"Veck," he muttered when he realized he'd drawn the knife and dug its point into his palm. He tossed it into the dense trees. Never goin'ta find that one again.
Glaring at the girl, Jagger drew another knife. Her eyes flicked from his to the blade and back. He began to rise, and she said quickly, "Who's Raven? You keep muttering her name."
"Dead." Despite himself, Jagger slid back down onto the blanket and sat cross-legged, the knife held loosely on his knee.
"I'm sorry to hear that. It's because of her, isn't it? What you're doing to me."
He didn't answer. Smarter than she looks.
"Are you going to turn me into a monster like you?"
The question surprised him. It made sense, though, in a twisted way. My wife taken from me, so I take someone else's family, and so on and so forth.
"Hadn't considered that," Jagger said truthfully.
"You murdered everyone I know," the girl said, and he heard it: the fury in every word she spoke. "If you let me live, I'll kill you. I'll learn how. I'll track you down and make you pay for what you've done."
"I'll already be dead. I've one mission, lass, and that's my own revenge. Mourn your family." Why was he saying such things? Jagger had never been one to comfort others, but he found himself still talking. "I don't intend to live much longer after I've made my peace. Piss on my grave if you must. I won't care. Your family's dead, and no one but Autorus can bring them back. And I don't expect he'd do anything of the sort."
"Then kill me and be done with it."
Not a bad option. And yet Jagger stayed his hand. Had he grown soft? The girl stuck her chin out, but her eyes betrayed her. She don't want to die yet.
"What's your name?" Jagger asked. The girl only glared.
One of the horses pawed at the ground and huffed quietly. Jagger listened to the sounds of the forest around them: crickets chirping under a bush, squirrels chattering in the trees. He even thought he heard the tell-tale cry of a lantern faerie. Good luck when the sun shines, bad fortune after it sets. Never one for enjoying nature's myriad noises, he said conversationally, "I was goin'ta be out of it soon. The Shivs. Nearly earned my freedom. Two or three more good jobs, I reckon, and Raven and I could've bought ourselves a little homestead in the mountains somewhere, maybe in Skålland, maybe Dotschar. She'd have liked a little herb garden, some wildflowers in a shelf under the window, some goats and pigs. Don't know how well I'd do settling down, but I'd try it for her. Maybe have a young one. A daughter that looks just like her mother. Someone gentle. Not like me. Bring a little good to the world, you see? Just once in my life."
He stopped talking suddenly. Even when he and Sandu drank together, he never strung more than ten words together. Raven talked enough for the both of us.
"I'm glad you'll never have that," the girl spat.
Jagger nodded absentmindedly. That's what he wanted for Sandu, after all. Might not even kill him, if I can take everything from him first. Though killin' him would be easiest. Like killin' her would be the easiest thing to do. Damn, if Raven had a daughter, she'd look just like this girl.
"If I had had a daughter, I'd name her Dilara," Jagger said. "After the old song. Always liked the name. I think I'll call you that."
"Bastard."
"Mind your tongue. I can go cut a switch and be back in a quarter candle to whip you."
"I'm not your vecking daughter."
"You're not anyone's daughter anymore. An orphan, like I was at your age. You're what, twelve? Thirteen? I'd already lost my pinkies by thirteen."
The girl spat at him. He wiped it off; he'd been spit on too many times for it to bother him anymore. "If you're trying to get me to kill you, you'll have to try harder. Insult my mother, or something like that."
Dilara shut up. She sulked, the rope going taut as she pulled as far from him as she could get. Her dark eyes never left his. If looks could kill...
"You're bleeding," Dilara said suddenly. Jagger looked down at himself, and saw that some blood had seeped through his shirt. He cursed and pulled it off. Damn. Some of his crude stitches had pulled loose, probably from all the dragging and lifting he'd done to kidnap the girl.
Rifling through his pack – muttering curses as he did – Jagger found the old catgut and needle he'd used the first time. The string had started to fray all along its length. "Veck," he said, though not terribly concerned. He'd healed from much worse than this.
"It's going to fester," Dilara said with a hint of delight. "I hope I get to see you die."
"And then what'll you do, Dilara? Find some farmer's boy to marry so you don't die alone? Join the Rangers to feel like you've accomplished something in your life? Hope to gods you don't get raped and left for dead by some scoundrel or other? Watching me die won't help your problems, lass. And you've got plenty of 'em now widout a family to help you."
"But that's not my fault!" Dilara sobbed. "You killed them, you dragged me away, you ruined everything!"
"Aye. And I'm not in the business of repairing what's been done by my hand. I'd have joined the clergy if'n I wanted a life of mending others' problems. I don't feel guilt for what I've done; never have, never will." Well, maybe sometimes, late at night...but she didn't need to know that.
Jagger didn't have the heart to do the proper thing and kill her. A strange feeling, that.
Dilara cried into her knees. Jagger pulled a bottle from his pack, his decision made. It took him a minute to find the other thing he was looking for: a small vial, unlabeled and corked tight. He popped out the stopper, then poured the concoction into the bottle, swishing it around a little. Lucky I kept this.
"Here," he said. "Drink this."
She sniffled, "What is it?"
"Mead."
"I don't want it."
"Either drink it willingly or I'll force it down your throat."
Dilara took the proffered bottle and sipped it. He shouted, "Down it, girl!" and she quaffed the rest, her throat moving up and down as she swallowed. When she finished, she threw the bottle back at him, resentment festering in her eyes.
"Good lass." Now Jagger just had to wait for the concoction to work itself into her system. Dilara didn't speak or look at him, instead preoccupying herself with cleaning under her fingernails. Jagger found a short stick and whittled it. He hummed a tune Raven used to sing as she went about her chores. He had never been much of a craftsman; the carving was supposed to be of the girl, but instead looked like a rotten turnip. Eventually he gave up and tossed the failed carving into the trees.
The girl's eyelids drooped, her chin dropping to her chest. She tried valiantly to shake it off, but Mother's Kiss was a potent thing. A few minutes later, Dilara lay sleeping on the dried pine needles.
Jagger threw a stone at her to make sure she wouldn't wake. Not even a muscle twitched.
The sun began its descent, and Jagger packed up the camp as quickly as he'd made it. He loaded one of the horses with everything he needed, then laid out an old blanket and placed some food, a bladder of water, and the coins he could spare in its center. After wrapping it and placing it by the girl's head, he untied the rope binding her and retrieved the knife he'd used as an improvised stake. He left one horse for her.
Jagger looked down at her. "I'm sorry for not offing you when I did the rest. Would've made my life easier, for damn sure. I'm as sorry as I can be for dragging you into my mess. Make something of yourself. Piss on my grave, if you can find it. If there's even one made for me."
As evening's shadows lengthened into night, Jagger rode away. With each mile put between himself and Dilara, renewed anger built up within him. This is all Sandu's fault. If he hadn't betrayed me, then I wouldn't have killed the girl's family.
Some small part of him finally understood the old saying, An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. But Jagger had one more eye to put out, and he intended to do it properly this time. No talking, no allowing for escapes. Sandu was as good as dead now that the Heartless was well and truly after
him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sandu
AT LAST the caravan reached Redgull Pass. All paused at the height of the road to look out over the River Valley. Verdant greens and blues painted the rolling hills, forests, and farms. In the distance, Sandu imagined he could see the glistening sea, though he knew it was still too far away.
Home. He breathed in deeply, the scent of pine soon to give way to fresh-tilled earth.
"It's beautiful," Cara said, her wide eyes lingering over the sight.
Alex grinned. "We're almost there."
"There's still the swamp to get through," Sandu said. At the bottom of the pass, a large expanse of deep green and brown separated the mountains from the plains, stretching for leagues beyond the foothills. Sandu shuddered looking at it. He loathed swamps. All mud and mist-folk, and little sunshine.
"How long will that take?" Cara asked.
"Two days if we move quickly," said Alex. "More if the wheels get stuck or the mist-folk spook the oxen."
"Mist-folk?" She looked between them.
"You haven't heard of them?" Sandu asked, incredulous. His whole life he'd been told stories of the swamp's denizens. He even knew of an uncle who had been lost to the creatures. When she still looked confused, he said, "They lure people off their path. Then they drown their victims and eat their corpses."
"Sometimes they appear as specters of people you know," Alex said. "Their imitations can draw you off the road. It's not a pleasant way to go."
Cara stared out over the swamp below. "Is there any way around it?"
Alex shrugged. "Yes, but it would take days."
"We may not have that time." She chewed her lip, then nodded, as if she'd made up her mind. "It's a risk we'll have to take."
The scholars whipped their oxen into movement, and the caravan lurched down the mountainside. Alex, Cara, and Sandu rode at the rear.
In the days since their conversation, Sandu had gained a new respect for Alex. The scholar ate most meals with them now while Sandu regaled them with stories of his childhood with the Valadi. They passed around wine or mead as Alex spoke about the university and his various studies, and Cara sometimes joined in with what she had been taught. They felt like a comfortable band, a trio against the world's woes.
When the fire went out, though, and the rest of the camp slept, Sandu often stayed awake. He thought of Jagger, wondering how he'd survived and whether it was right to end Fauste's Shiv. Then there was his father, locked in a cell for a crime he didn't commit, growing old without watching his grandchildren blossom. And Tambrey...tears pricked Sandu's eyes most nights, leaving moist spots on his blankets.
If he heard Alex up and about, he would join the scholar. Together, they would sit and watch the stars pass by overhead.
As they descended into the swamp, Sandu let his mind wander. He worried about Laris, for he'd never seen such magical prowess before. He trusted Alex, but doubt niggled in his mind. Could the scholar actually do anything against a wizard?
The caravan reached the foothills, and from there followed the road into the swamp. It began to rain, large drops carrying yellow leaves to the mud. The world hushed, listening to the rainfall. The trees changed, aspen and spruce replaced by twisted willow and oak. Wagons lurched and horses slowed with the soggy ground.
Deeper into the swamp, daylight grew scarce. Thin yellow shafts only occasionally pierced the trees, too wan to properly light the way. A dense fog shifted over the road, coating Sandu's lashes and brushing against his hands on the reins.
Lost in his thoughts, Sandu didn't notice the wagons grow more distant, nor Alex and Cara gradually moving farther ahead. He stared morosely into the fog and fancied that he could see his loved ones in those curtains of mist.
A bird's cry distracted him. Sandu glanced up to find the animal, but the fog was too thick. When he returned his gaze to the road, he realized that the caravan had vanished. He shivered, drawing his cloak around him as he kicked Galen to a faster pace. The mud sucked at her hooves as she trotted forward.
The road twisted and turned, offshoots going haphazardly into the swamp. Sandu kept to what he hoped was the main road, but he couldn't tell in the gloom. The longer he was alone, the more he began to worry. He pulled Galen to a halt and listened.
He didn't hear the creaking of wheels or the scholars' hushed conversations. He couldn't see Alex and Cara's horses.
Sandu's mouth went dry, his hands clammy with fear and fog. He urged Galen slowly forward, every nerve strained for some sign of the caravan.
"Sandu!" A distant call came from the swamp, barely audible.
"I'm here!" Sandu shouted back. He stood in his stirrups, staring desperately into the fog. "Cara!"
"Sandu!" The voice came from his right. He turned to see a wavering figure through the mist. A woman, with long yellow hair.
"Tambrey?" Sandu turned toward the woman, pulling at Galen's reins though she resisted. He shouted, "Tambrey?"
"I've lost you!" Tambrey's voice, sweet as he remembered it, echoed in the fog. "Sandu, where are you?"
Sandu kicked Galen, and she plunged through shrubs and over sodden logs, her nose pointed toward the hazy figure. A tree branch whipped in front of Sandu's face. He ducked as water sprang onto his neck. When he blinked away the moisture, Tambrey had disappeared.
"Tambrey!" Sandu shouted again, looking frantically in every direction. Deep in his bones, he felt a thrill of fear, as if his body told him not to go after her, that it was a trap, that she didn't know he'd changed his name...But she was so close for the first time in years. He had seen her, he had to go before he lost her again.
There! He saw Tambrey, and with her two small figures. The sight of them pierced his heart; how the children had grown! He spurred Galen forward. The figures drifted further away, and Sandu couldn't understand why they'd be running–
Squelch! Galen's chest plowed into black mud. Trailing branches snagged at Sandu's legs, reaching for him. Ooze sucked at Galen, drawing her further into the bog. Sandu struggled out of the saddle, grabbed his pack, then clutched at a branch overhead. It bowed with his weight, dunking him into the mire, but he clung on. He pulled hand over hand until his feet touched dry land.
He grasped at a vine to throw over Galen's head and pull her out. He had to get her back. She was his oldest companion – strange as that was – and each desperate kick pulled her further into the mire. He knotted the vine, his fingers slipping against the fibers, as Galen's eyes rolled. He flung it out over her, but missed.
"You'll be fine," Sandu said, mostly to himself. Galen's legs made a sucking sound as she tried to pull free. Sandu stared at her. If he went after her, he might never come out again.
But Galen trusted him. Her big brown eyes looked at him as all faithful animals do, with a certainty that he wouldn't leave her. Sandu gritted his teeth and knotted the vine around his waist, then tramped into the mud. It clung to his boots and breeches, his feet sticking with every step.
Sandu latched onto Galen's reins, his hands fumbling with the muddy leather. Vague shapes rose up around them with strange transparent arms that dragged them further into the mire. His vine grew taut, straining against the mist-folk that held him.
If I don't let go, I'll be dead too, Sandu thought. Would it be so bad a thing, to slip easily into death now? Laris would never find Cara then. The mist-folk murmured around him, coaxing him.
Sandu stared at Galen, only her long neck and head exposed now. He let go of the reins.
"I'm sorry," he whispered as Galen's head drifted under, a smooth patch of algae and weeds sliding in to cover where she'd vanished. Sandu dragged himself back out of the bog, hand over grueling hand. The mist-folk challenged each step, imploring him to stay. They spoke with different voices: Tambrey and Eaton and Elvy and Papa. Sandu cried, but didn't listen to them.
When he reached solid earth, he collapsed into the dirt. Relief, terror, and mourning filled him. He had escaped, but his loyal friend hadn't.<
br />
Soft laughter emanated from the mist, sounding of wind and chill nights. Goosepimples broke out on Sandu's arms and neck. He drew his legs up, burying his face in his arms as that horrid laughter grew and grew until it felt like it would overcome him. The mist-folk had lured him off the road. He'd lost Galen, and didn't know how to find his way through the fog.
The mud dried on his clothes, sticking to him with freezing tenacity. He shivered, his teeth chattering. His numb hands searched in his pack for his flint and steel, but the branches he gathered were too wet to light. The gloom grew deeper, and though the fog lifted, no sunlight filtered through the trees.
Sandu wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. So this is how I die, he thought. Not the worst way to go.
At least he would rejoin Mumma and Nan at their campfire in the afterlife. He pictured them with their colorful Valadi skirts spread around them, their faces shining in the firelight. "I'm sorry, Mumma," Sandu mumbled. "I didn't have the strength to free Papa." He laughed bitterly, for he knew he could never enter Lyael. His soul was simply too corrupted.
"I wish I could have seen the children again," Sandu said to himself. "I wonder if they're still as blonde as their mother." Tears pricked his eyes at the memory of Eaton and Elvy holding hands as they ran through a field of flowers, their shrieks of joy the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. They were so little when I left, he thought. I wonder if they'd even remember me.
Somewhere in the distance, golden lights floated through the trees.
"Not going to fool me this time," Sandu said. "Vecking mist-folk."
The lights moved slowly as voices carried to him. They called his name, but he ignored them. He wouldn't be tricked again.
After a few minutes, the lights halted, and then began to recede. He watched them go with dull eyes. Just as they drew too dim to see, Sandu had a sudden thought. The mist-folk didn't run until I chased them. And they didn't have lights.
The Lantern-Lit City Page 18
