Raffi was astonished. “The way the power moves through your hands . . .” he murmured.
Galen almost flinched. Then he said, “I know.”
“I didn’t mean . . . I’m sorry . . .”
“Quiet!” The keeper turned on him fiercely. “That’s enough!”
Carys watched them. Then she turned and looked out at the circle of fog, a clear rim. And she saw, growing out of the sea, a forest of huge blackened trees, straight and bare, their branches high above, arching like tunnels over the green swell.
“What’s that!”
Galen glared at it savagely and didn’t answer. At her back, Arno murmured, “The drowned forest. The Forest of Karsh.”
She had heard of it. The great black trees rose like pillars, their roots deep underwater, and as they sailed close to one she saw the hardness of the wood, fossilized and ridged, like rock.
“Are they alive?” she whispered.
“They must be. I can feel them,” Raffi said. Then he winced, as if he’d been stung.
“What’s the matter?”
“Sense-lines. Something’s coming!” He spun around to Galen. “Behind us. A ship. Very close!”
“Watchpatrol!” The skipper turned and leaped up the steps to the upper deck, yelling frantic orders. A new sail plumped out. The ship shuddered and slewed.
“You’ll never outrun them,” Carys muttered. She stared back. “I can’t see anything.”
“They’re there.” Galen slammed the rail in fury; then he turned and yelled, “Into the trees! Take us into the trees!”
“Keeper, I can’t!” The skipper stared down at him, aghast. “No one sails in there! There are no soundings—no one has ever mapped all the shoals and currents, the channels . . . And God knows what lives in there!”
With a mutter of fury, Galen raced up the steps and caught him by the coat. “And what happens when the Watch sail out of the fog? Do you think they won’t know a weather-warding when they see it? Get in there before they see the name of your ship! Or do you want to be rammed out of the water!”
The man stared at him, white-faced. Then he twisted. “Hard aport! Get that topmast gallant down! Do it!”
Slowly, unwillingly, the ship turned; sliding toward the dark gap between the two nearest trees.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to bring the fog back?” Carys said uneasily.
Raffi shook his head. “Can’t. Not now. The spell will last for hours.”
“Then they’ll always be able to tell where we are.”
“If they come in after us.”
“Oh, they’ll come in,” she muttered.
The gap widened. As they entered it, a green dimness fell over their faces; high above them the stark branches stirred and they saw that dim leaves hung in strange clusters. In here it was dark, the only sounds the grunts of men furling the heavy sail and, looking behind them, Raffi saw the open sea beyond the entrance to their tunnel, the ship’s wake sending ripples and swell slapping and clooping against the black rigid columns of the trees.
And then, just where the mist ended out there, he glimpsed the prow of a ship breaking out into the sunshine, the great silver eye painted on its side staring at him over the green water, and he shuddered, as if something had seen right to the heart of him.
Then they turned among the trees, and the daylight was blocked.
“Did they see us?”
“Who knows,” Galen growled. “If they did, they’ll come.”
It was eerily silent, but for the wave-slap, the echoes. On each side of them the trees rose like black pillars in some gloomy, flooded hall; a forest waist-deep in dark water, stretching into dimness, stinking of decay, the crisp leaves rustling overhead. How strong they must be, Raffi thought, still growing as they had a thousand years ago, as if they’d never noticed the sea that drowned them.
The ship was deep inside now. The light was a green gloom; strange birds whistled. The branches over his head swished, as if some invisible creature leaped and followed. The skipper hung over the water, watching, afraid of a crash. The ship moved on mysterious currents, without any wind they could feel. Raffi saw how the crew clustered together, staring in fear into the depths of the still, drowned trees. Of the Watchship they could see nothing, and no daylight either. The deeper in they went, the darker the trees became.
Galen stirred. “How near are we to the coast?”
The skipper shook his head despairingly. “Who knows! Almost aground, maybe. The forest comes ashore south of Tasceron, according to the charts, but whether we can get the ship that close . . .”
“You’ll have to,” Galen said. He turned to Raffi. “Well?”
“They’re still coming. Maybe getting closer.”
“Right. Get below and get our things. You too, Carys, if you’re coming.”
“Of course I am!”
Below, in the cabin, jamming her journal deep into her bag she said, “What’s he going to do?”
“I daren’t think.” Raffi checked the relic bag gloomily.
Abruptly, the ship shuddered. The sudden jarring shock sent them both crashing; cups and plates and a lamp slid and smashed on top of them.
Carys picked herself up painfully. “She’s gone aground! Come on!”
On the deck, uproar had broken out. Men were running, yelling orders, the ship tilted at a bizarre angle, one side high out of the water. Scrambling up to the rail, Raffi clung there and saw that a huge splintered tree trunk was jammed under them; beyond it a tangle of roots, immense, a gloom of mudbanks.
“Here will do,” Galen said. He slung the pack on his shoulder and jammed his staff across it; then he climbed up onto the rail.
“We can’t just leave them!” Raffi yelled. “Not like this!”
Galen glared at him coldly. “They don’t need us. We’re just a danger for them. Do you want the Watch to find us on board?”
Poles were out; the sailors had them over the side and were heaving on them, the small ship shuddering and grinding.
“Now!” Galen said. “While we can.” He swung his legs over, steadied himself and jumped onto the black, slippery mass of wood, almost fell, then pulled himself quickly upright. Carys followed carefully, then Raffi, letting himself down by his arms. Just as he let go, the ship juddered free. Arno’s white face came to the rail. “Galen, there’s no need . . .”
“This is as far as we go.” Galen looked into the forest quickly. “Get away from here. Tell Lerin I’ll remember what she said.”
Arno nodded. “Good luck. Keep safe.” He leaned closer. “Give us your blessing, keeper.”
Galen spoke the words softly, his hand stretched out. For a moment they watched the ship drift away between the black trees. When he turned, the keeper’s voice was quiet. “The bravery of the faithful. Remember it, Raffi.”
The three of them had to crawl and slide along the huge trunk, the rounded surface slippery but wide as a track. Halfway to the jutting roots, Carys flattened herself. “Get down!”
Alarmed, Raffi jerked, grabbed, and slid hopelessly off into the water, trying not to splash. Chin-deep he hung on, scrabbling for a hold, finding to his astonishment that his feet touched bottom, sinking into deep mud. Small gnats whined about him; the water stank and he closed his lips tight not to swallow any.
The Watchboat came through the drowned forest in silence, a sleek, black-painted ship, sharp-prowed, her silver eye glinting in the green light. She moved quickly, drawn by the current; on board Raffi could see men in the rigging and on the decks, leaning out, looking anxiously down.
Still as leaf-shadow, they watched the enemy pass, the wake sending tiny waves to lap against Raffi’s lips. He turned away.
Finally, when she was gone, Galen sat up, his stare full of hate. “I hope they outrun her.” He leaned over and grabbed Raffi’s arm; tugging his feet free, Raffi gasped, “I can’t get up. Too slippery. I’ll wade.”