Heartwood (Tricksters Game) by Barbara Campbell Read Free Book Online Page B

forest.
    Then Griane took him outside the den. The wind stung and the brightness of the sun made his eyes leak water, but it was very good to be out of the darkness and to know that their world was not so different from his.
    He saw many small dens like Darak’s. He saw very small men playing with small wolves and a herd of curly-furred not-deer called “sheep.” Then he saw the line of willows and alders, and beyond them, on the rising slope of a hill, the Oak.
    He ran, zigzagging like a mouse through the clusters of men. He heard Griane shout his not-name, but he ran on, his tattoo beating very fast. He reached the trees and splashed across the stream, slipping once on the wet rocks, patting the branches of the willows and the alders, but not stopping, not even for them, until he reached the Oak.
    It was smaller than he remembered, but if he should now wear the form of a man, then it might have shriveled into this slender being. If he had been transported to this place, perhaps the Oak had as well. None of that mattered as long as they were together.
    Breathless, he stood before the Oak, fog rising from his mouth in great clouds. He touched its trunk with one careful finger and felt nothing. He laid both hands on the tree. This time, it roused to his touch. He closed his eyes, sending his energy to the tree. He poured out his confusion and begged it to tell him why he was here. He stood there until the cold stole the feeling from his fingers and Griane’s urgent tug on his arm could no longer be ignored.
    The oak had recognized him, waking from its winter drowsiness to hum quietly beneath his fingers. But it was simply a tree, content to doze until spring awakened it. It was not the Oak.
    Griane turned him away. His gaze swept across his new world. The heart tattoo thudded wildly. Beyond the stream and the dens and the snow-covered expanses called “fields,” he saw the dark silhouettes of countless trees. He tugged free of Griane’s hand. Once again, he ran.

    Darak loosened the snare and removed the rabbit. Too weak to struggle, the quivering animal stared up at him, its dark eyes wide with fear and hopelessness. Instead of breaking its neck, the sinew had looped around one foreleg, nearly severing it. Judging from the spots of blood staining the snow, the creature had hung here only a short while, but the hunter in him abhorred the messiness of the kill.
    He bowed his head. “Little brother, I thank you for giving your life for us. And I ask your forgiveness for the suffering I have caused you.” With a quick twist of his hands, he snapped the rabbit’s neck.
    He spread the limp body on a clean patch of snow, carefully facing the animal west so that its spirit might race after the sun. He hoped the cruelly maimed foreleg would not hinder its progress. When he heard a rustling in the grasses, he knew the rabbit’s spirit had accepted his apology and begun its journey to the afterworld. Crumbling a bit of oatcake over the snow in thanks for the kill, he rose and bent the sapling down to reset his snare.
    Even with his eyes focused on his work, he could feel the forest. The silent trees watching him with their never-sleeping awareness, trunks shimmering with otherworldly power, naked branches creaking as they reached out to drag him from the open field into the gloom of the tangled undergrowth… .
    Despite himself, he glanced up, then scowled. The trunks of the closest trees glowed with the ruddy light of the late afternoon sun and the branches rattled only through the power of the wind. It was the strain of dealing with Tinnean’s condition that was making him so jumpy.
    He was glad now that he’d obeyed the irascible old healer. Mother Netal and Struath both promised to watch over Tinnean; Griane swore that if their duties took them elsewhere, she would remain with him. He’d found her assurances less comforting than Mother Netal’s, but he could not neglect his responsibilities forever; everyone—even the