by Myers, Karen
Ilzay circled his horse to trot alongside him. “That’s not as good as you think. The snow will slow the horses, too—tire them out. Normally they could outpace someone on foot, but now? How far away is she?”
“Penrys thinks she can reach about twenty-five miles,” Najud said.
“So. Let’s figure it. We’re maybe twenty miles from camp, ten to the gap and ten from there. By the time we get to camp, in the evening, the qahulajti will have come about ten or twelve miles. We’ll gain on her tonight.”
“But we have people to see to. We can’t go on tomorrow. If she gains on us, if she gets this far… she can reach the camp from here, maybe by tomorrow night.”
“If she keeps coming,” Khizuwi interjected. “If she’s traveling alone or with her wolves, she can be fast. If she decides to bring herds along, it’ll be slower. Remember how slowly she traveled when you were tracking her.”
Najud’s thoughts darkened. And how fast will she be if she’s dragging Penrys captive with her? Penrys must be why she’s been slow to come after us.
“Zarawinnaj?” Ilzay said, softly, and Najud recalled himself to his responsibilities.
He looked up at and estimated the amount of daylight remaining. “We’ve got to hurry, keep ’em at the trot. I want you in front, Ilzay, once it gets dark, to lead us in the moonlight.”
“Jirkat, Winnajhubr,” he called. “Ride ahead to the camp. Tell them we’re coming, as fast as we can. We’ll need to pack up and move out tomorrow.”
Ilzay objected. “The horses might need a rest before we can run for it, zarawinnaj.”
Najud muttered, half to himself. “If she catches us, nothing else is going to matter.”
Pen-sha, where are you? You can’t just be gone. But you must be, for the qahulajti to be free to come after us.
CHAPTER 42
Najud sat alone in his kazr that night, the darkness held at bay by a single hanging lantern.
He’d done what he could to settle the newly rescued survivors. Khizuwi and Jiqlaraz took the lead in trying to help banish the illusions they saw, and several of the first group were surprisingly effective, too. The rest of them had been busy, batch after batch, with feeding, cleaning, clothing, and finally bedding their clan-kin in the four crowded kazrab they shared. The old survivors insisted on looking after the new ones, getting them through their first night of freedom.
The camp was quiet now, everyone exhausted.
All through the activity, the people who knew him had been careful to avoid mentioning Penrys. He could feel the bubble of silence that surrounded him wherever he walked, until finally it drove him away into his private darkness.
He sat upright on his own narrow bed, not the one they shared—he wouldn’t sleep there. His stomach hurt, and his mouth was dry, but he couldn’t make himself get up and dip a cup of water.
At one point, Winnajhubr had told him that Yardiqurti had been found, Khashghuy’s betrothed, the one he’d asked his brother to save. “Jirkat was all smiles,” Winnajhubr had said. Najud had felt his own face break into an imitation of shared pleasure and watched Winnajhubr falter to a stop as he remembered Penrys’s absence.
Remotely Najud was ashamed of his envy, but couldn’t muster up the energy to do anything about it. It’s good that not all the news is broken families and death. But right now he didn’t care. A place inside himself, a place of strength and resilience, was damaged. He wanted to push past it, but it was too much trouble. Even lying down to sleep took too much effort.
A knock on the doorframe drew his dull attention. He hadn’t lowered the flap, he realized. He couldn’t—that meant something else to him, now, with Penrys, and he couldn’t stand the reminder.
Khizuwi opened the door and walked in. He carried a covered pot in his gloved hands and set it carefully on the stove. The smell of meat and spices leaked from the lid and Najud’s stomach growled.
“I didn’t notice you eating,” Khizuwi said. He rummaged through the cooking area at the back of the kazr and retrieved a wooden plate and a spoon for the pot. He scooped some of the savory stew onto the plate, and laid it on the warm piece of metal that supported the stove.
Then he folded his legs on the carpets in front of the stove. “Come, sit here,” he said, patting the rugs beside him. When Najud was slow to respond, he added, “I’m not leaving until you sit down and eat something, so unless you want me snoring in here tonight…”
Despite himself, Najud felt his mouth quirk. He roused himself to stand up, surprised at how stiff his muscles had become. He stumbled to the indicated spot, and lowered himself down.
Khizuwi leaned to his left and pulled a blanket off the bed Najud had just been sitting on. Without getting up, he flung it over the younger man’s shoulders, and Najud welcomed its warmth, realizing only then how low he’d let the fire go and how chilled he was.
“Eat,” Khizuwi said, without further comment, and Najud obediently leaned forward to pick up the plate and chase the bits of meat with the spoon from his belt pouch. His eyes strayed to the shabz hanging from the back rafters.
“Yes, it’s shabz,” Khizuwi said, “Not dry yet, quite, but we’re already eating it. Sixty people is a lot to feed, in a hurry.”
Najud noticed his eyes sliding sideways to watch his face. His body had seized his attention, telling him how hungry it was.
“That’s sixty people we’ve rescued in a few days,” the older man said. “What’s that, a quarter of the Kurighdunaq clan? You’ve saved the clan today.”
“It…” Words stuck in Najud’s throat, so he coughed and tried again. “It wasn’t me. It was…”
“Penrys,” Khizuwi said, and Najud flinched from the name.
“Yes, it was, but it was you, too. This was a great thing that was done today. A great thing.”
He gave Najud a moment to respond, then continued. “And it will all be wasted if we don’t get out of here as soon as possible. Wasted. Do you want that?”
“No!” It tore from his throat, despite himself.
Khizuwi nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Then we need you, all there is of you. We’re not done. Grief will have to wait.”
He levered himself up and looked down at Najud. “We all grieve for her, but it’s the living we must save.” He let himself out of the kazr, and Najud finished the meal alone.
After he was done, he stepped outside to scour the plate with snow and glanced at the sleeping camp, so much larger with the bulk of the four big kazrab, like giant nests holding the hopes of the clan. Get them out of here, then stop the qahulajti. And if I survive that, then what do I do with the rest of my life?
He lifted his head and blasted out, as loudly as he could, *Pen-sha!*
Nothing but silence came back to his mind.
“Can’t we go any sooner?” Najud’s nerves twitched as listened for the subliminal feel of the qahulajti, the storm on their trail.
Everyone except the survivors was meeting in Najud’s kazr, at mid-day. The bikrajab had done all they could to heal the minds of the new batch, and outside this kazr there was a whirlwind of activity as they prepared for a multi-day journey.
“You know how far she can compel obedience.” Najud had spoken to a woman who’d been at the grandfather lud and unable to escape. All of her companions who had fled for half a day from the qahukajti’s momentary inattention during the chaos of the summer encampment had been forced back on foot before evening, and she was the only one still alive.
Ilzay stood firm. “Half the grain we carried went to the horses today, and little enough it was, after all the work they did yesterday. We can’t expect them to last several days in footing like this—they have to rest today.”
“And so do the survivors,” Jirkat added. “There are still a dozen, confused by their surroundings, and all the rest need as much food as they can hold, and warm clothing. A lot’s been done but…”
“Ilzay,” Najud said, “We’re depending on her speed from before, when she didn’t care about it. If she move
d quickly yesterday, she could be here tonight.”
Khizuwi’s words echoed in his mind. Wasted.
Ilzay shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, zarawinnaj. If she reaches us today, she can reach anyone we send out now or catch them tomorrow if the horses founder. We stand a better chance waiting for morning and getting them truly out of her grasp.”
“Them?” Najud asked. “Oh, no. You three are going with them yourselves. That’s certain.”
Winnajhubr’s voice rose in protest. “There won’t be anyone to defend you here.”
Najud took a breath and stood up. “There are only two things we have to consider—where to send them, and when. The rest of it, who stays and who goes, that’s already decided.”
Khizuwi nodded from his place, encouragingly.
“We can send them only three places. Khizuwi has suggested the zudiqazd of the Umzabul. It’s the closest. Jiqlaraz has also offered clan Rashaban. But the zudiqazd of the Kurighdunaq isn’t much further, taken in a straight line instead of the way we came, and that’s where they’re going— four to five days, depending on the depth of the snow and the endurance of the horses.”
There were protests, but he held up his hand. “All the Kurighdunaq will go together, and that includes the three of you.” His eyes sought out Ilzay, Jirkat, and Winnajhubr. “This is the task Umzakhilin laid upon all of us, and you’ve fulfilled it. Now it’s time to bring them home.”
He looked at the others. “If we send them anywhere else, she might follow them there, and it’s not right that other clans take that risk. And if we send them out into the wild, sooner or later she’ll find them, or they’ll die.”
He settled himself firmly, his feet wide apart. “No, what we have to do is stay and hold her, here. Keep her from following.”
Jiqlaraz said, “And if we’re not strong enough?”
Najud shook his head. “We’re going to have to be. There’s no one else.”
He looked around the kazr. “All right. We strike the kazrab at dawn and load the horses. They can eat while they ride. Jirkat, you’re in charge.”
Khizuwi seemed unperturbed at the prospect of remaining behind. Munraz was both worried and excited, but it was Jiqlaraz’s thoughtful look that puzzled Najud, though he could make nothing of it.
It makes no difference what they think, as long as they stick and fight. Besides, I told Pen-sha to come to the camp, no matter what. I can’t leave.
CHAPTER 43
Fire and ice. The sensations didn’t make any sense to Penrys. Her head pounded, as if it would fall off if she moved, and her right leg screamed and throbbed.
She still saw grasslands in one direction and forest fires from Ellech everywhere else, but there was no sensation of the wizard who had contacted her. She was shielded again.
I’m not dead? How long have I been here?
What’s the damage? What’s broken?
She lifted a hand and froze in agony the moment her body shifted to compensate. What’s wrong with my leg?
She couldn’t see over the hallucinations. Very, very cautiously she removed her glove and skimmed her fingers slowly down her right leg. The knee was bent awkwardly. Without applying any pressure, she tried to understand the problem by touch alone as she continued down. She had to contort her body to reach that far, and the movement made her break into a sweat.
What is that? Sharp, cold… That’s a bone! It’s broken through the skin, and I can’t see it.
I’ve got to bind that. I’m going to have to pull the bone back in. How?
She jostled the leg accidentally, and underneath the pain she felt something disturbing—it moved as a unit, not as if it were dangling broken.
It’s started to heal this way! I can’t fix that, not by myself. How long has it been?
She felt around her with the ungloved hand and discovered she was in a deep pocket of snow, lying on evergreen needles.
I must have fallen through trees into snow. Why hasn’t she found me?
The hallucination of fire pushed her again, and her head pounded back.
This time she raised her hand to her head. The knitted cap on her head and the hair around it was matted and stiff, all over.
Blood, dried blood.
She felt all around her head, gently. She couldn’t find any surface injury, and her skull felt normal enough.
Must have cracked it, but not completely split it open.
She put her glove back on and lay back, giving herself a little time to recover from the activity that had set everything throbbing. Then she tried to order her thoughts.
Against all odds, I’m not dead yet. I’ve got to get my mind back before I can do anything else.
She remembered the problem with Haraq. My own power is reinforcing the hallucinations. How can I stop it? I took Haraq’s power into my chain. Can I do that to myself?
The thought made her shudder, and that triggered pain. She forced herself to calm down and control her reactions.
It would be like cutting off my hand. What if I can’t get it back? Will I lose my wizard abilities altogether?
She breathed shallowly. If I can’t break the hallucinations, I’ll die anyway—infection, cold, starvation, discovery. Haven’t got much to lose by trying.
It was awkward focusing her perceptions on herself. She sapped her own core strength and, as she did so, the visions weakened. She opened her eyes, and saw the snow in front of her, the surface of it two feet above her, and the sky beyond. Pines swayed overhead—that was a puzzle, but maybe she’d glided towards the woods while she was under attack.
She looked down at her leg and almost wished for the illusions back. Her right calf was rigidly bent at an angle partway down, and an inch of bone stuck out through the leg of her breeches where it changed direction. The blood on it was dried and frozen, as much as the blood on her clothing. Not just one bone, then, but both of them. Must have hit a branch on the way down. Two branches, considering my head.
Time to try restoring her power. Not too much, just what was there before.
That was an even stranger sensation than draining it, but she felt stronger when she was done. The hallucinations and the compulsion failed to return.
Why didn’t she kill me? Couldn’t she find me, once I fell? I must have gotten close before she noticed, for me to find her wolves. Maybe the shield is good for stealth, at least.
She felt herself getting sleepy again. No! Do something about that leg, then get out of here, even if you have to crawl.
Her sheepskin coat had pockets, deep ones—she could do without her belt. She unfastened the coat and pulled her belt off without moving. She stuffed the pouches that came free into the coat pockets, all except the skin of water which she hung over her neck, after she took a deep swig. Her stomach growled but she ignored it for now.
Next she lifted her tunic and slipped her knife under it to slit through her shirt around the armholes, pulling at the fabric until she could reach it all. Once the sleeves were detached she was able to pull them off by the wrist. If that wasn’t enough, she’d cut the rest of the shirt off, too.
With the two ragged sleeves and her belt, she considered the problem. There was no point worrying about whatever infection she’d already been exposed to. What she wanted to do was immobilize the fused ensemble and pad it to protect it from further injury and exposure. Might as well leave it clothed—nothing much she could do about it now, and the boot would help keep her foot from frostbite. At least the toes still moved.
She almost passed out when she sat up. Her head spun and pounded, and the position strained her broken leg. When she was able to see again, she folded the sleeves into pads. Not thick enough.
She cursed, and cut off the rest of the shirt under her tunic. This gave her sufficient material to build up a support around the protruding bone as a foundation for another pad on top. She wrapped her belt around it twice, as much as it would go, and hoped the whole thing would hold well enough that she could crawl out o
f her snow hole. She couldn’t think of anything as ambitious as standing on one leg until she could find a stick to lean on. If then.
Now what? What’s the plan?
She knew what part of it was—get back to the camp somehow.
Penrys sat in the snow with her back supported by the trunk of a small pine on the edge of the woods, and reconsidered. She was only five or six yards from the pit she’d made in the snow, and her trail crawling here was broad. What scared her was that she’d passed out twice in the process.
Won’t get far this way.
She giggled at the thought, and that scared her more. Infection, and fever. Well, that’ll take a while to kill me. What’s the distance to the camp? Can’t walk it.
I’ve got to be at least twenty or thirty miles from the gap.
She couldn’t dodge it any more—she had to know where the girl was. She dropped her shield and scanned as widely as she could reach. No girl, no wolves. No people, either. Plenty of herds, though.
Could she ride? She thought about that for a while. Her leg would be agony, dangling down a horse’s side, and mounting would be… a challenge. But even if she found a suitable stick, walking would be just as bad, and much slower. Too slow.
The trees around her were a small cluster of outliers from the real woods which started a hundred yards to the west. Just a little further, and she would have fallen into the mass of trees and broken her neck, instead of a encountering a mix of trees and snow. She could see the broken branches of the tree that she must have hit.
Lucky. I was very lucky.
She glanced down at her bundled calf, at the leg stretched out before her at its sickening angle, and snorted. Some luck.
I wonder if the rescue succeeded.
She shied away from thoughts of Najud. She thought of the camp, instead—that was her goal. She had to get back. If she focused on Najud, who must be thinking her dead, it just weakened her.
The notion of flying kept recurring—such a quick way of covering the distance. But she couldn’t launch standing still, she had to run, so that was impossible.
