FOR THE BOYS FROM THE BASEMENT WHO INSPIRED ME SO LONG AGO: BRENNAN, JOHN, THE MICHAELS, BEN, AND BRENT
SEE THIS PAGE TO LEARN ABOUT THE TREE CODE USED IN THIS BOOK.
INSIDE A BRIGHTLY painted caravan, Balor stared into the cracking flames of a woodstove and wondered whether the rat had killed the woman. His long golden curls fell forward, almost covering his face. Around him silver cages were stacked among traps and elegant snares. He warmed his hands close to the flames. The night was cold and strangely silent, the only noise the hiss and pop of the burning logs. After leaving the Market, he had traveled deep into the surrounding woods. Here nothing would disturb him except the hoot of owls or the rustle of night predators hunting for food.
He reached into the pocket of his tapestry vest and withdrew a small cobalt-blue bottle. Unstopping the lid, he sprinkled a fine gray powder into the fire. The flames leapt higher. Yes, he could see things quite clearly now. The boy, Timothy James Maxwell, was home tending to his mother. Somehow she had survived. Timothy had found a cure for the toxin that had entered her system when she was bitten by the rat. Rat-bite fever wasn't usually fatal, but this had been no ordinary rat. It had been sent as a warning to Timothy and a reminder of the Dark's power. The Dark didn't like to have its warnings ignored.
Balor blew into the fire. The flames shivered. He had done everything he could to bind the boy to him. He'd appealed to Timothy's sense of pride by offering to make him his assistant Animal Tamer. He had sickened the boy's mother and imprisoned his sister, Sarah Marie. Now he would use their friend, the curly-haired Jessica Church, as bait. When Timothy returned, Balor would own him. But first the Travelers' Market must be destroyed.
He opened the caravan door and walked down the folding steps. The sharp air bit at his face. He would search Timothy out just as he hunted his exotic animals. He was the Animal Tamer; he would catch Timothy, the Filidh by birth, a keeper of memories and wisdom. Timothy would have no choice but to lead him to the map he needed to find the Stone of Destiny. Once he had the map and the stone, he would have no further use for Timothy and his companions. If he eliminated the boy and his sister, no one else would remain of the true line of Filidhean. He, Balor, would rule without contest! The old stories would be forgotten. He would establish his own truth, and that truth would become the memories of the people.
An animal mewled. One of the snow leopard cubs was restless, its cries only a minor distraction from his plan. The Light wouldn't easily give up the Market and its Filidh. A defeat at the Market would tip the balance of power. It would put other worlds at risk. If it came to a battle, he would need allies. The sound of murmuring voices made Balor pause. But it was only the wind stirring up the leaves.
The Greenman moved through the forest of old trees circling the Market, assessing his troops. The oldest, an oak, Quercus robur, had seen one thousand years. Its thick trunk was muscled like the torso of an aged wrestler. Even six men, arms outstretched, could not circle its girth. While the oak was the eldest, many of the trees in this part of the forest had lived through more than a hundred cycles of life: sap running, leaf budding, green unfurling, and color turning, golds and reds falling to the wind-rattled bare limbs of winter. Soon the trees would be awakened, needed for battle. He scanned the sky; it was a cloudless wash of blue.
There was a time beyond most human memory when the trees had rarely slept. When they had been the guardians of the earth, and humans mere caretakers. That time had long passed, and the Greenman grieved its loss, knowing it would never come again. He stretched, straightening his limbs; a bird flew from his branches.
He moved less stiffly now, though still more tree than man in appearance. In these next days the Market would be at risk. Balor would grow bolder now that Timothy was of an age to claim his title. The Greenman listened to the wind rising. It rustled his leaves as a breeze might lift the hair of a man or woman. The quest had been thrust upon Timothy Maxwell. But Timothy, he knew, was not alone. He, Cerridwyn, and Gwydon had known Filidhean throughout the centuries, and others had known them as well: Mr. Twig and Julian. Sarah and Jessica had their own roles in the story that was unfolding. Still, it would take time for Timothy to grow into his powers. Whatever the outcome, it would be witnessed by Electra, one of the Pleiad sisters come to observe this intersection of history, to bear witness to the events leading to the crowning of a new Filidh.
Timothy had escaped Balor twice, once from his workshop and once from a challenge in the Market. And Timothy had risked himself for Jessica Church even before she was his friend. The Greenman thought of the leaf he had plucked from his own branch. In Timothy's hand it had grown as hard as glass, and its color shaded from cool blue to hot red. It allowed Timothy to measure danger, to gauge whom to trust. The leaf grew warmer to the touch as danger increased. It seemed a small thing against the growing Dark. Yet, the Greenman knew, Timothy kept it with him always. For now the leaf and its ability to warn was his only defense.
