The Wizard's Curse (Book 2) by Jenny Ealey

that was as close as Tarkyn ever came to ordering him around, the oath would be no problem at all.
    Chapter 4
    In the darkness of his shelter, Waterstone lay asleep, his daughter Sparrow a short distance away from him. Outside, the wind was picking up. Within minutes, the trees were thrashing under an ever-increasing gale. Suddenly, an intense wave of fear slammed into Waterstone’s mind, followed almost instantaneously by a peremptory summons. Sparrow woke crying.
    Waterstone had no time to comfort her. “Stay here,” he said urgently, as he quickly pulled on his boots. “Whatever you do, don’t leave the shelter until I call you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
    Sparrow nodded bravely. “Go on. I’ll be all right. Tarkyn’s in trouble, isn’t he?”
    Waterstone answered over his shoulder as he left, “Something is wrong, badly wrong. Stay here until you hear from me.”
    Once outside, the woodman was buffeted by the strong winds that were now shrieking through the trees. He could hear branches breaking and the air was filled with flying leaves and twigs. Eerily, he could see the stars shining peacefully above him in a cloudless sky.
    “Oh no.” Waterstone said to himself in horror. “It’s not a storm. Someone is betraying the oath. The forest is being destroyed.”
    He ran to the oak where they had left Tarkyn for the night. As he arrived, woodfolk converged on the scene from all directions. Tarkyn was still there lying with his palm against the oak. Rushwind was leaning over him, her hand on his shoulder. Suddenly his mind was filled with an image of Rushwind being struck down with a slingshot. Waterstone didn’t hesitate. He grew out his slingshot in one fluid movement and fired. Rushwind dropped like a stone. As her contact with Tarkyn broke, the wind died down. Another image appeared of Rushwind with a barrier around her. Where she lay, the grass and moss beneath curled up and died as they watched.
    “Don’t touch her,” yelled Waterstone.
    He looked up into the oak and realised that its branches had dried and withered. His gaze travelled out to its extremities. Where the oak touched other trees, they too were shrivelling.
    As the woodfolk ran towards Tarkyn, they received another image, telling them not to touch him either. As they watched, he took his hand away from the tree trunk. Other than that, he was lying motionless, his face pale but sweat beading on his forehead. They stood around him and looked at one another in bewilderment and alarm. “How can we help if we can’t touch him?” and fast upon that thought, “How can we help even if we can touch him?”
    Waterstone sent an urgent message to Sparrow, “Get Stormaway. Quickly!” He leant over Tarkyn, “We’re here. What’s happening? What can we do?”
    Beneath him, Tarkyn opened his eyes. The whites of his eyes burned bright red and his irises glowed fiery orange. Waterstone had to stop himself from reeling back in horror.
    “The infection,” croaked Tarkyn He took a shuddering breath and managed to get out, “I… need… rage,” before his eyes snapped shut and his whole body contorted.
    Stormaway appeared at a flat run. “What’s happening?” he asked shortly.
    “I think Rushwind has re-infected Tarkyn. It has spread from him to the trees and I think it will spread through the forest unless we can find a way to stop it.”
    “Did he say anything?”
    “He said, ‘I need rage.’”
    Stormaway nodded decisively. “Then that’s what we’ll do. We’ll send him anger. Come on, you lot. I can’t do it. I’ll instruct you though.”
    “We can’t send feelings, only words and images,”
    He looked around at the crowd of anxious woodfolk. “You can’t send feelings to each other but Tarkyn can pick them up. Remember? He picked up Autumn Leaves’ fear. So focus on images that will ignite your anger. Stand firmly. Close your eyes. Now think of the outrage of having the forest damaged. Think of those greedy grey