Bane’s lightning hit only a few meters behind him. The heather shuddered but kept growing, wide and thick, drawing up the meager magic it could find in the earth. As Jack crawled through it, Bane kept hurling his lightning, seeking to hit him in the expanding thicket.
Panting, Jack paused. He had lost his bearings; he didn’t know in which direction the forest lay, and the sweat dripped from his chin as he pressed close to the earth.
He wondered how he ever thought he was brave enough or strong enough to sing against Bane. All of this felt like some foolish, unattainable dream, and he was thinking about turning around when he saw a face form in the heather. It was a spirit—a woman with pointed ears, sharp teeth, long bedraggled hair, and cat-slit golden eyes. She looked frail, with lines grooving her ethereal face, and Jack realized she was giving everything she had within her to protect him, to turn against her king.
“The forest lies ahead of you, Bard,” she whispered. “The trees are stronger than me and can offer you better shelter.”
Jack hesitated.
But then she winced and said, “Run!”
He lurched upwards and sprinted, just as Bane struck the spirit in the heather. Jack wanted to stop and turn around, but he heard her dying scream. She had given herself up for him, and he could taste the burning heather on the wind. The emotion finally slammed into him when he raced into the shadows of the Aithwood, where the high, interlocking boughs hid him from Bane’s sight.
Jack came to a stop and reached out to steady himself on a tree. Gasping, he bent over, struggling to regain his composure. Tears stung his eyes and welled in his throat. He didn’t know how he would sing when he felt so battered and had nothing to guide him but his own heart.
His thoughts broke when Bane struck again. Lightning hit an oak tree not far from Jack, and the impact forced him to swallow his tears and press onward. He needed to find shelter. A place where he could rest a moment and catch his breath. Where he could take his harp into his arms and set his fingers on the strings.
Jack looked into the dense, dark forest.
He ran to his father’s house.
He was afraid that he would stand at Niall’s door and knock, over and over, only to be ignored. Jack didn’t know where this fear came from, only that it had seemed written in his bones since he was a boy. It was strange that knowing his father’s name now, and where he dwelled, only heightened his worry—so much so that Jack froze in the kail yard when he was halfway to the door.
He stared at the cottage.
The plants whipped around him in the garden, breaking in the rush of storm. The trees groaned as the scent of scorched wood began to ride the wind. Jack knew he was exposed. He was standing in the only clearing in the entire Aithwood, in his father’s front yard. Bane was striking only kilometers away, hunting him. But Jack was too afraid to move forward.
The front door swung open.
Niall appeared on the threshold, as if he had sensed Jack’s presence. They stared at each other, sharing a moment of shock.
“Jack?” Niall finally called to him.
“I need . . . to shelter somewhere,” Jack said, stumbling over the words. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Then come inside.” Niall beckoned him. “Before the storm carries you away.”
Jack moved forward, relieved. He stepped into the cottage, surprised by how different it felt with the fire extinguished and a storm raging overhead. It was dark, but the cottage was warm and felt safe. Jack sighed. He was sliding the harp from his back when he saw Elspeth approach him in the dimness.
“I was worried about you, Jack,” his grandmother said, hands clasped. “But Niall told me what you did for him.”
Did for him? Jack wondered, glancing toward Niall, who stood nearby. His father was staring at the wall, hands shoved into his pockets, obviously embarrassed.
“I—” Jack began to say, but his voice was drowned out by the thunder booming nearby. The floor shook beneath their boots. Dishes rattled on the kitchen table. A candlestick fell from the mantel. Herbs wept dust from the rafters.
For a moment, Jack couldn’t breathe. Fear wrapped around his heart again as he thought of Bane striking down every tree in the Aithwood, determined to find him. Of how likely it was that the king would soon remember Niall’s cottage. Jack couldn’t bear for something to happen to his father and his nan.
“It’s good to see you again, Elspeth,” Jack said. “But I’m afraid that the northern wind is hunting me, and I have only brought trouble to you both.”