Free Lord of the Forest by Dawn Thompson Page A

reached the top of the staircase in a little while, moving up through the open heart. The sides of the tree were lined with green channels in which liquid rose and fell, pulsing like great veins, splitting off into narrow tributaries.
    “How can the tree live if it is hollow?” she asked.
    “The inside walls are alive from the ground up. The smallest twig on the highest branch is nourished by those.” He pointed to the veins. “A huge bolt of lightning devoured the center years ago. It was meant for Gideon, the Lord of the Dark, but he dodged it. The tree survived.”
    There were occasional openings in the trunk—and she laughed when she saw Esau sitting in one. He cawed at them, looking hopeful.
    “May we bring him with us?”
    “Of course.” But he looked a little annoyed when the magpie fluttered to her shoulder and not his.
    They ascended and at last they reached the source of the mysterious breeze. A very strange being indeed rose to greet them. Presumably male and extremely old to all appearances. His skin seemed to be made of shaggy bark, and his eyes gleamed above the pouches and infinite wrinkles of his face.
    “Linnea, this is Quercus.”
    The being’s hand clasped hers. It was surprisingly warm—and barky. She could not think of a better word for it. He had large ears that resembled tree mushrooms, and in their crevices were long hairs, the bane of all old creatures, growing in wild profusion.
    “Welcome, Linnea. I saw you coming, Marius. You made enough noise to wake the dead.”
    “That is because we did not wish to be dead, Quercus. Thank you for taking your sweet time to open the door.”
    “No centaur could get up my winding stairs, my boy. No demons either. The spiral is calculated to make their heads spin and fall off.”
    “Really?” Marius said.
    “Yes, quite gruesome. But effective. Your head will stay on, though. Come along. I was waiting for you to change.”
    The tree was higher than Linnea had thought. Judging by the height of the stairs she’d climbed, anyway. One could probably see for miles from its top branches.
    As if the barky being had read her mind, he waved them over to a scrying pool mounted in a table of volcanic stone. “I saw you rushing here when you were in the woods. Sit down. You are clearly here for healing and I just happen to have the right herbs for poultices…”
    Quercus chattered away, seeming pleased to have visitors, making small talk with Marius. For his part, Marius avoided the subject of precisely why they were so scratched and banged up for the present.
    With Esau on her shoulder, adjusting his position with small steps every time she moved, Linnea sat at the edge of the scrying pool, marveling at its clarity.
    At the moment it showed a forest very like the one they’d dashed through. There was nothing unusual about the mirrored scene. Finches and other small birds flitted through the undergrowth and beams of sunlight shot radiant light through the greenery, picking out tall trunks.
    Yet, studying it a little longer, she felt a sense of menace. Linnea straightened up and looked about the room instead. The magpie on her shoulder flew off and settled on a heavy beam overhead to take another nap. Evidently he’d been here before and had his favorite spots.
    The upper chamber of Quercus’s dwelling was lined with shelves holding scrolls in cylindrical cases. One lay unrolled on a table, filled with beautiful drawings of medicinal plants.
    “The librarian at Alexandria sent me that,” he remarked. He was carrying two cups of tea on a tray and a corked bottle of something she assumed was stronger stuff. Marius could have it. She was suddenly afraid of the memories wine might set free. Her ordeal at the end had been only seconds long, but thinking of it made her shake.
    She picked up the tea and sipped at it, drawing her shredded gown around her body. The tree spirit took no notice of her near-nudity or of Marius’s complete nakedness. In his own