The Unremembered

by Peter Orullian

  “No, not myself … Unless the boy dies,” she threatened. “I will find him. Either you’ll help me, or you won’t. But you will not stop me.”

  “Anais—”

  “Anais?” Wendra interjected. “I don’t want to hear that word from your lips. You may be smart at the table, and more than a match of wits for those two dogs you keep with you, but I’m not blind to your lies and empty promises. You’ve made a mistake in bringing me into the company of others as greedy as yourself.”

  Bitter laughter escaped Jastail’s tired face. It fell flat on the deck and river.

  “There’s fire in your belly,” he enthused. “The dust won’t take you easily. But there’s no help for you on this riverboat.” He considered a moment, a more wry smile returning to his weathered features. “In truth, I’m your only friend here. You may have need of my protection against other, less … friendly passengers.”

  “And what if I just cast myself into the river and swim to shore?”

  “In this water?” Jastail asked, his smile lingering. “Not likely. Your legs would seize and drag you down before you stroked half the distance.”

  “And if I kill you while you sleep?”

  Jastail regarded her. “Then you will never find the boy.” He took up his vigil on the river, his amusement gone.

  Wendra couldn’t divine the truth. Did he know where Penit was? Or was he playing her false to the last?

  The chill off the water bit at her skin, while she kept her captor company and the river carried them south. On another night, the sweep of stars in the sky above the wide river basin would have caused her to sing. But the song she wanted to give voice to would sound like a dissonant rasp, like a cough from winter winds.

  They watched the river together in silence for some time, and the tranquil rush of water along the side of the boat nearly caused her to forget the strange relationship she shared with him. And as she stared into the cold depths, she heard a new sound; not the water sluicing down the side of the riverboat.

  Wendra heard water splashing.

  And the zip of arrows penetrating the river’s surface.

  The Bar’dyn? Could they have tracked her here?

  Fearful voices suddenly barked commands.

  “Bring her!” Jastail yelled, calling his men to action.

  They rushed down the side of the boat, deckhands firing arrows into the night. Wendra followed their aim. Bar’dyn! Massive bodies swimming toward them. Wendra looked up to the shore where dozens of Bar’dyn rushed south to get ahead of them. Hundreds of strides downriver, the Quiet splashed into the water and began swimming to intercept them. The large creatures moved swiftly, their long, powerful arms pulling them with ease against the current. Arrows continued to strike the water, some bouncing off thick Bar’dyn skin. Two men manned the front ballista, firing spears with little accuracy.

  Jastail led her toward the stern. The riverboat yawed as the wheelman turned to try and put some distance between the watercraft and their attackers. The oars and paddlewheel worked wildly, slapping the water and pulling with the current to increase their running speed. Celebrants lined the gambling room windows, their moon faces peering into the dark with concern. Wendra ran past them, and at the back of the boat saw Bar’dyn beginning to climb aboard.

  She and Jastail came to the stable. The highwayman threw the door wide. His men came from behind and darted in, leading four mounts out in a hurry.

  “The other side!” Jastail barked.

  The men led the horses to the far side of the riverboat. The hull sliced across the current, angling toward the east side of the river. The clash of metal chimed in the night air. The Bar’dyn were aboard. Strangled cries rose and echoed out across the water. Men and women streamed from the large gambling rooms, filling the deck with chaos and desperate screams.

  The large sword-bearing guards emerged, jumping to meet several Bar’dyn who were rounding the corner. Quiet eyes found Wendra, and the creatures broke into a run toward her. Jastail physically threw her into her saddle, jumped into his own, and slapped her horse’s rear. Together they vaulted the railing. Their mounts crashed heavily into the freezing waters. The two hirelings came directly behind them, splashing into the river at their back.

  The instant cold forced a cry from Wendra’s throat. But her horse began working toward the opposite bank.

  Already, her legs were growing numb from the freezing water. The horses chuffed and swam, struggling to make the far shore. Behind them on the riverboat, the Bar’dyn cut down a few more guards before setting the boat to burn. Gamblers who escaped the blade and flames jumped into the river and swam for the near shore.

  Countless heavy splashes rose behind her—Bar’dyn diving into the water, pulling after them with long-armed strokes. She glanced ahead. The east bank wasn’t so far away. But the Bar’dyn were gaining. The slowest of Jastail’s henchmen was snatched from behind and pulled from his horse. His scream ended in a gurgling sound.

  Could the horses outswim the Bar’dyn? Downriver, dozens of Quiet had seen their escape and now swam swiftly for the shore.

  The riverboat became an inferno of swirling flames on the water, men and women trying to swim away from the heat, their arms succumbing to the freezing cold water and slowing their flight for land. More than a few slipped soundlessly into the depths.

  A close splash behind them. Wendra turned to see a Bar’dyn crush the second of Jastail’s men before sending him adrift, blood flowing from a wound to his neck.

  Then Jastail’s horse lurched from the water, jumping onto the bank. The Bar’dyn said something she couldn’t discern and kicked harder toward her. Before it could close the distance, her own horse gained the land and pulled her from the river. In a heartbeat, she followed Jastail north along the riverbank into the trees, the feeling in her legs all but gone.

  The wind cut at her as she raced to stay close to Jastail. Tree limbs and tangled roots whipped past as they forged a path through the dense wood that clung to the riverbank. Twice, her horse nearly went down—the swim had exhausted its legs. But the animal righted itself and raced forward.

  The forest rose like a series of dark columns frosted with moonglow. Wendra clung desperately to her reins. They splashed through an estuary and up into a dense stand of firs. Jastail slowed at the top of a short rise and cocked his head toward the river to listen. Wendra looked in the same direction and saw a shape moving among the trees.

  “Run!” she screamed, and kicked her mount hard in the sides.

  The horse bolted forward past Jastail just as a Bar’dyn dove from a thicket of saplings. Jastail scarcely had time to draw his sword and turn. The Bar’dyn’s immense body sailed through the air with strange grace, hitting Jastail’s mount full in the side. The horse, Bar’dyn, and Jastail all went down in a knot of arms, legs, and drawn weapons. The horse was up fast, and bolted into the trees. Jastail rolled and tried to scramble away. One large Bar’dyn hand clasped his ankle and yanked him back. Wendra could see blood on Jastail’s pant leg where the beast’s razor-taloned hand held him.

  The highwayman struggled, but to no avail. Still clenching his sword, he tried to grab a tree root to pull himself away. The Bar’dyn’s grip didn’t slip. Jastail stopped trying to escape. He twisted his sword in a quick spin and with two hands plunged the weapon at the beast’s head. The Bar’dyn shifted, and the blade took it in the shoulder.

  It didn’t yowl, but let Jastail go and got to its knees. Jastail’s sword rose like an ornament from its body. The creature touched it tentatively then pulled it free. A soft, wet sound accompanied its removal. One of its arms hung slack, but the other lifted the weapon to its eyes and surveyed the blood streaming in runnels down the blade’s flat edge. It grunted and tossed the sword aside, fixing its cold eyes on Jastail. The highwayman scrambled backwards, kicking with one good leg.

  Wendra realized she could flee. Either Jastail would die, or he would find a way to defeat the Bar’dyn. But either way she could b
e several thousand strides north of here when the fight ended. She looked north, ready to kick her horse into a run.

  The Bar’dyn took a menacing step toward Jastail, who couldn’t get to his feet. In a moment, it would pounce on him and Jastail would be dead. To the right, water suddenly splashed at the river’s edge. More Bar’dyn had reached the shore. She had to decide. Now!

  The forest trees and low growth and Jastail and the Bar’dyn all swam in her eyes. Her lungs burned with the breath of violent song. She shook her head, dismissing the strange irrelevance of that inclination, and thought. Her legs were still numb from the river cold. She couldn’t stand to defend Jastail.

  Dead gods, am I doing this?

  The Bar’dyn took another menacing step. Jastail clambered back, butting up against a tree, turning on his side to crawl around its base. The Bar’dyn grew still, a serenity entering its face that frightened Wendra more than anything she’d seen yet. Heavy feet pounded the forest floor, growing louder from the direction of the river.

  Wendra slapped her horse with the reins and plunged forward, placing herself between the Bar’dyn and Jastail. The Quiet looked up in surprise, its death mask gone, replaced by a reasoned indifference.

  “Sa’hon Ghetalloh,” it said, compacting the very air around her. It turned at the sound of its brothers racing to its side. “It’s time for you, Womb. No more children for dead gods.”

  The coarse sound of its voice caused her horse to rear, kicking with its front legs. One hoof caught the Bar’dyn in its wounded shoulder, forcing it to double over in pain. A second hoof landed on its head, driving it back into the saplings.

  Wendra yelled to Jastail, “Get up!”

  The highwayman struggled to his feet, leaning against the tree. She pulled her mount backward by his reins and Jastail struggled to the saddle. As Jastail put his arms around her waist, three more Bar’dyn emerged from the trees behind the saplings, where the first Bar’dyn had recovered its balance. Wendra kicked hard, spurring her horse into a dead run. Through the trees she pushed, gathering speed. Behind them, the Bar’dyn pursued, their feet pounding the ground. But slowly they outdistanced them, and before the first moon fell west of the river valley, Wendra was alone again with her captor, who sat slumped against her back.

  * * *

  She didn’t stop to tend Jastail’s wound, or to warm herself or eat. She followed the riverbank, keeping it just within sight, but stayed far enough away to avoid being seen by anyone traveling by boat. Jastail still claimed to know where Penit was, and the promise of finding the boy had filled up her mind.

  The cool smell of evergreen softened the heat of their flight. And at dawn Wendra finally did stop. They all needed rest. She hoped the Bar’dyn did, as well.

  Birdsong filled the strengthening daylight, and Wendra pulled up Jastail’s pants leg to check his wound. He muttered incoherently, flinching at her touch. His leg was purple and black, lined with several deep talon cuts. She cautiously made her way to the river, and wetted a length of cloth from her cloak. Crouching at the water’s edge, she looked both north and south along the smooth surface that reflected a clear morning sky. No boats or Bar’dyn interrupted the perfect glass image in the water.

  Silent, she paused there, listening to the lapping of water at her feet and watching swallows dart close to the surface, gathering food. The steady burn in her lungs subsided, relieving her need to rasp a song from her swollen throat. She finally wrung the cloth out and returned to find Jastail more coherent.

  “Why did you save me?” he said as she knelt and gently cleaned his wound.

  “The boy,” she said evenly.

  “And if I’m lying, you’ve made a very bad wager.”

  She lifted her face from dressing his bruised and cut leg. “It’ll be the second time my life is the stakes, won’t it?” she replied. “But this time, I choose it.”

  Jastail frowned at her words. “Who is this child to you? You could have left me to the Bar’dyn and been free. Or you could leave me now. I’m too weak to stop you.” He gave a low, incredulous laugh. “But you tend my leg … haven’t you considered how the child came so far? Who brought him or why?”

  Wendra returned her attention to Jastail’s leg. She finished cleaning the blood, and wrapped the cloth around the bruised and damaged flesh, tying it firmly.

  “You’re a highwayman. You took him. Just as you took me,” Wendra reasoned. “I don’t know why. But you’ll have the chance to repay this kindness.” She tapped his leg.

  Jastail’s hard, angular face betrayed no softness. In his eyes she saw the same look as she’d seen at the game table the night before. She played a dangerous game. But she had no choice.

  “Come,” he said, “we’ve lost much time.”

  Jastail struggled to his feet, favoring his hurt leg. Wendra stood beside him and allowed the man to lean on her as they got to the horse.

  Wendra clucked softly, walking the horse to walk at an easy pace. They made their way slowly along the river valley. Shafts of light filled with motes and chaff fell through high boughs of fir and towering hemlock.

  “Tell me why Bar’dyn would swim a cold river after a girl,” Jastail asked, cocking a quizzical brow.

  “Just help me find the boy, and you’ll be glad of it, I assure you.”

  “Clever,” Jastail said, squeezing Wendra’s waist affectionately. “Making a partner of me. You’ve seen how well my companions fare, my lady. Be careful how you make your alliances. I expect that a time will soon come when we have fewer secrets from one another. But the time in between is fuller for the ignorance, don’t you think?” Jastail smiled.

  * * *

  That night Jastail made a fire from wood that Wendra gathered. Her chill ran deep, having lingered in her flesh ever since the river. The bones in her legs felt brittle and shaky. Jastail had led them off the road to avoid contact with travelers. He warmed his hands at the fire, the mellow glow softening the angular shape of his face. Despite the clear sky, the air didn’t grow overly cold, and slowly the chill ebbed from her body.

  Jastail warmed some dried meat and bread on a rock beside the fire, giving half to Wendra and settling back against a low boulder to eat his supper in silence. The gambler and highwayman stared into the flames, his eyes distant and flickering with the light of the fire.

  The lines in his face were the work of sarcasm, mockery, and deceit. His handsome features used a smile or laugh less because of amusement and more to paint the picture he wanted another to see. The sallow, tired mask he wore at the close of such a rough day was as close to anything Wendra might consider natural to him. In her mind she heard the words of the old man on the riverboat, “Too far.” And yet when Jastail laughed it looked and felt genuine. The thought caused Wendra to shiver in the heat of the fire.

  “Are we close to the boy?” she asked.

  “Indeed, we are,” Jastail replied. “Tomorrow we’ll come to the place where I believe he may still be.” He tossed a dry piece of cedar on the fire. “I can’t guarantee it, but the odds are likely that he’s there. And I’ll have kept my part of our bargain by helping you find him.”

  Wendra eyed him suspiciously. “And what is your price?”

  The same wry smile creased his face. “Isn’t it possible that I have done this for charity’s sake?”

  “Honestly,” she said, “I would bet against it.”

  “That’s not a wager worth taking,” Jastail answered. “We’ll come into Galadell midday. You should sleep.”

  “I thought we were going to Pelan?”

  “That’s what I wanted the deckhands to believe,” Jastail said, smiling.

  The name of the town—Galadell—was unfamiliar to her, but it was Jastail’s unwillingness to say what he stood to gain that unsettled her. He hadn’t asked for money in exchange for information about Penit. And he hadn’t sought intimate pleasures from her. His desire must be more fundamental. Or more extravagant. The riddle of it led her back to the certainty th
at there existed no bargain between them. His promises were possibly lies, but he’d not made a habit of overtly lying to her either. What was she not seeing?

  Jastail covered himself in his blanket and closed his eyes. The last rays of light escaped the sky and gave birth to a thousand stars. Wendra persisted in trying to discover Jastail’s intentions. Then suddenly, something struck her.

  “What were the tokens?” she asked, her voice tremulous and louder than she’d intended.

  Jastail opened his eyes and looked up into the night. “You should sleep,” he repeated. But he didn’t close his eyes again.

  “You made me a final trump in a game of chance,” she said, emotion tightening her throat. “I don’t know the game, but I saw their eyes when you drew me to the table. I want to know what you made of me.” Something stirred in Wendra’s chest. A dark melody.

  Jastail peered upward, ignoring her indignation, as though threats held no barbs for him. “No you don’t, my lady. About this you should trust the liar.”

  “Liar?” Wendra asked, confused. “What game are you playing? Tell me!” Her voice rose, rasping in her throat. At her words the campfire pitched like a dervish stirred by the wind. The change was slight, but she’d seen it.

  Jastail remained unmoved. He continued his gaze into the sky, his face slack and still.

  “Very well,” he finally said. “But mind you, the land east of the Lesule Valley belongs to an unrestrained few. Alliances are all that matter, and I am known in Galadell. Without me, tomorrow won’t go well for you. Remember that when I tell you.”

  He continued to stare into the heavens, half of his face lit by the fire. Cricket song whirred in the night around them, as Wendra waited.

  “I care nothing for money,” he began. “Coin is the currency of the ignorant, those imprisoned in the delusion that it elevates them. The earth provides food, the animals clothes, the timber and mountains wood and stone to build homes and cities. With flint we warm ourselves, and the birds teach us music. All this is given freely. The world is plentiful, and each age inherits something of the age before it.” Jastail’s voice quieted. “But the deeds of men, the measure of their lives, these are things that can’t be obtained from the land.”