“We’re not dead yet,” Khoury said.
“We should never have been this close,” Bradan snapped.
“The closer we were to Foresthaven, the fewer eyes Sidonius was likely to have. It was just bad luck we ended up right at the Thorns.”
“You rely far too much on luck. And it appears yours has run out.”
“Don’t be so sure about that yet,” Khoury said. His gut told him he had been right to come this way. And his gut was more to be trusted than most men. An opportunity would come, like it always did. He settled himself down to the floor to relax as best he could before Cara came back and he found out how much trouble they were actually in.
Then, on to Iolair and, if all went well, they could sail out of Cortland. Khoury knew a barely honorable smuggler who owed him a favor.
THE HIGH PRIESTESS led Cara across the center of the village, a collection of mud-coated huts scattered beneath the looming trees. Cara hadn’t noticed any of the strange purple-black trees on their trip to the village but there was an enormous one standing in the center of the clearing encircled by carved stones, each the size of Gar’s head, inscribed with a mark. Its trunk was as wide as she was tall. The branches hung with braziers of incense and a murder of ravens, all of whom squawked angrily at her as she passed.
The village itself was a lot like Bear Clan. Except she saw no men. Not a single one. No children either. The youngest of the girls looked to be about fourteen or so. To a woman, they were dark-skinned, black-haired and tall, and when she accidentally caught someone’s eye, she was rewarded with a contemptuous sneer. Many of the women wore the same leather armor as the scouting party, though some did not. But everyone carried a weapon. There were sparring rings and more than one smithy visible.
They even had a stable and horses, which Cara recognized from illustrations in the histories she’d found in Sidonius’s library. Their unfamiliar but warm animal scent wafting across the open area reminded her painfully of Gar.
With her bare hand in the high priestess’s, Cara searched the woman’s mind for the key that would keep them safe. Unfortunately, the old woman’s mind was a calm pool too deep for Cara to plumb its depths. What she did find was that the woman had a warmth of heart that reminded her of Ealea. And so Cara could only hope for the best and put her trust in that.
The woman led her to a door set into the side of a small hill that rose abruptly at one end of the village. Following the priestess into the hillside sanctuary, she was surprised to find that the passageway led back a hundred yards or so and then opened up into a vaulted antechamber lit through vents in the roof as well as rows of hanging lanterns. The elegant upward sweep of the architecture inside gave it a sense of space. A hearth was set into the dirt wall at each compass point but only the fireplace in the east was ablaze, giving off heat and a soft golden light. Cara stood in the center of the room, her mouth agape in awe.
The woman gestured to a bench and Cara sat, her hands twiddling in her lap. The priestess leaned her staff against a nearby wall. She grabbed a cloth off a hook, dipped it in a barrel of water near the hearth, and then joined Cara. A raven, which had been hiding near the ceiling, startled Cara as it fluttered down with a squawk to perch near the bench.
The old woman smiled as she dabbed the cloth on the sore spot where Cara’s forehead had grazed the tree. “Don’t be afraid. We mean you no harm.” The old woman gently wiped away dirt and blood from Cara’s face.
Too nervous to smile back, Cara’s voice trembled, “And what about my friends?”
“I hold no malice toward them either. But we do have rules.”
The priestess sat down on the bench next to Cara. The raven joined her, strutting its way over her skirts as she absently stroked its sleek black head. “My name is Sorchia, High Priestess of the Haven, head of the Elders. What are you called?”
“Cara. Just Cara.” Cara poked at the tender swelling on her hairline with fingers that tingled with familiar sunshine.
“Have you heard of Foresthaven before, child?”
“No. Should I have?”
“I daresay your captain knew the danger. Did he not warn you about wandering here?”
“I didn’t wander here. I rolled down a hill into a river.”
“That is unfortunate. Your friends seem quite loyal.”
“They were only coming to find me. Why can’t you just let us go on our way?” Cara couldn’t keep the whine out of her voice as her fingers traced rhythmically over her forehead. The headache she’d had since her fall had finally dissipated.
“I have nothing against your friends. But I cannot speak for the Mothers.”
“What mothers?”
“May I tell you a story?”
Cara nodded as the priestess reached for a goblet and flask that waited on a low table nearby. She poured clear amber liquid into the cup and handed it to Cara before pouring herself one as well. As she returned the flask to the table, Cara sniffed suspiciously at the goblet finding the familiar aromas of apples and sweet pears.
“We are the direct descendants of the druids of ancient Tangora, children of the refugees who fled King Chrostan’s Guard, the last of our line.” She glanced at Cara as if searching for some understanding of the history she referred to. When Cara shrugged, Sorchia sighed and continued.
“When Chrostan decided the old gods were no longer necessary, he instructed his Guard to seek out and eliminate their servants, the druids. They began executing any who possessed that magic, enslaving our children and forbidding them their power. Rebellion brewed and our hearts grew vengeful.
“There was a rebellion, a very bloody one. One we could not win and finally we were forced to flee. There is a lake near where you were found, at the end of the river on the eastern border. It is sacred. There our men chose to stand and fight, allowing what women and children had escaped time to hide in the woods. We call it the Pool of Blood because Chrostan’s Guard slaughtered every last one of them. The water that flows through that river is blessed by their sacrifice.
“With the men dead, the Guard pursued the women and children into the forest. In desperation the wise Mothers, the oldest druids among us, prayed to the old gods: the same gods Chrostan scorned. They prayed so passionately that the spirits of the elm and the blackthorn and the ivy took pity on them. In that hour, it is said, the Mothers were swallowed up by the woods. Their souls were absorbed into the spirit of the forest itself and in the same hour, the great blackthorns grew into an impenetrable wall of thorns. So angry was the forest at our plight, that it killed the men of the Guard. Not a single one returned to their arrogant king.”
Cara remembered the angry whisperings that chased her through the woods. Were they the voice of the Mothers?
“We have lived in this thorny haven for a century now. The old gods ask only that we worship them and honor our lost Mothers. Men are not tolerated within the Thorn Gates and not since before the first Culling have any walked here in peace. The Forest has eyes, girl. And a very long memory. It hates men, especially men of the sword.”
“But we mean no harm. We simply needed a safe road.”
The priestess smiled indulgently. “A road you may need, but the road through Foresthaven is far from safe. The Thorns don’t think, they only respond.”
Desperate, Cara dropped to her knees in front of the old priestess. “Please, please don’t kill them. So many have already died because of me.” The scent of dust touched her nose. Faces flashed through her mind: Reith Carter and Ingrid and Ealea. Would Khoury, Archer, and Bradan join the ever-lengthening list of her sins? “I couldn’t bear to be responsible for their deaths, too.” A tear of frustration slid down her cheek.
“What others do is not your responsibility.”
“I did nothing when I should have done something.”
“You will grow into your power.”
“I have no power. If I did, they wouldn’t have died.”
“You are wrong. You possess the power to change
things.”
“Nothing changes. I’m only a snowflake,” she whispered, sitting back on her heels and letting her hands drop to her lap.
“But you’ve already changed things,” the priestess whispered back with a knowing smile.
Cara thought back to the Keep, the tundra, the giants. She’d been blown around by events beyond her control at every turn. “No. I haven’t.”
“I’ve dreamed of you, child. I saw the keys you stole.”
“Because I had to.”
“No, you could have done nothing. You saved your bears from the fire. You braved a blizzard and faced down the sorcerer in the void.”
The way Sorchia said those things felt like a lie. She made Cara’s actions sound like more than they were. And even if what she said was true, Cara hadn’t saved Ingrid or Ealea. And it looked like she wouldn’t be able to save the men either. “Those things mean nothing if people around me keep dying.”
“But the sorcerer killed those people, not you.”
“But it was because of me.” Cara wished it could be different. “Why won’t he let me go?”
“Your magic keeps him young. He’s not a fool.”
Her magic? She hadn’t realized the truth. He didn’t need her, only her magic. Bradan was right. Sidonius had known about her power all along. Cold certainty closed around her heart. “He’ll never stop.”
“Not while you’re both living,” the priestess agreed.
“I have to kill him?” Cara had sworn to herself that there would be no more death.
“Yes. And it will cost you dearly.” Sadness pooled in those ancient eyes.
“The cost is already too high,” Cara said feeling trapped.
“Some things must be done for the safety of all.” The priestess peered closely at Cara. “Don’t you agree?”
Cara nodded. What else could she say?
“The Mothers want to know, little one. Are you strong enough?”
Cara squeezed her eyes closed. Fear leached along her limbs at the memory of her failure at the Standing Stones. “Not without my friends.”
“Then we must ask the Mothers for mercy.” The priestess lifted the raven onto her hand and spoke to it in a language Cara didn’t understand. She thrust the bird into the sky, and Cara watched it winging its way up through a skylight.
As they waited, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. After what seemed an eternity, the bird returned, fluttering out of the cold hearth in the west. It landed on the priestess’s outstretched hand and deposited something on her palm, squawking angrily. Then, it fluttered back to the rafters.
The priestess picked up a small sprig of purple black leaves and fat black berries. “Four berries.”
“What does that mean?” Cara’s eyes danced between the berries and the priestess.
“Four berries. Four lives.” The priestess pressed the sprig into Cara’s hand. “The Mothers remember what it’s like to be hunted. They wish to help you.”
“You’ll let us go?”
“It won’t be as easy as that.”
“But you won’t kill them,” Cara said, her voice trembling.
“No.”
Cara hugged the priestess’s knees. “Oh, thank you.”
“You’re not safe yet.” She stroked Cara’s hair softly. “Fate brought you to Foresthaven, and we must pray she can get you back out.” The priestess rose, pulling Cara up gently to stand with her, then gathered her staff.
“I’ll return you to your friends. Their weapons will be returned soon. But you must keep them calm and the blades sheathed. And above all, don’t anger Rebeka.”
Cara nodded eagerly and cupped the berries to her chest with gratitude as she followed the priestess out of the hillside and across the village.
Rebeka lounged on a bench at the door to the hut when they arrived. She jumped to her feet and saluted the high priestess.
“The Mothers have spoken, Rebeka. Keep these Outsiders safe until I speak with the Elders. No other Sisters can know.”
“What about a Culling?” Cara noted disappointment on the warrior’s face.
“At the Elders’ discretion, as always, my daughter. Patience.” Sorchia turned to hug Cara, and whispered, “Rest up and be ready in the hour before dawn. I will send a Huntress to guide you. Remember, no matter what, do exactly as she says.”
AFTER WATCHING REBEKA’S scouting party put the strangers in the prisoners’ hut, Falin grabbed her bow and padded into the forest to hunt. She wondered if she’d have spared the Outsiders’ lives had she found them first. A wry grin twisted her lips. Probably not. She didn’t need that kind of complication.
Rebeka, on the other hand, had reputation to spare and probably thought a public Culling would increase her standing with the Elders. Even with Chief Scout under her belt, Rebeka was still currying favor. Mothers’ love, she’d be vying for a seat on the Council next. Regardless, the men would be dead by morning. Not that Falin cared either way; they weren’t her problem.
When she returned with a few fat rabbits strung over her shoulder, Rebeka accosted her the moment she stepped into the clearing. “The high priestess wants to see you.”
“I’ll see her when I’ve eaten,” Falin said, avoiding Rebeka’s eyes. The scout’s imperious tone never failed to stir Falin’s insolence.
“No, now.” Rebeka’s face reddened. “You’ll go and mind your manners, dandelion.” She spat the nickname like a curse, referring to Falin’s yellow hair. “She is the high priestess, not some thornless hunter like you.”
Refusing to rise to the bait, Falin walked away waving her hand dismissively. She enjoyed flaunting Rebeka’s inability to force respect from her. All the same, Falin turned her steps for Sorchia’s, catch still in hand. The priestess had always been kind to Falin. In fact, it had been her decision to adopt the blonde Outsider orphan all those years ago.
Falin approached the hill, undoing her braid one-handed. Then, with the rabbits dangling from a leather thong between her teeth, she quickly combed her hair with her fingers and knotted it again. She wiped most of the dirt and blood from her tunic and sauntered in.
“Well, hello,” Sorchia said, not turning from the steaming pot over the fire.
“Priestess Sorchia.” Falin placed her hand over her heart and bowed deeply with respect and love. “A gift of rabbits,” she boasted.
“Yum. Why don’t you clean them for us? I have something to ask you.”
Falin chuckled as she threw a leg over the bench and dropped the carcasses on the seat in front of her.
Sorchia raised an eyebrow. “Is something amusing?”
“When you busy me with kitchen work, I know you’re going to say something I won’t like.” Falin bent to her task, wielding her knife with sharp sure cuts.
Sorchia smiled wordlessly.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” Falin’s green eyes twinkled merrily.
“Perhaps it will be happy news.”
“Oh Mothers’ love, now I know it’s bad. All right, out with it. Don’t wait and ruin my dinner.” Falin finished stripping the skins and stopped to stare expectantly at the older woman.
“I do have a job for someone. You might actually want it.”
“Liar.”
Sorchia sighed, the smile dropping from her weathered lips. “You’re restless, daughter.”
“That’s nothing new.” Falin sobered, chafing at the unseen chains that held her. “My feet were born to roam.” She sliced the bellies and swept the innards onto a cloth on the floor and then hacked the meat into sections with vehemence. Gathering the chunks in her hands, she walked over to a shallow pan, dumped the pieces in, and pushed it into the hottest part of the fire where the meat sizzled angrily. “You know the Elders will never let me beyond the Gates.”
“I know, and I supported that restriction. You were not ready.”
Not wanting to hear another lecture about her failings, Falin plopped back down on the bench. She didn’t want to argue with Sorchia again
but the raw burn of injustice pressed at her. “They don’t even trust me enough to let me fight as a mercenary. It’s ridiculous. I could be useful.”
Sorchia looked at her with motherly disapproval. “You are useful. Here.”
Trapped between her pride and a Huntress’s duty, the burn bubbled over. “Catching rabbits every night? Any weanling pup could do that. I’m wasting my time!” Falin angrily drove her knife, point down, into the bench.
As Sorchia nodded to herself, Falin realized she had revealed too much. The priestess took on her teaching tone as she rearranged the rabbit in the fry pan. “We don’t seek to elevate ourselves above our Sisters, do we?”
“No,” Falin murmured, pushing down an angry retort about Rebeka’s faults.
“And even if we go beyond the Thorn Gates, we must remain true to our Mothers in all things.”
“Ever a Huntress.” The proper answer.
“That’s what I want to know, Falin. Are you one of us?”
Falin paused. Was she one of them? She used to think it a stupid question, but now…
“I would have been,” she whispered, “with all my heart.” It was all she’d ever wanted. Until last summer.
Sorchia sighed and relaxed. Whatever answer the old woman was looking for she’d found though Falin still couldn’t sense which way the wind was blowing.
“I didn’t agree with that decision,” the older woman said. “They were wrong to overlook you.” Falin looked up to see Sorchia’s eyes mist with sadness. She plucked her knife from the bench angrily. She didn’t want Sorchia’s pity. Pity was for the weak.
“Their loss,” Falin tossed out on a careless huff of breath, her armor once more in place.
“And my gain.” Sorchia stirred the rabbit again and then checked the stew pot before she sat on the bench and laid a hand on Falin’s arm. “I believe, my fierce one, that only you can help me with my plan.”
“Plan?”
“A very sensitive matter has just come to my attention.”
Quest of the Dreamwalker (The Corthan Legacy Book 1) Page 18
