Whispering Woods

CHAPTER 3

"We know you've got it! Dig it up or eat cold steel! Now!"

Hefting his sodden whip and slick axe, Gull picked his way around a barn. Who had called out? Who was shouting.

Peeking through a knothole, he saw.

Another moral of the old stories was that soldiers were greedy. These were no exception. A half dozen had rounded up twenty villagers at swordpoint and herded them among the ruins. The drenching rain edged their silver scales with rust, made the red hairs of their horsetail plumes stick up in clumps. Swatting and jabbing, the soldiers barked harsh orders. "Dig up your fortunes and you won't be hurt! Disobey and you get this! Move! Move!"

One soldier with epaulets of gold braid pricked Seal in the back with a rain-rusting sword. Seal was a big-bellied man, a lazy bully, a lifelong foe of Gull's. Yet threatened by strangers, Gull viewed him as a brother.

There were more, too. Gull's family was here. His mother Bittersweet, his hunched father Brown Bear. His sisters Rainfall, Angelwing, and Poppyseed. His brothers Lion and Cub. But where was Sparrow Hawk? And where Greensleeves?

Their enemies dead, the heartless mercenaries had fallen to looting. They knew villagers buried their few coins, usually out back, but sometimes within the house itself. They'd kill a few and set the rest to digging.

The woodcutter pondered what to do, then suddenly jumped so high he almost rapped his head on the eaves of the barn. Someone had touched his wrist.

Sparrow Hawk.

The boy grinned nervously at his big brother. Sparrow Hawk had his mother's impish sense of humor, her infectious grin. Tousled red hair was plastered over his head by the rain, and rivulets ran past his freckled sunburned nose. He whispered, "What are you hiding for, Gull? Aren't you gonna get them?"

Rather than set down a weapon, the woodcutter wrapped a huge arm around the boy's head and squeezed him close. "Hush up, bonehead! We need a plan!"

"What?" The boy squirmed to see through a crack between boards. "Can't we just rush 'em? I've got a weapon too!" He held up a rusty spike, one dropped by the goblins.

Gull almost sighed. Eleven summers old, and the child was ready to take on the world. Gull couldn't condemn him, nor his enthusiasm, but he did have to keep him from harm.

"Look, Hawk. Take that pigsticker and circle around, way 'round. I'll charge them from this side, and you can be the reserve, pink one in the back-uh oh!"

Looking through the knothole, Gull saw a soldier suddenly snatch a boy, Chipmunk, by the hair. He laid his sword against the lad's forehead and bellowed, "I want your silver! Or the child loses his scalp!" Chipmunk yelped as the soldier sawed. Skin parted in a crimson line. Rain washed blood into the boy's tight-shut eyes. A mother shrilled.

Seal, normally a coward, stepped forward to defend his son. But a soldier poked his sword into Seal's fat gut, and laughed as he gasped. Seal's wife, Feverfew, protested, and the soldier slapped her with the flat. Another raised his blade. "Kill a few! That'll move the rest-"

Gull swore. "Get moving, Hawk! Go way 'round!" He shoved his brother, who took off along the back of the barn. Then he charged around the other side, swinging his axe behind him. "Join me! Arm yourselves! Yaaaaaaahhhhh!!!"

As he'd hoped, his sudden attack stunned the soldiers, so some did nothing. Yet older veterans moved like lightning. Four slid together, back-to-back, and scuttled behind the villagers to determine the source of the menace.

The young soldier holding Chipmunk balked, tugged for the shield slung on his back. Streaming wet, huge, and screaming, Gull leaped within striking range and swung. Belatedly, the killer raised his sword, and Gull slammed him under the armpit with the full strength of his felling axe. Knocked three feet sideways, the soldier grunted and folded over the blade. Heart stopped, he slumped and slid off the axe head.

There's one, thought Gull, already swinging. Five left.

One soldier kept backing away from the fallen one, ready to run. Perhaps this one didn't like axes. Without delay, Gull hoisted his rain-slick axe and charged the knot of four soldiers. But now they were prepared. They'd assumed their double rank without crowding, as Gull hoped they might. They swung their shields into place, a wall of steel.

I'm going to die here, Gull thought. But at least my family is safe. I hope they find Greensleeves.

Changing tactics, he braked in the mud, stopping just out of sword range, croaked another war cry, and switched his swing overhead as if splitting cordwood. He had some advantage. They'd expected a sideways swing they could deflect with their shields. And at the end of his axe haft, he had the longer reach.

The sun-bronzed men in front grimaced, anticipating pain. They were fast, and strong, and raised their shields to block. But this was no dandy's war axe, a thin blade and lightweight, made for cutting flesh, but an eight pound mallet of sharpened steel made for dropping oaks.

The axe struck like an avalanche. It punched through a wood and iron shield, buckling and twisting, then crushed bones in the arm behind. A veteran hissed.

With a savage grunt, Gull jerked on the haft. The blade tore free. Too fast. The woodcutter lost his balance and slammed on his rump in the mud.

Good thing, too, for the man's partner lunged for Gull's guts with his sword. He missed, pinking Gull's leather tunic. But the other front ranker skipped forward to deliver the deathblow. Gull saw the blade flicker like a snake's tongue, threw up his hands to block it, knowing he'd only lose fingers before being filleted.

But the swordsman staggered back. A stone struck him in the face. Teeth crunched and he howled. More rocks struck the soldiers, who parried with their shields.

Gull kicked the wounded man's knee with his hickory clog, then scurried away on all fours. He scrambled past his father, who directed the attack.

"Get 'em, White Ridgers!" Even half-bent, at half strength, Brown Bear was a powerful man. From the ruins of a house he grabbed a rock in each hand and pitched them against the soldiers' exposed legs. "Seal, hit 'em in the head! Badger, the legs! Bluebell, throw that beam amidst 'em!"

But the advice went unneeded. Cursing, the soldiers backed away, rocks clanging off their shields. Masked by driving rain, they faded around another ruin and were gone.

For now.

And Sparrow Hawk had circled that way, Gull thought. Had his brother met the soldiers?

A muddy hand lifted Gull by his shoulder. His father propped him up, yet half-hunched, had to twist his head to see his tall son's face. The man looked like Gull, just craggier and gray. "Good work, son! Good work! I'd have given them the same could I stand straight! You're-"

"Never mind that!" cut in Bittersweet. "Where did you leave Greensleeves? And have you seen Hawk?"

Gull explained hurriedly about the holes in the thorn hedge, how she'd disappeared, then about Sparrow Hawk-when suddenly the ground rippled underfoot.

A man yelped. "Aftershock!"

"Not again!" his father griped, as if earthquakes were no more trouble than gut rumbles.

Yet the earth did not snap, nor their teeth chatter, as before. One ripple was all. What did that mean?

After people breathed again, the survivors took stock.

They huddled in the rain amidst the wreckage of their homes. Chipmunk's mother, Feverfew, fussed with his forehead gash. People peeked at Seal's belly cut, but the big man only raised his belt and tightened it over the wound. He puffed out his chest, suddenly a hero. Parents calmed children, wiped noses, hushed crying, wrapped soggy shawls around their shoulders. Others gazed over the ruins of the village, seeking the missing, talked of arming and organizing a search party. Cowslip, her bodice pinned with thorns, her hair flat and lips blue with cold, stood close by Gull's family and watched him intently.

The woodcutter trotted the way the soldiers had gone, hunted for signs of his brother, and found none. He called and received no answer. Where had Hawk gone? Probably adventuring, his brother sighed. Well, he'd have to fend for himself-it was Greensleeves needed finding.

First, though, Gull returned to his family. The elders, they argued about how to proceed.

"We won't have any crops at all this year," said one man.

"We'll need to live in the woods like outlaws and savages," said another.

Bittersweet held tiny Cub against her skirts. "We'll have to move on. This devastation will bring plague. It always follows a wizards' duel, the legends say."

"Aye," said Feverfew, "they might's well plow salt into the ground."

Half-listening, Gull climbed the heap of rocks that had been Badger's house and craned for a view. Through layers of rain and gaps in the thorn wall, he could see something of the battlefield the valley had become.

Up in the meadow, the two-headed giant was still foot-caught. He rolled and twitched and moaned piteously, a high, wild keening. His right arm was chewed to an elbow stump, and streaming rain washed away his blood. Three-legged, the clockwork beast clumped along the edge of the forest as if it were a fence. Goblins dragged something like a body across a muddy field, fighting and pushing and arguing every inch of the way. Of the hydra there was no sign. A centaur or a horse flashed past a gap in the hedge. Red soldiers hacked something across the river at the north end of the village. More villagers clustered at the far south, almost to the bogs, as if afraid to set foot in the village again. They didn't respond when he waved an arm, and his shouts were drowned by the rain. Only a family of six, Snowblossom and Hedgehog and their children, skulked from heap to heap, coming slowly. Gull waved them on. But where the blazes were Greensleeves and Sparrow Hawk?

"We'll not leave!" Brown Bear's head waggled from side to side. "We'll rebuild! We'll pack together for the winter. Gull can cut beams, I can saw planks-"

From his perch, Gull gave a shout of surprise. "What…?"

Snowblossom's family had disappeared-down a hole?

Hefting his axe, Gull called for someone to follow, then jogged toward the spot where Snowblossom's family had vanished.

A gaping hole, round as a well, had caved in not far from the river. From the aftershock? Why not a crack?

A head popped into the rainy gloom below, and Gull knelt at the crumbling edge. He couldn't see who it was. "Snowblossom? Hedgehog? Grab my hand!" He leaned as far as he dared. Seal grabbed his belt behind.

His hand was ignored. A head covered with dirt rose from the hole as someone climbed with strong fingers sunk in the dirt. The head waggled, shedding dirt, revealing a blue dome with tufts of wiry hair.

Gull snatched his hand back. What…?

The hole boiled. A dozen, two dozen, fifty little goomers spouted from the depths like rats from a flour bin.

It was hard to see them clearly for the mud. They were knee-high, naked, blue or gray, scaly like snakes. Wiry hair sprouted from shoulders and elbows. Jutting ears, huge noses, bigger mouths. They chanted as they spilled from the hole. "Oi, oi, oi! Watcher! Gonner get 'em, gonner barsh 'em!" Gull couldn't tell if they were true words or not.

Then the things, trolls or whatever, scattered. Gull and the rest shrank back as if from plague rats, but the little goons just swarmed past. Trailing dirt and mud, they flitted everywhere, digging, shifting rocks, burrowing into ruins. Gull saw one troll burst from a ruin with a copper pot, hoisting it like a treasure.

They were scavengers! Conjured by wizards? It must be. The trolls would scour the ruins for valuables. Gull's anger, which he'd thought squelched by the rain, returned hot enough to make his brow steam. Was there nothing sacred to these wizards, that they'd callously destroy a village and then pick the meat from the bones?

Shifting his axe, Gull trotted after a troll who dug like a dog, shooting dirt between his legs. The woodcutter grasped the thing around its thick neck. "Hey, you! Get away! We've enough trouble-"

He couldn't lift the troll. It might have been made of granite or lead. Gull changed his grip, but the troll shrugged it off. The tiny, almost-comical troll hopped to one side, lifted a big-toed foot, and kicked Gull in the leg-the bad leg.

For once, Gull didn't fall down. But he did gasp and rub his knee. The kick was like a mule's. Beady-eyed, the troll glared around its melon nose and spit, "Gwan! Goncher gummin gaflin baglit, nosher!"

It resumed digging. Within seconds, it plucked an oilskin pouch and tore it open with its teeth. Silver and copper coins reflected the dim sky. Chuckling, the troll stuffed the treasure into a pouch over its scaly belly. Then it scampered over the heap, big feet flying, vast nose twitching.

It must smell the metal, Gull thought in amazement. So these trolls were perfect scavengers. And there wasn't much Gull could do to stop them. A hundred or more had spilled from the hole. Gull doubted an axe could even dent the pests.

Hobbling, he returned to the hole. A timid cry sounded below. Hedgehog's family. Pulled out and brushed off, they'd been trampled under big dirty feet. Snowblossom reported the tunnel went on and on, the gods only knew how far.

"One more thing to endanger the crops," Gull groused. "It'll channel groundwater away."

They limped back to the main cluster of villagers. But Seal yelped. "Look there!"

Against the wet vault of sky, a human flew.

The villagers had seen miracles all day, but this seemed the greatest one. What could top a person flying like a bird?

Squinting against rain pelting his eyes, Gull watched the wizard soar, arms outspread like an eagle. It was dark, for dusk approached, but coming from the north, Gull assumed it was the brown wizard, the woman with glossy black hair. At least, he saw streaks like yellow jets. The woman was no bigger than his hand, looping, yet drifting in one place, riding the ether. Gull pondered her purpose.

Then, quick as an eagle, the wizard swooped. A flash of lightning seared the sky, blinding one and all. Above the rain and wind, Gull heard skirts flap over-head, like wash on a line.

And like the breath of death, fatigue suddenly smothered the woodcutter.

Gull's bad knee buckled and he fell. His axe dropped with a thud, his quiver and bow clattered as they struck a beam jutting from behind.

His mother gave a groan and collapsed. She fell face first into the mud, like one dead. Gull gave a cry and reached for her, but it was agony to lift his arms. He had to crawl like a salamander, had only enough strength to turn her head from drowning in a puddle.

She didn't breathe.

Frantic, Gull waggled his mother's head, pinched her cheek. Her eyes were open and speckled with mud, yet she didn't blink. Calling for help, he could only croak. He couldn't even cry, he was so tired. His eyelids drooped, his head nodded. Desperate, he shook his head but only made himself dizzier.

Squinting through a black haze, he found everyone else similarly felled. His father lay on his side, mouth open, rain dropping onto his tongue. Cowslip lay with one hand sprawled over her head. Was this the plague his mother spoke of?

Gull tried to roll, got halfway up.

A sharp blow made him cry out. A rock had banged his forehead.

Another struck his leg. His groin. His shoulder, foot, chest.

More stones fell.

A rain of stones like hail.

With a flash, Gull knew this was wizard's work. If one were flying in the sky, her enemy would conjure a stone rain to down her.

Even if it killed every living thing in the valley.

Slowly, so several more stones struck him, Gull dragged his leaden arms over his head, tried to cradle his mother. His father lay only five feet away, but it was too far. Gull was too weak.

Stones pattered all around him. All sizes, from pebbles that bounced to fist-sized rocks that plocked in the mud. Thick as rain. Deadly, as if hurled from the gods. Gull heard rocks clash on ruins, on other stones, on peoples' heads and faces. Impotent, weaker than a newborn kitten, Gull could only weep.

Then a large rock got past his limp arms. Images crashed in his brain, then plunged into a well of blackness.

Then he saw nothing, not even blackness.

Gull opened his eyes, but his vision stayed black. For a moment he panicked. Had a blow to the head blinded him?

Then he noticed, far off and faint, a pinpoint of light. The Glitter Moon, just rising over the tree line. He groaned with relief and instantly regretted it. Pain shot through his head like fire.

Slowly, carefully, Gull rolled over. He clenched his jaw against the skull pain, but his jaw hurt too. Exploring with a mucky hand, he found a bruise over his cheekbone, where a stone had struck. He found other bruises too. Yet that stone rain must not have lasted long. Even a few minutes of it would have killed him. Nearby, half-buried in mud, lay a rock bigger than his fist. Hurled from the sky, it would have decapitated him.

Then he remembered his family.

Shuffling, wincing at new flashes of pain, he groped for his mother. Cold mud lay all around, but something white was close at hand.

His mother's face. He was touching her.

She was cold and wet as the earth.

Tears leaked from Gull's eyes, salt burning the bruises. With clumsy sprained fingers, he brushed mud from her eyes. "Mother…" She didn't respond, and never would.

The others?

Crawling, he found his father cold, the same. A stone had cracked his skull above the ear.

It got worse.

Lion and Rainfall had both been killed by stones, Lion half-buried. But Angelwing and Poppyseed and Cub were alive, for Lion had covered his brother with his body, and other villagers had snuggled the girls close.

Gull enfolded Cub in his arms, grateful prayers on his lips. He shook his brother to wake him, though he'd have sad news.

Cub's head wobbled as if his neck were broken. His eyes remained shut.

Gull pressed his ear to the boy's chest. Yes. There was life, shallow breath and a tapping heart, but slow and quiet. The thready pulse resembled his grandmother's seizure, when she'd fallen and lain in bed, taken a week to die.

Crawling around and over bodies, he identified Angelwing more by her homey smell than anything, dragged her from the clammy embrace of a dead neighbor. He leaned close over her tiny mouth, his ear against her teeth, her breast. He shook his sister, called her name, but he couldn't revive her.

Wails rose all around. Cowslip and others, strong young folk, found they couldn't awaken elders or small children. They were alive, yet still as corpses.

Worse than dead.

Their souls sucked away.

Half-mad with grief, Gull staggered to his feet.

In the steamy dimness and chill night wind, he realized it was deathly quiet all over the valley. The battle was over. The soldiers and the monsters were gone, returned to wherever they'd sprung. Even the wall of thorns was gone. Even the clouds were gone.

Yet the village of White Ridge might have gone too. It was smashed, burned, and leveled, its people felled by sickness and stones and savagery.

All done by wizards.

Spreading his feet wide to keep from toppling, Gull raised both fists to the black sky winking with stars. He shrieked, howled, cursed magic, and wizards, and the gods that spawned them.