Clovermead fought free from a foot of pebbles and ash. When she emerged, the dust that had risen from the avalanche had settled down, and the sky was clear again. Praise Our Lady, she thought. It’s a miracle I didn’t get crushed or suffocated. She stumbled forward and then she heard Sorrel crying “Clovermead! Clovermead!” as she stumbled into the valley beyond. There was no one but the two of them. The rocks behind them had blocked the valley, buried their pursuers, and no bear-priests would come through there until daybreak at least.
Clovermead turned human as she stumbled onto the packed flat ground, and there was Sorrel. He brought Brown Barley to a halt, but he couldn’t get down from her. The bolt in his calf was in the way. Clovermead lifted up a furred arm to break the awful thing, but Sorrel said, “No, Clovermead! It might break in me. Leave it for a Yellowjacket. They know how to remove such things smoothly.”
“You’re still bleeding,” Clovermead said numbly. “Oh, Sorrel, I’m so sorry.”
“We are both alive,” said Sorrel. He laughed, almost hysterically. “I thought I had done well tonight. I have killed at least three bear-priests and wounded another five, and only have some arrow-shot to pay for it. But you have buried twenty at once, and silver-bears, too, as you played ninepins with mountain-slopes. Not even Yarrow did the like.” His hand came down to clap her admiringly on the back.
“I killed them, didn’t I?” said Clovermead bleakly. Her heart barely twinged. I’ve grown used to murder, she thought. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t. Why am I the one who has to do this? Then she barked with cold laughter. I choose to do this. To kill. I won’t forget that, and I won’t make excuses. It’s always my choice.
“I’m awfully tired,” she said. “Can I ride Brown Barley with you?”
“I think that is possible,” said Sorrel. “We can ride up to the Yellowjackets and the slaves, and tell them what we have done. It should be dawn when we arrive. Yes, let us go now.” He reached down to lift up Clovermead.
Not so fast, little cub, Clovermead heard in her mind, and the rocks shifted behind them. She turned to see a boulder three feet across fly out of the avalanche. Another boulder soared into the air, and then Boulderbash emerged from the heart of the rubble. Snuff was on her back, and they swam out of the cinders. They were covered with silvery ash, and they looked more like one beast than ever, almost adhered together. All four of their eyes glowed red. Lord Ursus’ blood-power was thick in them. You can’t stop us that easily, Boulderbash growled. You’ll have to drop a bigger mountain on us.
Sorrel drew his sword, but Clovermead saw him shake with weakness, saw blood drip from his leg. “Run,” she said. “Catch up with the soldiers. I’ll distract Snuff.”
“I can’t leave you,” said Sorrel. “We’ll fight them together again—”
“You’ll bleed to death if you stay,” Clovermead almost screamed. “Go to your family. They need protecting.” Sorrel still looked irresolute, Boulderbash was getting free of the rubble, and Clovermead didn’t have time to argue. “Good-bye, Sorrel,” she said. “I don’t have any better ideas.” Then her mouth was lengthening into a snout, and she roared, so Brown Barley neighed in panic and galloped off, and Sorrel didn’t have a choice anymore. As Brown Barley fled into the darkness, Clovermead was turning into a bear. She readied herself to fight, and then Snuff and Boulderbash leaped at her.
Boulderbash’s great paws buffeted Clovermead, and Snuff’s sword slashed along her side. Boulderbash bit savagely into Clovermead’s fur, and pulled out a tuft of fur six inches across. Clovermead was able to scratch her claws along Boulderbash’s left forepaw, but that was all. Clovermead was big in bear-shape, but Boulderbash was huge. I can’t fight her, thought Clovermead. She’ll kill me. Boulderbash bit at Clovermead’s neck, just missed her, and Clovermead’s remaining courage fled from her. She turned in helpless fear, and she ran. Boulderbash came after her, she and Snuff howled with the joy of the chase, and Clovermead was their prey. Only the slight limp Clovermead had just given Boulderbash kept the great bear from catching up with her at once.
Clovermead ran in darkness with Boulderbash’s breath hot on her heels. Once, Clovermead had dreamed Lord Ursus was chasing her through northern woods, and this was like that, but it was real. She heard no thoughts from Snuff and Boulderbash now, only felt their murderous rage. She had no idea if she was running after the slaves or in a different direction. She fled through the wilderness of ash hills, and tried to ignore the pain in her ribs. It was a flame inside her and she ran slower with every minute.
The slope beneath them began to rise, and Clovermead felt stubbly grass beneath her feet once more. They were some miles from Barleymill, and they had left behind the poisoned earth and piles of rubble at last. Boulderbash still came after her, But at least I’ll die on clean ground, thought Clovermead. That’ll be a relief. And it wouldn’t be long now. She could feel the last of her energy giving way.
Boulderbash was coming nearer, and Snuff cried out at last in triumph. They were only a few feet behind Clovermead, she heard Boulderbash leap at her in mid-air, and there was nothing Clovermead could do. Her legs kept on going mechanically—
But there was no ground underneath her. She was falling, Boulderbash’s claws missed her in midair, and then the bear was yowling in surprise. Clovermead bounced against a small tree, then against a rock, and she was plummeting with Boulderbash and Snuff down the side of a gorge. All three of them fell at once, Snuff still screaming in shock, but Clovermead had no breath left in her to scream. She simply rolled and fell, and it was a relief not to have to move or to think anymore. It doesn’t take any effort at all to fall, thought Clovermead. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind more falling and less fighting.
Then Clovermead’s head knocked hard against a rock, and the world went black.
Chapter Sixteen
In the Gorge
Clovermead woke with her left foreleg clamoring its unhappiness at her. She groaned and opened her eyes. It was late in the morning, and the sun was shining directly down the steep, rocky walls of the chasm. She was lying in a heap at the bottom, and she could feel the bruises from every rock that had hit her on the way down. Good thing I didn’t break my neck, thought Clovermead. But her left foreleg was sticking out at a funny angle, and she howled softly when she tried to move it. But that’s broken. Oh, Lady, I’d better not try to walk on that. She turned human, and now it was only her left arm that was hanging awkwardly. Her clothes were cut and torn, and she was scraped and bruised all over. She staggered to her feet.
She was in a narrow V of a gorge, one hundred feet tall and no more than twenty feet wide at the bottom. The slopes were gentle enough that she had bounced down rather than plummeting, steep enough that the fall had not been gentle. The chasm continued for several hundred feet in either direction before curving out of sight. In the center of the chasm a shallow stream trickled northeastward over a white stone streambed, from the unseen Farry Heights to the equally invisible Steppes. To either side of the stream, tufts of grass sprouted in the rocky soil. The slopes were blazingly white chalk mixed with swirls of creamy limestone and gray granite, punctuated here and there with further tufts of grass, wherever a cup of earth had built up in the crevices. The day was cloudy and cold.
Fifteen feet away Boulderbash lay on the ground, slumped on her side and breathing shallowly. Two of her legs lay at awkward angles, and a long gash had opened up her stomach. Clovermead had an awful feeling that her guts had been punctured. Her tongue lolled out, and her eyes were glazed and unseeing. The great bear was dying.
“Are you up at last, girlie?” Snuff’s voice snapped through the air, and Clovermead couldn’t help jumping back in fear. He laughed with bubbling, mocking delight, and now Clovermead could see him as he lay on the grass with his leg caught and twisted beneath Boulderbash’s bulk. His face was gray and drawn, but the horrid spirit in him was as strong as ever. “I wondered if you were going to wake up.”
“Sorry to disappoint yo
u.” Clovermead looked him over. He had a sword, but she couldn’t see any daggers on him. She approached a little closer, but stayed carefully out of reach. “I see you’ve learned why you shouldn’t ride bears.”
“Thank you for the expression of kind concern.” Snuff touched his thigh, and grimaced. “A horse can crush your leg just as easily.” His eyes darted to Clovermead’s arm. “I see you have not come out of this unscathed either. Good, good.”
“Shut up,” said Clovermead. Can you hear me, Boulderbash? she asked with her mind. Please wake up.
So cold, Clovermead heard faintly, and then there was only incoherent, fading growling in her mind.
She’ll die soon enough, Snuff said in her mind. Then he said out loud, “Me too, girlie. The way my leg’s crushed, I must have gangrene by now. But not you! The sky-crone blesses you. You fall off a mountain, and all you do is dislocate your arm.”
“I think it’s broken,” said Clovermead mechanically.
“Dislocated,” said Snuff. He gazed dispassionately at her shoulder, like a butcher at a cut of beef, and nodded. “I know wounds. I’ve made a good deal of them.” He laughed feverishly. “Would you bring me a drink of water? I’m awfully thirsty.”
“For you?” Clovermead almost screamed. “You dare ask me for anything? You’re a murderer, a monster, a—”
“A thirsty man, Demoiselle.” Snuff clacked his filed teeth together. “Pretty please, girlie? Fill your hands with water, and give it to me to slurp up like a dog. I promise I won’t bite.” He gasped in sudden pain. “I thought the sky-crone said we’re all supposed to be merciful, girlie. Show mercy to me.”
“If Boulderbash fell on me, you’d kill me in a flash. I don’t have to be nice to someone like you.”
“I beg you, Demoiselle,” said Snuff. “Give me a drink.” He swallowed painfully. “Sky-crone didn’t say anything about being merciful only to nice people. I remember the nuns were strong on that, back in Queensmart. ‘Nobody’s nice, when you get right down to it,’ old Abbess Spurge said. ‘You have to be nice, even to the nasty ones. Our Lady doesn’t have to be nice to a nasty lot like us, and we should be nice like her, even to the worst villain on earth.’”
“You sure have some gall,” said Clovermead. “You spend your whole life trying to kill nuns, and now you start quoting them.”
“I’m thirsty,” said Snuff. “A drink, for pity’s sake.”
Clovermead hesitated. “Throw away your sword,” she said at last.
“Of course, of course,” said Snuff. He fumbled at his belt, untied his scabbard, and slung it out of reach. “Hurry, girlie.”
“Demoiselle to you,” Clovermead snapped. More laughter bubbled out of Snuff, and Clovermead hurried away from his voice to the stream. First she drank herself, gratefully lapping up cool water, then she put her still-bruised, still-lacerated hands into the water, brought them tightly together, and brought up a handful. Walking slowly and carefully, she brought the water to Snuff and knelt down so that her hands were under his mouth. He bent over and snuffled it up. His sharp teeth grazed the raw skin of her palm, but he didn’t try to bite, to slash, to hurt her in any way.
“Ah, that’s good,” he gasped. “Would you bring me some more, Demoiselle?”
“Boulderbash first,” said Clovermead. She walked back to the stream, and brought a handful that she trickled into Boulderbash’s jaws. The bear didn’t wake up, but she swallowed the water.
“You’re wasting your time,” said Snuff. “She’s dying.”
“You’re dying too,” said Clovermead. “I’ll bother for her as much as for you.” Then she went to bring Snuff another mouthful of water. She went back and forth a dozen times, bringing water for both bear-priest and bear.
Boulderbash groaned happily. I knew you’d rescue me again, Ambrosius.
“He’s dead,” Clovermead whispered. She stood up, and turned her back on the bear. “I brought you water, not him,” she said angrily.
“Hard to measure up to your father, Demoiselle?” asked Snuff. “That must be exasperating. You extract thorn after thorn from her paw and all she thinks is ‘Ambrosius, Ambrosius!’ But you haven’t done that much for her, now that I think of it. Just brought her some water and left her a prisoner. Left her a prisoner three times, I think it is? She isn’t happy with you,” he added conversationally.
“Shut up,” said Clovermead. “Take it for granted you should always shut up.”
“Why should I? I’ve got water in my throat, and now I can speak until I die. Let me tell you, girlie—”
Clovermead’s unhurt arm lashed out against Snuff’s jaw, but now her hand was a bear’s paw. Her claws raked against the stubble on his jawbone, and rattled his mouth. He spat blood, and a razor-sharp tooth came out too. “Shut up!” Clovermead almost screamed. “Or I’ll keep on hitting you. Shut up!”
“That’s my girl,” said Snuff. He grinned at her, then shut his bloody mouth as Clovermead raised her paw again. He looked at her with ironic expectancy.
“I ought to kill you,” said Clovermead. But with an effort she brought down her arm and turned her hand human. She turned to Boulderbash. “Good-bye,” she said quietly, and she patted the dying bear’s bulk. “I hope you rot,” she said to Snuff, and then she was hobbling as fast as she could to the walls of the gorge.
She started to climb the walls. It was difficult, with only one arm to grab at rocks, and both legs unsteady. Soon it became impossible. A third of the way up the cliff on either side of the chasm was a ten-foot high stretch of near-vertical chalk, too smooth for her hand to grasp at for support. She slid back down to the valley floor and hiked up and down the chasm, looking for some gentler route, but the sheer chalk stratum girdled the chasm. High-piled fallen boulders blocked the way both upstream and downstream: The stream wended through crevices between the stones, but there was no way Clovermead could walk out of the gorge.
I could climb up if I were a bear, thought Clovermead. She transformed, grew taller, and now the tops of her paws could scrabble at the ledge above. She tried to pull herself up with her one good foreleg—but her body was far too heavy, and her leg felt as if it were pulling out of her body. She dropped with a gasp, and collapsed on the scree. She sighed, turned back to human, and went back to the stream for another drink.
“I could push that arm back into shape,” said Snuff. “It would hurt. Oh, yes it would.” He giggled. “But then you could put some weight on that limb. You could climb out of here, girlie.” He chuckled. “If you help me.”
“What do you want?” asked Clovermead.
“My leg might heal if you can shove that lump of flesh off of me,” Snuff gasped. “Move her. And promise you’ll carry me out of this gulch.”
“I’d rather die,” Clovermead spat.
“Then you will, brat,” said Snuff. He giggled again. “My offer’s good whenever you care to accept it. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’ll die there,” said Clovermead, and she flung herself away again, looking feverishly for a route out of the canyon. She sniffed for a route in bear-form, peered for one in human form, searched relentlessly, but without luck. She spent hours, until the sun had passed the gorge walls, and dusk was approaching. It was growing colder.
“Light a fire for me, girlie,” said Snuff. “I’m cold—agk, ice is creeping up my leg. Fire, girl. And more water.”
“Don’t you even know how to be polite?” asked Clovermead.
“But of course,” said Snuff. Suddenly his entire face and voice changed, and he was a courteous nobleman through and through. “Would the Demoiselle be so kind as to succor me with fire and water? I would not bother you, kind lady, but for the dire necessity that drives me to this request. Grant this boon, and I will be grateful all my life. I beg it of you in Our Lady’s name.” The nobleman vanished, and Snuff spat out a curse. “I had enough of that idiocy in Queensmart. Get me water, girlie. Make me a fire. I hurt!”
“Beast,” said Clovermead. Snuff shrug
ged. “I don’t even have tinder.”
“I do,” said Snuff. He fumbled at a pouch at his side, and drew out the tinder. “Bring me the kindling, girlie, and we’ll be nice and comfortable.”
“Us and Boulderbash,” said Clovermead. “We’ll have the fire near her.”
“Be careful the sparks don’t light her up,” said Snuff. “I don’t mind roast bear meat, but roast Snuff I don’t care for.”
“Don’t tempt me,” said Clovermead. She went to gather kindling, and brought them back to a few feet from Boulderbash and Snuff. She brought a stick to Snuff, and he lit it with his tinder. Clovermead brought the stick back and lit the fire. Soon they had a roaring fire to keep them warm as dusk approached. Clovermead brought back more water for Snuff and Boulderbash.
How kind you are, little boy, thought Boulderbash. I have waited for you so long, Ambrosius. I always knew you would free me. I was waiting for you. Clovermead averted her face from Snuff, so that he wouldn’t see her cry.
Her stomach rumbled, and Snuff rubbed his own belly. “I’m hungry too. You’d think I’d be too busy dying to bother about hunger, but my stomach doesn’t care about my leg. It wants food, no matter what. You wouldn’t have any food on you, girlie?” Clovermead shook her head. “Pity. Well, when we get down to gnawing our limbs off, I’ll have sharper teeth. Do you want me to relocate your arm?” Clovermead shook her head. “See how you feel when you get hungrier.”
“Once you’re free, you’d come after Sorrel and the slaves in no time with your silver-bears and bear-priests. I’d rather stay here than let you out.”
“They’re hunting the runaways already, girlie. Do you think they’re wasting their time looking for me?”
Clovermead studied Snuff over the fire. She smiled. “Yes, I do. Fetterlock called you Ursus’ ‘great lieutenant of the northlands,’ and that sounds pretty important to me. I bet they’re trying to find out where you are. Anyway, even if they are chasing after the slaves, I’ll bet they go off in the wrong direction. Sorrel would have had them fooled for a good long time last night if you and Boulderbash hadn’t come out of the gates. I’ll bet he can fool them again, if you aren’t around to detect his stratagems.”
In the Shadow of the Bear Page 65
