The Forests of Silence

Lief ran for home down the dark, winding back-streets of Del, past lighted houses closed tightly for the night. He ran as fast and silently as a cat, his heart hammering in his chest.

He was late. Very late. He had to hurry, but he knew that the smallest sound could betray him.

It was forbidden to be on the streets after sunset. That was one of the Shadow Lord’s strictest laws. It had been put into force on the day he took possession of Del, just over sixteen years ago. The penalty for breaking it was death.

Lief slipped into a long, narrow street that ran through the ruined part of the city. It smelt of damp and decay. The stones under his feet were slimy and treacherous.

He had been out after sunset before, but not for so long and never so far from home. He wished with all his heart that he had been more careful. It flashed through his mind that his father and mother would be waiting for him, worried for him.

“You are free for the afternoon, my son,” his father had said when their midday meal was over. “Your sixteenth birthday is a special day. Your mother and I want you to be glad and to celebrate with your friends.”

Lief was overjoyed. Never before had he been granted leave in the middle of the working day. Usually he had to study in the afternoons.

He had always felt that this was unfair. He was the only one of his friends who had lessons to do. Why learn to read and write? Why learn figures and history and worry at mind games? Of what use were these things to a blacksmith?

But his parents had insisted that the lessons go on, and, grumbling, Lief had obeyed. Now he was used to the way things were. But this did not mean that he liked them any better. A free afternoon was the best birthday gift he could imagine.

“Tonight, there will be another gift. And — things we must discuss together,” his father said, exchanging looks with his mother.

Lief glanced at their grave faces with quick curiosity. “What things?” he asked.

His mother smiled and shook her head. “We will talk of them tonight, Lief,” she said, pushing him gently towards the door. “For now, enjoy your holiday. But stay out of trouble. And keep track of the time, I beg you. Be home well before sunset.”

Lief promised gladly and ran — out of the house, through the hot forge where he helped his father each morning, past Barda, the tattered, half-wit beggar who sat all day at the gate and slept in the forge yard by night. He crossed the road that led to the palace on the hill and waded through the weed-filled fields beyond. Then he ran joyfully on till he reached the market, where he could lose himself in the smells and sounds of the noisy, crowded city.

He found one of his friends, then another, then three more. Happily they roamed their favorite haunts together. They had no money to spend but they found fun anyway — teasing the stall-holders in the markets, running up and down the grimy alleyways, dodging the Grey Guards, looking for silver coins in the choked and overflowing gutters. Then, in a deserted and overgrown patch of ground not far from the palace walls, they found something better than silver — a twisted old tree covered in small, round red fruits.

“Apples!” Lief knew what the fruits were. He had even tasted an apple, once. It was when he was very young. In those days there were still some large orchards in the city. Apples and other fruits could be bought in the markets, though they were costly. But years ago it had been declared that all fruits of Del were the property of the Shadow Lord, wherever the trees that bore them grew.

This tree had somehow been forgotten, and there were no Guards to be seen.

Lief and his friends picked as many of the apples as they could carry and went down into the drain-tunnels under the city to eat them in secret. The fruits were small and spotted, but they were sweet. It was a feast, enjoyed all the better for knowing that it was stolen from the hated Shadow Lord.

An hour before sunset, Lief’s friends left him and hurried home. Lief, however, was unwilling to waste his last hour of freedom. He stayed in the silence and dimness of the drains, exploring and thinking.

He meant to stay only a little while, but then he discovered a small drain-tunnel branching off the main, leading, he was sure, towards the palace on the hill. He crept along this new tunnel as far as he dared, then turned back, promising himself that he would follow it further another day. But when, finally, he crawled up to the surface, he found that time had rushed by. Night had fallen.

So now he was in danger.

Lief skidded to a stop as two Grey Guards turned a corner in front of him and began pacing in his direction. They were talking and had not yet heard him, seen him, or caught his scent. But when they did …

He held his breath, desperately looking this way and that, seeking a way of escape. High walls rose on either side of him, dripping with slimy water and slippery with moss. He could never climb them unaided. He could not turn and run, either. To do so would mean certain death.

Lief had prowled Del’s streets all his life, and often met with danger. He prided himself on his many lucky escapes in the past. He was fast, agile, and daring. But he had sense, too — sense enough to know that he could not run the length of this street without being cut down.

Each Guard carried a sling and a supply of what the people of Del called “blisters.” The blisters were silver eggs filled with burning poison. They burst on contact with a target and the Guards could hurl them with deadly strength and accuracy, even in darkness. Lief had seen enough blister victims fall, writhing in agony, to know that he did not want to risk the same fate.

Yet if he stayed where he was the Guards would come upon him and he would die in any case. By blister or by dagger, he would die.

Lief flattened himself against the wall, still as a shadow, not daring to move a muscle. The Guards paced on towards him. Closer, closer …

If only they would turn around! he thought feverishly. If only something would distract them! Then I would have a chance.

He was not praying for a miracle, because he did not believe in miracles. Few citizens of Del did these days. So he was astounded when a moment later there was a clatter from the corner behind the Guards. They spun around and began running towards the sound.

Hardly able to believe his luck, Lief turned to run. Then, with a shock, he felt something hit his shoulder. To his amazement he saw that it was a rope — a rope dangling from the top of the wall. Who had thrown it?

There was no time to think or wonder. In seconds, he was climbing for his life. He did not pause for breath until he had reached the top of the wall and swung himself into a great tree on the other side. Panting, he huddled in a fork between two branches and looked around him.

He was alone. The rope had been tied securely around the tree’s trunk, but there was no sign of whoever had thrown it over the wall.

The Guards had still not come back into view, but Lief could hear them nearby, arguing as they searched for whatever had made the sound they had heard. He was fairly certain that they would find nothing. He was sure that the person who had thrown the rope had also hurled a stone to distract them. That was what he himself would have done if he had been trying to save a friend.

A friend? Lief bit his lip as he swiftly pulled the rope up after him. As far as he knew, all his friends were safely in their homes. Who could have known that he was in trouble?

He puzzled about it for a moment, then shook his head. This is not important now, he told himself. The important thing is to reach home before anything else happens.

He untied the rope, coiled it, and slung it over his shoulder. Ropes such as these were valuable.

He climbed silently to the ground and strained his eyes to see through the darkness. Slowly he recognized the shape nearest to him. It was an old potter’s wheel, broken and lying on its side in the grass.

With a chill he realized that he was in the backyard of what had been the city’s biggest pottery. A thousand times he had walked past its burned-out shell, its gaping front windows, and its door branded with the Shadow Lord’s sign.

The brand meant that the Shadow Lord’s hand had been laid upon the pottery. Now it was a dead place, never again to be used, or even entered. There were many such buildings, and many such signs, in this part of the city. A group here had tried to resist the Shadow Lord. They had plotted to overthrow him. But he had found out, as he found out all such secrets.

Lief threaded his way through the huge piles of smashed pots, overgrown with weeds. He passed the two great ovens where the pots had been baked, now just ruined heaps of bricks. He nearly tripped on something buried in the grass — a child’s wooden horse, crushed under the foot of a Grey Guard long ago.

By the time he reached the front of the building he was trembling and breathing hard. Not with fear now, but with a sudden, terrible anger.

Why should his people suffer this? Why should he have to creep around in his own city like a criminal, in fear of branding, imprisonment, or death?

He moved out onto the deserted road and looked up at the palace on the hill, sick with loathing. For as long as he could remember the palace had been the headquarters of the Shadow Lord. Before that, his friends had told him, the king of Deltora had lived there, in luxury, and the palace was almost hidden by a pale, shimmering mist. But when the Shadow Lord came, the mist completely disappeared. Now the palace could be seen clearly.

Though Lief’s parents had made him study the history of Deltora from its earliest days, they had told him little of the time just before he was born. They seemed to fear speaking of it. They said the Shadow Lord had spies everywhere, and it was best to keep silence. But Lief’s friends were not afraid, and they had told him a great deal.

They had told him that the last king, like the rulers before him, had cared nothing for the people, and done nothing to serve them. King Endon’s only task had been to guard the magic Belt of Deltora. But he had been weak, lazy, and careless. He had allowed the Belt to be stolen. He had opened the way to the Shadow Lord.

The king was dead, Lief’s friends said. And a good thing, too, Lief thought savagely, as again he hurried for home. The king deserved to die for the suffering he had brought to his people.

He reached the fields and began to run, crouching low, hiding himself in the long grass. A few minutes more and he would be safe. Already he could see the lights of home winking dimly in the distance.

He knew he would be in trouble for being so late and that there would be questions asked about the rope he carried. With luck, though, his mother and father would be so relieved to see him that they would forgive him quickly.

They cannot send me to bed without food, at least, Lief thought with satisfaction, scuttling across the road and plunging on towards the forge. They said they wanted to talk to me about something tonight.

Briefly he wondered what that something was, and smiled at the memory of how serious his parents had looked when they had spoken of it.

He loved them both very much, but no two people could be more ordinary, timid, and quiet than Jarred and Anna of the forge. Jarred had limped badly ever since he was injured by a falling tree when Lief was ten. But even before that, he and Anna had kept very much to themselves. They seemed content to listen to the tales of wandering travelers who stopped at the forge, rather than seeing life for themselves.

Lief had not been born until after the time of darkness and terror that had marked the coming of the Shadow Lord. But he knew that many in the city had fought and died and many others had fled in terror.

Jarred and Anna had done neither of these things. While all around them confusion and panic reigned, they stayed in their cottage, obeying every order given to them, doing nothing to attract the anger of the enemy. And when the panic was ended and dull misery had taken its place in the city, they reopened the forge gates and began work again, struggling only to survive in their new, ruined world.

It was something that Lief himself could never have done. He could not understand it. He was convinced that all his parents had ever wanted in their lives was to stay out of trouble, whatever the cost. He was certain, absolutely certain, that nothing they had to say could surprise him.

So it was only with relief that he ran through the forge gates, dodged the beggar Barda, who was making his slow way to his shelter in the corner of the yard, and rushed through the cottage door. Excuses were ready on his tongue and thoughts of dinner were filling his head.

Little did he know that before another hour had passed everything was going to change for him.

Little did he know that he was about to receive the shock of his life.