The Enchanter's Forest

Chapter 13

In the Broceliande forest, Josse and Joanna made their way steadily northwards. It was the morning after the storm; the weather was once more fine and hot and the rain had given everything a shine as if newly painted.

That morning they had set out before the sun had climbed far into the sky. The rain having driven them to seek shelter so early the previous day, they had turned the setback into an advantage and all had had a long night’s sleep; Meggie had wakened them soon after sunrise saying there was something moving around in the forest below the shelter and oh, please could she have something to eat because she was starving?

While the child had been preoccupied with eating, in between mouthfuls sipped from the hot herbal infusion that Joanna had prepared, Josse, speaking very quietly into Joanna’s ear, asked if the mysterious something moving was likely to be real or a product of Meggie’s half-awake, half-dreaming mind.

Joanna had shot him a keen glance. ‘I’d say she imagined it, mainly because she doesn’t seem at all frightened. Only. .’ She hesitated.

‘Only what?’

Joanna’s eyes on his were wide and wondering. ‘Only I thought I heard something too.’

‘What sort of something?’ he demanded, the rush of adrenalin making him speak more sharply than he intended. ‘And why,’ he added softly, ‘did you not wake me up and tell me?’

Her face melted into a smile. ‘So you’re determined to be our bodyguard, bless you,’ she murmured. ‘Josse, it’s all right. I’m quite used to taking care of Meggie and myself all on my own, you know. And the reason I didn’t disturb your exceptionally deep sleep to tell you I’d heard noises was that I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming. And when, wide awake, I listened again, there was nothing.’

He pondered that. ‘Do you often wake in the night when sleeping in the open?’

‘Hardly ever. We — my people usually feel safe when out in the wilds and the depths of the forest. Safer than when we have to be close to civilisation,’ she added wryly.

‘Is it because you all seem so-?’ No, he thought. Now was not the moment to question her about the dangers that the outside world might or might not present for her, even given that such dangers really did exist. And, he added honestly, given also that I really want to know about them when, all the time she is apart from me, I do not see what I can do to protect her.

No. There was a more pressing matter.

‘D’you think, then, that these nocturnal noises — if they were real and you and Meggie didn’t dream them — were made by something that your sleeping mind perceived to be a threat? Not, for example, by a natural source such as some animal that is active in the dark hours making its way back to its burrow?’

‘A threat?’ She shrugged. Then, considering what he was suggesting, said thoughtfully, ‘If there really was a noise, then yes, I’d agree with you and say that, for all that I did not truly feel afraid, it was made by something or someone that does not belong in the forest at night.’

Her words went through his head over and over again as they rode under the increasingly hot sun of the July day. They were still deep in the forest — Joanna estimated that they should reach its northern fringes that evening — and the trees provided welcome shade. They also provided a thousand places where someone following the little party with evil intent could hide himself. Josse kept his hand close to his sword hilt. As ever, the dual presence of a sharp dagger in its scabbard on his belt and a sword by his side was enormously reassuring. Whoever he is, just let him try, he thought grimly. I’ll be ready.

They stopped for the night in a shallow dell just beneath the summit of the rounded hump of a low hill. Birch trees grew; there was a trio of them set almost exactly so as to give a roughly circular space in their midst. Joanna, recognising a place where the spirit forces waxed strong, knew that by pitching their camp in the birch-circled dell she would be able to call on unseen helpers for aid should it become necessary.

All day she had felt eyes upon her. Perhaps on Meggie or Josse; she could not really say. But she had been puzzled by her own reaction, for sometimes she felt that the eyes were kindly and benevolent, sometimes that they held at best hostility, at worst. . She had not let herself dwell on that.

The trouble was that she had now guessed who might be behind this stalking presence in the woods. The more she thought about it, the more likely it seemed. But having solved the mystery brought no relief whatsoever: quite the contrary, for the man she had in mind was vicious, ruthless, had no respect for the law and was out for her blood.

All the time they had been on the outward journey and at Folle-Pensee, her delight in being out in the wildwood with Josse had been overwhelming, so that practically everything else had been drowned out. But now that they were once more close to the outside world, she had remembered that disturbing scene in the inn at Dinan.

It’s too many years that my poor brother has gone unavenged, he had said, but at last the day of reckoning has come.

And was he — no, not him; more likely some hired killer — now out there in the undergrowth, biding his time and waiting for the perfect moment to strike? She had been terrified on that awful night in the inn that he meant to have her arrested and thrown into jail so that they could accuse her of murdering her husband and hang her. But in truth, all that she recalled of Cesaire told her that it was not really his way to act according to civilisation’s rules. It was surely far more likely that he would just have her quietly killed. After all, what honest man would simply accept Cesaire’s word that she had had a hand in Thorald’s death? It just did not seem possible that she could be arrested, tried, convicted and executed on such slim evidence. Nothing could be proved against her and, with Thorald rotted in his grave these many years, he wasn’t going to speak out against her and back up Cesaire’s accusations by confirming that yes, his wife had loathed him and had in all likelihood been behind his death.

No. If Cesaire wanted her dead, then this was the only sure way.

She frowned, for still her reasoning did not satisfy her. If indeed whoever was out in the forest following them, spying on them, was indeed Cesaire’s hired killer, then why did she not feel afraid all the time? Why did her moments of alarm always seem to be tempered with another thought? A thought, moreover, that did not arise from her own mind but one that seemed to say, loud and clear like someone speaking quietly in her ear, Do not worry, you will be safe.

Perhaps it’s the spirits of this forest, she thought. Perhaps they read in the very fabric of time and place what will happen. They see the threat and the danger, yet they also see that Josse and I together will defend ourselves and our daughter and emerge unharmed. They know I can and will fight if I need to and they are aware of Josse’s strength and courage, of his great protective love for me and for Meggie.

She was still not totally happy with the explanation. But she had a feeling it was the best she was going to come up with.

In the dell between the birch trees, Josse built a small fire and Joanna prepared food. Aware that they would be back in inhabited regions tomorrow and able to purchase supplies, she was lavish with the portions and shared out the last of the victuals given to them by the people at Folle-Pensee. It was a feast and soon Meggie was drowsy and yawning, lying relaxed in her father’s lap, one thumb in her mouth and the fingers of her other hand delicately pulling at and twiddling the hairs on Josse’s forearm.

She adores him, Joanna thought. And as for his feelings for her, well, I have rarely seen a man so love a child. Mind you, she reminded herself, I have few examples of fatherly love by which to judge. But then she did not really feel she needed such comparisons; Josse, she knew full well, would be equal to the very best of them.

She got up, moving quietly so as not to disturb Meggie, and set about packing up the remains of their supper. She made sure that, apart from the blankets that they would use overnight, everything was neatly stored away ready for the morning.

At the back of her mind — and steadily making its way to the front — was the unwelcome thought that whatever noise she had heard the previous night was quite likely to come again; perhaps from closer at hand this time. And if she was right, and the source of the noise really was what she believed it to be, then it would be as well if they were able to take to their heels just as fast as Josse could remove the horses’ hobbles and saddle up.

She returned to the little camp among the sheltering birches. Looking up at the trees, she selected the largest of the trio and went to stand close beside the beautiful trunk. Guard us, Lady of the Woods, she said silently, you whose powerful spirit is present in these graceful, silvery trees. Stay with us, please, and let no harm come to Josse, to Meggie or to me. Then she took the sharp knife from its sheath on her belt, nicked the flesh on the inside of her elbow and allowed seven drops of her blood to fall to the ground at the roots of the tree. She stood for a few moments, head bowed, her concentration profound. Then, feeling the warm flow of reassurance, she went back to Josse and Meggie.

The child was asleep already, rolled up in her soft blanket and snoring gently. Josse looked up with a smile. ‘You missed story time,’ he remarked.

‘What tale did you tell her this evening?’

‘One about a little girl riding through the woods on an enormous horse that was very special because, if he had to get away from his enemies, he could grow wings and fly high up above the treetops.’

‘Did she like it?’

‘Aye, she did. She wanted to know if Horace could grow wings.’

Joanna felt a chill run down her back. Trying to sound casual and unconcerned, she said, ‘Does she think he’s going to need them?’

Josse met her eyes. ‘No, Joanna. She feels no threat at the moment, I’m certain of that. In fact-’ He stopped.

‘What?’

Josse was looking perplexed. ‘Well, I probably should have mentioned this earlier, but when she was riding with me this afternoon, she said there was someone following us but that we couldn’t see him because he was magic and therefore invisible.’

Joanna was horrified. ‘Do you think there really was someone there? Oh, and Meggie saw him?’

Josse put out his arms and she sank against him. As ever, the sheer bulk of his broad chest and the steady thump of his heart did much to reassure her. ‘No, she saw nothing,’ he murmured into her hair, kissing her to punctuate the words. ‘She said, as I just told you, that he was invisible.’

‘Then how could she have known he was there?’ she whispered.

Josse shrugged. ‘It was just a game, Joanna. Didn’t you have imaginary friends when you were little?’

‘Yes, but it’s different for Meggie.’

‘How is it different?’

She baulked at the enormous task of explaining how Meggie’s extraordinary heritage made her a child who had a power to see, hear and sense things that were undetectable to others. But then she is his child too, she reminded herself. Doesn’t he have the right to know? ‘Because,’ she said slowly, ‘Meggie’s imaginary friends are in all likelihood inhabitants of the spirit realm. Oh, Josse, don’t look like that’ — his expression was aghast — ‘they wouldn’t harm her for all the world! They wish only to protect her — she’s very special, you know.’

He relaxed again, but she sensed that he was only partly reassured. ‘So you keep telling me,’ he grunted. Then, his tone still gruff, he added: ‘We have another long day’s riding tomorrow. We should sleep.’

She settled down beside him. He had turned his back and she read his mood: he was emanating distress and she was sure it was because she had just been speaking of that other world that was her and Meggie’s true home. The world of the forest people, with all its magic, mystery and secrecy.

The world to which she and her daughter would soon be returning. The world where, no matter how much he loved Joanna and Meggie and they him, Josse could not follow.

No wonder he had turned away from her.

Struggling to control the grief that rose up in her, Joanna tried to relax into sleep.

Out in the dense forest at the foot of the low hill, the tall man waited. He had kept his distance today for he had sensed that the child felt his presence. It was strange, because she displayed no fear, but all the same he had seen her brown eyes with the dancing golden lights turning his way more than once and he knew he must not risk following the little party too closely.

He had the strong sense that they were now near to the forest fringes. Tomorrow, perhaps quite early in the day, they would emerge into the world of well-used tracks, small hamlets, villages and, eventually, towns. It would then be much easier, if he made some mistake, for a man on the run to melt into the crowd.

He had no real fear that he would make a mistake, for he knew what he must do and the task held no terror for him. He must take life, yes, but then he served a stern and uncompromising master and he had been given his orders. It was not for him to question what he was instructed to do. The deaths, he had been firmly instructed, would be marked down on his master’s account and not his own.

He would strike tonight. Then, if anything did go wrong — again he reminded himself that he did not believe it would — he could readily and swiftly escape into the world beyond the forest. Yes. It was good to have an emergency plan, even if he was not going to need it.

Time passed. Dawn was not far off but for now it was fully dark and he had known there would be but a sliver of moon tonight; he had been watching the steady waning for these past few nights. Scarcely a moon and no light save the bright starlight; conditions were perfect.

He drew his long knife. Its blade was honed to razor sharpness; it was not his intention to cause his victims unnecessary suffering and when he struck it would be with a sure, strong hand. They would die quickly; perhaps even before they woke.

For a killer, he was a merciful man.

Stealthily he crept out from under the hazel bush where he had hidden himself. One step, two, three, his feet falling so softly on the springy forest floor that even the most acute ears would not have heard a sound. Onward and upward, beginning now to climb the base of the hill where his prey had made their camp.

A sound from his left. He froze, as still as the tree trunks on either side of him. He listened, ears straining.

Nothing.

He crept on. The slope was steeper now and he went more slowly. Fit as he was, even he might pant for breath if he attacked the hill too fast. In any case, the snail’s pace was better because he was less likely to put a foot where it ought not to go. Such as on to a twig, which might snap under his weight. A small sound in the daytime, when the forest was alive with noise, but now, in the silence of the night, it would be like a man shouting in an empty church.

On, on, up the slope. He could see them now. The man and the woman lay close, her head resting on his shoulder. It was a position that spoke eloquently of trust and tenderness but the tall man was unmoved. He had trained himself long ago to remain aloof from human emotions. The child lay curled up beside her mother, tightly wrapped in a blanket. That was good, he thought dispassionately, for it would be a simple matter to tie her up in the bedding, cover her face and take her with him when he fled the scene.

He moved closer. Earlier they had made a fire — he had seen its flames — and now he could feel the heat from its still-glowing embers. By its light he saw that they lay on the far side of the makeshift hearth.

He studied them. The man had settled half on his back, face up to the stars, neck exposed. The woman was on her right side. The tall man stood lost in careful thought; soon his mind was made up. He would step around the fire and strike swiftly, first at the throat of the man, then through the ribs on the woman’s left side and straight into her heart. It would be just as he had hoped: they would not even wake up.

Then he would swiftly pick up the child and set off out of the forest, running as fast as he could until, coming to the first hamlet or outlying cottage, he would check for the signs that the place was inhabited and then leave his small burden on the doorstep.

Then he would go home.

He drew his knife. The metal made a tiny, harsh little hiss as it emerged from its scabbard. He pulled it clear and weighed it in his hand, letting it settle until it felt like an extension of himself.

Then he struck.

In the same instant Joanna shot up screaming like a vixen and Josse, already on his knees and rapidly pushing himself on to his feet, grasped his sword and his dagger from where he had hidden them beneath the blankets.

Even as Josse’s fighter’s brain coolly sent instructions to his limbs, he found the time for a swift prayer: Thank God for Joanna’s acute sensitivity, so that she knew danger was approaching and gave us the time to be prepared. Without that forewarning, he would now be lying there with his throat cut.

He was trying to get an idea of their assailant, peering, eyes straining, in the dim light of the fire’s last embers. A man, tall, strong, lean and smelling of the outdoors. Knife in his right hand; left hand empty. Dark, deep eyes, no expression.

And so very dangerous; in those first few seconds, Josse realised he was facing an opponent who was at least his equal.

He tried to thrust with his sword; his great advantage was that his main weapon was longer by far than his enemy’s knife. But the tall man had realised this too and he leapt nimbly out of Josse’s reach, coming down from his jump and in the same movement switching his knife to the other hand and bringing it down on Josse’s sword arm. Josse felt the sudden sharp pain as the blade dug into his flesh, then adrenalin took over and, howling, he straightened his left arm like a spear and aimed the knife at the man’s throat.

The man jerked to one side and Josse’s blade caught his shoulder; the difficulty that he had in withdrawing it told him that the wound was deep. Joanna, seeing that their attacker was hurt, leapt on his back and tried to cut into his neck with her own knife, slicing off half of his right ear; with a cry of pain he flung her off. She fell heavily, her head thumping loudly against the ground, and lay still.

There was no time to go to her. Instead Josse lunged again at the tall man, who took his hand away from his ear — pouring blood — and struck out at Josse; neither Josse’s nor Joanna’s onslaught had managed to dislodge the deadly knife from his hand. Josse kicked out with his right foot, feeling his boot make contact with something soft in the man’s crotch. Again, the assailant cried out in pain, abruptly crouching over and in on himself, cradling his genitals in his free hand.

Josse bent to retrieve his sword, taking it in his left hand. A right-hander, still he was efficient with his left; strong enough, he prayed, to deal with a man wounded in shoulder and crotch and bleeding profusely from his ear. He launched himself on the tall man but at the last moment the man ducked down under the swinging sword and, half-crouching, ran off down the hill.

Josse hesitated. What should he do? Pursue the attacker or follow his heart and his every instinct and go to Joanna?

But if she is still alive, he reasoned — she is, she is! cried his heart — then my duty is to slay our assailant, for if he is allowed to get away he may strike again. Making himself turn his back on both Joanna and Meggie, who was now awake and rubbing her sleepy eyes, little face creased with fear and sobbing her distress, Josse plunged away down into the forest.

He thought he could hear the tall man ahead of him. He could hear something. .

He made himself stop.

But what he could hear was not the right sort of noise. It just did not sound like a badly wounded man fleeing for his life.

It sounded. . Josse’s eyes widened in alarm. It sounded like a very large animal quietly moving through the undergrowth.

Had whatever creature it was been attracted by the smell of blood? It was quite possible, for the deep wound that Joanna had inflicted must be pumping it out. What creature could it be? A carnivore, surely, for otherwise it would not follow the trail that promised fresh meat.

A very large carnivore.

A wolf? Bigger than that. A bear? Were there bears here? He knew the creatures were to be found down in the Pyrenees, that desolate mountain wilderness far to the south. But here in Brittany? Josse did not know.

He moved on along the faintly marked track, trying to calm his alarmed heartbeat, seeking to keep himself concealed as best he could. The animal, if there is an animal, will go for the easier prey, he told himself. I am quite safe.

He did his best to believe it.

He crept forward.

He clutched his sword in his left hand, the lighter dagger in his right; that arm, now that the white-hot heat of the fight had passed, was beginning to hurt so badly that it was all he could do not to moan with the pain. You keep quiet, he ordered himself.

Movement ahead, sudden, unexpected: a dark shape coming in fast from the right, in the darkness nothing more than an impression of great speed and huge bulk.

Dear God, Josse prayed, what in heaven’s name is that?

He stood quite still, eyes hurting as he strained to see. In the faint starlight he could make out little but an impression of a darker shadow against the gloom; a black shape with the terrible power to strike paralysing fear into all who saw it.

Then why, Josse thought wonderingly, am I not afraid?

The whirlwind of emotions and the pain of his wound were making him dizzy. It was with quickly fading vision that he saw the final act.

In his confusion he must have been unaware that he had gone on moving steadily onwards. But suddenly the tall man was only a few paces ahead, standing quite still with his back to Josse and his eyes on something that slowly rose up on the faint and twisting track before him.

Something made of the darkness that grew and grew, upwards and outwards like a great cloud of black smoke that expands as it rises.

Josse stepped back, but his fascinated, horrified eyes were incapable of looking away.

The tall man had both hands up to shield his face; he stood as if nailed to the spot, perhaps transfixed by some power emanating from the thing that rose up high over his head. Then there was a glimmer as the light from the heavens briefly shone on something that flashed down through the air and struck at the tall man, once, twice, a third time.

There was a heart-stopping shriek that quickly degenerated into a gurgling sob.

Then there was nothing.

The tall man slumped to the ground and lay crumpled like a pile of rags. Tearing his eyes away, Josse looked fearfully up at the black shape.

It had gone.

Somehow, in the brief moment that Josse had looked down at the tall man lying on the deep leaf litter of the forest floor, the thing had slipped away.

It must have. . Josse tried to think. But something, some strange force that hummed in the air all around him, arrested the thought so that he couldn’t remember what had been in his mind.

Another thought smoothly slid into its place.

Joanna!

With a cry, Josse spun round and, making himself ignore his pain, raced back the way he had come, along the narrow animal track and up the hill. Then, gasping, blood pouring down his arm and dripping off his hand, he burst into the dell beneath the birch grove.