Pain like a brand snapped him awake. He sat up, clutching his chest, the tithe over his heart burning.
The tithe he’d used to charm Rowan’s necklace.
But they’d found the culprit behind the forest’s wounds—he was dead. There shouldn’t be any more reason for the wood to call upon Rowan. Yet the tithe burned, calling Briar like a whisper from a dream.
He bolted out of bed and remembered too late how weak he was, stumbling, catching himself on the dresser. He needed help. If Gretchen had been there, she’d have a quippy remark or emergency potion recipe to help. But she was gone.
The forest has Rowan, the forest has Rowan.
First, get dressed. Find supplies.
He staggered his way to the dresser and changed. He fetched his tithe belt and stocked it with the most powerful ingredients he owned. Remembering the vines lashing him to the earth, he went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife, tucking it into his belt. He looted the cupboards next, drinking a vial of potion and stashing several more in a pouch. All this, yet he still felt underprepared. It would have to do.
Grateful Linden had given him a key, he let himself into the shop next door and hurried up the stairs, only to find an empty flat. Panic gripped him. Movement, and Atticus lifted his pale head off the comforter, staring bleary-eyed at the intruders. Vatii chattered at him, no doubt demanding where Linden was. Atticus gave his own chittering reply.
“He’s gone to Pentawynn,” Vatii said. “To prepare for your arrival. Atticus says he’ll return by morning.”
Morning would be too late.
Driven by impulse, Briar raided Linden’s desk for bone powder. He measured out a portion for himself, saying to Atticus, “I’ll replace it later, I promise.” If he survived.
Then he was off into the night. A one-man rescue, and a severely hobbled one at that.
The mark on his chest tugged him in a specific direction, as the crow flew, but he had to navigate the twisting streets. Despite the cool air, his skin beaded with feverish sweat. He considered rousing Sorcha and Maebh, telling them Rowan was in danger, but their houses lay in the opposite direction from where the charm led, and he didn’t know how much time he had. Regardless, neither Sorcha nor Maebh were witches.
He resisted the urge to run, instead walking at a steady clip. There would likely be a time he needed to run, and he had to save his energy. His health would not hold otherwise; it protested even this small abuse of walking quickly. The slow race to the woods was a torment, but he reserved his dwindling magic and the bone powder for when he’d most need it.
They went out into the fields, and as the forest drew closer, as they neared the edge of it, Vatii whispered in his ear.
“I feel like I should tell you not to go, but I know you won’t listen, so I’ll only say this… I’m quite proud to be the familiar of someone so willing to dive in to help those he loves.”
“I’ve got to help him, Vatii. After all the ways he’s helped me.”
“You can admit you care for him.”
He couldn’t. He’d made a choice.
The forest loomed. Briar plunged in.
When he’d first entered, the forest had been intimidating and alive. The second time, eerily quiet, guiding them toward Kenneth’s corpse with a trail of bones.
Now, the sway of the trees and the lurching of the mossy ground seemed more like the death throes of a limping animal than of something vivid and powerful. Tree bark sloughed like rotten skin. Rocks jutted up, white as broken bones. No vines lashed for his arms and legs, no whispers filtered through his mind. He passed like a ghost between the trees and wondered if they even knew he was there.
Vatii hunkered down on his shoulder, wings hitting him when she extended them for balance. The way was treacherous, the ground sinking and uneven, but he followed the pull of the mark on his chest like a compass.
His body twitched in warning. He drank a potion and kept going.
When he found the wound that had so injured the forest, it set his arms out in gooseflesh. The trees thinned, and he emerged into a blackened crater like the one that had contained Kenneth’s body. Every inch of life was sucked from it. No trees or shrubs, just ashen earth and a halo of moonlight cascading through the hole in the canopy. Nothing lay at the center, no corpse and no siphon. Perhaps it was an old scar from Kenneth’s earlier activities. But it didn’tfeelold.
It was not the only one. Briar picked up his pace and passed two more. The trees just on the fringes of each pocked scar bent backward, recoiling from the magic. Whoever had caused the destruction had already retrieved their prizes. None of the craters held a shining sphere.
The tithe on his chest burned more fiercely the closer he got to Rowan. He thought he knew where it was leading him. As if to confirm it, a reedy voice filtered through his mind.
You.
Angry, he spoke back. “Why are you doing this? I thought you already got rid of the problem.”
More.
