by C. L. Roman
“Two,” Jotun said, then clarified when Fomor looked at him blankly. “These aren’t adults; we can each carry two children without much difficulty. Send two of us…”
“Not a chance, not when he hasn’t even found them yet. But,” he stopped Jotun’s protest with a look, “you are right. As it stands he can’t even send for help if he needs it, and there is a great deal at risk.” He looked around at the assembled group. Anyone he sent might never come back.
“Send Jotun,” Danae whispered, then, in a stronger voice, “he is the best choice here Fomor. He is a skilled warrior, he is nearly as fast a flyer as Phaella, but bigger and stronger.”
Her husband looked at her for a long moment and finally nodded. “Jotun…” he began.
Jotun stepped forward and nodded. He didn’t notice when Gwyneth slipped away from the circle.
“When you have them safe, either you or Gant shift back here. We’ll send a larger contingent to bring them home so that none need be left alone.” Fomor’s instructions were received with an affirmative nod.
“No!” Phaella protested.
Jotun turned to her.
“Don’t worry little sister. I’ll take care of him. We will bring them all back.”
Magnus touched her face and turned her “You’re not the best choice, love. Not this time. Like it or not, Jotun is stronger. He can carry what you cannot. And you are needed here.”
Her lips tightened but after a moment she jerked her chin down in tacit acceptance. Jotun reached out to clasp Fomor’s arm at the elbow as his friend and the captain did the same in return.
“Be careful Jotun. And if you run up against Molek…”
Jotun’s smile was grim. “Don’t worry, Cap. I’ll keep the primary mission in mind. Getting killed would tend to get in the way of success, after all.” He looked around to say goodbye to his wife but she was gone.
“She went that way,” Adahna pointed. “You should talk to her before you go.”
Shahara snorted. “What makes you think she plans to let him go alone?” The men chuckled nervously. Jotun scowled.
“Shahara is not wrong.” Danae sat down and folded her hands. “Everyone thinks Gwyneth is sweet and pliable, but they forget that the strongest trees attain their height by knowing how to bend.” She tilted her head and smiled up at Jotun. “I wouldn’t waste my time trying to talk her out of it. She’ll only follow you. And if the bond between you is as strong as ours,” she glanced at Fomor, “well, I doubt you’ll shake her off.”
Jotun gave a huff of irritation. “Don’t be ridiculous Danae,” he said, and strode out of the circle after his wife.
“Right then,” Fomor rubbed his hands together and sat down, waiting expectantly as the others took their own seats. “We’re going to have to work hard and fast if we are to have any hope of success.”
One corner of Volot’s mouth tipped up in a rueful smile. “And what makes you think we have any hope?”
Shahara reached up and pushed back a lock of his hair with trembling fingers. “Because the alternative is despair, and we are not there yet.” He smiled back at her, placed a tender kiss on her forehead. She sighed and cuddled against his shoulder.
“Do you two need a moment? Because we can wait…” Adahna raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, it’s not like we’re in a hurry or anything,” Magnus drawled.
“And romance is certainly important to a relationship,” Zam’s comment pulled a groan from the entire company. “What?” he spread his hands and plastered an innocent expression across his features. “Too far?”
“All right,” Fomor broke in, suppressing a grin of his own, “Enough, let’s get started.” Within half an hour every member of the company had his or her assignment and had set off to carry them out.
Danae and Shahara set about gathering and preparing food stuffs. Phaella worked to gather or manufacture the necessary furnishings; blankets, clothing, cooking pots, utensils and the like. Adahna drew up plans for the boat while Magnus, Zam, Fomor and Volot began felling gopher trees to turn her design into their salvation. As they worked each one noticed, and tried to ignore, the cooling of the air around them, and the smudge of dark color on the horizon.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jotun approached the little house he had built for Gwyneth with an emotion he could not quite define. The woman can not seriously be thinking of coming with me. It makes no sense. This isn’t a pleasure trip. He was headed into battle with a very dangerous enemy. One didn’t take one’s wife into a war. Did one?
“Gwyneth?” He entered his home, ducking a bit, as usual, to avoid cracking his head on the lintel. I really need to fix that thing, he thought. It took no time to find his wife.
She was standing in the middle of the main room, left arm wrapped around her waist with the opposite elbow resting on it and her right forefinger held lightly between her teeth. A skin of water and a bag sat before her on the ground. The pack was already half filled with what looked like a spare set of clothes and an assortment of healing supplies. Her brow was wrinkled in concentration and she only glanced at him vaguely as he came in before a thought brightened her features and she pounced on a small wicker basket, throwing it open and drawing out three rolls of bandages. These she tossed into the bag and, after a moment’s hesitation, added a fourth. She pulled the drawstring tight, grabbed up a cloak and arranged the strap of the water skin across her chest before standing to face him square on. “I’m ready.”
He blinked. “Ready? What do you mean ready? Ready for what?”
She sighed. “Ready to go. I assume you’ll want to leave right away.” She hefted the bag in her hand, measuring its weight with a concerned look. “I hope I’ve thought of everything. Your pack is over there. I thought it best if you carry the food. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be gone so I…”
“You aren’t going.” Jotun stared at his wife. She couldn’t be serious.
But she was. A resigned expression crossed her face and she stepped close to him, touching his face with a gentle palm. “Of course I am dear. Don’t be silly.”
“Silly,” he huffed. “I’m not being silly. You don’t take a female into battle.”
Gwyneth stepped back. “I’d like to hear you tell Adahna and Phaella that,” she snorted.
“You know what I mean.” He crossed his arms and stood, legs braced firmly, looking down his nose at her. “Human women do not accompany their men into battle, do they?”
“I’m sure I don’t know whether they do or not, since I’ve never been faced with a fighting situation before.” She shrugged. “But in any case, I’m not just a human woman. I’ve angel blood in me and even if I didn’t, I’d still be going with you.”
He threw up his hands. “Why? Why are you insisting on going?”
She crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. “How many children have you ever cared for?” His look of discomfort was its own answer. “And how many wounds have you treated?”
He bristled. “I’ve dealt with injuries before. I know…”
“Training injuries, yes. On angels. But you’ve only ever been in one actual battle, yes? And, with the exception of Fomor, did you treat anyone’s wounds, or had they healed before you got to them?”
He didn’t answer, but his mouth set in a stubborn line.
She sighed again. “Jotun, you can fly off or shift without me. But I’ve heard Volot talking to Shahara about that village and I’ll follow you. From what he said it isn’t that far. A half hour’s flight translates into what? A day’s journey? Two? And then another two miles east of the cliff side village?”
He read the calm determination in her eyes and blanched. Two days, maybe three, on the road with no one to protect her? “Gwyneth, you have to stay here. Danae and Shahara will need your help.”
“Danae and Shahara will do very well without me for a day or two. Those children will need a mother figure – someone to dress their hurts and comfort them after what they’ve been thro
ugh.” She eyed him with a speculative gleam that made his mouth go dry. “Tell me Jotun, have you ever dealt with an injured, screaming child who has just spent several days being frightened out of their wits?”
His jaw twitched but he said nothing.
“I didn’t think so.” She gave him a coaxing smile. “It is only reasonable, love. You’ll need someone to help with the children, especially if one of you is hu—” she cut herself off, looking, for a moment, so worried and frightened that he lost all his resolve.
“Fine,” he rumbled, grabbing up a cloak and the pack she had prepared. “You’ll come to help with the children. But,” he whirled around and shook his finger in her face, “if it comes to a fight, you run. You run and you hide and you don’t come out until I come for you. Agreed?”
Not daring to smile she gazed back at him a moment, then leaned forward and kissed the tip of his finger. “Agreed,” she said, solemn as a village elder in the judgment seat.
Some forty minutes later she was fervently hoping she would not be required to run anywhere anytime soon. Take off and ascent had been accomplished without incident, but after he leveled off, Jotun had spent the remainder of their short flight battling vicious wind currents.
He looked down into her face with concern as he fought yet another stiff downdraft that threatened to send them both tumbling into the trees below. The next second the wind had shifted and was thrusting him up and over. Before he could compensate, they had completed two spiraling loops and Gwyneth was looking at him in desperation.
“Set down, please set down now.”
Seeing that her face had taken on the color of new grass, he made what speed he could in landing. No sooner had they touched down then she stumbled away from him, collapsed to her knees and produced the half-digested contents of her stomach in a truly revolting fashion.
“I think I’m going to die now,” she rolled over onto her back and directed a blank stare at the heavens, as if the continuation or termination of her existence was really no concern of hers either way.
He brought out a flask of water and, lifting her upper body, held it to her lips, insisting that she drink a little when she tried to refuse. “At least rinse out your mouth. That can’t taste good.” He did a surreptitious check of her pulse and breathing while she complied and then asked with some concern, “You aren’t really going to die are you?” She appeared to be uninjured, but surely food wasn’t supposed to exit the body that way. He watched her face as she thought his question over and observed that her color was returning to normal.
“I’ll let you know when I’m certain, one way or the other,” she muttered. “Is flying always like that?”
He shook his head. “No. Actually, I’ve never experienced anything like that. There’s always a bit of breeze, but nothing so violent. Do you always – purge – like that?”
“No,” she frowned. “In fact, the only other time I’ve seen anyone do that is when Abram ate some green fruit. He had awful stomach pains for an hour or so and then spewed up what he’d eaten like I did just now. He said he felt much better afterwards.”
“Huh. And how do you feel now?” he asked, watching her with wary eyes.
She paused, presumably taking internal inventory, “Better, I think. Give me a few minutes.”
He moved off to give her some privacy, choosing to go on a brief reconnaissance mission while he waited, careful always to keep her within sight through the trees. The forest was well grown, the trees tall and closely spaced. The ground between them was cluttered with a loose pack of low shrubs and vines, but there were animal trails they could make use of. He had determined that the woods close to them were empty of enemies when he saw Gwyneth picking her way through the brush towards him, her arms full of the pack he had dropped when they landed. Surrendering the pack to the earth, she slipped her hand into his.
“What next?” she asked.
He lifted an eyebrow in her direction. “Well, normally I’d fly closer in because it’s faster.” She paled but made no protest beyond a tightening of her jaw. “However,” he continued, “in this case, between the trees below and the heavy winds above, it will be better if we walk from here. It isn’t far based on the description that Gant gave Phaella.”
She said nothing but made a show of hoisting the pack into his arms, and he hid a smile of pride in her bravery. From what he’d seen of humans, it was a rare woman who could refrain from complaining in a hard situation. Jotun took the lead and the two headed into the forest.
At the clearing, Gant sat as if carved from the blood stained rock with Sena’s sword across his knees, waiting in silence, if not patience. The forest around him waited as well, as if every animal and bird were holding its breath, frozen in terror or dread. Nearly an hour had passed since his arrival in the clearing, but the wildlife of the forest had not resumed its usual chatter and hurry. His silence and their normal noise would have shielded the approaching pair in other times, but as it stood, he was unsurprised when Jotun stepped into the glade. His eyes widened fractionally when Gwyneth moved into place beside her husband, but he gave no other indication that their presence was unexpected.
Jotun briefly described the situation and the plan and then looked around the clearing. “Where are the children?” he asked.
“I’ve already taken them back to the village for burial.” Gant’s voice was dry and as gravelly as an abandoned riverbed.
Jotun said nothing, merely held out the water skin for Gant to drink.
“They were already dead, so the Shift could do them no additional harm,” he said. When Jotun did not respond but continued to offer the skin, Gant took it and drank. “I couldn’t take the chance…” he stopped, head down, chest heaving, for a moment as he struggled to justify himself.
Gwyneth touched his arm and he shivered, twitched aside. “You did right,” she said, “If Benat gets past us somehow – if he sneaks in – well, those four, at least, are beyond his reach.”
“What of the others?” Jotun kept his tone carefully neutral. Heaven only knew what he would do in Gant’s place to save Gwyneth. He had no heart to judge his brother in arms, but there were other lives in the balance, and the question had to be asked.
Gant shot him a guilty look, “They – I don’t know. This is where he’ll come, Jotun. I can’t leave.” He held out his palms in a plea for understanding. “It’s the only chance I have of finding him, of making him give it back.”
“They must be found Gant,” Jotun looked at his friend with pity, and all the understanding Gant had wordlessly requested, but his next words were uncompromising. “We can’t wait here for Molek to spontaneously reform. He’ll kill them.”
“I don’t think he has them.” Gwyneth had moved away from the pair and was looking around the clearing.
“What do you mean? He wouldn’t have just left them.” Jotun’s certainty rang between them.
She shook her head. “Not if he had a choice, but… look,” she gestured to the two sacks. “You mentioned, back home, how hard it would be for a single angel to carry more than two humans at a time for any distance. Yet he got them here.” She paused, letting them consider the implications. “So, between them, he and Benat might have flown four of the children here.”
“Molek might have been able to carry three,” Jotun ran a finger along his jaw line, mulling over the logistics required.
“Okay, that makes five. But we know that they took at least fourteen from the village. They killed three in the cave. That leaves eleven. No way did they fly eleven children here,” Gwyneth asserted, her pretty features hard with certainty.
“Neither of them would have cared about damaging the humans…”
“Yes, he would.” Gant shuddered at the memory of blood and darkness in what became Sena’s tomb. “Astarte wanted to…” he swallowed hard and revulsion writhed across his features, “she offered me her mother’s heart for Sena, and when I wouldn’t take it she started to eat it. But Molek wouldn’t let her. H
e said they didn’t eat dead things, that it was undignified.”
Jotun raised his hands in capitulation. “Fine, but he got them here somehow. That makes it more certain that he took them, or that Benat did, in which case, neither of them will be back.”
But Gwyneth shook her head. “No, even Molek couldn’t move easily with five or six screaming, struggling children in his arms. And believe me, not a one of them would go easily. No, he would have needed to contain them, if only for the sake of convenience and his…” her lips pursed as if over a foul taste, “dignity. That’s what he used these sacks for.” She pointed to the two huge sacks on the ground nearby, one close to the rock, the other nearer the forest edge.
“And, if he carried them in the sacks, they might have been protected in the Shift,” Jotun said.
Gwyneth nodded. “And look,” she crossed to the second sack, “this cord has been cut, not untied. You do that if you are in a hurry, not if you’re just taking something out for dinner.”
“Okay, so he and Benat carried the children here in these bags. And,” Jotun fingered the uncut cord of the first sack, “they opened the first sack to take one of the children out?”
Gant nodded. The strain around his eyes and lips eased as he thought the evidence through. “Maybe, maybe, but…look at the ground. It’s all torn up. There was some kind of struggle here. And there’s a spot over there that smells strongly of the Fallen, but there’s no blood, no body, just a pile of ash.”
Jotun frowned in thought and then lifted his face to them, “Fomor said that when he destroyed Bansh there was—”
A child’s scream of terror jerked their attention to the forest. Before it had faded into the air, Jotun was running towards the sound. Gwyneth sped along behind him despite his terse command that she, “stay put.” Ripping through the forest, thrusting aside branches, feet barely touching the ground as the forest blurred around him, Jotun quickly left his wife behind, not even realizing that she had disobeyed him.
A second scream split the air and the big angel increased his speed. Gwyneth fell further behind but she had no trouble following the trail of wrecked foliage he left in his wake. A third cry, this time an agonized wail, stabbed into her ears and she stumbled, falling hard to her knees. Without hesitation she struggled back to her feet and ran on.
