To the Haunted Mountains

by Ru Emerson

  “I will treasure it.”

  “I know it.” He rose abruptly and strode into the night. Ylia closed her eyes, kissed the hilts and fitted the dagger with gentle care into its sheath.

  'Nisana?’ Dread flitted suddenly across her thought.

  'No. They will not return.’

  'Good.’ She closed her eyes and was aware of nothing until Malaeth woke her for evening meal. She fell asleep again, heavily, not long after. Levren woke her for watch near night's end, and she roused Nisana to search as the sky began to grey.

  'You are weary, girl.’ The cat's thought was a warm thing, a rare caress.

  'It fell on me in a lump last night.’ Ylia yawned, laughed quietly. ‘Would I could ride and sleep, the way you can!’

  'Would you could,’ Nisana agreed; the thought amused her. Then, seriously, ‘What will we do when we reach Aresada? Have you thought on it?’

  'No. Not really.’ She rubbed soft ears. ‘I do not know what awaits us. I know there are folk there, Bendesevorian told me that much; even Lyiadd hinted at it. More than I suspected, they both said. We will have to make choices, though, and that soon. If we remain Nedao, we will need some place to live. The Caves are no place to farm. And we will need to decide quickly, lest planting season totally pass us by. There is Yls, or Nar, otherwise. But we cannot take the Plain.’

  'No. That is closed to us.’ She was quiet for so long Ylia thought she had gone to sleep. Then: ‘We are not walking, you can make long search. It is good to stretch what you have, to test it. And perhaps we can see the Caves from here.’

  'That I doubt. But, I am willing to try.’ The cat drained her inner strengths ruthlessly. Mountains—heavy forest—open marshland beyond them, thick with mist under the early light. No further. But the marshland, if she recalled the maps correctly, was near enough for hope.

  South from that. Nisana backtracked along the way they would go. Meadow, a spill of waterfall. A bear at the base of that fall. A deep-pooled stream, stands of birch and oak. Human minds.

  At first, neither realized what they had found. Nisana nearly lost the contact as the sense of it smote them both. Plainsfolk, Nedaoans! Women in the grey robes of the Citadel; children with lean faces, sleeping for warmth in a pile like so many puppies, for there was no fire, only a cold, grey-ashed pit. An old man in Citadel grey lay at full length a distance away from them, eyes closed. An angry red burn ran down his face, his clothes were charred.

  Nisana severed the joining. ‘They are five leagues away. With good luck, we might reach them tomorrow at sundown; the way is rough between here and there. But they might not all live so long.’

  'No.’ Ylia thought furiously. ‘I have it. I cannot bridge. But you can. And I can aid you, as you aided me to heal. If you could bridge me—and another—?’

  'Well. A curious thought. Worth the attempt.’ She considered in turn. ‘Levren?’

  'I think so.’ Ylia jumped to her feet, fatigue forgotten, and went to waken him.

  She had to shake him only once and lightly; he listened without comment. “Five leagues.” He shook his head. “In this country, we could never reach them by nightfall. And there are children, injured?”

  “Without food or fire. The Mothers know when they last ate.” Ylia paused, chose her next words with care. “Lev, I swear I would not ask this of you, but there is need. If we can reach them, now, you and I—”

  “Your magic. A bridging?” He paled but nodded. “Well—I hope I am old enough and perhaps wise enough to know when need must override fear.” He set his belt to rights, gathered his bow, his food pack, the rough snares he had constructed, dragged his cloak around his shoulders. “All right. Let us go.”

  Ylia clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man. But I had better waken Golsat before we go. Nisana will remain here to keep an eye out for Mathkkra, though I do not think those we fought last night will give us trouble again.”

  Levren grinned fleetingly; he was still pale. “Well, I will say a word in Marhan's ear since you are afraid to!”

  They moved away from the fire then. Ylia gripped Levren's arms, he caught at her hands, hard. “I know it sounds impossible,” she murmured as she and Nisana joined, “but relax if you can. It makes it easier.” One moment they stood at the edge of camp, the next not far from the refugees she and the cat had seen. Levren staggered and she nearly fell with him.

  'Nisana?’ The mind-touch was nearly as strong as it had been moments before. ‘Nisana, it worked!’

  'Of course it did.’

  'Of course,’ Ylia mocked. ‘I will return as soon as possible, or Lev will. Alert Malaeth or Lisabetha which way you must travel to meet up with us.’

  'Of course,’ Nisana retorted dryly, and severed the contact.

  We had been alone in the Foessa for so long, we had long since given up hope of finding other Plains refugees. So unexpected were they, that at first neither of us truly realized what we had found. It must have been a blessing on the part of their One that any of them lived at all, though to my thinking, their One might have blessed them a little better, and let them all live.

  28

  “Ho, Nedao!” Levren called out. No response. But a few more steps brought him out of the trees and into the clearing Nisana and Ylia had seen. Twelve ragged, hungry folk huddled there, mute with fear; the old man lay still, eyes closed. “We are of Koderra.”

  A gaunt woman in Citadel grey pushed stiffly to her feet. “From Koderra? To aid us? Or—or has the King's City fallen also?” She swayed; Levren caught her.

  “Koderra is gone. But many of the people escaped to Yls by the River. We travel to Aresada. You are far to the west, if that was where you intended to go.”

  She shook her head hopelessly. Ylia took her arm as Levren moved to bundle three of the children into his cloak, pressed his food pouch and the spare into the hands of the herder woman who hovered over them. That done, he disappeared into the trees. “We had no idea where we were going. If we were going anywhere. Away from the Plain. Some of us know Aresada: Pyel and Nald, my sisters; Lus,” she indicated the peasant with a nod, “who is mother to three of the children. But none of us were certain which way to go. And we could bring him no further.” Her eyes went to, remained on, the old man. His face was pinched, white above the thick grey cloak, and he scarcely seemed to breathe.

  “We will bring you to the Caves. We are bound there ourselves. Levren will return shortly with meat; you and I had better build up the fire.”

  “Ours went out two nights ago,” the woman said ruefully, “and we had no means to rekindle it.” She seemed for the first time to see her companion. Her eyes caught at the sword, the dagger sheath; a faint frown creased her brow as her gaze touched on the worn breeches. “I am Sata. Of the Chosen.”

  “I am Ylia,” the swordswoman replied.

  There was a sudden reserve in the Chosen's manner. “There is only one in Nedao who wears that name. And—such garb. You are the King's daughter.”

  “I am.”

  “The King—”

  “My father perished in Koderra.” She caught at the woman's arm as she would have made a formal curtsy. “No. I am not yet Queen, and this is not the place.” She added over her shoulder as she headed for the firepit, “Aid me with this fire. We will need small branches, dry leaves or needles. There is jerky in those pouches, chew on a piece of it now, before you do anything else. Levren will bring fresh meat, but it will be a while before that can be cooked.”

  “I—thank you.” No, she had not imagined it; there was a definite, sudden distance between the two women. But Sata aided her, and between them they soon had a fire built; the other women and the children moved close to it.

  Ylia set about constructing a spit of thick, green branches, studied the folk she and Levren had found. Sata alone was anywhere near normal. Lus stared blankly across the fire and into the trees, her arms wrapped around a sleeping girl of perhaps three; the child clung to her tightly, even in sleep. The oldest of the child
ren—a boy no more than twelve—stood protectively behind the other three. The other four Citadel women sat close together, all pale, thin and dazed. One clutched the rags of her robe to her breast and alternately whispered to herself and whimpered.

  But they were mostly cold and hungry. Whatever Levren brought would probably go a long way toward restoring them. Ylia turned her attention to the wounded man. His pulse was light and rapid; he looked as though a puff of wind would carry it away forever.

  “By so much only he has held to life.” Sata stood behind her, expression unfathomable. “I have not the means to heal him. The Tehlatta left Inda when they fired the fields, after they used her. He brought her forth. By the second day, I had to lead him; he was in great pain and no longer aware of where he was or what he did.” Ylia pressed the blackened cloak aside: he was badly burned down his right arm, both hands were scarred, puckered, the fingers curled into claws. “I laid cold, wet cloths on the burns and wrapped his hands in them. But I could do nothing else, I had nothing for his aid, nothing for our own.”

  “You did well with what you had.” She hesitated, sat back on her heels to study the old man. There were few herbs or powders of any sort left in her pouch, and nothing for the simplest of burns, let alone such as these. But she knew full well the reason for the woman's sudden lack of warmth when she heard the name Ylia.

  Witch. Even Lisabetha, who had known her, thought her powers evil because of association with the Chosen. This woman was fully Chosen. And she knew Brandt's daughter—Scythia's daughter—only as a name. The Chosen had first named Scythia White Witch, and not as compliment.

  “I can save his life,” she said finally.

  “You—” Sata took an involuntary step toward them.

  “But you may not wish that I do so. And perhaps he would feel the same.”

  Sata set her jaw. “You would use—” she hesitated.

  “I have my mother's healing. AEldra healing. Magic, if you will. But if this is a thing against your belief, if it is so wrong in your sight—If it would be better, as your kind see it, to let him die, rather than that I so heal him?”

  Sata sighed wearily, dropped down to sit on the old man's other side. “It is wrong.” There was, briefly, iron in her voice. “But—if you could save Grewl. I know he will die without your aid.” She let her head fall forward into her hands. “Lady, I cannot think. Nor, perhaps, have I the right to choose on his account, as you would know if you knew him. I give you the decision.”

  “Then I will save him.” She paused. “Who is he, Grewl? I do not recognize the name.”

  “No. He was not of our fane. A scholar, Grewl, more than anything else. He is a South Osneran, of a—I suppose branch is the word, of our main house which is in the north of that land. He came just before harvest this past fall, having heard of certain manuscripts in our possession that he wished to study and perhaps to translate.”

  “I see.” She was silent a while. This was a man of Marhan's years, perhaps more, but smooth of face except about the eyes, where fine lines gave proof that he worked long and hard hours at small and detailed things. There were deeper lines of laughter about his mouth. A scholar—a scrivener—Ylia glanced at the disastrously burned hands. “He will not die. We cannot lose any more good men, who have lost so many already. Grewl is needed—we dare not let die men of learning. Go, keep the fire burning. Lev should return shortly.”

  “I—”

  “You need say nothing. My decision, and it shall remain between me and him.” From the corner of her eye, she could see Sata urging her fellow Chosen to attempt the jerky, drawing the eldest boy to help her gather wood. She closed her eyes, then, laid hands across the old man's brow.

  No easy task, this; he had been long days in the great silence that so often become final, and his inner being was slow to respond. But when she finally sat back, she found his eyes open. They met hers frankly.

  “Who are you?” A mere whisper, as though his voice had forgotten how to work.

  “Ylia, daughter to King Brandt of Nedao.”

  “Lady Princess. I have not met you before. But how did we both come here? You were not in the valley when the Tehlatt came.” He closed his eyes briefly; memory was, it seemed, returning. Not pleasantly. His hand moved in the Chosen blessing for the dead.

  “I have come north from the ruin of Koderra, bringing with me eight others. Many died in the City, but many also escaped. We will tell you the full tale later. For now, you should rest, and when there is food, you should eat.”

  He stared at the hand he had used in the blessing, brought the other up and gazed blankly at them both. One moved gingerly to touch his face.

  “I used the AEldra power to heal you,” Ylia added reluctantly as he turned that open gaze on her once again. “If I did wrong—but I do not think I have. You are needed, by those who follow your way. By Nedao. And by me. If it is possible, you will remain with us. If I did wrong, if I have offended you, then I ask your pardon.”

  But the withdrawal she fully expected did not come. He continued to study her for a time. “Well. I have often wondered about these AEldra ways. I have never spoken with the Queen your mother, or with any AEldra, and know little save what the tales your Lord Corlin supplied us told—or what my fellows said. I did not particularly believe all I heard, however. So much evil harbored within human souls!” A faint smile. “But then, I have always held that the One gave us brains to interpret the teachings according to the world about us.” He closed his eyes. “Do you know—of the Citadel itself, who escaped?”

  She shook her head. “No. I am sorry. It may be that others did so, and that they have reached Aresada—the northern Caves Lord Corlin prepared as siege-hold.”

  “I know of them.” He drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I cannot remember much, myself. I fear that—if the Father of these Nedaoan Chosen perished—” He met her eyes again, a rueful smile crinkling his own. “They thought, when I first came here, you see, of setting me in Gedderan's place. As a man more suitable to dealing with Nedao and its half-AEldra heir than he. Because, I suppose,” he added diffidently, “I am less set in my thought.”

  “Oh?” She tried to recall. Had Brandt pressed for Gedderan's removal or replacement? She couldn't remember, it was too long and too far away. The old man recalled her wandering attention with a heavy sigh.

  “I personally desire no such thing. I much prefer dealing with books and pen and ink to dealing with people.” He sighed again. “I will not worry the matter until I must. But I thank you, very much, for your healing. That was kind of you.”

  “You are welcome. As I told Sata, Nedao cannot afford to lose more lives, for any cause. And we will need you, we will need scholars when we rebuild. If that is what we do.”

  “I shall hope to aid you in that, Lady. But—those who escaped Koderra. King Brandt, Queen Scythia, you do not name them.”

  Ylia shook her head, pressed her lips tightly together. Grewl made the sign of blessing but offered no word of sympathy, for which she was grateful.

  He sat, slowly and cautiously, and she held an arm ready to brace him, but he did not seem to need it. “I do not recall this place at all, Lady.” Sata came swiftly from the fire to kneel beside him; her face was anxious.

  “Grewl, are you—is it—”

  He smiled at her fondly, patted her hand. “It is well, Sata.” He caught Ylia's eye, including her in that warmth. “I feel no pain, save in my middle. How long have we been here?”

  “Near to a month. But, if you are hungry—” Sata stumbled to her feet and hurried back to the fire, began rummaging through Levren's pack.

  Grewl laughed, a wheezy chuckle as weak as the rest of him. “Small wonder I am hungry! A man of my years should not be put to the missing of meals, let alone so many!” Sata returned with jerky, Lev's water bottle. Grewl took the strips of meat, eyed them doubtfully. “Is there enough of this? I would take no one else's share.”

  “Enough,” Ylia assured him and
warmed to him even more. “One of my companions hunts; there will be fresh meat for all of you shortly. Eat that, if you can. You need strength.” She went back to build up the fire, left him to speak with Sata.

  Levren returned not long after, carrying three groundbirds and a rabbit. While he threaded cubes of meat onto skewers, she moved back into the trees a distance to search for Nisana.

  'Ylia.’ Reply came at once, strong and clear. Still distant. ‘Tomorrow at noon. That is the best your Swordmaster and Brelian can conjure between them.’

  'Then I will return to you at dark and leave Levren here.’

  'Good.’ Nisana broke contact.

  It was bound to come, that she would fetch up against serious prejudice in the form of these religious folk. Fortunate for her that she came first among those who could be swayed. Even more fortunate that she took to her side, immediately and for all the rest of his days, the Chosen Grewl. For he was to be of more aid to Ylia, and to Nedao, in the days to come than any of us might have imagined when she was moved to pity for a pain-wracked, hunger-thinned old scrivener.

  Levren had set up a rough spit across the fire and was sitting among the children, speaking with them, drawing them out. A little food, a little warmth: by the time they had eaten, the torn, haunted air was gone from them. Not long after, they slept near the fire together, Lus among them, Levren's cloak over them all.

  Sata and her sisters slept also, a little apart from the others. Only when she was certain they slept deeply did Ylia dare move among them, laying a hand to first one and then another, willing strength, sleep, laying the healing with a feather touch among them, that none of them waken later and realize the witching powers had been at work. Foolish, she could not but think. Pyel and Nald had recovered to a large extent with warmth and food, but Mirs had seen her blood sister slain before her eyes and was still in a state of shock; Sata had had to hold the food to her lips before she would eat. And Inda—Grewl had pulled her from death, but a large part of her had already died when the Tehlatt had raped her and left her in the fields.