Part 3 (2/2)

”He is dead now.”

The Woodsman touched his fingers to the tree once again, lightly tracing its surface as though hoping to find the telltale cracks of a doorway beneath his skin. ”As you say, there is no longer a door here. You were right to try to mark this tree, though, even if your methods were clumsy.”

He reached into the folds of his jacket and removed a small ball of rough twine. He unraveled it until he was satisfied that he had the correct length, then tied it around the trunk of the tree. From a small leather bag he produced a gray, sticky substance that he smeared on the twine. It didn't smell at all nice.

”It will keep the animals and birds from gnawing upon the rope,” explained the Woodsman. He picked up his ax. ”You'd better come with me,” he said. ”We'll decide what to do with you tomorrow, but for now we need to get you to safety.”

David didn't move. He could still smell blood and decay on the air, and now that he had seen the ax at close quarters, he thought he spotted drops of red along its length. There were red marks too on the man's clothing.

”Excuse me,” he said, as innocently as he could, ”but if you care for the woods, why do you need an ax?”

The Woodsman looked at David with what might almost have been amus.e.m.e.nt, as though he saw through the boy's efforts to conceal his concerns yet was impressed by his guile nonetheless.

”The ax isn't for the woods,” said the Woodsman. ”It's for the things that live live in the woods.” in the woods.”

He raised his head and sniffed the air. He pointed the ax in the direction of the headless corpse. ”You smelled it,” he said.

David nodded. ”I saw it too. Did you do it?”

”I did.”

”It looked like a man, but it wasn't.”

”No,” said the Woodsman. ”Not a man. We can talk about it later. You have nothing to fear from me, but there are other creatures that we both have reason to fear. Come now. Their time is near, and the heat and the smell of burning flesh will draw them to this place.”

David, realizing that he had no other choice, followed the Woodsman. He was cold, and his slippers were damp, so the Woodsman gave him his jacket to wear and raised David up onto his back. It had been a long time since someone had carried David upon his back. He was too heavy for his father now, but the Woodsman did not appear troubled by the burden. They pa.s.sed through the forest, the trees seeming to stretch endlessly before them. David tried to take in the new sights, but the Woodsman moved quickly and it was all David could do to hang on. Above their heads, the clouds briefly parted, and the moon was revealed. It was very red, like a great hole in the skin of the night. The Woodsman picked up the pace, his long steps eating up the forest floor.

”We must hurry,” he said. ”They'll be coming soon.”

And as he spoke, a great howling arose from the north, and the Woodsman began to run.

VIII.

Of Wolves, and Worse-Than-Wolves

THE FOREST Pa.s.sED in a blur of gray and brown and fading winter green. Briars tore at the Woodsman's jacket and the trousers of David's pajamas, and on more than one occasion David had to duck down to prevent his face from being raked by high bushes. The howling had ceased, but the Woodsman had not slowed his pace, not for a moment. Neither did he speak, so David too stayed silent. He was frightened, though. He tried to look back over his shoulder once, but the effort almost caused him to lose his balance and he did not try again.

They were still in the depths of the forest when the Woodsman stopped and seemed to be listening. David almost asked him what was wrong but then thought better of it and remained quiet, trying to hear what it was that had caused the Woodsman to pause. He felt a p.r.i.c.kling sensation at his neck as his hairs stood on end, and he was certain that they were being watched. Then, faintly, he heard a brus.h.i.+ng of leaves to his right, and a snapping of twigs to his left. There was movement behind them, as though presences in the undergrowth were trying to close in on them as softly as possible.

”Hold on tight,” said the Woodsman. ”Almost there.”

He sprinted to his right, leaving the easy ground and breaking through a thicket of ferns, and instantly David heard the woods erupt into noise behind them as the pursuit recommenced in earnest. A cut opened upon his hand, dripping blood onto the ground, and a large hole was ripped in his pajamas from the knee to the ankle. He lost a slipper, and the night air bit at his bare toes. His fingers ached with the cold and the effort of holding on tightly to the Woodsman, but he did not release his grip. They pa.s.sed through another patch of bushes, and now they were on a rough trail that wound its way down a slope toward what looked like a garden beyond. David glanced behind him and thought he saw two pale orbs gleaming in the moonlight, and a patch of thick, gray fur.

”Don't look back,” said the Woodsman. ”Whatever you do, don't look back.”

David faced forward again. He was terrified, and was now very sorry that he had followed the voice of his mother into this place. He was just a boy wearing pajamas, one slipper, and an old blue dressing gown under a stranger's jacket, and he did not belong anywhere but in his own bedroom.

Now the trees were thinning, and David and the Woodsman emerged into a patch of lovingly tended land, sown with row upon row of vegetables. Before them stood the strangest cottage that David had ever seen, surrounded by a low wooden fence. The dwelling was built of logs hewn from the forest, with a door at the center, a window on either side, and a sloping roof with a stone chimney stack at one end, but that was where any resemblance to a normal cottage ended. Its silhouette against the night sky was like that of a hedgehog, for it was covered in spikes of wood and metal, where sharpened sticks and rods of iron had been inserted between, or through, the logs. As they drew closer, David could also make out pieces of gla.s.s and sharp stone in the walls and even on the roof, so that it shone in the moonlight as though sprinkled with diamonds. The windows were heavily barred, and great nails had been driven through the door from the inside, so that to fall heavily against it would be to risk instant impalement. This was not a cottage: this was a fortress.

They pa.s.sed through the fence and were approaching the safety of the house when a form appeared from behind its walls and advanced toward them. It resembled a large wolf in shape, except that it wore an ornate s.h.i.+rt of white and gold on its upper body and bright red breeches on its lower half. And then, as David watched, it rose on its hind legs and stood like a man, and it became clear that this was more than an animal, for its ears were roughly human in shape, although tufted with points of hair at the tips, and its muzzle was shorter than a wolf's. Its lips were drawn back from its fangs, and it growled at them in warning, but it was in its eyes that the struggle between wolf and man was clearest. These were not the eyes of an animal. They were cunning but also self-aware, and they were filled with hunger and desire.

Other similar creatures were now emerging from the forest, some wearing clothing, mostly tattered jackets and torn trousers, and they too rose up and stood on their hind legs, but there were many more who were just like ordinary wolves. They were smaller and stayed on all fours, and looked savage and unthinking to David. It was the ones who bore traces of men upon them that frightened David the most.

The Woodsman lowered David to the ground. ”Stay close to me,” he said. ”If anything happens, run for the cottage.”

He patted David on the lower back, and David felt something fall into the pocket of the jacket. As discreetly as he could, he allowed his hand to drift toward the pocket, trying to pretend it was the cold that made him seek its comfort. He put his hand inside and felt the shape of a large iron key. David closed his fist upon it and held it as though his very life depended on it, which, he was starting to realize, might very well have been the case.

The wolf-man by the house regarded David intently, and so terrifying was his gaze that David was forced to look to the ground, to the back of the Woodsman's neck, anywhere but into those eyes that were both familiar and alien. The wolf-man touched a long claw to one of the spikes on the cottage's walls, as though testing its power to harm, and then it spoke. Its voice was deep and low, and filled with spittle and growls, but David could clearly understand every word that it said.

”I see you have been busy, Woodsman,” it said. ”You have been fortifying your lair.”

”The woods are changing,” the Woodsman replied. ”There are strange creatures abroad.”

He s.h.i.+fted the ax in his hands in order to improve his grip upon it. If the wolf-man noticed the implicit threat, he did not show it. Instead he merely growled in agreement, as if he and the Woodsman were neighbors whose paths had crossed unexpectedly while walking in the woods.

”The whole land is changing,” said the wolf-man. ”The old king can no longer control his kingdom.”

”I am not wise enough to judge such matters,” said the Woodsman. ”I have never met the king, and he does not consult with me about the care of his realm.”

”Perhaps he should,” said the wolf-man. He seemed almost to smile, except there was no friendliness to it. ”After all, you treat these woods as though they were your own kingdom. You should not forget that there are others who would contest your right to rule them.”

”I treat all living creatures in this place with the respect they deserve, but it is in the order of things that man should rule over all.”

”Then perhaps it is time for a new order to rise,” said the wolf-man.

”And what order would that be?” asked the Woodsman. David could hear mockery in his tone. ”An order of wolves, of predators? The fact that you walk on hind legs doesn't make you a man, and the fact that you wear gold in your ear doesn't make you a king.”

”There are many kingdoms that might exist, and many kings,” said the wolf-man.

”You will not rule here,” said the Woodsman. ”If you try, I will kill you and all of your brothers and sisters.”

The wolf-man opened its jaws and snarled. David trembled, but the Woodsman did not move an inch.

”It seems that you have already begun. Was that your handiwork back in the forest?” asked the wolf-man, almost carelessly.

”These are my woods. My handiwork is all over them.”

”I am referring to the body of poor Ferdinand, my scout. He appears to have lost his head.”

”Was that his name? I never had a chance to ask. He was too intent upon tearing out my throat for us to engage in idle chitchat.”

The wolf-man licked his lips. ”He was hungry,” he said. ”We are all hungry.”

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