He chewed his lip. Lorania had said something about turning back soon. Hopefully that meant that the five of them would be leaving the Forest, or at least this part of it, before long. Until then, he’d simply move his camp farther away, someplace where they wouldn’t find him. That was the best and safest course.
There was a low knoll about a mile farther into the forest. He’d scouted it out earlier as a possible winter shelter. Well, summer was waning. Maybe now was the time to make that move. It wasn’t as if he had a lot to carry with him.
His new campsite even had its own spring for fresh water. There wouldn’t be any need for him to go down to the stream at all. Around on the other side of the knoll, Vatar built a new shelter, not quite as solid as the one Bron and Clev had left behind. That was all right. The lean-to was only temporary. He planned to dig back into the side of the knoll for insulation and protection during the cold months ahead. It’d be more homelike, more like the sod huts he was used to.
He was amused to find that Chitter had followed him. He still woke most mornings to the squirrel’s odd call overhead and sometimes to the lion-like face staring down at him over the edge of his lean-to.
For several days he neither saw nor heard Loran and his group. That was just fine. Vatar put his energy into preparing for the winter. He smoked some of his meat to preserve it. He also started to collect and store the ripening nuts. The nuts interested Chit greatly. Several times, Vatar had to chase the squirrel out of his dwelling when the little beast tried to pilfer from Vatar’s stores.
After some exploration, he found a salt lick a little distance to the south. With salt, he could preserve meat to last all winter. A deer or a boar would be perfect. Both almost certainly visited the salt lick from time to time. Unlike the spot by the stream that Bron and Clev had pointed out, the only climbable tree wasn’t conveniently close to the lick. Not close enough for a spear anyway. He’d have to use the bow and hope for a lucky shot.
Late in the afternoon, Vatar climbed the tree and waited, holding as still as he could. In the dusk, a fine buck stepped cautiously out of the trees on the far side of the lick. Vatar waited, unwilling to move, while the buck stood with its head up, sniffing the air. At last, the deer lowered its head to the lick.
Vatar took aim and loosed his arrow. And missed completely. He quickly drew another arrow. He had nothing to lose by trying again before the stag got away. His second arrow flew harmlessly over the fleeing buck’s back.
Vatar tracked the arrow so he could note where it landed. He couldn’t afford to lose an arrowhead. As he followed the flight, he saw a second stag back among the trees. This one was so snowy white it almost seemed to glow. And not nearly as wary as the first—or as a deer should be in this forest. It stepped out of the trees almost directly into the path of the arrow. The arrow glanced along its shoulder, drawing blood. A minor wound, not nearly enough to kill or even debilitate.
The buck didn’t run as the other one had, though. Instead, it turned to look directly up at Vatar with hazel eyes. Hazel eyes? On a deer? He could swear there was intelligence behind those eyes—human intelligence. Vatar felt a shock at that glare. The prickly feeling between his shoulder blades was stronger than it had been since . . . since the day Maktaz announced the tiger hunt. There was something very undeer-like about that stag. Something . . . uncanny. He let his breath out when the buck finally turned and walked majestically back into the cover of the trees.
Vatar climbed down from the tree and went back to his camp without even looking for his arrows. He paced across his campsite. Something was very wrong. That feeling between his shoulder blades hadn’t faded. He sat down and poked at his campfire, trying to collect himself. The Forest was getting to him. That’s what it was. He was jumping at shadows, imagining things that couldn’t possibly be real.
Chit’s angry alarm call jerked him back to awareness. Vatar heard movement among the trees behind him. As he turned, three creatures stepped out of the forest into his camp—a bear, a wolf, and the white stag. The bear and wolf were jet black, making the stag’s whiteness even more startling. It was definitely the same stag. Vatar could see the gash on its shoulder from his arrow. Farther back among the trees, he glimpsed a white doe and some unfamiliar type of antelope, also white. Beyond the impossibility of these creatures walking peacefully side by side, there was something subtly wrong about each of them. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
Vatar froze. He had no idea how to react to this. It didn’t seem possible that it was even real. The bear, wolf, and stag advanced purposefully toward him. The bear and wolf growled.
Vatar grabbed his spear. “I still don’t want to fight with you.” He could never have explained why he felt it necessary to try to talk to these animals. But he did. He was so far out of his element, now, that the only thing that made sense was to trust his instincts. Certainly no skill or training he’d ever had had prepared him for this.
The stag turned slightly to show its wounded shoulder, as if in accusation.
“I wasn’t shooting at you. I was after the other buck, the one at the salt lick.” After a moment, he added, “I have some salve that will ease your wound.”
From their reaction, they weren’t interested in what he had to say. The bear and wolf continued to growl. Vatar raised his spear defensively. The bear rushed toward him, but backed away from Vatar’s spear thrust. The wolf paced back and forth, looking for an opening. As Vatar watched the wolf, the bear charged in and raked Vatar across the left shoulder with his claws. That was real enough. The pain convinced him.
Vatar wheeled and thrust with his spear, catching the bear under its raised forelimb. Strangely, the spear didn’t seem to be penetrating anything at first, even though Vatar could see it pierce the bear’s hide. He thrust it deeper and finally felt it bite into flesh. Despite appearances, it didn’t feel like the spear cut deeply, but the bear withdrew, roaring in pain. The wolf continued to circle, eyeing Vatar’s spear. Chit’s alarm warned Vatar of movement behind him. He whirled and thrust at the same time. His spear went deep into the belly of the white stag, which had reared up behind him.
Several things happened at once. The stag fell, but, when it hit the ground, it was not a deer at all. It was Keran. Vatar pulled his spear out of Keran’s belly, wincing at the sound it made, and backed away, feeling sick. He was the son of a healer. He knew that was a death wound. Worse, it would be a slow and painful death. It would really be a mercy to . . . finish it.
Just as Vatar braced himself and raised his spear again, Lorania and Zoria ran in to crouch at Keran’s side. Vatar relaxed his spear arm. He couldn’t do it, now. The bear and wolf became Loran and Platan. They rushed to Keran’s side, too. Loran held one arm tight to his side, as if to shield a wound.
“You’ve killed him!” Lorania exclaimed.
Vatar couldn’t form words. His mind refused to come to grips with any of this.
Zoria wailed. Together, the four of them surrounded Keran. The others lifted Keran up and carried him away. As they left, Loran looked back at Vatar, meeting his eyes coldly. His expression left no doubt he would return to finish this.
Vatar sat down, too stunned to think. What had just happened? He had killed Keran! That thought eclipsed even his fear of the magic he’d just seen. Then his wits returned like a thunder clap. When Keran died, or possibly before, the others would be back. This time, they wouldn’t be so easy to deal with.
He moved quickly. First he cleaned and dressed the gashes on his shoulder. They weren’t really very deep. Fortunately, he had brought some of Mother’s salve. He tucked the jar into his belt pouch. Then he filled his water skin. He packed as much of his food store as he could carry, leaving behind his rabbit snare and fish trap and the bow. He broke the remaining arrowheads off and slipped them into his pack. He could make new arrows and even a new bow, so long as he had the points. He rolled the tiger skin up as small as he could and tied it on top. He might need its warmth before he could
build another shelter. That, along with his spear and knife, was as much as he could easily carry. The rest he could replace. But, when the others came back, he had to be far away. As far away as possible.
Vatar walked all that night and all the next day. He finally stopped to rest and eat a little dried venison at nightfall. He slept fitfully. In his dreams, he kept seeing Keran fall with the spear in his gut, hearing the awful sound as he pulled the spear out. Keran probably wasn’t dead yet, but Vatar knew he’d killed him. His belly knotted at that thought as if the spear had punctured him.
Before dawn, Vatar woke to a thrashing in the forest all around him. He grabbed his spear. In the meager light of his dying fire, he saw deer, rabbits, all kinds of animals running—no, stampeding—through the forest in all directions. All directions, that is, except back the way he had come. Suddenly, a tiger burst out of the trees right in front of him. Vatar didn’t even have time to raise his spear. But the huge beast never paused. It kept running, brushing right past Vatar so close he could feel the texture of its fur—running as if its life depended on it. Vatar blinked as he watched it disappear into the trees.
After the last of the stampeding animals had vanished, while Vatar was still standing in awe, the forest itself erupted around him. Trees whipped as if in a high wind. But there was no wind. Branches broke and fell; smaller saplings were pulled from the ground. The convulsion was brief but violent and it passed on through the forest like a wave.
Something in Vatar’s mind said fever. With a shake of his head, he shouldered his pack and started on his way again. He knew he had to go farther east, deeper into the Forest. It was the only direction open to him. South would lead him back to the Gna River, where Torkaz had died. Vatar wouldn’t go that way willingly. Anyway, the only times he’d seen Loran and the others, they’d been to the south of his camp. Probably best to avoid that direction. He was less sure what lay to the north, but he knew the Modgud lived that way and that the Forest was narrower around their plateau. He dimly remembered that there were mountains on the other side. He could not go west of the tree line, so the narrower part of the Forest was a bottleneck to be avoided. Besides, Maktaz had been sent to the north. It had to be east.
Vatar didn’t even spare a thought for the kind of magic that could cause this. Something inside him seemed to be suppressing the superstitious awe he would normally feel. Maybe it was instinct. He was in the middle of more magic than he had ever imagined, now. All he could do was try to find his way through it.
~
Over the next several days, the convulsions of the forest occurred at irregular intervals. It was almost as if the forest itself was tossing in the delirium of a high fever. At first, the fits got stronger and more violent. Then, gradually, they began to wane, to become weaker and weaker. Vatar didn’t think it was distance that made the difference. Keran was getting weaker. Vatar struggled on, more determined than ever to get as far away as possible.
Finally, early one morning, a stronger spasm ended quite suddenly. The forest was unnaturally quiet for a long moment.
Without knowing why, Vatar said, “He’s dead, then.” And he bowed his head, momentarily overcome with grief and remorse.
Chapter 44: Tracking
Orleus looked around the Dardani village with interest. Everyone seemed to be in motion, from the eldest to the youngest child able to walk on his or her own and carry anything. “What’s going on?”
“Looks like we got here just in time,” Arcas answered. “The clans are breaking up and heading to their autumn villages. Another day and we’d have missed them.” He looked around and then led Orleus and Cestus over to a tall, blond man who seemed to be directing some portion of the chaos. “Fair skies, Uncle Danar.”
“Arcas! Hello. I didn’t expect to see you again this year.” The man spotted Arcas’s companions. “Cestus! Welcome back!”
“Thank you. This is Orleus, my half-brother.” Cestus smiled and pointed to Orleus. “And this is Danar, chief of the Lion Clan and Vatar’s . . . other father.”
“What brings you out to Zeda so late in the season?” Danar asked.
“We’ve come to join Vatar on his Ordeal,” Orleus answered. “I understand brothers are permitted.”
“Well, yes,” Danar answered. “But Vatar’s Ordeal has already begun. It’d be next to impossible to find him in the Forest.”
“Leave that to me,” Orleus answered. “And Seeker.” He laid his hand on the heavier of his two dogs. “All I need is to know where he entered the Forest.”
Danar smiled. “It would be good to know he is not alone in there. I’ll need to go talk to some of my fellow chiefs.”
It wasn’t long before Danar returned with another tall blond man. “This is Bion, chief of the Horse Clan.” He turned to Bion. “You already know Cestus. And this is Orleus, another half-brother of Vatar’s. They want to join his Ordeal.”
Bion nodded to Orleus. “I escorted Vatar to the place of his Ordeal. I can take you to the same place. We can leave tomorrow.”
Orleus smiled. “Good.”
Danar reached for Arcas’s arm. “Not you, Arcas. You have gone as far as you can without compromising the Ordeal.”
Arcas nodded reluctantly.
“Go back to your wife,” Orleus said. “I’ll send word through Father when we find him.”
~
“Vatar walked straight in until we couldn’t see him anymore,” Bion said when they’d reached the spot.
Orleus nodded. “Horses will be no use in there. Will you take Racer back and keep him for me until I return?”
“Of course,” Bion agreed readily. “Before you go into the Forest, you must understand the terms. You are not bound by the Ordeal. That is Vatar’s alone. You may turn back at any time. But once you find Vatar, if you do, you also may not receive aid from any Dardani as long as you stay with him. If you find him, and then turn back, you may not return to join him again.”
Orleus nodded once. “I understand. We won’t be turning back.”
Bion sniffed the air. “Summer is ending. Frost will come before long and then snow. Travel will be very difficult once the winter starts.”
Orleus smiled. “I know. I’ve hunted in winter before. We’ll be all right.”
Bion nodded.
Orleus and Cestus, accompanied by the two dogs, walked straight into the Forest, just as Vatar had done. They hadn’t gone very far when Orleus spotted several trees with arrows carved into them. All of the arrows pointed in the same direction.
Orleus smiled. “It looks like someone was worried about getting lost. Oh, this is going to be too easy.”
They followed the arrows and quickly arrived at Vatar’s first camp. Orleus and Cestus inspected what remained—the shelter, the ashes of the fire, and a pile of bones.
“Well, he lived here for some time,” Orleus said. “He had a good shelter and he seems to have been eating well—venison, rabbit, and fish. There must be a stream not too far away. Then, for some reason, he left.”
“Yes, but where? And why?” Cestus asked.
“We’ll have to ask him why when we find him. He hasn’t been gone very long. Less than a month, I’d say.”
Rising, Orleus called Seeker to him. He took out the scrap of fabric Arcas had taken from the forge and held it for Seeker to smell. “Find him, Seeker. Find.”
Seeker began casting around, nose to the ground. After following several tracks only to turn back, Seeker hit on the most recent trail and started running deeper into the Forest, baying as he ran. The men had to jog to keep up with him.
Seeker led them unerringly to Vatar’s second camp, but what they found was not at all like the first. The lean-to had been smashed, apparently in a fit of rage. The remains of the fire were scattered all across the camp. A rabbit snare and fish trap were torn apart and strewn around the area. It didn’t take Orleus’s skills to see that something bad had happened here.
Orleus crouched to inspect those tracks that weren�
��t utterly trampled, ignoring the squirrel-like creature that chittered angrily at him.
“Bear, wolf, and deer,” he said. “That makes no sense at all.” Moving a short distance, he gasped. “There’s blood here. A lot of blood.”
“Vatar’s?” Cestus asked.
Orleus shook his head. “I haven’t the skill to tell. You’d need Boreala for that.” Taking some of the bloody dirt in his hand, he smelled it. The fecal smell was unmistakable. “Whoever, or whatever, bled here had a gut wound.”
Cestus blanched.
Orleus continued to inspect the ground. He crouched at one spot to inspect the tracks more closely. “The bear tracks stop here. They go no farther. But here is a human footprint. Almost . . . almost as if . . .” He stared up at Cestus.
“Almost as if someone had transformed into a bear,” Cestus finished. “And then back.”
Orleus nodded. “That would account for the odd assortment of animals, too. But who?”
“No Fasallon would have reason to attack Vatar like this,” Cestus said.
Orleus’s eyes narrowed. “Mother might. Just for spite.”
Cestus paused and then shook his head. “Even if she knew he was out here, Gerusa wouldn’t send anyone this far. It’d be beneath her. And no one capable of the transformations would come so far for her.”
Orleus sighed and shrugged one shoulder. “True.”
He continued to inspect the ground. “Here! Booted feet. A man carrying a heavy pack and wearing boots went this way. Maybe only a few days ago. Seeker, find!”
They set out again, more slowly, following Vatar’s trail.
Chapter 45: Pursuit
A wolf howled in the distance, prolonged and mournful. Vatar’s head jerked up. They would be coming after him, now. And they would be able to move through the forest faster than he could. Fight. The thought rose in his mind as if it came from somewhere else. Very briefly, he considered turning to face them, but he quickly decided against it. He didn’t think he could fight all four of them. Now that he knew what—who—they were, he doubted he would be able to fight them at all, even if they appeared as animals. Certainly not to kill them. He never wanted to do that again. And he didn’t think anything less would stop them.
The Shaman's Curse (Dual Magics Book 1) Page 24
