by Jenna Rhodes
Fifty-One
FROM THE DOORWAY, Evar half-carried, half-threw Merri as far as he could across the broken dirt-and-grass yard. Something rushed him from the shadows. He ducked, shielding his sister as she let out a frightened squeak, and the bulk hurdled over him toward the bunkhouse tearing apart the opening as it did. He caught the sense of great strength and size, and a tremendous, animal smell, but he had no idea what it was as it leaped over the shattered doorway and into the building where another voice raised in a roar.
The frowning man, up and angry, shouted his loud curses as only he could do. A chair came flying through the threshold splinters and bounced to a violent stop upon the ground. The sounds of two bodies thudded against a thin wall, and the very roof shook as though it might come down. Evar stayed hunched over Merri, her little body panting in fear, as what could only be a war broke out in the bunkhouse behind them. Furniture crashed. Wood flew in pieces. Pots and pans clanged. Shouts and grunts and screams of pain and fury. Evarton knew he should get to his feet and run, run as hard and fast as they both could, but the noise froze him in place just outside. He didn’t know how he could help. Who he should help.
The battle raged for more moments than he could count, and then all fell silent. Even the frowning man’s shouts and swearing ceased. Something swung back and forth in a faint creaking from inside before it crashed downward in a last crescendo of destruction. The near corner of the bunkhouse sagged to the ground in a cloud of dust. Merri crept back up and shook his arm.
“Run.”
He listened. He didn’t know if he expected a roar of triumph or another round of cursing, but the night had stilled. He got up, pulling her after him. “I think it would catch us.” But he steered her into the darkness anyway, his eyes adjusted enough that the squat bunkhouse behind them stood out even in the moonless night. They moved slowly, from fence post to fence post, edging toward the open forest that fanned about the old pastures. In there, perhaps, they could hide under a fallen tree or climb fast enough to get out of reach. He had another idea and began to lead her toward the river cutting through the near arm of the grove. They knew it well, hauling pails back and forth. Their small feet had worn a groove in the dirt and grass.
“We’re going to sit in the water,” he whispered to her.
“But it’ll be cold!”
“Some animals hunt by heat. That’ll hide us. And if by scent, the water will confuse it. And by noise, too, if you can stay quiet.” These small things he’d learned from the frowning man’s mutterings over the weeks when he’d gone out, bow or snare in hand. They ate, hadn’t they? So the frowning man must have been right.
She made a snuffling noise, rubbed her face and headed down the muddy bank, stepping into the water so quietly Evar didn’t realize she’d already gone in. He joined her, put his arms about her, and they both sat down in the shallow water which promptly rose up to her upper lip. He squeezed her tightly, feeling her rough and wild breathing against his chest.
They waited. The forest felt too quiet about them, the few birds who sang at night losing their song, and the predators that rustled about hunkered down in the brush. The thing—whatever it was that had attacked the bunkhouse—was stalking again, and the creatures about them hid from it.
Evar could feel Merri shiver in his hold. They couldn’t sit here all night, or she would catch deadly cold. He would, too, as the river bit into his body. He sat, freezing and deciding what they could do when he smelled it. That thick, unmistakable animal smell that had bowled him over before it crashed into the bunkhouse. Near. Very, very near. Merri blew her breath out lightly and he hugged her even closer, unable to say anything to make her feel better. It would hear. It might even hear their hearts drumming.
Before he could think what to do, a heavy blow knocked them both out of the water, awash in a great spray, and onto the bank where they lay, gasping and flapping about like two fish. Stunned, all he could do was gasp as Merri panted next to him.
A voice rolled over them.
“Nutmeg unhappy I bring back two wet babes.”
Water dripped everywhere as Evarton rolled onto his back and looked up at the great beast looming over them. Yellow tusks caught a faint glimpse of starlight as the beast man squatted next to them.
Evar’s mind worked slowly, grasping, but Merri blurted out, “Bolger! He’s a Bolger!”
Evar nudged her to stay quiet, as the being was scarcely mortal as they knew them. But Merri grinned brightly, catching the moonlight. “You’re Mama’s friend!”
“Rufus,” the creature said, and took her gently into the curve of his arm. “Friend of Spice and Little Flower.” He spoke in a harsh voice, hard to understand, but Merri flung her arms about his neck.
“Mama sent you!”
“And warlord’s son and Tolby.”
Evar got up and shook himself like a dog, trying to shed excess water as the night wind curled about him, a cold hand closing around him. “The frowning man said no one would come for us. The frowning man said we were sold for peace.”
Rufus curled an arm about him, drawing him in as well, next to his sister, into a cloud of beast-scented warmth. “Lies. We looked since you were lost. Many, many days.”
He began to cry. He hadn’t cried, not since those first days, but now he did, the only warmth he could feel on his face.
Rufus laid his head on the tops of theirs and made a crooning, soothing growl as his arms tightened about them. “We run. Then we get fire,” he told them. “Long way back. Valley no good. Old magic waits here.”
“The silver lady?” Merri lifted her head from under his shelter.
“Not seen lady of silver. Might be good. Might not.” Rufus ruffled her hair. He drew them up as he stood.
He walked them to a sheltered spot among the trees. “Wait. Bring mules back.”
So they waited, but Evar made Merri march about with him, swinging their arms and stomping to keep warm. When the beast man returned, he brought two long-eared mules with him, lifted Evar and placed him over saddlebags and bags, and then helped Merri settle in a small patch of a saddle on the other mule. He grunted and groaned a bit as he did, and Merri wrinkled her nose. She put her hand on the top of his balding skull.
“I smell blood. You’re hurt.”
“Later.” He patted her leg. “Hold on tight.”
He turned and broke into a bow-legged but steady run, away from the pasture and the bunkhouse and their imprisonment. Evar dug his fingers under the woven ropes and straps and hung on for all he was worth, but the mule’s lope was smoother than he expected. Merri’s head nodded back and forth on her shoulders as she rode next to him, her little face scrunched into an expression of determination. So they moved through the night into what must have been a pass in the great mountains, not the way they’d come in, but a way that seemed lit by a silvery ribbon of moonlight, flowing up and among the rock. He leaned over to look down, for the moonlight shone so that it must be wet, brook water reflecting the heavens above, but he couldn’t see it up close. Yet it stretched ever in front of them and when he looked back over his shoulder, he saw—nothing. Nothing but night.
“Andredia,” he spoke quietly, not expecting to be heard over the quick thuds of the mules’ hooves on the hard-packed dirt trail, slight as it was.
“Guiding river,” Rufus said. He nodded forward. “Keeping holding. Long run before dawn.”
The Bolger smelled stronger with the sweat of exertion and copper, but it wasn’t a bad smell, just . . . strong and different. Evar looped his fingers tighter and leaned forward, and the mule picked up its pace. Merri’s mount dropped in behind, as the mountain pass leaned in upon them, and they could only move through in single-file, although the Bolger did not let that slow him down. Heat from the mule’s body rose up, chasing away his own slight chill, as he grew less and less damp as they rode. He could hear Merri behind him, give of
f a slight noise of both wonder and discomfort, alternating it seemed. He called out to her and she threw him back an “I’m all right.” That would have to do.
They loped, trotted, walked, and trotted agin into bright daylight, the rocky trail behind them, and the wilderness giving way, grudgingly, to the colors of autumn. The vision surprised him.
They finally slowed when the sun began to lower again, and Rufus found a sheltered spot, not far from a small “lick of a river” that met his need.
He helped them both slide down, and leaned against one of the mules a moment to catch his breath before waving them off. “Get wood.” They needed no other order, for they knew what kind of tinder and firewood to gather, leaving the Bolger kneeling at the rivulet of a brook, washing himself somewhat gingerly, great boiled leather apron on the muddy bank beside him.
Rufus praised him for it when he returned and squatted down with a load of dry wood. With the kindling Merri had gathered, he got it lit in no time, and they huddled close to the licking flames while the Bolger made them “swamp tea.” They chewed on jerky, sweet and peppery, and sipped at their tin cups of the brew which was hot and nearly tasteless except for a wildflowerlike flavor. Rufus spoke little but encouraged Merri to chatter, as if knowing she had bottled-up nerves that would keep her awake until she talked them out, and Evar watched the Bolger closely. He looked far different from the Bolgers who occasionally came to Calcort. Those Bolgers stood taller and straighter, and their tusk teeth were all shaved down, so they spoke better and looked far less ferocious. But they found little business in Calcort, their main trade being across in the bigger cities. His grampa had always treated the Bolger men fairly, but Evar knew that a lot of the Calcort folks didn’t like them. He decided that his grampa was right and the others wrong. He put his feet in close to the fire as it sank into the hot rocks and coals and Merri finally began to run out of words.
Rufus laid her down close to Evar and tucked a blanket about the two of them. Evar blinked slowly and realized that he missed being tucked in. The two long-eared mules slumbered just beyond the dim circle of light after having spent all the afternoon cropping up as much grass and bramble as they could reach. He closed his eyes and pulled the blanket up about his ears, giving in to warmth and hope. The last he heard was Merri’s soft voice.
“How did you find us?”
“Flowers brought me.”
“Sunfaces! I planted them. I thought Mama would see them and know!”
“Flowers and a silver river,” his low voice rumbled. “Now close eyes.”
Merri snuggled down next to him, her familiar body warm from the fire, and when she pulled her blanket up, it was not only over her but him, too. They fell asleep together.
• • •
She awoke in the early morning to the sound of twigs snapping as they burned in the campfire, and to the smell of something cooking that made her realize how hungry she was. Evar’s longer limbs sprawled over her, and she pushed him and the blankets away carefully. As she rubbed sleep from her eyes, Rufus looked up from his squat at the fire. He looked both battered and wise, she thought, and smiled at him.
“Wash. River there.” He pointed the way to her although she knew quite well where the brook gurgled along the valley’s edge. She toddled off that way to take care of washing and other necessities, as the morning mist rose off the greenery just like smoke off the fire. She opened her hand, spreading her fingers, weaving her hands in and out of the mist, watching it disappear as she touched it. For the first morning in a long time, she felt like singing.
She came back to find Evar rolling up and tying their blankets into tight bundles, under the sharp, dark eyes of Rufus. He stopped Evar once and had him reroll, after showing him how to tuck the ends in better. She plopped down, but Rufus pointed a knobby finger at her. “Feed mules.”
Merri looked over her shoulders. The mules had been busy cropping all the nearby grass while tethered, but they looked as if they could eat more. The chestnut one tossed his head at her, ears wobbling. She bounced to her feet and took them off with her to an ungrazed area nearby and let the lead line out to its very end so they could eat while she perched on a fallen log. The two long-legged beasts immediately put their heads down to pull and lip the grasses. Evar stayed working around the campsite and watching their breakfast sizzle.
Evar called for her then, to leave the mules and come eat. After they finished and she’d licked her fingers clean, Rufus pointed at one and then the other. At Evar: “Ride brown mule.” At her: “Ride with me.”
“Tired of running?”
He snorted faintly. “Am old one.”
She giggled at him. Her legs stuck out a little as he tossed her on the front of the small saddle and the chestnut mule whuffed when Rufus mounted, adding his own weight, and the mule turned his head about to look back at them.
Rufus grunted at his mount. “Not heavy.”
The mule flipped its ears, making Merri giggle. “He thinks we are!”
Rufus put his arm about her, drawing her back against his stomach and chest. She could smell the strong leather odor of his apron, old and stained. Behind it, she could smell the coppery taint of blood. She’d forgotten he’d been hurt. She could feel it now, in the stiff way he moved and breathed. She put her hand on the back of his wrist as he took up the mule’s reins. With a deep breath, she gathered her golden light—just like the bright yellow Sunface flowers—to send through him. It was hard, like pushing a shovel through clay mud (something they’d had to do many days in the valley, mending fences), but she shoved and shoved until she could feel him breathe easier. She couldn’t quite explain, but he felt different. His bones, his muscles. Maybe it was because he was old, or maybe it was because he was a Bolger. But she gave a little nod of her head as she took her hand away because she’d managed it anyway.
“Thank you, little Sun.”
She nuzzled the back of her head against him. “Welcome.”
• • •
They rode with Rufus telling them they still had a long way to go. He stopped twice a day to let them stretch their legs and teach them about the land they rode over. Berries, roots, animals, and birds he knew as well as he knew the wrinkles on his palms Evar said to her. He soaked it up like one of Mama’s washing rags, and he told her at night it was because he was learning more and more about Making through what was already there. He held a handful of berries in his hand to show her. “All dried and old.” He cupped his other hand over it for a short bit, frowning greatly, and then opened his hands up. The berries glistened, all plump and full of juice. The two of them gobbled them down before going to pick more for the campfire dinner and to share with Rufus. That sort of Making she understood. She understood the reach of it, and it wasn’t that unlike her own healing. That sort of Making began with the soul inside.
If Rufus noticed Evar’s ability, he never mentioned it. But then, the old Bolger never said two words when one would do, and more often than not, used a thumb jab and a frown or grimacing smile instead of talking at all. He used a lot of sign language when talking about the herbs and roots, whether to dry them or not, and to grind or stew them, and what they did in their various forms. He made Merri laugh so hard she nearly cried when he imitated a terrible stomach ache from one of the prettiest flowers she’d ever picked.
The rain hit. None of them liked riding in the rain. The pack mule stopped once and refused to take a step no matter how hard Evar drummed his heels on its sides. Rufus had to turn their mule around and go get it, and lead it by one rein until it finally decided it would have to follow no matter what. The rain made them all cold and shivery, but at night Rufus would weave branch lean-tos over them and over the mounts so they could dry and warm themselves a little. On a clear day, they rode to the top of a ridge and Rufus jabbed a thumb back the way they had ridden. She could see mountain peaks, their white tops shimmering with snow. Winter had c
ome to the valley they’d left far behind.
“We ride,” he told them. “Harder.”
Winter was chasing them, too.
He often took Evar with him when he scouted the trail in front and behind them. That made Merri angry and hot inside. The two returned, with dinner which was good, but having left her behind which was not. She stood in front of them and folded her arms over her chest.
“I’m the heir. I’m older than he is! I should go.”
Rufus squinted a dark eye at her, considering.
Evar said, “I’m just learning about tracking and concealing the trail, and a little about hunting.”
“Stuff I want to know.”
“But you’re littler than me.”
Her mouth tightened. “Born first.”
Rufus let out a laugh, a great, booming laugh and jabbed a thumb at her. “Keep quiet, and I take.”
“How long quiet?”
“All night.”
Her mouth twisted back and forth a minute, holding back her questions, and then she nodded vigorously. She held her tongue all night although it was really hard, especially when Evar poked and nudged her every chance he got, and when her shoes got put too close to the fire, almost burning them up! She settled for punching him in the shoulder after she rescued them, adding a pinch to his ear when he chortled at her.
Rufus tapped her shoulder in the morning as they doused the campfire. “You tonight.”
Her smile blossomed. “I’ll be ready!”
By nightfall, she wasn’t ready. All she wanted to do was help weave the lean-to and fall into a heap by the campfire because that day’s ride through hail and rain hurt every bone in her body. But she’d asked to learn and now Rufus stood ready, waiting for her. Evar shook out his own poncho and fastened it around her shoulders, saying, “It covers more.” Then he gave her a little warm kiss on her eyebrow.
Rufus led Merri into the growing darkness. He pointed out their trail. “Rain. Less work.”
