He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. Her words were full of practical, direct concern. Their abruptness seemed to pull him out of a dream. Yes. He had to go. They had almost died just trying to escape. What hope did he have of sneaking back to the castle, getting to the Hall of Gifts, and then escaping from the forest? He could not even explain to Releana what he would be doing. He would have to take his father with him …
No. No. There was no way.
Releana tugged his arm again.
"What is it?"
Just everything, he thought. Just everything.
"Not everything," the creature in his thoughts said. "The ork told you where to go next.
That kingdom. Throal.”
"Yes," thought J'role. "Throal."
"Exactly. He's probably still on his way. You can catch up to him."
"Yes. Yes. I can catch up."
Suddenly inspired, J'role went over to his father and took the man's hand. "The elves,"
Bevarden kept saying over and over, as if he'd lost a child. "The elves …"
The three of them pressed on in the darkness. Neither elves nor dogs nor any other creatures bothered them, but J'role saw the silhouettes of trees moving all during their seemingly endless trek through the night forest. Then Releana spotted spheres of light floating through the air, apparently looking for them. With each step, leaves and branches tugged at their clothes and scratched their flesh.
All J'role's wounds-from the spears, the roots in the pit, and the thorns of the elf queen-began to work deeper into his body. After a few hours he could barely stagger after Releana, who led Bevarden along in the night. He had no idea how long they had been traveling, though it seemed more than likely that they'd been wandering in circles.
He had a waking nightmare of stumbling once more into the clearing where stood the great, living elven castle. There the elves surrounded him once more and threw him back into the pit.
J'role's face soon began to feel prickly and he heard things he knew could not be real-
random words spoken by his mother, fragments of stories spoken by his father. But the words came so clearly that J’role thought he must be slipping in and out of the past, arriving in Blood Wood as if through some feverish nightmare-instead of the other way around.
"I'm sorry, " his mother said to him. "I'm so frightened. "She held him close…
…He was confused. The dark trees, the shadows on the ground…
A flash of metal …
Did Releana know where she was going?
"I want so much to see the elves," his father said.
No. His father had said. Right now, in Blood Wood, his father was crying softly.
"They're so beautiful That's what my father told me, and his father before him. And now I tell you. They live in thick forests, and there is no being fairer or kinder than they. They are strict, but generous.” His father looked away and up, as he so often did after J'role's mother had been killed. The elves were a replacement for her, giving him hope in a world without hope. "I may not live to see them. But perhaps you may, J'role. What a thing, son.
What a thing. What a thing to see the world."
There in the elven Blood Wood, J'role hastened his steps, caught up with his father and Releana. He took his father's hand in his. Squeezed it. His father squeezed back.
They had traveled some short distance away from the forest before J'role realized that they'd left it. The stars, forming an eternal bowl of countless silver flecks, caught his attention first. That was wrong, he thought. He must have dreamed stars.
T hen, he told himself, No, that's right. He looked up and around, saw the broad, barren expanse broken only by the mountains and hills in the distance. He could see and see and see. No trees towering overhead, no foliage blocking all sight.
He dropped to the ground and rubbed his hands in the dry, chalky dirt. Lovely. No life, no moisture. It was a land he understood. The forest, he thought, had tried to suck him into it; had tried to make him one more living thing among countless other living things.
Here, on the dead soil, there was no confusion. He was himself, no more and no less.
“Grim?” someone said. Who?
He looked up. Yes. Releana. She stared down at him. "Come. We've got to hide."
Yes. Hide. He had forgotten who he was hiding from, but it was good to hide.
Why did he answer to the name Grim? he thought, rising clumsily to his feet. His name was. . what? What was his name?
A voice in his head said, "I think she's nicknamed you Grim. You are Grim. It's a good name."
"Yes." J'role thought. "I am Grim."
"Do you want to know what happened, all those years ago? What happened in the kaer?
You've remembered more than I thought you ever would. You're so close….Do you want to know?"
A tremor passed through J'role, and he felt his chin shaking in fear. He continued to walk, following his father, who now staggered after Releana's lead. But his thoughts froze. Did he want to know what happened, all those years ago?
A blackness swarmed over him. No. No. No. He did not want to know. He was too close.
He'd remembered too much already, and all that he only wanted to forget.
His mother, holding him, "Shhh. Don't tell anyone…. You'll die if you …"
"No," he said to the voice in his head. "No, don't tell me."
The creature said nothing. Purred.
Soon they reached some rocks piled up on the barren plain. "Here," Releana said, and J'role obeyed by lying down on the ground. Now he could truly rest, for which he was immensely grateful.
He spread out, pressing his face to the cool, dry earth. Home again. Home is lifeless.
Home is safe. Home is where the heart is frozen.
18
She pulled him tight once more and he felt her body tense. There was no doubt in his mind what she was going to do with him. Do with the knife she held.
He did not struggle, did not pull away. She was his mother, and he wanted so much to make her happy. To finally cease causing her so much pain. Whatever he had to do.
Why did his voice makes her so sad? Why couldn't he speak to people? Something had happened, but he couldn't remember what.
Even in his dreams, your father's secrets within secrets remained deeply hidden.
The sky above, now full of rain-bloated clouds seemed to swirl slowly. His body shook and ached, and he thought it would be better to be dead.
"Then kill yourself," the creature in his thoughts; said wearily.
"Quiet," he told it.
Looking around, J'role saw his father staring up at the sky and saying in a flat, detached voice, "Rain. Rain. Rain."
Beside J'role was the spear he had taken from the thorn man during the fight in Blood Wood. He didn't remember keeping it, but apparently he'd never loosened his grip on the weapon.
Also lying on the ground was Releana, still asleep. It was the first time J'role had seen her in full light, albeit the light of a gray day. She wore an emerald green magician's robe, now smeared and nearly hidden under a layer of mud. The robe's pattern showed a person-a child, J'role thought-running. The running child raced for a lone tree standing in leafless silhouette against the green background.
J'role had never seen such a stark magician's robe before. It chilled him, though he did not know why.
Releana's long black hair was loose around her face, her features as plump as the rest of her. Compared to the sharp edges of the elf queen, Releana's soft curves were wonderfully appealing. He wanted to roll over and snuggle up against her.
But even that seemed like too much effort. Skin raw and muscles brittle, J'role could do no more man close his eyes and fall back to sleep.
Releana had built a fire. J'role drew as close as he dared, trying to warm his body, which felt chilled to the bone. Bevarden still stared up at the sky. "Rain," he muttered.
"Feeling any better?" Releana asked, sitting down beside J'role. She, too, was wounded, her legs covered with thick welts, and on her arm the strange black scar from the thorn man's spear.