“Are you finally awake?”
…who was always with him.
The sparse trails that led through the forest were chocked with stones and exposed roots, making the footing difficult, but Padric and Rosheen traveled hard through the early morning. The sun could not penetrate the dense clouds, leaving the forest a dim, mist-laden place. Padric became drowsy listening to his muffled footfalls and the stuffy sound of his own breathing. He yawned deeply, forcing his eyes closed, his ears filling with a hot roar. A rock turned under his foot, throwing his weight harshly backward. He fell hard, his right elbow and hip slamming into the unforgiving trail. Rosheen hissed sympathetically, as he rose gingerly to his feet. The pain settled into his bones as a dull, pulsing ache, but he was more concerned about the damage to his pack than he was his own injuries. Slinging the basket off his back, he checked it over carefully, ensuring the wicker had not been irreparably crushed. Thankfully, his mother’s sturdy handiwork held true. Padric glanced up at Rosheen, feeling quite the fool.
“Want me to lead for awhile?” she asked.
Padric glared at her hovering an arm’s length from the ground. “I doubt that would help.”
“Well then…” She made a sweeping gesture towards him with both hands.
Padric chuckled darkly, rubbing his sore elbow. “Forgive me for holding you up.”
“Oh, you’re fine!” she exclaimed.
Padric gave her an indignant scrunch of his face. “I never said I was hurt!”
“I know,” Rosheen said lightly. “So…” The sweeping gesture came again.
Padric gave a defeated groan and headed off down the trail, slinging the pack over his shoulders as he went. The trail narrowed and deepened until it was little more than a ditch, with barely enough room for Padric’s feet. The trees crowded close on either side, making it impossible to climb up and travel outside of the tight furrow. The trail meandered in irregular turns, forcing them to follow an indirect path. Eventually, it led them gradually downhill, and then turned into a knee busting descent over natural steps of stone and earth. Padric chose his footing carefully, gripping the trunks of trees and low branches where he could to steady himself and slow his momentum. A break in the trees gave them a view of a grassy clearing below, nestled in the saddle of the hills. Padric took a moment to catch his breath and pointed down at the clearing.
“From there, the path is unknown to me. When I last came through here, I entered the clearing from the northeast and turned south for home. We will need to go west to reach Hog’s Wallow.” From this vantage it appeared their chosen path flattened out into rolling fields for a fair distance as it left the dell, before entering the forest once more. Thankfully, it did not appear to turn uphill again.
When at last they reached the valley, Padric’s legs were quivering and it felt odd to be walking again on flat ground. He tossed a glance skyward. It could not be much past midday, but the continued absence of the sun made it difficult to determine. The clearing seemed a reasonable spot to rest, but the prospect of easier terrain encouraged Padric to push on. The darkening clouds gathering to the east solidified his decision.
A breeze filled the dell, bringing the smell of approaching rain. Padric did not want to be caught out in the open during a storm, and if his sleep was to be fretful, he would rather it was at least dry. He set off to the west at a brisk pace, allowing the flat ground and long strides to stretch the tension out of his legs. The open terrain allowed Rosheen to travel alongside him, her wings propelling her leisurely along. The pair made good time and covered a fair distance, but the clouds continued to follow, rolling steadily up their heels. The land grew increasingly scrubby to their left before becoming overtaken by the edge of the forest. To their right, the fields grew steep and rocky, so they stayed in the flat lands between, keeping course until they would have no choice but to enter the woodlands once again.
Padric turned and faced the approaching clouds, continuing to walk backwards. The storm head was the color of black wool and moved threateningly towards them.
“Grand,” he muttered dryly and turned back around. “I doubt we can stay ahead of it for long.”
“Then we get wet,” Rosheen said dismissively.
They pushed on, the edge of the forest pressing ever closer to their left and dominating the view ahead. Padric hoped there would be a trail, but he was now traveling blind. He did not know this country, but trusted that Fafnir would not embark on an overly dangerous route. Ingot was a sure footed mule, but laden with steel tools and weapons he was likely to step wrong without a decent trail and Padric doubted the peddler would take such a risk. There would be a trail. There must be. Unless Padric had already made an error and taken them in the wrong direction.
The ground to their right leveled off slightly and Padric saw something resting on one of the lower hills. He stopped for a moment. It was stonework, the ruins of what looked to have once been a tower of some kind.
“Rosheen,” he said and nodded toward the structure.
“Ruins,” Rosheen said with little interest. “Quite common in Airlann, Padric.”
“They might be,” he replied. “But with a storm coming, common just became a happy chance.” He struck off toward the higher ground, the slopes of the surrounding hillsides leading naturally toward the tower, making the going much easier than he anticipated. Occasionally, he saw square cut stones poking through the grass under his feet, giving evidence that there was once a proper road leading to the crest of the hill.
As he drew closer, Padric saw there were actually remnants of two towers, the shorter one closest to him had been obscured from a distance by the larger tower behind. Both were round, squat drums, the rear tower at least four times the height and girth of the forward, which still held a gate of two large bronze doors, green with age. Two long, curving walls swept back from the front tower and joined with the larger tower, which loomed some distance directly behind, forming a yard between the fortifications. Moss covered the stonework in thick patches and many of the blocks had loosened and separated, some had fallen from the structure entirely, leaving sizable holes.
Padric approached the gate, the doors as tall as he, and looked up to the crest of the gatehouse. He guessed he would have to stand on his own shoulders twice to be able to reach the top. The doors had no handle or chain to pull and Padric did not bother to try and budge them. He circled the base of the tower to the left and walked along the crumbling wall until he found a place where the failing stonework left a sizable gap just above his head. Springing up, he caught the edge of the gap and began hauling himself up. He found easy footholds in the loose blocks and was able to climb with ease until he gained the hole. There he squatted and surveyed the yard within which was overgrown and dotted with fallen stonework. It was almost as big as one of his father’s fields and lay protected behind the embrace of the walls, with the towers shielding it at both ends. From where Padric sat, he noticed that the roof of the smaller gatehouse tower had fallen in, destroying the entrance to the yard and choking the interior with rubble. The large tower at the rear had no visible gate accessible to the yard. Puzzled, Padric climbed down inside the walls.
Rosheen flew through the same hole. “Why are we in here?” she asked impatiently.
“Good shelter,” Padric replied. “If…we can find a way inside there.” He pointed at the rear tower and headed towards it across the yard. He scanned the interior of the walls as he walked. Despite their dilapidated condition, it was clear that the top of the walls held sizable walkways, with crenellations facing out as well as in, which was odd, and no remnants of stairs remained in the yard, leaving Padric wondering how anyone reached them. Even the fort back home had stairs and also…
“Ladders,” he said aloud.
“Sorry?” Rosheen looked at him quizzically.
“They must have used ladders,” he said. “To gain the walls.”
They made it to the base of the rear tower and Padric craned his neck upward
s. “Traveling with Fafnir…I saw a watermill. In Seanach’s Ford. I thought that was tall, but this. This is…four, maybe five times the height.” He shook his head while it was still turned skyward. The mill had been mostly wood and narrow at the top. This was pure stone and as wide from top to bottom. “Wonder who built it,” he said, looking over at Rosheen. She was turned away from the tower, facing the yard. “Do you know?” he asked the back of her head.
“How would I?” she said flippantly, turning to him.
Padric shrugged. “Dunno. It’s been around awhile, same as you. Thought you might have an idea.”
“No,” she said, smiling. “It’s a ruin, Padric. There are hundreds of these across the Isle. Once here, now gone.”
“Not gone,” Padric said, spreading and turning his arms to encompass the yard. “Old, but not gone. And they were once new. If there were…are hundreds of them, you must remember something.”
“What for?” she asked with a look of genuine confusion.
“To look back on the past.”
“I was there then. No need to look back.”
“But what about this place?” Padric felt himself growing frustrated. “It had a purpose. It was built by someone and then was destroyed or abandoned. Do you want that to be lost?”
Rosheen flew over and placed her tiny hands on the sides of his face. She looked directly at him. “If I spend time remembering the past of some broken tower, then what I will lose is this moment, when I was here with you, now. And if I return in a hundred years…you will be gone. Of course, I will be able to sit and ponder the origins of this place, but I will be unable to recall our time here together, because I missed the day it happened.”
Padric nodded, but was not satisfied. “The only thing I will remember is getting soaked if we do not find a way in.” He detached from Rosheen and sidled closer to the right wall, which was in better condition than its mate. “There must be access to the tower from the walls.” he said, shrugging out of his pack. He opened the top flap and removed the coiled rope his father had given him. “Do you think you can fly one end up and tie it off up there? Think I can climb it.”
Rosheen looked as if she would refuse, but flew over and took the end of the rope from him, then was up and disappeared over the battlements, the trail of rope dangling. Padric grabbed the pack up again and put it on his back while he waited.
Rosheen popped back over the wall. “Done,” she said. “Try not to break that anvil of a head.”
Ignoring her, Padric took the rope in his left hand, found solid purchase in the wall with his right foot and began hauling himself up. He was able to climb the pitted wall quite easily, but kept the rope in his left hand to be safe. Within moments, he crawled up and over the crenellations, slightly winded but none the worse for wear. As he suspected there was a doorway built into the side of the larger tower where it met the wall. Whatever was used to seal the entrance was long gone and the portal yawned back at Padric, black and open. He started making his way down the wall toward the tower.
“Padric…,” Rosheen chided him.
He looked back at her. “Just going to take a look.” He stopped short of the entrance and looked inside. The dreary day cast little light into the structure and Padric could make out only the dim shadows of a refuse filled chamber. An unpleasant odor of stale air, animal droppings, damp and rot wafted from within. Padric leaned slowly into the chamber.
He jumped back, his heart slamming into his throat at the hideous, grinning face crouching just inside the door. He went for his knife, but his brain sped past his reflexes, forcing him to stop. It was a dead badger, eyes hollowed and teeth exposed by decay. Padric laughed aloud to dispel the lingering fear and looked back at Rosheen. “Just an animal. Crawled in here to die.”
“Good place for it,” she said.
“Good place to wait out an afternoon rain, too,” Padric said. He plucked the stiff corpse up from the floor and flung it over the wall. Taking his pack off he propped it just inside the chamber and hunkered down next to it, removing the last of the cheese his mother had packed. Rosheen came in and settled on the pack.
“How can you eat that?” she said her nose turned up.
“You love cheese,” he replied.
“I meant after seeing that badger.”
“Well, he was a little too far along to cook.” Padric gave her his slyest smile and bit off a hunk of cheese.
“Lovely,” Rosheen responded with an eye roll and a slight chuckle.
The rain started to come down outside, sparingly at first and then the skies opened up to a full downpour, soaking the stones of the wall outside. Padric watched it fall, hoping it would pass before long. He wanted to get a few more miles behind them before nightfall. It occurred to him that Fafnir had never mentioned this ruin and Padric began to worry that he truly had led them astray. It was too prominent a landmark not to mention and Fafnir had provided detailed descriptions of his trade routes before Padric departed. He sifted through his memory, trying to pull something out that would tell him one way or another if he had made a mistake. He was certain when they reached the clearing that he had chosen the correct path, but in his hurry to outpace the storm it was possible he missed something. He clenched down on his jaw, angry at himself for not knowing, wishing the rain would stop so he could double back to be sure. It would cost precious hours, but he could not take them through the woods again without checking. There were very few settlements in the rough country and they could wander around the wilds and never find one, running out of food until…
“It was a Boot Rest,” Rosheen said.
Padric squinted at her.
“This place. They called it a Boot Rest,” she continued. “The Goblin Kings built them all over the Isle after they usurped the Seelie Court, as a way to keep the Fae-folk under control. Humans, too.”
Padric was confused, but he did not dare interrupt for fear that she would stop talking. There was a resolve to her face he had never seen before. She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke, knowing he did not understand. There was pain in her face. Not pain for herself, but pain for him, as if she were stealing something from him that she knew would never be returned.
“Goblin soldiers…the Red Caps, were everywhere in those days, terrorizing the villages, stealing where they wished. They used these to regroup, to sleep, to divide the spoils.” She took a deep breath. “And when any tried to oppose them, they were brought here. Herded in, whole villages, through the gatehouse and into the killing field between the walls.” Padric looked out at the wall. The wall with battlements facing in as well as out. The wall with no stairs.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked when he was sure she had finished.
“Because you were doubting yourself,” she said. “It was in your face. He would not have spoken of this place, Padric. Not even a dwarf would do that.”
Padric nodded slowly and looked away. Then something occurred to him. He feared to ask, but needed to know. “Rosheen?” he ventured at last. “In the legends, the Goblin Kings were mortals. Men like me, who ruled the goblins through sorcery. Was that the way of it?”
Rosheen nodded. “Yes. It was.”
Padric thought a moment. “Why do you not hate us?”
“Humans suffered as much as Fae in those times. Maybe more. Your people fought alongside us to restore the throne.” She smiled sadly. “The Goblin Kings were terrible, but few. Mankind should not be blamed for the actions of Oathbreakers. The Court understood that.”
“Why did you not want to tell me? We would not have come here.”
Rosheen did not hesitate. “Because this is as I said it was, a ruin. Broken stone cannot preserve the evil deeds of long ago. It cannot give power back to those that did the slaughter, anymore then it can return the lives of the good people who died here.”
Rosheen smiled to herself as Padric fell asleep. He had reclined against his pack, stretching his legs out in front of him, to wait out the rain. She sat be
hind, lightly stroking his hair. It was not long before his eyes closed and his breathing grew even. Walls and daylight. He feels safe here. Rosheen wished she shared his ease.
The rain fell just outside to her right, while the shadowy outline of the doorway into the tower proper beckoned her with blackness. She felt pulled from both sides, tempted to flee out into the wetness and freedom, at the same time being morbidly seduced by the abandoned interior of the ruin. She told Padric there was no power in these stones, but she felt a sudden urge to worship them as a monument to the victory of her kin. She wanted to gloat inside the tower, dance inside the wreckage and laugh at its demise.
She leaned forward and kissed Padric lightly on the forehead, willing him gently into a deeper slumber. She flew off the top of the pack and wove a quick charm above the door leading outside, while behind her, the tower continued to call. Rosheen turned toward the gaping darkness, took one look down at Padric and flew into the embrace of the long dead past.
When Padric opened his eyes, he found the rain had stopped and there appeared to be a couple more hours of scant daylight remaining. He had not meant to fall asleep and rose with a mild curse. Grabbing his pack, he walked out onto the wall. Rosheen sat on one of the crenellations facing the countryside, her feet dangling over the side.
“How long?” he asked.
“Barely an hour,” she assured him.
Padric nodded in relief. Rosheen had been right, the rain passed quickly and after descending the outside of the wall, Padric led them away from the awful towers without a backward glance. The hills were slick with the wet grass, but they quickly came down to the fields and entered the forest. The air was heavy and chill from the rain, the carpet of fallen leaves shiny. Padric found the trail immediately and they struck off between the trees.
The Exiled Heir (Autumn's Fall Saga) Page 5
