Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Yesterday's rain had turned the Cedar Haven forest into a bog. Or maybe it was a swamp. Shari would know.

We stuck to the higher ground as much as we could as we followed the swollen river downstream, but we were still splashed with mud up to our knees within minutes. Not that it truly bothered us green witches, but it made our passage slower than we wished. Every second counted to get Marten back, and the echo of Arcadis's portal was disappearing steadily.

The jewelweed and giant ironweed, the yellow toadflax and field pansies, all the plants of the warmer months had bowed to the colder weather that settled a damp upon the earth as much as it seeped it into our bones. In their stead, the tangled barbed wire of wild blackberries, rambler roses, and autumn olives dominated the forest. Red-orange splotches of bittersweet vine provided the only contrast. With the deciduous foliage dead for the year, it increased visibility for sure, but it gave the woods a slightly sinister feel.

"And what is this?" Aunt Hyacinth gasped as the rejuvenated elm tree came into view.

I cringed as the ancient tree's lively green leaves waved at us in the breeze. It was certainly impossible not to notice it, what with every other tree except the conifers having lost their leaves.

Grandmother pressed a glowing hand to the earth, and the ground rose into a narrow thoroughfare that sluiced the water off to each side. On this little pier, she strode out to better examine the tree. Uncle Badger followed after her.

"Is it a cache?" Dad asked before quickly turning to scan our surroundings. Only a handful of tufted titmice and chickadees fluttered about.

Grandmother craned back until I though her spine would pop, running her hands along the bark, but it was Uncle Badger who answered, "No." He had his ear pressed against the furrowed bark like he was listening to the tree's heartbeat, or whatever secrets it might be telling him.

"It's wild magic. Primal," Grandmother said thoughtfully. "It's… waiting."

"Wild magic?" Aunt Hyacinth asked. "Out here?"

Uncle Badger shrugged, peeling away from the bark and returning to his wife, whom he kissed lightly on the cheek. "Magic grows in the wildest of places."

"Stay alert," Grandmother instructed. Then she returned to our group and gestured that we should all forget about the anomaly and continue on.

It was not missed by any one of them when she fell into step beside me as I led the way to the lowlands where the water plants dwelled.

"How long has it been like that?" she asked.

"A couple of months," I mumbled.

"And does the bear know of it?"

I nodded.

She cocked an eyebrow at that. It was clear from the expression on her face that she was shocked he hadn't done anything to take advantage of the magic she didn't know I had injected into that tree.

"And the magic hunters?" she asked.

Shaking my head, I answered, "Arthur doesn't let them anywhere near here."

"Works all day as a lumberjack, carpenter, and beekeeper, then he patrols at night. And not just here, but your forest too," she mused. "No wonder he ate so much last night."

I chanced a glance at her, but there was nothing in her expression that gave her inner thoughts away. But, it was probably the first thing she'd said of Arthur that wasn't dripping with sarcasm or prejudice.

"We're here," I announced suddenly, stopping at the crest of a small slope. Before us stretched a broad-bottomed valley of leaf-covered ground in various shades of brown, ochre, and russet, with nary a green thing in sight. "In this area nearest the river, I found the swamp milkweed, over there is the jelly fungus, and further into the hills away from the river are all the blackberry lilies. The mouse stair ferns are basically everywhere. They're pretty dead, though, hope that didn't matter."

The Hawthornes glanced at each other and, via a silent command, split into three groups. Dad and Uncle Badger diverted inland for the blackberry lilies, probably so Dad could scout the surroundings; Otter and Aunt Hyacinth went after the jelly fungus, as fungi was her area of expertise; Grandmother and I headed towards the river after the milkweed, specifically their seed pods.

We hadn't been searching and gathering for very long before Aunt Hyacinth began to sing. She hardly sang in the manor gardens, but when we were all out in the remoter areas of the estate, she would sing as a way for us all to find our way back if we got lost. Her mezzo soprano was perfectly suited to the environment, low enough to be heard through birdsong and high enough to cut through the rush of the nearby river. I'd never given it much thought before, but after my discussion with Boar and Otter that day at the woodpile when I'd decided to put myself forward as Great-Uncle Hare's replacement in the Circle of Nine, I now wondered if she'd spent a gap year or sabbatical in Italy for opera training. Her words weren't Italian, though; in fact, I'd never known in what language she sang.

Foraging in the late-autumn months was difficult, what with the natural composting effect taking place, and Grandmother and I were filthy up to our elbows as we dug through forest debris for those prized pod casings. Typically it was the milkweed seed floss we sought, but Grandmother had been very specific—only the leathery pod casings mattered. It was of no consequence if they were dried out or supple, as the potion would make them uniformly hydrated.

We foraged like geese: one of the pair often pausing in our work to survey the surroundings for any threats and returning to gather when none were seen. It was a slow and muscle-aching process, and my thighs were screaming from squatting and crouching and duck-walking for so long. I was getting hungry, too, for the cold and constant movement was burning energy at double time.

Aunt Peony had displayed wise foresight by packing us food that could easily be eaten without having to touch it with our filthy hands. Sandwich wraps, bananas, pistachio-cherry biscotti that you could hold at its end with a bit of paper napkin and didn't crumble when you bit into it. Grandmother and I chose a little mound of drier land out of the mush to have our lunch and stretch our backs.

We hadn't yet spoken to each other since the elm tree, and I really didn't know what to say to her. In truth, my thoughts were elsewhere. I was still reeling from my conversation with Arthur last night, the word mate buzzing around my brain like an incessant fly. I wasn't sure what Otter had overheard, or had informed Grandmother of, but it seemed like she wanted to talk to me about something. Maybe about what she'd said in the attic about Marten. More than once she'd opened her mouth, a little croak coming out that wasn't even a word, before pursing her lips shut.

But now, as she literally spat out her bite of biscotti, she had no trouble saying, "Look at your feet!"

I'd been lost in thought, staring out over the lowlands without really seeing, but I saw the rising water now sure enough. Whipping around, I confirmed that the nearby river hadn't overflown its banks. This was water being summoned from the ground below.

Just as Aunt Hyacinth cried out in surprise, a wayward blast of yellow-green magic slammed into a massive tree at the top of the nearest hill.

"Dad!" I shouted.

The trunk shattered into splinters, and the felled cedar crashed through the branches of the nearby trees and tumbled down the hill like a freight train blown off its tracks.

Straight at Otter and Aunt Hyacinth.

Who weren't moving out of the way.

"They're stuck!" I exclaimed, rushing forward.

Grandmother seized the back of my coat and nearly yanked me off my feet as she hauled me away from the unnaturally rising waterline. "It'll trap you too!"

Otter was less stuck than his mother, his long limbs like those of a stork that he could use to high-step into a better position. He angled for his mother, grabbing her arm as she fought something that threatened to pull her down. The waterline had risen to their knees, and there was no telling what manner of creatures were lurking beneath that surface.

As Aunt Hyacinth released her son with a slight shove, charging her iron cuffs, Otter did the same, twisting to face the massive tree. Beside me, Grandmother raked her iron cuffs against each other, activating the runes, and slapped her glowing hands together in front of her. Otter had performed a similar movement, and two crackling ropes of battle magic shot across the valley and detonated into the careening tree.

The tree burst into a reddish confetti of wood pulp that fluttered down like cherry blossom petals shaken loose by a spring breeze. Our victory was short-lived, for whatever it was attacking Aunt Hyacinth was now going after Otter.

Black snakes, or maybe they were mud-covered roots, shot out of the rising water and wrapped around anything within reach. Foraging bag straps, legs, Otter's long hair, Aunt Hyacinth's scarf, waists, arms. Grandmother cursed when the same nefarious black tentacles shot out at the water at us, flinging up a magic barrier of glittering green light.

When the black tentacle-roots burst wetly like overstuffed sausages and sprayed the shield with bluish sap, Grandmother bellowed, "Silver mallaithe tree!"

Fae. It was a fae hunting tree. In the mortal realm.

Scraping my cuffs against each other, the runes flared golden-green as battle magic surged up my hands.

I abandoned the shield for Grandmother to maintain alone so I could raise the mound of earth out of the water. Mallaithe trees were bad. Very bad. Semi-sentient and fully ambulatory, they had tentacle-like roots in which to snatch up deer or unsuspecting travelers or any prey they deemed worthy of devouring. The silver maple variety resembled girl-child tree spirits, unassuming and innocent, until the ground exploded with thick black roots that could swallow an entire cottage. Those mallaithe trees preferred water sources, swimming about like octopi when the water was deep enough, their roots hunting like alligators or boa constrictors.

The last thing we needed was for one of them to wrap around our ankle and yank us off-balance.

Across the valley-turned-pond, Otter and Aunt Hyacinth fought back-to-back as they tried, and failed, to get out of the water. On the top of the hill beyond them, Dad appeared dragging a wounded Uncle Badger, his arm slung over Dad's shoulders and his head lolling to the side. A cord of yellow-green magic emanated from Dad's hand, coiling around Uncle Badger's shoulders and healing him as they dashed down the hill.

"Stay away from the water," Grandmother shouted. "Mallaithe!"

"Heard," Dad shouted back, but he didn't divert their course. "Sluagh tailing us!"

"I thought those were a myth," I whispered to Grandmother. She only gave me a grim shake of her head.

Soul-snatchers, the legends called them, though in reality they only caused frostbite with their touch, literally sucking the warmth and life out of your body the longer they kept contact.

Guessed Grandmother had been right after all to suspect there might be fae monsters lurking within Cedar Haven forest's darker parts. But why had they surfaced now?

Behind Dad and Uncle Badger, shifting shapes of black smoke swarmed the rise where they had just been. They alternated between the forms of emaciated hounds or spectral men and women with long hair and screaming mouths, though no sound came out. As half of them poured down the steep hill in pursuit, the other half condensed into a flock of blackbirds and took to the sky.

They were going to funnel into the valley where my family was trapped in the water.

I immediately abandoned my battle magic, the runes on my cuffs snuffing out, and yanked open my foraging bag.

"Meadow!" Grandmother exclaimed, grunting as the mallaithe roots lashed against her shield. "Reactivate your cuffs this instant!"

"I've got an idea!" And I had to seem weak in order for it to work, for mallaithe were like any other predator—they went for the easy kill first. That meant no battle magic.

"This is no time to mess around in your bag!"

I didn't waste time glaring. What did she think I was doing? Rooting around for smelling salts in case one of us swooned from fright?

"Meadow!"

Thistle thorns, the water was already up to our ankles and rising even faster than before.

Ha-cha! My fingers closed around the vial I sought, and I yanked the pink granules out of my bag. Unscrewing the top, I dumped the entire amount into my palm and enclosed it in my fist. "Drop the shield!"

"Are you insane? Meadow, whatever this is, it's here for you! I'm not—"

" Do it ," I shouted, the power in my voice startling her. Then I stole a second to ground myself, to focus on my target.

The green sphere encasing us vanished, and I whispered,

"Quick as a rabbit, one, two, three.

Speed my steps to keep me free,"

and shot off across the water.