Chapter 18

Dawn should have been close.

Edmund clung to that thought like a lifeline. The landlord had said a couple of hours. The wiry man had repeated it. Over and over, they’d insisted the night couldn’t last forever.

But time inside the Black Swann had begun to feel… wrong. It had become unmoored. As relative as it was supposed to be, it had cut its ties and was now adrift, allowing no accurate estimations of its passing.

He sat in the ash circle, wrapped in the shuddering remnants of his strength. The fire was drained of life, though the fireplace was still attempting a deep orange glow, occasionally breaking into half-hearted flickers that illuminated the landlord’s strained face.

“Still with us, lad?” Malcolm asked quietly.

Edmund nodded, though his neck felt too stiff and the action made him suck in his breath.

“Feels like it’s been hours.”

“It has.” The landlord exhaled. “Just not enough of them.”

A soft clatter sounded behind the bar. A glass shifting on its own. Will swore under his breath.

“It’s testing us again.”

Edmund didn’t respond. An awareness stirred within him. It was slight, but unmistakable. Whatever had been curtailed by the firelit circle was returning. He knew it without question.

“You said dawn weakens it,” he murmured.

The landlord nodded.

“Aye. It loosens its grip. Pulls back into the deeper woods. Gives us a bit of peace.”

Not for you, something whispered inside his ribs. Edmund flinched.

Will moved closer to the window, peeking through a thin gap in the shutters.

“Something’s wrong,” he said. “Sky’s still black.”

“What?” the landlord snapped. “Should be lightening by now.”

“What time is it?” Edmund asked, frowning.

Malcolm fumbled at his sleeve, revealing his watch, squinting at the faint glow of its dial. His brow furrowed.

“That’s not possible.”

“What?” Edmund’s voice cracked as he spoke.

“It’s half six! Sun should be cresting.” Malcolm looked up at the ceiling, his frown deepening. “Forest’s holding it back.”

“Can it do that?” Will asked, wide eyed.

“Not unless it really wants someone.”

“It’s me, isn’t it?” Edmund hugged his arms around himself, his breath trembling.

An answer wasn’t required or offered.

The landlord stepped to the table nearest the circle and pulled out a chair, lowering himself onto it with a pained groan.

“Listen, lad. You haven’t crossed. You haven’t given in. That counts for something.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“It does to us,” Malcolm said. “And we’re not giving you up.”

Another reaction, harder this time, sending a sting through Edmund’s chest. The shadows in the corners of the pub shifted, then stilled. The landlord stood abruptly.

“Will, check the shutters again. See if anything’s changed.”

The wiry man moved quickly, stepping to the right-hand window and nudging the slats open just enough to see through. He froze.

“What is it?” Edmund whispered.

Will backed away from the window, shaking his head slowly.

“It isn’t night.”

The landlord shot him a sharp look.

“What?”

“It’s not dark because it’s night,” Will whispered. “It’s the canopy.”

Edmund’s skin crawled. He didn’t understand what the man was saying but, at the same time, he had no doubt.

“The canopy?”

“The trees. The branches. They’re… over us.”

The landlord strode to the window and pushed the slats open wider.

Where sky should have been, there was darkness, but not that of the departed night. Leaves and branches had created a ceiling of twisting, interlocking limbs pressed so close they scraped the pub roof. Roots hung like veins, twitching slightly as if blood flowed through them.

The forest had reached over the building. Smothering it.

“It’s here,” Edmund stated simply.

Malcolm shut the shutters again, his face pale.

“It’s blocking the dawn.”

“Can it take him from inside? Even with the circles?” Will asked, sinking onto a stool.

Malcolm’s silence was answer enough.

Edmund’s pulse thundered, making his body twitch in rhythm. An insistence rose within him, confident and full.

Soon.

He bit down on a whimper.

Malcolm placed both hands on the back of Edmund’s chair and inhaled loudly.

“We’re holding it off. You hear me? You’re not going anywhere.”

Edmund wanted to believe him, but something was changing. Pressure was building – the expectant moment before a storm breaks.

There was a soft creak echoed from above. Then another. These were not footsteps, because footsteps had a rhythm. This was a weight settling.

The roof bowed.

Edmund’s heartbeat stuttered.

“Please…”

The landlord moved instinctively closer to the circle, as if he could shield Edmund from whatever pressed against the beams.

“Stay with me, lad.”

But Edmund’s insides swelled again, growing heavy and comforting. It pulled at his consciousness, a hand guiding him toward sleep.

Rest, it murmured. You don’t need to fight anymore.

Edmund clenched his teeth.

No.

The pub ceiling cracked, raining down dust. Another groan rolled through the rafters, long and slow, as the building fought against the immense weight pressing down. Malcolm grabbed the poker again, brandishing it. It appeared inconsequential in his hand, but it was all they had.

“Will, the fire. Get it blazing again.”

The wiry man scrambled to the hearth, tossing in logs with frantic urgency. Flames leapt high, casting wild light across the pub.

Edmund felt the warmth inside him recoil, then surge back twice as hard.

The ceiling cracked again as a root punched through, thick and gnarled and alive.

Malcolm swung his weapon, making fierce contact. The root swung back, leaving splinters and a widening gap in the rafters. Edmund clutched his chest, gasping as it warped violently.

“It’s trying to get him now!” Will shouted.

“Not while I stand,” the landlord growled.

Another crack. Another root. Another blow of the poker.

Edmund’s vision blurred. His body vibrated hard enough to steal his breath. He struggled to stay conscious, knowing, somehow, that sleep meant surrender.

The landlord swung again.

The roof splintered.

The fire roared.

“It’s not waiting for dawn anymore,” whispered Edmund, his voice quiet but harsh.

Malcolm knelt beside him, gripping his shoulder.

“Then neither are we. We fight now.”

Another root tore through the ceiling. It was long. It was reaching. It was aimed directly for the ash circle.

And Edmund felt a claim flare within him, bright and triumphant.

It’s time.