For three days James lay upon the pallet bed, presided over by the nurse. As time passed, she became noticeably more relaxed within his company and soon she forgot to flinch if their skin accidentally touched.

Following the strange audience with the enigmatic Lord Galen, James had sunk into deep apathy. He was no longer sure of anything his senses told him. He ate. He drank. He slept. But each day brought the same conclusion; the beautiful carved walls of his room were the walls of a prison erected by his damaged mind.

The nurse brought a small wooden plate to the bed filled with a curious assortment of baked vegetables; the fragrant steam rising from their charred skin as unfamiliar as their shape. With delicate fingers, she selected a cigar-shaped tuber and lifted it towards the mouth that had been silent for the past three days.

When James suddenly spoke, the nurse jumped, dropping the curious vegetable back onto its plate.

‘Weevil,’ James said, recalling the strange word he had heard used by Lord Galen’s daughter, ‘what’s a weevil?’

The nurse seemed to hesitate as though uncertain whether to respond, but then she carefully replaced the plate upon her lap and regarded him thoughtfully.

‘Perhaps you know them by another name upon the plains?’ she asked shyly.

‘I’m not from the bloody plains!’ he groaned, staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

Flinching only slightly from his outburst, the nurse folded her hands upon her knee and waited for his gaze to return. After a considered pause, she began to tell a story; her sweet voice slow and measured as though picking over the bones of an oft’ told fairytale.

‘For many thousands of turns, our ancestors lived, as we do, amongst the great trees of the Gelding. They worshipped the forest and were its rightful guardians, caring for its creatures and tending to its growth.

‘But then one day, for reasons beyond our understanding, a great change came upon a community of Gelders recently returned from abroad. The change was sudden and obscene, for they chose to defile that which once served them so well; hunting and killing the creatures of the forest and taking sharpened steel to the trees that were once their home.

‘For the first and only time in our history, Gelder turned upon Gelder. A swift and bloody war was fought between our ancestors and those that sought the ruination of our domain. The war was savage, and many died in the defence of their lives and the forest that was in their keeping. But in the end, those of the changing were defeated.

‘Those who surrendered were banished from their ancestral cradle and forced to live in exile upon the plain. “The Sundering” it was so called, for it marked a painful splintering from our culture that would never again be healed. These outcasts would come to know great hardship, and many would die of starvation, robbed as they were of the forest’s bounty. But of those who survived, many would flee to the fabled forests of the north; to the great forest we now call the Morren-Dumath.

‘For a short time, they knew great happiness and prosperity there. For this new forest provided bountiful flesh for their hunters, and many fine trees for their sharpened steel.

‘But what they did not know, and could not know, was that their new home was enchanted.

‘A powerful spirit dwelt deep within the heart of the forest, far older than the formation of the great forests themselves. And over the turns that followed, this great darkness acted upon their minds, robbing them of the memory of who they were and who they had once been. In time, this once proud and graceful race were reduced to living like savages, mindlessly wandering amongst the black trees of Morren-Dumath, until they disappeared from existence altogether.

‘It is said that within the great darkness at the heart of the forest, they were finally changed; their fair flesh transformed to resemble the twisted roots of the most misbegotten trees.

‘But, whilst the transformation had defiled their heritage and plundered their great beauty, it had not removed their insatiable lust for flesh. So when they were sent forth from the foul pit of their changing they began their long penance, doomed to forever wander the land feeding upon what tiny morsels of animal life they might find.

‘Perhaps they had a lingering memory of shame for what they had become, or perhaps the forest had instilled in them a new fear of the sharpened steel they once used themselves.

‘But, whatever the reason, they never again troubled the races of man.’

James listened to the story with growing interest, like a child being told an unsettling bedtime story.

If this really is a delusion, he thought to himself bleakly, then, there’s a part of my mind spinning this story whilst the other half listens!

With this unpleasant thought in mind, he quickly pounced on an inconsistency, and quickly spoke to fill the silence trailing from the end of the nurse’s narration.

‘The young woman who shot me,’ he faltered momentarily, searching for her name, ‘Leander. She talked about a pursuit through the forest. They were hunting the weevil. If they are so harmless, why do harm to such creatures?’

‘The weevil are changed,’ the nurse replied simply.

‘Are you telling me that they now prefer the flesh of people?’ he said with a smirk.

‘Five turns ago, a child in a nearby village was set upon by a weevil. It slaughtered the child and devoured its remains whilst the terrified mother watched.’

The nurse’s voice had lost its warmth and settled now upon James’ ears like an accusation.

‘We used to scare our children with stories of the child-eating weevil, but it was only a story to make them aware of the dangers of the land. Weevil were as harmless as squirrels playing in the trees. If we ever saw one, we had only to clap our hands, and the creature would flee in terror. But now…’ she faltered, her words once more trailing off into silence.

James shook his head, smiling wryly.

He didn’t believe a word the woman was saying; it was just another fairy tale, like the one within which he was now trapped.

Ignoring the pain that now radiated from the nurse’s downcast eyes, he pounced upon another strange word he remembered from Leander’s report.

‘Kabavar! What the hell is a kabavar, then?’ he barked.

The nurse turned her deep, sad eyes to face him, and for a moment he floundered in their intensity.

‘Kabavar are the fallen,’ she replied, her voice now flat and emotionless. ‘They do the other’s bidding and are lost to us forever.’

The woman’s dark eyes glistened as tears trickled across her cheeks.

‘My brother became such a creature, and it was I who took his life.’

The nurse stood abruptly, her gentle face now tight with resentment.

‘Please, do not ask any more of your questions, they accomplish nothing.’

Without a backwards glance, she fled from the room, leaving him to suffer the heavy silence alone.

***

The next day, the nurse had lost the coldness that had finally settled onto her face the previous evening. Without saying a word, she took a slender wooden spoon and dipped it into a bowl of thin green soup, before bringing it to his mouth. But before it touched his lips, James quietly spoke the apology he had been preparing late into the previous night.

Last night, he believed the apology was necessary, yet even now, as he said the words, he could not help but feel defeated by them. Apologising meant conceding that the nurse actually existed; that she was a real person with feelings that could be hurt. Nevertheless, he sighed with relief when the nurse smiled and nodded her head in thanks.

Curious now, James asked if the nurse possessed a name of her own. The young woman hesitated, and as he looked back to her face, he saw that her smile was gone.

‘My name’s James,’ he said quietly, closing his eyes upon another spoonful of the curious green soup.

‘Jame,’ she said, as though testing its unfamiliar shape within her mouth.

Her gaze hardened, her eyes narrowed as though in reprimand.

‘Names are powerful items to possess. You should not give them away so easily.’

The nurse fell silent as she continued to dip the spoon between the bowl and his mouth. He assumed that that was the end of their conversation when she finally averted her eyes and quietly said, ‘My name is Bettiny.’

‘Betty?’ James asked with a lopsided grin.

‘Bet-in-y,’ the nurse pronounced slowly, annoyed at his mispronunciation.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just that your name’s said differently where I’m from.’

‘My name cannot be said differently, it is said how it is said. If it sounds different where you are from, then it is a different name.’

The young woman frowned for a moment but her smile was quick to return.

‘Naming is perhaps a trifling matter to a barbarian, but to the people of the Gelding it is as important as breathing.’

‘Whatever you say, Bettiny,’ James sighed, raising his hands in supplication.

With her name out in the open, he decided to press her for the answer to another question that had lingered inside him ever since first awakening inside the room. The carved walls still held his attention despite the three days he had now spent here. And the longer he studied them, the more he appeared to see within their swirling designs.

‘Bettiny, who carved these shapes into the walls?’

‘The walls were not carved. Sharpened blades may not touch the wood of the forest,’ Bettiny admonished, as though reprimanding an ignorant child. ‘The house was grown by Lord Galen.’

‘Grown? What on earth do you mean grown?’ James replied, his ever-present frown deepening further.

‘Please, no more questions,’ she sighed. ‘Lord Galen will return within two-span of days. He will be the one to determine what you are told and what you are not.’

Frowning, she reached forward, her slender fingers seeking the dressing wrapped tightly about his shoulder. James winced as her nimble fingers slowly unravelled the soiled bandage, eventually revealing a dark wound which sat upon his shoulder like a hot coal embedded in his bruised skin. Miraculously, the wound was now almost healed, and the pain had receded to the point where only the dull ache inside his head remained. Even within this prolonged dream, he was dismayed to find the numbness returning to the left side of his body, the familiar tremble rising back into the fingers of his left hand.

‘Before Lord Galen left, he said that should you grow strong enough to walk, you would be permitted access to the rest of his home,’ she said, applying a strange-smelling poultice and wrapping it in a clean bandage, ‘as befits a guest of the House of Galendar.’

The nurse looked up, studying James’ expression carefully.

‘Do you feel capable of walking?’

James hadn’t considered ever leaving the room again, determined instead to wait until that unknowable time when the dream would finally be lifted. But now that the question had been asked, he realised how much he wanted to move, to again feel his body in motion. Perhaps by taking control of his situation he might somehow escape the power it had over him?

Grimacing, he raised himself from the bed. Taking the nurse’s hand, he gingerly placed his foot upon the cool floor. His vision blackened around the edges for a moment, but quickly it subsided.

‘I feel much better,’ James said, shaking his head in bewilderment.

‘The forest has healed you,’ Bettiny replied.

‘It wasn’t the forest, it was you,’ James grumbled. ‘Thanks,’ he added as an afterthought.

The nurse smiled.

‘From this day forward you will feed yourself,’ she said with a decisive nod. ‘But if you so wish, I will continue to join you for your meals. For, it is not customary for guests of Galendar to eat alone.’

James nodded wearily and stood up.

His legs felt weak and he trembled slightly, but his muscles felt eager for movement to wake them from their slumber.

‘Torrinth, please enter,’ Bettiny said, rising to her feet.

James’ body tensed as the wooden door slid open and a tall, thin man with long, greying hair stepped inside; one of the strange, black swords hanging menacingly at his side. The man’s face was gaunt, his cheekbones sharp and pressed tightly against his weathered skin. His eyes glanced in his direction for a moment before fixing upon a point straight ahead.

‘Jame, this is Torrinth,’ Bettiny said, gesturing to the silent man beside her. ‘He is blademaster of this house and will be your guardian for the remainder of your stay here.’

She smiled at the old man, and he nodded in return, his serious, lined face completely devoid of emotion.

‘He is mute, so do not waste breath with your many questions,’ she added, smiling shyly.

‘Why can’t you be my guide?’ James said, worriedly glancing at the man’s gleaming sword.

‘My time must be spent elsewhere this afternoon, and,’ she hesitated, her smile vanishing, ‘you must also know that Torrinth has been ordered to end your life the moment you attempt to use your powers again.’

James sighed wearily but managed a wry smile as he stepped towards the open door.

‘Then in that case, I think I shall be quite safe.’

***

James shuffled down the dimly-lit corridor, retracing the path along which he had been dragged three days before. The old man walked apace a discreet distance behind, his feet barely registering a sound upon the wooden floor.

The house – if you could call it a house – was huge and meandering. He had previously thought of the corridors as tunnels, threading beneath the ground, but now he saw that they were dappled with sunlight slanting through small windows far above his head. There were several doors recessed into the walls, but he ignored these, making his way instead towards the large window he knew to be waiting beyond the next bend. The memory of what he had seen beyond the house lingered in his mind like a fragile chalk drawing, and he was eager to prove to himself that today it would no longer exist. But when he finally reached the window, he was dismayed to discover that it had been shuttered; a thin golden line of light traced its oval edge, like the outline of a closed eye.

Turning abruptly, he faced the old man.

‘Can we get this window open?’ he asked.

In the dusky light, the silent man gave a short shake of his head.

‘Why not?’ James asked in exasperation.

Again the old man merely shook his head and motioned for him to continue walking.

Sighing loudly, James grudgingly complied.

Walking now with determined strides, his knowing feet took him straight to the doors of Galen’s great hall. He remembered his place of interrogation well; the massive circular eye that had poured forth the blinding light of the setting sun. As though in confirmation of the window he sought, the door was engraved with three concentric circles. Thoughtfully running his fingers across their shallow furrows, he braced his hands between the two doors and began to pull them apart.

A gap of no more than two inches had opened between them when he felt a heavy hand alight upon his shoulder. Frowning, he turned to find the old man shaking his head.

‘What the hell is the point of letting me explore the bloody house if I can’t go anywhere in it?’ James shouted.

In reply, the old man merely stepped aside, inviting James to withdraw from the door. With a flash of childish defiance, James quickly reached for the doors and yanked them apart. From the corner of his eye he noticed a swift movement, like the unfurling wing of a large bird, and then the wicked edge of the black blade was resting against his throat.

James froze where he stood and carefully withdrew his shaking hands from the door. The gesture was mirrored by the old man, who slowly lowered his sword. James took a trembling step backwards and with one graceful movement, the sword was returned to its clasp with a dull click. He continued to back away as the old man looked on impassively, outwardly showing no recognition of the violent gesture he had just committed.

There was only one corridor left to explore and James now stumbled towards it, all the while casting suspicious glances at his silent follower. Here, a great many windows lined the walls but all were tightly shuttered; the outlines of light tinged with shifting green as though unseen leaves played beyond their surfaces.

At the end of the long corridor he found two large doors set opposite one another, and between them, another huge circular window similarly shuttered against the outside. Like the doors to the great hall, these also bore markings. The first was decorated with the stylised carving of a tree, the other with a curious swirl, like water passing down a plughole.

Cautiously, he reached a hand towards the door engraved with the tree, and waited for the old man to shake his head, or place a blade to his throat. When neither happened, he smiled weakly, and touched his hand to its smooth surface. With a gentle push, the door moved effortlessly aside.

Beyond was a wide courtyard, bounded on four sides by the walls of the house. The buff-coloured walls seemed to flow out of the ground, as though an organic form had been pressed into a straight-sided mould. The roof was of thatch, though mottled green with moss and lichen.

The centre of the courtyard was dominated by the immense trunk of a tree, and as James staggered from under a small overhanging roof, he craned his head to watch its impossible height dwindle into the clouds. The tree’s bark appeared smooth, like that of a beech tree, but it was the colour of dull copper flecked with streaks of silver. Its innumerable branches twisted away from the towering trunk, fracturing into hundreds of tapering lengths laden with golden-red leaves.

James swayed on his feet, and quickly averted his gaze to keep from toppling over. The sight of the tree was almost too much to bear. Not since that momentary glimpse of the strange world beyond the window had his mind been so tested.

With his eyes fixed firmly upon the ground he walked slowly into the garden, following a meandering path that wove around the base of the tree. His bare feet passed through the tickling blades of grass, raising a delicate aroma on the air. A bewildering array of strange flowers bordered the path; each of them expressed in colours and shapes that should not have existed. There were bright pink flowers that sparkled like multifaceted crystals, trumpet-shaped flowers of blue that seemed to pulse with their own light, spherical black orbs trailing orange feathers that fluttered at his approach…

He hadn’t travelled far into the garden before he realised he had to sit down. Reaching a large, flat-topped stone he gratefully dropped his weight into its covering of moss, his mind reeling with the enormity of what he was seeing. Cupping his head in his hands, he took a deep breath before cautiously glancing back up at the tree. He realised then that he had half expected the monstrous tree to no longer exist. But it was still there, more real than ever…

‘Oh my goodness, oh my goodness,’ he muttered, rocking gently back and forth.

Glancing back down its length, he noticed for the first time the wooden staircase sweeping around the prodigious trunk. The stairs climbed for hundreds of feet until they reached what appeared to be a wooden structure concealed within the distant canopy; its windows reflecting the light of the hidden sun like two golden coins.

He had no intention whatsoever of climbing the tree, but he turned to the old man and pointed to the staircase anyway. As expected, the old man merely shook his head before returning his own gaze into the heights of the tree.

For a long time, James sat in silent contemplation, considering these new sights that had been generated somewhere within his head. It was peaceful here and despite the armed man standing nearby, he felt a sudden calm descend upon him. It might have been his imagination, but as he sucked the sweet-smelling air into his lungs, his constant headache seemed for the first time to lessen.

A blur of movement flashed from the corner of his eye and he looked up to find a squirrel the colour of burnished gold skittering across the immense tree trunk; the sound of its tiny claws gripping the bark with a flurry of dry crackles. A moment later, he stared in open-mouthed wonder as seven or eight other fragments of gold bounded over the high wall onto the swaying branches, tracing lines of yellow as they chased one another into the dizzying heights of the tree.

A high, keening chirrup made him reluctantly draw his eyes back down to where a curious bird now perched upon a nearby stone. Its tiny head twitched this way and that, sending its black pip eyes in his direction. There was a blur of wings and then, miraculously, the bird was perched upon his knee.

Once again, James’ mind sought to master the growing panic that threatened to overwhelm him, for the bird was unlike any living creature he had ever encountered. Apart from its jet-black eyes, the feathers and skin encasing its tiny body were completely transparent; the crimson tangle of its internal viscera filling the bird’s outline like a grizzly cross-section in a biology textbook.

The bird appeared to scrutinise him closely, emitting short, delicate chirrups as though demanding questions of him. Its tiny heart beat like a furious red sun within its chest, its sack-like stomach filled with desiccated berries the colour of ripe lemons.

James’ leg twitched and the bird left his knee in a flurry of movement, arching over the high wall and out of sight. He glanced at Torrinth, seeking some kind of explanation for these new wonders that had assaulted his senses, but the old man merely resumed his silent contemplation of the tree as though he had forgotten James existed at all.

Getting unsteadily to his feet James ambled past the old man, but by the time he had reached the door, Torrinth was again at his side.

‘Well, let’s see what my loopy mind has dreamed up for the next door,’ James said dejectedly, as he slowly limped from the courtyard. ‘That is, if you let me walk through the bloody thing,’ he added, glancing at the black blade with distaste.

Taking one last lingering look at the beautiful gardens, he turned to face the next door, his eyes drawn once more to the swirling design carved into its surface. He placed his hand on the door, and when the old man’s head remained immobile, he proceeded to slide it slowly to one side.

The room beyond was like nothing he had ever seen or imagined. Like the courtyard behind him, this space was also open to the sky. But instead of the single huge tree towering above the courtyard, here a series of lesser trees were ranged about the walls, their crisscrossing network of branches providing a gently swaying ceiling of green leaves. Beneath the trees, the entire floor was taken up by a huge rectangular pool of water, bounded on all sides by a narrow ledge of smooth wooden decking. It brought to mind a Roman bathhouse, but rendered in wood; the trunks of the various trees like ornate columns rising above the shimmering green water.

Walking cautiously to the edge of the decking, James peered into its depths. Dark shapes seemed to shift and writhe below the surface, like seaweed swaying gently in a current. Yet strangely, despite the movement beneath the water, its surface remained unnaturally still as though the pool were filled not with water but with oil.

James was shaken from the calming vision of the sun-dappled pool by the sound of its surface being broken. He turned towards a corner of the chamber and noticed that it was partially hidden behind a drooping curtain of golden leaves. Taking a few paces forward, he peered through a break in the curtain and came to an abrupt halt.

Framed between the shifting golden leaves, a naked young woman pulled herself from the slick surface of the pool, her body gleaming in the dappled light as though newly varnished. Staring in disbelief, James watched as her long, slender legs pulled the rest of her body from the cloying slickness of the water. She paused for a moment, perched upon the edge of the decking before drawing her hands through her long, obsidian hair, scattering a fall of sparkling droplets back into the pool like diamonds loosed from her hand.

Suddenly, she turned, staring back at him like a deer startled by the blast of a shotgun. Similarly stunned, James continued to stare as droplets of water lazily traced silver paths between her breasts, across her taut stomach and down to the charcoal shadow between her legs.

As though coming out of a trance, James hurriedly directed his eyes to the floor, feeling the skin upon his face flush. It wasn’t until now that he realised Torrinth was no longer at his side, and as he turned to leave, he found the old man standing within the shadows of the corridor, his back turned to the room like a closed door.

‘So, you have found your legs at last.’

James halted in his tracks, and listened as the woman came nearer, her footsteps wet upon the wooden decking.

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were bathing,’ he replied, awkwardly resuming his exit from the chamber.

‘Does my appearance disturb you so greatly?’

James stumbled to a halt once more, the spiteful rasp of the familiar voice rendering the question an accusation.

‘You were content enough to watch me a moment ago,’ she chided.

Bringing his head slowly up from the floor, he saw that the woman now stood barely three feet away. Using a small towel, she absently dabbed it across her neck and chest, brazenly returning his gaze.

He saw now the many scars covering her body; thin white welts that crisscrossed her chest, abdomen and thighs. A cold realisation made his stomach suddenly squirm. Looking up into her eyes he saw the face of the young woman who had so nearly ended his life, the woman Lord Galen had called his daughter, Leander.

The long, white scar that trailed across half of her face tipped onto her collar bone, as though a brush of white paint had been drawn lightly across her skin. Her hair lay long and slick behind her, removed now of its elaborate braids. She stood defiantly before him like a statue carved of gleaming wood, her smouldering black eyes burning with unveiled contempt.

‘No, of course not! I mean…’ James spluttered, trying to meet her intense glare and somehow wilting in the process. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, that’s all!’

‘I’ve grown used to the discomfort my appearance gives others,’ she continued, ‘you need not worry about sparing my feelings.’ Her voice was cold and acerbic, her graceful body tautened as though ready to fight.

‘It’s just that… where I’m from, men and women don’t bathe together.’ James replied, attempting to meet her eyes despite the disconcerting nakedness of her beautiful, scarred body.

Leander bared her teeth as though James had further insulted her.

‘Indeed, I’m sure barbarian males cannot bathe with their women folk without first molesting them. But you are upon the plain no longer. There are rules that apply to the bathing chamber. I suggest that you ask your nurse to avail you of them.’

As though she had dismissed James with this last remark, Leander proceeded to wipe the rest of the water from her body, periodically wringing the small towel into a grated gutter at the base of the wall. Her intimate movements were laid bare before James’ eyes, but despite his discomfort, he found himself unable to look away.

Finally she tied the towel around her neck, and turned suddenly to confront him.

‘Your first lesson in drying, I hope you were watching closely enough.’

James blushed deeply as the young woman stormed past him to where a robe of white silk hung from a branch of a tree. Wrapping it quickly about her body, she swept from the bathhouse and out of sight.