The Thickety: A Path Begins Page 3

  Master Blackwood left Kara’s desk and continued to the front of the classroom. She sighed with relief.

  “‘What signs should I look for?’ you ask.” He held out a hand and counted them off. “A child who is not satisfied with an honest day spent toiling in the fields. A child who wants more. A child who dreams. For when the heart desires something, what doors do we open? What demons do we invite to take up residence in our souls?” He paused here, his old lips quivering with excitement. “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Harris?”

  Benjamin Harris, a ten-year-old boy with ruddy cheeks and an overabundance of red hair, bolted upright in his seat.

  “Yes,” he said. “Of course. Sir.”

  Master Blackwood nodded, tapping the switch lightly against his open palm. “I’m so relieved to hear that. Come to the front of the room, please.”

  Benjamin looked to his schoolmates for help, but suddenly they were all busy studying their desktops. Kara felt bad for him. She wouldn’t have called Benjamin her friend, but he had never been cruel to her, never taken part in Grace’s games.

  At the front of the room now, Benjamin stared nervously at Master Blackwood.

  “Shadow Festival draws near.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you like the holiday, Benjamin?”

  The boy swallowed nervously, unsure what answer the teacher expected. He gave a hesitant nod.

  “That’s good,” said Master Blackwood. “I did as well, when I was your age. What would you say is your favorite part of the Shadow Festival?” Benjamin was about to answer, but Master Blackwood held up one hand. “Let me guess. Is it Widow Miller’s famous cider dumplings?”

  “Why, yes, sir. That’s right,” said Benjamin.

  “They are good, aren’t they?”

  Benjamin broke into a toothy grin. “I wait the whole year for ’em. My mother tries to make them, but it isn’t the same. She gets so mad when I tell her Widow Miller’s are better.”

  Master Blackwood laughed softly and draped one arm around his student. “Too bad we couldn’t have one right now.”

  “It’s funny you should say that! Just yesterday I was telling my friends that I—”

  Suddenly he stopped, covering his mouth with one hand.

  “Go on, Benjamin. Tell me what you told your friends.”

  “I’d rather not, sir.”

  “Why not? They had no problem telling me. Please, share your words with the class. Of course, if you’d rather tell Fen’de Stone himself, I’m sure a visit from our great leader could be arranged. . . .”

  “I said I wished I could eat a dumpling now,” Benjamin said.

  The room erupted into gasps and shocked whispers.

  “Quiet!” exclaimed Master Blackwood. “Now, Benjamin, should a Child of the Fold ever wish for something?”

  “No, sir.”

  “And why is that?”

  Benjamin’s lips began to tremble. He was fighting back tears, but it was a losing battle. “Because wishing can’t make something happen. It’s just another form of magic. And magic is the worst sin of all. Sir.”

  “Good, son. That’s good.” Master Blackwood raised the switch high into the air. “Now hold out your hands so we can get this done with. We’ve already used a lot of class time.”

  The rest of the morning continued without incident. Arithmetic. A history lesson about Timoth Clen’s first battle with the Cave Witches. Copying a passage from the Path onto their slates.

  Finally students were given a short period for lunch. Carefully avoiding eye contact, Kara weaved through the small groups of children seated together on the front grass. Her stomach growled at the smells of fried turnip cakes and cinnamon bread, but she fingered the gray in her pocket, and her spirits lifted. I have enough here to buy a small sweetmelon—past its prime, no doubt, but better than nothing at all. Won’t Father be surprised when I bring home his favorite—

  Something cold splattered against her back.

  Kara kept walking, ignoring the laughter behind her. She had learned that this was the best thing to do; any reaction at all would only encourage them. It’s just mud, easy enough to wash away. “Next time it’ll be a stone, Witch Girl!” someone shouted. “Just like your mother!” added another, but as the taunting began in earnest Kara slipped behind the schoolhouse, where no one would follow her.

  The trail was muddy and uneven, but Kara knew this particular hill well and quickly reached the summit. The wind had grown teeth since morning, and she hugged herself as she looked down upon the island. Neatly plotted farms colored the land brown and tan and green; beyond this the ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. Just below Kara, to the south, shops and small buildings slumbered after the morning rush. A lone wagon shuddered over a rocky patch of earth as it left the village.

  West, east, south. In these directions De’Noran seemed like the perfect sanctuary for the chosen followers of Timoth Clen.

  Kara looked north.

  There, even the sky was different, a sickly gray infected with sagging clouds. The dangerous weeds of the Fringe blanketed the northernmost edge of De’Noran, ending at mountainous trees that stood trunk to trunk like sentinels, concealing any view of the mysterious forest that covered nearly three-quarters of the island. It had many names, this place. Sometimes they called it the Dark Wood, or the Forest of Forbidden Gifts, or just Sordyr’s Realm. But mostly they called it the Thickety.

  “I was starting to wonder if you’d lost your way.”

  Kara smiled and hurried to a boulder perched precariously over the southern edge. Here, gazing out at the ocean, sat a boy. She sat down beside him, allowing her feet to dangle over nothingness.

  Lucas Walker was thirteen years old, with soft brown eyes and green-tinged hair. Unlike the boys at school, in their white shirts and neatly pressed black trousers, Lucas wore the plain brown frock of a Clearer. His fingernails were dyed green from his work, and Kara could smell the Fringe smoke that clung to his skin and clothes no matter how hard he scrubbed.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” Kara said.

  Lucas eyed the wet patch of mud on her back. He motioned for her to turn around so he could wipe it away as best he could.

  “What was old Blackwood rattling on about today?” Lucas asked. “Let me guess.” He sat up straight and spoke in a nasally voice that was a more than fair approximation of the old schoolmaster. “You can see witches everywhere, if you know what signs to look for. For instance, if a child has a birthday once, that’s fine, but if they have one every year? It’s magic, I tell you. Magic! Another sign to look for are children who walk with their feet! Or breathe through their noses! Oh yes—the dreaded nose-breathers! Those are the very worst of all!”

  Kara started to laugh, then clapped her hand over her mouth; such talk could get them in trouble with the graycloaks if they were overheard.

  Lucas wiped off the last of the mud. “Better?” he asked.

  Kara nodded.

  “It’s strange,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. “If they really thought I was a witch, you’d think they’d fear me. And if they feared me, you’d think they’d be . . .”

  “Less like rabid wolves?”

  She shrugged. “Different.”

  Lucas took a sip of his sludge-like tea, wincing slightly. All Clearers drank the tea daily to rid their systems of the noxious smoke they inhaled; it tasted terrible, but it kept them alive. “Thirsty?” Lucas asked, smiling. “It’s particularly awful today.” Kara stuck out her tongue. She had never been able to keep down a single sip, and Lucas enjoyed goading her about it.

  Suddenly his face grew serious.

  “The Fringe weeds are sprouting faster than I’ve ever seen,” he said, pushing back his hair. “Everyone is working fourteen-hour shifts, but it seems like we never catch up. And when we do . . . the Thickety still seems a tiny bit closer. We won’t be able to hold it off forever. The weeds are growing more dangerous too. You remember my friend Garren?”


  Kara nodded. The young Clearer had once offered to carry a bushel of hushfruit for her. She imagined she would remember him forever.

  “He stepped on a wisp of blue ivy—something none of us had ever seen before, even the old-timers—and it nearly burned through his entire shoe in seconds. We got it off just in time. Watched his boot sink into the earth and just keep falling, like it was kissed by Sordyr himself.”

  Kara paled, and a silence fell between them.

  “Sorry,” Lucas said.

  Unlike most Clearers, Lucas was not the superstitious sort and spoke the name of the Forest Demon as easily as his own. But in just their few short years together, Kara’s mother had imbued her with such a complete and all-consuming fear of Sordyr that it remained strong to this day.

  “I have had a most interesting morning,” Kara said. As she told him the particulars Lucas listened as he always did, with eyes fixed firmly on hers. If there was anyone who could help her understand what had happened, it was Lucas.

  “What I imagined the pigs doing to him—it was terrible,” she said. “I wanted to punish him.”

  “Good! I want to punish him too! He cheated you!”

  “But these are thoughts no one should have. Especially a Child of the Fold.”

  “They’re just thoughts,” Lucas said. He turned to face her. “You didn’t do anything wrong. No matter what they say, you’re not like her. You need to remember that.”

  As Kara looked up to meet his eyes she saw a black shape flutter to the back of Lucas’s shirt.

  “Don’t move,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Shh,” she said, rising to her feet and circling around him. “Talking is moving.”

  “No. Talking is telling me what’s going on.”

  She found the squit, no larger than a thimble, positioned between Lucas’s shoulder blades. Its mandibles were already extended and feeling for the best spot to begin.

  “It’s a squit,” Kara said.

  “I don’t know what that is. Is it bad? It sounds bad.”

  “They’re rare. Usually they come out only in the warmer months, unless they’re mating. Then—”

  “Does it bite?”

  “Not . . . exactly.”

  “That really wasn’t the answer I was hoping for.”

  A corkscrew tongue unfolded from the squit’s mouth and spun in a counterclockwise direction. It poked through the fabric of Lucas’s frock and began to burrow. Lucas tensed as a tiny pinpoint of blood rose to the surface of his skin.

  “Stay still,” Kara said. She was afraid that if she tried to grab the squit, she might accidentally scare it into burrowing even faster, so she laid her index finger flat against Lucas’s back. “Come here,” she said, and the squit retracted its tongue and slipped onto her finger. She cupped her hands around the tiny creature, and its wings thrummed with obvious pleasure.

  What does it mean, she thought, that something so deadly regards me with such affection?

  “You’re wrong,” she told Lucas, her voice no more than a whisper. “I’m just like her.”

  Kara uncupped her hands and released the squit. It flew north.

  The general store was packed with people. Kara held Taff’s hand tightly as they maneuvered their way through the other shoppers. She knew that crowds made Taff nervous, though he refused to admit it.

  “Maybe we should go home first and check with Father,” he suggested. “He might need the money for something we don’t know about.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” Kara said. Her brother didn’t know it, but she had been handling their dwindling finances for the past year. If she gave Father the gray, he would probably just lose it, though she didn’t want to tell Taff that. Despite everything that had happened, Taff still looked up to their father, and Kara wanted to preserve that feeling for as long as she could.

  Suddenly Taff dropped her hand and coughed deeply. A tall woman pondering a new bonnet spun around, shooting him a nasty look.

  “Keep your foulness away from me,” she said. The woman stormed off to the other side of the store, but not before Taff reached out and wiped a long strand of snot on the back of her dress.

  “Taff,” whispered Kara. “That was not kind.”

  “She wasn’t kind to me.”

  “Two broken boards do not . . .”

  “. . . a ladder make. Yes, sister. I know.”

  Kara allowed herself a small smile. “Still,” she said, “it is kind of fitting.”

  Taff returned her smile with his own. “How so?”

  “She was rather . . . snotty.”

  Taff howled with laughter, causing the other shoppers to turn in their direction. Kara knew it was never a good thing to draw attention to themselves, but Taff’s laughter was so bright and infectious that she didn’t care.

  But soon enough his laughter changed to coughing, and Kara could hear the wetness clearly now, creeping into his lungs. She would have to spend the money on medicine. Luckily she knew what they needed; it was a simple tonic that did not require a trip to Doctor Mather. They wouldn’t be able to afford the entire bottle with just a gray, but Tanner Stormfield, the shopkeeper, would allow her to pay for a single dose and give it to Taff right in the store. They had done it before.

  “No, Kara,” Taff said as they approached the aisle that held bandages, corked bottles, and various ointments. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not, Taff. You know what’ll happen—”

  “I don’t want to waste the seed!”

  “Your health is hardly a waste.”

  “Please, Kara,” he said. “Don’t spend it on me.”

  She bent down next to him.

  “Sometimes children are sick a lot when they’re young, but then they grow out of it later. That’s what’s going to happen with you, Taff. Right now things are hard, but when you’re older, you’re going to grow big and tall. And when that happens, I know you’re going to take care of us—both me and Father.”

  She ran a hand over his cheek.

  “But until that day, I get to take care of you. And you have to listen. Okay?”

  Taff gave one curt nod. He didn’t like it, but he trusted his sister more than anyone else in the world.

  “Do you really think I’m going to be tall?” he asked quietly.

  “As a Fenroot tree. Strong, too.”

  Their conversation, as it often did, turned into a playful game.

  “How strong?”

  “You’ll be able to toss entire bales of hay from here to the ocean. And knock down trees with your bare fist.”

  “Will I be able to juggle cows?”

  “Of course. But you won’t. Because that would be mean.”

  Taff giggled. He asked if he could meet her outside; the other kids swore there was a tree nearby with Sordyr’s face imprinted in its bark, and Taff wanted to see for himself. Kara had heard the same silly rumor when she was in the Younger School, but there was no reason to ruin his fun. She said she would meet him in a few minutes.

  Kara found what she was looking for beneath a box of taffy intended to soothe stomach pains. The medicine looked like it had been sitting on the shelf a long time. She didn’t think that would diminish its effectiveness, but she intended to ask the shopkeeper first.

  When Kara turned around, Grace was standing right behind her. She was smiling.

  Never a good sign.

  “Good afternoon, Kara,” Grace said, her voice sweetness itself. “So nice to see you.”

  There was no doubt that Grace was the most beautiful girl in the village. It was, however, an odd sort of beauty. Her eyes, the sharp blue of a freshly mined jewel, were emphasized by long, silky white hair gathered together in a pink ribbon. By all rights, Grace should have been forced to hide such unnatural hair beneath a hat or bonnet; physical anomalies of any sort—from cleft lips to the smallest birthmarks—were often viewed as a sign that a child had been “touched by magic” and should be watched carefully. This did not s
eem to apply to Grace. She wore her hair proudly, tying it neatly with a different-colored ribbon each day, and the villagers were moved by her “courage.”

  In their eyes she could do no wrong.

  Grace stood in the looming shadow of her constant companion, a giant of a boy named Simon Loder, his mouth hanging open in a permanent expression of bewilderment. At only sixteen Simon should have been tilling a field—with his size he could have done the work of three men. He might have even had his own farm one day; Simon came from good stock and had been, by all reports, an energetic and even intelligent little boy.

  All that ended when Simon was eight, on the night he entered the Thickety.

  No one had dared search for him, not even his own parents. The boy was given up for lost, taken by Sordyr. In a way, they were right. The child who returned two days later, stumbling into the village with blood-soaked clothes, was a different boy altogether, his mind broken beyond repair. Simon now spoke rarely, and when he did it was only to Grace.

  Kara felt bad for him, but he scared her too, the way his eyes shadowed Grace at all times. Others spoke of Grace’s charity, how she walked the Path by befriending such an unfortunate soul. But Kara knew it wasn’t kindness. Simon was a tool at Grace’s constant disposal, as dangerous as an ax—and for her, far easier to wield.

  “You weren’t in school,” Kara said, keeping her voice as dispassionate as possible. She did not feel like playing any of Grace’s games today.

  Grace leaned on her cane, carved from an ash tree felled by lightning. “My leg pained me this morning. I was unable to get out of bed.”