Wildwood (Wildwood Chronicles 1)

Prue was speechless. “There’s nothing you can do?”

The Mystic shrugged. “Nothing is absolute, my dear. Perhaps I will put it to the Council and we will gather in meditation. We will ask the tree.”

Prue stopped their walk and turned to the old woman, holding her hands. “Oh please, please. Anything you can do. I just need help, that’s all.”

Iphigenia nodded thoughtfully. “Come,” she said, finally. “We won’t gather in Council for another few minutes. I’ll need all my energy about me for a sit of this kind. Let’s continue our walk. These knees need some movement. Tell me of the Outside; I’ve not heard in many years.”

“I wouldn’t know where to start,” said Prue.

“Begin with your parents; describe them to me,” said the Mystic.

So Prue did.

When the escape party arrived at the door to the warren, they collectively sucked in a massive breath, delirious to be in the air of the aboveground world once again.

“All the sweeter,” said Seamus, “after bein’ in that hellhole. Praise be the trees and the air of the woods!”

Cormac turned to Dmitri. “This is where we part ways, friend,” he said. “I expect you’ll be heading back to your pack.”

Dmitri frowned. “What’s left of it, I suppose,” he said. “But I can’t wait to see my litter—those pups’ll be grown by now!” He extended his forepaw in thanks, and the bandits and Curtis shook it in turn.

“Bye, Dmitri,” said Curtis as the coyote grasped his hand.

“Ah, Curtis,” said Dmitri, “if ever you’re in need of a fresh-scavenged meal, you know where to find me. My warren’s west of the Long Road, by the headwaters of Rocking Chair Creek, in the Old Woods. Look for the broken stone. Call out for me, I’ll come find you.”

Curtis grinned and thanked him.

“Don’t get too wealthy, Dmitri,” said Seamus playfully, “or our paths will cross again. We bandits quickly return to our true nature.”

“And likewise: Don’t let your babies wander too far in the night,” replied Dmitri, “or they’ll be dinner.”

Brendan laughed. “Get goin’, dog, get home to your pups.”

Dmitri nodded and, dropping to his four paws, began trotting into the underbrush. Before he’d disappeared, however, Curtis saw him stop and glance down at the tattered uniform that still clung to his frame. With a quick jerk of his muzzle and a shake of his hindquarters, he’d thrown it off, and it fell to the ground in a dirty lump. He gave a quick, joyous howl and vanished into the trees.

Curtis felt a hand grip his shoulder; it was Brendan. “And I suppose you’ll be heading home now. Huh, Outsider?”

He thought for a moment before replying. The events of the previous days unspooled in his mind. He found the whole recollection a little dizzying. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, I want to come with you.”

Brendan looked him squarely in the eye. “You know what you’re getting yourself into? This is a lot bigger than you, kid.”

“I came here to find Mac. I came this close”—here he held up his thumb and forefinger, nearly touching—“to finding him. Prue’s gone home—she’s given up, for all I know. I have one last chance. I can’t go home now. No way.”

“Very well,” Brendan said. “Follow us. But don’t never say I didn’t warn you. You may forfeit your life here, boyo.”

Curtis nodded gravely. “I know,” he said. He peered at Septimus the rat perched on his shoulder. “What about you, rat?” asked Curtis.

“I’m with you, kid,” replied Septimus. “There’s nothing left for me in that warren. No coyotes means no food to scavenge.” He smiled toothily. “I go where the food is.”

Ahead, Angus was already scanning the ground cover; the low-lying ferns and clover that carpeted the forest floor here was trampled flat in great swaths.

“An army,” he said, “has passed here. The whole blasted army must’ve massed here for the march. Look.” He pointed to a wide path that had been beaten into the forest, leading south. “Must’ve been hundreds of them.”

A discarded bayonet, rusty from misuse, jutted from a stand of ferns. Brendan picked it up and studied its steely edge. “Yep, boys, this is it. Let’s move back to camp. Whatever that Dowager plans on doing, she’s gonna have to fight her way through us to do it. Let’s go.”

He tossed the bayonet into the trees, and the band of freed prisoners made their way toward their home.

Prue sat calmly in the meadow, watching the robed figures gather. No call was issued, no signal given, but the Mystics, each engrossed in their own contemplative activity, began slowly arriving of their own volition at their stations. They eventually made a giant circle around the base of the great tree, each figure separated from their neighbor by a distance of roughly fifteen feet. Suddenly, and without a word, the robed Mystics all sat down on the ground, crossing their legs beneath them as they did so. Prue could see Iphigenia, sitting between a similarly robed rabbit and deer, stiffen her back and straighten her neck, her eyes closed in deep concentration. The entire circle breathed in unison, and Prue could hear their collective breaths, sweeping beneath the low roar of the wind’s blowing.