“Sean, look at what you’ve caused, you curious boy. We must try and outrun them, but I have little hope of it. Whatever you do, don’t let them know who you are and what you’re running from. For now, you will be my young ones, Riff and Mary,” Tom said, urging the oxen onward, trying for speed.
From inside the wagon, Breanna knew the cart wouldn’t win the race against the Orbels. She remembered seeing them run behind a sure-footed Farqell and knock it down in an instant. Her concern now was how to keep from being eaten once they were caught. Searching her memories, she found nothing that told her how to fight Orbels. She’d barely had time to come to that conclusion when an awful knocking on the cart scared her badly. A large Orbel had jumped and landed upon the step at the rear door and was pounding with its tusks. Breanna quickly moved to the door and opened it wide, slinging the foul-smelling creature to the ground, where it rolled and toppled onto two of its mates.
Others ran beside the wagon toward the oxen, and Breanna knew slow, steady Sam and Paddy were about to be overtaken. There were too many of them to fight, and her ability to use fire would lose its surprise if she fired off lightning bolts without having some plan afterward. They would only attack them again and again from across the bridge. Better to wait and see their intentions.
Meanwhile, Tom was pushing the oxen to their limit, knowing anytime one of them might break a leg, and pull the whole wagon over. Off to his right, two lean Orbels, obviously runners, kept pace with the wagon and the two oxen, and began to herd them off the trail toward the river. Tom was helpless to control the direction of his cart; he could only keep control of the oxen and hope to keep the wheels away from large boulders in the overgrown grass and weeds.
This is a fine mess, Tom Simpkin. ’Tis your fault, for you know lads, and how they must see everything around them. You could have blindfolded the boy, then all the mess maybe wouldn’t have happened. His conscience beat a fast response to his thoughts, for he did know boys and should have had the lad sitting beside him.
The Orbels had crossed the bridge and were keeping up with the cart. They moved in front of the oxen and slowed them to a stop. The smell Breanna remembered came back as the odors rose from the roundish bodies and caused those in the wagon to gasp for air. The two porcine runners grabbed the oxen’s halters and pulled them toward the ice bridge, into the frozen world of the Ice King.
Tom couldn’t understand how the Orbels withstood the cold, unless the fat on their bodies kept them above freezing. If ’twas the truth, then the closer the stinkums were to the Ice King, the slower they would move.
The exposure to the creature’s sub-freezing temperatures might chill the Orbels into a state of lethargy. Of course, there was the obvious situation where the three travelers might freeze before the Orbels.
Sean was shivering. His head hung low and his face flamed with shame for his disobedience. He knew it was his fault the Orbels had attacked them. Tom had warned him more than once. It was his curiosity that got them into trouble. Sean looked at the Orbels leading the wagon across the ice bridge and wished he’d kept his eyes to himself, but it was too late to cry over spilled milk, as his mam used to say. Now they had to find a way to escape the horrible-smelling pig monsters.
Breanna was in her own state of shame, regretting she hadn’t tried to burn their way out of the attack, even though she knew her reasoning at the time had been sound. Still, it was obvious that the Ice King was in control of the Orbels, and if the three prisoners could get in his favor, they might appeal to him for mercy and be allowed to go on their way.
But she wasn’t prepared for the sight of the Ice King, a giant at least three times the height of a man or elf, the breadth of the thing at least as wide as Tom’s cart. He had a mashed-in face with two eyes, but no nose, and only a large hole for his mouthful of long canine teeth. A flat-topped, earless head with open, running facial sores made up the rest of the giant, but the repulsive sight of the king and the odor from the Orbels had to be ignored if they were going to escape. Breanna reached into her memories, searching for answers, but found nothing to help.
Tom hoped he could talk their way out of being eaten, but couldn’t think of any clever words to set them free. His hope was the Ice King didn’t intend to serve them up that night for his subjects’ dinner. Poor Sam and Paddy were headed to the giant’s supper table, Tom could see, for the big grumpkin was eyeing them, and salivating at his teeth hole. The thought made Tom terribly angry and sad, for the two oxen had been his friends for a long time. He was in a bad frame of thought when the giant picked him up, along with the boy and the girl, and threw them all into a dark, cold room with solid walls and ceiling. The Ice King quickly barred the opening with a large boulder bigger than the three captives combined.
Inside the room, the walls were coated with layer after layer of thick ice extending from floor to ceiling, making the interior a giant icehouse, such as Breanna’s family on Nore Mountain had built to store lake ice in winter for the hot days ahead. Neither extra doors nor windows gave hope for a way out of the room. The extreme cold, plus the frozen floor, made a dreadful combination that set their teeth chattering. Breanna came to the terrible conclusion that eventually their bodies would freeze and be thawed later for the giant’s future meals. She found it odd so many Orbels were subject to one giant, and refrained from chomping their long teeth on any of the five new captives. They appeared to be content to wait for the king to hand them morsels as he chose.
Her bow and quiver were in the cart, where the Orbels had pitched them. In their pig brains, they concluded she and the others were now defenseless without weapons. There was a long history of the creatures’ capture of females of all species, for there was little fight or resistance in the weaker, softer ones. Breanna felt her anger growing even larger than the fear that had almost paralyzed her from the beginning of their capture. They took my bow but they can’t take my memories.
12.
“Eliandor, my love, the king has our grandchild and her friends. They won’t long last with him,” Illene said softly, her worries carefully tucked behind the mask of serenity she wore.
“Yes, I saw this well ahead. The child has no training; she may not endure. She knows little of the power she possesses, nor does she know she has been chosen. What does your mirror tell you?”
“My mirror is silent; it awaits the girl’s choices. The child is strong, stronger than any before, but she does not know. She is unprepared to face such a strong adversary as the king, for her faith is small. Will she learn in the time she has left, Eliandor?”
The councilor was silent, grieving for lost loves, lost lives in his time. His three sons and their grandfather were casualties of an explosion of lava, a situation he had no control over, but he ached to change the course of history and recall the daughters and granddaughters he’d left behind. Mathena, the young one, so strong in her battle with Yahmara, had been barred from the protection of the wood. His sadness filled all the rooms in his mind where peace had once lived, and the grief over past choices stirred memories of children’s voices. He could only hope Mathena’s child had his fortitude and survival skills, for she would need them to confront the ills standing between her and her destiny.
“Illene, we must go inside, for the day has ended. If the impurity of mankind has tainted our line, the child will die in the struggle, and it will be finished. We can do nothing. The witches gather in less than a half-year for the sacrifice, preparing the Spectre to come to this world as a god, with Yahmara at his side to rule for all time. They will destroy us all then, and all the good in this world and the next will be erased before it can ever be. We must have faith in our line, faith that good can overcome this evil threatening our world daily. We must rally for our champion.”
“Yes, my love. Let us go in,” Illene said. “I shall pray that goodness will prevail.”
13.
Behind the dirty counter of the Inn of Feldbrook stood a suspicious-looking man whose countenance
and body were both unwashed and untidy. With a nasty sneer, the man stared at the seven sisters before him and regarded with disdain their requests for rooms.
“Aye, we have rooms, but not for the likes of you. ’Tis well known your kind bring nothing but displeasure to good folk.” In the background, she heard others grumbling, agreeing with the man.
Mathena, as the chosen leader, took her job seriously, and was offended by the heathen behind the table. She was tall and off-putting to uncouth strangers, a fact that did not escape her.
“Yes, four rooms. I will be alone in one of them. See that it is done quickly,” she said to the amazed man before her. The coins she pulled from her small bag twinkled and shone, for they had been made recently from material she found along the roadway. Fire did amazing things to rocks.
The man’s eyes widened, and he salivated at the sight of the bright, shining coins.
“Aye, four rooms, missus. ’Tis my pleasure,” he said, as greed transformed him into the women’s lackey.
He showed them the stairs, and then their rooms quickly afterward, as his back bent with the weight of all their baggage. Inside the fourth room, the sisters gathered beside Mathena, laughing at the incident with the terrible man.
“When do you suppose the shine will wear off the coins and he’ll know they were made from the rock of his own road?” Sheela asked, tittering a bit at the fun.
“We will be long gone before he finds the truth was always there; it was his eyesight that was bad. Let us make sure we are long gone,” Mathena said, laughing with the rest. “Leave the proper amount of real coin on the table when we go. It is not our thought to cheat, but he did deserve a coming down.”
The rooms were adequate, and supper had biscuits and honey, along with a sturdy stew to fill the belly. The seven sisters were stared at all during the meal, the glances hostile and questioning. Too many witches had been on the roads before them, poisoning the townsfolk against good people. After careful consideration, Miralda whispered to the rest after the meal.
“I am for spelling these folk, to give them a laugh or two they haven’t had in a while. Will you join me in making their lives a happy time?”
“A’right, Miralda. It is a fine thing to leave happiness in the mind of people. If you will forgive me, I am going to bed,” Mathena said wearily. “I will expect you all up early in the morning hours.”
The rest of the sisters waited until Miralda cast her spell, a gentle reminder to all those entering the supper room of the inn that life held joy as well as fear. She found the fiddle player in the room, and gave a start to his old, stiff fingers, refreshing the life in them. Very soon the music could be heard across the streets of the town, and the people began to gather in groups, dancing with one another happily. The sisters smiled at each other and nodded, making their way to the rooms upstairs as Miralda lifted and twirled her fingers in the air, gracing the town with lighthearted goodness for at least the balance of the evening.
The next morning, at first light, the seven were on the road with a biscuit and bacon in one hand, and a jug of mash in the other to keep them awake. Mathena drove the first cart, after asking the Farqells to continue pulling the heavy wagon along the journey. They had been gone three fortnights, and still had a long journey, as Mathena calculated; the way had been quiet, with little beyond the Phoebus incident. To a soul familiar with Yahmara Cromcroft, it could mean only one of two things. She either did not see them as a threat, or felt she had the upper hand. Either of those assumptions had Mathena worried, for she knew the power behind the witch, and knew the seven were out of touch with their abilities.
Young Breanna had the memories, and the power of the Old Ones, but as yet she had not been trained to use them. All those facets of the whole made for a grim picture. Eliandor was the key; if he would help them, there was a chance they could still keep their world from the Spectre’s clutches. Harsh words had been spoken the day of their turning out, harsh words directed at the councilor. Mathena knew nothing of her grandfather’s heart, and much was risked if he refused to leave the Haven of Pentara Wood and travel to the forbidden land where Yahmara had built her worship cairns. Mathena bit her nails, a habit from childhood when uncertainty overcame her. Less than a half-year before our very existence may end, she thought. Pray we are all up to it.
14.
The sound of water dripping made Elida think of the Tribon, its wide banks and shallow edges near the farm where she and Sean played and she learned to swim in the middle, the deepest part of the river. For a few minutes Elida forgot the cold floor beneath her and the bucket smelling of her nightly toilet. She was young but her strength came from years of farm life and her mam’s teaching. She said her prayers more often now than before, and the cold chains at her feet reminded the girl everything about her life had changed because of the w—— Yahmara. Elida hated her as much as a girl so young could hate. The dark places in her dreams were filled with snippets about the w—— and her scarred chest, a reminder there was no heart inside to harbor mercy.
The night before, one of the not-so-bad ones had brought her pet viper inside the cellar and turned it loose, thinking the snake would frighten the girl into telling a secret, but Elida held her hands out, seeking the long, scaly creature of the grass.
“Come to me, little snake, for I won’t hurt you,” the girl said. The snake slithered to her and wrapped itself around her hand, laid its head on her neck, and became very still. The w---- screamed, grabbed her pet, and stomped it with her hard leather boots as it tried to strike her leg. Elida couldn’t imagine such cruelty, and was unaware her sweet attitude had dealt a large blow to one of Yahmara’s closest subjects.
Terribly lonely except for her friends the mice, Elida cried for her mam and poppa every day, but only when they couldn’t see. Her brother and Bree would come—she knew that, but hoped she could hold out long enough to see it happen. They gave her food and water, didn’t beat her any more after the first day, and were resigned that she knew nothing of Bree. She smiled at that, remembering the fire Bree made, and the way she could soar into the air, the White that came at her bidding. The night they went to the field and caught the fire bugs, Bree had seen across the long acres, counting the sheep in the pen. She was coming, but she was nothing more than a girl, as far as Elida ever told. Her secrets were comfort for the small, lonely prisoner.
15.
“Tom, can you still talk? I am near frozen, but my mind is still working.” Breanna’s jaw shook as she talked. She hugged her knees, wishing for warmth.
“Aye, l-lass,” he stuttered, his own teeth noisily clacking in the cold. “I can hear you, but my words may be shaky.”
“Tom, what do you think is under this ice cave?”
“Well, maybe just rocks, more ice caves.”
“Could it be the river? Tom, do you think this is above the water?”
“’Tis possible. Would explain how the demon makes ice for the bridge and all. Maybe he’s not so grand after all.”
“If I could melt the ice, do you think you could swim in the cold river?”
“If you could melt the ice? What do you mean, girl?”
“Don’t ask her,” Sean said sullenly from across the room. “She won’t tell you.”
“Shh. Keep it down,” Tom said, then looked back at Breanna. “Child, if there’s a way you can melt the ice in this cave, then old Tom can swim a river.”
“Then get ready, and don’t watch me,” she said quietly, rubbing her index finger across the vines holding her hands together. A thin twist of smoke issued near her wrists, and the smell of parched grapes whirled across the room.
“Lass, what are you doing?”
“Some flint rock behind me, Tom. See,” she said, showing her freed hands with two pieces of rock clutched between her fingers. “Let’s get you two untied before we do anything else.”
“Give me those rocks,” Tom said doubtfully.
Sean, who knew there was more, much more to his
foster sister, sat quietly. Finally, he looked at Breanna and said, “I’ll wait until you get to me.”
Breanna stared into Sean’s eyes, the soft brown looking back at her with patience and acceptance. “Thank you, Sean. I’ll be there in a moment.”
After untying the other two in the old-fashioned way of knot working, she asked them to move to the outside of a circle she had drawn. Water began to flow as Breanna’s fingers drew lines across the thick ice layers, and fire from her fingers melted the old ice faster than it could be refrozen by the giant’s spell. A tiny hole opened in the floor, and the water flowed through it to a place they couldn’t see. She thought hard about her mam, pulling the secret of fire from her memory of seeing Mathena at the fire pit in their cottage.
Mam, I need your guidance, need you to direct me, show me how to use this memory. Use my hand, Mam; show me. The ancients had used fire to conquer their enemies many times in just such a way, melting pathways through rock and mountainside.
The hole in the ice grew larger until it was as big around as Tom, and the three could see beneath it a long spiral of boiling water melting its own pathway to whatever lay below the cavern. Steam rose, warming the three, who huddled together waiting for the tunnel of ice to grow wider and deeper. Tom’s mouth hadn’t closed after he first saw the slit in the ice circle; he could only watch Breanna, wondering what he was seeing, what she was causing.
“I won’t ask, lass. Would do my old ticker no good to know.”
The Gantlet Page 12
