by Sean Russell
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* * *
They would not likely survive another night on this ledge awash in ice water. And even if they did, Erasmus was certain they would have no strength left to swim out, if they had the strength now.
At dusk they slipped into the water, having carefully surveyed all the river that could be seen. They planned to let the current carry them a hundred feet, then they would try to swim into the eddy behind a jumble of rocks. Erasmus was certain that it looked far easier than it was, and it did not appear easy.
Anna squeezed his hand once before lowering herself into the waters.
“When you emerge from the gorge,” Erasmus reminded her, “don’t become disoriented. Land on the opposite bank. We will hide another day before crossing.”
The chill of the water was like a slap to a sleeping man. Erasmus could barely move for a second and then the current reached out and grasped him and be began to paddle furiously to keep his head in the air. If he had realized how weak he would be, he would have chanced the ledge for another day. Flames, but it would be a miracle if he survived this.
The rocks that were his goal swept past, and two strokes told him that making the calm of the eddy was impossible, nor could he see Anna there. They were at the mercy of the river and would survive only if their strength held and if they were not bashed to pieces upon the rocks.
The river carried him forward, the cold, green stream like a sinewy muscle stretched between the bones of the rocks. Erasmus spun about in the current, scraping along water-smoothed stones, dropping into jade pools that were emerald at their center. He surrendered himself to it, to the undeniable force of the river, and was drenched in the blood of the earth. Let it take him now, if it would. Let it grant him escape.
Let him float to the surface in some calm arm of the vast river, turning slowly beneath the sun. Wash ashore on warm stone to be picked clean by carrion crows and roving bands of insects, carrying bits of him back to feed their young. Let him return to the earth and start anew.
And then there were fist-sized boulders beneath his boots, and he danced along in the current, three yards to a step. Darkness had settled into the gorge, trees along the banks indistinguishable in their species. He found himself crawling up on a gravel bank, so exhausted that he collapsed for a moment upon the sun-warmed stones, and lay listening to the night.
Anna . . . What had happened to her?
A nightingale began to sing, its fluid notes counterpoint to the river sound. Erasmus forced himself up, climbing the few feet of embankment into the shelter of the trees. He crouched there, shivering, trying to find a place where he would be out of the cooling breeze.
He looked out over the river and saw the light of a fire reflecting off the upper ramparts of trees. His traveling companions. How he wanted to cross the river and reveal himself to them, appearing like a ghost in the warm light. He could sit by the fire and bask in the glow of friendship.
What had happened to Anna? He hadn’t seen any sign of her since they slipped into the river. It was not out of the question that she had perished this time. After all, Erasmus would have drowned if not for her—after all the years he had chanced the waters.
He lay down in the shelter of a fallen log where he could see the dance of the firelight across the river, see the shadows of his companions as they moved about. He realized he could not go back to them. They would start the search for Anna again, and perhaps find her. Erasmus would have to perform Percy’s ritual. The fire ritual. And if he survived, he would be in thrall to Eldrich yet again. No, better to be dead, to be a ghost, wandering in the wood. Better to have no name than to be a servant of Eldrich. To be twisted by hatred as Percy had become.
“Solve your own ‘dilemma arcane,’” Erasmus whispered. To be free of Eldrich, of searching for answers in old histories, in long-forgotten letters, that was what he wanted. To think of Eldrich no more than any man who traveled the streets of Avonel. To find out who Erasmus Flattery was beyond the reach of Eldrich, beyond the obsession.
There will be no Erasmus Flattery, he reminded himself. He rolled on his back and stared up at the irregular plot of stars visible through the branches. He could not see the wandering star—his “wondering star.” Perhaps it had found its place, its place among the stars, and would stay anchored there in peace.
Thirty-One
Hayes was the first to appear, rising before the sun. He made his way down the bank, stopping to survey the river before bending to drink. In the muted light, the pewter morning, he appeared small, childlike, as he crouched down by the running water, the sky above him rose and gray. Dusk appeared, and Erasmus froze in place knowing the wolfhound might sense him where the others did not.
But the dog bent down beside the young man and lapped up the water with a long tongue, raising his head to survey the world warily, as wild animals did when they came to drink.
In turn, each of his companions came down to the river. As they departed, Erasmus said a silent good-bye to each; Deacon Rose next, then the determined Kehler, and Clarendon last. Oddly, this was the hardest parting. Randall Spencer Emanual Clarendon; the small man with enormous heart. There was something about his gentleness and fits of passion, his unwavering loyalty, that Erasmus found difficult to leave. Kehler and Hayes were young and bright, they would do well; it was hardly in question. Rose, well, he was another matter. Fanatics, true fanatics, were never wrong, and this sustained them through being both persecuted and persecutor. Rose would go to his death believing that Anna’s murder was Farrelle’s will—and Erasmus’ death in quest of this, merely unfortunate.
Clarendon made his way back up the bank as the edge of the sun seared the horizon. Dusk gamboled beside him, but when his master did not respond, the dog became quiet, even pensive, if a dog could be pensive.
Two hours later Erasmus watched them ride off, leading several riderless horses. Despite being weak with hunger, and suffering the blackest of headaches, Erasmus remained hidden for some time.
What would he do if Anna did not appear? If she were dead or had abandoned him?
The sight of his companions riding away had left him feeling . . . as he had felt when delivered to the house of Eldrich, those many years ago. But now he felt ghostly as well. While his companions were camped a stone’s throw away, he could still give this up—step out onto the riverbank and shout. And there would be food and warm clothing—a horse to ride. Friends.
Instead he was alone in the hills without food or the tools of survival: an ax; a knife; a bow.
Several hours passed, giving Erasmus ample time to contemplate starvation. His reserves had been so depleted by the time in the cavern that he began to wonder seriously if he could even walk out of the hills now. Certainly a grown man could not starve to death in the Caledon Hills? No, he decided, even if he wasn’t born in the hills, he knew enough about the natural world to survive. There would be crayfish in the river, and fish, if he could fashion a spear. A dozen plants could be eaten. Birds’ eggs would be a last resort. He would survive.
Sure that his companions were gone, Erasmus emerged onto the gravel bar, looking up and down the river. Here it flowed so tranquilly that he could hardly believe a torrent lay just upstream. Downstream the waters were shaded by overhanging trees, the shadows broken in places, sunlight turning the water iridescent green—the color of a hummingbird’s throat.
As he looked, something took shape in the shadow, then stepped out into sunlight. Anna, her long legs golden in the sunlight. Erasmus moved toward her, and as he did, realized she wore only a long shirt. They met at the edge of the water, both silent and grave.
Then she smiled. “You stayed,” she said.
Erasmus nodded.
Her smile broadened. “I am drying my wretched clothes. Come, swim with me, and I will show you where I’ve hidden the food.”
She began stripping off his clothes, laughing,
her smile bright and mischievous. And then, suddenly, she went bounding into the water shouting, “We’re dead, we’re dead! They all think we’re dead.” Peeling off her shirt and tossing it onto the shore, she pitched herself into the water and then emerged, throwing great arcs of water with her arms. She laughed with such abandon that she lost her balance and fell into the water, emerging in a fit of laughter and coughing.
Erasmus plunged in, feeling the shock of the cold after the warmth of the sun. He surfaced before her and she reached out and took his face between her hands.
“You realize we’re dead?” she said, trying to sound serious though neither her face nor voice would comply. “Eldrich thinks we’re dead. . . . Or soon will. You understand what that means?”
Erasmus said nothing, not quite caught up in the moment.
“We are free of him, Erasmus. You are free of him. Free of him! We may go where we please. Do what we wish. Become whom we will. Do you see?” She began to chant. “Freefreefreefree.” And then she jumped up and ducked him, pushing down on his shoulders until he went under, and then she relented, slipping down, her body softly pressed to his. Their lips met as Erasmus surfaced, a long, luxurious kiss.
He could feel each of her ribs. That was his first thought as they kissed. She had come so close to starving. They both had. Flames, he was all bones himself.
When they parted, she released him, taking his hand. “Come,” she said, “there is food, and then I think we can find a bed of moss. We’ll have to do without starlight. I can’t wait that long.”
* * *
* * *
They lay close, by the light of a small fire, and gazed at a map they had spread on the ground. Anna lay half over Erasmus, propped up on an elbow, and the soft warmth of her was like a second fire, glowing against his skin. She aimed a long finger lazily at the map. “We cannot go into this village. That would be an error. No, we must go past, overland. It will be all meadows and fields and small woods. Not so hard as traveling in the hills.”
“But we need to buy horses, food. Find rooms to sleep.”
She nuzzled his ear. “Clearly you have not been hiding from Eldrich all your life. You can afford no mistakes. You must remember that no one can lie to him, or keep their secrets. Leave a single witness to your passing and Eldrich will hear of it.” She kissed him softly. “We will travel by night, stay clear of houses and their occupants. If we must, we’ll take a bit of food, and leave a coin or two—for I know you’re too noble to rob the less fortunate.” He could hear the grin in her tone, and she kissed his neck, wrestled the blanket around to her liking and put her finger to the map. “Here. What town is this?”
“Cobblers’ Hill. Or ‘Cobblers’ Hell’ as it is known locally.”
“Why is that? Should we stay clear of it?”
“No, it is just a peculiarity of the local pronunciation, where ‘hill’ is ‘hell,’ and a ‘mill’ a ‘mell.’”
“No one knows you there, I hope?”
“No. I’ve just heard the name. It is a prosperous town, by all accounts. Large enough so you can’t know everyone’s name or business. We’ll buy horses there, I take it?”
“And a small carriage, if we can find one. Nothing that would stand out, but a lady traveling by horseback will likely be noticed.”
“A dog cart,” Erasmus ventured.
“Exactly. You know, when I was child, I thought such a cart would be drawn by dogs! Not carry them.”
Erasmus laughed.
“I imagined all kinds of such carts. A cat cart. A goat cart . . .”
“Now there is such a thing as a goat cart.”
“There is not!”
“Oh, but there is. We might even see one as we go. Usually used to draw milk to town, for some odd reason.”
“You liar!”
Anna tried to tickle him, to no avail for he had not been susceptible even as a boy. After a moment she gave up. “I didn’t realize you were a man of so little sensitivity.”
Erasmus didn’t respond, but remained still, staring at the map. “Where are we going?”
Anna sensed his mood, and grew more serious herself. This was characteristic of her, Erasmus knew—this sensitivity to others. Perhaps it was even a manifestation of her talent. It told her when to apply her abundant charm, to which Erasmus was susceptible.
She lay her head on his shoulder. “We must go to ground for a while, Erasmus. Let Eldrich become confident that we are dead. There is a place—Eldrich will not know of it—it is isolated, the house not easily found. We could live there thirty years and no one would bother us.”
“And does this place have a name?”
She looked at him for a moment, as though wondering if she could trust him with such information—if she trusted him at all. “Do you know Beacon Head? There is a small island in its lee: Midsummer Isle. Very few people live there. Fisher folk, a few farmers. There was a town, but it was long ago abandoned. It is mainly known for Halden once having stayed there a year. It is said he wrote About Ashleen during that time. A few eccentrics have taken to living there—people who, for various reasons, no longer desire the society of men. I have a house there. High on a cliff overlooking the sea. It is dark and rainy all winter, but the summers are often fine, if not overly warm. We won’t be bothered, I can assure you.”
“But what will we do?” Erasmus asked.
“Well, I was hoping you might be interested in more of what we’ve been doing this night. . . . No, I understand what you say. We will await the death of Eldrich. That will be our primary task: to outlive the mage.”
“It sounds rather a . . . slim purpose to have in life.”
“Survival? It is the one common purpose of the living, though mankind often forgets that. Survive and procreate. Our lives needn’t be reduced to an animal level entirely, though.” She smiled. “There are other things.”
Erasmus shifted around so that he could see her more easily. “Anna, why did you rescue me from the gorge? I was hunting you. I might have given you away. Tell me truthfully.”
She sat up, wrapping the blanket around her, the colors of fire playing in her disheveled tresses. “Is it difficult for you to believe that I could not let you drown? Yes, yes, I know—there was Garrick. But I had a vision that he would betray me. Survival, Erasmus. The animal desire to live.” She hung her head as though ashamed. “We are alike, you and I. Eldrich used you terribly and trapped you in the cavern to die. If there is anyone who should want to escape the mage, it is you, Erasmus. If you continued to serve him, what would he do next? He cares for you not at all, Erasmus, for you or anyone else.” She reached out and put her hand gently on his heart. “And I wanted an ally, a companion, for all of my fellows are dead . . . murdered. We might find something like happiness together, or at the very least, peace.”
“Peace,” Erasmus echoed.
They fell silent, listening to the dark sounds of the night and the river.
Anna snuggled down close to him as the fire burned to coals and in a moment she was breathing regularly, deeply asleep.
Why did she save me, Erasmus wondered. Certainly everything she said might be true, but these explanations were not the reason she had kept him alive. She was more cunning. He remembered her escape from the chamber with the seed. No, Anna had her own plans. Just how they involved Erasmus Flattery was the question.
He closed his eyes, but they sprang open again as it occurred to him that she might have murdered her guide thus—as he slept.
Thirty-Two
Marianne woke from a restful sleep and found herself in the countess’ carriage descending a long slope among the hills. And then she remembered; she was coming from Castlebough where she had left the countess to continue her foolish pursuit of Skye. Poor woman.
She shook her head and stretched in a manner that would not be deemed ladylike, but then she was alone i
n the carriage, and what cared she for such strictures anyway?
“Odd,” she said aloud. She did not usually sleep so well in carriages; in fact, she never had before. It was something of a miracle that she had not been thrown to the floor.
She thrust open the window, feeling overly warm, as though the sun beat down on her carriage, which it did not, for the sky was nothing but cloud.
She sank back into her seat, watching a crow’s erratic flight into the wind, blown like newsprint, she thought, and then rummaged for her notebook to jot that down.
Opening it she turned through the pages she had filled, searching for clean paper. But there, on the last written page, she found a hand not her own.
I am perfectly hale, as you will not remember—for Eldrich has blotted your memories. Such are the bargains made with a mage. Absolutely do not worry or try to contact me! I will find you when first I can.
Elaural
Marianne stared at the note for a long time, wondering if this was some strange jest. Eldrich? Marianne sifted back through her memories, verifying them against her journal entries. Yes, they had traveled to Castlebough with Skye’s paintings, meeting Averil Kent there. And Erasmus . . . And then nothing was quite clear. There were shards of things she could dredge up. The anonymous portrait. A meeting with Skye. Erasmus had disappeared. It was so hard to concentrate, as though every time she tried to remember, her focus wavered and fixed on something else—as though purposely distracted. Most unsettling.
And her journal. Had she really made no entries for so many days? When was the last time that had happened? The last time she had been so infatuated, she had temporarily abandoned the practice of her craft, that was when. But there had been no one in Castlebough. The countess had enjoyed a dalliance, though, had she not? Was it Flattery? Kent? Again her mind seemed to slide off and onto some other track that caused her less distress. Certainly this note was a jest. Certainly . . .
