The Whispering Trees by J. A. White

face belying its wide smile. The rabbit was no larger than an apple and sat upon a bicycle crafted from several bands of wire. One of the wires, flaking rust, had uncoiled from its brothers and pointed off into space.
    â€œWhat does that do?” Taff asked, reaching out for the rabbit. Mary twisted away before he could touch it, and the witch’s petulant expression—like a child who did not want to share her toy—almost made Kara laugh.
    Crouching down, Mary placed the rabbit on the boulderand, withdrawing a piece of chalk from within the folds of her cloak, scratched a careful X to the left of the bicycle’s front wheel.
    She leaned over and whispered something in the rabbit’s ear.
    â€œOkay,” Taff said, lying on top of the boulder so he was eye level with the toy rabbit. “I’m not going to ask any questions. I’m just going to watch and see what happens.” He paused. “What did you whisper in its ear?”
    â€œI asked it to show us the way to Imogen.”
    â€œYou don’t know?” asked Kara.
    Mary gestured to the boulders that surrounded them in every direction. “I admit to being somewhat disoriented.”
    The three of them watched the rabbit. When nothing happened, Mary whispered her request again and then patted the toy rabbit gently on top of the head, as one would an obedient dog.
    A minute passed. The toy rabbit sat there. Motionless.
    The first drops of rain splattered against the boulder.
    Mary looked like she was about to pound her hand into the boulder in frustration, but then thought better of it. “Blasted, useless bauble!” she exclaimed. “Sometimes this happens. Sometimes they don’t do anything at all. More and more, lately.”
    â€œLet me try,” Taff said. Before Mary could stop him, he bent next to the rabbit and whispered something in its ear.
    The rabbit started to move instantly.
    Its tiny feet, encased in red boots, pressed down against the pedals of the bicycle. Turning the handlebars slightly, the rabbit began to drift in small circles across the boulder. The little wheels of the bicycle creaked softly.
    â€œIt’s moving!” said Taff. “It listened to me!”
    Mary looked unamused.
    Finally the rabbit began to cycle in a perfectly straight line. It picked up speed, and Kara stood near the end of the boulder in case it slipped off.
    The last thing we need is a simulacrum of a toy rabbit , she thought. The image of a living, breathing rabbit on a bicycle should have been funny, but it wasn’t — not even a little bit.
    Just when Kara thought she was going to have to pick the rabbit up, however, it stopped at the base of her feet. Mary bent down and drew a chalk line from her original X to the bicycle’s new position at the edge of the boulder, then measured the distance by using the span of her outstretched fingers.
    â€œNo more than three days’ journey,” she said, “though the Draye’varg will end long before then.” Wiping a bead of rain away from her eyes, she pointed in the direction the bicycle had traveled. “The forest is that way, just out of sight. We’re almost there.”
    Mary picked up the toy rabbit and gently returned it to her sack.
    â€œHow did you make it listen to you, Taff?” Mary asked.
    He shrugged. “I just asked it to show us the way toImogen. I didn’t do anything special.”
    â€œHmm,” said Mary Kettle.
    â€œDoes that mean I’m magic?” Taff asked. Kara could not tell if the trembling in his voice was from excitement or fear.
    â€œNot at all,” Mary said. “Using enchanted objects requires no craft, but it cannot be done by just anyone. It’s a talent that might be—”
    Taff screamed.
    A millipede the size of a rat was gnawing on his ankle. Except the millipede wasn’t made of flesh and blood.
    It was made of water.
    Mary hurled the writhing thing through the