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He’s right, though, I don’t.
I don’t want Darina to die. That much was clear last night, but I'm surprised by the intensity of my protective instincts where she's concerned. Typically, such impulses are reserved for my twin, or Caenan. It's strange to feel it for a near stranger.
I care more than I should, andthat complicates things a great deal.Because the use I have for her will likely claim her life, too.
“What do you know of the heart of the Hollow?” I find myself asking.
Caenan shrugs. “As much as anyone.”
“Indulge me.” I know our history, but I’m not quite certain what version of it is told nowadays.
Every child of the folk likely has learned it along with their letters and their magic. In my days, they said one thing; but I need to understand what the lords of this generation believe.
“Who’d think you’d check my lessons now.” Caenan chuckles. “You'll excuse if I don't recall the poem word for word. There are two intertwined trees, deep in the hollow—one oak, one yew—and they form a gate. It’s said the source of the magic of our world is kept beyond. But only few can find it, and none can cross it. It’s guarded by ancient spells, right?”
“And warriors,” I correct. “Spells and warriors, both.”
“Really?” Canean’s eyebrow rises. “Well, most children of the gentry visit the gates in their tenth year, and many gain access to their magic after spending a night near the trees. We’re just not allowed to touch it.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I figured it’s like museums or ruins—so old it could get damaged if everyone got close.”
I nod, shoulders relaxing. “That’s all you know?”
Caenan was a little terror, so thirsty for knowledge he’d steal forbidden books as a child. If he hasn’t heard about the rest, there’s a chance it remains a secret.
“Well, it’s all the facts I know,” he retorts. “But there are legends.”
Blast.
“Of course there are.”
“And if you’re asking…perhaps some of those stories aren’t that farfetched, huh?” he guesses.
“No story is ever a complete lie, Caenan.”Everyone in this world knows this.
“Is that why you’re worried? Because there are…things beyond the gates?”
I don’t say a word, though we’re alone, everyone else either chasing Darina or following the hunt for entertainment. I trust him as much as I trust anyone, but he’s already proven willing to defy me for her.
Still, I can’t completely leave him in the dark. And I can’t be everywhere at once, either.
I decide to put some of the fate of the world on his shoulders, though I choose not to let him bear the burden by telling him how important it is.
“I need you to listen, and I need you to obey me in this, Caen. Should the girl get to those gates alone, or with anyone at all except me…” I hate these words, but they need to be said. “I need you to drive an iron blade through her heart.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
AT LEAST THE ROAD ISN’T MADE OF YELLOW BRICKS
Darina
The first thing I see is the snake. He’s hard to miss, its iridescent white body thicker than the trees, and at least as long, although I can’t even see the top of the branches. He slithers through the grass, and my eyes are drawn to the elegant, threatening movement. And as I follow its progress, I notice the others.
A large stag, pure white, too tall, and with antlers extending so far it’s a miracle he can move between tree trunks. An owl coos on top of the tree where I lose the stag, its head angled down so it can stare at me. There are little critters—rabbits, squirrels, some foxes, rats—and much larger ones. A wild cat with a feathered tail, and a bear with bright gold eyes.
Then there are other things which are definitely not animals. The strange man-like hooded figure, with brilliant blue orbs shining like diamonds in the darkness. The stick-thick tree-woman with bark for hair and arms so long they reach her knees. Small naked things, bright as little lamps in the dimming light—and while I take them for fireflies at first, they have little hands and arms and legs.
