Chapter 39 Wren
Wren dismounted her horse at the Mother Tree and sent word to her Captain of the Guard that her soldiers were not to follow her into the forest. Nor were the witches. She had to tread this part of the journey alone.
‘Are you sure about this?’ said Shen, slipping soundlessly from his own horse. Instinctively, his hands came to his daggers. ‘If you go into that forest by yourself—’
‘I’ll attract less attention,’ said Wren. ‘We can’t attack Oonagh until I’ve found Rose. We need to get her out safely first.’
Shen frowned but didn’t argue. They both knew Wren was right. Rose was their first priority. He looked past Wren to the sprawling forest. Today, the weeping trees were unusually still, their leafy canopies bent low, as if they were bowing to someone or something.
‘Are you feeling up to it?’ Shen looked Wren over, his gaze lingering on the shadows beneath her eyes, the paleness in her cheeks.
‘I’m going in either way.’
‘I could—’
‘No,’ she said, firmer now. ‘It has to be me.’ She pressed a hand to her heart, feeling her pulse beneath the rattle of her breath. ‘Rose and I are part of each other. If she’s in there, I’ll find my way to her.’
‘I know you will,’ said Shen, quietly. It was the only reason he was letting her go at all.
Wren was glad to have his agreement on the matter. ‘I’ll go in where the trees are thickest,’ she went on. ‘When I find Rose, I’ll get her out as quickly as I can. In the meantime, surround the forest and be prepared to strike at a moment’s notice. The war begins as soon as Oonagh catches wind of us.’ She gripped the hilt of Eana’s sword, willing the warm pulse of its magic to strengthen her resolve. ‘And if you don’t hear from me—’
‘I’m going after you,’ said Shen. ‘And if I bump into Oonagh, it will be all the worse for her.’
‘Right,’ said Wren, rolling her shoulders back. ‘Wish me luck.’
Shen pulled her into his arms. ‘You don’t need luck,’ he said, squeezing her tight. ‘Just use that fire inside you, Wren. It’s as strong as any magic.’
She stood back, grabbing him by the shoulders. ‘You’ve been the best friend, Shen. I’m so—’
‘Don’t you dare,’ he said, clapping a hand over her mouth. ‘No goodbyes.’
Wren peeled his hand away. ‘Fine. What about “see you later”?’
He stepped away, clearing the path ahead. ‘See you soon, Wren.’
Wren walked towards the edge of the ancient forest, conscious of the thousands of gazes at her back. And yet, despite the fullness of both armies, the world had fallen silent. Even the wind seemed to have died away, as if it knew what awaited Wren in the trees.
She stopped at the treeline and grabbed a fistful of mulch from the ground. Her magic was all but gone, and the part that remained was deeply wounded, but she would use it one last time, so long as she could. She cast a quick enchantment to dull the sound of her footsteps. The words came easily – after all, she had used this spell on many occasions when she first came to Anadawn to take her sister’s place. That all seemed like a lifetime ago now. The mulch shimmered as it fell, before disappearing entirely.
The spell took hold but the effort of it cut through Wren like a knife. She bent double with a painful wheeze, grabbing on to a nearby trunk for balance. She scrunched her eyes shut, swallowing her groan as the curse inside her lashed out. For a moment, Wren swore she was going to vomit, but mercifully, the feeling passed.
She straightened up and stepped over the treeline, silently treading on fallen twigs. Soon, the darkness enfolded her, the damp air thickening with the scent of moss. Wren picked her way through the trees, peeling away hanging vines to try to get her bearings.
‘Where are you, Rose?’ she whispered to the forest, hoping it might help her. ‘I know you’re in here somewhere. You have to be.’
The alternative was too horrifying to consider – that if Rose was not in this forest then she was at the bottom of the sea. Wren scoured the dimness for any sign of her sister, any noise at all. The forest wasn’t weeping. It was as silent as her footsteps, as if it was listening just the same.
‘Rose,’ she hissed. ‘Where are you?’
She glimpsed something flickering in the distance. She crept towards it, ducking behind the trunks. It was a luminous seed, floating down from above. An ancient witch spirit. An ally, thought Wren. She smiled as she tipped her head back. There were hundreds more drifting down from the canopies.
‘Ancestors,’ she whispered. ‘Show me the way.’
The little seeds did not touch Wren – they kept their memories to themselves – but they did gather together, forming a small silver cloud. Wren gripped the hilt of her sword, feeling its magic pulse against her fingers. It grew warmer, more insistent. The spirit cloud floated westward through the trees, and Wren got the sense that the sword wished for her to follow it, that the glowing seeds would lead her to her sister.
Wren hurried after the cloud, the trees bending backwards to clear a pathway for her. Her breath punched out of her, her head spinning from exertion, but she didn’t dare slow down. She kept her gaze on the seeds as they floated through the forest, casting their glow along the mossy floor. Just when Wren’s legs were threatening to give out and her head felt fit to burst, she heard a rustle up ahead. The branches parted to reveal her sister, stumbling towards her.
Relief rushed through Wren, a sob catching in her throat.
Rose’s dress was ragged and filthy, and her hair was a tangled mess, but she was here. She was alive.
‘Wren!’ she cried, stumbling forward. ‘You found me!’
‘Rose!’ Wren flung herself through the forest, trying to get to her sister, but the trees crowded in on her, their vines swiping at her arms and legs. She shook them off but they kept coming back, thicker and angrier than before.
‘Stop that!’ She raised Night’s Edge, swinging blindly at the branches, but the sword was oddly heavy now, and the hilt was ice cold. Wren froze in the undergrowth. She looked for the silver cloud but it had disappeared deeper into the forest. Still floating. Still searching.
Rose tripped over a branch, falling to her hands and knees. ‘Help me,’ she said, with a whimper. ‘I can’t get up.’
Wren’s heart lurched, the urge to help her sister as strong as ever. But the sword weighed her down, stopping her. Wren was beginning to understand why. She didn’t go to her sister, didn’t speak another word. She waited for Rose to raise her head, to see if her creeping suspicion was true.
When Rose finally looked up, her eyes were cruel and mocking, her sickly smile far too wide.
‘Good,’ said Wren, staring down at her. ‘But not quite good enough.’ She raised Night’s Edge. This time, the sword almost floated into position, eager to be wielded. ‘Hello, Oonagh.’
Rose blinked, and the facade fell away, revealing the haunting face beneath. ‘Little bird.’ Oonagh smirked as she stood up, her eyes turning as red as the blood on her teeth. ‘You really are predictable.’
Wren’s sword glinted menacingly as she stalked towards her ancestor. ‘Time to die, Oonagh.’
‘For whom?’ Oonagh cocked her head and all around her hundreds of red eyes flashed in the dimness. By the time Wren noticed the beasts, it was too late.
She was already surrounded.