Swift Magic (The Swift Codex Book 2) (29 page)

“Cheater.”

“As you say, 'Well, you know, life's not fair.'”

“I am charmed by your flattery.”

“I hope you're charmed by all of me.”

I laughed and went in search of the Wildwoods.

She was as near and as far as the other side of the path. It was the same clearing as the one I'd met her in before. This time, a solitary crow added to our party, and the Wildwoods woman was black-haired and wearing a black mourning dress, a silver bracelet about her wrist providing contrast to the otherwise all natural scene.

The crow blinked and took flight straight for me when my bare toes touched grass. It landed on my outstretched arm, one which had been held up in defense. It perched there and squawked.

“You have questions, feyling?” the Wildwoods asked.

Walking carefully to not upset the crow, I approached her and sat down on a log near where she stood.

“Lyall showed me the infected trees.”

“You called the infection an Unwritten.”

“Yes,” I said. I wasn't sure how to proceed with my questioning from this point on, so I sat for a minute longer, thinking. I asked, “Do you know anything about the Unwrittens?”

Without pausing in braiding the strands of a hops vine suspended from a tree, the woman said, “I know, yet I do not know. The words associated with the knowledge are gone from the living memory of those who dwell within my forest, but I know in my bedrock what it is.”

“Do you know what they do?”

Her fingers stopped in the middle of arranging leaves and a line formed between her brows. “They are unnatural. They do not allow for life to continue as it should. But more than this, I am not sure.”

I watched as she went back to weaving, working so slowly that she made little progress.

“Do you know when the infection started?”

Her fingers quickened again. “Yes. They entered the forest the same day that you did.”

A lump lodged in my throat, hard to swallow passed. The answer shouldn't have surprised me. A part of me was anticipating the answer, but hadn't wanted it to be confirmed.

“Ah,” was all I could say.
“
Do you know anything of the husks?”

“I know that they are dangerous, and that they take orders but can give none.”

I nodded, not sure if it had been she who had first understood this or me. It didn't matter.

“Is the thing which has started the infection a powerful enemy?”

Her arms dropped to her sides, and she turned her full attention to me. All of the Wildwoods was staring at me, into me, through me, digging through my mind and memory and body. When she looked away, I gasped.

“It is as you are. Yet it is not.”

I remembered what it was that Death had said to me. “The same mold, but a different color.”

“Precisely.”

Now wasn't the time to feel unnerved and distracted. I focused on my next question. “The infected areas, can you feel them?”

“They are there, but sensations are dulled and painful to focus on.”

“Like a numb limb?”

“Yes.”

She looked distracted again. For a few minutes, she stared out into nothing. The crow ruffled his feathers, bringing her attention back to me again. “I have given permission to this beast to watch over you. He will not interfere. His role is to observe and report. Do you have any other queries for me?”

I gave it thought. The answers hadn't been a road map to dissolving the Unwritten, though I had hoped for more clues than I was given. I settled on, “Do you have any words of advice for me?”

The woman got a distant expression on her face, and she said in a half-statement, half-song, “Do you know what happened to the lost souls of a lost lake of a lost time?”

A wordless thought nagged at my mind. I could feel it pressing in against me, an itch which I couldn't reach, something which slipped out of my fingers at the last possible second. The meaning escaped me, just as the meaning escaped the Wildwoods. She knew it was important, too, but she didn't know why.

She wouldn't say any more. I knew that just by looking at her, and I was out of questions, anyway. So I turned to go back home, intentionally taking a wandering route. My feet passed over fallen bark and roots, raspberry leaves snagged at my dress, but it didn't stir me out of my reverie.

A few things were important. One was that whatever had cast the Unwritten, it had entered the woods at the same time that I had. Another was that it was my personal enemy, the Immortal.

They were waiting for me at home. I felt it gnawing about my consciousness and wriggling in my gut. It was the same way I felt as when I knew that the time was up even when I didn't have a clock to look at.

So I angled my mind to take me back home, and soon enough I was walking in that direction. Next I knew, I was back at my willow hut, and I was quite right about the waiting party.

Except I hadn't thought it would be Rossalinda's family.

They were so impatient that they didn't even go sit down in my main room. No, they were all standing around the door, a few people even out on the road, as if anxious that I would see them and take off instead of sticking around to see what they wanted. If anything, it was this that made me want to bolt.

“What is the meaning of the mob?” I asked. Mordon and Father were no where to be seen, and I didn't know if they were indisposed, inside, or busy with another mob somewhere else. A few of the feys in attendance bore a resemblance to Rossalinda. I brought my stride up short. “Is this about the book?”

They looked one to the other, as if they hadn't previously appointed a speaker and no one wanted to take the privilege. I wanted to cross my arms and ask again, but I didn't. Taking up a defensive posture wouldn't do me any favors, and I'd skedaddle soon enough if they proved to be trouble.

At my pursed lips, the man who I had chanced to speak to before stepped forward and said, “Yes, it's about the book.”

He didn't elaborate. “And?”

He looked to those around him, and someone shuffled forward, book in hand. He took it and started to cry.

After a startled few seconds, I invited them all in to my hut and occupied myself with serving a round of drinks. This gave the man, whose name was Martin, time to recover his composure.

“I can't tell you how I regretted what I said to you earlier,” Martin said. “I was ashamed to see the way your repaid my unkindness.”

“You were forgiven long ago,” I said. “I was afraid that I'd be chased out of the village with pitchforks and torches.”

“We agreed to stop doing that last year,” Martin said, “this year it's cattails and bog gas.”

I laughed, as did others, but I didn't know how much he was joking and how much he was serious. An uncertain silence fell over our group. Various people sipped or cupped or just stared at their drinks.

“Can I assume this isn't a lynch mob?” I asked.

“A lynch mob! Why would you think that? No, we are all…very touched by your thoughtfulness. The skill is owed to Linnia?”

“I did the enchantment. Aunt Linnia helped and guided me, but I did it.”

“We never stopped to consider the talents you bring to the village,” admitted Martin.

I assumed this was his way of asking. “I do potions. I have a client list and a couple of students, but that's been neglected to take care of matters here. I'm also a budding talent with illusions, and I dabble in enchantments and tinkering.”

“Ah, you have more of Maggie in you than you look like. The tinkering comes from your father, though, doesn't it?” Martin hesitated. “We don't have long before the others return. I'll come to the reason we're here.

“You did a good thing with the book of memories, there are things the old folks can show us that the youngers never saw, like…her…in her early days. It's something we'll keep and it will come out whenever we want to remember her.” He cleared his throat. “So believe us when we say that we want to help you now.

“We know about the Cole death and about the Fey Council. They've gathered the information they want, and there's nothing you can do at this point. They'll make the decision on their own. You've been here long enough to recharge, and the Wildwoods are getting sicker and sicker. We want to give you the best chance you can. The Wildwoods aren't safe now.

“We'll help you leave. The portals in and out are all collapsing, but we can work together to strengthen one. When it's stable, you and your fire drake can leave. Stay out of the woods for a time. Do whatever it is you need to do, make potions, teach your students, even go back to the drake's colony. But don't come back here. Not until we send word. The Infection is bad. We've never had a case like this before. They say something like this is what destroyed a lot of the drake colonies, and before that, what claimed the sea serpent city of Atlantis.

“We're all born and raised here. The Wildwoods is family, it's identity, it's us. We're dependent on it, it's dependent on us. We'll live or die with it. But you, you have a life outside of it. No one can, or will, ask you to risk yourself for it. You've already done more than you should. Get out of here, safely.

“Even if we all die, and the Wildwoods goes with us, it'll live on through you. You can share your stories of what it was like to be in the Wildwoods, what it was to be part of the Swift Village. Maybe that's why you were here, after all, to observe and to keep us alive after a fashion. We can't offer you much of anything else, except this chance to live. Please take it. Maybe you can make another book and record your memories in it, then we won't be lost. What do you say?”

The intensity behind their words frightened me. They struck me as genuine and truthful. The implication behind their words was a grim portrait indeed. Portals collapsing? I had no idea that it was getting that bad. But I wasn't tempted by the offer to flee. Rather, I felt indignant and angry. However, these people meant well, meant the best, actually, and I did believe their stated intentions. Supposing that I were to leave, the infection would take off and destroy the Wildwoods and everything. The result would be unchecked power—supposedly with a corresponding power surge in myself, too, but it was too soon for that. It'd be better to face the Unwritten now. Even if it killed me in the process.

There had to be a better solution than that, though. I couldn't allow the Wildwoods to be destroyed, either through my action or inaction. I needed to find a way that would stop the infection and allow the Wildwoods to return to normal.

“I understand the reason for your offer and I accept the sentiments behind it—but I will not abandon the Wildwoods. It is part of me, too,” I said.

This caused them to regard me differently. From them stirred a warmth, and acceptance that hadn't been there before. It was wordless, but we all knew that it had happened, that I'd been brought into the village in a way I hadn't envisioned. One by one they each stood, but none of them made as though to leave. They exchanged soft muffled words and at last a speaker came to the front of their party.

“There is a Celebration of Life Carnival coming tonight,” Martin said. “The caravans have arrived and are setting up now. It would be our pleasure if you would attend, with Meadows, as our guest.”

The carnival opened at night, the declaration as simple as swinging open the wrought willow gates to allow entrance. Although there was no fencing connected to the gates, everyone respected them when they were closed and when they were thrown wide, the crowd crossed underneath the arches because everyone wanted the privilege of having done so.

We entered the carnival at different times, Mordon and I. So I wasn't sure if I had crossed over the threshold first or if he had. Not that I minded either way. For now, I explored, keeping my eyes wide, just looking at the tents and attractions, not going inside anything just yet. They had streamers everywhere dangling from tree limbs and buntings supported between the tops of their striped tents. There was a little of everything.