'This is what became of the last of Nennian's kind,' Cat was shouting, and there was a strange kind of exultation in her voice.
The wind strengthened. The forest bent and roared, the trees swaying like reeds under the growing gale. Michael felt stupefied. The wind was level with his eyes, sweeping under the treetops and lashing spray from the deepening lake that was the forest floor. He had the impression that the birthing storm was contained within the wood itself, that it was the trees which were whipping up the current. It was waxing by the moment, becoming a shriek of mad, blasting air. Twigs smote him in the face and he shielded his eyes, knocked back a step. His hand lighted upon one of the wooden faces as he swayed and he snatched it away again in revulsion. Then he was pushed by the wind, shoved backwards. He sprawled into the water and the muck whilst it detonated in wind-driven packets all about him.
'Cat! Help me!'
He wallowed in the mud and felt Cat's strong grip on his arm. A bough from a nearby tree splashed into the water and blinded him.
'He's coming, Cat. It is him doing this!'
It was their storm, raised for them alone. As Nennian had once said, things in the Wolfweald had a way of turning around. They were no longer hunters, if they had ever been.
Cat was staring into his face from six inches, trying to make out his words. But her eyes had changed. They had narrowed to thin slits and angled up towards her hairline at their corners. A green fire spilled out of them. Her ears had become as long as horns. She was grinning, and her teeth seemed to stretch across her entire face. Michael yelled and shoved her away so that she fell into the water.
'What is it?' she shouted at him.
Could she not feel it working in herself anymore? Was she now so possessed by the forest that she was blinded by it?
'Nennian!' Michael screamed, but the wild wind snatched the words out of his mouth.
Here, now. The Horseman was here. He had come for them.
A thumping that might have been a thick branch striking a tree bole, except it was regular and unceasing. Like a heartbeat.
It was a heartbeat. It was the sound of the living forest, and it was getting louder.
Nennian was fighting to keep their mounts under control.
The animals were whinnying in terror and rearing up before him. Michael splashed over too late. The chestnut bowled the priest out of the way and the three of them galloped off through the trees. Cat started after them, but got bogged down after ten yards, thigh deep in mud and water with her hair lashing about her face. She struggled there.
'Michael! Help me!'
Brother Nennian was moving feebly, dragging his limbs out of the ooze. His face was as black as coal, the eyes wild white circles in the midst of it.
'Michael!' Cat screamed.
He was frozen, rooted to the spot as firmly as one of the forest trees. The heartbeat of the wood was a massive thumping rhythm in his head. Around him the trees groaned and bent under the preternatural hurricane. The air was full of water and flying branches, scraps of bark, dead leaves, and the light was dimming moment by moment. Soon they would be floundering in near darkness whilst the water rose to engulf them and the mud sucked at their bones.
You cannot fight. You cannot win. Join with the wood.
Nennian was struggling to pull Cat free of the mud. The pair were shouting words Michael could not hear. Still he stood motionless. The water was kissing his knees now, was pouring down the inside of his clothes. He was saturated. The rain did not slacken, but battered him with unbelievable force, hitting the surface of the water and rebounding into the air.
Cat was free of the mud. She and Nennian lurched towards him, almost unrecognizable, their faces encrusted masks of filth.
And Michael knew. In the instant before it happened his frozen limbs freed themselves from immobility and he managed to bawl a warning.
'Look out! He's here!'
There was an explosion of silt and water that fanned the air like a geyser and was shredded immediately by the wind. Michael caught a glimpse of an angular black shape, all ravening muzzle, before it dived towards Cat and Nennian.
His sword was in his hand and he was wading through the dark water, but there was another detonation of spray almost at his feet and he was knocked down by the impact of something as hard as stone that crashed into his chest. For a second the water closed over his head and there was an immense weight on his torso, but he rolled out from under it and, still blind with muddy water, swung the blade and heard it connect with a sharp crack, like an axe clicking off wood.
Wood.
He wiped the water from his eyes and saw Cat jabbing with her stone knife and Nennian half-sunk in mud with a black beast worrying at him. His face was distorted by stark terror.
Other fountains of water and mud detonated around them, and other four-footed black shapes appeared, hard to make out in the murk and the spinning spray. He thought they were dog-like. Or wolf-like.