by K. C. Julius
“Lie still,” Maura commanded, despite the lurching of her heart. “You’ve hit your head, and were gone from this world for a time.”
The Lurker lay panting, sweat now mingling with his tears. His eyes had gone flat, and all the fight seemed to leave him.
Maura waited until his breathing slowed. “Now,” she said, “you’ll listen to me. You have two choices. You can lie here until my father returns, and I’ll hand you over to him. He’s not a cruel man, but you shall feel the full weight of the law for your attack on me, and your attempt to take what’s ours. You’ll be taken to gaol in the village, where you’ll await your trial. Then—”
“I’ll hang by me neck ’til I drop inta the Abyss,” croaked the Lurker, as though he could already feel the noose squeezing out his life’s breath.
“Most likely,” agreed Maura grimly. “Or—you can do as I say.”
Suspicion replaced the bitter resignation in the Lurker’s eyes. “Wha’d ye mean by tha?” he growled.
“I mean,” said Maura, standing up and dusting her hands on her apron, “I can hide you and tend to you until you’re fit to leave. And I can give you a few small doses of crennin to carry you through your mending so you don’t get the jits.”
The look of growing astonishment on the Lurker’s face shifted to naked desire at the mention of the drug.
“Oh, aye!” he said, nodding—and then winced from the agony the movement must have caused him. “I’ll do as ye say,” he gasped. “Wha’ever it be. Tha’s a good, kind lass.” He screwed up his face in a gruesome semblance of a smile.
“I thought you might,” said Maura. “Before I loosen the rope on your feet though, you must swear you’ll not attack me again.”
“Aye, I swear!” the man whined. “On any an’ all the gods!”
Maura thought for a moment. “Swear on Petra,” she said.
The Lurker gave her an astonished look. “How d’ye…?”
“Swear!” insisted Maura. “We haven’t much time.”
* * *
With the use of a wheelbarrow and some extraordinary determination, Maura managed to get the trussed-up Lurker to an unused shed at the far edge of the yard. It helped that his wasted body was as light as a child’s, and he didn’t resist as she wrestled him in and out of the barrow. By the time he lay at last on the straw, he was unable to lift his head. The move had left him shattered, and his mottled face was deathly pale.
“There,” Maura said, after rebinding his feet and placing a wad of linen under his head. “Lie easy for a spell.”
“Ye promised,” the man whispered.
“Yes, I’ll get you the crennin now. But you must make me another promise in return. You’ll not harm anyone or anything here. When you’re fit, you’ll leave and never come back. Swear it, on the light of Petra!”
Sweat streamed down the Lurker’s drawn face. “Aye, I swear,” he gasped. “Now fer the love of all that’s hallow, gi’ me the crennin!”
“Not until you swear as I asked you,” Maura insisted.
“I swear,” he rasped, his bound hands trembling on his heart. “I swear on Petra’s light, I’ll nae harm a soul nor any livin’ thin’ ’ere. Ever. When I’m able, I’ll go an’ ne’er come back.”
Maura knew he’d say anything to get his crennin, but there was something about the man that moved her to pity. She cracked open the shed door. “Not a sound,” she cautioned.
In the lapins’ shed, she found Trin and Glina huddled together in a corner. There was a splotch of fresh blood on the wooden floor. “Hush,” she crooned. “All is well.” She lifted first the buck, then the doe, gently back into their pens, and made a quick inspection of Glina’s ears. Both lapins appeared to be unharmed. The blood was the Lurker’s.
She easily found the crennin among her healing herbs and remedies, for she prided herself on keeping her medicinal cupboard in order. As she retraced her steps to the Lurker, she noted with surprise the lengthening shadows cast by the pines ringing the yard. The day had fled, and her parents would soon be back from market.
The Lurker was curled in a ball, quivering with the jits. His midnight eyes lit on her in desperation. “Please,” he begged. “O gods, ha’ mercy, please!”
When Maura opened the lid of the crennin canister, its cloying sweetness made her instantly queasy—but the Lurker’s face contorted with fierce yearning. As she wadded up the sticky brown leaves, he opened his dark mouth like a hatchling and strained urgently toward her hand. Trying not to touch his stained teeth, she slipped the potent knob past them.
The Lurker sucked greedily, his black tongue probing the crennin like an ugly worm. He was oblivious to her now, chewing methodically and moaning with pleasure. His tremors gradually ceased, and his face softened to an expression of dreamy detachment. When Maura waved a hand in front of his half-masted eyes, he didn’t flinch. He had already crossed over to Dveld, the dreamworld of users.
Maura was uncertain how long its effects would last, but she hoped the dose would hold him until the morning. She knew from her experience with lapins he would wake up thirsty, so she fetched a flagon of water. Then she retied his hands such that he could lift the vessel and drink, but not reach the cords binding his feet.
She slipped out of the shed, and it was only after she had bolted the door behind her that she allowed herself to wonder what in the world she was doing. Did she really plan to keep this intruder a secret from her family? How would she explain the fallen trellis?
She hurried across the yard, only to be brought up short when she rounded the house and nearly collided with her parents. They were surveying the scene of the Lurker’s fall.
“Ah, Maura! Did you know about this?” Papa asked. “I suppose you didn’t hear it come down from the lapin pens, what with all the clamor they make,” he teased.
“I… I…” Maura stammered.
“Most like, it just gave way under the weight of all the ivy. ’Twas beyond times old, that trellis,” said her mother, hooking her arm through her husband’s. “Dal can help you clear it away tomorrow, Cormac. Right now, we need to get our marketing into the storeroom and then have our supper.”
Maura felt her face flush. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said. “I haven’t got the fire laid yet or anything prepared. The time…”
Her mother’s mouth formed a grim line. “Got away from you—again. Well then, it’ll have to be cold supper tonight. Go and bring in one of the cheeses and a ham from the icehouse while I help your father unload the wagon.”
Dismissed, Maura quickly ducked inside the manor and opened all the shutters, praying her parents wouldn’t look up and see her. When she returned to the yard, she could hear them talking by the granary.
“There’s no need to be so hard on her,” Papa was saying. “You know she almost always does as she’s told. She’s a good-hearted lass, our Maura. In fact, sometimes I worry that she’s too eager to please, and that others will take advantage of her.”
“You’re happy to make excuses for her,” replied her mother tartly, “but she’s no longer a child. Soon she’ll be accountable for the running of her own household.”
Maura’s heart skipped a beat. Had a suitor approached her parents? She found it unlikely, as she’d formed no connections with the rough boys her age in the village. If she thought of marriage at all, it was in the distant future—to someone kind like her papa.
Slipping into the darkened icehouse, she stared unseeing at the smooth wheels of cheese and cured hams on the laden shelves.
“Smells like old feet in here!” said a voice in her ear.
Maura whirled around, her knife in her hand.
Dal stood grinning before her. “Hoo, hoo!” he chortled. “I scared you!”
Weak with relief, she forced a smile. “Yes, you surely did.” She was horrified to hear her voice tremble. She snatched up a chees
e and thrust it at her brother. “Take this to the kitchen, would you? I’m still deciding on the ham.”
“Is this what we’re having for supper?” Dal asked, with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.
“I’m afraid so,” she said briskly, “and Mother won’t like to be kept waiting. Now off with you!”
Once her brother had gone, she leaned back against the cold wall. She was already ruing her impulsive decision to hide the Lurker—and all that she had not accomplished as a result. No doubt Dal had hoped for a hot meal after his day herding the coilhorns in the high pastures. But instead of tending to the fire and supper, which were Maura’s responsibilities when Hildi, the housekeeper, was away, she’d concealed a criminal and was now deceiving her family about him. And to what purpose? To spare him from his just deserts?
But then she remembered how the Lurker had begged for mercy, his voice like a fearful child’s. He hadn’t chosen his harsh path; at some point in his life he’d been beaten, perhaps driven from his home. Although, from what she knew of them, Lurkers didn’t have real homes—they drifted around the country in wagons and poached off others’ lands. But still. In his delirium, he’d sought to protect Petra, whoever that might be. There was at least one person in the world he cared for more than himself. Perhaps this Petra cared for him in return. In any event, Maura couldn’t bring herself to be the instrument of the wretched man’s demise, even if his addiction would inevitably finish him off in a few years’ time.
Sighing, she slipped a small cheese and some dried venison into her apron pocket for the Lurker’s supper. Then she hefted a ham and headed back to the house.
Chapter 9
Maura tended the Lurker for three days, keeping him quiet with small doses of crennin. It hadn’t been pleasant helping him to a bucket in the shed’s corner to relieve himself, nor had it been easy to smuggle food and drink for him from under her mother’s watchful eyes.
As soon as he could sit up without pain in his head, she wrapped up the remainder of the drug and put it behind the largest boulder at the forest’s edge. She showed the man, whose name she had never learned, the empty canister and told him what she had done. “Collect it and move on.” Then she drew her knife, ensuring she had the Lurker’s complete attention. “If you come back for any reason, I’ll scream bloody murder, and I’ll not hesitate to use this. You understand?”
“Aye, miss.” He didn’t meet her eyes, as though he was embarrassed to have addressed her politely. “Ye’ll not see me ’round these parts again.”
“Good,” she said. “Now swear it again on Petra’s light.”
The man’s eyes held a flash of resentment, but he took the oath. “On Petra’s light, I’ll leave and ne’er harm ye nor yours.”
Satisfied, Maura swung open the shed door. “There are balers about, so keep low,” she cautioned him. In truth, the workers were inside the barns, but she wanted him to know that she was not alone. She bent and slashed at the ropes binding the man’s hands and feet, taking care not to cut them quite through. “You’ll have to work at them a bit,” she said, retreating to the doorway, “but once you’re free, you can be on your way.”
She tossed him a sack containing a chunk of cheese and a half a loaf of bread. She waited for some response from the Lurker, but he was already busy twisting at his bonds and didn’t look up as she left.
When she screwed up the courage to check the shed a few hours later, it was empty. She didn’t bother looking behind the boulder for the crennin. She knew it was gone, and she prayed the Lurker was too.
* * *
A few tense days passed before Maura was able to relax again. Her impetuous decision to conceal the Lurker still astonished her, but it seemed that she’d succeeded in sparing the bedeviled soul for a few more years.
But then came the evening Dal didn’t appear for supper, and she felt a guilty horror when her father said, “The boy never misses a meal. Something must have befallen him.”
Her mother continued to ladle out the stew. “Ah, Cormac, don’t make more of it than it is. You know he’s of an age,” she said airily. “You remember the allure of the highlands in this mild weather. I recall a charming nut-brown fellow who liked to stargaze on a clear night such as this.”
The corners of Papa’s mouth briefly curled, but then he pushed his bowl aside and began pulling on his boots. “It’s not like the lad, Daera. You know it’s not. Tomorrow is the winter solstice, and we’re long overdue for snow. If something’s happened to Dal and a storm comes up, he’ll not survive the night.” Worry crept back across his face and settled there. “I’m off to look for him.”
Her mother lowered her eyes to her stew, and something closed on her comely face. Maura knew better than to ask what she was thinking. She had been raised on the coast, many miles distant, and her people didn’t cultivate a culture of intimacy. But that hadn’t deterred Cormac Trok, who’d met her on his sole trip to Tyrrin-on-Murr, and had married her there within the span of a week. It was clear he was still just as besotted with her as he had been then. They were always laughing together, and they found reasons to caress one another whenever they could.
Mother showed Dal the same easy affection, but as long as Maura could remember, she had been reserved with her daughter. As a result, Maura felt much closer to her papa, whose uncomplicated good nature made him easy to love.
Now, seeing his distress, her heart ached.
“Orlana taught me some new lapin songs yesterday,” she said brightly. Orlana was the neighboring breeder who came to Fernsehn to instruct her in lapin care. “And Herlic’s coat went the brightest shade of orange when we turned him loose among the does.”
At this, both her parents laughed, and the shadow on her mother’s face lifted as she raised her cheek to receive a parting kiss from Papa.
Maura’s troubled conscience prodded her to tell them then what had transpired with the Lurker, but her tongue stayed rooted to the roof of her mouth. When her father headed out to the yard, she cursed herself for not speaking up, and leapt up to follow him. It would be easier to confess to him first.
“You’ll catch your death out here in your stocking feet,” he chided when she caught up with him. He wrapped a warming arm around her, and Maura breathed in the comforting scent of the sweet grass he was forever chewing. Despite her disquiet, she smiled, for in truth, the night was as mild as milk for this time of year.
She drew breath to tell him what she’d come to say, but faltered when she realized it would only add to his worries. In the end all she managed to murmur was “Take care, Papa” before giving him a tight hug.
He patted her arm. “There’s naught to fear, lass,” he said. “I’ll find him.” Mounting his coilhorn, he lifted his hand in a silent salute, and was soon swallowed in the dusky shadows.
The clank of the pail being lifted from its hook startled Maura. Her mother stood framed in the doorway, the light from the hearth flickering behind her. Maura felt a sudden uneasiness, as if her deception had somehow been divined.
“I’ll fetch the water, Mother,” she offered.
“No,” replied her mother firmly. “I’m craving sweet water from the pool. I’ll go.” Alone, her tone implied. “You can clear the table. Until Hildi’s back from her mother’s, we’ll have to do for ourselves.”
Obediently, Maura slipped past her into the house. She poured her father’s uneaten stew back into the pot, gathered and washed the dishes in the basin, and rubbed down the wooden table with oil. After she had dampened the fire and swept the floor, she crept to the door and opened it a crack.
The yard was empty, the evening star bright on the horizon. She stood for a moment deliberating. She had read the clear message in her mother’s eyes: she was not to follow. Yet with the Lurker’s attack, and now Dal not turning up for supper, she had to weigh her mother’s displeasure against her safety.
Throwing on a cloa
k, Maura stepped into her slippers. She was likely to ruin them, but her clogs would make too much noise on the cobblestones.
A faint purple glow clung to the sky, and the quickening evening swelled with the voices of night swallows, their silvery calls like a serenade of soft bells. As Maura crossed the yard, a small puddle pooling at the base of the pump reminded her of the dark blot of blood on the lapin shed floor. With a shudder, she hurried down the path toward the sound of rushing water.
Pine scented the night, and dry grass tickled her ankles as she followed the inky ribbon of the stream murmuring over the rocks. When she reached the pool, she recalled the many childhood days spent frolicking with Dal there, climbing the rocks to dive, or playing hide-and-seek on the ledges hidden behind the spilling cascade. She whispered a fervent prayer that nothing ill had befallen him.
There was no sign of her mother. Thinking to gain a better vantage point, Maura began to climb the rocks bordering the waterfall with a confidence born of years of practice. She spared a rueful thought for the slippers she’d kicked off below, their soft leather soaked through from the spray.
She climbed to her favorite ledge and gazed down at the luminous pool trembling with foam. Something shifted in the shadows below, and her mother appeared. At the same moment, three dark figures emerged from the gloom to face her.
Maura drew breath to shout—but the cry died on her lips when her mother swiftly embraced one of them.
Maura struggled to understand what she was witnessing. Did her mother have a lover? But if so, then who were the others?
She inched forward on the ledge, straining to hear what might be passing between them, but the falling water drowned out all other sound. She could only watch, spellbound, as her mother fell to her knees before the tallest of the figures, her white hands stretched toward him as if in appeal. Never had Maura seen her appear so vulnerable.
Then her mother slowly rose, tilting her chin and her eloquent neck in that way she had, on the rare occasions when anyone challenged her, her hands balled into fists at her sides. But it didn’t have its usual quelling effect on these strangers, and after a moment her shoulders dropped and she bowed her head. It was as if she’d been enacting a scene that she knew all along would end badly.
