Chapter sixteen
Stupidity Is
Part of the Plan
On the other side of the little cooking fire, Wick got up and took a few steps toward Archer. Archer flapped a hand at him, doing his best to convey he was all right while he caught his breath.
Sitting down again with a thump, Wick took another glance up at the sky and spluttered, “What was all that?”
Archer flopped over onto his back, trying to suck in deep breaths to re-stabilize his lungs. It seemed running that far and that fast wasn't good for you. He made a mental note not to do it again if he could avoid it.
Wick waited for an answer, didn't get one, and got insistent. “What just happened?”
Archer pushed himself back up into a sitting position, propping the elbow of his knife arm against his knee. “I feel like it should be pretty obvious that they were trying to kill you.”
Wick's mouth fell open.
“Or maybe it isn't obvious.” Archer took another gulp of air and grinned. “You've made enemies, tree, get used to it.”
“I'm not a tree,” Wick said on reflex, and they both fell silent, staring at one another. It felt like they both were noticing for the first time just how different Wick looked now. Archer remembered with regret how upset Wick had been about it during their fight.
“No,” Archer said. “You're not a tree. Not even related to one, I remember.” He waved a finger vaguely around at the surroundings. “I've been gone for what? Ten days? And you're still here? In ten days, you walked maybe three miles from where I left you.”
Wick used a stick to poke at a few leaf-wrapped packages in the fire, and when the words came, they came with great difficulty. “I didn't know where to go. It just seemed that if I went home, my friends wouldn't know what to do with me. The same for my family. And I didn't know if the centaurs would have me arrested, so I stayed here.” Wick coughed uncomfortably. “Why? Where were you for ten days?”
“Everywhere.” Archer scratched the tip of the knife under the edge of his jaw. “The nixie palace– I'm surprised you didn't see me from here, actually, I swam all the way there– then through satyr territory and then your people's land and after that all the way up to human territory. I mean, it wasn't a straight path because I met a few other people I was going to fight on the way, but I was only halfway through all the places I wanted to go before I found out the manghar wanted to kill you.”
Wick put the stick down and leaned forward, his face taking on a tired understanding. “You met a few other people you wanted to fight along the way?”
“Yes.”
“That's what you were doing for ten days? Running around hitting people?”
“Yes!” Archer said emphatically. “There are a lot of people around here that have things coming to them, and if the world is going to end, I don't want it to end before they get their just desserts.” He beamed Wick a bright smile.
Wick gave him a disgusted look and went back to poking his little leaf packets with the stick. “That would at least explain why you look like such a wreck.”
Archer took offense. “I look like a wreck? You've turned into a mountain man! Think about what you look like right now!”
Wick turned one of his little packages over, then dug the stick under another one. It was totally dark out now. The only light left came from the faint light of the moon and the flickering orange glow of the fire. “At least I don't look like I just got caught in a rock slide.” He took another look. “And then ran through a cobweb.”
Archer hissed and raked his fingers through his hair.
“It's not like that's the worst of it,” Wick said.
Archer was well aware of that, but he kept running his fingers through his hair. Once he was satisfied that every last sticky strand was gone, he got up and moved closer to inspect the little packages Wick seemed to be cooking.
“What are those?” he asked, patting his hair back up into the familiar shark fin with one hand as he pointed to the packets of leaves with the other.
“I set a trap this morning and caught a rabbit, now I'm cooking it,” Wick responded. He picked up another stick from next to his seat and used the two together to lift one of the packages off the fire. Dropping it onto the grass, he then went for the other two packages that were scattered across the coals.
Archer eyed the fire. “Doesn't burning wood in a fire offend your delicate sensitivities or something?”
“I found all the wood on the ground.” Wick set the two sticks down next to the fire.
“Ah.”
They waited as long as they could and then each took one of the little packets of leaves to see how Wick's rabbit had come out. Peeling the leaves aside, Archer picked up a piece of the steaming meat and blew on it quickly before stuffing it into his face.
His eyes widened as flavor exploded in his mouth. A faint sourness hit his tongue next to the flavor of the rabbit itself, and then some kind of herb taste followed that. The meat was cooked to tender perfection, almost ready to fall apart as he brought another piece up to his mouth.
“This is good!” he said through the mouthful of food. “What did you do to it?”
Wick glanced to his left, where the leftovers of his meal fixings were spread out across a piece of bark. “I recognized a few herbs in the brush, so I took those, and then there was some kind of fruit on a tree over that way–” he nodded over Archer's shoulder, “–so I took it to test out. I tried it and it wasn't poisonous. Is it actually good, or are you just hungry?”
Archer finished the first packet of rabbit meat and reached for the extra one. “No, it's good!” His chewing slowed as something occurred to him. “You just got taste buds a couple of weeks ago, and you can already cook like this?”
Wick shrugged. “I know how cooking is done; I just didn't have a reason to try my hand at it before because I wouldn't be able to taste it anyway.”
“Yeah, but the last time I saw you eat anything it was that flavorless soup, and you thought it was exquisite. I thought your taste buds were busted or something,” Archer muttered, stuffing two more pieces in his mouth at once and polishing off the second leaf-full of meat.
Wick made an annoyed face, and it suddenly came rushing back that the last time they had spoken, it had ended with them going separate ways. Archer tried to think of something to say that would make it better, but there didn't seem to be anything he could say that wouldn't sound stupid. Instead, he started on a different subject.
“So,” he said, clearing greasy leaves off his legs with one sweep of his arms. “What have you been doing for ten days? You heard my story, what's your tale from the last ten days?”
“Trying to figure out what to do with my life now, deciding if I should just go to the centaurs and let them judge me as they will. But that was just the first week. After that, I was just trying to figure out a plan.”
Archer looked up. “A plan for what?”
Instead of answering, Wick got up and gestured for Archer to follow him. They walked up the mountain a ways, up to even a higher place than Archer had been looking for the wood smoke.
The moon was just starting to come up, but it was still dark enough that Archer had to watch his step to avoid tripping over a rock and going headfirst back down the mountain. It seemed Wick could see well enough, which was all well and good for him, but he repeatedly had to stop and wait as Archer picked his way up the mountain behind him.
After a few minute's walk, they came to a place clear of trees, a little overhang from which they could see everything outside of the circle of mountains. It was an impressive view, but–
Archer squinted. “Are you seeing what I'm seeing?”
Wick nodded.
There wasn't much light to see by, but the moonlight was enough to make out the changes that were taking place across the foothills.
The trees were turning grey.
And not just the bleached, bland grey of autumn trees
changing into winter ones, but the deep, despairing grey of something dying from the root. Patches of the grey treetops were breaking out all over the landscape. From down on the ground, from the inside of the forests, it would have been hard to see, but their bird's eye view from the mountaintop made it obvious. When the wind blew over, the dying trees didn't even bend.
“The ocean is choppier than it should be, too,” Wick said. “It's never like this at this time of year. It doesn't get wild until midway through the winter.”
Archer's mind scrambled to piece things together. “But the bigger plants shouldn't be dying yet. We're still four months away. Stuff like this shouldn't be happening yet.”
“I know,” Wick said.
“So what does this mean?”
“It means that either the Scorch is coming faster than your centaur friend predicted, or the attack is going to be a lot more powerful than last time. Maybe even both.” Wick turned to Archer. “That's what I was trying to say before. All the other stuff I was thinking about was before I saw that. So for the last three days, I've been trying to come up with a plan of action. We'll need a good plan if we're going to get all the pieces of the Heather Stone back.”
“But how would we do that?” Archer said. “We don't have anything to do it with. And we don't even know what the centaurs did with the pieces once the nixies brought them back.”
Slowly, Wick frowned. “I might.”
“If I know them,” Wick said, seeming to think even as he spoke, “they haven't sent them all back yet. The centaurs are wise, but they move slowly. I'd guess they would take some time to test the pieces and ensure they aren't damaged. Even after that, they would probably keep all the pieces under observation for a while before they're sent back to their territories.”
“You're saying they probably still have them,” Archer said. “They're all in one place.”
Wick nodded.
Archer put his hands on his hips and stared out at the landscape as he thought. “You know, it's probably a good thing that I never do my research. Because if I'd known any of the things I've learned from you before now, I would have robbed the centaurs blind before they ever saw me coming.”
“Except that they would see you coming,” Wick said.
“Well, maybe.”
Wick abandoned the argument. “I've just been trying to think of how we could ever get in there without them seeing us coming.”
An idea was starting to niggle at the back of Archer's brain. He squinted thoughtfully into the darkness. “How far do their powers of sight go? Can they see things just as they're about to happen, or is there a little time between their visions and the present?”
“. . . That depends. What are you thinking of?” Wick asked.
Everything suddenly fell into place in Archer's head. He knew that nixie girl's weird little boat had looked familiar. “What if we weren't in centaur territory, and then all of a sudden we were? Would they be able to see that coming?”
“Archer,” Wick said levelly, “what are you planning?”
Archer turned to him. “What if we had the Door in the Wall? What I'm asking is, if we had the Door in the Wall, would they see us coming then?”
“The old talisman from the human sorcerers? You said it's long gone; why are you still bringing it up?”
“Hypothetically,” Archer insisted. “Hypothetically, in theory, if we had the door, would it work?”
Wick thought about it for a moment. “I don't know. Maybe. They might know if we planned to use it, but I think it's too unpredictable for them to fully keep track of. Why? I thought they took all of your tools and tricks when they took the bag from you.”
“They did. And I'll get them for it.”
“Then why are you asking about the Door in the Wall?”
Archer's eyes lit up. “Because I know where I can get it.”
They walked back to the campsite, talking the whole way, and in just a few short hours they had a plan fit to end all plans. Wick knew where the centaurs would be keeping the pieces of the Heather Stone, and he knew the steps to cast the spell. Archer knew where to get the Door in the Wall and how to use it. If all went well, they would be able to steal all the pieces of the Heather Stone at once, and when they had the spell up to protect Aro, they could stop for breath at last.
But first, they had to get the door. It took a full extra day, but they walked back around the mountains and out to the lake where Archer had met the nixie girl. She was there as soon as Archer stepped onto the shore, eyes bright and eager, with the feather she had bartered off him stuck out of the back of her hair like an antenna. “You need to go back already?” she asked, smiling with teeth that looked like they had been stolen from a piranha.
Seeing the bedraggled feather in her hair, Wick shot Archer a weird look, but didn't say anything.
“Actually, no,” Archer said, struggling to maintain eye contact. “I had something else to ask you about.”
“Yes?” She had been sitting on her boat at the edge of the water, but now she stood and stepped onto the shore, too close for comfort.
Archer moved back just a few inches. “Could I see your ferry boat for a second?”
Her look of anticipation fell into a frown. “Fine.” Reaching down with one arm, she hauled the little ferry boat up out of the water and handed it to Archer. He took it in both hands and flipped it around to look at the side that had been facing down into the water. On the underside, protruding from the now water-shrunken wood, was a slim gold door handle.
Looking over Archer's shoulder, Wick's mouth fell open. “This is the Door in the Wall!” He peered at the nixie girl around the side of the door. “Why are you using the Door in the Wall as a ferry boat?”
The nixie girl's pale brow creased under her mop of tangled hair. “The what?”
She didn't know what it was. The wheels in Archer's mind clicked forward just another notch. They could use her ignorance to their advantage. “Tell you what, it's a nice ferry boat,” he said, lowering the Door in the Wall and passing it behind him to Wick. “I'd like to have it.”
“To remember me by?” she asked, twisting a strand of hair around a slim finger.
Yikes. But he forced himself to nod. “Yeah, sure.”
“Oh. But what will I use as a boat if you take it?”
Archer shrugged and gestured around vaguely. “There are a lot of trees around here. You could get some wood from one of them and make another one. One that's a little deeper, maybe. Here, look.” He extended his good wing again and ripped out a handful of feathers. “Here,” he said in a strained voice, handing them to the nixie girl.
Her face lit up. “Thank you!”
“No, thank you.” Archer turned and scuttled away, pushing Wick ahead of him, until the lake was out of sight over the next hill.
It was then that he could wince and check his wing to make sure he hadn't drawn blood.
“Are you regretting doing that now?” Wick asked, tucking the door in the wall under his arm.
“Uh, yeah. Why did I do that?” Archer tried to smooth the other feathers of his wing down over the gap he had made, but it wasn't working.
“I don't know, why did you?”
Archer gave up and tucked the wing behind his back again. “I was in a rush. I thought she was going to eat me alive.”
“I did, too,” Wick replied. Judging from his tight voice, he was trying not to laugh. “I thought you might turn tail and run. You were terrified.”
“It's not funny,” Archer snapped. “Did you see her teeth? She probably sharpens them on the bones of the dead men she drowns in the lake.”
Wick started laughing anyway.
“Shut up!” Archer insisted, but Wick laughed all the louder. Archer rolled his eyes upward and something off in the distance caught his eye. “Wick, stop laughing.”
Wick's chortle had been starting to slow, but Archer's demands just brought it back. “It's funny seei
ng you uncomfortable.”
Archer stopped walking. “Wick, seriously, shut up and look over there.”
Wick, hearing his serious tone, stopped and looked where Archer was pointing.
Far off to the west, a towering black cloud was rolling over the horizon. They were lucky not to be in the forest yet, or they never would have seen it.
Wick's eyes widened. “Is that a storm cloud or a hurricane?”
“It's a window of opportunity,” Archer said. He started walking again, faster this time. “We have to hurry if we're going to use it.”
As they raced to beat the storm to centaur territory, they solidified their plan. By now, the centaurs would have long since seen them coming and called in reinforcements. More people would be waiting for them than ever before. They had to be ready to run. And this time, they didn't have the unfillable bag to help them.
There would be no room for second chances this time. There would only be one storm, one opportunity to use the element of surprise. No matter how small their chances were, they were the only chances they would get.
As they reached the base of the mountains at the end of the second day, Wick looked up at the darkening sky and said, “So this is it.”
“Yeah.” Archer nodded. “Make or break time. All or nothing time.”
Wick shook his head. “I can't believe we're trying to do this with just a piece of drowned wood.”
“Hey, it's one of the few functional things that the human sorcerers ever made before they died out,” Archer said. “One of the only ones that ever worked. And now we have it.”
“If it still works.”
“It'll work.”
“It might work.”
“It'll work.”
The rain started then, dropping heavy and black on everything in sight. It soaked them to the bone in moments. They clung to the door as the savage wind tried to rip it out of their hands. The rainstorm was turning out to be more violent than they had been counting on.
Archer set the door in the wall down against the steepest part of the mountain he could find, about two miles south of where he had taken the passageway under the mountain. “Let's just hope they know that I know where that tunnel under the mountain is. Because if all of them are over there waiting for us to come out of it, then we'll have a better head start.”
Robbing Centaurs and Other Bad Ideas Page 19
