Will shook his head. There had been nothing else in that fog; he would have heard something if there had been pursuit. “I think we’re the followers.”
Far to the north, clouds were massing.
* * *
The storm hit that afternoon. They tried to tack into the headwind, making for the cliffs that Will, recalling N’tombe’s map, thought marked the shoreline of the Kingdom, but the waves grew to mountains. The men clung to the mast of the boat and prayed.
Will would never forget the power of that storm.
Hailstones, great slabs of ice. Waterspouts, waving like multi-limbed monsters, stretched transparent arms toward the sky. Torrential rain. Between the spray from the waves and the rain, the sea was a haze of gray.
Blinking water from his eyes, Will saw lightning strike a ship. It split in two, both halves on fire. The sails caught alight, flaring like a torch against the dark sky. Masts split like matchwood. Some ships broke apart, scattering men and weapons into the water.
Part of him felt relief at seeing the invaders dispatched. Who would have believed that the great navy of the Eternal could be broken in a single afternoon? But part of him felt terrified; waves and wind are not precise weapons, and their boat was a small one. Would whomever was directing this storm see them?
Jed swung the tiller hard, trying to turn into the waves, but the wind howled and tore the rigging. A wave struck the side of the ship, rolling it like a baker throwing dough. They hit the water so hard, Will hardly had time to breathe.
* * *
Stuck under the hull of the little boat, Will reached for air. The world turned dark and the wash of the waves made him dizzy. In which direction was the sky? He stretched out with empty arms, seeking aid: Help me! Yet still the world spun and his chest burned. His eyes closed.
He roused, coughing. Strong arms pulled him onto damp wood. He rested his face against barnacles and peeling paint and thought only of breathing. How amazing – to be able to do a little thing like pulling air into your lungs.
Behind the upturned boat the storm wind roared, but here all felt quiet; calm. His skin pricked in the sunlight and the waves washed peacefully against the boat, rocking him like a child in a cradle. He smiled, saw the cliffs of the cove grow closer. Home. He was going home.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Depart with Sorrow, Greet with Joy
Eventually the road grew empty of anxious animals and villagers and there was space to move. They were alert, these horses, ears pricked to each sound, and fast pacers. The two I led nuzzled each other, jerking on the reins until I hissed at them to be still. The air smelt fresh and new after the storm and the roadside grass steamed gently in the sunlight, so that we seemed to be trotting through warm clouds.
“Are you ready?” N’tombe asked.
“Ready!” I pressed my calves to the side of my horse. The leading reins grew taut against my palm as the hunter leapt forward, her gait moving from trot to smooth canter. The riderless horses followed eagerly.
“Fix your eyes on the road,” called N’tombe. The world twisted, blurring as we cantered forward. From the corners of my eyes I caught strange, dislocated visions: glimpses of houses, trees, a river, a mill, the brief hollow booming of a bridge, the white stone of the roadway again, until finally, a change in the air and the high, mournful calls of the gulls.
I blinked, and the world trembled, paused, and snapped into focus. We stood on the top of a cliff. Ahead, the road split into two paths, one heading north along the bluffs, the other turning, twisting toward the beach below. The air smelt of salt and the shore was covered with blackened hulks and wooden spars. Birds cawed and dived, fighting over things that bobbed in the waves.
“Not far,” said N’tombe.
As we stepped off the white gravel road, I felt I was really leaving. That white road had always been my lookout, a kind of arrow that, if followed, would point my way home.
The track led steadily downhill toward the cliff edge. Just when I feared that we would fall over the edge it turned, descending through daisies and yellow bracken toward the sand. Breakers pounded, spray drifting in from the sea in a white mist. The sea roared, mixing with the wind, so it seemed the world was all noise.
“The cave,” N’tombe pointed to the far end of the beach where high cliffs hovered above the haze.
The ears of the horses pricked at her call, and they pranced on the harder sand of the beach, eager to run. I clicked to my mount and she picked up speed, so we galloped through the surf, water flying behind us. The fast travel was a relief; it kept my mind focused on the present, where we were going to, so I couldn’t dwell on the Kingdom, the army around us, or the blackened spars of ships that lined the tide mark like a stain.
Gray birds wheeled about the cliffs, their calls echoing from the stone. A stream fell from the meadow above, pouring down in a small waterfall, shielding a low opening in the rocks. A cave.
Without thinking, I directed the horses toward it. They were breathing hard from the run, their coats shining, and suddenly I wondered about practicalities like food and water for the animals, and shelter. But then I looked again at the darkness of the cave and I forgot all concerns, for there stood someone. And he was waving at me.
I jumped from the horse and ran. His arms opened. I leapt into his embrace and, feeling his breath on my cheek, the familiar warmth of his arms, I thought: I’m home.
“Good to see you,” said Jed, shaking N’tombe’s hand. They seem to have been expecting visitors.
Will, his arm about my waist, walked me over to them. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
“We’ve been looking for survivors,” Jed indicated the refuse-strewn beach.
“Are there any?” N’tombe asked.
“Not anymore,” he said grimly, putting his hand on his sword.
Will’s green-flecked brown eyes were unchanged, but the rest of him – ah, that had altered. Always taller than I, now he towered above me. He was broader of chest and shoulder too, so when he put his arms about me and I leant back on him I felt enfolded, protected by his warmth.
“Thank you,” he murmured in my ear. I twisted, nestling against him.
“What for?”
He nuzzled his mouth against my jaw. “Saving us. Jed and me, we’re not good sailors.”
I looked up at him, forgot what I was about to say. His mouth quirked, and a dimple peeped beside his lips. Such soft lips. I sighed and stood on tiptoe to reach them.
Jed glanced at us. “Are they going to be like this all the time?”
“I wouldn’t worry,” N’tombe said. “They’ll grow out of it. Eventually.”
Jed stepped out of the shade of the cave, over to the horses, which were drinking from the stream. “These for us?”
“These two,” said N’tombe, indicating the chestnuts on the leading reins. “There’s food in the panniers.”
Jed ran his hands down their legs. “Nice lookers. Hey, Will! When you can spare a moment.”
Sighing, Will lifted his mouth from mine. I sighed too.
“You need anything to eat?” called Jed. “Apart from her, I mean?”
With a wrench, I stepped away from Will, the distance between us a physical pain.
Munching a cold piece of pie, Jed sat on a rock, regarding me with lazy eyes. “You’re Dana,” he put up a hand. “Nice to meet you. Properly, I mean.”
I put my palm into his, pumped my arm up and down. “Likewise,” I said. The skin of his hand was dry and hard. This man seemed strangely self-contained and he moved with economy; not a movement wasted.
“Enchantress says you saved my life,” he spoke between mouthfuls.
I nodded. “Several times.”
He swallowed and wiped his hands on his trousers. They were leather, stained white with sea salt. “Well,” he said, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I smiled.
He blinked. “Well,” he grinned at me. “Guess I see what Will here was talking about
.”
N’tombe came back with the horses. “We need to go.”
Will slipped his arm about my waist again. “Where are we going?” He ran a palm down my shoulder, along my forearm, and I shivered, not wanting him to stop, knowing N’tombe was right. We had to go. “What’s this?” he said, stopping at my wrist.
I’d almost forgotten about the bracelet of beads. Even in the darkness of the rocky overhang they shone; out in the sunlight they sparkled. As I looked at them they seemed to heat, until my skin burned. Was it my regard that made them warm? I put my hand behind my back. “A present.”
“So,” he murmured into my ear. “Someone gives you presents?”
Was that jealousy I heard? I giggled, and grinned up at him. “Not like that,” I said and he smiled.
Jed cleared his throat. “Will. You want anything else to eat?”
Will looked down at my face. “Oh yes,” he put his mouth on mine again.
Dimly, I heard Jed complaining. “Are they going to do that all day?”
“You have a point,” said N’tombe.
A sudden pain shot up my feet, into my back. “Ow!”
“That’s enough,” she said. “We must go.”
“Don’t worry,” Will muttered in my ear, “I’m still here.”
I smiled at him and stepped away from his warmth. “I like your hose,” he said appreciatively, running his eyes over my legs, up to my waist. “Suits you. Makes you look like a boy,” he laughed at my indignant gasp, “almost.” He put his hand briefly on my backside, and I gasped again, but not, this time, in indignation.
“Children,” said N’tombe, “come.”
And so we turned our faces toward the Crossing. And all the way, I rode beside Will, and despite my concern for my family, for my Kingdom, I felt surges of such happiness that, in some small part of me I was terrified. For such joy does not last. And still there was an enemy massing on our border, and the night would be dark.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Calls in the Darkness
Five leagues of hard riding lay between Shipwreck Cove and the Crossing. Circling the edge of Castel Fens, we were to cross the low mound of Jenkins Hill down to the ferry where, roused by the Guardian, the Ferryman would be waiting.
A rough track meandered up through the dunes, sloping upward to the top of the cliff. We dismounted, led the horses up the last wild stretch.
N’tombe shook her head when I asked her if she could shorten the distance again. “I would rather not.”
“Why not?”
“Can’t you feel?” She sounded surprised. “It’s easy with a road. But on this rough country, it takes much concentration to shorten the way.”
It seemed strangely unreal to be able to stare across the empty waves to the west, where all was sea and sky.
“Look,” Will pointed. Distant specks of black, far out on the horizon. Some boats had survived the storm.
“Don’t worry.” N’tombe’s voice was calm. “The Guardian is prepared.”
How could I not worry? Those boats meant men with swords and knives and the will to use them. My wrist warmed in a gentle heat that throbbed with the pounding of my heart.
We reached the Fens in good time and, following a rough track, skirted about their muddy edge, where birds with long, bent legs waded and watched for prey. The horses had to walk, for the ground was uneven and pools of stagnant water obscured the track. Shadows lengthened and clouds of insects lifted from the mire, settling on our faces and hands. The land felt silent and brooding and Jed and Will rode alert in their saddles. Restless, the horses swished their tails.
Finally, we left the marshlands and their mosquitoes and clambered up the long low slope of Jenkins Hill.
“Who was Jenkins?” asked Jed.
Will shrugged but I, cursed with governesses, knew the answer. “He owned great stretches of land along the coastline. There’s a nursery rhyme:
Jenkins had some land,
A green and gentle strand,
But Jenkins’ will
Lost him his hill.
Now no more Jenkins stand.
Daddy used to say it was a warning. Jenkins didn’t care for his land and now it’s barren, fit only for sheep. We say someone is “another Jenkins” if they’re stubborn or tight-fisted.”
Will laughed, a strangely carefree sound that echoed across the blowing grasses. “The boys in the dormitory said the cook was “doing a Jenkins” when she skimped on the spice. I always wondered what that meant.”
“Don’t you say it on the mainland?”
He shook his head. “Not that I recall.”
It was a relief to talk of simple things like sayings and nursery rhymes.
We reached the top of the hill in good spirits and stood, looking down at the mainland and the straits that lay between. Such a narrow strip of water, to mark such an important boundary. On the far side of the straits were the tumbled willows of the Crossing, and the long low slopes of the downs, lit gold by the setting sun.
“What’s that?” N’tombe pointed at a ruined pile of stone.
“A watchtower stood there,” Jed replied. “Marked the road into the interior. Was a trading post, once. The Crossing came later.”
“What happened?”
“Arguments between the landowner and the local king, or some such.”
N’tombe nodded bleakly. “Always, there are wars.”
“Are around here,” said Jed. “Plagued by battles, this land.”
She turned to him. “My friend, apart from this small island, I have not seen anywhere at peace.”
“Some towns are peaceful.” Will spoke sadly.
I put my hand on his arm, and for a moment we jogged along side by side, until his mount stumbled on a stone.
The Ferryman’s cottage, as every child in the Kingdom knows, stands at the mouth of Bright Stream and the entrance to the Straits of Terenu, a strange place where the tide arrives in a great whirling rush. In the setting sun the stream was red, the narrow stone bridge spanning it dark orange. But the evening shadows were menacing and the place seemed eerily silent.
“Come,” said N’tombe and we picked up our pace.
The horses were restless; even at a canter their ears twitched, turning toward noises they alone could hear, and they shied at leaves or wind or a branch blowing across stone. When we reached the bridge they slowed to a walk.
“Be quicker on foot,” muttered Jed, and kicked his gelding. “Get on, will you?”
But I couldn’t blame the horses; there was movement at the edge of my vision, a restless circling, a strange swooping, as if some giant bird of prey was readying its wings for flight. Rosa had said that I, native to the Kingdom would be safe. Yet, as the day darkened to twilight and the evening mist rolled across the roadway, I felt tremendous fear.
“Night’s coming,” said Jed.
“Faster,” said N’tombe.
The horses needed little encouragement, trotting quickly toward the ferry.
“Hsst now,” whispered Jed to his horse.
“What’s that?” Will pointed at the churning gray water of the straits. Small black objects floated on the tide. In the dusk it was hard to see.
“Rafts,” N’tombe hissed. How could she tell in this dim light?
“Soldiers,” said Will.
“Must have been chopping down trees,” agreed Jed.
“Princess. You can see with other than eyes,” said N’tombe.
For a moment, I had forgotten what Rinpoche had taught me. Breathe deeply, in, out, think of the wind in the oak trees. And then, seated on a trotting horse on a stony road, fearful of the unknown pursuers, I had it!
Fountains of golden light, arching across the roadside trees, lifting, spreading over the shadowy fields, pouring like a river along the road until, despite the falling night, all about us was etched in brightness.
“Well done,” N’tombe was a golden web of light outlined against the glow.
“Do you
see like this, always?” I asked, awed.
“Of course.” The mass of lines that was her head twisted as she looked about her. “You get used to it, after a time.”
I could never become used to this glory.
“Lift up your wrist,” she said. “It would be good to show them the soul beads.”
“Them?”
“Those who travel behind.”
I lifted my wrist, a line of shimmering light, and spread my hand wide. The beads were warm and glowed white against the gold of my skin. Behind us I heard a roar and felt a sudden draft. Above, a thing made of fangs and multi-pronged claws lifted into the air.
“What was that?”
“You asked about the land’s defenses. There they are,” said N’tombe.
“There’s more than one?”
She nodded, a wavering in the brightness. “I’d keep your arm out, if I were you.”
I’d seen these things before, carved in wood, on my bed. They were my guardians too. I shouldn’t fear them. Yet that shadowed thing was no carving. It was larger than a horse!
The road turned down the hill and the rocky track was steep, so the horses slowed and picked their way with care. We traveled in single file, silently. Below we could hear harsh calls from the men on the log rafts and the clamor of the waves against rocks.
“They’re brave,” whispered Will. “Crossing the straits in the darkness.”
He was right; there were enough tales of currents and tidal maelstroms to give anyone pause.
“Or else,” muttered Jed, “they’re just plumb stupid.”
“Quiet,” whispered N’tombe.
With my new sight I could see the soldiers clearly. And on the cliff tops something else. Twisted shapes, staring down at the invaders in awful hunger. I felt a strange pity for these men. Enemies they may be, but they were still just soldiers, following orders. And then I remembered the line of singing villagers and the sound of the swords cutting spines, and my sympathy vanished.
We reached the bottom of the cliff and the wooden shack of the Ferryman. Despite the danger I felt a weird thrill; every child knows of the Ferryman and his tumbledown hut.
The SoulNecklace Stories Page 31
