Serpent Catch: Book Two of the Serpent Catch Series

by David Farland

  That seemed to be the crux of the problem. Ayuvah needed to be drawn to the future, not walk to it, so he breathed deeply and opened himself, willed himself to become one with the sky, with the ground, with the worms. He concentrated until his breath came in ragged gasps, until sweat poured from him, but he could not let it in. He looked at the pine tree above him, and wished he could connect to it—wished he could experience life as the tree did for just one moment—except he did not want to feel the worms gnawing at the heart of the tree. He imagined the pain that would cause, to be eaten by worms, and at the last moment he backed away.

  Always before, when he was a child, he had been bad at this. Chaa would ask him to become a flying squirrel, yet Ayuvah feared even the controlled fall, the gut-wrenching landings. Even more, he feared the change he saw in old men as they took their Spirit Walks, the sadness and fatigue.

  His father often told him, “Suppose a man takes a journey and falls in a river, and a little later on, he meets a woman and falls in love, and the next day, he meets a sabertooth and faces death. Without the journey, would the man be the same? If he did not move from his house, perhaps he would be dry, perhaps he would never find love or face the sabertooth.

  “But I tell you truly, in the Land of Shapes, you will see that willingly or not, every person is connected to all of the events of his life by time—to the people he meets, to the incidents that happen to him, and he is defined by this. The man who has loved is vastly different from the man who cannot love. The man who lives in pain is not the same as the man who lives in comfort.

  “The Spirit Walker, by traveling the twisted paths of these journeys, beholds the future. And by speaking at the proper time, he can change a man’s journey. Sometimes he can change the future of all men.”

  Yet to become connected to another, Chaa had to lose himself, take on the evil kwea, the hidden pains, of those around him.

  Ayuvah concentrated on those he loved. He envisioned the smile in little Sava’s eyes, the way she would spend long minutes mesmerized by the path an ant chose to walk across the floor.

  Immediately, a cord of light seemed to burst from his navel, like a giant fiery string, and it shot high into the air and bent away toward Smilodon Bay, and a warm glowing sensation filled his belly. He knew he had connected. He imagined Etanai, his wife, and pictured his arms around her. A second cord burst from his navel and he felt a warm sense of pleasure, for he knew she was there, humming softly at home as she washed her clothes. And so, one by one, he felt for his family—his father and mother, brothers and sisters, until he reached for Chaa’s smallest son, Fatcha. And there, he felt only emptiness, and knew the child no longer existed.

  This knowledge filled him with such pain that the glowing cords snapped, and he lay alone once again, unable to move.

  A great black crow swooped over the trees on stiff feathers. It flapped twice as it landed upon a pine tree luminous with hairs. The crow was dark as night, and tiny purple fireflies swirled around it, blinking from time to time. “You will never be a Spirit Walker,” the crow said, “For you cannot open yourself to the pain of others. That is the problem of having the dire wolf for your Animal Guide. You can inflict pain and death, but you do not take it willingly.”

  “Father,” Ayuvah tried to answer, but he could not speak. The crow eyed him for a moment, then looked at the pine, at the grubs glowing within. It turned its head to the side, then slashed out and grabbed a grub that was crawling near the surface, swallowed it down.

  “Why do you fear pain?” the crow asked. “You are tied to it, whether you recognize it or not. If you could open yourself to it, you would become a Spirit Walker. You could travel home tonight, and see how your brothers and sisters weep for tiny Fatcha and the brave men who died yesterday.”

  Ayuvah wanted to shout out, “Who is dead? How did they die?” But his tongue would not move.

  Instead, the crow hopped from its branch, flapped its wings once, and landed upon Ayuvah’s chest. It tilted one black eye toward him, and stood with its beak open, its purple tongue showing, breathing in a quick pant, the small feathers at its throat fluffed.

  As Ayuvah watched, he looked into the black of the crow’s eye, and instead of his own reflection, he saw carnosaurs swimming in the ocean—a small herd of sixty, climbing a bank near the forests of the south. They were a small breed of carnosaur—no more than six feet in height, twelve in length—with webbed feet for swimming and running in mud.

  Ayuvah had seen them on egg raids—they hid in the brush at the edges of lakes and rivers, and in packs of forty or a hundred they hunted the duckbill dinosaurs that fed on the water plants in the shallows. The Pwi called the small carnosaurs duck-eaters, and feared them worse than the tyrannosaurus, for though the tyrannosaurus was much larger, it was a solitary hunter.

  Ayuvah watched the duck-eaters forage in the forests until they came upon a river, and then they traveled along its bank, looking for prey. They must have traveled for days, for their hunger was ravenous. At last they came to the river’s mouth at Smilodon Bay, and found Fatcha and four other children picking the last of the sweet blackberries at the water’s edge.

  The duck-eaters grabbed the children up, and then broke down a fence to get at a herd of swine. The men of the village came with their spears and their kutows and fought the beasts, and several men and duck-eaters died in battle before the duck-eaters ran back upstream.

  Ayuvah wanted to recoil from the sight, but he could not move, could not close his eyes by will. He did not want to believe that this was real.

  “Has this happened? Or is this a vision of the future?” he wanted to ask, and as if responding to his thoughts, the crow said, “This has already happened.”

  The crow waddled forward, until it stood on Ayuvah’s chin. “Now, look closely into my eye, my son, for I am sending you to your death, and I want you to go calmly, like a warrior.” The crow’s voice faltered, and its beak moved without speaking for a moment.

  The purple fireflies that buzzed around it faded to a mellow gold. “You will go to Bashevgo with the others, and there you must die.”

  ***

  Chapter 24: A Wind in the Aspens

  It was evening, a day after Wisteria’s death. Phylomon had left camp suddenly a dozen hours earlier. Tull’s belly was now knotted with pain, and when Scandal tried to pour water down his throat, Tull accepted it, but only a bit, for even drinking water hurt him.

  Ayuvah had wakened shortly after dawn, shouting incoherently, and when Scandal finally got some food in his belly, Ayuvah sat up, but would not speak of what he had seen. He came to sit beside Tull and wrapped his arms around his knees, withdrawn.

  “Did you walk the paths of the future?” Tull asked.

  Ayuvah considered a moment. “Tcho,” he said. “I will never be good at it.”

  Tull gazed at Ayuvah. It was obvious that he was pained, and Tull wanted to say something to comfort him. “Someday,” Tull said.

  “Perhaps,” Ayuvah agreed.

  Near sundown, a gentle breeze had lifted—a warm breeze blowing from the plains down the channel of the river and out to sea.

  Tull smelled Tirilee before he heard her—a gentle scent like mowed hay and gardenia, both earthy and erotic. His organ swelled at the scent, and for the first time in over a day, he stood.

  Phylomon’s head bobbed between the pines by the water’s edge, and as he drew near, Tull saw Tirilee walking behind him.

  Tirilee watched Tull from the distance, and she walked as if moved by a dream, gracefully, almost floating upon the ground.

  She wore Phylomon’s gray robe, and it was open at the front, so that Tull could see that she was naked but for the robe.

  The blue man seemed bent with fatigue and his brow was furrowed. He avoided Tirilee’s presence, and Tull could see the pain and desire that her touch aroused in him, for the blue man was not immune to her.

  Phylomon came near. “Take him,” he told the Dryad.

  Ti
rilee watched Tull with profound desire in her eyes, and waited, as if begging permission. Her robe was open, showing the curve of her white breasts, the V of dark hair between her long pale legs.

  Tull did not speak, gave her no sign, and she opened her mouth to sing, as if no answer were the same as yes, and when her breath hit him, it raised the hair upon his head, and he would have sworn that it scorched him like a burning wind off the desert. Her voice rose like the song of a meadowlark, each note round and beautiful, and her voice came husky with desire, and this surprised him, for Tirilee’s voice had always been high and clear, like the voice of a flute. She watched his eyes as she sang:

  Come with me, there’s nothing to go home to.

  You need light, and fire is the answer.

  In my bed, I the sun is ever-rising,

  Come and taste the daybreak upon my forest floor.

  Although night approached, the air around Tirilee seemed to glow, and Tull realized that the aphrodisiacs that blew off her must have affected his sight, for everything seemed more clearly defined, more lucid.

  Yet for a moment, his vision clouded, and instead of Tirilee, he seemed to see Wisteria before him, beckoning. He blinked, and saw only Tirilee.

  He wanted to beg her to leave, for he still loved Wisteria, still mourned for her, but the aphrodisiac wind seemed to lock his jaw, make the tongue swell in his throat. To speak would have required more effort than he could muster. Phylomon leaned against a tree, and Tull saw how much the effort cost him, for the aphrodisiacs were strong. Ayuvah stared at Tull in dismay; and Scandal’s face twisted in envy, yet he stood as if rooted by the fire. Tirilee sang,

  Take my hand, before the world grows colder.

  You need warmth, and fire is the answer.

  If you ache, with a kiss I can heal you

  or lift you like a cinder, that is fire-borne.

  She shrugged, and Phylomon’s gray robe slipped from her, and Tull saw how her breasts had filled, how her hips had curved. It was as if in the past few weeks she had evolved into a new creature, a being of such unearthly beauty that he had never seen the like.

  She was still singing, but the potent aphrodisiacs muddled his thoughts and he could not make out the words, yet her desire was imprinted upon his heart. He’d never looked into her green eyes and really seen how deep those pools were. He’d never noticed how each silver hair upon her head, when stirred by the wind, took on a life of its own. Her small strong nose and her breastbone were so exquisitely chiseled that if he were a sculptor, he could spend his life trying to capture their graceful curves, and in the end he would fail.

  The desire he’d felt for Wisteria, the grief he felt at her loss, sloughed off as if they were old clothing, and he felt as if he were leaving them behind. She sang, but he could not hear her, he was so entranced by her beauty.

  A tear began streaming down her cheek, she ached with such desire, and Tull reached up and touched it. Touch a Dryad, and she will destroy you, he thought. He touched the tear to his lips, let it burn. He felt a cold chill as the goddess Zhofwa blew her kisses upon him.

  Tirilee took his hand and began to lead, and he followed, knowing that this was his destiny, that whatever else happened in life, giving himself to her now was at once the greatest gift he could give her and the greatest joy he would ever receive. She led him through the dark pines, under the night, up into the hills and into the moonlight. He felt no fatigue, no pain, only a dizzy sense of floating.

  They climbed through an oat field whitened by moonlight, and with each step they left dark shadows in the grass, until he saw the aspen trees, glowing like a silver waterfall in the moonlight, their dry golden leaves whispering like the voice of water.

  He carried her then, the frail Dryad, and his skin touched the sleek warmth of her and he seemed to come alive, as if he were suddenly born to the sensation of touch. When they reached the aspens, he followed the path into their heart until he reached the bower of leaves. Tirilee stroked his chest and arms.

  He stopped, wanting only her touch, wanting only the warmth of her flesh against him forever. “Fire is the answer,” she said, and she placed her slender arms around his chest and hugged. Her powerful muscles rippled beneath the flesh. His skin burned with the desire for her touch.

  “I will always love you. I will never leave you,” she said. She wiped the sweat from her own forehead onto his cheeks, burning him. For a moment, he held back, thinking of Wisteria, but Tirilee kissed his lips, and the blindness took him. When he had first loved Wisteria, he felt the goddess blow her kisses through the open window. But with Tirilee, his body wrenched as the goddess entered him, never to leave.…

  ***

  Chapter 25: Devotion

  Tull woke to the fragrance of woodsmoke. He reached to touch Tirilee and found that she was gone.

  He lay with his eyes closed and imagined that she must be cooking. He thought about how he would need to build a house, need to hunt for moose or cave bear before winter set in, and the thought made him smile. Holed up for the winter in a cabin with Tirilee. Holed up for all winters to come. Though the enchantments of the Dryads often entrapped the unwary Pwi, Tull could imagine no sweeter prison.

  He sat up and looked out through the entranceway of this … nest … to see if Tirilee was naked. But Tirilee was not there: only Scandal, bending over a small fire; he was fat, not too seductive, and fully dressed.

  Tull’s breach cloth lay on the leaves beside him. He got up and put it on. He went out and stretched in the sunlight. Scandal had set the fire, and Ayuvah and Phylomon were nearby, picking up twigs.

  “Where’s Tirilee?” Tull asked.

  “Oh, uh, her,” Scandal said in a bewildered tone. “She’s gone.”

  Tull just watched Scandal, his mouth opening in disbelief.

  “He’s telling the truth,” Phylomon said. “She left several hours ago. She won’t be back.”

  “I don’t understand,” Tull said. “What did you do to her?”

  “We did nothing.” Phylomon answered. “It was her choice. She said she’d been kept in a cage most of her life. Didn’t like it. So she didn’t feel up to keeping any slaves today.”

  “I … uh, I …” Tull said, shaking his head from side to side.

  “Her Time of Devotion has come,” Phylomon said. “Her love has turned to the trees. What happened last night … means little to her now. In the end, I think she wanted you, wanted you to stay with her. She knows that you would have. But it would have been cruel to you, and Tirilee was never cruel.”

  Tull stared at him dumbfounded. He could not quite grasp that something as magnificent as the night they had spent together was over. “Which way did she go?” Tull asked, and it seemed that he choked the words out. His throat felt very dry.

  “You wouldn’t be able to find her, no matter how hard you try. She will go in search of aspens somewhere, and she will find herself a grove. You could search for her tracks, but she will keep herself hidden.”

  Tull glanced around, searching the tree line at the end of the field below him, trying to look all directions at once.

  “Try not to grieve for her,” Phylomon added. “You don’t have to grieve for her. She’s still alive, and in her womb she carries your progeny, and she will give birth from time to time. Think back upon her with joy, but don’t waste your life searching for her.”

  “He’s right, my brother whom I love,” Ayuvah said in Pwi. “She came to free you from your grief. Now you can come with us.”

  “Where?” Tull said.

  “To Denai, first off, to get a boat,” Scandal said. “Then to Bashevgo. We thought we might try our luck hunting for eggs at the Straits of Zerai.”

  Tull laughed in resignation, a guffaw that was half pain. A tear came to his eye. Tull felt down inside him—the pain for his loss of Wisteria was there, and a small pain for the loss of Tirilee, but he also felt the kwea of the night before, the resonance of a moment sweeter than any he’d ever imagined.
/>   Part of him would always love her, always want her. Yet he was free.

  He looked at his hands. They were not shaking. He made a fist. “Let’s go then,” he said before he had a chance to change his mind.

  ***

  Chapter 26: Oppression Gate

  The men loaded their packs and prepared to leave the aspens. Tull didn’t know which way to go. Scandal would head for Denai, a city known among the Pwi as “The Slave Gate,” for the pirates of Bashevgo sold their captives to brokers in Denai who then carried them away forever to the heart of Craal.

  Phylomon and Ayuvah prepared for the long trip to the mainland, south of Bashevgo, on the far side of the Straits of Zerai. The two men would have to sneak through the outskirts of Denai to steal a wagon, but most of their trip would be over the mountains.

  “We’ll steal a wagon and team and meet you in ten days at Castle Rock,” Phylomon told Scandal. “When you see the first big island to the north, you’ll know that you’re entering the straits. Castle Rock is to the South. The bay is shallow, so come in at high tide. You should get there a week before us. Use your time to hunt for eggs along the shore at low tides. The ones I saw in South Bay were sandy brown, six inches across. Luck to you.”

  “Ayaah, Ayaah,” Scandal said, plainly worried. He took a wine bottle from his pack, drank several gulps. “I don’t know if I can manage the boat. We’ll need a thirty-footer, and one man at the sails.…”

  “Can barely manage,” Phylomon said. He stood thinking for a moment. “I cannot go with you. I’ve been at war with Craal for far too long. As for the Pwi, you cannot expect them to go into that evil city.”

  “Perhaps I could buy a slave?”

  “The papers I forged will gain you entrance to Denai,” Phylomon said, “But I fear the bank accounts of Lord Tantos are more secure. You could steal a slave, but you will find it hard. Pwi slaves are far more afraid of the wrath of the Blade Kin than of captivity.”