Gateway to Fourline (The Fourline Trilogy Book 1)

by Pam Brondos

  Nat looked at him with surprise.

  “It was my father who first came through from Fourline. He found the entrance, Natalie, but from the other side.” He stopped and looked around the open expanse of the chapel. He gave her a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Some of your questions simply cannot be answered. But know this.” His expression turned serious and Nat gave him her full attention. “There is no way Estos or any of us can ever adequately express our gratitude for what you’ve agreed to do.” His voice trailed off and he straightened his long body. “See you in a few hours, then,” he said as he slipped on his coat and sidestepped out of the pew.

  Nat watched him leave and then stared at the shafts of colored light streaming in through the stained glass.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  For a hermit, Benedict liked to talk. Now that the rain had stopped, he was chattering like a bird. Fortunately, he didn’t expect much in the way of a reply. Nat pulled off the damp hood of her cloak so she could hear him better. Her bandaged hands came away covered with donkey hair.

  The two were dressed as Yarkow pine merchants doing a little business off the beaten path to avoid a run-in with Rustbrook soldiers. From listening to Benedict, Nat had learned that Lord Mudug had a transportation syndicate. Merchants paid a “security fee,” and Mudug’s men would accompany the merchants through Nala-infested territory. According to Benedict, Mudug had proclaimed the entire southern territory infested, so even when there was no risk of Nala anywhere in the area, merchants still had to pay. It wasn’t uncommon for merchants to use the path less traveled to avoid paying the fee.

  “We’ll stop to do a little trading in Yarsburg. There’s usually a group or two that travel without protection, quietly trading there. We can sell the donkeys and drop a hint that we’re joining a wagon of free traders heading west.”

  Nat rubbed her back. Two days on a donkey was more than enough for her. The coarse double-burlap cloak that covered her Warrior cloak was matted with donkey hair. She’d been looking at the back of Benedict’s donkey for so long now that she was an expert at dodging the piles it dropped.

  “If word got to Gennes, one of his men will meet us a day’s walk from Yarsburg. We’ll need to get through the slag hills in the dark to meet him on time. Gennes’ man won’t wait for us.” Benedict glanced back with a nervous expression. “You have an orb, don’t you?”

  “Of course.” Nat tapped into the condescending voice she’d worked on with Barba and Cairn before leaving. A mini–acting class in playing the part of a Sister was just one of the crash courses she’d had in the days leading to her departure. How to use Barba’s orb was another. She felt inside the special pocket that held the orb. It warmed slightly at her touch.

  “No offense meant, Sister.” Benedict wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “So many orbs were destroyed or confiscated when Mudug burned the Houses. It wouldn’t be a shameful thing if you didn’t have one or if you couldn’t make one during your apprenticeship.”

  “I have one,” Nat said firmly. He’d been poking and asking about her apprenticeship since they’d started this interminable ride. Nat had let it slip that she was from a northern fringe house like Ethet suggested, but she wasn’t sure he was buying it.

  Benedict rubbed his thin leg and continued. “Good. We’ll need light to get through those fields, and a torch would draw too much attention.”

  Nat felt her inner pocket a second time, touching the orb and remembering the moment Barba had turned the confounding thing over to her. Based on Barba’s expression, she knew the orb had better come back with her. “The orb has a part of its Sister in it,” Barba had explained. “That’s why it responds to only the Sister.” She had pressed her orb to her lips and whispered to it before placing it gently in Nat’s palm. She’d continued, slightly misty-eyed. “Speak to it and it will listen to you now,” she’d said. The orb had felt cold when Nat had touched it to her lips. Feeling slightly stupid, she’d whispered, “Hi, orb.” The orb had warmed instantly.

  Benedict’s voice broke her away from the memory. “It’s coming up here after the bend. You’ll be wanting to stop, I suppose, but just for a few moments. We can’t waste our time, especially on things that can’t be undone.”

  Nat glanced around. The donkeys crossed over a little creek and up the side of the gulley. She leaned forward as they emerged from the gorge. Tall, wet grass brushed the soles of her boots. A fine mist was coming down. She gazed into the distance. Ahead of them stood a gently sloping hill. The blackened ruins of a series of buildings stood in contrast to the lush green crowning the hill. Nat pulled back on the thin leather rein. Her donkey brayed in protest.

  “What . . . ?”

  “I know, I know. It’s still a shocking sight to me as well. I used to come here to get the herbs from the Sisters and consult with the Head of the House.” Benedict directed his donkey to the road. “Might as well use the road a bit. Hardly anyone ever travels this way anymore.”

  Nat followed. So this was one of the Houses, or at least what was left of it. None of the maps Barba or Estos had provided her included any images of them. After discovering that they were places of learning, she had imagined small brick school buildings. But her imagination and Barba’s limited descriptions had been far from the truth. This House had been made up of many buildings, all massive in size.

  The road curved gracefully up the hill and ended at the remains of an old brickwork archway. As they rode under the remains, three jackrabbits scampered from beneath an enormous scorched door. What remained of an intricate carving of a sun covered its entire central panel. Nat thought she recognized smaller carvings of a vine, a bird, and a sword as they passed by.

  Benedict stopped his donkey, dismounted with a slight wobble, and tied the reins to the remnants of a stone post. “I’ll do a little scavenging while you pay your respects, Sister. I found a crop remaining from the Head’s private garden last time I was this way. She’d want them to go to good use, and we may have need of the herbs where we’re going.” Benedict hobbled off around the charred remains.

  Nat slowly dismounted, unable to take her eyes off the three massive stone staircases leading to the sky. Their wooden destinations had been burnt to oblivion. She picked her way over piles of crumbled brickwork to a set of stone stairs leading to what must have been the entrance to the House. The charred remains of another door slanted on its side near the entrance. She thought how her father would admire the engraving and the thickness of the wood that had clearly withstood such intense heat. With an awkward step, she slipped on a wet, glassy stone and landed on her side. Her arm shot out instinctively as she landed. When Andris had taught her how to fall without cracking her head, the floor had been much softer than this.

  Rubbing her arm, Nat sat up and examined the slippery stone. Words were etched into the surface. She wiped away a clump of desiccated leaves and dirt. A row of stones encircled the entrance. Each had a name carved into the greenish surface. “Head Sister Ethea Matris, Head Sister Etheb Zornob, Head Sister Ethec Sallin.” She read name after name until she came to the last stone: “Head Sister Ethet Nightswain.”

  “Ah, Sister Ethet.”

  Startled by the voice, Nat rolled to the side and unsheathed her dagger.

  Benedict dropped his bundle of herbs and stumbled backward. “Now don’t get all cackled!” he cried.

  “I don’t like people sneaking up on me.” She sheathed her dagger.

  “Then you picked the wrong House to belong to, didn’t you?” he said angrily. “Mind me, would you look at this jumble.” Benedict clutched his ears. “The dennox is mixed in with the camroot. Can’t have that now. Take one for a Nala bite and find out you’ve lost all use of your limbs.” Benedict knelt with care and picked through the pile with worn hands.

  “You’ve got dennox?” Nat knelt and helped Benedict sort the fallen roots and herbs. Ethet had grilled the roots�
� names and purposes into her over and over again. When dennox was dried, it could be made into a paste to cover any type of bite, particularly a Nala bite.

  “I found a little bounty back there.” He pointed to an open patch near a thicket of trees. “That, and some camroot.”

  Nat pulled out the small fabric case Ethet had given her. “I’ve got a bit of dennox, but my supplies are down.”

  “Since when does a Warrior Sister carry an apothecary?” Benedict eyed the case.

  “Since this.” She waved her arm in the direction of the ruins. Benedict sighed. He pulled the long, thin strands of dennox from the rounded leaves of the camroot. Nat put judgment aside and asked, “You knew Sister Ethet?”

  “What a silly question. Of course I knew the Head Sister. Any healer of worth knew Ethet Nightswain.” He sat back, raised his tunic above the boot line, and began rubbing his leg. Even under the breeches, Nat could see how thin it was. “She was an apprentice when my father brought me here with limb sickness.”

  “Polio,” Nat said softly to herself.

  “She was a good friend.” Benedict rolled slightly and stood. “We had a few disagreements about the duozi.” He spat on the ground. “I never understood how she could tolerate them. If you can’t heal them, then the best place for them is with their own kind or dead,” he said bitterly. “She never listened to sense. She’d keep them around and try to heal them, even when they were too far gone.” He walked slowly and carefully over the rubble toward the donkeys. Nat followed, listening.

  “Word was she sent Sisters sympathetic to duozi into Nala territory to study under that crazy predecessor of hers,” he grumbled as he approached the donkeys. “Her love of the duozi was her House’s downfall. Mudug justified his destruction of this place because she helped them. Called her a sympathizer. Where were her little duozi then?” He looked back at the ruins.

  Nat wondered what he meant as they untied the tethered donkeys. She helped boost Benedict onto the unwilling animal. The frustration of pretending to know and understand everything he said was beginning to wear on her. The sleeve on Nat’s tunic rolled up as she helped Benedict. His gaze lingered on her markings.

  “You’ll want to cover up before we get to Yarsburg. Most people this far from Rustbrook secretly support the Sisters, but enough believe Mudug’s rumors about the Sisters conspiring with the Nala. You’ll be turned in if you let anyone see that.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Nat said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

  “Ho-ho. I think I hit a bit of a nerve.” He leaned crookedly in the saddle. “You may be up for a challenge, Sister. Living on the fringe as your like’s been doing these past years leaves you missing out on one important thing.”

  Nat climbed onto her donkey, wincing slightly as her sore bottom hit the saddle. “And what’s that?”

  “Information.” He touched a skinny finger to his temple. “What you don’t know can kill you.” He smiled.

  “Then humor me and treat me like an imbecile. Tell me everything that’s happened while I’ve been living on the fringe.” She coaxed her donkey to move and glanced back. “You talk enough that you should be able to tell the story of the world before we reach Yarsburg.”

  Benedict snorted and turned his donkey. “First thing I’ll tell you, Sister, is you’re going the wrong way.” He pointed to the distant mountains. “Yarsburg is that way.”

  Her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. The donkey brayed and turned as she pulled gently at the reins. He doesn’t need to treat me like an imbecile—I am one, Nat thought.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Nat leaned against the corner of the stall. The stable was dark except for two lanterns hanging from iron loops at the entrance. One good knock, and the whole place would be up in flames. She yawned. A fat mare from the neighboring stall leaned down and nibbled on her hood. The smell of her cloak made her wince as she brushed the horse away. It still had the cheesy smell of a goat bladder.

  The boy had not meant to do what he did. If she had been in his shoes, she would have done the same to get away from Benedict. The rough wood caught her outer cloak as she slid a little lower. Benedict lay across from her. His sleeping form rose slightly with each breath. She marveled at how he could sleep as she replayed the events of the afternoon in her mind.

  When they had arrived in Yarsburg, the town was packed with traders, carts, horses, goods, and stalls that appeared the moment a trader caught the scent of a trade or sale. With her earlier slip fresh in her memory, Nat followed obediently behind Benedict. If anyone noticed them in the throng, they would glimpse a withered old apothecary and his apprentice. She hoped he would interpret her actions as part of their master plan as opposed to her fear of stepping the wrong way.

  After trading a bit of the strong, fine threads of harmsweedle for some brown bread and a fat sausage, Benedict turned up a cobbled street that stank of vinegar. Clusters of long intestinal casings hung from wooden rods behind stall fronts. He stopped and interrupted a gangly man pulling a milky casing from a cylindrical vat. She listened as they bantered about what time the guarded convoys were leaving town and recent sightings of the Nala. Her ears perked up when the man mentioned the recent capture of a Warrior Sister near Daub Town.

  “Word is she helped the Nala attack another convoy, then made off with their goods to sell on the black market in the fringe,” the man explained. Benedict made disgusted tsking noises.

  Nat held the donkeys and hid her forearm under her cloak. The man flipped a casing onto a drying rod as they finished their conversation. Flecks of foam landed on her cloak and boots. She stepped aside and noticed a boy about MC’s age who sat on the ground near a bowed wooden barrel. Loose, dark curls covered his face as he bent over what looked like a deflated balloon. He quickly dipped his hand into a small earthen pot and rubbed the object before tossing it into a pile. Every part of him, except his hair and wet hand, was covered in a fine brown powder. A bulbous woman, occupying the stall seat, selected one balloon from the pile and jammed the opening over a small cup connected to a billow by a tube. As she pressed down on the billow, the balloon object expanded, revealing a series of spidery marks. She pulled the cup off the tube and the pale, veined object remained inflated. Above her hung a jumbled row of the bulbs capped with leather tops. They looked like odd canteens. She watched the boy as Benedict approached the woman.

  “Fellow over there says you may know someone who buys donkeys.” Benedict looked at a string of gourds. “I’m not looking to sell them for slaughter price. They are right good beasts.”

  The woman scratched her chin. “Neas.” She turned to the boy. “Take him and the animals to Yester.” She turned back to Benedict. “Yester’ll give you a fair price. Donkeys are fetching a good coin. They don’t get all jackamahoo in the head like the horses when the Nala are around.” She handed a soiled cloth bag to the boy. “Take these to Yester, too. Don’t leave until he pays.”

  The boy nodded. “Yes, Mam.”

  “And come right back,” she called out, but Neas was already darting quickly through the crowd. Benedict and Nat hurried to keep up with him. People stepped to the side when they saw him coming. Traders brushed their arms as Neas ran past. After a series of turns, the boy waited under a crude rock archway until Benedict and Nat caught up. He darted under the archway and down a dirt lane toward a long line of stables. When he reached the dusty entrance to one of the stables, he cupped his hands and let out a small yell, then stepped away. A dark-haired man with three-pointed beard tips and manure-encrusted boots began conversing with the boy from a distance.

  “Yester?” Benedict interrupted.

  “That is me.” Yester stared past him and surveyed the donkeys. Benedict took the reins from Nat and limped closer. They began bartering over the animals.

  Neas jumped slightly from foot to foot as Nat walked toward him. His speed reminded h
er of racing along the dirt road to her house when she was younger, and his hair reminded her of someone.

  “I wouldn’t go too near the boy,” Yester called out as he shook hands with Benedict. “Neas has a perpetual case of lice. His mother swears by that dust she covers him with, but it never seems to do him any good. He’s been covered in brown pulops powder for six months now. Neas, put them bladders by the tie post. I’ll give you your mam’s money after I settle up with this man.” Yester disappeared into the stable, pulling the two donkeys.

  “Pulops powder?” Benedict reached into his satchel. “What you need is a head shaving and a bit of yarax ointment.” He twisted the root in his finger as he drew near the boy. The root grew to strange dimensions in the shadow of the setting sun. “Here, take it. Consider it payment for leading us here.” The boy stepped back. “Take it, your mam should know what to do with it. Pulops powder, what is this world coming too?” Benedict let out a wheezy laugh.

  Nat caught a strange glimmer in Neas’ eye as he reached tentatively for the root. Benedict’s hand grasped his wrist with surprising strength. He pulled the boy closer and pushed the mass of hair away from his face. One eye was silver surrounded by a brilliant blue web. “I thought I smelled a duozi,” Benedict growled and twisted the boy’s wrist while rubbing off some powder. A bluish tint appeared on the boy’s forearm.

  “What are you doing?” Nat cried. Neas yanked repeatedly, trying to free his arm, but Benedict held tight.

  “No lice, just stinking Nala running through you. How do you think Yester will act when he finds out your mam’s been harboring a duozi?”

  “Let him go!” Nat pulled Benedict by the shoulder just as Neas flung his bag of bladders at Benedict’s leg. The bag crashed into him and bounced off Nat’s cloak. Benedict released the boy and crumpled to the ground. Neas took off running into the hills behind the town, glancing back once to see Nat waving him on.