by Joni Sensel
"What--?"
Nace leapt forward, towing her through the trees toward the abbey. Understanding only his urgency, Ariel ran as fast as she could, but she was built more for walking than running, and her legs were already tired. He dragged her, stumbling, around briars and boulders. With his free hand, he snatched a thick stick from the ground, rapping it against trees they passed. The battering echoed like the hammering of a frenzied woodpecker.
They burst onto a narrow, goat-worn track beneath a stone ledge. Candlelight glowed from the abbey below, and Zeke was walking midway down the slope. His white linen shirt floated over his legs, which were lost in the twilight.
"Oh, Zeke, were you spying on us?" Ariel demanded, before she realized he was not skulking away.
Zeke turned, peering toward them. "Uh! Do you really think--"
Wham. Nace slapped his branch on the stone alongside them. Ariel took the whack as a threat.
So did Zeke. He groaned. "No! Just leave me alone, Nace. And stop rubbing it in! Or do I have to make you? Don't forget the stones are my friends, and I'll use them." As Nace pulled Ariel farther downslope, Zeke cursed and marched back up to meet them.
Nace ignored Zeke's approach. He veered wide to the outer ridge of the track and pointed his stick at the ledge. Ariel followed his gaze. A low, gliding shadow slid over the rock above Zeke. Her heart skipped. The shape tensed to pounce.
"Zeke, stop! It's a lion!" She could smell it now, too, a pungent musk on the breeze. All she could remember was never to run. Running would trigger a chase they would lose.
Nace thrust his stick at Ariel and stuck his fingers in his mouth. His whistle sliced through the air. She cringed from the blast. The mountain lion hunkered, but a growl floated down. It was hungry enough for a fight.
Nace threw Ariel an urgent gesture that she took as advice to make noise. As she opened her mouth, he bent, grabbed her thighs, and lifted her on his shoulders. He'd done it before, playing, but never so abruptly. The shout on her tongue came out as a squeal.
Zeke was no Kincaller, but he seemed to remember every lesson he learned, so by the time Ariel regained her balance, he was facing the cat with his legs and arms splayed to look larger. He eased away from the ledge, singing loud nonsense sounds to the stones.
"Go away!" Ariel yelled. Her voice bounced as Nace jogged with her to Zeke. "Eat somebody else! You can't have him! Or any of us!"
The shadow wiggled, still tempted, still primed to leap. Its growl rose to a hiss. Ariel brandished her stick. Her other hand clenched on Zeke's collar to unite them. She held her breath, searching the ledge. From this angle the lion was lost in shadow. If it still chose to attack them together, they'd feel its claws before seeing it move. And with a choice of prey, it would strike at the weakest one--her.
"Nace," she wailed, "tell it we taste bad or something!"
His fingers squeezed tight on her legs. Then he, too, grabbed Zeke's shirt and pulled.
They backed as one down the slope. Ariel cocked her stick to throw it but thought better of casting away their only weapon. Instead, she kept shouting.
Zeke's singing had greater effect. The stony ledge answered with an echoing crack.
In the subsequent hush, Ariel felt blind and helpless. But the stone popping beneath it must have startled the lion. Through her legs she felt the tension drain out of Nace.
"It's gone?"
He nodded, exhaling hard. He didn't lower her, but he let go of Zeke's shirt.
After more backward paces, they turned toward the abbey. Nace whistled a note of relief and amazement that made Ariel's heart lurch, because it told her he'd expected the lion to pounce. Only Zeke's rapport with the stone had saved them.
"Wait, Nace. Stop." She couldn't tell how much of the mottling in her vision was the night and how much was a threatening faint. "I need to breathe."
He obeyed, one hand stroking her shin.
"Did you hear it stalking Zeke?" She knew how well he could sense the moods of wild creatures, but her question helped stave off that encroaching blackness.
He nodded and gestured. From above and in the dark, Ariel felt his movements more than she saw them, but she was familiar enough with his signs that she still understood: I heard excitement. Hunger. And I heard Zeke too close.
In an unsteady voice, Zeke said to his feet, "Thank you. The stones might have tried to warn me, but I... wasn't really paying attention." He had trouble doing it, but at last he raised his face to direct his thanks to Nace.
Nace shrugged awkwardly beneath Ariel's weight, no more eager to lock eyes than Zeke was.
"Let me down," she whispered. Nace lowered her. She grabbed his hand and threw her other arm around Zeke in a hug.
"That was awful," she said into Zeke's shirt. "I'd die without either of you. Let's get home."
"Good idea."
She released Zeke. But before her feet moved, she wrapped an even more fervent hug around Nace.
As they hurried the short way to the abbey, Ariel told them about Elbert's bones on the slab. Nace frowned and shook his head but didn't try to elaborate. Ariel remembered he'd left his slate in the trees. In moments like these, she hated his muteness.
Once she'd finished her story, Zeke said, "That explains this." He pulled a rumpled sock from his pocket. "Sorry. I found it in the meadow and thought it looked like one of yours. I wondered how you lost only one."
Growling, Ariel snatched it. "It beat me home! Stupid crow. I'll have to burn it." To Nace, she added, "The sock, not the bird. But don't tempt me."
Silence fell until Zeke said, "Tonight's lion might be the same one who gnawed the bones clean. I'm glad he didn't get a fresh set from me."
"Don't even say that." But Ariel couldn't help wondering if Zeke might be right, and her imagination honed the idea. Some Fishers believed shark meat gave them the shark's knowledge, and Reapers had similar hopes about stags. If the lion had swallowed Elbert's memories, too, Zeke's stalking may have been no random hunt, but a grudge.
And anything could happen here while she was gone. It might be harder than she'd thought to leave him and Nace.
Chapter 5
"You're going farwalking," Zeke said when Ariel walked into the Great Room before bedtime. "Already."
She stopped, her tainted sock in her hand. She'd come to throw it into the fire, hoping to avoid awkward questions. The hearth benches were usually empty this late. At least Zeke was alone. "Did the stones tell you that?"
"Scarl did," he answered. "But why didn't you?"
She squirmed. "I just decided. I was going to announce it at breakfast." So much for her plan to make sure both young men heard it at once.
"Can I come?"
She stared in dismay. Zeke joined her trips only rarely, and this would not be a good time to change that habit. Her mouth flapped as she sought a reply less harsh than "no."
"Ariel, how often do I ask you for a favor?"
She had to admit the answer was never. "But you've said farwalking is boring."
"Sometimes it is, but I want to go with you this time."
"Why? Did Scarl tell you where I mean to go?"
"No. Where?"
"My question first. Why?" She wondered how much he'd admit.
Zeke's eyes slid from hers. "I just feel like getting away from the abbey. And... the lion."
"You're a terrible liar."
"Fine." Emotions battled on his face. "I asked the stones about Elbert."
So that's why he'd been on the hillside that evening. A chill ran through her. "What did they say?"
"I only wanted to make you feel better! I didn't expect any answer except that he'd passed into dust, which is how they speak of something that dies. The stones don't bother about people much. We're here and gone too fast--"
"I got it, Zeke! What did they say?"
His voice fell so she had to move closer. "They started muttering to each other about rocks rolling uphill. When I asked what that meant, they fell silent. And they wou
ldn't explain."
Ariel wondered if Zeke might be making it up. "How is that about Elbert?"
"I don't know. It might not be, which is why I didn't tell Scarl. It just makes me nervous. Rocks rolling uphill would be wrong. And now you're being secretive, too. Are you going back to Nace's village or something?"
"No." She told him her plans.
He blanched but did not try to dissuade her. "Please, let me come. Please. Don't forget I was there the day Elbert died. I can help you avoid rockfalls, too. They happen a lot in spring thaws, and I can hear any big stones that are thinking of moving."
His desperation was hard to resist. At last she replied, "Let me think about it." What she really meant to do was seek Scarl's help. Maybe he'd deny Zeke's request so she wouldn't have to disappoint him herself.
She turned to leave.
"Um... sock?" Zeke said.
"Oh." Ariel flung the sock to the fire, where the wool twisted and charred. The trembling black ashes made her think of the crow. "Maybe Scarl and I were the rocks rolling uphill as we climbed up there today."
Zeke took up the poker to stir the ashes. "Maybe."
When she left him, she paced the halls for a while, despite tired feet, before stopping at Scarl's half-open door. Candlelight beckoned from behind it. She peeked in.
"I was wondering if you would come in," he said, without glancing up from the timepiece he'd acquired on their travels. He'd been tinkering with it all winter, trying to understand if not actually revive it, and now he probed at its works with a needle in the candle's thin light. "What's got you so restless?"
Ariel flopped onto the floor beside him and drew a deep breath. "Boys."
"Ah." His voice hardened. "Any particular boy I need to speak with?"
"Maybe, but not for the reason you think." She told him about Zeke's request.
"You know I leave farwalking decisions like this to your instincts," he said. "Follow them."
"I want your advice, though. Or... your help in telling him no."
Scarl set aside his timepiece with care so the tiny parts did not spill. "I'll enforce your decision, if that's what it is. But I won't take the blame for a message you're reluctant to give."
Ariel wrinkled her nose. He saw too much sometimes.
"And if you truly want my advice," he added, "if I were you, Ariel, I might let Zeke come."
"Why? I was hoping to escape from all that. Their competition is driving me crazy."
"Well... I don't think it's my place to meddle in this," Scarl said. "But I have eyes in my head. Have you heard the old saying, 'Absence floods the heart with fondness'? I think the more you shut Zeke out of your life, the more he will pine to be in it."
Ariel scowled. "And I'm so unpleasant that traveling with me will put him off me for good?"
Scarl laughed. "Now you're putting words in my mouth. You asked for my thoughts. I gave them. You're the one who has to decide." He took up his timepiece again.
"You're on his side, though." She sounded like a petulant child, and she knew it, but childish arguments held an odd comfort.
"I didn't know there were sides to be chosen," he said. "I see the sparks dancing between you and Nace, and I know what that's like. But I also feel for Zeke. He loves you, too."
Ariel picked at a fray in the hem of her shirt. "If Zeke comes, maybe Nace should also."
"As you will. I can put up with both if you can."
She snorted. "You mean you'll hammer peace between them, if you have to."
"Or tie and gag them, perhaps."
Ariel's grin soured. "I'll let you know how much rope to bring with us."
When she returned to her room, a crow's feather lay on the doorsill. Glad it wasn't a bone, Ariel picked it up and carried it to her walking stick.
She'd already lashed Elbert's knife to the staff. The blade was well swaddled; she wouldn't give it the slightest chance to draw blood again. It had pleased her to bind it, retribution for once having been tied up herself. She'd made sure the shark's tooth on the handle still showed. When she took up her stick, the heel of her hand rested comfortably on the butt of the knife. Now she tied on the feather so it would flutter around the knife in a breeze. Finished, she laid the staff in the hall. Even with it bound, she didn't trust the knife enough to sleep in the same room with it.
Still, she was shocked to find the staff gone in the morning. Her search had just started when she ran into Zeke.
"I don't have it," he said. "But I know who does. Nace."
"Thanks." She shoved past.
"He was down by the creek," Zeke called. "Can I come with you or not?"
For an instant, she thought he meant then. She turned back, a curt response ready. Then his meaning struck her--along with the recognition that he'd never done anything except try to help her. Her heart and her instincts both gave the same answer.
"Yes."
His huge smile shone. She did her best to match it.
She found Nace hunched at the stream, rubbing her staff with wet sand to smooth it. His movements were forceful, as though strong emotion went into his work. Ariel wondered if he knew of her plans. She could never tell how much he overheard in people's thoughts and how much he depended on words. Prepared to mend damage, she bid him a good morning.
He looked up and smiled. After rinsing the staff, he offered her the grip to test it.
Relieved, she took his arm instead. "I'm going farwalking soon. You figured that out, huh?"
He shrugged and waggled the staff.
"I want you to come."
He set down the staff and pulled her to sit on a stone with him, close. Cupping her face with both hands, he looked in through her eyes. Ariel's whole body ached to press up against him, and his lips parted, so although he held her at bay, she thought he might answer her with a kiss. But then he clamped his lips tight. He took out his charcoal and slate, which he must have retrieved early that morning, yet he didn't write. He shook his head slowly: No.
"No?" Disbelief twisted her voice. "You won't come? Zeke's coming! I want you with me, too."
He shook his head again, closed his eyes, and then opened them to scratch on his slate. He wrote more slowly than usual, with the slate held so Ariel could not see the symbols until he was done. Which was just fine with her. She didn't want to read any marks that explained his refusal.
When at last he turned the slate to her, she read with reluctance. "You're a butterfly, Ariel," she read aloud. Her heart swelled and admitted some hope. But there were many more marks on the slate.
She read on. "I'm not stupid--" With a grunt of outrage, she stopped. "Nobody said you were!"
He shook the slate at her to finish.
"I'm not stupid," she repeated. "If I close my hand on you, it will either crush you or send you flitting away. I can only keep still and hope you alight." She looked up. "But I've already lit, Nace! On you!"
He ripped a dead frond from a fern and slowly wiped clean his marks, shaking his head.
Jealous of the attention he was giving the slate, she snatched it. "Forget this! Look at me!"
He did better than that. His fingertip traced a sign on her cheek that she knew by feel: love.
"Then why won't you come?" she whispered. "Is it..." She bit her lip. "Is it because I couldn't tell Zeke no?"
He dropped his gaze to consider, and she saw that her words held some truth. Gently he took back the slate to scratch out more symbols. Dread weighted her heart as he wrote.
If I go with you and Zeke, the marks said, he will make me close my hand. I know myself well enough to realize that. And I think Zeke knows it, too.
She didn't know what to say. He'd expressed her own fear that the young men's competition might quench her love for them both.
He set the slate aside, smiled weakly, and offered his hand. She took it, but she felt more like she was drowning and grasping for a lifeline than holding hands with the young man she loved.
"Oh, Nace. Maybe I shouldn't go after all.
"
He wrapped his arms around her as if to keep her. Then he let go and reached again for his slate --which, just at the moment, Ariel hated.
Go, Farwalker, he wrote. My fingers will be here outstretched.
Before they went into the abbey, Nace kissed her at last. Her lips throbbed with a kissing she would not soon forget. She was terrified it might linger in her heart as the last, not just for a few weeks but for the rest of her life.
Trying not to think of the future, she spent most of the day fussing with wood mush. Yesterday Zeke had lashed linen to sticks as if making a needlepoint frame. Now they dunked his frame into their cooking pot and raised it to drain out the water, leaving a layer of mush on the cloth like sand on high ground after a flood. Unlike sand, though, once the wood mush had dried they could peel it up in a sheet. It was stiffer than cloth, but light and much faster to make. Ariel used a charred stick to draw her Farwalker's mark on one corner.
"It works!" She jumped up to hug Zeke and then froze. So many hugs might not be wise.
Pretending not to notice her halt, he raised the paper to the light. "Thinner would be better. Let me try another."
Ariel backed away. "I'll get sticks for making more frames."
Even working indoors in the evenings, with their paper drying by the fire, they barely used up the wood mush before Thursday arrived.
Nace did not see them off. He'd released the goats early and must have wandered away with them. Though his absence from the abbey yard stung, Ariel had expected as much. Their parting before bedtime last night had been somber.
"Don't let him tempt the lions," she asked Ash, who'd come out for goodbyes. "Please make sure he's inside dawn and dusk."
"I'd sooner convince the birds not to sing than to pen up your Nace," Ash said kindly. "But I'll try to advise him when he comes in for meals, and I'll ask the trees to watch over him. Don't worry. Nace is a wildling himself. He's not likely to lose sight of their ways."
"Good days until we return, Ash," said Scarl, their packhorse's reins in his hand.
