Child of a Dead God nd-6

by Barb Hendee

  "On foot?"

  "Yes, on foot," the man snapped. "How else?"

  Shame flooded Hkuan'duv as he looked at the pinched, burned faces and frightened eyes of his people. Their ship had been murdered and a fourth of them with it, while he had sat waiting beyond the horizon for Avranvard. She must have died in the battle, or she would have called him.

  "You have my sorrow," he whispered and meant it. "We will take everyone aboard and get them home."

  The hkomas closed his eyes and nodded.

  The skiff was loaded first with those with the worst injuries. Hkuan'duv waded into the surf as two more skiffs arrived. He pulled one ashore and began helping his people climb in. As the last boarded, Hkuan'duv reached out and touched the hkomas's hand.

  "I have others of my caste on board. Please tell them I wait here, and to bring all of our gear. Tell them to ask the ship's crew for as much white canvas or cloth as they can spare. Safe journey and peace to you."

  The hkomas nodded. "And to you… wherever you walk now."

  Hkuan'duv stood alone upon the shore, watching the skiffs rock through the surf toward the ship. Or was he alone?

  He cocked his head at footsteps coming along the beach behind him.

  The sound faltered several times in a fumbling attempt at silence. He did not turn until he knew this amateur skulker was within reach, and then he found himself facing a girl with a thick braid and oversized boots.

  "I am Avranvard," she said quietly.

  Hkuan'duv suppressed his surprise.

  "Why did you not board with your crew?" he demanded.

  After an instant of her own shock, she replied, "I belong with you-"

  "Why did you not contact me?"

  "It all happened too quickly," she rushed on, her voice pained. "I was on deck amid the fire and could not abandon my duties to send word. I… I tried to help… but everything was burning."

  Hkuan'duv breathed out through his mouth. This child was not to blame. She was not Anmaglahk and never should have been placed in this role.

  "It is all right," he said. "You followed your duty. No one would expect otherwise."

  He waited as Avranvard regained her composure.

  "Can you tell me more of what happened?" he asked.

  She sniffed and began recalling bits and pieces of the marauder vessel's first sighting-and the strange behavior of Magiere and the majay-hi. She told of the an'Croan woman dangled over the side of the Ylladon ship, cut loose to drown, and how Sgailsheilleache had jumped overboard to go after her. Beyond these details, events had become too chaotic for the girl to follow as she recounted trying to put out the flames consuming the ship.

  Hkuan'duv listened silently with patience.

  "But on the beach," Avranvard added in the end, "Sgailsheilleache abandoned us! I told him who I was… that Most Aged Father sent me… but he refused me and left with those humans."

  Hkuan'duv's lips parted in brief hesitation. "You did not tell him of my presence?"

  She straightened. "Of course not. My purpose was to watch and report to you, and nothing more. But now I am cut off."

  "Do not be concerned. Join your crew, and you will be home again soon."

  Avranvard stared at him, and her young features went slack. "But… I am with you. I did just as Most Aged Father asked me."

  Hkuan'duv was uncertain how to respond. What had this girl been promised?

  "I must travel quickly," he explained. "My team and I go south. You must return with the ship."

  "No!" she nearly shouted. "I am to be Anmaglahk! Most Aged Father promised. I will help you track Leshil and the humans."

  Hkuan'duv had no intention of explaining the skills required, ones Avranvard did not possess. Yet, for all she had done and all she had been through, he pitied her.

  This selfish, defiant young woman would never be accepted as an initiate. Her spirit was entirely unsuitable. How could Most Aged Father promise such to someone who did not possess the necessary potential? But that lie was all Hkuan'duv had left to save Avranvard from herself.

  "If you are Anmaglahk," he said sternly, "you will follow the request of your caste elder. Join your crew and return to Ghoivne Ajhajhe."

  "No!" she cried angrily. Then she cringed, looking at him-not unlike an obstinate child second-guessing her outburst.

  "Should I escort you to the ship?" he asked.

  Avranvard's lips rolled inward, clenched tightly, but her eyes began to glisten. Before one tear could fall, she turned away and dropped to her haunches upon the rocky beach.

  Hkuan'duv remained silent, even as the skiff turned from the distant ship and headed back for shore with his comrades. In part, he regretted any ill feelings toward this girl, who had fed him information in the pursuit of his purpose. But kindness was not always a kindness. In the end, any solace he offered would only sting Avranvard more.

  A'harhk'nis, Kurhkage, and Danvarfij jumped into the surf and pulled the skiff ashore.

  Avranvard remained as still and quiet as a small stone on the beach. As Hkuan'duv's companions joined him with their gear, the girl finally climbed into the skiff. The two crewmen pushed the boat back into the surf.

  Hkuan'duv faltered, calling out before he thought better of it. "In silence and in shadows… Avranvard."

  She did not turn to acknowledge him.

  "What was that about?" Danvarfij asked, gazing after the girl.

  "Nothing," he answered.

  This was the first lie he had ever told Danvarfij. He had been asked to track-and perhaps betray-members of his own caste, including the honorable Sgailsheilleache. Now Most Aged Father had made false promises to an immature girl. It was obvious that Avranvard had been denied admittance to the caste once before. Why else would she have been offered this odd purpose, and cling to it in frantic desperation?

  Hkuan'duv steeled himself against doubt.

  Most Aged Father had always placed the people's welfare above all things. If he had done this, then he had a purpose.

  "Sgailsheilleache will keep to the coast for as long as possible," A'harhk'nis said. "If he and his charges seek a destination in any mountains, they must round the far end of the Blade Range. They have over a half day's lead on us."

  A sensible assessment. "Then let us begin," Hkuan'duv said and turned south at a jog.

  But he glanced once at the ship, the living Pairvanean, still floating upon the sea. That tawny vessel, flickering with green in the sunlight, carried the girl with a twice-crushed dream.

  Wynn tried to hide her relief when Sgaile called a halt to the day's trek.

  Walking all day after so much time aboard ship was an unexpected effort. By noon, her knees were trembling, and near dusk she was struggling to keep up. Even worse, no one else was having the same trouble.

  Leesil was only too glad to have his feet on dry land, and Magiere's obsession gripped her even harder. Sgaile told her to slow down several times during the day. Even Chap had difficulty keeping ahead of Magiere.

  Trudging along behind everyone, Wynn had studied her companions. At times her sorrowful memories of the night before seemed echoed in their expressions. No matter how hard she tried, she could not put aside the fire and screams and smoke-and the sight of the ship's tawny deck blackened and splitting beneath the flames.

  "Stop," Sgaile called out. "We must make camp."

  Magiere whirled around at the lead. "There's plenty of daylight left!"

  "Preparations must be made before entering the mountains," he said. "We will need this daylight, and more each day, to gather necessities."

  Thankfully, Leesil dropped his pack. "He's right. Help me start a fire."

  He reached out for Magiere's hand. She breathed through her mouth a few times, and finally let him pull her along.

  Osha gathered their gear by a fallen tree at the beach top, and Wynn crouched with him behind that barrier against the wind.

  "This will do nicely," she said.

  Osha nodded, but he peered over
the tree's weather-bleached trunk, watching where Leesil had taken Magiere. Wynn hoped Leesil could keep Magiere pacified in their slow progress, and she set to inspecting their supplies and gear.

  So far, she'd had no chance to see what Leesil had salvaged from the ship. He had assured her that the elven quill, ink, and parchments Gleann had given to her were in one of the packs. Chap came to sit beside her.

  Wynn studied the sleeves of her coat. She had worn it a few times to satisfy Magiere, but the garment felt constricting and heavy-and she had lost Chane's cloak in the fire.

  What of the cold lamp crystal?

  She blinked at Chap's sudden question, and reached inside her coat to the pocket of her elven tunic.

  "It is safe," she answered.

  Osha turned a puzzled glance her way, obviously thinking she spoke to him.

  "Never mind," she told him. "Just… it is nothing."

  He wrinkled his brow and went off to scavenge firewood.

  To Wynn's surprise, Sgaile knelt down to examine the packs, and his tan, handsome face leaned close to hers. His manner had changed since their first meeting, though he remained reserved in her company.

  "Do we have a cooking pot?" he asked.

  Together, they pulled objects from the packs. Wynn found a large pouch of herbal tea, also several flints, coils of thin rope made from silken fibers, three water flasks-but only two wooden mugs. They would have to share.

  "Ah, here," she said, pulling out a tin pot. "We can make tea, but we will need more fresh water soon."

  "We will find streams along the way. But in the mountains, higher up, we must melt snow to fill our flasks."

  Wynn looked at their few other belongings.

  "Leesil grabbed some tarp and two small blankets." She sighed. "But no food… after all Magiere's careful preparations. We never anticipated being shipwrecked."

  Sgaile reached behind himself, beneath his cloak, and pulled out a folded square of green-gray. When he shook it out, it became a drawstring bag of reasonable size.

  "Come," he said. "Fire will be more of a concern in the heights than water."

  Wynn was uncertain of his meaning, but she followed him into the trees above the beach. Chap trotted after her.

  The landscape was appealing in a harsh way. White-edged waves tumbled against the beach below, driving foaming arches up the gravelly shore and sending soft spray into the air over craggy jetties. The rough foothills were covered with dense pockets of spruce and aspen, and Wynn spotted thick redwoods higher up. To the west and above, the snow-capped peaks of the Blade Range cut the sky. More directly south, she thought she could make out where they ended far away. Somewhere in that direction was their way into the higher mountains, the Pock Peaks.

  "Look here," Sgaile said and crouched down.

  Wynn clambered along the sharp slant between the trees. Where he pointed she saw animal droppings at the base of an aspen.

  "From a deer?" she asked. "Are you going hunting?"

  "No, I will find sea life near the jetties. You can gather droppings and put them in this bag."

  "Excuse me?" Wynn said.

  "If Osha or I have time, we will help," Sgaile added. "This must be done every evening so long as we have opportunity. We will dry what we find by the fire."

  Wynn wrinkled her nose. "You want me to collect… animal dung?"

  "Yes," he answered, as if the reason were obvious. "From what little Magiere described, we will go far above any tree line, where there is little or no fuel for a fire. Herbivore droppings can be burned, and this may be our only source of heat."

  "Oh… clever," Wynn said, but it was still a disgusting task. She knelt at the aspen's base, calling out, "Chap, time to put your nose to work."

  Chap let out a rumbling whine and licked his nose at her, but he began poking about the rough slope. When Wynn looked up, Sgaile was gone. She picked up her first chunk of dung with only forefinger and thumb and dropped it quickly into the sack.

  She kept at this until daylight waned, following Chap's huffs and barks to find fuel more quickly than she could by sight. In the end, they barely filled the bottom of the sack. Wynn decided to clean her hands in the sea and headed down for the beach.

  When she emerged on the rocky shore, she did not see their camp. Rather than stop to wash just yet, she stepped farther out and looked both ways. She spotted the old downed tree to the north and headed off with Chap following. Before she was a stone's throw from camp, she slowed, and all thoughts of cleanliness emptied from her head.

  Sgaile and Osha stood bent over in hip-deep water where the surf was calmer behind a rocky outcrop. They were bare to the waist, their cloaks and tunics lying high on the beach. A pile of silvery fish wriggled on the rocks near their clothing.

  The two elves kept as still as trees with their hands sunk just below the water's surface. Their blond hair hung loose across their tan shoulders.

  Osha dropped sharply, his arms spearing deep into the water.

  He straightened, droplets spraying off his wet arms, and a flat gray form thrashed in his hands. He waded quickly toward the beach, and when the foaming surf receded to his shins, he flung the captured flounder onto the gravel.

  "How many?" he asked in Elvish.

  Wynn started and then hurried over to the pile. "Um… eight."

  But Osha had already waded back out to Sgaile, and they spoke too low for her to hear over the surf.

  Wynn kept staring. Osha seemed different-less awkward, almost graceful in the undulating water, catching fish with his bare hands. He turned back with Sgaile and they waded toward her and stepped smoothly out of the surf.

  Wynn fidgeted with a strange nervous energy, as if Osha were a stranger. Half-dressed, with the ends of wet silken hair clinging to his shoulders, he looked so…

  "What is wrong?" he asked.

  Wynn swallowed. "Nothing… um… we will never eat all these tonight."

  "There are ways to make it last longer," Osha answered with a smile.

  He and Sgaile began pulling on their tunics. Wynn looked away until they finished.

  "Can you carry our cloaks?" Osha asked and, without waiting, he snatched up the remaining catch and headed off after Sgaile.

  "Of course," Wynn answered, but as she crouched to pick them up, she spotted Chap.

  He was squatting on the gravel, watching her intently, and then glanced once after Osha before wrinkling his brows at her. A heated blush spread over Wynn's face.

  "Just keep your muzzle shut!" she said and quickly bundled up the cloaks to stalk off.

  Back at camp, Leesil had started the fire and already boiled water for tea. Magiere leaned against the fallen tree. She faced toward the south.

  Sgaile and Osha set to cleaning fish over a hole they had dug in the gravel. Once done, they buried the waste and spitted several fish to roast over the flames. They hung the rest of their catch higher above the fire's rising smoke. Osha produced a small pouch and pinched out a green powder. He rubbed this all over the hanging fish.

  Chap whined and licked his muzzle.

  "Not long now," Sgaile said.

  "Why so much?" Leesil asked. "The extra won't smoke or even dry fully by morning."

  "Yes-they will," Sgaile answered. "Osha is using powdered cl'leichiojh."

  "Woodridge?" Wynn asked. "The tree growths Osha showed me on our journey through your land?"

  Sgaile nodded.

  "Hold on," Leesil cut in. "He's rubbing fungus all over our food?"

  Sgaile shook his head. "It is edible and has astringent properties. We must build food stores before reaching the high range Magiere seeks."

  Magiere continued staring south, her features intently drawn. Her fingers kept clutching and scraping absently upon the dead tree's gray wood. Wynn exchanged a glance of mutual concern with Sgaile. Fortunately the water reached boiling, and they set to making tea.

  For the first time, Wynn was genuinely glad Sgaile had chosen to come with them.

  And
Osha as well.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Welstiel had rested through the day in the makeshift tent Chane had rigged among the beach-top trees, but he had not fallen dormant. He still possessed enough elixir to keep him conscious for many days, so he'd merely remained quiet until Chane and the ferals roused. Now the monks crawled to their hands and knees around him. Despite their long swim, their tabards were still bloodstained.

  "She has a long lead," Chane said. "Likely traveling all day."

  Welstiel knew Chane's true thoughts were not fixed on Magiere but rather on his little scholar, Wynn. Such a trivial matter did not deserve attention. He left the tent and walked through the growing darkness down to the gravel beach, to crouch and pull out his domed brass plate.

  "Straight south," Chane said, standing over him. "Between the Blade Range and the ocean, she can only follow the shore."

  "For now," Welstiel responded.

  He stood up, not liking having Chane at his back, and decided not to scry for Magiere. It would be pointless so early in her journey. His main concern was to follow her closely enough not to miss any major course change-and yet keep his group beyond her or Chap's range of awareness. A fine line to walk.

  The monks clambered downslope, sniffing the shore air.

  "Have them pack up," Welstiel said. "We will start as soon as they finish."

  Despite recent events, he believed himself in a good position. Still unaware of his presence, Magiere was moving onward.

  The sister of the dead will lead you.

  Of his former patron's taunts, this one phrase held true. He would allow her to lead, without needing to rein her in under his control.

  Two ferals mewled softly in agitation. Jakeb began slapping a tree with his hand and then motioning southward. Sabel grabbed Chane's arm.

  "Chhhhhaaan," she slurred, and dragged Chane a short distance past Jakeb's tree.

  "What is it?" Welstiel asked.

  "I do not know," Chane answered. "Their senses are stronger than mine, even when…"

  He fell silent, his nostrils flaring wide as he looked off through the trees.

  "Life?" Chane whispered. "They could not be so close and… wait… it is gone."

  Welstiel hurried over. Chane's sense of smell was more developed than his own, but Welstiel doubted Magiere could be this close-or could she? His concern turned to anxiety.