Silvertongue

Chapter Eight

The sun is going down as the castle of Ombra recedes into the distance. Or, rather, as my newly-acquired mare Silver and I make our way away from the castle.

The Wayless Wood is growing larger and larger before us, seeming to tower ever higher with every step.

I can't believe myself. After studying the Inkheart books meticulously ever since I first discovered their existence, the knowledge evades me right when I need it most.

Typical.

I'm suddenly snapped back to attention when Silver stops short. She's stopped right at the edge of the shadows of the tall trees.

I lean forward and murmur softly, "What's wrong, girl?"

Silver snorts, then leans her head out and sniffs suspiciously at the shadow. After a moment she walks forward and we enter the shadow of the forest.

As we travel in the direction of the actual trees, I wonder what prompted the mare to hesitate.

She must know something I don't.

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The trees seem to get farther and farther away with each step Silver takes. Behind, the shadow does indeed get longer as the sun dips ever lower toward the horizon. The sun is somehow perfectly situated to set directly behind the castle of Ombra.

I start to hurry the horse a little bit. I don't want to be stuck in the forest by nightfall. It's foolish, but I have hope that I may find one of the strolling players' camps in the forest.

I know for sure they won't be quite as surprised by my story as people in Ombra, these folk having dealt with Meggie, Mo, and the rest of them.

It's dark as Silver steps over the threshold of the forest. It's darker still when the huge trunks of the trees swallow up the overhead daylight. There's only the light of the sun behind me, and that's decreasing at an alarming rate.

The trees here don't seem to be particularly sinister. Their whispering feels like a concerned warning of potential perils, but not a creepy or unsettling warning. Just a gentle reminder to stay alert.

And I do indeed stay alert.

Every rustling leaf makes me flinch. Fallen twigs snapping under Silver's massive hooves seem much too loud. I'm certain I see faces staring out of every nook and cranny, watching, watching.

The daylight falls away behind at the same moment as a faint, flickering light appears ahead. The sound of voices carries dimly to my ears, but I can't make out any words.

I don't allow myself to get hopeful for one second. It is more than likely the light and sound is some hideous, monstrous beast of the forest trying to lure prey to it. However, on the off chance that the light is coming from the robbers' camp, I feel compelled to investigate.

I nudge Silver in the sides and the ever-willing horse keeps moving deeper into the trees toward the flickering, dancing light.

My foolish hope happens to be granted! The light is coming from a fire around which several people are huddled, talking and eating. I can see tents set up off to the side in a clearing, as well as several cave openings.

Such luck! And now - I have to hope the robbers won't shoot me down the minute I am seen or heard. Or that, should they shoot, my good horse survives and is able to return safely to Ombra. I'm not entirely certain which is more probable.

The men around the fire look up when they notice me approach, but thankfully do nothing but watch with a suspicious squint.

What do I say? That is a big issue. If I say the wrong thing, there is a strong probability of me dying.

"Hello..." I start. That should be neutral enough, should it not? I realize then that it would likely be wise to dismount my horse, so as to not appear as some sort of threat to them.

By this time I've hardly any energy left in me, all of it having been exhausted during my frantic flight from the Laughing Prince's castle (if that it can still be called). As a result of my fatigue I nearly fall over on the way down from the mare's back.

Wait, I think, shouldn't Violante be on the throne now? And, if my memory proves correct, she does the best she can for all the peasants in her realm. So why was I received with such hostility, stranger though I am to this world?

I'm still standing before the strolling players - as I assume they are - silently, as they glare at me with no trace of hospitality in their stares. Say something, Halley. Aren't Meggie and Mo and Resa here? In a farmhouse in the forest nearby? Ask about them. Ask for the Bluejay.

"Is the... Is the man whom you call the Bluejay here?"

A reasonable question, or so I thought, but the men clustered around the fire all begin to snicker.

One of them stands up. He's, in a word, intimidating, huge and muscled and terrifying. I rake my brain trying to identify if he's in any of the Inkheart books, but I come up empty.

Never mind, I tell myself, you can't rely on the books anymore. They might get me in trouble if I accidentally recognize someone and say so. Focus on the current threat.

"The Bluejay doesn't exist," the man says and a deep growling voice, "He's nothing but a bunch of grand songs written for the strolling players to sing. Are you sure you're not a spy for the Adderhead, or something similar?"

Doesn't exist?! My brain feels like it's combusting. What do you mean he doesn't exist?!

I gasp out, "Oh, no, no! Nothing of the sort! I mean, of course that's something a spy would say, or any random person, and I assure you that I am of the random person percentage..." I trail off. What am I even saying? I sound like a complete idiot. Moreover, I'm certain that to the people staring at me (which stares are now perplexed) I sound like I'm telling flat-out lies.

Well, if the Bluejay doesn't exist, what about Fenoglio? Is he here? I decide to give it a try.

"Is there, um, an old man, a writer, I believe you call him Inkweaver, do you - could you perhaps tell me where he is?"

Fictional book heroes, they always manage to control their tongues and speak smartly in situations such as these. I, meanwhile, have completely lost my head and am now rambling. Just making noise, that's what I'm doing.

"Yes, we know Inkweaver," says one of the others still seated. He's positioned so that the flames cast shadows preventing me from seeing his face with anything resembling clarity. "And if you're sure you're not a spy, we'll take you to him."

"Oh, that would be lovely. Thank you," I say quickly before anyone can protest this offer.

The man stands up with a gruff, "Follow me," and walks away briskly.

As I hurry after him pulling the horse behind me, my thoughts race away faster than I can keep up.

The Bluejay doesn't exist.

What could that possibly mean?

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NOTE FROM AUTHOR
Hi so I finally updated (sorry about that)

Hope y'all like it.

K, bye