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Evening had fallen when we topped what Tanris declared was the last ridge before the Darya Mountains began. I don’t know how he could tell by looking at a cloud bank. We had to dismount to descend the steep slope, and I cannot tell you the number of times I twisted my ankles. Thank the gods of footwear and cobblers, the boots Tanris had long-ago forced me into were sturdy enough to keep me from breaking, even if I developed a limp. The cat alone got to ride, watching the rest of us smugly from one of Tanris’s saddlebags.
The wet ground made the going slick. It hadn’t rained all day, but who needed rain when we had fog? It hung over us with steadfast determination and muffled the world. The silence nearly drove me mad. Girl didn’t talk at all, and I didn’t want to talk to Tanris. He acted completely, insultingly unfazed, and kept a close eye on our surroundings, our path, the nearby ridges and ravines, the trees, the horses… I don’t know how he could see further than about thirty feet, but he certainly made it look like his eagle eyes could pierce right through stone. Fog? Ha! A mere trifle. He was a veritable paragon of guardianship. Besides being a stinking, rotten, no-good wizard, Baron Duzayan clearly possessed a very twisted sense of humor, else he would never have even dreamed of throwing the two of us together.
Stepping down onto level ground after a skidding, sliding, heart-pounding trip down the side of the ravine, I paused to look about, because of course a twenty foot drop in elevation would give me a much better view and I’d be—Wait. What was that? From above, the little tree had appeared as a shapeless dark blob, but now that I viewed it from the same level upon which it grew it appeared eerily familiar.
“What is it?” Tanris asked. He sounded suspicious again, and it occurred to me that perhaps I was losing my grip on reality, because Tanris always sounded suspicious—or scathing—and I must be out of my mind to expect anything else.
“A tree.”
“At least we know your eyesight still works.” Scathing, see? He brushed roughly past me, leading the horses. Girl followed him, but stopped next to me to look from my face to the tree and then back.
“We’re not lost, are we?” I called after Tanris.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
I couldn’t help but bristle as I pointed to the tree. “I know that tree.” I don’t know how I knew it, but I did. It squatted down low in the ravine, one branch reaching toward the hill and then bent up like a crooked elbow.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Don’t treat me like an imbecile!” My voice cut through the mist, and Tanris turned to look at me with one eyebrow raised critically.
“Then don’t act like one.”
I wanted to growl at him and fling something, preferably something substantial. Instead, I stabbed my finger toward the tree again. “I have seen that before,” I insisted, enunciating each word so the sharpness of it might get through the thick muscle wrapped around his tiny little brain.
He looked at the tree, then came back my way a little. “Have you been to the Kerdann before?”
“Never.”
“Then you have never seen that tree.” Flipping the reins up over his mount’s head, he put a foot in the stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle. “Let’s get moving. It won’t be daylight much longer.”
I looked past the tree where the ground rose a little. I knew this place. Just beyond the rise, the ground would dip again and curve gently to the right and then down to the left like a broad avenue sunk a little into the rocky hillside. A canyon opened up not far beyond, filled with bushy evergreens. “There’s a house there,” I said, and pulled Horse toward the place where my imagination filled in details I shouldn’t know.
“There’s no house.”
“If you haven’t been there, how can you say with absolute certainty it doesn’t exist?” I shot back, resurrecting our old debate. I was getting some good mileage out of it.
Tanris heaved a sigh audible even over the distance between us. “Fine,” he agreed, then hawked and spat. “Go take a look. I’m not the one with the hourglass measuring out my life.”
I forbore to remind him that he had a wife awaiting rescue and kept right on walking. The cat bounded past me, then trotted along with its crooked tail in the air like a flag. As much as I hated it, I took a perverse satisfaction in its choice to side with me and leave Tanris glowering after us.
Past the tree the rise was a little steeper than it had first appeared, and then it fell away just as I had known it would, and the evergreens came down the canyon just as I’d expected. I could see no house, but I could smell smoke, though the plume itself was lost in the drifting mist. Tugging Horse after me, I set off down the other side.
“Crow!”
The house—no, it would be a cottage, old and gray and looking as though it had grown up out of the land—would be tucked in against the trees in the lee of a fold of earth protecting it from the worst of the winds that whistled like furies down out of the mountains. Sod would cover the roof, and probably at this time of the year there would only be a few straggly, faded streamers of grass drooping down like funny little fringes, somehow hanging on in spite of wind and water. The window boxes would be empty. The garden with the creek running through the middle would be asleep, all the remains of the vegetables from summer turned under to feed the soil.
…late again… Hurry, now, go fetch the bowls… Watch out, you’ll fall!… Didn’t I tell you? …mind the door, please… snow before long… fine animal, truly… take this row and I’ll get the other… have you seen him? seen him? seen him?
The voices followed me down, down and around the last corner, and my eyes revealed what I had beheld in my mind. Although I have always preferred comfortable, roomy apartments, this pretty little place felt strangely like coming home. In the growing dusk, the little windows winked at us like amber eyes, warmed from within. The smoke curling up out of the chimney crept along the sod roof and drifted into the nearby trees, and I could smell food cooking. My mouth watered.
“How did you know?” Tanris demanded from beside me, and even at a whisper, his voice made me jump.
I looked at him, and then to the cottage again. Next to the sturdy rock chimney another piece of the dwelling had grown up, leaning close to its older brother. In the summertime spears of greenery grew in front of the cottage—lush with broad leaves and pink flowers nearly the size of a dinner plate. An infusion of the flowers sweetened with a bit of honey made a good cure for coughs and chest troubles. The addition held a horse and a few milk goats. It was snug and warm in there and smelled like grass. Cozy and safe.
I didn’t say anything, but walked up to the door and reached out to open it, barely catching myself to knock instead. The cat wound itself around my ankles, then sat down right in front of me, one foot resting delicately on my boot. Tanris dismounted, but Girl stayed on her horse and trembled like a leaf in the wind. It was a wonder that she didn’t blow away, but maybe the dampness weighted her down. “How do you know this place?” Tanris asked again, loosening his sword in its sheath.
“The Ancestors showed me.”
The door finally opened, the cat slipped inside as if it owned the place, and an elderly person looked out at me. I could not tell if it was a man or a woman, for it was bundled in layers of quilted fabric and wore an embroidered felt hat from beneath which protruded wisps of gray hair. A map of wrinkles marked the face, and dark brown eyes sunk deep with time gleamed brightly, curiously.
“Are you Serkan?” I asked.
The old one stared at me for the longest time, then slowly blinked and shook his—her—head. “No,” came a voice like a rusty hinge, which didn’t help at all in determining gender, “I am Jelal. Serkan is gone.” The word carried the weight of portent.
“Where?” He should be here. This was his home.
“It has been many years since Serkan joined the Ancestors, Stranger,” Jelal answered slowly, and the dark eyes narrowed even further a
s they studied me thoroughly inside and out. “How do you know of him? Are you of his seed?”
His seed? “No.” I had no idea what to do or what to say, and I had no idea how I knew the name. “I don’t know,” I amended. The examination I received, together with the disconcerting knowledge I somehow possessed, made me uneasy, and I stepped back just as Tanris came up behind me, laying a hand on my shoulder and ruining all plans for escape. Even through my coat the squeeze he gave would leave bruises. “I beg you to forgive my friend,” he said easily. “He’s not quite right.”
I searched for a witty comeback, but Jelal beat me to it. “But he is quite right.” He—she?—seemed more curious than afraid. “He is lost, isn’t he?”
“I’ve never heard it put quite that way, but yes, yes he is.”
“I’m not.” I elbowed Tanris indignantly. He didn’t even have the good grace to grunt.
Jelal stepped back and opened the door wider, waving us in. “Come inside before it rains.”
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Jelal was a he. Jelal’s home didn’t have wind blowing through every cranny or rain leaking through the roof. Jelal also had lovely, thick, warm bean soup flavored with chunks of onion and ham, and he generously offered some to us.
“We really don’t want to take from you,” Tanris protested, and Girl whimpered softly.
“Yes, we do,” I countered. I was a thief. I had no trouble at all with the idea of taking something from someone, especially nice, hot, savory soup. Tanris, naturally, gave me a withering look. “We’d be happy to repay you,” I amended, and the look grew downright icy. He could decimate small villages with a single expression.
Jelal waved his gnarled old hand dismissively. “We have plenty, though I wasn’t expecting that one.” He pointed at Girl. She shrank and held the cat against her chest as though it might protect her, but the cat didn’t want any part of that, so it wriggled away and went to sit by the fire, leaving Girl alone and unprotected from dire pronouncements by eccentric old men.
“But you knew the two of us were coming?” I asked.
“Yes, oh, yes.”
“Are you a wizard?” The thought made the hairs on my neck stand up, but Jelal laughed out loud, showing he still had all his teeth. Quite a feat for someone of his advanced years.
“You have nothing to fear from Old Jelal,” he said, not really answering the question. He ladled soup into big, deep bowls and passed them around. I watched carefully lest he administer another draught of poison, and waited for him to eat first—a herculean task with the delicious aroma wafting to my nose, tantalizing me. I nearly wept with the first bite, eyes closing in sheer bliss.
Tanris nudged me, spoiling the ecstasy of the moment.
While the four of us ate, the old man asked us questions about where we’d come from, what the weather was like, and what we had seen. Normal, inquisitive questions asked of travelers by regular people that stayed home to tend their hearths and farms and animals.
He had a grandson, apparently, who lived with him during the winter months. His name was Young Jelal, and he had gone to the village on an errand, though Jelal expected his return any time. I couldn’t decide if Old Jelal was trying to keep us on our best behavior with a threat or if he really did have a grandson. Barring attempts to poison or enchant us, he was safe from me, for I had no particular desire to abscond with his felt hat, even if it was a lovely shade of emerald all stitched about with figures of stylized vines and birds. I thought I saw one of them looking at me, which I found vaguely unsettling, so I focused my attentions on my soup. Either his skills rivaled Mrs. Mayor in Uzuun, or it been so long since I’d had real food that anything hot and properly salted would taste divine.
Thick pelts and colorful quilts hung on the walls, drawing my eye, and although I didn’t want to tuck any of them away in my pockets, either, I stared at them in fascination as I ate. They didn’t exactly match those in my vision, but were awfully similar. Changed, perhaps, with the passing of generations.
Suppressing a shiver, I listened to Old Jelal’s raspy voice and let Tanris do most of the talking, though one couldn’t label him as particularly loquacious. The more I listened, the more I saw how vague he was, and I turned my attention upon him curiously. He had, I suppose, every right to keep our purpose private and I would have been very angry if he had developed a case of verbal vomit. He didn’t lie, exactly, but slipped right past the truth with an astonishing ease. For weeks, nay years, he’d been honest and blunt and virtuous. What was this?
I got the distinct impression that he was avoiding looking at me altogether, and for some reason it made me want to laugh. It came out as funny little snorts competing with bites of the wonderful soup. Jelal looked at me. Girl looked at me. Tanris ate his soup and a piece of the equally spectacular bread Jelal had made that very morning and which reminded me of Tanris on the roof of the pretty baker’s house and getting a batch of very good bread in repayment for his services.
“He’s not right,” Tanris said again, and tapped the end of his spoon against his temple apologetically.
“What am I not right about, Tanris?” I interjected, trying to get my giggles under control so I could properly contest his unfair and unfounded character assassination.
He met my eyes finally, with an air of deep consideration. “You’re quite mad.”
I snorted again. “One man’s madness is another’s genius and you, friend Tanris, don’t have either.”
His brows lowered in a familiar critical glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You have to possess a brain in order to be either crazy or smart.”
Girl snorted, too, and out of the corner of my eye I saw her duck her head and pay extreme attention to scraping her bowl clean. Humor fairly sparkled around her.
“Have I mentioned that you’re a wooden-head?” Tanris asked with deceptive mildness. Irritation boiled in his eyes.
“Frequently. Usually when my wit outdoes yours.”
A dry, rasping noise came from Old Jelal and his shoulders heaved up and down like a miniature earthquake. I stared at him in consternation, fearing a fit of some sort, which would be deucedly annoying if we were left with a corpse, though it would free us to appropriate his foodstuffs and yes, perhaps his hat. Tanris would object, but Tanris objected to nearly everything I did that wasn’t in cooperative response to one of his direct orders.
“Sir?” Tanris got to his feet.
Jelal wheezed and gasped and shook his shoulders some more, and it dawned on me that he was laughing. No, he’d laughed before, this was outright hilarity, and I had to smile. So far away from civilization, he probably didn’t get much to laugh at, and it didn’t hurt me one little bit that his amusement was at Tanris’s expense. He waved one hand weakly and used the other to wipe his streaming eyes. “I am fine. Very fine.” He coughed and gasped for a moment, leaving us in uncertain suspense. “Young Jelal should meet you. Crazy outlanders.” Reaching for Tanris, he used him to straighten to his unremarkable height. The top of his head barely reached Tanris’s shoulder.
“Grab some of those quilts,” he ordered, gesturing to the blankets covering the walls, “and I will show you where you will sleep.”
The look of bafflement on Tanris’s face nearly rivaled the soup in sheer wonderfulness, and I was still smiling when the old man showed us to the loft over the stable, filled with piles of soft hay and warmed by the heat of the chimney. Who knew one could find heaven in a hayloft? I kept right on grinning like a fool—until Tanris backhanded me in the chest.
— 18 —
Dem Bones
I didn’t so much as twitch all night long, and when I woke it was to the certainty that the hay loft was more comfortable than any bed I’d ever slept in. It took me considerable time to work up the desire to pry my eyes open.
I groped for the silver cylinder on its chain around my neck and had to tug it from beneath my shoulder where it had slipped. I ins
pected it sourly. The minuscule leaves fashioned around both top and bottom made it attractive without being feminine. Thank you, Baron. I hated it. Hated the way it shackled me. I took my two drops. Hated the way it tasted.
The sun had long since risen when I finally crawled out of our marvelous, toasty, dry nest, and I wouldn’t have left it at all except for the rumbling in my belly. For a miracle, Tanris hadn’t jabbed me into wakefulness demanding we continue our journey. Immediately. To my further joy and astonishment, the sun had actually risen and shone magnificently. Oh, there were clouds, to be sure, but they were wildly outnumbered by rays of sunlight. Pack slung over my shoulder, I stood outside the door and gawked at the way the light shone on the scrubby hillside and glimmered from pools and runnels of water. It made my eyes hurt, it was so bright.
“You’ve brought good weather with you,” Old Jelal commented, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. He sat at a little table up against the cottage wall, watching me, looking inscrutable the way only very old people who still possess their wits can do. And wizards. Do not believe I had forgotten how he sidestepped that question. But he invited us in and fed us and gave us a warm place to sleep! you may say. Ha. And I reply, He lulled us with a false sense of security and bought our cooperation with treasures. His food and blankets were water to a man crawling through burning sands in search of—Wait, no, not water. That was a terrible analogy.
“If that is true,” I said, “I wish we had stopped long enough for it to catch up with us while we traveled, for we’ve had nothing but rain and snow and more rain.”
“It is that time of year,” he pointed out reasonably. “Fetch a chair.”
“Where are Tanris and the girl?”
“Tending to the horses.”
As the Crow Flies: An Epic Fantasy Adventure Page 22
