“Similar. And you’re not stupid. Just inexperienced.” He reached down and Lindsay didn’t flinch when he touched her upper lip.
When she saw the red on his fingertip, she wiped her nose and stared at the blood. “What does this mean?”
“You are Katharos,” he said.
She thought she saw a glimmer of pride in his eyes. Katharos. He made it sound like such an honor, like she’d done something really important. Lucian called her Katharos with the same dignity that her dad gave to Pete’s status as a football player. Katharos. Finally somebody was proud of her. Lindsay wiped her blood on her jeans.
Lucian limped to the tack where he picked up the bridle. He motioned for her to join him. In the middle of the halter’s brow strap, there was a finely crafted metal emblem.
“Do you see this?”
It was a circle and in the center, two ravens faced one another with their furious wings spread wide. Their beaks were locked in mortal combat. “Yeah.”
“This is the symbol that Catarina has devised for Mastema’s bastion. Mastema is Beelzebub’s general. Do you remember what I told you yesterday about the Fallen?”
It felt like a test, but after seeing his memories, Lindsay understood that everything on Woerld was a test. Only this wasn’t a game and one screw-up could mean death. She glanced at Lucian’s bad leg. Or worse. “I remember. They want to break out of Hell and take over Woerld first, then Earth, then Heaven.”
“Very good. A very long time ago, my sister summoned a demon: Cerberus.”
“The three-headed hound of Hell.”
He paused and a slow smile crinkled the lines around his eyes. She’d known something he didn’t have to tell her and her confidence grew.
“Well,” he said, “the Cerberus I know has only one head and that’s wicked enough. He persuaded my sister to sell her allegiance to Mastema. This means that she’ll serve the Fallen on Woerld while she lives and again in Hell when she dies. In return, Mastema has promised to make my twin a ruler on Woerld.”
“What’s that got to do with you?”
“When she made her bargain, my sister also promised Mastema my allegiance.”
“What did you do?”
“I refused. And you must promise me that you’ll never accept anything with this emblem on it. No matter how pretty it may shine, no matter how kindly it’s presented to you, never accept anything with these ravens or you will bind yourself in an agreement with my sister and Mastema. Will you promise me?”
Lindsay looked at the emblem and recalled seeing the same design on Catarina’s necklace. Catarina’s amulet had glowed with a pale green light the whole time she attacked them. What was it Lucian had said about the people who followed the Fallen? They used amulets and incantations. That’s what Catarina did. Just like Lucian had said.
Maybe he didn’t tell Lindsay about killing that soldier, but when Catarina brought it up, Lucian didn’t try to lie; he told the truth. So far, everything he’d said was true. Pete always told her not to listen to what people say, but watch what they do.
Yesterday, she hadn’t known what Lucian meant when he’d called himself her Elder, but now she realized he was like an adoptive parent. If he said to avoid Mastema, then she would. “I promise.”
“Good. Very good, Lindsay.” He gave her a hint of a smile. “Remember the emblem. It’s not well known in the south and some people wear it boldly.”
Feeling surer of herself, she asked, “Will you promise me something?”
He slipped the halter over the mare’s head. “I’ll try.” His speech was no longer slurred, and he seemed to be recovering from whatever Catarina had done to him.
She picked up the saddle blanket and brushed the dirt and dead twigs off it before she handed it to him. Unsure how to bring up the soldier’s death, she paused, then asked, “Did you have to kill him? You know. That soldier?”
His hands slowed and he turned to face her. His smile was gone, and his eyes looked so sad, she felt a lump rise to her throat. She was suddenly sorry she’d brought the whole thing up, but she had to know the truth. Her fingers found a twig stuck to her coat and she twisted the wood until it snapped.
“I’m afraid I did,” he said. “If I hadn’t, he would have raised the alarm, and we would be on our way to Hadra right now. Back to my sister.”
Lindsay swallowed and nodded. She had no desire to see his sister again. “Let’s try not to kill anybody else, though, okay?”
“I can only promise you that I will kill when there is no other way.”
Lindsay toed the dirt with her tennis shoe and considered his compromise. “I guess I could go with that. I mean, you’re all into this Biblical stuff, you know? Just remember that ‘Thou shalt not kill’ part, okay?”
A faint smile touched his mouth before he turned serious again. “God will forgive you for defending your life. That’s what I did with the soldier. I defended our lives. I was wrong not to tell you about it.”
Lindsay winced at the guilt she heard in his words. “Yeah, well, that’s okay. Not telling me, I mean.”
“I understand.” He lifted the saddle and placed it on the horse’s back. “Why don’t you go down to the creek and wash up?” He unhooked the flask and handed it her before he reached for the cinch. “Fill that up. We need to leave.”
“Sure.” Relieved that he’d found a way to end the awkward conversation, she grabbed the flask and went to the creek. God, but she could such an ass sometimes. Pete was right; she didn’t need to spew every thought that rolled through her brain straight out of her mouth. Lindsay carefully picked her way through the dead leaves to the edge of the water.
The creek was only ten feet away from their camp, but with the foggy morning, she could barely see Lucian working with the horse when she looked back. She squatted on the bank and ducked the flask under the icy water until it was full. She had just started to wash her face when the whisper of voices filtered through the fog.
“…not here…”
“Well, look harder,” another man answered. “Speight’s going to have our balls if we don’t find that son of bitch.”
Lindsay froze. She couldn’t see anyone, and the fog carried the sounds funny. She couldn’t tell which direction the voices were coming from, but she had no doubt who they were. Lucian said Catarina’s soldiers were out there, and Lucian hadn’t lied. Not once.
“Speight’s going to make him walk back to Hadra.”
The other man wheezed a short chuckle. “End up dragging ’im back is what. The bastard can’t walk for shit.”
Lindsay’s fear nailed her to the ground. She couldn’t move. The soldiers were coming and she couldn’t move. She had to warn Lucian.
The soft thud of hoof beats sounded behind her and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“Lindsay,” Lucian whispered.
She almost cried out in relief. She turned and saw his eyes narrow to dangerous slits, but he wasn’t angry with her. He was looking into the fog where she’d heard the soldiers talking. The air around Lucian darkened visibly. Lindsay blinked, but the dark aura remained with him, threatening as a thundercloud. Unsettled by the raw fury around him, she didn’t immediately reach up to take his outstretched hand.
He leaned toward her and afraid he would fall, Lindsay grabbed his hand. He easily lifted her to the saddle in front of him. He hadn’t tied his pack to the horse, but wore it on his back. She also noticed he wore his sword on his hip where it would be within easy reach.
He tied something heavy around her waist and she looked down to find his knife hanging from her hip in a leather sheath like a sword. Her spit dried in her mouth. She guessed the blade was six or seven inches long and the whole thing felt heavy and cold.
Lucian’s breath moved her hair as he whispered, “You won’t be strong enough to push it through their leather.”
She gaped at him. He was talking about hurting somebody. “I can’t do that.” She kept her voice low, but she wanted to scream. She had to m
ake him understand, she couldn’t stab somebody. “Lucian, I can’t.”
He put his arm around her and drew her so close she could almost taste his breath. “Stab any break in their armor. Aim for the neck, the shoulders, the elbows, or behind the knees. Keep it sheathed while we’re riding. If we lose the horse or become separated, strike to kill or maim.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I can’t.”
“Your life depends on it.”
“Can’t we hide until they go away?”
He put his hand over her mouth. “It’s you or them. Don’t listen to their lies; don’t bargain with them. If you have to kill, do it. God will forgive you for defending your life.”
She felt sick enough to vomit. Lucian released her and nudged the horse forward. Lindsay gripped the pommel as he guided the mare back to the road. Her pulse started to pound and she felt each throb of blood pass through her veins. Every sound in the woods penetrated the adrenaline washing over her.
The trees loomed like black bones and the dull light rendered the dense fog luminescent. The soft dirt path he called a road muffled the mare’s hoof beats. They had barely gone a hundred yards when a horn blew so close Lindsay almost screamed.
Someone shouted and another horn blew three times in answer to the first. The shadows of other riders became visible through the trees.
Lucian dug his heels into the mare’s sides and snapped the reins to hit the horse’s flank. Their mount shot forward. Two riders came out of the mist on their left, and Lucian yanked the reins hard to the right to plunge them into the forest.
He bent low over the mare’s neck, forcing Lindsay forward to shield her body with his own. Grabbing the pommel with both hands, she squeezed her knees around the horse’s sides and held tight.
A tree limb snapped at her face and slashed her cheek. Her sob was lost in the thunder of hooves and the shouts of Speight’s men. Another horn blew; Lindsay couldn’t determine the location. Everything was moving too fast, the trees blurring past.
Their horse reared, balking at a steep slope. The pommel jabbed Lindsay in the stomach and she gasped for breath. She knotted her fingers in the horse’s mane. Certain they’d spill to the ground, she waited for the impact. Lucian kept them in the saddle.
When he regained control of the mare, he forced the horse down the hill. She shied and tried to gingerly pick her way down the slope. Lucian didn’t give her time. He snapped the long reins again. The mare plunged forward, half-sliding on her haunches. She stumbled at the bottom. Lindsay screwed her eyes shut; the horse regained her balance and took off again.
The sound of horns bellowing around them drowned Lindsay’s thoughts as Lucian forced the mare uphill. The soldiers were moving slower through the woods, but they were close, and they were coming at them from all sides.
†
Had Lucian been alone, he would have fought them until he forced one of them to kill him. The child changed everything, and he had to find a way to lose them. He put his hand on the mare’s neck and channeled his panic into her mind. She sideswiped a tree and Lucian took a blow to his thigh. He was grateful it wasn’t his knee. Branches flailed at his arms as he pushed the horse to the limits of her endurance.
The forest gave way to a huge field of long grass that tangled around their mare’s legs. Though she slowed, she didn’t stop. Foundation stones poked through the grass, and Lucian looked to his right to see the crumbling city of Melasur. The remnants of the Zoroastrian bastion and its ruined towers rose out of the gloom, a ghost fortress on the horizon.
He risked a glance over his shoulder to see seven soldiers come out of the woods. Even from this distance, Lucian recognized Speight. The captain led the chase, Catarina’s emblem shining on his chest.
A strong wind blew from the south and the sun peeked through the clouds to feather the mists. Within minutes, they had lost the cover of the fog. Their mount struggled up a short hill. Lucian jerked the reins hard to the right a second time to avoid going off into a deep gorge. Over two hundred feet below, whitewater surged through the narrow canyon; he found the view comforting. If worst came to worst, he would send the mare over the edge.
On level ground, the horse picked up a fraction of the speed she had maintained during the ride through the wood. She was growing tired.
Ahead, the Melasur Bridge spanned the gorge. Thick gray columns made of mountain rock rose from the gorge to form graceful arches that supported the deck of the bridge. Before the War of the Great Schism, the Melasur Bridge had transported throngs of people between Ierusal and Melasur.
As they neared, Lucian’s hope for an easy crossing faded when he saw the blackened and broken stone. The vestiges of ancient magic hung in the air like a bad smell, though any power from the spells was long gone. All that remained was the result of destruction left in the wake of the War.
Three segments of the original deck had been blasted completely away. The gaps had been repaired with wooden platforms, but when the Wasteland was abandoned, the platforms were left to the elements. The guardrails on both sides were missing or rotted and the platforms were probably in the same sorry state. Huge chunks of stone, some as large as wagons, littered the deck. With Speight on his heels, Lucian had no choice but to chance the bridge.
He steered the mare from the embankment to the deck. Before he could slow her to a walk, she skidded on loose stones. The wind howled around them, and the mare laid her ears flat against her head. Her eyes rolled so that he could see the whites with every toss of her head.
Speight and his six men reached the top of the rise.
The icy wind tore at Lucian and ripped Lindsay’s hood from her head. The horse’s nostrils flared as she took one skittish, sidling step after another. The mare was spooked, either by the wind or his own terror, and he wouldn’t be able to control her much longer.
They were approaching the first wooden platform, and he couldn’t take a chance on the horse panicking as they crossed. He dismounted and removed his mantle, keeping a firm grip on the halter. In spite of the horse tossing her head, Lucian managed to secure his cloak over her eyes. With the makeshift blinder in place, the mare calmed somewhat and responded to his soft words. Her mind became easier to control as he soothed her with images of green fields.
Speight shouted and Lucian’s heart sank as the soldiers whipped their mounts with brutal abandon.
He maintained a soothing tone and watched Speight’s approach. “Lindsay, can you come down by yourself?”
She jumped from the saddle and was beside him, miming his attentive stance.
“What now?” she asked.
The sound of the wind and his heart silenced the victory cries of Speight’s party. He glanced at the platform again. It looked solid enough, but appearances were deceiving in the Wasteland. “I want you to go to the next stone section and wait for me there. I don’t know how stable the platform is, so watch where you put your feet. Once you’re across, I’ll come with the horse. Understand?”
“You got it.” She turned and sprinted across.
He held his breath until she was safe.
Speight’s men were less than fifty yards away.
“Come on, Lucian!” The child was fairly dancing in her anxiety next to a large boulder the size of a barrel. “It’s solid.”
He prayed she was right; he wasn’t sure if the wood would hold the combined weight of him and the horse. There was no time for caution. He led the horse onto the slats. The wood was firm beneath them and he moved as fast as his lame leg would allow.
When he reached Lindsay, he didn’t need to turn around to know that Speight had made it to the bridge’s entrance thirty feet behind them. The child shuddered not from the cold but from fear. Her pale eyes flickered from the men behind him to the platform Lucian had just crossed.
Speight shouted to be heard over the wind. The captain’s words might as well have been knives in Lucian’s back. “All right, Lucian, it’s over. Come home quietly so I don’t have to tell your sis
ter you were a bad boy.”
The same flush of fury he felt against Catarina surged through him at Speight’s condescension. Lucian reached for his sword and kept his back to the captain. He had no intention of returning to his sister.
“Run,” he whispered to the girl.
He prepared to snatch his cloak from the mare’s head and send her on a panicked run into the middle of Speight’s men. That would buy him enough time to retrieve his cane and draw his sword. He wouldn’t be able to stop them, but he could delay them long enough to give Lindsay a good head start. The child was quick, and if she could get across the bridge and into the forest, she could elude them until Rachael found her.
Lindsay ignored him; her eyes were locked on the wooden platform they had just crossed.
“Lindsay.” He looked over his shoulder to see the men were close to wooden slats. “Run, child. I’ll hold them off.”
One of the soldiers cried a warning as several stones began to spill from beneath the platform. Lucian glanced over the edge; more rocks and debris from the original bridge rolled over the side and into the gorge. The wooden slats shuddered.
Speight was forgotten as Lucian turned to find Lindsay’s face red with exertion. Her lips were pulled back from her teeth, her fists clenched at her sides. Lucian became aware of the resonance of Lindsay’s magic surging beneath the fractured Wasteland spells.
A resounding crash drowned the wind. A rectangular stone the size of a hay bale surged upward through the slats to obliterate the platform. Splinters and shards of wood flew into the air. Lucian ducked and shielded his eyes.
Horses screamed and reared. The soldiers struggled to control their mounts and avoid the debris. Curses seared the air; two of the men retreated to the meadow.
Lucian’s mare tossed her head and the mantle slid off her head. The horse danced close to the edge of the bridge as she backed away from him. One hoof stepped into the air and the horse lifted her head. Lucian pulled with all his strength, but his leg betrayed him and buckled. His heart sank; he couldn’t hold her. He released the reins in time to break his fall to the stone deck. The horse took her fatal step and went over the side of the bridge.
Miserere: An Autumn Tale Page 12
