“Given what we saw yesterday, I must admit you were right to suggest we circle around this stretch of woods,” Oak says, staring into the trees and frowning.
Tiernan gives a half smile. “I congratulate you on this wise decision.”
We veer off to the east, skirting the edge of the forest. Even from this distance, it appears remarkable. Trees of ice grow blue fruits the size of peaches, encased in a frozen crust. Some have fallen and split open like candy apples. Their scent is that of honey and spice and sap. The leaves of the trees give off a haunting sound not unlike wind chimes when the air blows through the branches.
The longer we walk, the more we realize we cannot get away from the Stone Forest. Sometimes it seems as though the woods itself moves. Twice, I looked up and found myself surrounded by trees. The drag of the magic reminds me of the undertow on a beach: a strip of calm, dark water that seems innocuous but, once it has you, pulls you far from land.
We walk throughout the day, fighting to stay beyond the edges of the forest. We do not stop to eat but, fearing to be caught by the woods, walk while chewing supplies from our packs. At nightfall, our march is interrupted by something moving toward us through the snow.
Stick creatures, enormous and terrible, huge spiders made of brambles and branches. Monstrous things with gaping mouths, their bodies of burned and blackened bark, their teeth of stone and ice. Mortal body parts visibly part of them, as though someone took apart people like they were dolls and glued them back together in awful shapes.
“Make for the forest,” Tiernan says, resignation in his voice. His gaze goes to me and then to Oak. “Now.”
“But—” the prince begins.
“We’re not mounted,” Tiernan reminds him. “We have no chance on foot, unless we can get to someplace with cover. Let’s hope your mad plan was the right one after all.”
And then we stop fighting the forest and plunge into it.
We race past an enormous black boulder, then beneath a tree that makes a tinkling sound as the icicles threaten to fall. When I look over my shoulder, I am horrified to see the stick creatures lumbering toward us, faster than I expected.
“Here,” Oak says, beside a fallen tree half-covered in snow. “We hide. Wren, get as far underneath as you can. If they don’t see us, perhaps we can trick them into passing us by.”
Tiernan kneels, putting his sword in the snow beside him and motions for me to come. I crouch in the hollow beneath the tree, looking up at the spangled sky and the bright scythe of a moon.
And the falcon, soaring across it.
“They have eyes in the air,” I say.
Puzzled, Oak follows my gaze, then he understands. “Tiernan,” he whispers, voice harsh.
Tiernan rolls to his feet and takes off running in the direction of the creatures, just as the bird screeches. “Get her away from here,” he calls back to the prince.
A moment later, a rain of ice arrows flies from the trees.
The shaft of one slams into the earth beside my feet, tripping me. I stop so short that I fall in the snow.
Oak hauls me up. He’s swearing, a streak of filthy words and phrases running into one another, some in mortal languages and some not.
The monstrous creatures are closing in. The nearer they get, the more clearly I can see the roots writhing through their bodies, the bits of skin and unblinking eyes, the great fang-like stone teeth.
“Keep going,” he tells me, and whirls around, drawing his blade. “We’re almost to the Citadel. If anyone can stop her, it’s you.”
“I can’t—” I start.
His eyes meet mine. “Go!”
I run, but not far before I draw my borrowed knife and duck behind a tree. If I do not have Oak’s skill, at least I have ferocity on my side. I will stab anything I can, and if something gets close enough, I will bite out whatever seems most like a throat.
My plan is immediately cut short. When I step out, an arrow skims over my leg, taking skin with it. A twisted creature with a bow lumbers toward me, notching another arrow. Aiming for my head.
Only to have its weapon cut in half as Oak strikes from the side, slashing through the bow and into the stick thing’s stomach. Its mouth opens once, but no sound comes out as Oak pivots and beheads it. The creature goes down in a shower of dirt, berries, and blood that scatter across the snow.
Oak’s face is still, but the frenzy of battle is back in his eyes. I think of his father, the redcap, whom he plans to rescue, and of how the prince must have been trained. I wonder if he has ever dipped a cap in someone’s blood.
More of the stick creatures come at him, with their claws and fangs and stolen flesh, their shining ice arrows and black-stained blades.
Oak might be a great swordsman, but it seems impossible that any one person could hold them all off. Nonetheless, he looks prepared to try.
His gaze darts to me. “Hide,” he mouths.
I scramble behind the black boulder and suck in a breath. The Stone Forest is so full of magic that even that is dizzying. A pulse of enchantment echoes off the trees and branches, ferns and rocks. I had heard the stories, but it was another thing to be inside it, to feel it surround me. The whole forest is cursed.
Before I can stop it, I am drawn into the spell. I can feel stone all around, and pressure, and thoughts that flow like honey.
Let me be flesh again. Me. Me. Two voices boom, loud enough to cause me to cover my ears, even though I hear the words only in my mind. Their raw power feels like touching a live wire. This boulder was once a troll king, turned to rock by the sun, and its twin is somewhere deeper in the forest. Their curse has grown, expanding to encompass the entire Stone Forest. I can smell it in the pine and the split blue fruit, so potent that I cannot understand how I could have not known before.
Anticipation whispers through the trees, like an indrawn breath. Urging me on.
I reach into the root of the enchantment, knotted tightly through everything around me. It started with the original curse of all trolls, to be turned to stone in the sunlight. As the magic has weakened, the trolls in Elfhame turn back to flesh at nightfall, but this curse is from a time when the magic was stronger, when stone was forever.
That curse grew outward, feeding on the magic of the troll kings. Nourished by their anger at being trapped, now their curse imprisoned their people and their people’s descendants.
I can feel the magic trying to bind me into it, to pull me into its heart the way the woods tried to envelop us. I feel as though I am being buried alive. Digging through dirt, ripping apart the hairy roots that attempt to encircle my limbs like snakes. But even as I pull myself free, the curse on the Stone Forest itself remains as sure as iron.
But now that I have its attention, perhaps I can give the magic another target.
There are invaders, I whisper in my mind, imagining the stick creatures as clearly as I am able. They will take your people from you.
I feel the strands of magic curl away from me with a sigh. And then the earth itself cracks, the force of it enough to throw me back. I open my eyes to see a fissure splitting along the ground, wider than a giant’s mouth.
A few minutes later, Oak stumbles out from between two trees, frost-covered ferns crackling beneath his steps. A wind blows through the branches to his left, sending a scattering of bladelike pieces of ice plummeting into the snow. The prince is bleeding from a cut on his shoulder, and both the bear fur and his cloak are gone.