by Jenna Rhodes
He knew he would not be welcome. But then, Bolgers usually were not in the towns of men.
Chapter
Forty-One
“I CAN’T SEE.” Tiny, muffled voice but not so muffled she couldn’t sound peevish, even to herself.
“I can.”
Silence followed as Merri digested that and did not protest, for she had long ago accepted her lot in life that Evar could do things she couldn’t, like pee standing up. Her mother assured her that there were many things in life she would do that he couldn’t. She just couldn’t remember them under the circumstances. After a long moment, Merri asked, “What do you see?”
He shushed her before she heard him squirming about in the cart bed—it must be a cart, because it felt like wood planks to her bottom and she could hear the thud of pony hooves and the jangle of harness, and a splinter had worked its way into her ankle where her sock always sagged. She felt the pressure of his body against her side. “It doesn’t look like home anywhere.” He rubbed the side of his head against hers, burlaps sacks scratching. He amended, “Dere’s a hole in my sack.”
“Ohhhh.” That explained a good many things if not the old woman who’d stabbed them.
“My head feels better.”
Merri grinned to herself. That was one of the things Mama always told her that she could do and he could not.
“We are alone,” he added and that took her smile away instantly.
“No fambly?”
“No fambly.” Evar’s voice stumbled a bit as he choked or perhaps the cart just bumped them both about.
No family. The thing that always worried Grampa Tolby most, being alone. She wondered what would happen to them. They had already been stabbed. Would they be killed?
She began to cry, but softly, making as little noise as she could because Evarton had shushed her earlier and it seemed important to be quiet. The cart began to bump about at a terrible rate and she fell over, Evar settling half-atop her legs with a soft plop. She could hear him sniffle as well and did not feel so bad that she was crying. Both of them sniffled and gave off muffled sobs until they fell into sleep, and by that time the cart had settled to a less rugged road whose bumps felt more like Auntie Corrie’s rocking. In her dreams, Merri could see her mother shrinking farther and farther away until she became no more than a dot. She wondered what was happening.
• • •
The moment she heard the twins begin to hum, she put soft beeswax into her ears, threw a change of clothes and shoes in her carpet bag, and grabbed a burlap bag from the cold bin in the kitchen. She had little time, Corrie knew, and she had to flee while she could. The children would be out of their cots in moments and sneaking out to play, toddling out to meet their destiny. A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. She wiped it away hastily and shut the door behind her quietly. Her own cot had a blanket rolled into it. No one would know that she had not fallen asleep like the guards. As she pressed her back to the corner of the farmhouse, she listened for the patrol. Not a footfall reached her ears. Her heart thumped in her throat. For family, she told herself, she did this for her family. Out of her carpetbag, she pulled up a small, colorful bird and unhooded it. It cooed and blinked at her. She hesitated a long moment before raising her hand into the air, releasing the bird. It gained the sky quickly and confidently, far quicker to seize its freedom than she was.
She found the tashya mount promised to her tethered across the street behind the herbalist, and she was all but certain no one saw her lash her carpetbag to the saddle and mount. Pinned to the front of the saddle was a small map painted on silk. She grabbed it up, balling it into a knot in the palm of her hand. She would follow it when she got far enough out of town, the one detail in her orders she would not follow. Her instincts and role as an auntie, as well as a wife and mother, could not be thrown in a ditch quite as easily as the ild Fallyn hoped. She rode to a crossroads she knew well and waited.
The pony cart already stood in the shadows, the pony with its head down snoozing, and one leg relaxed with its hoof balanced on the edge. She stayed in the shadows, feeling the hot sun’s rays trying to bake her despite the shade, but she did not move from cover until she was certain she was alone except for the cart. She threw her leg over and jumped down, grabbed the pony by its headstall, and pulled it into the shade as well. They lived, their breaths short with sniffling and an occasional gulp of fear, but there was little she could do for them.
Corrie could hardly bear to see their small forms dumped into the pony cart, sacks tied about their heads and their hands and feet tied. She searched the area again to be certain that she was alone, that no one could be near enough to spot her. The rider who had brought the children here had taken the more traveled fork away, leaving a false trail while the cart waited for its driver to catch up with it. She leaned into the cart quickly, stuffing what she could into their pockets. Their faceless little bodies turned to her, mewling in distress.
“Shush. Don’t cry now. I’ve put trail biscuits in your pockets.”
A muffled “ugh” from Evarton.
“No, don’t be that way. You’ll want them later, I know. You’ll be hungry later.”
“Hungry now.”
She patted Merri on the head and tried to fluff the bag up so she could breathe easier. “You’ll be hungrier later. Now listen, and listen good. It’s the ild Fallyn who’s took you.”
“Auntie,” they both acknowledged her.
“Don’t tell them any of your secrets. Not one, no matter what. Not even if they say they’re going to hurt either of you. They mustn’t know your secrets. Understand?”
Two sniffling “yes”es answered her.
“If you do tell, they will break you and throw you away.” They wouldn’t understand killing or death, not quite yet, in spite of Merri’s abilities and even the war dog. They couldn’t possibly. But being thrown away, that they’d understand. “And it will hurt, fearsomely, for a very long time.”
Someone took a long, quavering breath. The other said, thinly, “Throw us away?”
“Yes, but so broken no one will want you, ever, not even Mama. So broken, Merri, and no one could ever fix you. Keep your secrets, both of you. Don’t show them. Don’t tell them.” At her back, Corrie’s horse threw up its head and she knew she had to leave. “Remember!” She hurried to her beast and mounted quickly, pulled the reins, kicked her heels, and took off at a dead run.
“Auntie? Auntie!” But no one answered Evar’s call.
After very long moments, so long they fell asleep, someone got into the cart and clucked to the pony and it began to jolt off. That brought them to drowsy awareness.
• • •
Merri leaned against her brother. “My head hurts,” she whispered.
“Mine, too.”
“Are we broken?”
He nudged her chubby little form. “Not yet! And we’re not gonna be.” He wasn’t sure what it took to be hurt enough that she couldn’t help the two of them, but it struck a deep, dark fear in him, and he meant never to find out. He found her hand again, damp and sticky from the heat and laced his fingers with hers. In moments, as he knew she would, she had taken his headache from him and he could breathe clearly again, too. Whatever that lady had stuck them with, it had hurt and then pounded, even in his sleep.
Merri squeezed lightly. “Better?”
“Yes.” He squeezed back. They rolled up together, each trying to take the hard bumps and jolts of the cart bed for the other, and she hummed them both softly back to sleep again, the only way to make the journey go faster.
It took days. They only knew that because they were taken out of the cart sometimes to squat by the side of the road, which became less and less roadlike as the journey went on. Nights, they were taken out and the hoods lifted, so they could eat bread soaked in milk with a touch of honey and slivers of meat that tasted smoky. They dr
ank ladles and ladles of water and lay back quietly on their blankets, afraid to talk to the quiet, frowning man who drove them. Sometimes another would join and ride alongside the cart for a while—that they could not see, but heard. At no time did they see the old woman who had stabbed them, but another one, the Lady, was talked about in deep whispers they weren’t supposed to hear. Evarton gathered his strength until he was certain he could Make something that would free them, perhaps a gigantic animal from the smaller animals he could hear rustling in the bushes out of the campfire’s light, but he considered the possibility that the Animal might then attack them. That could not happen. And even if he freed them, how would they get home, such a long way to travel without help?
He decided to wait. Grampa and Dayne would come after them, he was sure of that. But would they be found?
Merri had been leaving signs at every squat. She would bring a flower bush to bloom, one that never bloomed in the summer and told him that it would bloom all winter long, until the longest night killed it. This pretty yellow-flowered bush littered their trail all the way back to the first day. But would anyone pass it? He wondered how she’d done it, because he was the Maker between the two of them, but she said only that it came from seed crumbs in the trail biscuits Auntie Corrie had left. That made him feel a bit ashamed, for he’d gobbled his biscuits right away, every speck of them, so hungry he’d been, but she had saved one back for its seeds. He didn’t feel his shame long, however, for the frowning man saw to it they were both fed well. A request for apples, however, had turned the frown into a growl.
They jolted to a halt that seemed final because the cart pony gave off a whicker which was answered in return, and the frowning man made a grunt of satisfaction as he swung down from the seat. He grabbed them by the seat of their pants and hoisted them into the air where Evar had an odd sense of being flown about as he would fly one of his wooden birds before setting them on a patch of grass that still smelled sweet in the summer heat.
“I smell horses.” Merri sounded emphatic. He did, too, but he knew she meant a lot of horses. Her nose had always been better than his.
The frowning man sawed away at the bonds on their wrists and ankles, setting them free. Evar clawed off his sack immediately and then helped Merri whose curls had somehow gotten caught in the sack strings. The sight that met their freed gaze struck them silent. They had seen the vast vineyards on the low rolling hills at the end of their street and farmhouse and had been up and down the rows with their grandfather as he talked to them about sun and rain and grapes. Never had they seen a vast valley such as this, with lush grass that still waved blue-green in the summer sun. Nor had they seen hills looming all around, high and jagged, and some with white tops and a chill wind coming down off them. Of horses, they saw only three, but the valley which was a little bit in their very young memories like Larandaril, but much more raw, was lined with fences. Empty pastures and training rings and great barns on the far outskirts, farther than they could really see, their eyes a little blurry after days under their burlap sacks. It seemed wild and more than a little dangerous, far from Larandaril and even farther from their home at the end of the street in Calcort. The immensity weighed down on them and little Merri began to cry silently, great tears streaming down her cheeks at the loss of her mother and family.
Frowning man went on one knee next to her. “That’s enough, hear? We’ve got work to do.” He pointed at the low ramshackle house behind them and the weathered paddocks beyond. “There’s been horses here, a lot of them, and we have to gather their patties, dry ones.”
Evar put his arm about Merri’s shoulders. “Why?”
“We burn them, see. Against the cold at night, and it will get cold. Very cold.” The frowning man straightened. “There’s already snow up there.” He pointed at the jagged mountains about the valley. “There will be snow down here, soon enough. You’ll work, you little beggars or you won’t get fed. I’m no cold-damned nursemaid. Now get moving.”
That made Evar cold inside. The frowning man intended to keep them there. Perhaps for a long time. Or perhaps just long enough to figure out if they were broken or not. He drew Merri close to protect her as well as he could. They started out across the old pastures where the droppings littered the grasses. They picked as many as they could, Merri retching from the smell now and then, her little face streaked with tears and fear.
• • •
At night, tired and grubby, with only enough well water drawn up to wash their hands and faces, Evar waited until the frowning man fell asleep before he rolled off his cot and went to the tiny window. He latched his sore fingertips on the bottom sill and pulled himself up a bit, so he could look out. He knew that it was a low window, but not quite low enough for him. Behind him, Merri stifled a yawn and joined him, her whispery mouth next to his ear.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Feeling it.”
She smooshed another yawn into her mouth. A long pause was followed by her own attempt to stand on tiptoe and look out, but she couldn’t manage it and let out a huff of disappointment. Then she clapped her hands over her lips. “Sorry.”
“He won’t wake.”
“Whyn’t?”
“We hummed him to sleep.”
“Oooh. Right.” Merri turned a bit to lean on him. She smelled of sunshine and grass but not the nasty bits, ’cause they’d washed up really well. Mama and Grandmamma would be proud of that. He patted his elbow on the top of her mussed-up curls.
“Whatcha seeing?”
“I told you, I’m feeling.”
“What, then?”
He tried to find the words for what he felt inside and outside the bunk house, and along the pastures, spilling down from the sharp hillsides surrounding them. It was like a washtub, or maybe the drinking trough when they played in it, filling with water and surrounding them, gliding all around them and sinking into even his bones. He wasn’t sure what it was. It wasn’t sunshine. Or bathwater. He didn’t have the words for it. He turned slightly to look down on his sister, but she had slid slowly down his body until her rump hit the floor and she’d tumbled forward a bit, and snored faintly in her own little way. Just as well. He didn’t know how to explain what he felt to her, only that it was important somehow.
He didn’t know what the frowning man or the old woman who’d stabbed them wanted from them, but he believed Auntie Corrie. The ild Fallyn had hidden them here. They thought they had won the battle by doing that. They thought they would learn the secrets.
Evarton’s fingernails curved into the window pane, bringing up bits of old paint. The ild Fallyn had no real idea. The two of them were there because the world wanted them there, at that moment, for something important. He could feel it. All around them, and sinking in.
Chapter
Forty-Two
HE TOOK THE EARLY NIGHT WATCH on the tenth night, bone weary but aching more for the fact he had no news to send back to Nutmeg. They’d doubled back twice on the trail and found the merest of traces, but nothing they could track. The yarn twists had stopped, for reasons of their own, or been blown away or plucked up by birds looking to fatten their nests. He refused to think of any other reason.
Dayne supposed he should thank the Gods and fates that he hadn’t found their bodies, laid out in a display of spite for all to see. That realization gave him little comfort. The absence of bodies did not mean that Evar and Merri had survived. They could be nowhere near where Tressandre had decided to take her vengeance. There was, he knew, an entire world of harm out there which he could not see from where he waited.
He’d already ridden one horse into the ground, his fine tashya gelding foundering and nearly dead on him when Dayne had traded him for a Kernan horse and tashya cross at a small camp now far behind him. The Dweller lad had rubbed the gelding’s soft muzzle, not saying a word about the horse’s condition but with condemnation simmering unsaid in his eyes. He
wore a farmer’s well-worn coverall and shirt, but his boots were sturdy with new laces fresh bought from a local trader, and he had kind eyes and callused hands.
“He’ll recover,” Dayne told the Dweller. “You’ll have a fine saddle horse on your hands when he does.”
“And if he doesna?”
“Send to Calcort. Ask Keldan and Tolby Farbranch for your due. Coin or another mount, they’ll be good for it.”
“Farbranch?” The lad’s face lit up. “I’m a Barrel, I am. You tell ’im we crossed paths, a’right? Old master Barrel has passed but I’m Joniah, his grandson, and we’re back with orchards and fields on the Silverwing.”
“I’ll remember.” Dayne scanned him, realizing he had found an insight into Nutmeg’s past. Tolby had brought his family from their orchards in the early days of the Raymy infestation and eventually come all the way to Calcort. “You’re a far piece from the Silverwing.”
“Oh, aye, don’t I know it. Came down t’ meet a trading caravan, I cut across their roads now and then, do a bit of tradin’ on my own without having t’ go to the towns.”
Dayne smiled to himself at the thought of the enterprise. “Any luck?”
Joniah frowned and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Nawt. Th’ caravan didn’t show.”
“Bad luck, that. Better luck next time.”
“Donnae I know it.” The lad smiled. The gelding whickered softly. Joniah put his hand back on the beast’s neck. He hesitated before asking, but then he did. “What happened here?”
“I’m tracking.”
“I kin see that. In a cold-damned hurry, too, t’ founder a fine horse.”
“I’m chasing someone.”
