When James awoke, he found that a woven blanket had been draped across him. His mind floundered, suddenly disorientated, before he remembered where he was. The sky was brightening, but a scattering of stars remained dappled across its velvet canvas.

‘Good morning.’

The unfamiliar voice made James jump and he scrambled beneath the blanket.

The youngest of the three brothers smiled down at him from where he crouched upon his haunches. The man’s sharp eyes were a deep emerald green, his face narrow to the point of being gaunt. His long hair fell about his shoulders, gently shifting in the breeze.

‘I am sorry, I did not mean to startle you,’ he said, peering down at him as though a rare insect had briefly alighted upon a leaf.

‘Leander said that I should wake you.’

The man’s wide smile remained, but he raised an uncertain eyebrow.

‘Can it be true that you speak Gelding? Do you even know what I am saying?’

James groaned and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles.

‘No, I don’t speak Gelding. I speak English, the same as you,’ he sighed in irritation.

‘Unbelievable! And you speak it so well!’ the other man chuckled, regarding him with renewed wonder. ‘Tell me… is it also true that you came here within a falling star?’

James shook his head miserably.

‘If I were you, I’d ask Leander for the truth of that. I have trouble believing it myself,’ he muttered, squinting up at the smiling man.

‘She will not talk about it,’ the boy replied with obvious disappointment. After a moment, a thought suddenly occurred to him which hardened his expression. ‘Leander told me that I should get you to eat something before we resume our journey.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ James replied woodenly.

‘Before the sun has set upon this day we must travel many leagues. It is important that you do not weaken.’

‘I can’t eat if I’m not bloody hungry!’ James shouted.

Rather than take offence, the young man’s smile widened, shaking his head as though an incomprehensible puzzle had just been laid before him.

‘My name is Tavin,’ he said undaunted.

James continued to squint up at the young man before sighing resignedly.

‘My name is James,’ he paused, ‘with an “s”,’ he added with a challenging frown.

‘Jame. Yes, I know your name,’ the boy replied simply.

James rolled his eyes and struggled to sit up, wincing at the pain lingering within his shoulder.

‘If you do not eat now you will tire quickly. We cannot afford to be delayed.’

‘Bloody hell, man!’ James blustered. ‘I never eat breakfast and I certainly don’t need to be told when to eat by anyone!’ He shouted the last word over his shoulder, hoping that Leander would hear it from wherever she was lurking.

Now that another day had dawned, it was easy to forget the murderous sounds of the previous night. They had merely been figments of his imagination, of that he was now certain.

Looking from side to side, he saw that they were alone in the bottom of the grassy hollow. The fire pit was now a blackened hole in the turf and only a thin wisp of blue smoke still lifted from its surface.

‘Where is everyone?’ James asked, suddenly propping himself up on his elbows.

‘My brothers and Torrinth are scouting ahead. Leander and Fen study the land to the west,’ Tavin said, nodding beyond the lip of the hollow. ‘We are safe for now.’

The memory of the fire flickering through the darkness earlier that morning came back to him, and a sly grin crept upon his lips. Ever since first awakening to this strange world, he had been looking for a way to prove that it did not actually exist. He had the idea that, if only he could expose some flaw its logic, some glaring inconsistency, then perhaps he could break free of the hold it had over him. So far, everyone had been conveniently forbidden from answering his many questions, but in Tavin, he realised he might have found a more willing ear.

‘Tell me, Tavin, if your people care so much for the forest, why do you light fires?’

‘We need fire to cook and to keep us warm,’ the boy replied simply, ‘and sometimes for illumination.’

‘Yes, I understand that, but where do you get the wood from?’

‘The wood?’

‘Yes, the bloody stuff you burn to make fire! You tossed an armful of chopped logs onto the fire last night. I saw you do it!’

The young man frowned as though confused.

‘We burn the seed pods of the Leander tree which fall all through the turn,’ Tavin replied with a slight nod of his head. ‘Is that what you mean?’

James’ grin soured as his heart sank. Again his mind seemed to have reacted with lightning speed, quickly finding a way out of the trap he had laid for it.

‘The dead limbs of trees may also be used for the purposes of making fire, but in such instances only melders may perform the Rite of Severance,’ Tavin continued.

‘Then what about your bloody swords and armour?’ James snapped. ‘You can’t seriously be telling me you smelt iron by burning handfuls of seeds and dead wood!’

‘The blades we carry and the armour we wear are not fashioned of earth-metal,’ Tavin replied flatly.

‘Don’t tell me,’ James sneered, ‘you grew the bloody things!’

‘In a manner of speaking, they were grown,’ the young man said, registering his annoyance for the first time.

The young man reached up and drew a small object from where it was fastened around his neck with a length of twine.

James flinched when he saw what it was. Glinting on the end of the twine was a small silver knife.

‘The blunt blade is the only object we use crafted from earth-metal.’

The young man regarded him thoughtfully for a moment, before getting to his feet.

‘Follow me,’ he said as he strode up the side of the hollow.

James got unsteadily to his feet before tentatively following the young man to where he knelt beside one of the stunted trees that crowned their campsite. The branches were tall and slender, and in the light of day were revealed to be a dark olive green. It reminded him of a coppiced willow tree; a tree cut down to its base from where tall, slender shoots would grow.

James frowned as a bizarre memory flashed into his mind. He saw again the young boy chasing his brother down a shifting tunnel woven from green stalks. A strange word accompanied the recollection and quietly he whispered it under his breath, ‘willowing’.

Tavin appeared to hear the word for he nodded, his smile returning.

Taking the curious tool in one hand, the young man grasped a swaying green branch and brought the blunt edge of the blade to its side. James shook his head as he watched over his shoulder. The idea that a piece of dull metal as blunt as a spoon could sever a hardened branch was just absurd!

With one effortless stroke, Tavin passed the blade through the branch, slicing it completely in two.

James’ hand covered his mouth as he looked on in shocked silence, unable to believe what he was seeing.

With another flick of Tavin’s hand, the severed branch was shortened further, until a piece no longer than his forearm was held between his hands. Smiling at his incredulity, the young man continued to work the blade, carving the wood into a new form before James’ eyes.

‘The willowing must be worked quickly,’ Tavin said, as thin slivers of the green wood splintered to the ground, ‘and only by the blunt blade, for no sharpened steel may be brought to bear upon the trees of the Gelding,’ Tavin said, repeating the curious warning told to him once by Bettiny.

James thought again of the story of the weevil, the fallen race of people who had been turned into monsters after their mistreatment of the forest. The tale he had been told seemed all the more preposterous in the cold light of day. Yet, what he saw forming before his eyes between the young man’s hands seemed just as impossible.

When he was done, Tavin placed the finished object in James’ hands. Dumbfounded, he regarded what the other man had created; a small, slender dagger, which even now appeared to blacken and harden in his hands. Gingerly, he raised the knife to his ear and heard the wood crackle and pop as though only recently drawn from a blacksmith’s hearth.

The dagger was both crude and elegant in appearance, an economy of design that made it look all the more lethal. James ran a tentative thumb across the blade and winced when he saw that its edge was as sharp as a razor.

James drew his incredulous eyes from the dagger and back to the man who had miraculously crafted it, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

‘Once the newly carved willowing touches the air it hardens almost as strong as the steel blades used by your people,’ Tavin said, regarding him in turn with his own lingering curiosity. ‘Other items can be made from the willowing, but the process is somewhat different. For objects like my armour, or the bowl from which you might eat, someone practiced in the art of melding simply weaves the willowing into the desired form.’

Tavin continued to stare as James slowly turned the dagger in his hands.

‘Everything we make from the willowing remains alive. Nothing is lost by these transformations. In times of peace we do not carry such weapons, nor do we revere them or give them silly names as you barbarians are liken to do with your precious metal blades. When we have no further use for our weapons they are returned to the earth, and there they grow anew.’

‘You mean… your sword… it will grow into another tree?’ James asked uncertainly.

The young man laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Of course! That is our way. The forest provides, but we must give back to it in kind.’

The young man’s smile slipped from his face and he stood abruptly, hurriedly replacing the blunt blade around his neck.

Leander’s cold, detached voice intruded from behind, making James grimace as he stood, the dagger still clutched in his hand.

‘Has he eaten?’

‘He is not hungry,’ Tavin replied with a grin. ‘Perhaps barbarians do not partake of breakfast?’

Leander’s teeth were bared as she snatched the dagger from James’ hands. With a disdainful flick of her wrist, she tossed the dagger to the ground where it was buried to its hilt.

‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Tavin?’ Leander snapped, rounding on the young man.

‘Jame is harmless, he can do no harm with such a tiny blade,’ Tavin replied with a shrug.

Ignoring Tavin, Leander turned her piercing eyes back upon James, causing him to stumble backwards and trip upon his discarded sack.

‘Unless it has escaped your attention, we are currently fleeing a small army of men, supposedly intent upon ending your life. Whilst I am not overly concerned whether they accomplish their task or not, I will not have any more of my people put in danger because of you. Now eat!’

James reacted with angry acquiescence and roughly opened his cloth sack, rummaging for something, anything, to stuff into his mouth. His fingers closed around one of the copper-coloured tubers Bettiny had often prepared for him, and angrily he bit it in half.

Scowling up at the two warriors, he found Tavin watching him intently, a quizzical grin hitching up the side of his mouth.

‘We do not eat them like that!’ Tavin said, grinning.

‘Well that’s the way I eat the bloody things!’ James mumbled, stuffing the rest of the uncooked vegetable into his mouth.

‘Cachoon are better cooked with Tarrow-root, or Lemspur if you can find it,’ Tavin continued, unperturbed. ‘Or merely cooked would be an improvement,’ he finished with a chuckle.

‘Well, you know where you can stick your Tarrow-root!’ James mumbled through his stuffed mouth.

Tavin laughed aloud but was quickly cut short.

‘Tavin!’ Leander snapped. ‘Kirrin waits for you! We have wasted time enough with your childishness already!’

Tavin’s smile vanished and he nodded, before hurriedly retrieving his bow and quiver. Casting one last curious glance at James, he sprang up the side of the depression and was quickly lost amongst the trees.

‘Let me clarify my position, lest there be any doubt on the subject,’ Leander said, her bow now braced within her rigid hand. ‘I do not share my father’s belief that you are important in any way to the coming war…’

‘Well that makes two of us,’ James interrupted.

‘Therefore,’ Leander said, gritting her teeth, ‘I will not hesitate to leave you behind should you slow us down or hinder us in any way. Is that understood?’

Leander took a step closer and glowered down at him.

‘It may not have occurred to your tiny barbarian brain, but at any point have you considered those we have left behind in Galendar? The defence of my father’s house has been left in the hands of melders and healers. The only real defence they had is currently wasting its time served in your protection!

‘Our primary mission, our only mission, is to seek help for those currently fighting for their lives!’

James swallowed his mouthful with difficulty and tried to look the formidable woman in the eye.

Despite everything she had just said, he found himself staring up at her as the sun began at last to crest the trees. The pale silver scars marring her beautiful face held his gaze. These ugly marks of some brutal episode of her past seemed transformed by the fair flesh beneath, like cruel words written upon the finest white silk. Her long, braided hair whipped sideways in the breeze exposing delicate ears, each adorned by pale hoops of wood. A glint of silver sparkled at her neck where another of the blunt blades was concealed.

For a moment, James forgot Leander’s spiteful words and stood instead transfixed by her alien beauty.

The young woman’s expression seemed to grow uncertain under his scrutiny, and hurriedly she looked away as Torrinth emerged from the trees. A flicker of emotion tensed her jaw before she abruptly turned and stormed away.

‘Bring the barbarian fool, Torrinth,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘He has wasted time enough.’