Page 13 of Into the Heartless Wood
I stretch my arms
into the sky.
I dream
I am once more
a tree.
Part of the earth and
part of the stars.
I drink rain,
wind.
The deer bow to me,
birds nest in my branches.
There is no blood here.
No sound
of screaming,
no bones
no souls
no music.
But there is a voice, high and bright in the air.
It
wakes
me.
Chapter Nine
OWEN
THE WOOD ENGULFS ME. THE AIR IS DENSE AND COOL IN HERE, that scent of dead things stronger. Dark branches thick with rustling leaves blot out the sky. Fear burrows under my skin like a thousand stinging nettles. I’ve come unarmed into the Gwydden’s Wood like the greatest of fools—I don’t even have wax to plug my ears.
I try to push away the memory of yellow eyes and silver skin. The scent of blood and snap of bones.
I force myself to walk on.
“Awela,” I call softly. I meant to shout, but the wood swallows my voice. “Awela.”
There’s no answer. I try not to wonder how long she’s been wandering in the forest. I try not to wonder if she’s already dead.
The trees are quiet, but I feel them watching me. Listening. They’re ash trees, gnarled and old, the undergrowth a tangle of ivy and rotting leaves. The ground is never quite still: The earth moves in humps and hollows, roots writhing impossibly just below the surface. It scares me almost more than the trees—I don’t want to be pulled under the earth, suffocated, swallowed. With my last breath, I want to see the sky.
I pick my way slowly over the ground, watching my footsteps, straining for any sign of my sister. I’m terrified I’ll go the wrong direction, that I’ll be too late to save her because I went right when I should have gone left. Everything in me screams to turn around, to bolt back to safety.
