Of Truth and Beasts

Wynn glanced over her shoulder, first at him and then beyond. He followed her gaze to the two elven patrollers still behind the wagon. They both took note of his sudden appearance and frowned slightly in silence.

Likely Althahk was out in front. This was not good. If Chane was wrong about the ring, the last thing Wynn needed was to be caught bringing an undead into their land.

Chane began to feel ... something.

A nervous twitch squirmed through his body. Perhaps it was only some effect of the violet concoction amplified by his anxiety. He peered into the trees all around. They were everywhere. One passed by right next to the wagon, and he leaned away on instinct.

The trunk was as large as a small fortification tower, and at least so wide that the wagon did not reach its far side before the trailing riders drew parallel with it.

A tingling, annoying itch began swarming erratically over Chane’s skin. There was no breeze in the forest, but the sensation was like streams of dust blown over his exposed face and hands.

The prickling grew.

It brought a memory of toying with an anthill as a child. Chane remembered speck-sized insects crawling over his shirtsleeve, looking for a way to get in ... to find out what he was. He pivoted slowly, beginning to shake, until he faced Shade sitting on the wagon’s far side.

She watched him silently, her large, crystalline irises too bright in the dark.

Chane turned away. He knew the forest’s wards, or whatever guarded it, were no superstition. But even that told him more as his thumb rubbed nervously over the ring he wore.

His thoughts were still sound and clear beneath the fear.

“Are you all right?” Wynn whispered.

“Yes ... I am fine.”

Wynn pulled out a cold lamp crystal, rubbing it brusquely on her thigh until it brightened, and handed it off to Ore-Locks.

She’d been so eager to get here that she’d been careless and forgotten good sense. She hadn’t thought of what Shade’s presence might evoke from the Lhoin’na, let alone about running into any of them before reaching her destination. Now traveling with this armed escort, she couldn’t shake all she’d learned in her time among the an’Cróan concerning the undead and their forest.

To complicate things, she’d just rolled Chane right into such a place.

There’d been no chance to let him test it cautiously. They’d both known this was coming, but reality was a far cry from anticipation. Bringing him here had been a blind gamble, for her as well as him, all the while hoping that tiny ring would protect him.

He seemed all right, though his eyes were wide and watchful. Then she noticed his left hand trembled as he fidgeted with the ring.

Ore-Locks remained silent, studying their surroundings, and Wynn turned her attention ahead.

Above them, the lowest branches of the largest trees were thicker than her body. Higher still, they had long since twisted and intertwined. Not a single night star showed through the canopy. It was all too quiet.

“What is that up ahead?”

Wynn flinched at Chane’s rasp right behind her head. At first, she couldn’t see anything beyond Althahk and his horse. A slight flicker appeared, followed by more. As they drew closer, those glimmers took shape as distinct lights. Some of them were too high above the ground.

“Dwellings ... in the trees,” Chane whispered.

Wynn couldn’t quite make out what he saw. His vision at night was far better than hers. Shade huffed once, and Wynn twisted her head. The dog stared back and huffed once more—one single utterance, too startlingly familiar.

Wynn remembered Chap’s system used with Leesil and Magiere. He’d used one bark for “yes,” two for “no,” and three for “unknown” or “uncertain.” Had Shade seen this in some memory of Wynn’s, and then added it to her own reluctant vocabulary?

Shade huffed once more.

Wynn frowned, turning forward again. Perhaps it was a good thing, but right now it was just unsettling.

“Not only domiciles,” Chane added, and pointed upward over Wynn’s shoulder. “That is a shop of some kind.”

There was no sign of a city or any such large settlement ahead, but they must have reached its outskirts. Even Ore-Locks craned his head back in astonishment.

Wynn’s eyes adjusted to those glowing points of light spread upward into the great trees’ heights. The thickest branches were the size of normal tree trunks. A complex system of walkways stretched between various levels.

People went about their ways in early nightfall. Tall elves stood on or walked the paths, stairs, and landings, circumventing structures mounted around the trunks or perched out on the more massive branches. Of those few that Wynn could make out passing near glimmering lanterns of glass and pale metals, everyone moved without a care for the heights.

“Lunacy,” Ore-Locks said. “One’s feet should remain upon the solid earth, as intended.”

Wynn wrinkled her small nose, remembering what he’d called the patroller during the confrontation.

“Don’t you ever again call one of them yiannû-billê—‘bush baby’ again,” she told him softly.