Chapter 009 Gerald
The forest didn't sleep, which meant I didn't sleep.
It was three in the morning, or maybe four-time had become a slippery concept since I'd started turning into a houseplant-and the woods were screaming. Not literally. It wasn't a noise you heard with your ears. It was a pressure, a vibration in the teeth, a constant, static hum of *grow, rot, eat, die, bloom*.
It was loud. It was like standing in the middle of a crowded subway station where everyone was whispering their darkest secrets at once.
I rolled over, wincing as the movement pulled at the bandages on my shoulder. My skin felt too tight, like a sweater that had shrunk in the wash. I scratched at my collarbone, my fingernails scraping against the raised, golden ridges of the vines that hadn't been there a week ago.
Something tugged back.
I sat up, blinking in the gloom. My bedroll-a scratchy wool thing that smelled like wet dog-was stuck to me. I pulled harder, and there was a tearing sound, wet and fibrous. Thread-thin white roots had woven themselves from the dirt, through the wool, and into the fabric of my jeans. They were trying to mulch me.
"Personal space," I whispered, brushing the dirt off my legs. "Learn it."
The ground beneath me pulsed, a slow, rhythmic thrum that felt uncomfortably like a heartbeat. Somewhere to my left, a fern uncurled with an audible *snap*.
"I hate this place," I muttered.
"The feeling appears mutual."
I jumped, my heart doing a painful double-time against my ribs. Glimm was perched on a rock near my head, his iridescent shell catching the moonlight. He looked like a jewelry box that had grown legs and an attitude.
"Don't do that," I hissed.
"You were twitching," the beetle said. "It was disturbing the ambiance. Also, you have a twig in your hair. No, the other side."
I ignored him and stood up. The air was thick, tasting of ozone and damp earth-a flavor I was starting to associate with "impending magical disaster." I needed to move. If I stayed still, the forest might decide to finish composting me before breakfast.
I stepped over Xyl, who was sleeping with his arms wrapped around a jar of sourdough starter like it was a teddy bear, and made my way to the edge of the clearing.
Thalren was there. Of course he was.
He was sitting on a fallen log, sharpening his sword with a rhythmic *shnk-shnk-shnk* that somehow cut through the chaotic noise of the wood. He didn't look up when I approached.
"You're loud," he said.
"And you're brooding. We all have our hobbies."
I sat down on the other end of the log, keeping a respectful distance. Not because I was scared of him-okay, maybe a little-but because the air around him felt cold. Physically cold. The grass near his boots was brown and withered, victims of the entropy leaking off him like radiation.
"Can't sleep?" he asked, still watching the blade.
"The trees won't shut up." I rubbed my temples. "It's like being in a sports bar with a thousand TVs on different channels. Is it always this loud?"
"Only if you're listening."
"I don't want to listen. I want to turn it off. I want..." I trailed off, frustration bubbling up in my throat. "I had a white noise machine. Before. In my apartment. It made ocean sounds. Rain sounds. It was consistent."
Thalren paused in his sharpening. He turned his head, his silver eyes catching the firelight. They looked tired. "You talked in your sleep."
My stomach dropped. "I did?"
"You mentioned a 'Julian'."
I groaned, burying my face in my hands. "Oh god."
"He sounds... pleasant." Thalren's tone was flat, impossible to read. "You were apologizing to him."
"Julian was... safe." I looked out into the dark, tangled mess of the forest. "He was a lawyer. Corporate. Wore suits that cost more than my car. He liked things orderly. Dinner at seven. Laundry on Sundays. He had a five-year plan for everything, including us."
"And you apologized to him?"
"He said I was too much. Too chaotic. I was always losing my keys, or changing my major, or laughing too loud at funerals." I picked at a piece of moss on the log. "He tried to fix me. Organized my schedule. Bought me a planner. He just wanted me to be... softer. Smaller."
"He sounds like a fool," Thalren said.
I looked at him. He wasn't looking at me; he was back to inspecting the edge of his blade, testing it against his thumb. A thin line of red appeared, then vanished as the entropy knit the skin back together.
"Chaos is not a defect, Aria," he said quietly. "It is the only reason you are still breathing. If you were orderly, if you were 'soft', the Wyrmwood would have eaten you three days ago."
"Julian wouldn't have lasted five minutes here," I admitted. A small smile tugged at my mouth. "He was allergic to pollen."
"Anyone who tried to make you smaller was working against your nature," Thalren said. He sheathed the sword, the metal clicking softly against the scabbard. "Doomed to failure from the start. You are not a garden to be pruned. You are a storm looking for a place to break."
I stared at him. It was the most poetic thing he'd ever said to me, and he said it with the same casual tone he used to discuss troop movements.
"That's..." I cleared my throat. "That's surprisingly nice. For you."
"Do not get used to it." He stood up, rolling his shoulders. "Dawn is coming. Waking the baker and the scholar will take time. Xyl kicks."
***
The morning sun didn't so much rise as it did infiltrate. The light that filtered through the canopy was green and heavy, thick with dust motes that spiraled in patterns that made my eyes ache if I looked at them too long.
We were breaking camp-a generous term for "shoving our crap into bags while glancing nervously at the bushes"-when the Chronicler drifted over to me.
He looked less like a historian and more like a pile of rags held together by good intentions. He held out a small, glass vial. Inside, a silver liquid swirled sluggishly, glowing with a faint, pale light.
"For you," he wheezed.
"Thanks," I said, taking it. It was cold. "Is this... a potion? Gatorade?"
"Liquid moonlight," he said, as if that explained everything. "Distilled from the reflection on the Thornwood Lake before the corruption took it. Very rare. Very potent."
"Okay. And I do what with it? Drink it? Throw it?"
"You keep it," he said, tapping a bony finger against the glass. "For when the dark is absolute. You will know."
"Right. Vague prophecy. Got it." I tucked the vial into my pocket, right next to my lip balm. The juxtaposition felt appropriate for my life right now.
"Move out!" Vahr barked from the front of the line.
Our rides were waiting.
I still hadn't gotten used to the bees. They were the size of Honda Civics, covered in fuzz that felt like velvet, and they vibrated with a low, menacing buzz that rattled your fillings. Mine was named "Killer" according to Xyl, though I suspected he was making that up.
"I hate this part," Glimm grumbled from my shoulder as I climbed into the saddle. He dug his little claws into my jacket. "Beetles were not meant for altitude. We are grounded creatures. We appreciate the soil. The dirt. The lack of plummeting."
"Just hold on," I said, clipping the safety strap-a vine-around my waist.
"If I die," Glimm shouted over the buzzing wings, "I want my shell bronzed and used to terrorize small children!"
The bees launched.
It wasn't like a plane taking off. It was like being shot out of a cannon that was also an earthquake. We surged upward, punching through the canopy and into the blinding white of the morning sky.
The wind tore at my hair. My stomach did a somersault. Below us, the Wyrmwood stretched out like a green ocean, vast and undulating. For a second, just a second, it was beautiful.
Then the arrow hit.
It didn't look like a normal arrow. It looked like a tear in the air, a streak of gray nothingness that slammed into the bee next to me-Vahr's mount. The bee shrieked, a sound like grinding metal, and folded in half.
"Scatter!" Thalren roared from the lead.
"We have company!" Glimm screamed. "Bad company! Rude company!"
Three more gray streaks ripped past us. I looked down. The trees below were breaking open, soldiers in Crown armor emerging from camouflaged platforms in the branches. They had longbows-massive things made of black iron.
"Enforced reality!" Vahr shouted, struggling to control his plummeting mount. "Don't let them hit you! They nullify magic on contact!"
My bee banked hard to the left, throwing me against the saddle horn. I grabbed the reins-antennae?-and yanked up, but another arrow clipped the bee's wing.
The hum of the wings sputtered and died. The world tilted sideways.
"Hold on!" I screamed, though there was nothing to hold on to.
We dropped.
The canopy rushed up to meet us. Branches whipped at my face, tearing at my clothes. I squeezed my eyes shut and threw my hands out, instinct taking over.
*Catch me.*
The forest answered.
Vines erupted from the trees as we crashed through, weaving a net instantly. We hit it with a bone-jarring *thud*, bounced, tore through, and hit a second net. Then a third.
We tumbled to the forest floor, landing in a heap of moss and swearing.
"Everyone alive?" Thalren's voice cut through the groans. He was already on his feet, sword drawn, silver eyes scanning the trees.
"I think I swallowed a bug," Xyl moaned from inside a bush.
"Irony," Glimm muttered.
"Contact!" Zephyran yelled. "North quadrant!"
They came out of the ferns like ghosts-Crown soldiers in matte-gray armor, faceless behind slotted helms. There were twelve, maybe fifteen of them instantly, moving with terrifying precision. No shouting. No battle cries. Just the *thwip-thwip-thwip* of bows loosening.
An arrow thudded into the dirt inches from my boot. The ground around it turned gray and lifeless, the magic sucked out of the soil.
"Don't let them touch you!" I scrambled back, my hand finding the hilt of the dagger Thalren had given me. It felt like a toy.
A soldier lunged at me, a short sword flashing.
I didn't think. I just pushed. Not with my hands, but with the pressure in my chest, the *noise* of the woods.
*Stop him.*
The ground exploded. Roots-thick as my arm-burst from the soil, wrapping around the soldier's ankles. He tripped, face-planting into the dirt.
"Stay down," I panted.
He tried to rise. I flicked my wrist. A puff of yellow spores burst from a mushroom cluster on a nearby log, hitting him directly in the face vents of his helmet.
He stiffened. Then he giggled.
"He... is he laughing?" I blinked.
"Paralytic joy-spores!" Glimm cheered from my shoulder. "Classic! Look at him wiggle!"
The soldier was indeed wiggling, doing a sort of horizontal dance while trying to sheath his sword in a patch of dandelions.
Another soldier charged-this one with a spear.
"No stabbing!" I yelled, sweeping my arm out.
Brambles whipped out of the undergrowth, snatching the spear from his hands and tossing it away. Then they wrapped around his waist and hoisted him six feet into the air, leaving him dangling like a catastrophic pi?ata.
"This is a spore party!" Glimm shrieked, bouncing with excitement. "Aria, hit the big one with the itch-moss! Do it!"
I was getting the hang of this. It wasn't about force; it was about suggestion. The forest *wanted* to help; it just needed a director.
To my right, Thalren was fighting differently. Where I was growing things, he was ending them. A soldier swung at him; Thalren parried, his hand brushing the man's breastplate. The metal rusted instantly, crumbing into red dust. The soldier screamed as his armor disintegrated, scrambling back.
"Aria! Flank!" Thalren barked.
I spun around. A Captain-distinguishable by the red plume on his helm and the fact that he wasn't currently giggling or scratching himself-stepped into the clearing. He held a sword that hummed with anti-magic frequency.
He pointed it at me. "Surrender, witch. By order of the Crown."
The forest went quiet. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
I looked at the Captain. I looked at the soldiers tangling in vines behind him. I looked at the massive oak tree standing directly behind him.
I felt a tug. A specific consciousness. Grumpy. Old. Resentful.
I tilted my head. "The tree says you're an asshole."
The Captain paused. "Excuse me?"
"The oak." I pointed behind him. "His name is Gerald. He's three hundred years old. And he says you pissed on his roots while you were scouting the ambush site last night."
The Captain went rigid. "That is... preposterous."
"He says you have performance anxiety," I continued, listening to the whisper in my head. "And that you should drink more water. Your pH balance is offensive."
"GERALD!" Glimm howled with laughter. "I love Gerald!"
"This is madness," the Captain snarled, taking a step forward. "Take he-"
*Gerald, would you do the honors?*
The oak tree didn't move fast. It moved with the slow, terrifying inevitability of a glacier. A massive branch, thick as a telephone pole, swung down. It didn't hit the Captain hard enough to kill him-just hard enough in the chest to launch him thirty feet backward into a patch of particularly dense briars.
He landed with a crash.
"Retreat!" one of the dangling soldiers yelled. "The trees are named! Retreat!"
The remaining soldiers scrambled, dragging their giggling and scratching comrades into the underbrush. Within seconds, the clearing was empty, save for us and the groaning Captain in the bushes.
I exhaled, my knees suddenly turning to water. I slumped against Gerald's trunk.
"Thanks, Gerald," I whispered, patting the rough bark.
The tree shuddered. A single acorn dropped onto my head.
"Ow. You're welcome."
Thalren sheathed his sword, the rust on his gloves flaking off. He walked over to me, looking at the tree, then at me.
"Gerald?" he asked.
"He's very sensitive."
"You weaponized an oak tree's grudge." Thalren shook his head, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Amusement? Respect? "That was... effective."
"We need to go," Vahr interrupted. He was standing by the edge of the clearing, looking at a map, his face pale.
"We won," Xyl said, wiping slime off his glasses. "Didn't we?"
"No," Vahr said grimly. "We didn't win. We made noise." He turned the map around. "That patrol wasn't hunting us. They were herding us."
I pushed off the tree, the adrenaline fading into a cold dread. "Herding us where?"
"Here." Vahr pointed to a spot on the map where three red lines converged. "We're in a pocket. There are two more patrols-fifty men each-closing in from the east and west. They'll be here in twenty minutes. We're boxed in."
Silence fell over the group. The forest noise seemed to ratchet up again, mocking us.
"We can fight them," Xyl said, picking up a rock. "Aria has Gerald."
"Fifty men is a skirmish," Thalren said, his voice low. "One hundred is a slaughter. We cannot hold this ground."
"We can't fly," Zephyran added. "Those anti-magic arrows will shred us before we clear the canopy."
"So we run?" I asked.
"There is nowhere to run," Vahr said. "The Crown controls the perimeter. They have trackers, hounds, constructs. If we try to slip past, they catch us. If we stay, they overwhelm us."
The walls were closing in. I could feel the panic rising in the group, the sharp tang of fear-sweat. I looked at the map. I looked at the forest.
And then I saw it. Or rather, felt it.
A pull. Deeper in the woods. A place where the noise wasn't a scream, but a song. A place the Crown wouldn't go.
"There," I said, pointing to a blank spot on Vahr's map. A dark, undefined blotch to the north.
Vahr looked where I was pointing. His eyes widened. "No."
"What is it?" I asked.
"The Bloom," Sylith whispered, horror coloring her voice. "The Heart of the Wyrmwood."
"Why not?" I asked. "Are there soldiers there?"
"No," Thalren said. He stepped closer to me, his intensity ratcheting up. "The Crown does not enter the Bloom because reality does not hold there. It is pure life. Unfiltered. Chaotic."
"Sounds perfect," I said.
"Aria." Thalren grabbed my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. His grip was tight. "Listen to me. You have vines in your blood. You have thorns under your skin. If you enter the Bloom... the concentration of life magic will accelerate everything. It won't just heal you. It will *complete* you."
"Complete me?"
"You will become Root-bound," he said harshly. "Fully. You might lose your memories. Your human shape. You could dissolve into the forest and never come back. You would just be... another tree."
I looked at him. I saw the fear in his silver eyes-not for himself, but for me. He was terrified I would disappear.
I looked at the others. Xyl, clutching his sourdough. Vahr, checking his knives. Sylith, trembling.
They would die here. If we stayed, they would die.
"Better a tree than a prisoner," I said softly.
"Aria-"
"Thalren, look at the map," I said. "It's the only way out. We go into the Bloom, we lose the soldiers. We stay here, we die."
He stared at me, jaw working. He wanted to argue. He wanted to pick me up and fight a hundred men himself. But he was a tactician first. He knew the math.
"The risk," he said, his voice straining.
"I'll take it," I said. I tried to sound brave. I mostly sounded tired. "Besides, I've always liked gardening."
He let go of my shoulders. He looked frustrated, angry, and resigned all at once.
"Fine," he said. "Into the Bloom."
"Oh god," Glimm whimpered into my ear. "I'm going to become a fungus. I just know it."
We moved. We left the clearing, left Gerald and the groaning Captain, and turned north.
Toward the darkness. Toward the place where the map stopped.
As we ran, I felt the vial of liquid moonlight heavy in my pocket, and I felt the golden vines under my skin pulse in anticipation. They knew where we were going. They were excited.
*Come home,* the forest whispered. *Come home and stay.*
I ran faster, trying to outrun the voice, knowing I was running straight into its mouth.