No Place Like Home, page 11
“You won’t be,” said Marlow firmly.
“Then how are we gonna beat this thing?”
Without warning, Marlow dropped her hand. He drew and fired. The creature ducked, then charged with shocking speed. Lan screamed and dived aside. When she lifted her head, Marlow had fired again. His arrows missed. It moved in, focused on Annabelle, who stood nearest. Lan tried to direct her magic but yelled in frustration. Nothing worked! Instead, she threw the spear. The beast dodged. Annabelle took the chance to roll away.
Marlow’s third arrow hit the creature in the shoulder. It staggered, snarling, but did not stop coming. Lan grabbed a rock and turned to throw it. Annabelle was back on her feet, blade in hand. She grabbed Lan’s spear off the ground and spun back-to-back with Marlow—and for a second, Lan could only stare. Sharp jabs, quick parries, feet light and fluid, they fought together like instinct. Annabelle’s blows perfectly matched Marlow’s shots. The beast began to retreat, grunting. Their hits were landing! Could they have a chance, after all?
As suddenly as hope had flooded her, it vanished. Lan cried out as her body jerked backward. Ropes had slithered out from somewhere behind her and wrapped themselves around her waist and both wrists, holding her so tightly it was hard to breathe. A second later, she realized with dread that they were not ropes: the trees were alive. A sinister feeling pulsed through the air, so cold that it seeped through Lan like melting ice.
Her vision blurred with angry tears. This could not be how she went out! Hazily, Lan saw branches and vines whip at Marlow and Annabelle in fierce attacks. She heard Marlow shout her name. The heart-eater, she realized with dread, had abandoned the other two to the trees. It came to her, limping but determined. Lan lurched forward, straining to break free. She kicked at the ground. The roots were unmoved by her efforts. The rock dropped from her hand, and she collapsed on her knees on the damp earth, dizzy and gasping to regain her breath. How to fight back? Her fury slipped away, and fear clouded her mind. Without her magic, she had nothing. This was why Annabelle resisted witchcraft, Lan realized. It was impossible to rely on. Useless when she needed it most!
Was this the end for her? Maybe she wasn’t meant to take part in this story at all. Lan closed her eyes. Disappointment overwhelmed her. What a failure she was! She stifled a sob, thinking of her warm bed in Toronto and her father’s face. What had possessed her to barge in and come so far for—what exactly? An adventure? To prove she was more than the sad sack she’d been all year? She was no hero.
“Lan!”
Her eyes flew open, and her heart clenched. Behind the approaching heart-eater, the trees fought on of their own accord. A thick branch swung for Marlow’s head. Annabelle rushed to block it, and the force of the impact split the spear clean in half.
Lan felt the crack reverberate through her body, as if all the residue trapped in the stick had suddenly been released at its breaking. Fear from seeing the other two in danger willed her to focus. She had to help!
Sudden energy rushed to Lan’s hands.
Her magic hadn’t left her! She wasn’t helpless! And they would not go out as some creature’s midnight snack. Lan stopped struggling and reached out her palms. She felt no colorful bubbles, but something like sludge seeped between her fingers.
Come on, trees. Come on, wind.
But she was too late. Lan gasped as the heart-eater lunged at her face and grabbed her from the waist, raising her a foot off the ground. With a growl, it lifted her chin with a long claw. Her energy evaporated.
“A witch,” it said with mild interest. “A poor one.”
Lan smelled a sickening sweetness on its breath. The claw pierced her chin, drawing blood. She bit back a sob at the sting. Think! What could she use?
“My trees won’t respond to a weakling like you,” the heart-eater continued. “They know to obey my power and mine alone.”
Lan strained to see past the heart-eater just as vines shot for Annabelle’s ankle and wound up her leg. Annabelle dropped to the ground with a cry. Lan’s brain sped through a million wild possibilities in a second as she watched...and her eyes landed on the leather bag, tossed open at Annabelle’s feet. Her snowflake pajamas spilled over the forest floor.
In an instant, Lan’s head cleared with blinding determination. If the forces in the grove wouldn’t listen to her spells, then Lan would make her own.
Let it Snow
Reaching beneath the heart-eater’s crushing grip on her side, Lan thrust out her right hand and forced her mind to zoom in on her no-longer-white pajamas. She was too far to see individual snowflakes, but she knew that outfit inside out. She’d worn it since they’d landed in Canada. At the same time, she pictured the rush of Toronto snow, coming down hard and fast in early January. It was her least favorite time of year, and she tried to channel the distaste into her spell, promising to the universe, If this works, I’ll never complain about winter again.
A whooshing sound rose, filling the grove. Before the heart-eater could turn, a giant snowball sped through the air and hit it squarely on the back of the head, knocking it to the ground. Lan dropped from its grasp and scrambled out of reach. She stared.
Like in a holiday postcard picture, snow was coming down all around, heavier by the second. It fell not as fluffy white flakes, but rather as the muddy pebbled-filled slush that coated Toronto streets for four months in winter. Already, Lan was soaked and streaked with grime, struggling to make sense of the chaos she had unleashed. Marlow and Annabelle seemed bewildered, their eyes wide with fear at the strange storm. They had cut themselves free with Annabelle’s blade. The silver-bark trees had paused without the heart-eater’s magic guiding them, but the creature was getting to its feet.
Instinctively, Lan spun both arms and sent a wave of slush barreling toward it. She focused her energy on where the heart-eater was lurching against the onslaught. The storm responded, but it tugged against her grip like a wild animal breaking free.
All around, the grove bowed in defeat. The heart-eater stumbled. Hunched over, it turned from Lan, slipping in the mud and wind to get away. Her muscles strained. The snowfall slowed—then abruptly, it died. Lan was shaking. She did not even feel the cold. The creature got to its feet and bounded toward where the trees were opening to create an escape path, as if in surrender. She dropped her guard a moment too soon—
The tendrils around Marlow’s and Annabelle’s feet lashed out lightning-fast like a life-and-death game of jump rope. The roots swept them off balance, and they tumbled. With a crack, the side of Annabelle’s head hit a dead branch so hard that Lan was sick. Marlow had tucked his head in his arms, rolling safely, but he came up too late. The heart-eater swerved and made a swipe for Annabelle, lying still. Marlow scrambled for Annabelle’s fallen blade and launched himself in front of her.
Lan hardly heard the panicked cries coming from her own mouth. She sent flurries flying into the heart-eater’s face, but it moved with razor-sharp efficiency: claws cut through Marlow’s side, and he collapsed on his knees. Red blossomed on his white shirt. The creature swept him up in a flash and ran. The trees parted.
Abandoning all magic, Lan raced after them, willing her legs to speed up, but she was losing ground. She might’ve been a skilled sprinter at home, but there was no way her short limbs could catch those loping strides. At best, Annabelle was passed out, and in seconds, Marlow would be gone—
Suddenly an arrow whistled past, narrowly missing her head. Lan gasped and stared as it hit the beast right between the shoulder blades. It howled and dropped Marlow, disappearing empty-handed into the woods at last. Had Annabelle gotten up somehow? Lan’s body felt like pudding. She staggered to Marlow, fell beside him, but she had no idea how to stop so much blood at once.
Crackling footsteps made Lan start. What more could happen now?
“You’re safe, little witch,” said a voice so close to her that Lan fell over in shock.
As if from nowhere, a woman with a round face knelt by Lan’s side. She wore a short-sleeved leather top, tight pants, and a forest green cloak. Her skin was dark brown and rough like tree bark. Her eyes, gentle and black, twinkled in the strands of starlight. Braided vines bearing small red flowers sprouted from her head, straight from her scalp, as though she’d emerged from the foliage itself. An elf, thought Lan, except her ears were not pointed. Magic hummed around her body. She had a crossbow in hand, which she set on the ground, nudging Lan aside and moving closer to Marlow. Lan realized she must have fired the shot that saved him.
Smoothly, the woman cut through Marlow’s shirt with a knife pulled from her boot and bound the fabric tightly around his side. She unfastened her cloak and wrapped it around him. Then, she stood. Though not much taller than Lan’s mother, the lady steadily lifted Marlow in both arms, as if he were a toddler rather than a tall fourteen-year-old boy. Lan watched with her mouth open.
“Annabelle...” Lan managed to say. She looked at the grove, obscured by trees.
“I’m Phoenix,” said the lady. “My brothers are with your friend. Can you walk?”
Lan nodded and got to her feet. Phoenix gestured to follow. Her head spinning, Lan trailed after her to the clearing and drew a sharp breath at the scene that awaited her.
The Riders
For a moment, Lan was convinced she was dreaming. Were Phoenix’s brothers horses? Riders? Centaurs? Even after the magic she had witnessed in Silva, the sight of them stunned her. With racehorse bodies and human heads and torsos, two centaurs bent over Annabelle. They looked up at Lan and the woman, Phoenix, who was carrying Marlow. The smaller centaur spoke in a strange language. Phoenix picked up her pace, set Marlow gently on the earth, and examined Annabelle. The second centaur, older and broader than his companion, walked toward Lan. She froze.
A few feet away, he stood and stared at her for several seconds in silence. A palm-sized star-shaped scar marked the center of his chest. Lan focused her gaze on his dirt-streaked face, his matted brown shoulder-length hair pulled back, and his dark eyes. They made her feel self-conscious, like he was waiting for her to make the first move. What did one even say to a centaur? Lan gulped and took a step forward to show she was not afraid but tripped over a root. The centaur caught her with his right hand, supporting her frail body.
“Steady,” he said. She was surprised by how smooth his voice was and staggered to get her footing. “You’ll want to get on.”
He straightened, taller than she’d realized, and turned so that she faced his side. He held out a hand.
“Who are you?” said Lan.
“You may call me Ruse.”
“I’ve never—” Lan began, but stopped. Her voice, broken from crying herself hoarse for the past hour, sounded foreign. She’d wanted to say that she’d never ridden a horse but thought it might sound impolite. She cleared her throat.
The centaur seemed to understand. He beckoned his companion over.
“This is Zephyr,” said Ruse. “He’ll help you up. You’re safe now.”
Tentatively, Lan nodded and took Zephyr’s hand. He lifted her. Lan swung her leg over Ruse’s back, landing clumsily with a grunt. She could barely stay upright.
“Hold on,” said Ruse. He turned and walked to Phoenix, kneeling on the ground.
Her expression was guarded. When Ruse stopped beside her, she lifted Annabelle, bundled in her blue cloak, and positioned her in front of Lan on the centaur’s back.
“Will they make it?” asked Lan, fearing the response.
“They’re alive,” Phoenix answered but said no more. She waited until Annabelle was safe in Lan’s arms before letting go. “You’ll have to hold her carefully. My sister, Kestrel, will be able to help back in our camp.”
Lan nodded. She cradled Annabelle’s head against her shoulder, making sure she was stable. She felt so small, her eyes closed and her face scratched. Both of her wrists showed red welts from where the branches had grabbed at her. Her shirt was torn at the hem, a long scrape visible underneath. It was hard to picture her in action now, with her brown eyes flashing and strength clear from a distance. A sizable bruise had risen on the right side of her head. Lan pressed her cheek against it, trembling, her tears wet on both their faces.
Phoenix leaped easily onto Zephyr’s back. She supported Marlow, slumped in front of her. Lan noticed that the trees had receded, no longer pressed together to form a wall. The magic that controlled them had disappeared with the beast. The path that she, Marlow, and Annabelle had come through earlier the previous day—what now seemed like ages ago—lay visible once more.
They moved, Zephyr with Phoenix and Marlow in front and Ruse steps behind. Zephyr sped to a gallop, rounded a bend, and disappeared from view, but Ruse did not pick up his pace. Lan did not look back at the grove.
She was still wrapped in Marlow’s black cloak, the smell of dandelions steadying, but Lan could not stop shivering. Her senses were coming back to her, and the first thing she felt was pain. Her arms screamed with the strain of holding Annabelle, but she did not let them falter. She felt her wrists, her ankles, and her waist throb where the trees had held her. Her side was definitely bruised. She was damp all over.
It was pitch-black in the forest. Lan stopped trying to make out her surroundings. Everything around her felt blurred, including time itself. She could not even say how long they rode for. There were stretches when it felt as if she had been on Ruse’s back for days being lulled to sleep, and moments when she jerked awake, the panic rising in her chest and the need to get to Marlow overwhelming. His face had looked so pale, wrapped in Phoenix’s dark green hood. When she couldn’t bear it any longer, Lan leaned forward to ask if they could speed up. Then she saw the flickering orange of a fire on a slope ahead. In the same moment, she suddenly noticed that the air around her grew heavy, not unlike Hà Nội’s spring heat. That was odd, Lan thought. Sweat beaded on her forehead.
“Where are we going?” asked Lan. “Is Marlow there?”
“Your friend is being looked after as we speak,” said Ruse. He trotted up the slope, and Lan leaned forward, clutching Annabelle and struggling to keep her balance.
They crested the hill and came upon a circular campsite. Lan gasped, uncertain if she was, indeed, still in Silva. It was like nothing she’d imagined. Two trees bowed with red flowers dominated the far side of the sandy clearing, much larger than the saplings around them. They looked like the trees that lined Hoàn Kiếm Lake in her hometown every spring. Lan wanted to rush over and look more closely, but she couldn’t move from Ruse’s back, her arms still wrapped around Annabelle.
In the center, a low fire blazed, the flames just tall enough to provide light. The scene reminded Lan of Sol’s earthy pods, as she had seen in the Cognitor’s vision. Yet, certain parts about the clearing felt familiar, reminiscent of her home in Việt Nam for reasons she could not understand.
A large bamboo-like structure with a slanted top stood at the far end. It had no walls, no floor, only a post in each of the four corners. Vines draped over the roof sealed the cracks in the rounded planks, creating a dry semi-curtained refuge, lined with furs along the soft ground. Zephyr and Phoenix stood, visible through the foliage, beside a second lady in a dress. Lan guessed the woman was Kestrel, Phoenix’s sister. She was big with strong arms, similar in height, with the same delicate red flowers for hair. The two women knelt on either side of Marlow, whispering. His eyes were closed and his body eerily still. His blond hair flickered in the firelight, the only sign of movement.
Ruse and Lan drew nearer. The figures rose. Ruse asked a question in the tongue Lan didn’t recognize and got an answer in the same language. The young centaur, Zephyr, approached and tilted his head in greeting. He waited. Unsure of what he was expecting, Lan did the same.
“May I?” he said to Lan. He held his arms toward Annabelle.
She nodded and gave a tiny sigh of relief as the weight lifted. Zephyr trotted to where the women sat with Marlow. He lay Annabelle down beside them.
“Can you dismount on your own?” Ruse asked Lan.
“Yes,” she said automatically, then paused and looked at the ground beneath her. It took a couple tries to slip ungracefully down and face her rescuer.
“Thanks for—saving us.”
The words felt inadequate. If the riders hadn’t appeared, all three of them would’ve been tree fertilizer.
“What do they call you?” asked Ruse.
“Lan. My friends are Marlow and Annabelle.”
“This is my home,” said Ruse. He opened his arms. “Zephyr and Phoenix, you’ve met. Kestrel is our healer.”
“Are Marlow and Annabelle gonna be okay?”
“Go on and see.”
Lan bit her lip. Her hesitation surprised her. They were just across the clearing, but she suddenly felt scared to step closer.
“You fear what you will find,” said Ruse, watching. “A warrior does not shy away from the truth.”
“But I’m not a warrior,” said Lan. “They might be, but I’m definitely not.”
“And what makes you so sure of that?”
“I can’t do what they can,” said Lan. She met Ruse’s steady eyes. “I can’t fight. The one thing I managed with my magic I couldn’t even control properly. It’s not fair I’m the one who made it out unhurt.”
“I’m not convinced you did, Lan. Look at yourself.”
Lan looked down at her hands and clothes. Red welts lined her wrists, so deep that the scrapes had drawn blood. The ring around her waist where the largest branch had held her felt chafed, her shirt crumpled and torn at the side. For some reason, her sandaled feet were covered in bruises and scratches. Her head throbbed, looking at them.
“It doesn’t serve to ascribe blame after a fight,” said Ruse. He gestured toward the others. “You, too, need to rest.”
