Chapter 33:
The Humming
Glory of Ash
The hollow was smaller now.
Or maybe the walls had grown closer. Dorn couldn't tell. He sat with his back against the rotting wood, his axe across his knees. His wounded arm had gone numb. The stain had reached his shoulder.
Harkin lay on the ground. His leg was black to the thigh. The bone had shifted again. He wasn't screaming anymore. He wasn't doing anything.
Jorund sat apart. His hands were in his lap. Black to the wrists. His chest was black. His throat was black. His face was grey.
The moths circled above him. Violet wings. Pale bodies. Silent.
---
"She used to hum," Jorund said.
Dorn looked up.
"When she cooked. In the morning. Before the Scrape."
He paused.
"I don't remember the tune anymore."
---
Dorn shifted. His wounded arm scraped against the wood.
"You'll remember."
"No. I won't."
"Then hum something else."
Jorund shook his head.
"It's not the same."
---
Harkin's eyes opened. His voice was dry.
"What did she hum?"
"I don't remember."
"You said that."
"I know."
Harkin closed his eyes.
"Then stop talking about it."
---
The moths circled lower.
One landed on Jorund's hand. Its wings were violet. Its body was warm.
He didn't brush it off.
"She used to touch my face," he said. "Before bed. When I was small."
He looked at his hands.
"I can't feel it anymore."
---
Dorn stood.
His axe scraped the ground. He walked to Jorund. Knelt in front of him.
"Feel this."
He pressed his good hand to Jorund's chest.
The stain was warm. Pulsing.
"Can you feel that?"
Jorund looked down at Dorn's hand.
"No."
---
Dorn's jaw tightened.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Then what do you feel?"
Jorund was quiet for a moment.
"Hunger."
---
Harkin's eyes opened again.
"Hunger for what?"
Jorund looked at the trees. At the fog. At the dark between.
"I don't know."
---
The moths landed on his shoulders. His arms. His face.
He didn't move.
Dorn stood. Stepped back.
"Jorund."
"I'm here."
"Are you?"
Jorund didn't answer.
---
The ground shifted. Not much. Just enough.
The roots beneath the hollow stirred.
Harkin felt it through his back. Through his black leg. Through the stain.
"They're responding to him."
"What?"
"The roots. The forest. It's listening to him."
Dorn looked at Jorund.
"He's not controlling it."
"He's not stopping it either."
---
One of the moths crawled across Jorund's lips.
He didn't brush it away.
"Jorund."
He turned. His eyes were brown. For now.
"Don't let me stay like this."
"Then fight."
"I don't know how."
"Fight anyway."
---
The roots emerged from the soil.
Not attacking. Reaching.
They touched Jorund's boots. His legs. His waist.
He didn't move.
"Jorund!"
"They're not hurting me."
"That's not the point."
---
Dorn grabbed his arm. Pulled.
Jorund didn't move. His body was heavy. Rooted.
"Let go."
"I'm not leaving you."
"You should."
"I won't."
The roots tightened. Dorn's wounded arm screamed. He didn't let go.
---
The roots stopped.
Not retreated. Stopped.
The moths lifted from Jorund's body. Circled once. Twice. Then flew into the fog.
Jorund stood.
His body was stiff. His movements were slow.
"I'm going outside."
"No."
"I need air."
"The air is the same everywhere."
Jorund walked to the entrance.
Dorn stepped in front of him.
"Move."
"No."
"Move, Dorn."
"Make me."
---
Jorund's hand shot out. His black fingers closed around Dorn's throat.
Not squeezing. Just holding.
Dorn didn't move.
"Let go."
Jorund's eyes were grey.
"Jorund."
His hand loosened. Dropped.
His eyes flickered. Brown. Grey. Brown.
"I'm sorry."
"It's not you."
"Yes. It is."
---
Harkin pushed himself up. His leg dragged behind him.
"Both of you. Stop."
They turned.
"The forest wants us to fight. Wants us to break. Don't give it what it wants."
Jorund looked at his hands.
"I don't know what it wants."
"It wants you."
---
The hollow was silent.
The roots were still. The moths were gone.
Dorn stood between Jorund and the entrance.
Harkin leaned against the wall.
Jorund sat on the ground. His back against the wood. His hands in his lap.
"I used to know her voice," he said.
No one answered.
"I could hear it. Even after she was gone."
He looked at the ceiling.
"Now I can't hear anything."
---
Dorn sat down across from him.
"What did she sound like?"
"Soft. Low. Like she was always tired."
"And the humming?"
"Morning songs. Nothing I knew. Nothing from anywhere."
Jorund's voice cracked.
"I used to pretend I could still hear it. When the Shade took her hands. When she stopped speaking."
He looked at Dorn.
"Now I can't even pretend."
---
Harkin crawled to where Jorund sat.
His leg left a black trail on the ground.
"You're not gone yet."
"I'm not here either."
"Then where are you?"
Jorund looked at the trees.
"Somewhere between."
---
The ground shifted again.
The roots pulsed. The hollow breathed.
Harkin pressed his palm to the soil.
"He's right. The forest is waiting."
"For what?"
"For him to stop fighting."
---
Jorund closed his eyes.
"Don't wait for me."
"We're not."
"You should."
Dorn's voice was sharp.
"We're not leaving you."
"You already left. All of you."
He opened his eyes. Grey.
"I just didn't notice until now."
---
The moths returned.
Not circling. Waiting. They landed on the entrance. On the walls. On the roots.
They formed a path. Leading out.
Jorund stood.
"I need to go."
"Sit down."
"I can't."
He walked toward the entrance.
Dorn grabbed his arm.
"Jorund—"
Jorund turned. His eyes were grey. His face was still.
"Let go."
Dorn didn't.
Jorund pulled free. His strength was wrong. Too much. Too sudden.
Dorn stumbled. Caught himself.
---
Jorund stood at the entrance.
The moths parted. The roots withdrew.
The fog was thin. The trees were waiting.
"Don't follow me."
"Jorund—"
"Don't."
He stepped into the fog.
---
Dorn moved to follow. Harkin grabbed his ankle.
"Let him go."
"He's going to die."
"He's already gone."
---
The fog closed behind Jorund.
The moths followed.
The roots settled.
The hollow was silent.
Dorn sat on the ground. His hand was on his axe.
"I should have stopped him."
"You couldn't."
"I should have tried harder."
Harkin leaned back against the wall.
"We all should have."
---
The forest breathed.
Somewhere in the white, Jorund walked.
The moths circled above him.
The roots parted beneath his feet.
He didn't know where he was going.
He didn't need to.
Something was calling.
And he was too tired to refuse.
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