by Colt, K. J.
He groaned. “I remember now. But where is Thilstain?”
“Would that be the balding woodsman with the belly?” I questioned.
“No, Honored Thilstain is a priest. The other was just a stranger, hired to safeguard us on the way to Whitestone Abbey.”
“I’m afraid your escort is dead,” I told him. “I don’t know what became of the old priest. The last I saw of him was his back as he fled into the trees.”
The boy sighed, sounding relieved. “So he has escaped? Then he may return with aid.”
“I doubt that,” I said. “He doesn’t know where you are or even if you’re alive. Besides, I imagine he’s too giddy with joy just now over his own safety to spare much thought for yours.”
I sensed the boy’s disappointment, but all he said was, “Even if he can’t help me, I suppose the fact that he escaped is cause for thankfulness. I wouldn’t wish him harm, dour man though he was. No, I shouldn’t have said that. It’s wrong to criticize a man of the robe. Please, forget you heard it.”
I grinned into the darkness. “I’m scarcely in a position to think less of you for a stray comment. An outlaw has greater wrongs to her credit.”
He sounded suddenly alert. “You’re one of those murderous thieves, then?”
“I’m afraid so,” I said dryly. “But you’ve no cause to fear me. Even I don’t kill Honored Ones.”
“But you do hold them prisoner,” he pointed out.
“No one’s a prisoner here,” I said. “We brought you to our camp to keep you alive. Think of yourself as a kind of guest. For now, just forget everything else and concentrate on recovering. You’ve had a near brush with death.”
“I feel like it,” he admitted. “You’re sure I’m not dying?”
“Positive,” I said. “Try and think of something besides the pain. Tell me about yourself. You know my name, but I’ve yet to learn yours.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think of it. I’m Terrac of Deep Pool. That’s a settlement near Three Hills in Cros, a long way from here. Honored Thilstain and I were on the road for weeks to get this far.”
His words cut off abruptly as he sucked in a great breath at what I supposed must be a particularly sharp throb of pain. It was a moment before he was able to continue with, “The Honored One goes to Whitestone on pilgrimage, while I journey there to join the priesthood, as was my father’s dying wish. Everyone said if my mother were living, it would have been her wish as well.”
He gasped those last words out in short, panting breaths. As I heard him grinding his teeth against the pain, I hesitated to ask what was on my mind. But I needed to know.
“You’re not already a priest then?” I asked.
“Not yet, but Thilstain was instructing me.”
This isn’t good news, I thought uneasily. “I advise you to keep that fact to yourself,” I told him. “The outlaws spared you for the sake of your priesthood. If they learn you’re not an Honored, they’ll have no compunction at killing you.”
“An upright man doesn’t lie,” he pompously informed me.
“Then that man sets little store by his life,” I answered. But sensing he was going to remain stubborn on the issue, I switched to a more persuasive tone. “Besides, you don’t have to lie exactly. The assumption has already been made. It would be enough simply to hold your peace and let folk believe what they will.”
His tone was hesitant. “But that’s little different from a lie.”
“What does it matter?” I demanded, losing patience. “What’s one small lie to a lot of cutthroats anyway? Give them the truth and they’ll kill you for thanks.”
The boy either lacked the will to argue further or he couldn’t summon the breath to do so.
“You should rest now,” I said. “But think on what I’ve told you. I haven’t gone to all this trouble only to see you kill yourself as soon as you get a chance to open your mouth.”
“I am grateful to you,” he said humbly. “I’ve much to thank you for.”
“Forget it. Do you need anything?”
He asked for a drink of water, so I crept off to the nearby pool, filled a skin with the cool, clear water from the falls, and brought it back to him. After drinking thirstily, he quickly sank into an exhausted slumber.
The next day, noise and activity were kept to a minimum around camp to afford quiet for Dradac. I doubt anyone even remembered Terrac, the boy priest, unless they looked up to see me slithering in and out of the shelter all day, waiting on his needs.
He fared even worse today, waking rarely and only for short lengths of time. He gave no sign he remembered me or last night’s conversation. He moaned and tossed around until he finally tore his stitches open and I had to fetch Javen to repair them. I felt relief each time the injured boy sank down again into a fitful rest.
It was a long day for me because my charge lacked strength to do anything for himself. I fed him, coaxed sips of water down his throat, and changed his bandages. Come nightfall, I was exhausted as I lay down to sleep. As I sprawled on the hard-packed earth beside his sleeping form, a numbing chill stole over the ground. Scooting over to press my back against the still, warm body beside me, I fell asleep wondering what would become of Terrac of Deep Pool and whether or not he would prove worth my efforts.
The following morning, Brig returned, and from the moment he strode into camp, things began to improve. He took over the larger share of the work in nursing Terrac and looked impressed with what I had done for him. He didn’t ask for details on how the priest boy came under my care, and I didn’t offer them, knowing he wouldn’t approve of my having been placed in such a volatile situation, where it might easily had been me injured instead of the others.
Under Brig’s care, Terrac’s health steadily improved. Soon the day came when, with assistance, he could drag himself out of the dark hut and into the sunshine. Brig and I propped his back against the sun-warmed rock at the cave’s entrance, and he would sit there, face tilted toward the sky, for hours at a time. I couldn’t tell if he was engaged in some sort of priestly meditation or just resting.
At first, he seemed uncomfortable when his fellow invalid, Dradac, began joining him. I couldn’t see what he had to be disturbed by. The giant would only sit quietly by his side, making feeble attempts at whittling one-handed while letting his bad shoulder soak up the sun’s rays. Javen assured the giant he would regain the use of his arm, but the healing process was going to be slow.
Over the next few weeks, Terrac came to accept Dradac’s company, and the giant became one of the few exceptions to Terrac’s general rule of contempt for the outlaws. Brig too earned a measure of respect, probably for having cared for him during his convalescence, and even I was tolerated in a condescending-but-not-terribly-hostile way. However, it quickly became apparent no one else would be fortunate enough to penetrate Terrac’s favored circle.
CHAPTER SIX
SPRINGTIME LENGTHENED INTO SUMMER, AND the nights grew warm, the days uncomfortably hot and sticky. As soon as Terrac had recovered enough that I needn’t fear for him any longer, I moved back into the cave. I had my own semiprivate space there, a cozy alcove with the waterfall sheeting down one side to form a thin screen between the outside world and me. I didn’t mind the dim light or the lack of space. At this time of year, the slight dampness on the walls and floor was pleasant, and I could roll over and stretch my hand out to touch the splashing fountain as it cascaded downward. The cool water was refreshing on hot nights.
But Terrac couldn’t be persuaded to move into the cave with the rest of us. Even when the brown needles fell away from his flimsy pine-bough shelter, leaving only a naked frame of bare branches, he remained outdoors. I think it was the company inside he objected to. I was discovering he had a definite sense of superiority over the rest of us, and I teased him this was unbecoming in a boy destined for priestly vows. He only sniffed unapologetically and cajoled me into helping him contrive a sturdier hut beneath the trees.
One morning,
only a few days after the building of the new hut, Terrac and I were crouched together along the bank of the stream bordering the camp. He was looking on with squeamish disgust as I gutted a rabbit for our breakfast when Rideon approached.
The brigand captain glared down on Terrac and stated his object without preamble. “It has come to my notice that you are able to move about again, boy.”
Terrac nodded cautiously. I could see he was nervous in the outlaw’s presence but striving to hide it.
Rideon said, “If that’s the case, it appears the time has come for you to make a decision. I’m going to lay two choices before you. There is no third alternative, so don’t ask for one. Give an answer I don’t like, and the question will be taken from your hands altogether. Understand?”
Terrac swallowed. “I suppose so.”
“Good. These are your options. Firstly, you can swear on your honor to forever make your home in Dimmingwood with us. You’ll earn your keep here with menial tasks around the camp, same as Ilan does, and never set foot beyond the borders of the forest again.”
Terrac’s eyes widened in alarm, and I could see him forming a refusal, but Rideon didn’t allow him time to get out the response. “Or,” the outlaw continued, “should that idea not appeal to you, you may choose the second alternative—refusing to take the oath and thus being put to a quick death. Priest boy or not, my generosity extends only so far, and I won’t risk a large-mouthed brat wandering loose to tell my enemies exactly where to hunt down my band.”
I held my breath waiting for Terrac to say something foolish, and he didn’t disappoint me.
“You don’t seem to care that the oath you’re asking of me will change my life’s plans,” he protested.
Rideon shrugged. “I wasn’t aware I was advocating one option over the other. I’m merely here to accept the first choice or to execute the latter, should it be your preference.” He tapped the blade at his side for emphasis. “The ultimate decision is entirely yours.”
Terrac flicked a frightened glance at the black blade, drew a deep breath, and appeared to startle even himself with the words that spilled from him. “I swear on my life and honor that I’ll never leave the boundaries of this wood as long as I breathe. Not without the express permission of the outlaw, Rideon the Red Hand.”
Rideon was the only one of us who appeared unsurprised. “A reasonable decision, priest boy. If ever you should rethink it, my blade and I will be on hand.” He flashed his teeth in a grim smile and left us.
Terrac immediately looked miserable, and I suspected he was thinking of how, with a few short words, he had destroyed his hopes of entering the priesthood. In an attempt to cheer him I said, “It isn’t so bad, you know. Maybe you’ll come to like it here. And at least you’re alive, which is more than anyone would’ve expected on the day you came.”
He didn’t look much comforted.
Later that day, I was kneeling beside Dradac, who was helping me repair an old knife that had lost its handle, when the heavy scuff of approaching boots alerted me to another arrival. Without looking up, I sensed it was Brig.
In a moment, his voice confirmed it.
“Is it true, Dradac?” Brig demanded angrily, ignoring my presence. “I’ve had my suspicions since the spring, but what I’ve heard from Nib today confirms it. Was Ilan with you when you confronted those travelers and nearly had yourself killed?”
My stomach lurched. I’d always known it was only a matter of time before he discovered the extent of my involvement in the episode that brought Terrac to us, and I had an idea there would be trouble when that information surfaced. I just hoped I wouldn’t be present for it. It was good my face was turned away from Brig then because I was sure my guilt was clearly written in my expression.
Dradac affected innocence. “What’s this? Who said she was there?”
“Did you imagine I’d need to be told?” Brig asked. “I run up to Molehill for a few days and return to find an injured boy priest encamped in our midst and Ilan fluttering around his sickbed. Who else would have spared him?”
Dradac said, “What makes you so certain it wasn’t me? Do you think I would murder a helpless boy wearing the robe of an Honored One? Imagine how many years bad luck that’d bring me.”
“Drop the pretense. You’re only making me angrier,” said Brig.
The giant sighed. “All right, I confess. She was with me when we got the signal about the trespassers, so I let her come along to meet them. I wasn’t planning to expose her to any real danger. But they appeared a harmless group, and I thought it would be an exciting experience for her. There. Are you happy now that I’ve admitted to my miscalculation?”
His easy smile faltered under Brig’s silent scowl. “Now don’t start growling at me, old bear. I didn’t let any harm come to her. If it makes you feel better, I promise, when I’m recovered, I’ll seek your approval before taking her out again.”
“I’ve half a mind to see you never recover at all. What right did you think you had dragging a child into a situation where she might have been killed? It could easily have been her shot through with that bolt instead of you. How would you feel then?”
“Probably a good deal better than I do now,” the giant joked. “Anyway, I just thought it was time Ilan had some practice dealing with these little situations. Part of the territory and all that. ”
“From here on out, allow me to decide what lessons will be of use to her and when. Ilan knows she’s supposed to avoid strangers in the wood and keep out of trouble.”
Here I felt his accusing eyes burning into the back of my head, but annoyed at being spoken over as if I had no say in this matter, I bit my tongue and refused to apologize.
“I’m sorry you don’t appreciate my input, friend,” Dradac was saying. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you on the point of what’s best for Ilan. She’s growing up faster than you realize and is learning to fend for herself. You’re doing her a disservice if you won’t allow her a little adventure once in awhile.”
Brig sputtered, but I shot Dradac a grateful look.
In the end, we settled the matter with a compromise. It was determined I was to be given more freedom in the future, but this hinged on the condition that Brig wished me to improve myself in certain areas. He had taken up a strange notion I needed what he called “scholarly learning,” although neither he nor anyone else in our band had ever possessed anything of the sort. I readily agreed to this, confident I was getting the best of the deal.
However, when I discovered a few days later exactly what he had in mind, I was no longer so sure.
I sat beneath a shady tree, a smooth plank of wood across my knees for a table. A yellowed sheet of parchment rested beneath the tip of my hovering quill. Terrac crouched behind me, leaning a little over my shoulder to observe my efforts. The quill’s ink skipped and spattered irregularly as I attempted to copy out the letters Terrac had set down across the upper half of the page. At Terrac’s direction, Brig had fashioned the writing implement from a quail feather, and Brig and Terrac together had made the ink from the juice of wild berries. The parchment was a contribution from one of the outlaws. It had been confiscated from the hands of a reluctant scribe two seasons past, and the thief had no use for it.
I silently cursed that outlaw now and the scribe before him. For an hour of every day I was forced to practice my letters, under Terrac’s guidance. I knew Brig well enough to be sure he would see to it that I always had that hour to spare. He’d been pleased to learn Terrac had been taught to read and write by Honored Thilstain and quickly insisted the boy’s learning be passed on to me.
“No, that’s not it,” Terrac said with a frown, snatching the pen from my fingers. “You’ve still got it wrong. Your lines should curve at the bottom—like this.” He demonstrated the proper technique and returned the implement to me.
As usual, he didn’t complain or scold me for my slow fingers and slower wits, but his patience only served to irritat
e me further. I didn’t know how Brig had threatened or cajoled him into tutoring me, but I was certain he could be enjoying the experience no more than I. I was well aware I made a sorry pupil. In fact, I wouldn’t have blamed Terrac if he beat his head against a tree in frustration by the end of our hour, but for some reason he never did. The fact that he never laughed at the pitiful results of my effort only served to aggravate me further. I was sure he knew that and derived a twisted satisfaction from it.
After contemplating the untidy marks on the parchment before me, I threw my pen down in disgust. “Can’t we just forget this and tell Brig I did the work?” I asked.
Terrac didn’t blink at my outburst. I decided he was growing used to them.
“Of course not,” he responded absently. “That would be lying. Now look, I think your trouble is how you keep confusing the first and third letters. They look alike but are a little different.”
“Oh, I forgot priests don’t lie,” I mocked, ignoring his direction. “A simple untruth would probably torment your conscience for all time.”
He regarded me with puzzlement, and I realized he had no idea what I was talking about. I sighed and asked myself how I was going to endure another million lessons like this one. My companion was so good and patient he grated unintentionally on my every nerve. Or at least most of the time I believed it was unintentional. I doubted he possessed an ounce of spite in him. His only character flaw was his habit of frowning down his nose at everyone who failed to meet his standards, but even this snobbery seemed unconscious. At times, I asked myself why I had saved him at all. Then I would grudgingly recall those rare occasions when we actually had a good time together, those days when we explored the forest, swam in Dancing Creek, or hunted stink snakes in Heeflin’s Marsh at Dimming’s edge.
But today I was in no mood for such charitable memories. “Why do you even do this?” I demanded impatiently. “I’m hopeless at these letters! You can’t enjoy teaching me. Not unless you derive pleasure from laughing secretly at my mistakes. You shouldn’t allow Brig to force you into it. You always do whatever you’re told, and no one respects you for it. No one but me even likes you.”
