No turning back now though, not when Natalie could be nearby. I leave my crows screeching and follow the path through a forest of birch and pine, oak and ash, and even elm. Blueberry and red currant bushes crowd the edges of the path, tempting me with promises of sweetness. Absolutely no way I’ll eat anything in a magical realm. I know better.

The path ends at a wall of spruce, the undergrowth tangled into knots not even someone my size can crawl through. The overwhelming smell of pihka hits my nose. The tree sap makes the whole woodland smell like a sauna at midsummer.

The briers move and I step back, expecting to see a rabbit dart out of the undergrowth. No rabbit. The bushes move again, wiggle as if…as if… I scramble back even farther. The wiggling bushes aren’t bushes at all but a pair of large and thorny feet.

Now I really must be dreaming.

I drag my gaze up the trunks of two trees, which aren’t trees so much as legs.

“Terve?” I offer a tentative greeting.

Branches rustle in response, as if they’re laughing at me. I squint up into the shaggy green boughs. Clinging to the higher needles is a face with a beard of moss. If I turn my head even a little, the face disappears, and the spruces are simply trees again.

“Little one,” a voice says, “are you lost?” This time I know for sure the voice, as gnarled as old bark, comes from the creature that’s somehow also a tree.

Hiisi! Of course! Morgan mentioned it in the bus. I should’ve realized sooner. This hiisi doesn’t sound friendly exactly, but they’re not the sort of creatures known to snack on humans either, so I’m probably safe for now.

“I’m—I’m looking for my friend.” I think it’s best to be honest and direct. “Her name is Natalie. Have you seen her?”

“You shouldn’t be here.” The creature sounds a little angry.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I really need to find them. We think they were taken by a chaos mage.”

A rustle-snap of branches encourages me to continue. I sit on the forest floor in a puff of leaves and spruce needles and, feeling rather ridiculous, I spill my guts to the tree.

The hiisi remains silent after I finish. The hope drains out of me, a slow melt like winter ice warmed by spring sun.

“This is dangerous business,” the hiisi says eventually.

I stare up into the boughs, looking for the face that must be talking. There are only shivering branches.

“Your friends aren’t here,” the creature continues. “Though there have been others stomping about my glade.”

“Others? Do you know why they came here? Who were they? What do they want?” My words all run together, the syllables tripping over each other as they rush off my tongue.