by Jean Rabe
There were more than a dozen recent graves. Who dug them? Who buried the people? Feril continued slowly down the path. She stopped a few feet from the new graves and dropped to her knees. Her hands touched the ground at the mounds’ edges, and she started sketching, her fingers digging into the soft, dry earth.
Dhamon and Shaon rode in as far as the central lodge, watching her.
“What’s she doing?” Blister whispered.. The kender’s question went unanswered.
Dhamon slid from his horse and edged ahead. The sun was high and behind him. His shadow stretched in a line toward the elf. It looked as though she was sifting dirt through her fingers and tracing a pattern in the ground. Through the still air, he heard her softly humming.
Blister nudged Shaon, and the sea barbarian jumped from her horse and plucked the kender from the saddle. She handled Blister gingerly, as if she were a porcelain doll that might brake. Shaon didn’t want the kender’s fingers to bump against anything.
“What’s she doing?” the kender asked again.
Feril counted fifteen new graves, all small, as if Dolor’s recently deceased residents had been dwarves or kender – although the homes’ doorways were obviously tall enough to accommodate humans. A few of the graves had been freshly dug, she could tell by the looseness and color of the dirt on top of them. From the dome to her right drifted the odor of rotting bodies. There were some dead that were not yet buried.
No one left to put them in the ground? the elf wondered. Was a plague to blame? She couldn’t pick up the scent of anyone living, not even of any of her companions. The smell of decay was too potent.
She continued to draw in the dirt, tracing twin patterns to a simple spell that would permit her to see through the soil, learn what it knew, see who was buried here and what had happened to them. She hummed louder, the enchantment nearing its completion. Then suddenly she cried out as an arrow struck the dirt in front of her. A second one followed swiftly, lodging itself deep in her arm.
Dhamon ran forward, dirt showering the air behind him. He drew his sword, running toward the far building on the Kagonesti’s right. He saw arrows coming from the doorway.
“Get down, Feril!” he hollered as he darted inside.
The Kagonesti dove forward, as two arrows cut through the air where her head had been just a heartbeat before. She lay between the mounds of two graves. Turning to her left, she stretched her hand across her chest, bit her lip, and tugged the arrow free.
Now I know what a hunted deer feels like, she thought. Only a deer doesn’t have hands to get the arrow out. Warm blood spilled from the wound, darkening the sleeve of her soft leather tunic.
She heard a thud behind her. Dhamon? Risking a glance, she poked her head above the mound and saw Shaon and Blister racing down the center path. There was no sign of Dhamon, though she heard another thud from inside the hut.
“Why did you shoot her?” she heard Dhamon shout.
Shaon drew her sword and crouched just beyond the door, then her eyes opened in surprise and she stepped back. In that instant a boy was pushed outside. The force of Dhamon’s shove knocked him down. Caught off-balance, his head slammed back and hit the ground. He groaned and struggled to get up, but Dhamon followed and planted a foot on his stomach. Shaon dashed forward and held her blade at his neck.
Feril stood and slowly walked toward them. She cradled her arm against her chest. The wound throbbed as blood poured from it, but she thrust the pain to the back of her mind and concentrated on the boy. She guessed he was nine or ten. His chest was bare and slick with sweat, and he smelled of death. His lips were cracked and bleeding where Dhamon had punched him in the mouth.
“I’m all right,” the Kagonesti offered. She glanced around at the doorways to the other homes, watching to see if anyone would come to the youngster’s defense.
Dhamon backed away from the boy and was at Feril’s side in two steps. Behind him, Shaon kept her sword leveled threateningly.
“Why’d you shoot her?” Blister asked. “She didn’t do anything to you.”
“Answer us!” Shaon spat. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t run you through!”
“She must die! She meant to disturb the graves!” he cursed. “Defilers!”
“So he does have a tongue,” Dhamon muttered. He sheathed his sword and pulled a small knife, from his belt and started to cut at Feril’s sleeve, “At least he also has bad aim.”
“Where are the others?” Shaon kept the sword inches from his throat.
“There are no others,” the boy responded. “They’re all dead, just like you’ll soon be. The sky monsters will carry you away, kill you!”
“Sky monsters?” Blister glanced up at Shaon as the sea barbarian took a step back.
“Get up!” Shaon snapped. “Blister, check that building.”
The kender scurried through the doorway. “It stinks in here.” She disappeared in the shadows and began rummaging around.
“I don’t care what it smells like. This whole village stinks. Is anyone else in there?” The sea barbarian lowered her voice, speaking to Dhamon next. “Is Feril all right?”
“Yes,” the Kagonesti answered for herself. “I’m fine. It just got my arm.”
“No. She’s not fine,” Dhamon disagreed. “She’s lost quite a bit of blood. And the wound’s dirty.”
“’Cause the arrows are dirty,” Blister added. She emerged from the hut, grimacing with her fingers clutching a handful of arrows. She kicked a leather quiver in front of her, and more dirty arrows spilled out. “They stink, too” she said, extending them to Shaon.
“Coated in dung,” Dhamon swore.
“Yuck,” the kender said. She dropped the arrows, glaring at the boy. “And there’s blankets in there, covering up stuff that stinks worse – bodies.”
“Leave them alone!” the boy shrieked.
“Are they your people? Did the sky monsters kill them?” Shaon asked.
The boy nodded.
“Why were you spared?”
He hung his head, mumbling something. The sea barbarian stepped closer so she could hear.
Meanwhile, Dhamon led Feril away toward his horse. “This will help,” Dhamon said softly, as he tugged free a waterskin. “But I want to start a fire, burn the wound a little to make sure it doesn’t get infected and so the bleeding will stop. It’ll hurt.”
The Kagonesti pursed her lips. “I wish Jasper was here,” she said, recalling how the dwarf had healed Dhamon’s wounds by casting a spell.
They sat on the ground next to a small fire pit, and Dhamon used the legs of a crude chair for kindling. He held the blade of his knife in the flames, turning it over and over until the edge glowed from the heat.
“I hope you didn’t hurt the boy,” she said.
“He tried to kill you.”
She shrugged. “He thought I was going to defile —” The hot metal hurt worse than the arrow, and Feril clenched her teeth and dug her fingers into the dirt at her sides as Dhamon probed the wound. She felt tears spill out over her cheeks. Finally finished, Dhamon doused the wound with water again. He’d found some clean clothes inside one of the homes and had torn up a child’s shirt to make a bandage. She watched him wrap her arm. He was thorough, practiced.
“You’re used to tending to the injured, aren’t you?”
He stared into her eyes. “I’ve had some training. I know how to dress wounds.”
She inched closer. “Where’d you learn how?” Her legs brushed his as she rested her injured arm on his knee. “Good in a fight and a good medic. I’ll bet you served in an army somewhere. Tended the wounded on a battlefield?”
“In a manner of speaking, I...” He brought his face close to hers, felt her breath on his cheek.
“I got some answers from the boy!” Shaon interrupted.
Dhamon reluctantly turned to face the sea barbarian. He felt the red warmth of embarrassment, and Shaon’s wide grin and quick wink didn’t help matters. The boy was standing in front
of her, looking down at the dirt near his feet.
“He’d run away from his chores,” Shaon said.
“That’s why he wasn’t killed,” Blister added. Having said this, the kender trotted over to inspect Feril’s bandage. “He was behind those hills when a big storm hit, and he stayed there until the rain stopped,” Blister added.
“When he came back, all he saw were bodies.” The sea barbarian scowled. “He says he doesn’t know what happened to them, but he claims there were claw marks on some, like a wild animal got them. Says others had burns on their hands and chests.”
“It was the sky monsters,” the boy whispered defiantly. “They came with the storm.”
“He’s been burying the bodies,” Blister said. “Three a day. Said he couldn’t bury more ’cause the digging made him tired. I told him we’d help bury the rest.”
Dhamon stood and brushed the dirt off his breeches and counted the grave mounds. “So this happened five days ago?” The boy nodded.
“Everyone but you died?”
“No,” the boy whispered. “Most of the people, more than thirty, are missing. The sky monsters took them.”
“I’ll check for tracks,” Feril offered. She stretched an arm toward Dhamon, and he gently pulled her to her feet. She winced, but the pain had already lessened.
“You won’t find any tracks,” the boy said. “I already looked. The monsters fed my people to the storm.”
“Maybe they rode away on the horses,” she suggested.
“No. I told you, they were from the sky.”
“But you didn’t see these monsters,” the Kagonesti persisted. “So you can’t really know what happened.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t see them. It stormed and the adults vanished.”
“I guess I’ll just have to chat with the pigs to be certain,” said Feril. “They might have actually seen what happened.” “How many are left to bury?” Dhamon asked. He watched Feril walk toward the pen. His face reddened again as he noticed Shaon watching him with interest.
“Four,” the boy said. “Children. They weren’t big enough to eat.”
Shaon shivered, staring at the youth. She wished she had stayed with Rig. Maybe the sky monsters were the growing evil Dhamon was always talking about. “Where are the shovels?” she asked, wanting to leave as soon as possible.
The boy pointed toward the largest clay home and started in that direction. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she was following him.
“I’m coming,” the sea barbarian said. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
Dhamon, Feril, and Blister followed her gaze. At the western edge of the village, Fury stood panting. The red wolf wagged its tail, and barked a greeting.
“At least you didn’t bring Rig and Groller,” she said huffily, as she squinted and looked behind him just to make sure. Then she pivoted on her heels. “About those shovels?”
*
Feril leaned over the rail, studying the pigs. A large spotted black one regarded her intently, while the others busily rooted around in the dirt. Wriggling her nose and making snuffling sounds, she coaxed it near and reached into the leather pouch at her side. Her fingers closed around a lump of soft clay.
The pig looked at the proffered clay and sniffed the air, thinking it might be a treat. Deciding it wasn’t, the pig snuffled dejectedly and looked at its fellows.
“I have nothing,” Feril whispered. “But don’t leave.”
The pig snorted, then slowly turned to face her. She worked the clay with the fingers of her left hand. Her arm ached, and made the process difficult.
Fury trotted around the side of the small home, sending the pigs scurrying toward the far end of the pen. Feril frowned and called the black and white one back. “Fury won’t hurt you,” she assured it.
The wolf barked, as if to agree with her, then brushed against her leg and looked up devotedly. She worked the clay faster, giving it a snout and four legs. She used her small fingernail to etch out a curly tail.
“I want to talk to you later,” she told the wolf. “Right now, I’m busy.” She smoothed the clay, making it even and slick like the pig’s hide, then she began to snuffle, her soft snorts sounding faintly musical.
The pig squealed excitedly, and Feril felt her mind reaching toward it. Hot air streamed around her as her senses focused on the pig. Its grunts were starting to sound like words inside her head, the nature magic translating them into terms she could understand.
“There were people here,” she began, using grunts that caught the attention of the other pigs. A few shuffled closer, their gazes drifting between her and the wolf.
“Many people,” the spotted pig answered. “People who fed us and chased the flies away.”
“Where did they go, these people?”
“All gone,” the pig grunted sadly. “All but the boy. He feeds us small things and doesn’t scratch us at all. The boy has no time for us.”
“Where did all the people go? Maybe if you tell me, I can bring them back. You’ll get more attention.”
“They won’t be back.”
She gestured for the pig to continue, translating its grunts and the subtle gestures of its ears and nose.
“The sky flashes came for the people.”
“The lightning,” Feril murmured to herself.
“The flashes killed the little ones. The bigger ones were pulled into the sky.”
Feril scratched her head. “What pulled them?”
“The ugly men.”
She cocked her head. The pig snuffled louder. “The many ugly men who rained from the sky.”
Feril stepped away from the pen, promising the pigs they’d be rewarded with good food and plenty of scratching tonight. Then she remembered the wolf. “Why did you follow us? Is Groller all right? Jasper and Rig?” she asked Fury.
The wolf barked and wagged his tail, then loped away from the pen toward the graveyard.
Yes, we might need help, Feril interpreted. She watched his retreating form. She felt suddenly alone and rushed to catch up with him and join the others waiting by the graveyard.
The Kagonesti told them what she had learned from the pig as they buried the rest of the children. The shoveling obviously hurt Blister’s fingers. She refused to stand back and simply observe, however. Even Fury helped, digging with his forepaws and sending clumps of dirt flying behind him.
The last child was buried shortly before sunset. To the west, miles away, there was a flicker of lightning. The grave diggers looked toward the dark clouds. The breeze was heavy with the scent of water and hinted a storm would descend on them soon.
The boy was trembling, and Blister reached up and gingerly patted his back. “We’ll protect you,” she promised.
“Let’s get some rest,” Dhamon suggested.
“But it’s dinner time,” the kender protested, her stomach grumbling.
“I want to be on our way in a few hours,” Dhamon said. He eyed the clay domes, selecting a small one for Feril and Fury, who followed him inside. Shaon and Blister chose the central lodge.
“We can’t leave the boy here,” Feril said, as she stretched out on her back on a wide straw mattress covered with blankets.
Dhamon draped a thin blanket over her. He noticed there was a shelf covered with carefully folded clothes above the bed. They would be able to find clean things to wear before they left.
“The boy’s safer here than with us,” he returned. “Besides, his monsters have no reason to come back here. There’s nothing left for them to take.”
Feril nodded reluctantly and then yawned. “You should go find a hut and get some rest.” Within moments she was sleeping soundly, the wolf curled at her side.
Dhamon watched her for a while, then went outside and selected a nearby dome. His sleep was troubled, filled with flashes of lightning and charred bodies. He awoke a few hours later to the sound of rain splattering against the clay roof.
Chapter 26
BLUE DEATH
Judging by how rested he felt, Dhamon guessed it was near midnight. He stepped outside and tipped his face toward the sky. It was so overcast that no stars poked through. Dark clouds stretched in all directions, and the rain that continued to fall was heavy and warm. He closed his eyes and let the drops wash over him. After several minutes, he padded to Feril’s dome. He glanced in just as the Kagonesti was rising. The wolf was nowhere to be seen.
He found clothes roughly Feril’s size and handed them to her. He spotted a child’s tunic that would do for Blister, and a large shirt could replace the yellow one of Rig’s that Shaon had torn and dirtied. His own clothes were in reasonably good repair, but he picked out a soft leather shirt for himself and tucked it under his arm. He might need it later.
The Kagonesti joined him outside, wearing her tan leggings and a dark green tunic that hung below her hips. Through the darkness he tried to examine her bandage, but she wasn’t cooperating much. She slowly spun about, obviously enjoying the rain, throwing her head back and letting the drops splash into her mouth. Every time he moved closer, she took a few steps away, as if playing a game. Finally he grabbed her good shoulder and tugged her closer to the dome, where the doorway offered a little shelter.
“You two have a good sleep?” Shaon purred as she poked her head out of the central lodge. As she walked closer, Dhamon saw that the female barbarian’s dark eyes sparkled with meaning. Blister followed her, yawning and shuffling.
When he finally he got a look at Feril’s arm, there was no sign of fresh blood. The wound was healing. Satisfied, he handed the spare clothes to Shaon and busied himself organizing and saddling the horses.
“The mares aren’t happy about traveling in this weather,” the Kagonesti said. She listened sympathetically to their whinnies and scratched a spot between her horse’s eyes.
“I’m not especially happy about it, either,” Dhamon said. He was thoroughly soaked already, and his clothes felt heavy and cumbersome. Dhamon helped the Kagonesti onto her horse and wedged his new shirt under the saddle. Feril’s dripping curls were plastered practically flat against her head. He reached up and traced the oak leaf on her cheek.
