Impossible. He could not have been walking more than an hour or two. Though the sun was in the west, now, it was still in his face. Somewhere, somehow, he’d been turned around. How long had he been walking the opposite direction? He looked behind him, as if some explanation would reveal itself in the wash of leaves.
In the subtle wind, they waved at him.
Warily, Sy turned back to Terrence. “We should return to your camp. Quickly, I think.”
Terrence scoffed. “Afraid of a few songbirds? Did you know some of them eat meat? I saw one, pecking at a deer carcass. Foul. I’d have shot it, but my rifle’s gone missing.” As he said this, he eyed the shotgun with obvious avarice. “Think your country cousin knows where it went?”
Sy still felt strongly as if something was watching him. “Your camp. Is it far?”
“Pace yourself,” he laughed. “I was on a mission before you interrupted me. There’s an apple tree, just this way.” He set off, sure as any huntsman.
Haltingly, Sy followed. “Didn’t you bring any food with you? Those wagons were stuffed with it.”
Terrence looked at him with pity. “Sylas, that will run out.”
Sy closed his eyes to keep from rolling them. “Of course, but we shouldn’t eat anything from the forest if we don’t know where it came from.”
“But I know where it came from. The tree.”
Sy pressed his fingers to his temple. If nothing else, Terrence was proof good looks and old money could accomplish miracles magic could only pretend at.
“What I mean,” he said carefully, “is there are dangers here we may not fully comprehend. We shouldn’t take foolish risks.”
“Is that more of your Lady Rustic’s spirit talk?” Terrence laughed derisively. “I’d say it was part of her fleece, but she seemed to believe it. She found out about your indenture and ran, didn’t she?”
“Not exactly,” Sy murmured, shifting the gun on his shoulder, and realizing its truth as he said it. She could have left him there at the table or taken his offered coin purse and run to another, guiltless. Why hadn’t she? She was crafty. Did she suspect he intended to keep more of the prize than he promised her? Had she suspected it all along? Another jagged piece.
Terrence was oblivious. “Claude and I have a bet, but since I’ve rescued you, you owe me. So tell me.” He leaned closer. “Does she scream?”
Sy stopped dead in his tracks. “Excuse me?”
“What else would you be paying her with?” He smirked. “Dirt in her hair. Girls like that like to be roughed up.” At Sy’s stony silence, he clarified. “Country girls. That’s what Claude says, though you know how he likes to talk. But country boys do too, in my experience. Just until they stop fighting back. It’s not their fault – fighting’s all they know. Anyway, does she scream? I say she does.”
“Do you know,” Sy said suddenly, “I’ve thought it over, and you’re right. Those apples are a chance too good to pass up.”
“I knew you’d see reason,” Terrence said brightly. “I always knew you were smart. Have to be, to come from your background.”
Sy smiled deferentially. “How magnanimous of you.”
Terrence accepted this as a deserved compliment, clapping Sy on the shoulder. “It’s alright; the right pair of legs will dim even the brightest mind. But those legs have walked off. They always do when they realize you’re not made of money.”
The apple tree that had excited Terrence’s interest was close, in a small clearing. It was bigger than any apple tree Sy had ever seen, though he had admittedly not seen many. Almost the size of an oak. It was far too tall to climb, but the ground around it was littered with fallen fruit, red as fat jewels. It was beautiful, like something from a children’s picture book. Even so, it gave Sy an uncanny impression, like something seeking. Gaping. Like the lurking quiet in the dark, but more solid. An absence made frighteningly present.
Almost like the sound he had heard – or not heard – earlier.
If the tree itself was strange, there was something deeply unsettling about the clearing. Massive roots broke through the otherwise barren dirt at the base of the tree, bereft of grass or vines or even moss. Nothing else grew. No birds sang; no insects chirped.
Terrence picked a handful of apples off the ground. With uneasiness creeping up his chest, Sy grabbed one, turned it over in his hands. It certainly looked like a normal apple; almost picture perfect, like it had been cut out of a still life. Perfectly red and shining, the skin unbruised despite the rough landing on the crooked roots.
The sound of flesh tearing turned his head. Terrence had bitten into one. White juice dripped down his chin. Sy watched him. He didn’t seem to suffer any ill effects and took another eager bite.
Still, remembering Anya’s warning, Sy set his apple back on the ground. He peered up into the tree. Though a slight breeze stirred his hair against his neck, the leaves remained perfectly still. As if crouching. Readying to pounce.
At his back, two figures emerged from the woods, carrying armfuls of dead branches. David and Bertrand.
“There you are. And Sy.” David stepped beside him and set the branches at his feet. He sounded relieved, but, registering the shotgun, his forehead wrinkled. “Where is your hunter?”
“We decided to part ways,” he lied, watching Terrence carefully. His eating had not slowed. Now, though, he clutched at his stomach as if pained.
