can
do magic without a grimoire, I don't know
how
!”

“Nor do I, child. Remember, I'm just a common witch . . . albeit a common witch who has traveled the World a bit. I've read a lot of forbidden books, talked to others far older and wiser than myself. Knowledge is power, they say, and truer words have never been spoken.” Leaning on one elbow, she turned to face Kara. “A
wexari
's power is a personal thing, an extension of who she is—or he, for though only women can use grimoires, a
wexari
can be either gender. The manner of casting may change, but the first step is always the same.” She pulled on her lower earlobe. “Listening.
What
you're listening for may change from witch to witch, but in your case—”

“Animals,” Kara said.

“That's right. Before you can control an animal, you need to recognize its presence. Its
true
presence.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“All I'm asking you to do is listen closely. Just that. Listening for a sound only you can hear: your first lesson.”

Dozens of questions swarmed through Kara's mind, but she pushed them away and focused on the midmorning sounds of the Thickety. The creak and sway of branches. The wind whistling through knotted trees. And then smaller sounds. A single droplet of water, falling from the rounded top of a stone to a tiny puddle beneath it. The crinkle of a leaf as a beetle with spindly legs skittered along its veins.

“I don't hear anything,” Kara said.

Mary grunted. “How strange
. I hear so many things, and I am not even
wexari
.”

“I meant nothing out of the—”

Mary held a finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she whispered. “Listen
closely
this time. For the sounds beneath the sounds.”

“The sounds beneath the sounds,” Kara said, nodding
slowly as though she understood.

Maybe Taff was right
, she thought.
Maybe she is just a crazy woman
.

Nonetheless she squeezed her eyes shut and listened closer. For a few minutes there was nothing more. But then Kara
did
hear something different, a faint scratching behind the wall of audible noises. Pressing her fingertips into her temples, Kara muted the everyday noises, scraping them away like skin and bones to reveal the hidden heartbeat of the Thickety.

RUN
.

HIDE
.

FEED
.

SLEEP
.

These words, unleashed from a hundred different sources, from insect and bird and unspeakable beast, swirled in her mind, rising in intensity.

“What do you hear?” Mary asked, her voice distant through the other sounds, a footstep in a thunderstorm.

“Thoughts,” Kara said, then shook her head. “No. That's not right. More like . . . needs.”

Mary nodded. “These are simple creatures. What more did you expect?”

Kara listened closer now. There was something else. An undercurrent of pain. Torment.

“They hurt,” she said. “So many of them are sick. Suffering. Like the stitch-rat.”

“Focus, Kara. There should be one whose needs are different from the others. Can you find it?”

“I'll try,” Kara said.

Locating a unique need proved impossible, however, like trying to find a specific drop of water in the ocean depths. Instead Kara
muffled
groups of similar sounds, never quieting them completely, but sealing them away until they were little more than whispers. Soon only a few scattered thoughts remained, including one that rose above the others with a unique intelligence.

Watch
, it thought.
Wait
.

Once Kara had latched on to the animal's mind, trailing it to its location was surprisingly simple.

“Over there,” she said, pointing toward a branch concealed by a particularly thick patch of crimson-colored leaves. Far below them she saw their campsite. They had left all their supplies behind so the spy, knowing they had to return, would remain in its position.

Mary got to her knees and raised the slingshot.

“Do you have to?” Kara asked.

“If not, it'll continue to follow us and report our movements to Sordyr. He'll find us that much easier.” Mary pulled back the slingshot, grimacing with the effort. “Why couldn't I be twenty-three today? I'm a dead shot when I'm twenty-three.”

Kara heard Mary's breathing slow as she lined up her shot. At that exact moment, the wind exhaled and pushed the crimson leaves to one side, revealing folded wings and a midnight-blue patch of down.

Kara recognized the one-eyed bird instantly.

“Wait!” she shouted. She threw herself into Mary Kettle, intending to knock the slingshot from her hands, but it was too late. Mary released the pocket and an invisible stone whizzed through the air.

“No!” Kara screamed.

Wincing, she anticipated the squawk of pain, the rustle of leaves as the one-eyed bird fell lifelessly to the ground below. Instead, a deep gash appeared in the trunk of the tree, just right of the slingshot's intended target.

“You ruined my shot!” Mary exclaimed.

The one-eyed bird stared down at Kara, unperturbed by its brush with death. Its single eye revolved to forest green.

Thank you
.

Color was the bird's language, and Kara spoke it fluently.

“This is my friend,” she said, lowering Mary's upraised slingshot. Kara's other hand strayed to the shell-embossed locket around her neck. She remembered how the
one-eyed bird had taken it from her, leading Kara into the Thickety for the first time.

“Friend?” Mary asked. “That
thing
is a Watcher! They're all over the Thickety—we call them ‘the eyes of the Forest Demon.' It's a spy. That's what it does.”

“Not this one,” Kara said. “It's special.”

The one-eyed bird perched on a nearby boulder. The eye in its socket revolved, passing through a number of colors until it was the dark brown of strongly brewed tea.

Friend. Not enemy
.

“I know,” Kara said. “You don't have to prove anything to me. Is that what you are, though? A Watcher?”

Its eye rotated to orange.

Yes
.

“That fits,” Kara said, smiling. “I'm going to call you Watcher, if that's okay. I need something to call you, and that's as good a name as any.”

“You can talk to this creature?” Mary asked.

“Of course she can!” replied Taff, rolling his eyes. “She's
wixuri
!”

“
Wexari
,” corrected Mary.

“That's what I said.”

Kara knelt down so her eyes were level with the bird.

“Did Sordyr send you to spy on us?” she asked.

Watcher's eye rotated to orange.

Yes
.

“You're supposed to tell him where we are, aren't you? So he can find us.”

Yes
.

“But you're not going to do that, are you?”

There was a slight hesitation before this next color rotated into place. Kara sensed that Watcher was making a momentous decision. Once made, it would change things forever.

Red.

No
.

Kara looked over her shoulder at Mary. “Sordyr thinks Watcher is helping him, but he's not. He's helping us.”

“How can you be sure?”

“He's helped me before. I trust him.”

Though Mary looked like a child, her sigh was the throaty rattle of an old woman. “Fine,” she said, facing the bird. “Where is Sordyr right now, then?”

Watcher's eye rotated again. Eggshell white this time, with a smudge of blue on its right side.

“He's coming from the east,” Kara said.

A flash of surprise crossed Mary's face.
She thought Sordyr was somewhere else
, Kara thought.
Perhaps she was inadvertently leading us right to him
.

“You sure you trust this thing?” Mary asked.

“Absolutely,” Kara said.

“Then Sordyr has already found a place to cross and is looping back in our direction. He'll be upon us in less than a day. We'll have to cut north—he won't expect that. No one goes that way.”

“Why not?” Taff asked.

“You'll see.”

Watcher's eye began to spin quickly in its socket, pausing only for a moment on certain colors.

Need. Witch Girl. Help
.

“You need me to help you?” Kara asked. She examined him more carefully. “Are you hurt?”

Friends. Forest. Hurt
.

“Are you talking about what Sordyr is doing?” Kara asked. “The sickness spreading through the animals?”

Yes
.

Kara nodded. Watcher had shown her the truth about her mother, given her hope when she had lost all of it. If there was a way for her to repay the bird, she would.

“What do you want me to do?” Kara asked.

Watcher closed his eye. When he opened it again, it was the mud brown of cemetery dirt after a heavy rainfall.

Kill Sordyr
.

“I can't do that,” Kara whispered, shaking her head violently.