“I mean, well, your prediction sounded implausible at the time. But two of the nearby dahls have been attacked, and I think I should listen to what you have to say.”
“I told you, ma’am. I don’t know exactly, but the signs were clear.” Plucking bark off one of the logs, she tasted it. Then she spat and tossed the strip aside.
“What signs?”
“Near sunset on the first day of spring, I saw lightning in the northwest. The thunder startled a flock of crows that took flight, also in the northwest. The wind was blowing west to east, and a moment later, the sun was blocked out by dark clouds.”
“And what does that mean?”
Suri sighed. “Okay, listen. The sun is born in the east, so the east is good. West is bad. That’s where the sun goes to die. When signs happen in the west, those are bad omens. Lightning is a judgment of the gods, powerful and violent. Birds are extremely significant, often used as messengers of the gods, and since I saw a whole flock, it means a lot of people will suffer. Blocking out the sun…well, even you ought to understand that’s not a good turn of events. Any one of these signs would have been serious, but all three? Bad news. Very bad news.”
“But you can’t tell me exactly what will happen?”
“Unlike your word game, the gods aren’t so obvious, which makes their games a lot more interesting to play. I mean, if Elan came right out and said tomorrow you’ll take a walk and be ripped apart by badgers, you’d be terrified and wouldn’t go out, right? So she wouldn’t tell you that. She might drop some hints, but if you didn’t pick up on the clues or couldn’t figure them out…well, that’s really not her fault. Anyway, you go, walking into a horrible badger-ripping death because you didn’t know any better. That’s the way gods play their games and why I think we need to talk to the trees. So we aren’t all ripped apart by badgers.”
So very odd.
“Then we can change fate?”
The girl shrugged as her attention once again was drawn to the wolf and the woodpile.
“And how will the trees help?”
Suri let out a long sigh. “Minna, did you hear that? I’m starting to see what Tura meant about people living in the walls. Ma’am, haven’t you ever talked to a tree?”
Very, very odd.
“I can’t say I have. Do you speak to them?”
“Some,” the girl said, and then stuck her head into a gap between the logs as if testing her chance of crawling in. It was the wolf’s turn to watch with amusement.
“Some?”
“Not all trees like to talk,” Suri said, her voice muffled by the woodpile. “Beeches are famous for being unfriendly. They never say a word. Stubborn as can be. You can feel a sense of superiority with them.” She pulled her head out of the cordwood and delivered a sympathetic frown to the wolf, followed by a hopeless shrug. “Now, a locust, laurel, or holly…well…you can’t get them to shut up, but they don’t know anything. They just chatter. Silly gossip mostly. Willows are notorious for going on and on. And trust me, you don’t want to talk to them. Mind. Numbingly. Depressing.” Suri dragged out the words like heavy things.
Persephone gave her a skeptical look.
Seeing it, the girl added in a quiet voice, “Seriously, people have drowned themselves after spending too much time under a willow. Which makes you wonder about the gods’ motives for putting them near water as often as they do.”
She waited, but Persephone remained silent, so Suri continued. “Elms tend to be proud and snooty. Maples are vain. Look at my leaves, look at my leaves! Never talk to a maple in autumn. Unbearable. You can warn them all you want, you know? You remind them winter is coming and what that means, but they won’t listen. Maples have all the memory of a raindrop, which is weird for a tree, don’t you think? Now, evergreens, like spruce and cedar, they’re nice enough. Most of them are soft-spoken. A cedar on the west ridge knew right where the wind had blown my hat last summer. Every so often you’ll find a really sweet old pine. Dear Wogan, you can lose a few days curled up at their feet while sipping needle tea, which they’re quite proud of but honestly tastes pretty awful. They’ll prattle on about the good old days when the summers were sweeter and the rains wetter.”
“And if I wanted to know what the omens you saw meant?” Persephone asked. “If I needed advice about the intentions of gods? Which would I ask?”
“Oh, there’s only one tree worth talking to for that—Magda, the old oak.”
“Where is this oak?”
Suri hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “There’s a glen at the base of the high forest in the fingers of the mountain. She holds court there.”
“Holds court?”
“Oh, yes. Magda is highly revered by the other trees. Bushes and plants, too. They all keep a respectable distance and bow before her. It’s easy to see why. She’s…well…she’s Magda, oldest tree in the forest. And the Crescent is an old forest.”
Persephone stared out at the tree-thick hills, which rose well above the level of the dahl’s wall. The ridges rolled on, fold upon fold, each a different shade of green, drifting toward blue. The Crescent Forest hugged Dahl Rhen, providing precious gifts of wood and food, but remained a mysterious world fraught with terrors. Dense groves of old trees, caves, and rivers were known to be gateways to the spirit world, and the Crescent had all of them. Persephone had lain in the lodge on many a summer’s night listening to the frightening sounds entering the open window. Shrieks and cries, cracks and thumps that could have no mortal origin. The Crescent was a noisy neighbor you knew was up to no good. To live in Dahl Rhen was to dwell on the brink of a leafy abyss.
Persephone’s gaze followed the ridgeline to the south, where it rose sharply. “They say the bear that killed my husband and son lives on that mountain.”
Suri nodded, and her bright smile faded. Persephone was sad to see it go. Something about the girl’s cheerful enthusiasm, as odd as it was, made Persephone feel better—hopeful—as if Suri were spring itself, bubbling and budding with possibility. Now the girl appeared serious for the first time. The tattoos around her eyes and mouth added a grave authority, and for a moment Persephone felt a little frightened. “Grin the Brown makes her home in a cave on a cliff near the top of the tree line. Magda isn’t nearly so high, but Grin has a tendency to wander, and she has no respect for the old oak. Grin has no respect for anything.”
Persephone looked out at the forest. “I need to speak with her…to this tree. Can you take me?”
Suri no longer looked at Persephone; her eyes had shifted to a fluttering butterfly. Persephone waited while Suri watched it land on a sprig of clover. A bright smile filled her face once more.
“Did you hear me?” Persephone asked.
“Did I hear what, ma’am?” the girl replied.
“Can you take me to this old oak? So I can ask her some questions?”
“Do you see the butterfly?” Suri grinned with enthusiasm.
“Yes, I see it, but—”
“So stunning and delicate; it’s marvelous. No one can see a butterfly and not stop to admire it. I’d love to be one. To go to sleep and wake up a season later with such beautiful wings and the ability to flutter about. That’s the most wonderful sort of magic, don’t you think? To change, to grow, to fly. But…” She paused. “I wonder what the cost would be.” The smile diminished once more. “There’s always a cost when it comes to magic. I suspect there is a great price to go from lowly caterpillar to glorious butterfly.”