Hollow Road

by Dan Fitzgerald

  “Okay. We’ll be careful. And maybe, use this dagger?” She pulled the dagger from Carl’s belt, and the Maer woman nodded, her eyes still full of fear. Sinnie stuck the dagger in her own belt, glancing at Carl, who nodded. If the dagger would somehow be effective against the creature, he assumed the sword they had taken from the Maer who had attacked them would be even more so. But that was back in the village, so if the Ka-lar came for them while them before they got back, he didn’t like their chances.

  CARL INFORMED NICOLAS about the plan, snapping him out of his sulk.

  “Are you sure you’re up for it?” Carl asked, gesturing toward Nicolas’ back.

  “I’m fine,” Nicolas assured him, twisting in each direction with a slight grimace. “It’s going to get worse if I just stay here and sleep on it anyway. And they need to know what happened.”

  “And don’t forget to tell Elder Gummache to clear out space in the chapel basement. You’ll have to round up a couple of men to stand guard, too.”

  Nicolas nodded, chewing his lip. “Not everyone is going to be okay with this.”

  Carl sighed. “I know. But it’s the only choice. They are civilian prisoners of war, and they are entitled to protection.” He saw Nicolas’ face redden at the suggestion. “I know you don’t see it that way. But to my eyes, other than the hair, they’re human. To yours, they are monsters. But what do any of us know? A village youth, a soldier, a novice mage, and a circus archer? Elder Gummache is the only one qualified to make a decision on what they are, and what we must do.”

  Nicolas opened his mouth as if to reply, then clomped it shut. After ruminating for a moment, he spoke. “Okay. I’m going to take off my mail and shield. Can you carry it to the overhang at least? I will have horses sent tomorrow morning.” Carl nodded, and Nicolas turned to get ready. It was going to be a serious challenge for him to run almost ten miles in his condition, but he was young and strong and had even more to prove than before. Carl just hoped he didn’t try to stack the deck against them for their return to Brocland.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Sinnie squatted in the back of the overhang with the Maer, sharing journey cakes and a bit of mutton jerky with them. One of the children, a girl of about three years old, sidled over to her and reached out slowly, running her fingers over the back of Sinnie’s hand and down to her wrists, pulling the hand up for closer inspection. She put her hand next to Sinnie’s, and it felt surreal to see such a tiny arm covered in hair as thick as that on her face. Sinnie reached out her other hand and laid it gently on top of the girl’s, and the girl giggled and scurried back behind one of the females, who cracked a smile too, but quickly returned to her wary expression.

  Sinnie left them to themselves, glad to have had a moment but not wanting to get too close. If she were in their situation, she would be waiting for the slightest sign of weakness or inattention to make her move. But the Maer were at a serious disadvantage, having small children to worry about and no weapons. And they actually seemed almost relaxed, compared to the state they had been in only hours before. Sinnie had watched them light the fire to burn the bodies of the three women and two children she and Nicolas had killed. She had been moved by their tears, their sobs, their desperate gasping for breath as they howled, as if trying to understand why the universe had been so cruel to them. She imagined traveling across country while schlepping young children couldn’t have been a picnic. In fact, it was quite an odd thing to do, when she stopped and thought about it. Had they been running from something? Or perhaps, given the map they had brought with them, was Brocland their destination? The more she thought of it, the more her head hurt, so once Carl was ready for his first watch, she curled up tight in her blanket, which was not quite warm enough. She wished she had the courage to slide over and snuggle up to Finn for warmth, but instead she wrapped herself up tight to keep out the sneaky little fingers of stone-chilled air, and fell quickly asleep.

  Carl awoke her with a gentle touch on the shoulder, and she got up, stretched, and went outside the overhang to pee, then gave Carl a two-fingered salute. He returned the gesture and lay down, wrapping himself in his blanket. The night air was cool, but not cold, and Sinnie stayed toward the entrance to the overhang, where the chilling effects of the stone were less intense. The stars were numerous and bright, so she could see fairly well outside, and could even make out the forms of the Maer inside the cave, so she divided her attention between the two spheres. She heard one of the children give a sleepy half-cry. One of the adults quickly brought the child in close to their body to shush it. After that all was quiet, and Sinnie sank into the night’s silence, standing near the road edge and staring off into the dark forest. Periodically she would hear a rustle from within the cave and turn back to see the muted movements of restless sleepers.

  The moon was not visible, being behind the cliff, but its light imbued the road with an almost silvery glow, contrasting with the green-gray palette of the forest edge. She became attuned to the usual sounds of the night: the tik-tik-tik of a bird, the chirping of crickets, the occasional scurrying of small creatures in the underbrush, the distant howl of a wolf. These were comforting sounds she had heard all her life, which she now realized she had missed on the Isle, where the wild spaces were fewer, smaller, and often quieter.

  After a time, her ears perked to an unusual sound, or rather, the unaccustomed lack of sounds. She listened for the crickets who had been her watch companions, but their little legs had stopped strumming, and the tik-tik-tik bird had stopped calling, and nothing moved in the underbrush. And then from the eerie half-light of the forest edge a figure emerged, no more than twenty feet from where she was standing.

  It was the size and shape of a man, but there was something unnerving in the way it moved, like a foreign dancer creeping with exaggerated slowness. As it entered the silvery light of the moon, its torso gave off a dull shimmer, and Sinnie could see that it wore some kind of armor, which hung loosely on its gaunt frame, with shreds of what looked like old cloth bandages hanging out from its sleeves. Its arms and legs seemed unnaturally long, but it could have been its spider-like movements that made them appear so. Its mouth was pulled into a wide grin, baring long teeth that glistened yellow in the moonlight. Its face was that of a corpse, taut and dry, with every sinew showing beneath its stretched skin. Its eyes, which seemed to be all pupil, shone silvery-black, and they locked on Sinnie’s, freezing her in place.

  Every instinct told her to run and wake up Carl and Finn, but she found herself unable to move or make a sound, watching in helpless horror as the creature took one excruciatingly slow step after the other, first lifting its heel, then its toes, before gliding its foot over the ground and setting its toes, then its heels, silently on the road before it. It stopped no more than ten feet from where Sinnie was standing, staring her into motionless submission as it slowly raised its arms, fingers spreading and curling to reveal horrid yellow-gray fingernails that were thick like the claws on a dog. It arched its back, then leaned its face forward, teeth bared, and let out a near-silent hiss. Sinnie’s body trembled but stood still, and her breath came in short, uneven gasps. The creature raised its fingers to its face and ran its nails slowly from its forehead down to its chin, then held out one hand toward her, its index finger straightening and pointing directly at her heart. Her eyes welled up, her nose began to run, and her legs trembled, and she feared she would fall. She tried to close her eyes and stop the tremors running down her legs, but she had no control of her body other than to remain standing, staring at the otherworldly horror before her.

  The creature curled its finger back into its fist and blinked, and Sinnie let out a soundless gasp as her muscles twitched, and she was finally able to clench her fists and close her eyes. She felt her strength slowly flowing back into her, and her hand crept toward the ancient dagger tucked into her belt. She found the hilt and slowly drew it as she opened her eyes, but saw only the empty road, bathed in moonlight, and the darkness of the forest
lurking behind its gray-green façade.

  “Ka-lar,” whispered a voice from behind her. She turned and saw one of the Maer staring out at her with wide, fear-glazed eyes. Sinnie nodded, covering her face with her hands, and leaned back against the cliff wall, wracked with silent sobs.

  “I SEE.” CARL STARED down into his tea in the gray morning light. He made as if to say more, then stopped and took another sip, holding it in his mouth for a moment. Sinnie knew he would have wanted her to wake him, but she had been in such shock she hadn’t been able to think straight.

  “I couldn’t move, I couldn’t make a sound. I was just...frozen.” Sinnie’s voice trailed off as she nurtured the little shiver that crept up her spine with the retelling, then let it out, her body shaking from head to toe like a dog shedding water. “And afterward, it took me a while to make sense of what had just happened, and I figured if it had wanted to kill us there was nothing stopping it. It was almost like...like it wanted me to see it, like it needed my fear somehow. I can’t explain it, but...are they expecting us to go after this thing? The power it has, just in its eyes, I don’t...” she breathed deeply, stretching out her fingers, which were still trembling slightly. “I don’t know if I could face it again. I mean, what if I froze up again? What if we all did?”

  Carl put his hands on her shoulders and touched her forehead with his. She sank into him and squeezed him tight, glad to have this rock to hold onto. She knew he was as brave and tough as they came, but she wondered if even he would be able to stare into the Ka-lar’s eyes and do anything but watch as it tore them apart one by one. She pulled back, hoping he would not read anything into her embrace. He looked down, then back up at her, nodded, and busied himself with something in his pack.

  Finn’s reaction when she woke him was very much the opposite. Though she didn’t tell him all the details, she told him enough.

  “Thank the gods you didn’t wake me sooner,” he said. “I would have never been able to get back to sleep, and I need every minute I can get.” He held out his arm, which he was able to bend at the elbow with some grimacing. “If this thing ever shows its horrid face while I’m on watch, trust me, you’re all going to hear me scream.”

  Sinnie and the Maer female, whom she had nicknamed Ginette, in homage to the bearded lady in Hertle’s troupe, exchanged knowing glances throughout the morning, and the whole group seemed to have warmed to their situation. Sinnie was now confident the Maer would not try to run or attack her and her friends; they needed protection from the Ka-lar, not to mention from the people in Brocland, or anywhere else for that matter. She wondered if they could still survive on their own, now that their numbers had dwindled. With only three adults remaining, would they be able to live off the land, to feed the children, once winter came? They might just be able to make it back to wherever it was they came from, which begged all kinds of questions. This group had not spontaneously burst into existence. They were part of a culture, of a community, that was living a relatively short distance from Brocland. They couldn’t have come very far on foot with children in tow. How could the Maer, thought long extinct, have been living right under their very noses and no one been the wiser?

  She shook off these questions and focused on the task at hand: getting the Maer fed and ready to move. She shared the last of her journey cake with them, so each one of them got only a small piece, but it would be enough. It would have to be.

  They began walking once everyone had finished their morning routine, with Carl and Finn in front and Sinnie behind. Carl had agonized over the order of march, still afraid the Maer might try something, and had finally settled upon Sinnie bringing up the rear and keeping an eye on them, since she understood them better, and would be able to see if anything were amiss. Sinnie let him do his soldier-strategy thing, hoping it would help him feel better, but she knew the danger was not from the Maer. It was from the village.

  She could easily see people being whipped into an angry mob if Nicolas chose to play it that way. Still, she thought cooler heads would prevail, and she hoped their new status as heroes of a sort would tip the scales in their favor. Elder Gummache and Mr. Massey had already brought them into their confidence, so she figured her proposal would at least get a fair hearing. She had communicated to Ginette that the child wearing Samuel or August’s clothing needed to shed it, which he had done, with a sad face. But with the proof that the Maer had killed the two boys, tempers were going to be running hot.

  They had walked for just over an hour when they saw the horses trotting in their direction, with Nicolas, Mr. Massey, and Sinnie’s father riding side by side. Her father swung himself down from his horse and strode forward as she hustled alongside the road to greet him, giving Ginette what she hoped was a reassuring smile as she passed. She burst past Finn and Carl and ran straight toward her father, who caught her as she leaped into his arms.

  “Oh, father.” She held onto him, though she knew he did not like physical contact. “It is good to see you.” She beamed up at him, and a half-smile cracked his façade for a moment.

  “You’ve gotten stronger,” he commented, “if not wiser.” He eyed the Maer and gave her a piercing look, and she shrank back from him, her face flushed and her ears burning.

  “You will see. I will show you,” she said, trying to hide the tremor in her voice.

  “It is not me you need to convince.” He brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. His blondish-brown hair was now fading to gray, and his hairline had crept up. But besides that, and a few more wrinkles about the eyes, he still looked the same as ever, tall and angular, with the same wool cloak and sheepskin vest, which he wore in summer as in winter, as if it were part of his skin. His high leather boots were covered in gray dust.

  “I see you’ve been mountainside.” Sinnie smiled and pointed to his boots.

  “And you valleyside,” he laughed, pointing at the mud on her sandals. “Glad to know you haven’t forgotten everything I taught you.”

  “Actually, I’ve learned a few things I could teach you, but that’s not the point right now, is it? Hello Mr. Massey.” Sinnie reached out and shook Massey’s hand as he arrived. Nicolas stayed on his horse but gave her a little nod. “Thank you so much for riding out to meet us.”

  “Sinnie, Carl, Finn. Glad to see you all in one piece.” He eyed Carl, who avoided his gaze, and Massey turned toward Sinnie. “So these are the, um, prisoners Nicolas was talking about?” His voice quavered a little as he gestured toward the Maer, who huddled a little way back, unsure what to make of the interaction but following it with great interest.

  “They are not prisoners,” Sinnie stated as calmly as she could. Massey’s brows raised, as did her father’s. “You are still the village Steward, are you not?”

  “I am,” Massey admitted, his voice filled with uncertainty.

  “Then I announce my intention to go to the chapel to see Elder Gummache and seek sanctuary for these Maer, as allowed by Realm law. Will you allow me to bring them into Brocland and guarantee them safe passage to the chapel?”

  Massey looked down, nodding, then back up. “I will. I may not like it, and I can assure you, there are a lot of people who like it far less than I, but I will. Elder Gummache may be able to shed some light on what to do with your...” He waved toward the Maer, his hand seeming unsure what movement to make. “With them, until the soldiers come from the garrison in Gheil, at which point it’s their problem.”

  “It’s not the Realm army’s problem.” Sinnie took a step closer to Massey. “It’s my problem, and it’s your problem, it’s all of our problem. But most of all, it’s their problem.” She pointed toward the Maer. “And it’s up to us to find a solution.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Finn extended his arm slowly, straightening it almost all the way before the pain became too much, and he released it. He touched the area just below his elbow where the bone had broken, and though it was tender, the line of the bone was fairly smooth, with only a tiny bump where
the break had been.

  “Your arm seems to be doing much better today,” his mother said without looking up from the pot she was stirring. “But you always have been a fast healer.”

  “Yeah, I guess it wasn’t broken after all,” Finn lied. He never talked about his gift with his parents, though they had made great sacrifices to send him to study, despite their misgivings. But after Theo was recruited and Carl set off in his footsteps, study had started to look like a good alternative. There was work to be found for a mage, mostly on the Isle and in the esoteric branches of the service, and there was only so much of a living to be had raising geese or fishing.

  They ate lunch together at the old wooden table, worn shiny smooth in semicircles around the places where each of them sat, though Finn’s area had dulled some with his long absence. His mother had made his favorite, lamb’s heart stew, which he had always loved as much for what it wasn’t, goose or fish, as for what it was, rich and delicious but on the oily side. He had decided it wasn’t worth explaining to them about his regime, so he ate the heavy lunch, figuring his body could use some real food if he was to fully heal, and it would only be for a day or two.

  “I wish I could serve you some bread to go along with it, but there’s no flour to be had in the village.” Her voice rose in its usual pleasant way when speaking of unpleasant things, but he could hear the worry beneath.

  “It’s fine, mom, it’s perfect.”

  They talked about anything and everything except the current troubles. Life in the village had been hard even before the blockade, between the spring flooding, which had shut down the fishing for a month, and the prickle flu, which had wiped out half their goslings. Not to mention the shortages of flour and lamp oil during the “recent troubles,” as his mother called them, but they had muddled through as they always did. His mother had made a deal that spring with an up and coming trader from Greenvale, a young orphan named Addie, who had a connection with a merchant in Gheil who dealt in luxury bedding and drapery. She was able to sell as much down as she could cull, though she didn’t like to live-pluck the birds, which limited her production. His father’s smoked silver tended to be sold closer to home, some in Greenvale but mostly in Kelsey. Of course, all of that had been shut down during the blockade, and Finn noticed his parents looked thinner, their faces more drawn, though perhaps more from worry than from actual deprivations.