“Illene, my heart, the decision was made long ago—I have little to say in this matter. What was begun by our departed fathers who dealt softly with evil has grown, and it is not given me to remake those times. Those who come have the power of the ancients, of Ziglianor, and their mission will cause destruction for all those who threaten this world. Our land is hanging by a thin thread dangling from the Creator’s fist. Will it break or will it hold? Such is not for me to say.
“Many eons ago I forced a departure from our lands. I sent the young witch into the wilds, to the far-most regions, and now we see the result of my decision. Yahmara should have been put out of existence, as chaff is burned after winnowing. She was defective, born into our world with heart and soul, yet they lay fallow. The day she plucked her heart from its rightful place was the day the world was set on this wrongful path. Yahmara must be stopped, yes, but it is the Spectre who rules her, who gives her strength. Can we destroy the Spectre? Illene, I do not know, but I must be with those who try.”
“And the girl, what will happen to her? Will she overcome?”
“She must, or all wrong within the land will shift, and right will suffer a loss greater than it has ever seen.”
“This girl, our grandchild, is she so important to our future?”
“Without her we have no future, even if Yahmara is taken away,” Eliandor said. “The survival of the world is at stake. The Old Ones have spoken.” His expression was pensive, his peace broken by horrible scenes his mind recalled from long, long ago.
“Then we wait, my love, until they come,” Illene whispered. “We shall love this life together until then.”
11.
The roaring sounds were louder all the time; it was obvious something big was coming up soon. Tom settled on a slow pace for his oxen, as it was better to go slower than to cause the animals to become lame. Sean grumbled about making another raft for the fast-moving water—they could make much better time even by stopping long enough to cut and build it. Breanna disagreed with him, for her instincts told her the river would consume them alive on a raft near the headwaters at Ice Mountain.
She had a bad feeling about the water, and was glad they weren’t forced to pole their way again. Up to then she had avoided using her memories, but Sean was determined to do something rash, and there was no way she could stop him. If he insisted on rafting the river, there would be harsh results, possibly calling for her to rescue him.
They stopped the wagon as the light was leaving for the day, with just enough in the west to see how to build a fire and prepare fish from Sean’s traps. Every day he placed them in the water for a short while, and then pulled out two or three nice perch for their dinner. Breanna always thanked him for his smart work, building the traps, but the boy refused her thanks by saying it was part of his contribution to the trip.
“She’s my sister, you know, and I want to find her, but we got to eat.”
Whatever his thoughts, Breanna was glad for the steady food supply, even though sometimes it was boring having fish again.
Trying to head off the boy’s desire to build a raft, Breanna woke him the next morning at the break of light. She suggested they take the bows and bring in fresh meat to last a day or two. Tom was in favor, but cautioned the two about being seen.
“If she’s watching for you, don’t make it too easy for her. Keep your heads down, and Breanna, cover your hair. It’s a surefire giveaway who you are.”
The forest was thicker across the river the further they traveled, leaving less coverage on their side, but even so, enough game lived in the thin trees to satisfy their needs. The first thing they spotted was a large rabbit, its fur still white after winter. Sean shot an arrow at the animal and missed, but it stayed in the same spot, giving him time to shoot another into its forequarters. The boy quickly ran to the animal and finished the job with his knife and held it up for Breanna to see.
“It would make a fine quiver for you, Sean,” she said. “The rabbit would be well served if first it fed you, and later its fur lived on your back.”
Sean nodded, thinking of the job he could do while sitting in the wagon, his mind distracted from Elida’s capture.
“I’m going to walk out a ways while you skin the rabbit. Maybe I can get another one,” Breanna said, taking a step behind some trees. “I’ll be back soon.”
Walking alone was a nice experience for her. It was seldom she got to be alone anymore. Except for the privacy she required for her feminine needs, there were just too many reasons to stay close to the others. Hunting had been a good idea and the meat would be good, but it also felt great to step lively and not worry if someone saw her soar into the air for a moment.
Around a small bend among the trees Breanna heard a squirrel chattering furiously, its fur standing high with the long, bushy tail in the air. Clearly something was wrong. She moved closer to the animal and peeked through some trees at a gathering of small creatures. On the ground was a pile of nuts, the kind she had always loved to eat while sitting around a fire with Willum and Alene. It was obvious the animals were fighting over the nuts, each hoping to get away with them.
She drew her bow and took two of the squirrels with the same arrow, then quickly loaded her bow again and picked off a fat rabbit. The others ran away and left the pile of nuts and their friends on the ground. Breanna pulled her bag from her waist and loaded the game plus most of the nuts, leaving a few for the other creatures that would return when she left. Her hunting trip had been a success, and they had meat again.
Tom was sitting on a stump fingering a thin wooden pipe, blowing through it, the sounds pleasant to Breanna’s ears. She was surprised he could produce such sounds from such a small instrument.
“What is it called?” she asked while emptying her game bag onto a tray from the wagon.
“’Tis a flute; made by my poppa when I was just a boy. I’m not very good with it, but my poppa could make some fine music. That’s what the sounds are called, music.”
“Sean could probably learn. He’s very quick with such things. Would you mind teaching him what you know?”
“Aye, I could, and is them primnuts? Oh, I do love them roasted over the fire. And we have meat. Bless you children. The day you learned to use the bow was a blessed day.”
The rest of the evening was almost free of ghosts, for Sean picked up the flute as though he were born with one in his hands, picking out sounds as Tom sang them. Breanna danced around the fire, her ragged clothing no less radiant in the firelight than if had she worn a beautiful cloak, and her heart was light for the first time since Elida was taken. She could almost feel the little girl dancing beside her.
“We’re going to get her, Sean, never you worry; we’ll get her back safely.” She hoped her voice was convincing, for her heart had suddenly taken a dive as she worried about her young friend.
Sleep was harsh and elusive, leaving her tired the next morning, and anxious to be on the road. They needed to find Yahmara’s sacrificial cairn, the place where she held Elida.
Tom was nervous, and his inner alarm was making sounds the next morning. Something was waiting ahead, and it didn’t bode well for any them. He thought hard about leaving the children; after all, he’d done his best to make amends for his part in the girl’s early life. Finding the Vales had done her a lot of good, although it hadn’t worked out well for Alane and Willum. He chewed his lip, urging the oxen on with one hand and scratching his head with the other.
Tom Simpkin can’t be blamed for witches’ work—that’s the truth of it. Still, would like to settle the score, them treating me as Tom Simpleton. Took me for fool those years ago and I never forgot. Maybe a ways longer down the road before I leave them, he decided, placing his pipe in his mouth.
Breanna moved to the front of the wagon and sat beside Tom, hearing his thoughts, wishing the knowledge would go away. It was part of her, etched in her memory. The voices would come if she was near someone. She’d discovered it only the day before,
when Sean was sitting beside her at the fire and began feeling sad about Elida. She heard his anguish, and it near broke her heart. Quickly she had moved her seat from his elbow, and his voice receded. She was frightened for a moment, afraid it was all too much to contain. There was no forgetting; that was part of her memory. Once it was learned, the knowing was there inside, tucked away quietly.
She started talking to Tom, asking about his life so he might quit thinking of leaving them beside the river. He was a good man, even if it was not his wish to be. Such was the reason she had felt safe with him as they crossed the Emptiness. She had been frightened by the new surroundings, by the break from her home and the fear surrounding her future, but she had never been afraid of Tom Simpkin.
“Well, let’s us think about it,” Tom said. “There’s a little village a mighty long way from here where the Simpkins lived with lots of children. I was one of ten, and me mam and poppa was about run ragged by the time I got big where I could help out. We raised turnips and onions, carrots, and pigs in the sty. When the cold came, Poppa and me would take the biggest of the pigs, and put him down so we could have food for the winter, but ’twas never enough.
“When my next brother got to be my size, I took off, left the village and the family. I seen them now and then, but there’s the grans now, and ’tis more crowded than ever. Poppa is old, with old ways, stays on the steps more than anywhere else, watching the little ones. He don’t ever look pleasant, so I think maybe it was a good thing I never took a wife, if it makes a man that miserable.
“Many a day I starved on the road, with no chance for food then, or the next sunrise, but come morning, a friendly soul would offer me supper for gathering corn or turnips, or for fixing the bucket on the well, or catching a cow that run off. Once I got to a good-sized place, and the king was in town, needing someone to make funny stories to tell his supper guests. I come up with some, just telling about me family. Only once was I a king’s jester, but ’twas the best job I ever had. The silver lasted me for a fortnight.”
He stared off into the distance again, turning his eyes to the river every now and then. Breanna knew more was coming.
“Old Tom needs you to know he’s sorry for carrying you away when you was a wee lass. They played me for the fool I was, told me you was filled with a demon. I took the coin, but never looked at you till we crossed the Emptiness. Then my eyes cleared, and I saw I’d been swoggled by a nasty spell. At least we never went to Thrum. It would have been the end of you. Still, I’m sorry for my part in your unhappiness.”
Breanna saw the goodness in the man, and felt his pain, even though she wished she could be angry. She nodded slightly.
“I forgive you, Tom Simpkin.”
“A’right. Don’t change what happened, but makes me feel some better, lass.”
“There are some bad things waiting at Ice Mountain, Tom. I can feel it. I’m afraid for Sean, that he might get hurt.”
“Aye, I think the same thing, lass. You’ll have to keep your eye on him as we pass by.”
“Will you be continuing with us, Tom, or will you be leaving us there?”
“I’ve thought about it, girl, but for the life of me, I can’t go off and leave you. My days are more pleasant with you than without. As I told you, I never had no wee ones of me own. The Vales was good to me, took me in each time I had no supper. ’Tis time I paid them back some, and helped get their little one to safety. So, I’ll be staying with you for a while, if it’s a’right with you and the boy.”
Breanna smiled at the man, liking him for his simple honesty and the loneliness she heard in his voice. She hoped they were up to what lay on the road ahead. Her dreams had begun changing a fortnight earlier, first with only an inkling of danger, then each time they became more violent, frightening her out of sleep. This is my own, she thought, there is nothing my mam or my friends can do to make it go away. The dream is a warning, but I don’t know what it is about.
Tom felt something amiss in the girl as her conversation died. Her deep blue eyes stared into the field of early flowers near the Tribon, but he knew she didn’t see them.
“You seeing something out there, lass?”
“No, just thinking a little, wondering about Elida.”
“She’ll be a’right till we find her, mark my words. They may frighten the child half to death, but they won’t harm her none beyond healing.” Tom hoped his words were true.
“Tom, why are they dead set to get me? What is it they want?” Breanna was troubled, and carried a load of guilt over the damage done to her friends. “Maybe I should find the witch and let her take me, then the bad things would stop happening to the others. I wish my mam was here, to tell me what to do. She would know.”
“Aye, tell old Tom about your mam and quit thinking them thoughts.”
Breanna smiled, a memory of her mother gathering turnips bringing a moment’s happiness.
“My mam is pretty, with dark hair and dark eyes, the opposite of me. She is strong and wonderful, with a smile for most. She has white teeth and skin, her elfishness, I guess, for I believe she is very old. I was born to my parents long after their first mating. And my poppa is a big, kind Qay with a deep voice that can make sounds of birds singing. I miss them, Tom, every day, and I think about how it would be to see them.”
“Well now, lass, you must hold on to the good thoughts, ’cause when them witches get to going, they take all the light out of life, and might just make you forget how much you love your folk. Thing to remember is the meanest one don’t have no beating heart and can’t know no kindness, or love for any. You be ready, ’cause a witch has to be put down. Old Tom heard a story about Yahmara”—he reached and crossed himself after mentioning her name—“about how she was beaten once as a young girl, the breath taken from her by another lass her size. But, you see, mankind and elfkind have a like weakness: they feel things for others and show pity. Nobody should ever have felt pity for the witch, even back then. She should’ve been struck down, right into the fire.”
“What happened, Tom? What did the girl do?”
“Well, you know ’twas ages ago and all the stories is just that, stories, but what I heard was Yahmara”—he crossed himself again—“was practicing a black spell, and the lord councilor had forbidden her from ever doing such a thing. She built a fire in the woods, stirred up a potion, then called up the animals in the woods, got them all to fighting each other. There was blood and dead ones here and there, and the witch was laughing and hollering a lot of words while the creatures killed each other. About then, the other lass is there and hears it all, tells the witch to break the spell, but she won’t do it.”
He stopped for a moment to take a breath, remembering how his mam had told him the story.
“There was fighting as you never heard before: the forest and the villages along the way heard it, young girls going at each other. They said the ground was shaking. In the end, Yahmara was down, one of her legs burned to the bone. She called the spell back and put the witch-work aside because she was afraid of the other lass. Pity left the witch alive, a mistake we’re suffering for today. And that’s as I remember it being told.”
Quite a story, Breanna thought. I wonder how much of it is true. How can I ever stand up to someone so powerful?
Sean had been asleep in the wagon, one of the ways he passed time instead of worrying about his sister. Breanna was glad he had missed the story of Yahmara.
“Where are we?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, staring into the once-peaceful Tribon, now a raging force from two rivers about to meet.
“Well, lad, you’re looking at the Tribon you been tracking for a spell,” Tom said. “She’s mean at this stage, about to get meaner when the Iree joins up around several bends. That tall peak you see t’other side of the water is Ice Mountain, a wrongful place if ever there was one. We’ll be speeding up here, if it’s a’right with both of you children.” Tom clicked his tongue and popped the reins on the oxen, pushing them harder than
before.
“Tom, we’ve seen hills and valleys, mountains and forests. What makes this place so dangerous?” Sean was curious and a little frightened by what he had heard.
“Lad, can you see that bridge on the water up ahead? It’s not made of wood, as the crossings a young one like you finds familiar. ’Tis made of ice, spun together by the Ice King, a giant that lays claim to the river at these parts and all the land around it. We must hurry by, and whatever you do, don’t look across the bridge when we get to it. Put your capes on now if you have one, for it will be getting colder.”
Breanna was in the back of the wagon, peeking out the small window that Tom used for light when he stayed alone. She could see a gathering of movements across the river, bodies low to the ground, pig-like. Kit was shivering badly, afraid of what Breanna saw. Taking the fox out of the quiver, Breanna told him to go and hide in the forest, to find food and travel through the trees alongside the road. She watched him scamper away, avoiding the wheels, his red tail in the air.
“Tom,” she whispered, “there’s Orbels gathering across the water.”
“Aye, lass, we’ll be hurrying by. Don’t look at them; they’ll see you through the walls. As long as the dirty things can’t see your eyes, they can’t see you at all.”
Sean was trying very hard to keep his eyes trained away from the other side of the river, but his curiosity overcame his good sense. Besides, he had a great desire to see the creatures that had frightened Breanna all the years after her arrival at the farm. Ignoring Tom’s warnings, Sean made a decision of his own. Just one look wouldn’t hurt a thing. Peeking out of his left eye, and turning his head only slightly, he could just see one of the Orbels lift on its hind feet and peer fixedly toward the wagon, its stare touching Sean’s when the creature was midway across the bridge. Sean jumped back, as he swore he felt a physical burn, and after that, all chaos broke out across the water.
The Gantlet Page 11
