Becoming Magical [2]

C H A P T E R - 7

Sophie had been in quiet places before, but she'd never experienced anything like the silence of the Wanderling Woods. There was no chirping or tweeting. No branches creaking or rustling. It was like all sound—all life—had been sucked out of the scenery, leaving nothing but a thick, almost tangible emptiness.

Even the silver pebbles didn't crunch under her feet as she followed Grady and Edaline down a winding path, which seemed to glow as she moved, shining the way to the narrow gateway ahead. A vine with white star-shaped flowers trailed up two gilded columns to an arched golden sign with looping, intricate letters that spelled out:

Those who wander are not lost.

"I've heard that before," Sophie said, mostly to herself.

She racked her brain, needing to be sure it was her own memory, not something someone put there. An image of a short poem flashed in her mind and she stopped walking. "That's from The Lord of the Rings. Well—not exactly. But it's close."

"The Lord of the Rings?" Edaline repeated.

"It's a series of human books. And it has elves in it." Elves that had some similarities to what elves really were, now that she thought about it.

"Are the books older?" Grady asked.

"I think Tolkien wrote them during the Nineteen Thirties or Forties."

"That's back before the Human Assistance Program was banned." Grady smiled when her eyebrows shot up. "We used to send members of the nobility in disguise to try to teach humans our ways. The treaties had fallen apart, but we still hoped to guide them, bring them out of the darkness and into a new age of light. In fact, most of the great human innovations of the last few centuries happened under elvin tutelage. Electricity. Penicillin. Chocolate cake. But too many of our gifts backfired, and a few decades ago the problems escalated to a point where the Council had no choice but to terminate the program and ban all human contact."

"What does that have to do with The Lord of the Rings?"

"Let's just say there were some who couldn't resist manipulating the legends about elves a bit."

"So . . . you're saying J. R. R. Tolkien met an elf, and that's where he came up with some of the story?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Though I'm sure he was only told bits and pieces. Do the books talk about the Wanderlings at all?"

"I don't think so."

"Then he didn't know what the statement meant." Grady motioned for her to follow him. Edaline trailed silently behind as they crossed under the arch and entered the woods. "These are the Wanderlings," Grady whispered.

It was unlike any forest Sophie had ever seen. The glowing path wound through a sea of carefully arranged trees, each one surrounded by meticulously groomed shrubs. No two trees were alike. Some were short and broad. Others tall and slender. Some had graceful branches that swayed in the silent breeze. Others looked stout and strong. There were leaves in every shape, size, and color. Some had flowers. One even had thorns. And at the base of each tree was a round white stone with a name carved in plain black letters.

Grady led Sophie to the nearest tree, which reminded her of a weeping willow—if weeping willows had red leaves and bloomed with thousands of tiny purple flowers.

"Each Wanderling's seed is coiled with a single hair from the one who's been lost," he explained. "When it sprouts, it absorbs their DNA, taking on some of the attributes of the life they now share. Letting the lost live on."

Those who wander are not lost.

"Cyrah had straight auburn hair," Edaline whispered, running her hand through the swaying red leaves. "And flecks of violet in her eyes."