Gordath Wood

by Patrice Sarath

  She nodded.

  Joe went on. “What is it?”

  “Money, of course.”

  “I never saw money like this before.”

  “Of course not. You wouldn’t. The country is very far away.”

  “Are you from there?”

  She looked away, out the window and through the slashing rain. “Joe, do you believe the stories about Gordath Wood?”

  “Ma’am, after this summer, I’ll believe just about anything. ”

  “I knew someone once who didn’t believe, but she hoped they were true. She wanted to be very far away from where she was. Her marriage had become a sham, but she had no recourse—nothing like here. No divorce, no settlement, certainly no alimony.” She laughed. “And she couldn’t go home, because her House was closed to her. So she went forward, the only way she knew how, into Gordath Wood. Over and over again she tried, hoping that the stories were true. Until one day she realized how to do it. It wasn’t enough to just walk out into the woods. She had to disappear. And so she took some of her jewels and clothes and had her maids pack them into her trunks, and she set out through the Wood toward her family home. All she had to do was disappear between her husband and her first family. Out of sight between one and the other.”

  She looked at Joe. “As soon as Lynn rode off into the twilight, I knew we had lost her. The young girl, Kate, took me by surprise. Did you watch her go, by chance?”

  Joe stared at her. Mrs. Hunt smiled. “Never mind. I’m sorry I confused you. The stories they tell about Gordath Wood are true. I should know. Seven years ago I disappeared, never to be seen again.”

  Joe found his voice. “Ma’am, are you saying that you know where Kate and Lynn are? You’ve known all this time?”

  She picked up the coin and looked at it, her expression somber. “It’s funny, isn’t it? We all believe only in the fairy tales we want to believe. I didn’t want to believe that the rest of the tales of Gordath Wood would also come true. That once opened, the gordath would become stronger and stronger until it burst a hole between the worlds. Lately I’ve been thinking how strange it was that for some reason, on this side of the portal, you people only know about the disappearances, not the dangers.” She sounded irritated. “That’s why we have to find the guardian, Joe. We have to close the portal once and for all, and he might be the only one to do it.”

  She was sounding dangerously like the homeless man. Joe licked his lips and tried again. “Mrs. Hunt,” he whispered. “Where are Lynn and Kate?”

  “They’re on the other side of Gordath Wood. Seven years ago I opened a portal that swallowed them up, and it is trying to take the rest of the worlds with them.”

  A rumble of thunder rolled muted and distant across the fields, and for long seconds the windowpanes rattled. Joe looked down at the coffee table and the cooling liquid in his mug rippled. Mrs. Hunt looked out the window. “And, I’m sorry to say,” she continued in her even voice, “that it appears that we are running out of time.”

  Joe followed her gaze. Across the fields toward Gordath Wood he could make out through the driving rain something dark flickering between the trees, creating a gap where none had been before.

  A whispering took hold of him, thrumming along with his heartbeat, and he swallowed against sudden nausea. A wave of malice flowed from the gap, malice and something else.

  Recognition.

  Eighteen

  The map table had to be pulled out of Marthen’s tent and set in the snow to accommodate all of the officers who gave their reports. The camp buzzed with activity as men reported in, received their orders, and set out again. The entire army was on the move this time, and men, horses, and wagons streamed past the table, splashing up muddy snow against the table legs.

  Tharp was on the run, and it was time to snap at his heels all the way back to Red Gold Bridge.

  With the luck of the soldier’s god we will drive him into Kenery’s arms, Marthen thought, sitting stiffly at the table, poring over maps and written reports, listening to his men. Not that he believed in luck, except for what a soldier made for himself. He preferred to put his faith in fast riders and dispatches.

  And speaking of fast riders . . . He felt a flush of rage that the girl had gone near the battle and that he had not even known it until his captains had complained. They spoke with fury about it. She had distracted the men, they said. She was a child and could have fouled up their orders.

  “It’s happened before, General,” said one veteran, his grizzled beard cut through with a nasty scar. “A novice does one wrong thing, and men are lost. You should have seen her, scampering about as if it were a game. She should be disciplined.”

  Marthen tapped the table with one hand, struggling for calm. Do not school me, Captain. He didn’t say it. Instead, he raised his voice. “Next.”

  Skayler, the scouts’ second-in-command, saluted. “Sir, we’ve found something.” He glanced around at the crowd and lowered his voice. “Important, sir.”

  Marthen waved a hand, and all but Lord Terrick backed away. “Go.”

  Skayler said, “We’ve found a strange wagon in an outpost not far from here. We’ve heard tales of this thing. The smallholders call it Lord Tharp’s carriage. We watched it as it drove up to the camp without horse or oxen to pull it. It’s carrying boxes, sir. Bullets. They take them out and load them into the weapons right there.”

  Marthen’s breath stopped. He exchanged a glance with Lord Terrick.

  “He’s resupplying,” Terrick said, something in his voice sick with understanding.

  Marthen’s chest tightened with rage and pressure. The spies had lied or been misled.

  Terrick slammed his fist down on the table. It shuddered and settled deeper into the slush, as men all turned to look.

  “It wasn’t the smiths after all, General.” His weathered face was drawn and strained. “Now what do you want to do? Kill the weavers? The shepherds? Perhaps all the milkmaids? What now, General? What butchery do you have in mind now?!”

  It was Marthen’s habit to let other men lose control, but he could feel the fury welling up in him until the blood pounded in his temples. He turned to the scout. “What direction does the wagon come from?”

  “Southwest, from the Wood. They’ve cleared a road. We followed it but couldn’t get too close. We were leaving tracks in the snow. We should take the girl, sir. She can tell us more about this.”

  Marthen considered, decided. “Take the girl. Make sure she comes back with a list of all of its strengths and its vulnerabilities. Go.”

  The scout saluted and left. Terrick stared at him, an awful expression on his face. Marthen looked at him a moment longer and then said, “If I have to kill milkmaids, Lord Terrick, then milkmaids are the next to die.”

  They tacked up in early morning darkness, feeling their way around the horses’ warm bodies as the animals huffed and stamped and finished the last of their grain. Kate tucked her hands under her jacket, wishing she had thick gloves. Instead, cloth wrapped around her hands had to do. Snow hissed against her clothes, stinging where it struck her face.

  “Scouts up,” Skayler said, and they swung into their saddles. She wanted to ask Skayler dozens of questions about the strange wagon, as he called it, but he only glanced at her and said curtly, “No talking.”

  They rode in silence for several hours until they reached the outskirts of Gordath Wood, alternating walking and trotting. Their horses’ hoofbeats were muffled by the snow, and she knew enough to be thankful that it would cover their tracks. She curled her toes inside her boots, wishing she had thicker socks. It would be warmer to walk, she thought. She took one hand from the reins and tried to tuck her jacket tighter around herself. Skayler called for a walk, and they pulled back from the steady trot, their horses blowing and steaming under the trees.

  “The snow will stop soon,” Colar said, drawing up beside her. He gave his chestnut mare a long rein, and she stretched out her dark red neck, wet and steaming. Kate l
ooked around nervously to see if Skayler would yell at them for talking.

  “G-good,” she said, her teeth not quite chattering. She took a chance and asked, “Did you see it? This machine?”

  He nodded. “At first I thought it was a wagon. But there was no hitch, and nothing to pull it. It made a huge noise, and the horses spooked and almost betrayed us.”

  Someone had a car, Kate thought. Could it be Lynn? Had she gone back through the Wood and come back with a car?

  To look for me? Kate tried to keep her face composed, pretending to concentrate on her reins. She had to see this car and see who was driving it. If someone knew how to get a car through the Woods . . .

  She could go home.

  It felt remote, unreal. Didn’t she want to go back? Of course she did. Of course.

  So why did it feel so strange?

  “You’re deep in thought,” Colar remarked.

  Startled, Kate jumped. “No, I—I’m not. Not really,” she stammered. She turned straight ahead, her face burning.

  He looked away, too, and when Skayler called for a quicker pace, gave the mare his heel and trotted off. Kate watched him go, thankful for the snow on her red face, and collected her horse before nudging him into a trot.

  An unwelcome voice beside her made the knot in her stomach twist harder.

  “Don’t even think about him,” Jayce advised with his usual smirk. “He’s too good for you.”

  She made a face at him. “Jayce, you’re a jerk.” She spurred her horse, leaving the scout to laugh at her behind her back.

  They stopped twice more in the shelter of the woods, eating in the saddle and letting the horses rest. The leaden sky lightened, and the snow stopped, except for a few stray flakes. Kate couldn’t tell how far they had come. She was miserable. Her nose dripped, and her hands were thick and clumsy with cold. One or two of the other riders had gloves; Colar’s looked to be leather lined with fur. He’s too good for you. She knew what Jayce meant. Even I know that he will be Lord Terrick himself someday. She stuck the other hand under her jacket again, hoping for some warmth to seep into it.

  Skayler raised his hand, and at his signal they halted and gathered their horses in a tight circle. The captain caught her eye.

  “The outpost is over that ridge,” he said, gesturing at the fields that stretched unbroken and white away from the Gordath Wood. They sloped upward until they were broken by a distant hill, sharp-crested and rocky. “Colar, take the girl from here on foot.” Jayce sniggered, and Skayler sighed. “Shut up, Jayce. Now. Keep below the ridge to avoid being seen, and when you get there, have the girl identify the machine and the supplies while you get a count of their strength. And then get out.”

  Colar and Kate both nodded, Colar with a quiet, “Yes, sir.” They dismounted, and Kate winced as she landed on her frozen feet. Colar waved her ahead of him, and they trudged off, snow-encrusted grasses crunching under their boots.

  Walking got her blood flowing. Her feet warmed up, and she could keep both hands tucked inside her jacket. She looked back once, and the scouts were gone. They were utterly exposed. The field was like a shallow bowl under the gray sky, the ridge cutting a jagged line into the horizon.

  “What if they’re watching from up there?” she asked. Colar squinted at the ridge.

  “Then we are in trouble. They might try to run us down on horseback, or more likely wait till we are on the hill and attack us from there.”

  “You sound awfully calm about it.”

  He flashed a grin. “I’m not. But I don’t think there’s much chance of it. They are expecting an army to come along the road, not scouts from behind them.”

  Kate frowned. “Behind?”

  Colar nodded. “We skirted them in the Wood and are coming up on their rear.”

  She hadn’t known that. Kate nodded. “That’s pretty slick,” she said, thinking about it. “Still, if I were them, I’d post a guard in all directions.”

  “And you would be wise to do so. A warrior and a leader never underestimates the enemy.” It sounded like something his father would say.

  Kate flushed at his compliment, but something nagged at her. “Um, Colar, isn’t that what we’re doing right now?”

  He halted, his face red with exertion and his breath steaming. They were about midway up the slope.

  “That is why, when we reach the ridge, we are going to be careful.”

  She considered that and sighed. “Okay. You win. Let’s go.”

  He looked at her and reached out and took her hand, tugging her along, her hand swallowed by his glove. She felt her stomach do nervous flip-flops.

  At the top of the ridge, he led them from boulder to crevice, keeping low and sometimes waiting for long minutes before moving to the next hiding place. This was more tiring than their hard slog across the field and even, Kate thought, harder than their cold ride that morning. She was forever getting tangled in her jacket, and its bottom half was soaked and stiff from the snow, dragging at her. They hid in a tangle of scrub and peered down at the camp below them.

  She counted a dozen men and the same number of horses, staked in a makeshift corral in some spindly trees, next to supply wagons. Tents, a firepit, and a pile of wooden crates took up the center of the camp. The crates had stenciled characters on them. Kate’s head swam as she tried to read the marking. But that’s from home. Why can’t I read it? She saw the driver at once. His hunting camo made him stand out among the others. From the sound of his voice and the way he was waving his arms around, he was angry about something. She couldn’t make out the words.

  A small breeze tugged at the bushes, bringing with it a warm, metallic aroma and the gaseous smell of fuel. Kate craned a bit farther over the edge.

  It was a Jeep, tucked beneath their vantage point. The rag-top was down, and she could see inside.

  Glinting in the ignition were the keys.

  Colar tapped her on the shoulder, and they slid back behind the brush.

  “Well?” he whispered.

  She couldn’t stop grinning.

  “Well,” she said. “How would you like to bring General Marthen that Jeep?”

  His eyes grew wide. “You—you can—”

  She nodded. She had her learner’s permit, and her dad had taken her driving a few times already in her mom’s Volvo (he refused to allow her to drive his little BMW sports car). It hadn’t gone well—he tended to yell—but she had the theory down, anyway.

  This is a bad idea, her sane self scolded her. Kate, don’t do this. She ignored the little voice, giving in to only one need. She wanted that Jeep. She wanted to show them all that she wasn’t just a frightened shadow.

  “We’ll need a diversion,” she said. She peered back out at the camp where the driver was standing at the fire, still haranguing the other men. Her gaze lit on the horses. “I bet if we frightened the horses.”

  Colar considered that and shook his head. “We couldn’t scare them and get back to the machine in time.”

  “No, but you could, and then start running. I’ll get the Jeep and swing around for you.”

  It was a crazy idea. He was going to say no. He had to. It was a crazy idea.

  Colar looked at her, looked at the camp, and then slithered backward through the brush. “Be ready to act. Meet me along the road heading west.” He gestured toward the direction and disappeared.

  Kate watched him go and took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering, her mouth dry. Soldier’s god, this had better work. She worked herself down until she was almost on top of the Jeep and waited for Colar to stampede the herd.

  At first the horses snorted and milled in the corral. The men at the fire ignored them. Kate, her heart in her mouth, saw something even worse: the driver waved his hand in disgust at the others and headed back toward his car.

  No no no no no, she thought at him, panic welling up. Go back to the fire.

  He kept walking, and Kate took a deep breath and gathered herself, half sliding, half running down the s
teep hillside. She reached the Jeep before the man did, even as he saw her.

  “Hey!” He started running. Kate flung herself over the door and scrabbled for the keys.

  The horses exploded outward in a tangle, frantic. The men jerked up from the fireside, and the driver halted, looked back. The horses bucked and kicked, and then burst through the makeshift corral, dragging ropes and stakes with them. Behind them burned a bright blaze, a tree limb crackling on fire. The men shouted and began to wave their arms and run, trying to contain the stampede, and the driver had to fight through them to get to the Jeep.

  She turned the key, but the car didn’t start. You idiot! The clutch! The clutch! This time she stamped down on the clutch and tried the key again. The engine roared, but she was so surprised she let her foot up too quickly and the Jeep bucked and died. Oh no, oh no, oh no. Kate stamped on the clutch, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. She released the brake and put the car into gear. Despite the trembling in her legs, she managed to step on the gas, and the engine revved. Praying, shaking, she let up the clutch and the Jeep spurted forward.

  “No!” the man shouted as she wrestled the wheel around and the Jeep slewed in the snow. He jumped in front of her and Kate tromped on the brake and the clutch, barely keeping the engine alive, wheels spinning and throwing out snow and dirt. She shifted again, but her hand slipped, and the Jeep shot into reverse, barreling into the ridge. Kate was thrown forward and back. The engine coughed as the Jeep bucked, and she pressed down on the clutch pedal again and shifted into first.

  The Jeep’s wheels threw out a curtain of snow but could not get any traction. The man loomed suddenly in front of her, and with desperate determination she held off on the gas, letting the wheels catch up, and the Jeep shot forward.

  “Shit!” The man screamed, and leaped out of the way. Kate caught a blurred look at him, and she bumped from the camp toward the road.

  Come on, Colar, she prayed, scanning for him. She didn’t dare shift; she didn’t think she would be able to manage the clutch and the gas without stalling again, and the roar of the engine, the shouts and cries of the men, was overwhelming.