this forest.”
Grukarr’s smile vanished. His brown eyes peered at the young woman who had dared to contradict him. A storm seemed to gather under his brow, and his pale cheeks flushed.
Before he could speak, the elder priestess stepped over to join Atlanta. “She is right, you know. The spirits of the forest are just as worthy of devotion as the ones we pray to at the temple.”
Scowling, Grukarr glared at the old woman. “Shame on you! As you should know by now, the True Religion honors the immortals who live on high, in the sky above us, and nowhere else. You certainly won’t find them out here in the wild woods.”
Drawing herself up straight, the elder replied, “Only if you have no eyes to see and no ears to listen.”
Still holding the vines, Atlanta said to Grukarr, “We could teach you, if only you are willing to learn.”
The priest scowled at this impudence. He started to answer harshly, but caught himself. Trying to stay calm, he said, “No doubt you could teach me many things. Which is fortunate, Atlanta, because it will encourage me to be . . . gentle with you.”
His eyes glinted greedily. “You see, I have some uses, important uses, for your knowledge of this forest.”
The elder priestess gasped.
Frowning, Atlanta replied, “What I could teach you about this forest is not about
uses.
No, it’s about a deeper way of seeing. Breathing. Living.”
Dropping any pretense of friendliness, Grukarr growled, “If that is your attitude, then it is you who must learn from me.”
As if agreeing, the bird on his shoulder rustled both wings.
“You must understand,” Grukarr declared confidently, “the righteousness of my cause.” He shot a withering glance at the old priestess. “The True Religion, can
save
you—yes, even if you have strayed from the Truth. It is, in fact, the only path to salvation. The path out of the darkness and into the light.”
He paused to stroke Huntwing’s tail feathers. “But if you do not agree, here and now, to cast away your heathen ways, to end all your old-fashioned witchery and dark magic . . .”
His voice hardened. “Then I shall be forced to
educate
you.”
The people whose eyes sparkled with green all tensed. Some glanced furtively at the forest, looking for a way to escape. Others turned anxious faces toward Atlanta, while the small girl with the garland of blue irises scurried to her side. Still others, such as the sturdy fellow from the land of waterfall lilies, clenched their fists, ready to fight.
Atlanta, for her part, stared down at the golden-leafed vines she was touching. Quickly releasing one hand, she tapped and stroked the vine that now dangled freely, communicating some sort of message. She continued as Grukarr straightened his turban, preparing to speak again.
“Do I hear no reply?” he demanded. “Is no one here willing to repent and follow my guidance?”
“Never,” declared the elder priestess.
“No,” answered several others.
“Impossible,” said the girl with blue irises in her hair, her voice quiet but firm.
Malice written on his face, Grukarr declared, “Then I must take you to—”
He stopped abruptly as the free vine suddenly whipped toward him and struck him squarely on the forehead. He cried out in pain and tumbled over backward, losing his turban as he landed on the broken branches and dry leaves of the forest floor. Huntwing shrieked with rage and pounced on the vine, but only succeeded in battering the priest’s face with his wings.
Blood streaming from his head wound, Grukarr rolled in the leaves, trying in vain to bat away the bird. “No, you foolish beast! Get away!”
Atlanta, meanwhile, shouted to her followers, “Flee, all of you! Trust in the forest!”
She locked gazes with the old priestess. “Help them,” she said hurriedly, “however you can.”
“I will, Atlanta. But will you be safe? He has something terrible in mind for you, that’s clear.”
Atlanta nodded. “As long as
Grukarr’s smile vanished. His brown eyes peered at the young woman who had dared to contradict him. A storm seemed to gather under his brow, and his pale cheeks flushed.
Before he could speak, the elder priestess stepped over to join Atlanta. “She is right, you know. The spirits of the forest are just as worthy of devotion as the ones we pray to at the temple.”
Scowling, Grukarr glared at the old woman. “Shame on you! As you should know by now, the True Religion honors the immortals who live on high, in the sky above us, and nowhere else. You certainly won’t find them out here in the wild woods.”
Drawing herself up straight, the elder replied, “Only if you have no eyes to see and no ears to listen.”
Still holding the vines, Atlanta said to Grukarr, “We could teach you, if only you are willing to learn.”
The priest scowled at this impudence. He started to answer harshly, but caught himself. Trying to stay calm, he said, “No doubt you could teach me many things. Which is fortunate, Atlanta, because it will encourage me to be . . . gentle with you.”
His eyes glinted greedily. “You see, I have some uses, important uses, for your knowledge of this forest.”
The elder priestess gasped.
Frowning, Atlanta replied, “What I could teach you about this forest is not about
uses.
No, it’s about a deeper way of seeing. Breathing. Living.”
Dropping any pretense of friendliness, Grukarr growled, “If that is your attitude, then it is you who must learn from me.”
As if agreeing, the bird on his shoulder rustled both wings.
“You must understand,” Grukarr declared confidently, “the righteousness of my cause.” He shot a withering glance at the old priestess. “The True Religion, can
save
you—yes, even if you have strayed from the Truth. It is, in fact, the only path to salvation. The path out of the darkness and into the light.”
He paused to stroke Huntwing’s tail feathers. “But if you do not agree, here and now, to cast away your heathen ways, to end all your old-fashioned witchery and dark magic . . .”
His voice hardened. “Then I shall be forced to
educate
you.”
The people whose eyes sparkled with green all tensed. Some glanced furtively at the forest, looking for a way to escape. Others turned anxious faces toward Atlanta, while the small girl with the garland of blue irises scurried to her side. Still others, such as the sturdy fellow from the land of waterfall lilies, clenched their fists, ready to fight.
Atlanta, for her part, stared down at the golden-leafed vines she was touching. Quickly releasing one hand, she tapped and stroked the vine that now dangled freely, communicating some sort of message. She continued as Grukarr straightened his turban, preparing to speak again.
“Do I hear no reply?” he demanded. “Is no one here willing to repent and follow my guidance?”
“Never,” declared the elder priestess.
“No,” answered several others.
“Impossible,” said the girl with blue irises in her hair, her voice quiet but firm.
Malice written on his face, Grukarr declared, “Then I must take you to—”
He stopped abruptly as the free vine suddenly whipped toward him and struck him squarely on the forehead. He cried out in pain and tumbled over backward, losing his turban as he landed on the broken branches and dry leaves of the forest floor. Huntwing shrieked with rage and pounced on the vine, but only succeeded in battering the priest’s face with his wings.
Blood streaming from his head wound, Grukarr rolled in the leaves, trying in vain to bat away the bird. “No, you foolish beast! Get away!”
Atlanta, meanwhile, shouted to her followers, “Flee, all of you! Trust in the forest!”
She locked gazes with the old priestess. “Help them,” she said hurriedly, “however you can.”
“I will, Atlanta. But will you be safe? He has something terrible in mind for you, that’s clear.”
Atlanta nodded. “As long as
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