Captain Branfort touched Ivy's arm. "Do not be afraid. The wall is very thick. It has withstood the forest for over a thousand years. There is no way they can get beyond it."

Ivy's breathing was rapid; her heart raced in her breast. Only she was not frightened. Rather, a wonder had come over her, and an exhilaration. The soldier started back down the path after his compatriots. Captain Branfort and Colonel Daubrent followed.

All around now were shouts and cries of alarm. The horses were wild-eyed, having smelled the smoke, but there was no hope of getting the carriages any farther from the wall; as people fled from the Evengrove the road had become a snarl of traffic worse than the busiest day on Marble Street.

Instead, the driver freed the horses from the harnesses. He took the team from the four-in-hand, while Mr. Baydon grabbed the reins of the colonel's pair. They led the beasts away from the wall while Mrs. Baydon and Lady Crayford hurried after, along with the maid.

Ivy hesitated. Smoke billowed into the sky, and ash had begun to rain down like gray snow. Above the top of the wall, the trees still tossed to and fro. She was astonished by the violence and speed with which they moved. Even as she watched, she saw the first branches reach out and scrabble against the topmost stones, straining to reach past. first branches reach out and scrabble against the topmost stones, straining to reach past.

"Lady Quent, what are you doing?"

Only when she heard Mr. Baydon's shout did Ivy realize she had taken several steps down the path toward the wall. She nearly collided with a knot of people fleeing along the path.

One of them, a young man, flung up his hand to keep from colliding with her. His palm was marked with black lines, and she wondered if he had gotten too close to the fire. Indeed, the sleeves of his coat were scorched in several places; only the marks on his hand were too sharp to have been formed by smears of soot.

In an instant, the group was past her, and Ivy forgot all other thoughts as she saw three figures hurrying up the path.

"Mr. Rafferdy!" she cried out, running toward him.

Lord Eubrey and Lord Coulten were with him, and such was their pace that she had gone only a few steps before they were upon her.

"Mrs. Quent, are you well?" There was great concern in his eyes.

"I am!" she said, rather breathlessly. "I had feared you were still near the wall. I am so relieved you are away. It is..."

"It is a Rising," Lord Eubrey said, his expression more one of interest than dread.

In hurried words, Ivy explained how Captain Branfort and Colonel Daubrent had gone to aid the soldiers, and the others had gone with the horses away from the wall.

"Then let us join them," Lord Eubrey said, starting in that direction. Lord Coulten said nothing as he followed after, his face the color of whey.

"Come, Mrs. Quent, we must go."

Mr. Rafferdy took her arm. At that moment came the terrible sound of a man's screams. They both turned to see a dreadful sight: a soldier caught in a tangle of black branches, being lifted into the air.

How the branches had managed to reach so far down, Ivy did not know. Perhaps it was a place where, due to long years of weathering or some other damage, the wall was a little lower. Or perhaps the boughs of the trees were extending in length somehow. Whatever the reason, it was enough for the branches to just reach a soldier as he ran along the base of the wall, a bucket in hand.

"Do not look, Mrs. Quent!" Mr. Rafferdy cried. "Turn your head."

As he said this, he took her in his arms, and with one hand pressed her cheek against his coat to avert her eyes. However, he had not been so swift that she hadn't seen the soldier's limbs flop about like those of a doll shaken by a child, or how he was cast twenty feet back to the ground.

For a moment both she and Mr. Rafferdy were motionless, though she could hear the thudding of his heart in his chest. It felt different than when Mr. Quent held her close. Mr. Rafferdy's arms were perhaps not so powerful, but he was taller, and was able to easily enfold her in his embrace, so that she felt no less secure.

"Good G.o.d," Mr. Rafferdy said in a low voice. "I did not believe they could reach so far. I think the poor fellow is..."

He did not finish speaking, nor did he need to. She had no doubt that the unfortunate soldier had perished in the fall, if not before. How many others would share a similar fate before the fire could be put out?

A thought occurred to her, one that left her feeling giddy. The Old Trees were lashing out because they were fearful; she could hear it in their wordless voices. But what if they could be told that they had no reason to be afraid, that they were safe within the bounds of the wall? Was there not at least some possibility they might listen?

Only she had to get closer. She had to touch them.

"Mr. Rafferdy," she said, pushing herself away from his grasp. "I must get closer to the wall."

His expression was startled. And at first, she was not certain it was her words that had astonished him, but rather the fact of their embrace. However, after a moment it was clear her words had indeed impinged upon him. was her words that had astonished him, but rather the fact of their embrace. However, after a moment it was clear her words had indeed impinged upon him.

"You are in a state of shock, Mrs. Quent! It has made you morbid. You must come with me at once."

Beyond him, she could see soldiers running toward their fallen comrade, axes in their hands. This only convinced her further.

"No, Mr. Rafferdy. There is something I must do there, though I know you cannot possibly understand."

"No, I cannot understand!" he exclaimed. "You've just seen a man perish. Would you have yourself be the next?"

"No, I would try to ensure that no more come to harm."

"How is such a thing possible?"

"I do not know that it is possible! But there is some hope it may be if I can get to the wall." Then she shook her head, her thoughts racing. "Except it won't be enough to be close to the wall. I must find a way to get through through it. Yet how could that be done? Perhaps it is hopeless after all." it. Yet how could that be done? Perhaps it is hopeless after all."

His expression was startled anew. She laid a hand on his arm.

"What is it, Mr. Rafferdy? There is something you almost spoke just now. What was it? I beg that you tell me!"

He drew in a shuddering breath. "There is a door in the wall, one locked by magick. Eubrey had read of it, and Coulten discovered it."

"When?"

"Just a little while earlier."

"And you opened it with magick?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "At first I feared it was our own actions that disturbed the trees. Only it wasn't-it was the fire."

A thrill pa.s.sed through her, and she tightened her fingers around his arm. "You did not cause this, Mr. Rafferdy, but perhaps you can help to ease it if you take me to the door."

He shook his head and tried to recoil from her, but she would not release him from her grasp.

"How could I do such a thing?"

Ivy drew in a breath. There was so much to explain to him, only there was no time. The crowns of the trees continued to heave violently; the air was choked with smoke and ash. only there was no time. The crowns of the trees continued to heave violently; the air was choked with smoke and ash.

"Mr. Rafferdy," she said, keeping her voice low, and meeting his gaze with her own. "I know you recall our encounter with the magicians of my father's order at the house on Durrow Street. Yet there is something about that day you do not know-something that I did. You did not see due to the enchantment they placed upon you, but it is something you will witness now if you take me to the door, and then you will understand."

He stared at her, his expression one of horror. Yet there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes as well-she was certain of it.

"Please, Mr. Rafferdy! You know I would not ask you such a thing if it must not be done."

A shudder pa.s.sed through him, and he held a hand to his brow. "Your husband will have me hanged if he learns of this." Then a wan smile touched the corners of his lips. "Yet how can I argue with you, Mrs. Quent? You have ever been the sensible one, not I."

She squeezed his arm. "Thank you."

"This way, before I come to my senses," he said, and he led her down the path toward the Evengrove.

IVY CLUNG TO Mr. Rafferdy's arm as they cut across the open fields. Rather than take the path along the wall, their intention was to keep their distance from the Evengrove as long as possible to avoid both the trees and the soldiers who might question them.

"There," he said, pointing to the wall. "I can see the red stones from here."

Now that she knew to look for them, they were easy to see against the gray-green curtain of the wall: red stones arranged in the shape of a door. The wall was rea.s.suringly high at this point, and the trees above, while they swayed back and forth, were not moving nearly as violently as those to the south, closer to the smoke of the fire. This gave her some hope that to approach would not be exceedingly dangerous.

Yet she could not deny there was some peril in doing so. She recalled the rain-lashed evening when, as governess to Clarette and Chambley, she had followed the children to the old stand of Wyrdwood east of Heathcrest Hall. She would never forget the way the branches had reached down over the wall to bar their pa.s.sage.

Only they had raised back up when she commanded them to do so.

They slowed their pace as they approached the wall. Ivy looked around, fearing soldiers might see them and tell them to get back. However, they were beyond a bend in the wall now, and for all the smoke she could see little more than a furlong. No, it was not soldiers they need be concerned with.

"They move even though there is no wind," Mr. Rafferdy said as he gazed up at the trees, his brown eyes wide. "I knew it was possible, and I see it before me, yet still I can hardly believe it."

He was right; there was no wind. All the same, the sound was like that of a gale through the boughs of the trees. So deafening was the noise that Ivy was nearly overcome by it. They had felt the heat of fire; they had seen the bright flash of axes. The Old Trees had encountered these things before, they knew what they portended, and they would fight back.

She would fight back.... would fight back....

"Mrs. Quent!"

Ivy shook her head, and the air around her went from green to ash gray.

He was looking at her, a grimace on his face. "I say, you have an unusually forceful grip. Could you please...?"

Ivy s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back. There was a red weal around his wrist. He raised it and rubbed it with his other hand.

"Are you still certain you want to do this?"

She gave him a mute nod.

"Very well," he said, and he crossed the last distance to the wall.

He did not look up as he went, but instead kept his eyes upon the red stones of the door. The bravery of this act astonished Ivy. It was not that she had any reason to believe Mr. Rafferdy was It was not that she had any reason to believe Mr. Rafferdy was not not brave; indeed, he had shown great courage when they confronted the magicians at the house on Durrow Street. It was only that she wondered when in his life, prior to the events of last year, he had ever been required to display such a character. brave; indeed, he had shown great courage when they confronted the magicians at the house on Durrow Street. It was only that she wondered when in his life, prior to the events of last year, he had ever been required to display such a character.

With so fine an example to follow, Ivy could only do her best to summon her own bravery and approach the wall. Unlike Mr. Rafferdy, she kept her eyes on the trees.

You have no cause to fear us! she cast the thought outward. she cast the thought outward. We wish no harm to you! We wish no harm to you!

She had no idea if these unspoken words had any effect, but while the trees continued to toss about, and a few branches sc.r.a.ped the top of the wall, none reached downward.

By the time she reached Mr. Rafferdy, he was already speaking harsh, ancient words. As he did, a row of crimson runes flickered to life, like flames dancing across the surface of the stones.

Her dread was momentarily superseded by curiosity. For as long as she could remember, she had been fascinated by magick, and here was a spell being worked before her. She wondered what sort of enchantment it was, and how he had known what runes to speak. However, she kept these questions to herself lest she disturb him as he worked the spell.

He ran a finger below the runes, as if making a quick study of them. Then he began another spell-the one inscribed in the fiery runes, she presumed. This one was longer than the first and seemed more complicated. Lines creased his brow as he uttered the words, and some were of such strange sound and inflection that merely hearing them made Ivy's head start to throb.

Mr. Rafferdy spoke one last word with great force and struck the end of his cane against the red stones. A blue flash traveled from his hand down the length of the cane.

The stones vanished.

He turned around. The ring on his right hand still threw off blue sparks, and his eyes seemed to do the same. "There, it is open," he said, only then he shook his head. "Yet now that it is, how can I let you step through it?"

"You must, Mr. Rafferdy."

For a moment he gazed at her, then he sighed and stepped aside. Ivy approached the opening in the wall. Beyond was a rough stone pa.s.sage, and at the far end was a tangle of green and black.

"I will be directly behind you, Mrs. Quent."

"No, you must stay out here. I cannot be sure you will be safe if you go within."

His expression was one of shock. "Then it cannot be safe for you either! How will I reach you if something goes amiss?"

She looked up and met his gaze. "If something goes amiss, Mr. Rafferdy, then you must close the door as quickly as you can."

Before he could say anything more, she stepped into the pa.s.sage. It was cooler within, and quieter, for the stones m.u.f.fled some of the furor of the wood. The air was moist and thick with the scent of decaying leaves. She felt a faint wind moving through the pa.s.sage, first inward, then out, as if the Evengrove was breathing. She exhaled a breath herself, then proceeded down the pa.s.sage, trailing a hand along its rough sides to steady herself.

She would not have to enter the grove; at least she did not think so. There was a large tree just past the end of the pa.s.sage. All she had to do was get close enough to touch it.

The pa.s.sage was not long, and she quickly reached the end. Beyond, a dim green light found its way through a crooked labyrinth of branches and trunks. Leaves rained down from above, along with small twigs and acorns. She ignored these things and instead fixed her attention on the tree before her. It was an Old Ash, its trunk thick and speckled with moss. The tree was less than an arm's reach from the end of the pa.s.sage. She could remain within the protection of the stones and still touch it.

Yet what would she do when she did? Now that she had reached the end of the pa.s.sage, the sound of the trees was once again a roar in her ears. What if their voices were the greater, and drowned out her own?

Before she could consider this question, she noticed a glint of silver. Protruding from the trunk of the tree was a knife with a pearl handle. A horror came over Ivy at the sight. Quickly, she reached out and grasped the knife, trying to pull it from the tree, only it was stuck more firmly than she thought. Her second attempt wrenched it free, but she lost her balance in the act. The knife dropped from her hands to the ground as she flung her arms out to catch herself. She stumbled as her foot caught a snag- reached out and grasped the knife, trying to pull it from the tree, only it was stuck more firmly than she thought. Her second attempt wrenched it free, but she lost her balance in the act. The knife dropped from her hands to the ground as she flung her arms out to catch herself. She stumbled as her foot caught a snag- -and her hands fell upon the trunk of the tree.

At once a green veil descended over her vision. Ivy tried to retreat into the mouth of the pa.s.sage, but her feet seemed to take root in the ground. She thought she heard a shouting behind her, but any words it carried were swept away by the furious chorus that filled her ears. The voices spoke in no human language, yet all the same she understood them.

Pain-there had been pain. Only now the cold, sharp p.r.i.c.k of metal was gone. Yet there was danger still. Flame and bright metal-they were close by. Ivy rose upward, stretching toward the sky, straining to see where they were. Men-it was men who had done this. It was always men who came, who cut and burned and destroyed.

And men would suffer for what they had done....

An awful sort of delight came over Ivy. Her face grew tight, and she perceived that she was smiling.

Yes, I can tell you where the men are, Ivy thought. I can tell you from which direction they come. And there is something more-a gap has been made in the wall that has long imprisoned you I can tell you from which direction they come. And there is something more-a gap has been made in the wall that has long imprisoned you.

She felt their interest, their desire to know more, and her smile grew broader.

I can show you where it- "No!" Ivy cried out.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hands back from the tree as her eyes flew open. The force of the sentiments that had come over her, and their suddenness, had nearly overpowered her. How easy it would have been to let herself be swept away, as if on a surging green sea. For a moment she had wanted nothing more than to tell the trees how to escape the bonds of the wall.

However, Mr. Quent had warned her of the danger the Wyrdwood posed to a witch. The first Mrs. Quent had perished because he had failed to do so, and he had not made that same error with Ivy. She had known she would be entranced by the trees, and she had guarded herself against it. he had failed to do so, and he had not made that same error with Ivy. She had known she would be entranced by the trees, and she had guarded herself against it.

Even so, she had nearly been overcome. Without the benefit of such knowledge, how could the first Mrs. Quent have ever hoped to resist the call of the remnant of old forest so near to Heathcrest? And how could Merriel Addysen have done anything but provoke the trees with her own agony and rage that day men, their will bent on awful acts, pursued her to the grove atop the hill north of the village of Cairnbridge?