Scarlet and the Keepers of Light (3 page)

Scarlet wasn’t afraid of the wolves. After all, she had seen them before. This very night, in fact, she’d been running with them in her dreams.

“You make it!”
cried Cricket.
“Dakota say you come.”

“It’s a long journey,”
the biggest wolf growled.
“Where is . . . er . . . Dakota?”
But the commotion upstairs told him before anyone could answer.
“Hurry, into the woods!”
he barked, before rushing up the stairs.

In a flash Scarlet was running, her mother gripping her hand. They staggered through the backyard after Cricket, trying to keep up with the leaping dog as they floundered through the deep snow. It was like one of those nightmares where every step is a struggle. She could hear her father’s heavy footsteps right behind her as he ran with Melody in his arms.

Any second they would break through the trees and be in Mrs. Anderson’s backyard. They would use her phone to call the police, and this would all be over. After all, the little stretch of woods behind their house was only five or ten trees deep. First their yard, sixty feet of grass, a playground with a swing. Then the tree house their dad had built for the girls, in the large maple at the edge of the woods. Maybe eight trees beyond that, some brush, and then . . . this should be Mrs. Anderson’s yard.

Yet every time Scarlet thought this must be the end—now they must be emerging into the beginning of Mrs. Anderson’s backyard—the woods only seemed to multiply, growing both in density and scope.

And something else strange was happening. The snow kept falling more lightly, until it had faded completely away. That might not have been so strange, but the air seemed milder too, and suddenly Scarlet realized that everything around her was green. Green, lush forest unfolded endlessly before them, velvety clumps of moss underfoot, like the plushest carpet, beneath the emerald canopy. The world was spinning—it was beyond comprehension—and yet there it was, for them all to see and hear and feel. The trees became larger as the group moved along underneath them, towering taller and wilder. The leaves thickened until the world was a sea of green.

Cricket ran effortlessly just ahead in the expanding forest. She seemed overjoyed at this phenomenon that was making Scarlet’s senses reel.
“It here!”
she called back excitedly, frolicking like a pup.
“It happening, just like Dakota say!”

Scarlet wanted to ask what she meant, but she could barely catch her breath. She was an active girl, but she’d never run so far in her life. Her amazement at the ever-expanding forest that had once been only a skip or two in her backyard was gone. Now she just accepted it, almost her entire mind consumed by the burn in her failing muscles, fear driving her on as she dodged the massive trunks of trees and ducked under low-hanging branches.

Once she glanced behind her at her father, doing his best to shield Melody from the branches and leaves that whipped at them as he ran. It was a comfort to have him at her back.

What was happening? How was any of this possible? She tried to shake off what must be a nightmare. Surely she must be back in her dream.

A low branch struck her in the face, a sharp pain radiating back from her nose. You can’t feel pain in a dream, she thought. Not actual pain.

It had to be real. This was all really happening. There would be no waking up. Something incredible, unbelievable, was happening, and it was happening to her.

4

An Infinite Forest

Dakota was furious with himself. There was no reason to be; he could have done nothing more. It was all a part of the magic that had brought him to this world as Scarlet’s guardian. He’d known it would take time to reach his full strength, and that even when he had recovered, he could never again be what he once had been. Never again would he resume the body that had once been his, the body that had been born the Lord of Wolves. That had been part of the sacrifice—a fruitless sacrifice, if Scarlet didn’t escape from the hunters in time. Nothing was more relentless, more evil, than the Mortada. Theirs was the darkest magic, and in his new form he was no match for them. As it was, he’d barely held his own against the three of them, and if the Stidolph hadn’t come when they had—well, no matter now. They had. He hoped they’d bought the Hopewells enough time.

His mind churned with questions. How had the Mortada found them? How had they crossed over? Had they been wandering, lost between worlds, as he had?

It had taken him fourteen years to find Scarlet. In that time, he’d had no contact with anyone or anything. Everything could have changed. The world he thought he was leading Scarlet toward, a world where she would be safe, where she could be trained to fulfill her destiny, might offer no safety at all. But there was no alternative. Not with the Mortada on their heels. Even if the prince had overrun Satorium, their only hope was to get Scarlet to Xavier.

Still, Xavier’s plan had worked. Somehow he’d held open the crossing for Dakota and, when the time came, for the Stidolph as well. Maybe that was how the Mortada had crossed. He hated to think what that might mean for Xavier. Luckily something about the crossing had weakened the Mortada. No doubt Mr. Hopewell’s great love for his children had helped him to resist, but even that wouldn’t have prevailed against a Mortada at the height of its powers. For his part, Dakota had made it through the fight with only a bloody scrape on his right shoulder, but it throbbed deep in his muscles as he ran.
Please, Cricket. Get them to safety. Let there be safety still through the barrier.

He knew in his heart, though, that she would succeed, and that safety was still to be had on the other side. He had prepared Cricket well, and although she wasn’t originally from his home, she had a bigger heart than any warrior he’d ever known. Besides, her loyalty to the Hopewells was beyond mere dedication. She loved them, and Dakota had learned over his long life that love could make up for many weaknesses.

For a dog who until meeting Dakota had been content to live each day as a mere pet—not that, after living with the Hopewells for five months, Dakota held any contempt for that role—Cricket was a quick study. Every night they had gone over the route through the woods and across the barrier to Satorium. Every night she repeated the plan perfectly, asking few questions. Her devotion was all that mattered to her.

The rhythmic thumping of the pack’s paws drove Dakota onward despite the pain in his leg. Any second now they would catch up with Scarlet and the family.

***

“Cricket,” Mr. Hopewell called, a note of doubt in his voice, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was still in charge. Cricket looked back, slackening her pace. “We have to rest,” he said, his breath labored. “The girls need a break.”

Cricket stopped, her nose automatically searching the air for the scent of danger.
“Dakota told me not stop until we reach Tounder,”
she barked, worry in her voice.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what any of that means. For a minute, though, we have to stop—I can’t carry Melody much longer without a break. Let’s catch our breath,” Mr. Hopewell pleaded. He leaned against a tree, chest heaving, still cradling the sleeping Melody in his arms.

Cricket nodded reluctantly, taking up a guard position between the family and the house.
Don’t stop. Don’t rest or believe you’re safe.
Dakota’s words were hammering in her brain as she strained to process all the new information she was responsible for now. She was just a dog, after all—a regular family dog. What did she know of magic and the Mortada and protecting her family against these things? Before Dakota came, the most important decisions she had to make in any given day had been who to bring the ball back to, and which of her family looked the most willing to give her a belly rub. This was all too much—but there was no alternative. Dakota . . . her family . . . they were all depending on her.

But just as panic was beginning to rise in her, she felt a familiar hand scratch her behind her ear, just where she liked it best. “I can’t believe you can talk,” Scarlet said, smiling down at her. Her face was flushed from running, almost hiding the freckles on her nose. “Could you talk this whole time?”

Cricket tried to smile, though that didn’t work so well on a dog, since it looked more like baring teeth.
“No, not until Dakota show me how.”
She knew her pride at having mastered the language, a feat that seemed impossible for a dog, shone in her eyes.

“How did Dakota learn?” Scarlet asked.

“I don’t know.”
Cricket was starting to get nervous again, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. She could just catch the scent of something in the distance, but could not quite make out what it was. She was quivering with fear.
Please let it be Dakota
, she pleaded silently.

Whatever it was, it had to be close now. It was something powerful, she knew that much.
The Mortada
. Had Dakota failed? There was no way to know until it was too late. If it was
them
she was smelling, she didn’t know what she could do. They had so much power, she could feel it, and she was just an ordinary dog.

“Who were those men?” Scarlet asked. “And what was the dark . . . smoke stuff? Was it magic?”

“That is best for Dakota to answer. We have to move. We not safe until we reach land where Tounder live,”
Cricket implored. She felt as if time itself were an enemy, hunting them down as surely as the Mortada.

“What are the Tounder?” Scarlet asked, sounding much more curious than scared. “The name seems familiar, but I can’t think why.”

Cricket wasn’t sure how to answer. She certainly had never seen these beings, and the description Dakota had given of them made little sense to her.
“Not sure. Just know Dakota said we safe once we reach their land.”
Her hackles had begun to rise involuntarily, and she shifted uneasily.
“To me, sound like little bird people in books you talk to Melody.”

Scarlet frowned. “Little bird people? What in the world?” Then she smiled. “Fairies. You mean fairies. Like the Tinker Bell books.”

“Yes, those. Tinker Bells.”

***

Scarlet wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this surreal night. Fairies? As if talking dogs, evil men, and mystical forests weren’t ridiculous enough, now fairies? But now, with Cricket trembling under her fingers, her warmth and the texture of her fur much too real to belong to a dream, humor was giving way to fear.

“Mr. Hopewell!”
Cricket’s bark had the ring of panic.
“We have to move. We not safe here.”

Scarlet looked over at her parents. Her dad was sitting with his back against a tree trunk, still cradling the sleeping Melody in his arms. Her mom had been sitting next to him, resting her head against his chest, but now she straightened up, looked at Scarlet and Cricket, and spoke for the first time since they’d run out of the house. “Where are we going, Cricket? What is all this?” She sounded puzzled, and a little annoyed.

She still thinks it’s a dream.

Cricket whimpered a little in frustration.
“I not best to ask. Dakota or Tounder will answer questions. We have to move.”
The longer they waited, the more panicky Cricket looked, and now she was shifting her feet, barely able to keep still, as if she were waiting to run after a ball.

Scarlet’s father began to climb to his feet, but her mom stopped him, placing a hand firmly on his chest.

“Cricket,” she said firmly, “I don’t know if you can understand how crazy this all is to us. We can’t just go chasing after a talking dog in the middle of the night. Someone broke into our home. We have to call the police.”

But Cricket wasn’t listening. She sniffed the air frantically, turning one way and the next, as if searching for a scent.
“Please. We need to go.”

“We’re not running into the middle of nowhere like this anymore. We need to reach the police.” Scarlet’s mother had crossed her arms. She looked as unmovable as a boulder.

“Maybe we should just go with it,” Scarlet’s father suggested. “Whatever those things were, I’m not even sure the police could help.”

Scarlet’s mom shot him a be-quiet-and-let-me-speak look. “What
are
those things?” she demanded. It was plain she wouldn’t be budged.

***

Cricket whined. It was too late. Whatever she’d heard rustling in the brush was close. No, it was here. They wouldn’t be able to escape. She had failed.

“We have to try and hide. Hurry!”

But now there was a great rustling in the trees from the direction of the house. There wouldn’t be time to hide. Cricket planted herself firmly between the danger and her family, steeling herself against whatever might burst through the trees. She would give it the fight of her life. However little good it might do, she would die protecting them.

The undergrowth parted, and Dakota emerged from the thick green shadows, panting heavily and bleeding from his shoulder. He slid to a sudden halt in front of Cricket, looking at her and the family with desperate eyes. The pack came to a more graceful stop behind him.

“Why did you stop?”
Dakota barked.
“I told you not to stop until you’d reached the Tounder.”
He was holding back his anger, but it showed in his flashing blue eyes.

Cricket lowered her head and nuzzled Dakota’s neck.
“I sorry,”
she whined.

“It’s my fault,” Mr. Hopewell called out, walking to stand next to Cricket. “I told her to stop.”

Dakota looked from Cricket to Mr. Hopewell, and his eyes softened. It was completely understandable that she had listened to her master, Cricket read in them; he couldn’t fault her for it.
“We’re not safe until we reach the Tounder,”
he barked.
“We can’t afford to stop.”

“Scarlet is tired. She can’t handle this running much longer,” Mr. Hopewell said. Cricket suspected that he spoke for himself as much as Scarlet. After all, he was carrying Melody.

Dakota lifted his head and barked. It sounded curiously as if he was laughing—perhaps he’d had the same thought.
“That’s a problem easily fixed,”
he said.
“Ulrich, Fael!”

Two of the largest wolves—no, Stidolph, Cricket corrected herself—came forward, silently communicating with Dakota. Then the one Dakota called Ulrich approached Scarlet.

“Climb on my back, my lady,”
he said, his voice low and gruff, as if he rarely used it and wasn’t quite sure it worked.

Scarlet smiled and, without hesitation, jumped onto Ulrich’s back. Fael went to Mrs. Hopewell and motioned for her to do the same. After a great deal of hesitation, she did, and Mr. Hopewell handed her Melody.

Dakota looked at Mr. Hopewell.
“How are your legs?”

“I’ll be fine,” he answered, a little doubtfully.

“Then let’s be off.”
Dakota took the lead, darting off into the forest ahead of them.

***

L
imbs and leaves flashed by in a dizzying blur, almost faster than Scarlet could see them. Despite the tremendous speed at which Ulrich ran, she had no fear of falling off. She wrapped her arms around the Stidolph’s mighty neck and reveled in the wind rushing through her hair. Stealing a glance at her mother, she was surprised to see much the same expression on her face, even if it was a bit more reserved. With the Stidolph carrying them, now, everything seemed like it would be okay. She looked back and saw her father and Cricket running side by side. Never had she seen her dad run so fast.

After several miles, a familiar sensation washed over her. Her heart seemed to be dancing. Inside she was filled with a warmth that staved off the cold. It felt as if nothing in the world could ever be sad again. Even in the dark, the forest around her glowed so alive and green, shimmering like emeralds carved into the shapes of leaves and ferns. There was a strange tickling in her hair, a tickling she knew she’d felt before. Just above her, in the canopy of the trees, she could swear she saw dancing lights of every imaginable color.

The trees parted to reveal a circular clearing, a massive oak standing majestically at its center. Scarlet gasped. Clothed with iridescent gold and silver leaves, the oak’s limbs spread wide to form a glittering canopy against the night sky. All along its branches, up and down its mighty trunk, glistening lights danced in every hue.

At the base of the tree, much smaller than she remembered it in her dreams, was the entrance to the village.