“We are all children of the King,” she said. “I’m sure I shall be safe.”
“Not all outside this valley honor or believe in the King. You must be cautious.”
Her brow furrowed. “How could anyone not believe in the King? ’Twould be like not believing in trees or…the sky.”
“Such faith is a credit to you, Shirii. May you never have cause to lose it.” He hugged her again. “The King’s love will not desert you. You’ll never walk alone.”
“I almost forgot my gift,” Lyssanne’s friend Aderyn Clayton said. She held out a star-shaped, wooden pendant. “Kevan…” She drew in a shuddering breath. “He carved this during winter, and I painted it—blue to match your eyes, and these flecks of gold at the edges remind me of the sunlight in your hair. I was saving it for the anniversary of your birth, but…”
“Oh, Aderyn!” Lyssanne embraced her, both women in tears. “I’ve a gift for you as well,” she said as they broke apart. “I wish you and the babe to have my cottage.”
“What? Lyss, no.”
“Please, Aderyn.” Lyssanne donned the pendant. “’Twould comfort me, knowing it is filled with love. I ask only that you tend Mother’s grave. I would not have weeds overtake it.”
Aderyn nodded. “Don’t go!” she cried. “You can hide here in the cottage. I shall move in like you asked and, and no one will ever know you’re still here.” She clasped Lyssanne’s arms. “You don’t have to leave.”
Lyssanne shook her head, her lips parting, then closing.
“Mr. DeLivre won’t say anything.” Aderyn sniffled. “Will you?”
“I would not.” He laid a hand on Aderyn’s shoulder. “But you wouldn’t wish such a life for her. To never leave the house, to live always in fear?” He stepped away and faced the village. “Besides, it would not work. They are coming later, the Council, to make certain she has gone.”
Aderyn’s shoulders shook with silent tears.
“How does one revisit a lifetime of friendship in a few stolen moments?” Lyssanne said, embracing her friend once more, heedless of the wisps of Shadow Mist swirling around Aderyn’s feet and gathering in increasing density atop Rowan Hill. “I must go now, or I shall never have the strength.” She drew back, one hand over her heart. “I shall hold you here, always.”
Lyssanne turned away and fixed her watery gaze eastward, toward the steadily rising glow Noire so despised, the longing in her tremulous sigh so deep, he could have drowned in it.
“I love you,” she said, glancing over her shoulder, “both of you.” Her voice hitched. “My dearest and truest friends.”
The Light Venefica loathed wavered around Lyssanne, a dim reflection of its former glory, while the radiance that plagued Noire’s existence intensified—the light of day—a constant reminder of his unfulfilled quest.
Lyssanne’s back straightened, her chest rising on a shaky breath. She released the starburst pendant she’d been clutching and wiped her eyes. Gripping the cart’s handle, she kicked at its bottom to tilt it onto its two wheels, and started down the hill.
“Never will you be forgotten, Shirii,” DeLivre called, as Lyssanne walked alongside her beloved rowan grove. “That, I promise you.”
Lyssanne covered her mouth with her free hand and quickened her pace.
Aderyn let out a wail akin to the lowing of cattle.
Noire shook out his feathers. Such an undignified display!
Aderyn’s keening trailed after Lyssanne as she followed the path her eyes had taken—an unmarked route down the hill toward the River Esten and the road out of Cloistervale.
5
Sinking
Lyssanne reached the bridge as the sun’s descent drew shadows across the water like half-closed curtains. Here, the River Esten took a sharp turn to the Southwest, slashing across Trader’s Road. The ground before her dropped away in a steep slope to wide wooden planks and the rushing water beneath them.
She’d made it. Now, she needn’t fear sharing sleeping quarters with whatever wild beasts rustled within the forest to her right—if she could descend that embankment and cross Merchant’s Bridge before full eventide.
Gripping her cart handle for balance, she slid the toe of one shoe along the slope. A few loose pebbles and clumps of dirt clattered to the bridge. The dark waters churned in a dizzying swirl that seemed to lurch toward her. She backed up a step, tightening her hold on the cart. Her legs, already wobbling from a half-day’s intermittent walking, threatened to fold. She released the cart and sank onto the road, staring out at the river.
“How shall I have the strength?” she whispered. A tremor ran through her body as she glanced over her shoulder toward home—her former home. The tears that had ceased hours before threatened to resurface. She waged a brief but valiant battle to hold them at bay, and lost.
How long had she traveled since her last rest? An hour? Half that? Perhaps she should have brought an hourglass. Still, what need had she to mark the time in this wild place? No one, now, cared where she was at any given moment or whither she should venture.
She closed her eyes, and the weeping of the river along its rock-strewn banks filled her ears, the perfect accompaniment for her mood. The mourning-trees that framed the Esten to the north would have made a more fitting backdrop, though, than the forest stretching beside her.
Soon, she would leave even that behind, along with the sheltering valley she’d always thought so akin to a house, walled in on all sides by river, mountains, or forest. Had she the courage to take her first tottering steps through its only door? She had no choice but plunge a-purpose into a wild openness as wide and turbulent as the waters churning below, setting herself adrift on a fathomless current of alien shapes and unable to see clearly past the few paces ahead.
A passage from the Kingsword echoed through her mind for the tenth time that day. Though all others abandon me, the King’s hand shall direct my path.
“Where are you?” she whispered. “Please, let me feel your hand leading me.”
Overhead, a raven cried, and something rustled the leaves several paces from where she sat. She folded her arms against the prickles that shivered over her skin. The sounds of the forest couldn't frighten her half as much as this…lost-ness clutching at her heart.
At least she had the road to follow. That lifeline offered some sense of where she was and would lead someplace, eventually. Sitting here wouldn’t get her there. She climbed to her feet, ready to venture on—one footfall at a time, her toes feeling the path for holes or lumps.
She stared toward the forest. Words buzzed like fireflies through her mind—warning words spoken in a ring of flowers by an impossibly real creature of myth.
Was there a path into the forest as Olivia had suggested? Lyssanne drew closer to the trees. Could that patch of deeper green be a slight break in the foliage? Still, no trail caught her eye. All was darkness and shifting shadow. How could she find her way through that tangle? With identical trees at every turn, she would doubtless end her days wandering in circles.
She hesitated only a moment longer. Faeries of legend were notorious for leading travelers astray, after all. Besides, Olivia had mentioned nothing of what lay within or beyond that forest. And where could she cross the river, if not at Merchant’s Bridge?
She turned from the trees, resumed her grip on her cart, and edged closer to the embankment. As a filmy mist settled over the river, she set her jaw and, toes and stomach clenching, picked her way down to the bridge.
The weight of her cart threatened to push her too rapidly downhill, and her feet slipped several paces. Weather-painted planks stretched before her, wide enough to hold a wagon and team of horses; but with no railings or rope handholds on either side. She adjusted her descent toward the middle of the bridge, lest her inability to judge distance or depth put her off balance.
The shadows of trees and approaching dusk darkened the river fog, calling to mind the black mist that plagued Cloistervale. If only that fog, too, had bee
n as simple to explain as the collision of heated air and cold water that brought the clouds to earth this evening.
As Lyssanne planted her right foot onto the bridge, her left sank into the dirt. Wood groaned as she eased forward. The boards shifted to take her weight, and she flung her free arm out for balance. She took another step. With a thunderous crack, wood snapped beneath her foot. Before she could retreat or even scream, the world fell away.
Lyssanne fell with it.
Mud reached for her, a gaping maw sucking her in, as if she were water in a funnel. Splintered wood broke free of the bridge to rip at her skirts and bite her legs. Letting go of the cart, she flailed for something solid to hold. She only sank deeper. Lyssanne struggled to free her other arm from the mire, but the greedy suction held it fast. Tongues of slime snaked up around her arms and neck. She was being swallowed whole!
River water flowed in around her, filling the gap her body was creating in the mud. Its icy chill knifed through her sun-warmed skin, forcing her to draw a sharp breath. A gastric belch of rotting vegetation and fish rose up from the mud to clog her lungs. She clamped her mouth shut against the stench; so dank she could taste it. Her scrabbling grew frantic. The mud merely oozed between her fingers. Thick lumps of decaying plant life, and she knew not what else, slithered like snot over her fingertips. She fought down burning nausea—and slipped deeper.
The mud oozed over her shoulders, and she could no longer move. Water filled the space her body had occupied, sloshing past her clamped lips and into her nose. Holding her breath only amplified the soft burbling of the mud and water swirling around her ears, an oddly gentle sound like distant laughter.
As mud squelched around her chin, and water covered her face, Lyssanne opened and closed her free hand above her head. If only she could clasp the sky as she had grasped the handle of her cart.
Then, something clamped down hard upon her exposed wrist.
Lyssanne struggled anew. She could not let this…thing hold her under. All reason fled as blood drummed in her head, and her ears rang out the need to breathe. Her struggles grew weaker as she fought the burning in her chest that compelled her to gulp in air. ’Twould be only water and death she swallowed.
The vice around her wrist tightened, sending sudden pain down her arm, then…pulled.
Her arm threatened to slip free of its socket as she was hauled upward, fraction-by-fraction. Unwilling to relinquish its meal, the mud tugged at her limbs, sucking her skirts against her legs. Her face broke free of the water, her mouth flying open to take in such a great gulp of air she choked on it. Fang-like wooden teeth snagged in her hair and grazed every inch of her skin through her clothing, as she was jerked past them.
At last, she lay gasping and coughing on solid ground. Awareness of her surroundings seeped through the haze her starved lungs had conjured. She must be lying at an angle on the slope of the riverbank. How close to the water she still was, she couldn’t determine; for, she had no strength to open her eyes—hadn’t strength or will to do anything but breathe.
A wet cough racked her body until she turned toward the downward slope and spat out half the River Esten. She lifted her un-muddied hand, throbbing wrist and all, to wipe river water and tears from her eyes. Blinking, she searched for her rescuer.
A huddled shape, silhouetted against the water, began to rise, resolving into the back of a person near the shattered end of the bridge. The shape turned.
“You’re unharmed, then, Lady Lyssanne?”
“Jarad?” She levered herself up onto one elbow, still panting.
“I got your other shoe. It was hung on one of those broken boards.”
“Jarad, what…” She cleared her throat to rid her voice of its watery croak. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, pulling you out of the river, mistress,” he said.
“Yes, but—”
Suddenly, a shape swooped low over Lyssanne’s head, fluttering her hair into her eyes. She flattened herself against the ground. A gruff caw split the air just off to her left. A raven? Lyssanne’s shoe thumped to the ground as Jarad reached over his shoulder to pull something from his back. The raven cast its shadow over her again, flying a bit higher this time. A creak in Jarad’s direction drew her eye. He held a bow aloft, aiming at the retreating bird.
“Let it be,” she said. “It has done us no harm.”
He lowered the bow but shouted at the bird as it flew toward the trees. “You’ll have no dinner here! She’s alive.” He looked back at Lyssanne. “Did it claw you?” When she shook her head, he replaced his arrow in its quiver and moved closer. “Must’ve been drawn to the blood. You have lots of cuts.”
“I’m beginning to feel them,” she said.
Jarad brought her the wayward shoe. “I rinsed out the mud.”
“Thank you,” she said, forcing her sodden foot into the even wetter shoe, “for this and for, well, you’ve saved my life this day.”
He ducked his head, then held out a hand to help her up. “I don’t think we should try to cross that,” he said, looking back at the remains of Merchant’s Bridge.
“No.”
They made their way up the bank, Jarad pulling her cart behind him. Lyssanne leaned against a tree beside the road. From her cart, she withdrew a cloth and began mopping up the blood from the numerous small cuts stinging her arms and legs. Every moment or so, she glanced up at Jarad, his presence as unaccountable as that of a faerie.
“Jarad,” she said, “I am glad, and grateful, to see you, but why are you here?”
“Um, I followed you.”
“You…? Why?”
“Well,” he said, then blurted all in a rush, “they made you leave and you didn’t do nothing wrong and you always help us when we can’t do somethin’, and I can hunt and…” He took a breath. “I figured, maybe I could help.”
“Oh, Jarad, that was very kind of you.” Lyssanne said, her knees shaky. “It is growing dark. Let us find a place to camp. You can return home on the morrow.”
“I’m not going back,” he said. “I’m going with you.” He held out a bundle. “See, I’ve brought all my stuff.”
“You’ve run away from the orphanage?” At his grunt, she dropped her cloth into the cart and slumped against the tree. “You can’t do that. ’Tis the only home you have.”
“Sure I can. I’ll be with you.”
“Jarad, you do realize, I can never return to Cloistervale?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t know where I’ll sleep or what I’ll eat,” she said. “I can’t provide for you out here. There may be wild beasts and any number of dangers. I have no way to keep you safe.”
“That’s why I must go with you,” he said. “Everyone says I’m a good hunter. I can shoot or scare off wild things, like I scared that raven.” His teeth flashed in the fading light. “You told Gavan you have to go on a new adventure. Well, us orphans should stick together.” He lifted his chin and raised a fist. “Twill be like your stories, a lady and her knight off on a grand journey.”
“This isn’t—”
“I’ll do whatever you tell me,” he said. “I promise. Besides…” He looked over his shoulder at the river. “I think I was s’posed to come with you.”
Perhaps the King of All Lands had indeed sent Jarad to save her. Lyssanne shivered. Her sodden clothes would give her a chill if she didn’t warm herself soon. “Come along. We’ll set up camp and save this discussion for morning.” Tilting her cart, she walked toward the gap in the forest she’d seen before trying to cross the bridge.
“I’ll just follow you again, y’know,” he said. “If you make me go back.”
Lyssanne sighed. “We shall work all that out later. Let’s get moving.”
“Can’t we just camp here?” he asked. “I could build a fire, and we can dry your clothes.”
“I do need to wash.” Lyssanne turned to gaze out at the river that had nearly claimed her life. The fog clinging to its surface darkened and b
oiled. Despite the summer warmth, a damp chill stung her skin like cold words spoken in anger.
Her ruined clothes dragged at her waning strength. The slimy sludge caking her skin tightened as it dried, itchy, cracking, unbearable. And her hands! She kept her fingers splayed, lest the slick residue of decaying vegetation that coated them slide against itself and loose the bile so near to erupting. She fair twitched with the need to wash.
“But not here,” she said, shivering again. She longed to be far from this place of cold, grasping death—or, failing that, concealed from the invisible eye of the fog. “We must go into the forest…now. We can find our way back to the Esten farther south. It shouldn’t take long.”
“There’s a sandbar a little way downriver,” Jarad said. “I saw it when I was looking for your shoe. The Esten bends a little, and I bet there’s a shallow spot where you could bathe. I’ll test it first, to be sure it’s safe.”
“Good. Let us be off.” She turned and pulled her cart behind her, already missing the packed dirt road that had made keeping it upright easier. “I should have heeded the faeries,” she muttered, stepping among the trees. Olivia had known, somehow, about the bridge.
“Faeries?” Jarad hurried to catch up and reached for her arm. “Lady Lyssanne, you should sit down. You must’ve hit your head on the bridge.”
“No, my head is well.”
“Or, or maybe you got too much sun today,” he said, lifting a hand to her brow.
“What are you going on about?” she said, chuckling.
“You were just talking about faeries.”
“Oh.” He’d heard. Well, if he insisted on accompanying her, perhaps she should tell him. “Yes, I saw two of them yesterday. Or, I heard two, I only saw the one.”
“Yesterday? You must’ve been dreaming or something, right?”
“No. I spoke with them in the wood behind my cottage. One of them told me not to cross Merchant’s Bridge, but go into the forest instead.”
“It had to be a dream,” he said. “Unless—Everybody says you’ve been upset. You must’ve imagined them. I did that once, cried so hard I sort of fell asleep and saw weird things.”
Keeper of Shadows (Light-Wielder Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
