Hungry Heart - Book #3 - Ch. 9 (Patreon)

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Chapter Nine – Between Earth and Moon

Duril fought against the need to breathe. He had a feeling that if he did as little as try to inhale that wild wind, he would choke for sure. A sensation of dizziness wrapped itself around his head, and he groaned as he fell to the ground. The earth under his cheek was not cold, as he had expected, but warm, pulsing with life. No longer capable of resisting his body’s need of air, he opened his mouth and felt something entering it right away. He no longer had the power to thrash about and fight the sudden attack, but soon the burning sensation in his chest caused by lack of air began to fade away. His entire body was hiked up and dragged toward the wall of wood, throwing him against it.

He braced for his body to be crushed against the hard substance, but instead of that, he began sinking into the trunk of the old oak, becoming one with it.

And he began breathing freely as he was now pulled upward, dozens of little creatures moving through his blood, pushing him up, up, up.

Duril wanted to gasp when he found himself, or this thing he had turned into, at the crown of the old oak. That must be where he was because he could now look out over the forest, see everything from up there, suspended between earth and the moon above like a being that was no longer himself.

“What is happening?” he asked, but his voice was no longer his, either.

“I never thought I’d live to see the day,” someone commented, and Duril realized that it was the same voice as his, but belonging to the old oak.

“What day?” he asked and looked down, expecting to feel faint. It didn’t happen. “I am… you?” he asked tentatively. “What happened?” Shearah’s wrath and wild wind felt like nothing but a breeze through his branches.

“The gift is strong in you. Stronger than in every other talker to the trees I’ve ever met,” Amarant said.

“Have you met many?” Duril asked, too baffled by what was going on.

“A few,” Amarant admitted. “I don’t travel much.”

Duril grunted instead of responding for the moment. “Is this the best time to throw in a joke, Amarant? One minute I was suffocating, dropping to the ground, and now… I’m an ancient tree?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Amarant warned him. “You’re just borrowing my old trunk for a little while.”

“That’s a relief to hear,” Duril admitted. “But what is going on? Where is Shearah?”

“She’s throwing a tantrum down below,” Amarant explained. “That’s not the most important thing right now. You caught us all in a conundrum, healer.”

“How did I do that?” Duril half-expected his real body to return and fall to the ground where he would be crushed and die. It wasn’t pleasant feeling that kind of expectation.

“I told you to kill me, and you didn’t listen,” Amarant said, but his voice wasn’t in the least reproachful. “The little Vrannes heard your plight and rushed to the rescue, which is the most astonishing thing I have seen in at least the last century.”

“The blink of an eye for someone like you,” Duril commented.

To his surprise, Amarant let out a guttural sound that could be taken as a laugh. “Indeed.”

“What are you saying, that the Vrannes did something?” he asked. Before his eyes if he still had those, the forest lay in perfect stillness. With the force of the wind caused by Shearah inside the body of the old oak, that seemed so odd that Duril couldn’t even dream of understanding it.

“Yes. Do you believe that each creature has a role on the face of the earth?” Amarant asked.

Duril doubted the moment was right for having such a highly philosophical conversation, but his experience with ancient beings and whatnot so far convinced him that it wasn’t his place to doubt that such things were needed. “Yes,” he replied without a moment of hesitation.

“And each of them has traits that make them powerful in their own right?”

“I think so.”

“The most powerful trait of the Vrannes is the will to live,” Amarant explained.

“They’re hardy creatures, you say. And I believe you, but I saw them fighting, and maybe their powers to kill and destroy are also great.”

“We shouldn’t talk about what was forcefully borrowed and set upon them,” Amarant said, a bit impatiently.

That was quite strange. An ancient creature being impatient. It made Duril want to laugh, or maybe it was the rarefied air up here that was making him lose his mind a little. He was still expecting to be pulled down from there and thrown to the ground like a useless thing.

“The Vrannes helped you become one with me, much to my surprise. Not that I didn’t know that it was possible, but a particular combination of circumstances had to happen for that to occur,” Amarant explained. “And yes, this sensation you are experiencing, of instability down inside your core, is justified. They’re young, and their power might not hold.”

“Do you mean that at any moment I might find myself thrown from up here and crashing down into the ground?” Duril asked, not in the least at ease after learning about the reality behind his temporary transformation.

“Yes.” It seemed that Amarant wasn’t the kind to sugarcoat the truth.

“Then let’s not dally,” Duril suggested. “What needs to be done now? Please, don’t tell me that I have to kill you. I’m still against it.”

“Now we have to wait,” Amarant replied promptly.

“Wait?” Duril asked, more and more bewildered by what was happening to him. “What for?”

“That I don’t know. It’s a new situation for me, as well.”

“I’m glad that you can be so calm. You’re not the one who has to worry about falling from the top of the oldest tree in the forest.”

“In the world,” Amarant corrected him.

“I believe I understand Toru well now,” Duril said with a sigh. “You wise, magical creatures can be so annoying at times.”

***

Toru ran forward and turned back. Because Varg and Claw were pulling the raft with the trees, after having loaded it with everyone, he had been left with nothing to do but run around uselessly. He tried to push from behind, but that was no help. The raft just shook, and a couple of trees fell from it, so he had to load them back on again. Varg and Claw weren’t too happy with his impatience, either, so all that left him to do was going forward and coming back without a clear aim.

“Kitty, stop running around, you’re making me dizzy,” Varg said with a grunt.

“Why can’t I join you and pull the raft?” Toru asked.

“Because no one is left to tie you to it,” Claw explained. “And before you ask, there’s a reason why you’re not in puppy’s place or mine. You’re not a beast of burden.”

Toru puffed out his chest. “That I’m not,” he admitted. “But I need to help you.”

Claw grunted, just like Varg earlier. It couldn’t be easy to pull all that load after them, no matter how strong they were. “You can try talking to that witch on your shoulder and ask her how much longer until we reach the old oak.”

“Old witch,” Toru said magnanimously, “how long until we reach the old oak?”

“Not very long,” Shearah replied promptly. “You are so lucky you have the power of the moon on your side. Especially you, master wolf.”

Varg seemed less than happy at her words. “Are you trying to tell me that I’m no match for the flea bag beside me? When this adventure is all said and done, I’ll have a word with you, old witch.”

“Claw is part of this place. It’s enough for him to sink his feet in this old soil, and he’s tenfold more powerful than any bearshifter from any other place. But you, master wolf, your power comes from the moon above us. It is an astonishing thing, but yet it has happened.”

“What astonishing thing?” Toru questioned, wanting to understand what the witch kept yapping about. “Claw and Varg are both powerful.”

“They shouldn’t have been able to move their shapeshifter friends from their place like they’re doing now. Even if it is with great effort that they do it, it is still something that should have never been possible,” the old witch explained.

“Why not?” Toru asked.

“Because the wind spirit Shearah is a possessive mother. Ever since the change happened, she hasn’t allowed anyone to leave.”

“It’s not like they could move a lot, with them being trees and all that,” Toru observed for everyone with ears to hear and minds to understand.

“That’s only a part of it,” Shearah explained. “If anyone had wanted to follow Claw after hearing his plea, they wouldn’t have been able to do it. She would have started a wind so powerful that nothing would be able to move out of her grasp.”

“Good thing she doesn’t know what’s happening over here,” Toru said. “She might start her mighty wind, right?”

“You kept us listening to you and made our work easier,” Varg commented. “I can see the old oak in the distance.”

It was true. The crown of the old oak was unmistakable, even in the dark. It stood higher than any other tree in the forest. Toru rushed to it, impatient to talk to Duril who could have it worse than them, being trapped in there against his will. “Duril, Duril,” he shouted as he got closer.

He stopped in front of the old bark and turned into his human to touch it with his fingers. “Are you in there?” he asked anxiously and put his ear to the scratchy surface. A faint sound came from inside and he pressed his ear harder against the trunk. “Old witch,” he asked, “what is this?”

The bug buzzed around. “She must be awake!” she said in an excited voice. “If only I could talk to her--”

The witch’s words were cut short so abruptly that Toru wondered if she had suddenly lost her voice. But no, that wasn’t it. The tiny bug was still buzzing, but she seemed trapped in a swirl of wind made to her size. Even if Toru couldn’t feel the wind, he could see it in the small fragments of leaves and dirt caught in the spiral of disturbed air. He tried to reach for her, but it seemed like the wind was of a mind to pull the tiny witch away from him.

Toru was a bit upset at the witch for trying to convince them that they should kill Claw’s friends, but maybe she was just old and ditzy and that explained everything. If that was the case he should forgive her, which surely was something only someone wise would do, and with it came the need to save her from that nasty wind.

He jumped as high as he could, trying to catch the small body, but it looked like the wind was playing a game of push and pull because it only swirled higher and out of reach. Toru growled and looked intently to see where the wind was coming from. Whatever it came from, it stuck close to the old oak, which meant that it could be coming from inside. Determined not to lose, Toru turned into his tiger and sank his claws into the bark. His entire body tensed and he pushed himself upward, up the tree. From time to time, he stopped and used his paw to reach for the thin swirl of wind in which the tiny witch was now trapped.

What worried him more was that the witch was no longer buzzing and her bug body now looked inert, only moved in a circle by the power of wind.

Down below, Varg and Claw were shouting something at him, and when he looked, only then did he realize that he was now so high that the voices of his friends were no longer able to reach him clearly enough to have meaning.

One thing at a time, he decided and reached for Shearah again only for his paw to catch nothing but air. The wind pulled her higher, forcing him to do the same. It was like it was playing with him, this naughty wind, and that only made him want even more to overcome it and snatch the witch from its grasp.

So he climbed higher and higher, ignoring his friend’s pleas for now, completely intent on proving better than this strange wind. When he reached the crown, he had to stop. The old oak had most of his branches up here, and as dead as it looked to the world, it still seemed strong. It was harder to climb now, since the branches were more tightly woven together and squeezing himself through them was a challenge.

“Just you wait,” he said as he tried to keep up with the wind.

“Toru,” someone distinctly called for him.

He stopped. “Who’s calling?” he asked. He didn’t recognize the voice.

“It’s me, Duril,” the voice said.

“You don’t sound like Duril,” Toru argued. Then he reconsidered. He was wise now, so Duril could sound like someone else because they were inside a magical forest.

“That’s because I’m one with Amarant for now,” the voice explained.

“Who’s Amarant?” he questioned.

“This old oak,” the voice replied.

Yes, that was an explanation any wise person would accept, Toru decided. “Where are you?” he asked hurriedly. “Why can’t I see you?”

“I’m the oak, Toru,” Duril explained, but not all patronizing like how Varg was sometimes to annoy him.

Toru took a moment to embrace the branch right in front of him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said. “But you’re not going to remain an old oak, right?” he asked anxiously right away.

“I won’t, Amarant says. More importantly, I might not be able to be one with him for long,” Duril said. “And Toru, consider that I just hugged you back. I cannot move a limb.”

“And you have so many of them,” Toru remarked.

“I’m truly sorry,” Duril offered profusely. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

Toru felt all warm and happy inside. So he wasn’t the only one missing the other, and that was great. “There’s a naughty wind that just snatched the old witch from me,” he explained.

“That is Shearah, the wind spirit,” Duril said. “She must be, I think. Amarant tells me that only you can hear me, so here is what is happening.”

***

“What is kitty doing right now?” Claw asked.

Varg wished he had an answer for that. But Toru rarely did something without a reason, except maybe when he wanted to fool around, but this was certainly not one of those occasions. “I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “But he must have heard something. Maybe Duril, trapped as he still might be inside the body of this old oak, spoke to him.”

“We need all the help we can get. You were the one to come up with this idea, so now that we’re here, can you tell me what you think of all this?”

Varg was proud whenever Claw appreciated him, even if the bearshifter wasn’t effusive about it. “Your friends, they must have been turned into what we see them as now right here. Shearah, the wind spirit, is here, or so the other Shearah told us. She must know of a way to turn them back the way they were.”

“I don’t mean to argue against that,” Claw said, “but it appears that we have hit a wall for now.” He turned into his human and knocked against the bark.

“What are you doing?” Varg asked, but followed his example.

“It’s only polite to knock when you want to find out if someone is home,” Claw explained.

“And if no one answers?” Varg brought his ear near the bark and listened closely.

“Then maybe that’s the moment you decide to break down the door,” Claw said promptly.

Varg stopped and took a long look at his friend. Under the silver light of the moon, he looked not one tiny bit in the mood to joke. “Do you mean that we should tear open the belly of this old tree?” he asked, not quite believing that Claw was serious about such a thing.

“Just that,” Claw confirmed. “Soon, it will be dawn, and who knows if we are still going to be us?”

“Do you believe that the magic that makes the forest be born again with each morning will affect us?”

“There’s no way of telling. It’s not our first night here, but why risk it?”

Varg bumped his shoulder into his friend’s chest. “Come on, Claw, you can admit it to me. You don’t want to wait another day and night to try and save your friends, right? Your heart just cannot take it.”

“You caught me there, puppy,” Claw admitted. “Now,” he said, “are you ready to help me?” He shifted and slashed with his powerful claws through the bark, chipping away at the trunk underneath.

“Is this the best way?” Varg questioned.

“Do you happen to see an axe around here?”

Varg had to admit that his friend was right. “That’s true. But will the old oak forgive us for attacking him like this?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Whatever happens here, I want Beast and Willow and everyone else back. That wind spirit better come to her senses now.”

Varg couldn’t argue against such a thing. Just looking at the raft loaded with the unmoving bodies of so many of Claw’s friends, he understood. If it meant ripping his fangs and claws apart to save his own, he would do it, wouldn’t he? He sank his fangs into a lightly colored portion of the trunk revealed by Claw and bit out a good chunk only to pull it free and make a dent.

***

“So those little ugly trees turned you into this old oak?” Toru asked after Duril had given him a short explanation. Suddenly the trunk shook under him. He sank his claws as deeply as he could into the wood. “What’s going on?”

Duril remained silent for a moment, then he said in an alarmed voice, “It appears that our friends simply decided to reach inside this old body to save the shapeshifters of The Quiet Woods.”

“But how? By taking it down?”

“Amarant says that such a little thing wouldn’t make him fall but they might scare Shearah, the wind spirit, not the witch.”

“So let her be a little scared. Have you seen how she took the old witch away? She looked like she wasn’t even breathing. I don’t know that for sure,” Toru corrected himself, “but she wasn’t buzzing or saying annoying things anymore.”

“Hurry down and convince them to stop shaking the old oak, though,” Duril said hurriedly. “It might scare more than just the wind spirit.”

“Who else?”

“The young Vrannes,” Duril explained. “And now, as little as their minds allow them to think, they are striving to keep me up here for a purpose I have yet to figure out.”

Toru pondered for a moment. “If they shake the trunk too much, will that cause you to fall? But I can catch you,” he promised.

Just as he said that, a gust of wind blasted from above the crown of the old tree, and he lost his balance. What a thing to say, to promise that he would be the one to catch Duril, when it was him falling, scrabbling at the air with all his paws helplessly, while the moon above him grew smaller and smaller.

***

“No, Toru!” Duril exclaimed as he sensed more than watched Toru falling. “No!” he shouted again, and something inside him changed like a wave.

He was now moving downward fast, as dozens of ant-like creatures fretted under his skin or so it felt. Within the blink of an eye, he reached Toru and he wished with all his heart to catch him.

New branches sprang out of him, or Amarant’s body, making a cradle that broke Toru’s descent. Duril let out a breath and then he sensed his body stumbling forward, landing on soft grass. Right away, Toru crashed against his chest, knocking the air out of him. “Toru,” he barely whispered with a grunt.

A giant tongue licked his entire face in one go.

“What are you two doing down there?” Claw chided them from above.

Toru finally rolled away, allowing him to catch his breath. Duril felt his body, not quite believing that he was, once more, himself. Something moved in the pocket of his pants and he reached inside. He removed a Vranne sapling that quickly scurried away and hid inside his sleeve. As single-handed as he was, he couldn’t reach for it. “Hey,” he cooed, “you don’t have to be afraid.”

“What’s that?” Varg came closer, too. He helped Duril to his feet and then fished the Vranne sapling out of his sleeve. “Look at that,” he said with a frown on his face.

“Don’t hurt it,” Duril warned. “I believe this little thing and his siblings just helped Toru and I survive a very nasty fall.”

“Was it because we started digging into this old trunk?” Claw asked.

Duril took in his friends’ worried faces. “You gave us quite the shake, but it wasn’t you.” He tried to stare above, into the dark. “No, it was something much more powerful than the two of you.”

“Now, sweet Duril,” Varg teased him, “you know that I take such things to heart. Don’t you, Claw?”

The wolfshifter’s words died on his lips, however, as a gust of wind descended upon them and grabbed hold of their entire group.

***

Varg barely had time to finish what he meant to say as a joke before they were all picked up from the ground as if they weighed as little as a couple of twigs and thrown into the air. They were inside a spiral of sorts, a swirl of wind, and he had to stifle his need to gulp mouthfuls of air. He cupped his hands in front of his nose and mouth, creating enough space for him to breathe reasonably easily.

He could see his friends being thrown about in the same way as he was, but it looked like his gesture hadn’t been lost on them. They were all cupping their faces so that they could breathe, while exchanging bewildered glances between them.

It had to be the wind spirit. She was a mercurial being, that one, so Varg waited, his eyes fixing on a single point, the glint of the full moon in Claw’s right eye, so that he didn’t go all dizzy from spiraling about.

It appeared that they didn’t have to wait long. They were first lifted up toward the sky until they reached the highest of the branches in the old oak’s crown, and then they were pulled over an invisible threshold, only to suffer through the reverse motion.

Now they were falling instead of soaring, and Varg had to tense his entire body to the extreme to stop his belly from doing something funny. A loud groan was pushed out of him when he finally landed, the sounds he made echoed by similar grunts and yells of surprise and pain from his companions.

It took him a few moments to push himself up. The wind was gone, just like that, and looking up, he saw the starry sky and one slice of the moon, partially obscured by the old body of the oak that was keeping her from presenting fully to the ones below.

The old witch was right about his being fortunate for having the power of the moon by his side this fateful night. Somewhere deep within the crimson folds of his heart, he knew it to be true. This night, something of gigantic proportions would take place at The Quiet Woods, and he was all the better prepared.

“There are tiny creatures everywhere!” Toru said in wonder.

Varg, too, could feel something squirming about at his feet, but seeing how they had just landed there, it hadn’t been the first thing on his mind.

“They’re Vranne saplings,” Duril explained. “Please, try not to step on them.”

“They are the things the wind spirit used to infuse life into my brothers and sisters?” Claw asked.

They had stories to tell, and Duril, as well. The healer had been here, inside the old oak, for an entire day and half a night, and it appeared that he had learned some important things.

“She’s not bad,” Duril said in a slightly anxious voice. “She’s just… very young.”

“She killed the old witch!” Toru said stubbornly.

“Old witches don’t die so easily,” Varg reminded him.

“This one is tiny,” Toru replied in the same way. “Didn’t you see how this evil wind spirit grabbed her? And where is she now?”

***

Duril held the Vranne sapling that had snuck inside his sleeve earlier. “If only you could talk, little one,” he said in a compassionate voice.

If he listened closely, the sapling did let out some noises, but they could be interpreted as nothing but unintelligible coos. They were babies, he realized, and in a gesture of affection he brought the sapling close to his cheek. “Friends,” he said, “we are here to save both the forest and these saplings. We only have to make Shearah understand that she needs to help them grow.”

“I won’t do that!” The wind spirit’s petulant voice surprised them all.

“Who spoke?” Varg asked. “Is that you, wind spirit?”

“I’m the soul of this forest, and I will not let you take it away from me.” Blasts of wind pushed them until their backs were flush against the old trunk, making them gasp in their sudden need for air.

Duril held on to the sapling with all his might, bringing his hand to his chest to protect it. He could sense more of them climbing up his legs, most probably in search of a shelter. If he could, he would welcome them all, so he was happy when he realized that they were getting under his clothes, walking all over his body.

He couldn’t tell if the others were in the same situation as he was, because the wind was too powerful for him to even move as little as his head. But, as he stood there, pressed against Amarant’s old body, he could tell that there were sounds coming from somewhere behind him. Was the ancient being bent on doing something to save them? According to Amarant, he couldn’t do much, but stranger things had happened before. The sounds grew louder, and to Duril, they sounded like dozens of tiny claws and teeth digging into wood. Before he could think of the meaning of what he was hearing, he sensed the hard wall of wood behind him giving way, and suddenly, he sprawled on his back, outside Amarant, again capable of staring at the full moon above without any hindrance.

“What is going on?” he heard Toru yelling, and he struggled to turn his head to see what the young tiger was pointing at.

***

Varg felt all his hair standing on end at the pained growl that left Claw’s throat. He hurried after his friend as the bearshifter rushed to the bodies of his brothers and sisters.

Or what was left of them. The trees they had struggled to carry there, fighting with every muscle and sinew, were now nothing but empty trunks that, at a simple touch of Claw’s hand, began turning into dust.

The wailing that followed could make the earth and moon above cry along. Varg took Claw by the shoulders to pull him away, but the bearshifter howled again and shook him off, so powerfully that he was pushed two feet away and made to stumble. Toru caught him in time and straightened him.

Claw couldn’t be reasoned with, nor talked to. “They’re dead, they’re dead,” he repeated in a pained whisper, his large hands, those hands Varg knew to be so gentle and warm, filled with dust, squashing it like that alone would be enough to help put the life that had been taken back where it belonged.

Varg threw his head back and howled at the moon. He howled and howled, the sounds leaving his throat deadening even Claw’s pained growls, Duril’s soft pleas, and Toru’s anxious questions. He kept his eyes on the celestial body above, asking her for mercy and guidance.

He looked at it without blinking, his entire soul an arrow jutting out of him and aiming for the moon. And as his eyes became blurry and the moon began to change its shape, he realized that what he was seeing wasn’t some trick caused by his tears. Large wings, dark as the night, moved slowly, and they were growing bigger and bigger, as they flew near.

“Eagleshifters,” he murmured, knowing he was right because the moon was sending her messengers to them.

Toru seemed oblivious of their approaching visitors and appeared to be fighting an invisible enemy. “I don’t like you! You’re an evil wind spirit! You’re not kind! You’re bad! You’re a witch!”

The young tiger must have meant that last word as an insult, and its recipient must have known it, too, because another blast of wind coming seemingly out of nowhere knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling on his back.

Varg hurried to help him up. “Toru, I believe we’re getting help,” he said and gestured above.

Three large eagleshifters landed nearby, their heavy wings swishing softly as they folded. “Shearah,” one of them said in a hoarse, authoritative voice that brooked no contradiction, “we are here to take you home.”

TBC

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