Bridge of Souls by Fiona McIntosh

been made and promises given.
    Fynch steadied himself and found his voice. “Creatures of the Thicket,” he called, “I will make myself worthy of your faith.”
    He bowed, low and long. When he stood upright again, he felt a new strength pulsing through him, from his toes through to the tips of his fingers. He realized that it must be the Thicket communicating with him, sending him nourishing power. He felt charged with it, and could not help the radiant smile that broke out onto his face.
    “Tell me what it is I must do,” he asked the creatures. “I am your servant.”
    It was Rasmus who spoke on behalf of the creatures and of the Thicket itself. Be seated, Fynch, he offered from his perch.
    Fynch lowered himself to the ground. Knave and Roark remained standing, flanking Fynch on either side.
    Child, you already know what it is we ask of you, the owl said.
    “I do?”
    Elysius shared the same desire.
    “Rashlyn,” Fynch murmured.
    The creatures and trees all shuddered their shared hatred for the man.
    Yes, Rasmus concurred. You must destroy him.
    “What is it that frightens you so about this man?”
    He is tainted, and he wants to use his power to corrupt all that is natural about the world. His evil is born of his jealously at being unable to manipulate Nature. More than anything, he passionately desires the power to control all creatures. With this at his disposal, he would rule all realms. Imagine him being able to call upon eagle or zerkon alike? Imagine him commanding them to do evil, the other animals powerless to refuse him? You must destroy him!
    “I don’t think I am capable,” Fynch protested.
    The Thicket and its creatures will help you.
    Strengthened by the thrum of power that bristled through him from the ground of the Thicket, and emboldened by the love and loyalty that surrounded him, Fynch took a deep breath. “Then I ask for nothing more than your faith in me.”
    It was the right thing to say. Knave confirmed as much with a gently uttered Bravo, child into his mind while the creatures showed their trust and delight, some leaping into the air, others rearing to stand on two legs, still others squawking or braying.
    Fynch laughed. He was filled with a joy he had never known before. He suddenly felt he belonged to all of them. He reached for Knave and touched the great dog’s head.
    I don’t believe it, Knave said, his tone humble. The King comes.
    “King?” Fynch repeated, puzzled. Since they had begun communicating via this special mindtalk, Fynch had found Knave’s manner to be mostly serious, like himself. The dog was not one for jests or shallow thoughts. He spoke only when there was something to say, and during most of their conversations it had been his role to counsel Fynch. The boy knew of Knave’s graveness, and the dignity that emanated from his solid, dependable presence, but never had he seen the dog show humility. And this was no small humility: Knave sounded filled with reverence for whatever it was that was arriving. “Knave—”
    Hush, said the dog, and a powerful beating sound made Fynch raise his head and squint into the light above. Something plunged toward them—a suggestion of a shadow at first, that darkened until it cut out the light entirely and Fynch no longer squinted but was wide-eyed with both fear and awe.
    “The warrior dragon,” he breathed.
    Our king, Roark said softly, veneration in his voice, as the mighty creature alighted in the clearing.
    The creatures bent low to exalt the hallowed creature that stood before them, its famed, darkly shimmering colors gloriously filling the clearing.
    Fynch needed no prompting. He fell to his knees immediately, then prostrated himself. Closing his eyes, he cast a prayer to Shar in thanks for the blessing of this day and what it had brought him.
    Fynch, said a voice, as rich and mellow as treacle.
    “Your majesty,” Fynch replied, not daring to raise his head.
    Come stand before me, the voice commanded. Fynch