He yawned and turned away. These were old ruminations, and there was no time for them tonight. He had a promise to keep.
It's time, he whispered to the horses, tethered to a few scattered trees along the road's north edge. Wake up.
They stamped and whickered, manes tossing as they came to. Iggy went down the line, feeding them. He tried not to think about what he was about to do, but Pa wouldn't let him ignore it.
How can you do this? Are you daft? You need these animals.
I made them a promise.
Do you even hear yourself? Pa was incredulous. There is something in these hills powerful enough to rip a horse's head from its body! Your only chance may be to outrun it!
The roan crammed her face into the small bag of oats in his hands, and Iggy flinched at the words in his head.
It's one thing to endanger yourself over this madness. But your friends?
Iggy glanced at the others, asleep beneath a blanket of stars. Pa was right. If he did this, he was choosing the animals over his friends, and that was the very definition of madness.
But he heard his mother's Pulse all the time, now: eternal and steady. It wasn't just in his head—when Syntal acknowledged it, he'd known that much—so it wasn't a question of being crazy, not really. Maybe it was something else. A question of identity, or—
He swallowed. He didn't want to finish the thought, but he couldn't help it.
A question of taking sides.
Ridiculous. There are no sides here. I'm trying to look out for everyone.
No, Pa shot back. You're trying to look out for the sehking horses.
The accusation turned his stomach. He couldn't ignore it. It was true.
But I made them a promise. We're only alive because of that promise. I will damned well keep my side of it.
And what will you tell your friends in the morning?
Iggy stiffened. He would lie, of course, same as he always had. Since The Abbot's first sermon about the Rending, he'd known he couldn't admit what he was. Even these friends—even witches and warlocks—wouldn't understand such a fundamental betrayal of his own humanity.
The horses finished their meal. He turned his back on his father, and whispered through the wind.
M'sai, he began. You've kept your word. Now I'll keep mine. I'll free any of you who want to leave. But if you want to stay, I could use your help. He paused. We could use your help.
There's something in these hills, a tan gelding said at once. It smells like walking fire.
I know. I think it went west. He had thought, earlier in the day, to ask a vulture or crow if it had seen the thing, but even with the fresh meat littering the site of the wagon fire, there had been no carrion birds. In fact, he hadn't seen any animal besides the horses since leaving Feldra. In many ways, he found this more disconcerting than the wagon's ruins. We're headed to the town, to try to warn them before it arrives.
You're going after it? His brown roan quivered.
We're hoping to get ahead of it. With luck, we'll never even see the thing. That'll be almost impossible on foot, but if enough of you stay—
No. A different gelding this time, the black one. No. You said we could leave. I'm leaving.
Iggy didn't hesitate. East is safest from the walking fire, he explained as he untied the animal's tether, but you'll want to range north before you reach the human city we passed through earlier. Someone there will recapture you if you get too close.
The gelding gave a quiet whicker.
You have to go now, before my friends wake, but go gently in the dark. Stick to the scar until first light. The hills will be dangerous even at highsun, but you'll be less likely to crack a leg if you can see. I've heard there are plains to the north, maybe even—
He'd been about to say "wild horses." He adjusted. Maybe even free horses. Like you.
The gelding tossed its head as the tether came loose. It looked at him, its eyes black jewels in the starlight. Thank you.
Iggy blinked away sudden tears. Go. Who else?
His roan mare loosed a rumbling sigh. You swear we'll be safe if we stay with you?
No. He was done making promises. I can't swear that. I can only say that we feel just like you do. We'd prefer to stay alive.
Another animal, a mottled grey-brown gelding, chuckled. I like you, windspeaker. If you need me, I'll stay.
Several others chorused their agreement. Iggy shook his head. Be certain. I can't bring you if you'll spook. And we shouldn't make Black go alone.
The tan gelding stamped. I'll go, then. I dislike that smell, and the open plain sounds . . . wondrous.
Iggy freed him. Who else?
I'm sorry, his roan mare said. You've earned better, but I can't chase that smell.
Iggy bit his lip. He had hoped she would stay, but he didn't try to talk her out of it. Take care of yourself, he whispered as he let her go.
You, too. And thank you. She nuzzled his shoulder and trotted toward the two freed geldings.
Anyone else? His stomach clenched. If they all left him . . .
But the others said nothing. Again, the mottled grey-brown chuckled. Looks like the rest of us are as stupid as you are.
Iggy let out a shaky laugh and clapped the animal on the shoulder. Well, thank Akir for that.
Now get back to sleep. There may be a lot of running tomorrow.
He'd fallen asleep, he explained the next morning, and must not have tethered the three animals tightly enough. After the expected recriminations from Seth, Iggy convinced them all they were better going on than trying to chase the errant animals down, and they decided to press forward.
Seth and Lyseira had to share a mount, as did Helix and Syntal. All of them carried their own packs. His friends weren't happy, but they'd certainly been through worse.
Iggy took the grey-brown gelding, since his roan mare had left. As he fed him his morning oats, the gelding said, See, this is why I stayed.
Oats? Iggy asked.
Of course. You think they're eating so well on the open plain? He whickered, a sound like a snigger. Just means more for me.
Iggy scratched the animal behind his ear. I've never known a horse to laugh so much.
Better to laugh and stay smart than to spook and stop thinking.
Well, sure, but—most horses don't think about it that way. Truth be, they don't think about it at all. It's just odd.
Talked to a lot of horses, have you?
At my parents' ranch, sure.
The animal looked at him around its oat cup. And you call me odd.
Iggy's heart quickened, and he froze. It was ridiculous, but the horse's accusation got under his skin. The animal chuckled again.
All right, chuckler, Iggy whispered. Fair point.
"Before highsun, the man said, yes?" Helix asked as they tacked up.
"That's what I heard," Lyseira answered. "Do you think that thing was moving overnight?"
Sorry. Chuckler dipped his head. Didn't mean to hit a nerve. For what it's worth, you're the kindest human I've ever spoken to.
Thanks, Iggy answered, ready to move on. Wait. Aren't I the only―?
"Igg?" Lyseira said, snapping her fingers. "Are you with us?"
"What?" Iggy whirled to face her. "Of course."
"Did you hear me?"
"Hear you what?"
Lyseira gave him a look of bemused suspicion. "That thing—those tracks you saw. Do you think it was moving overnight?"
"I―" Iggy thought back to the night before, but really, he knew no more than she did. "I have no idea. I couldn't tell from the tracks how fast it was going. No one saw anything last night, right?" The others shook their heads. "Then we're riding blind. We'd better press hard, just to be safe."
iii. Angbar
On the mount behind him, Helix and Syntal shared theories.
"A dragon. Everything on fire, the horse's head nearly ripped off? What could be strong enough to do that? It had to be a dragon." Angbar couldn't tell from the t
one in Helix's voice whether he was making a serious case for the existence of dragons, or if the once-serious conversation was taking a turn for the fancifully macabre. Probably both.
"Dragons are just stories," Syntal returned.
"Exactly—that's what I'm getting at. So are demons," Helix said.
"At least there are demons in scripture," Syntal said. "No dragons though, not anywhere in the Chronicle."
"Yeah." Helix sounded unconvinced. "Scripture doesn't hold the same water with me as it used to."
"I just mean, I used to think arc hounds were only stories, too, until three of them nearly killed us. If one creature from the Chronicle is real . . ."
Helix sighed. "Fair enough."
Angbar dropped back. "I thought of dragons, too," he said, "but if it's stories you're after, you can look further than the Chronicle. My dad had a book of tales from Bahir. It had imps with little tridents wreathed in flame, though those would probably be too small to do the damage we saw. There were fire-breathing trolls, too, in Beh'lal's epic—those might be big enough. I always thought they kind of looked like demons in the pictures: black horns, black talons. No wings, though.
"But even in the Chronicle, there's more than just demons. Lyseira told me about hel-hounds once—those are dogs with three heads that breathe fire. That was back when she was trying to get me to go to church." Now that he thought of it, if she'd been trying to entice him into her religion, that story had been a strange choice.
"Well . . . but hel-hounds are a kind of demon, too," Syntal said. "I think."
"They don't have wings, though. When I think of demons I think of the big, nasty things with red skin and wings."
"No, demons are just like . . . they're like people. I mean, there's all kinds of people, too. Tall ones, short ones, skinny ones―"
"Winged ones, three-headed-dog ones."
Helix waved his hand. "Lay off, you two. Does it even matter? None of this sehk is real! It all sounds like a bunch of Night stories. You pulled me off course," he said to Syntal. "I was trying to figure out what it actually is. It would be nice to have some idea."
Angbar chewed his lip. "Well, what about the obvious? People make fire, and animals rip out throats. Maybe it was both? Bandits—or even just crazy people—with big attack dogs?" As horrible as the notion was, the mundanity of it was comforting. Sure, said a part of his mind that desperately wanted things to be normal. Yes, of course. It glommed on to this theory like a child with a stuffed bear, ignoring the persistent memory of the embers still glowing in the horse's torn neck.
Syntal ignored him. "You say none of them are real," she said to her cousin. "But after all we've seen, I don't feel like we can be sure of that. The Storms, and my chanting, and the arc hounds—too much has changed."
Helix shook his head. "Your chanting is only because of the Storm. Right? The first Storm, I mean. You couldn't do it before that. And the arc hounds were in the Chronicle."
"But don't you find it strange that no one had ever actually seen one? We'd only read about them. It wasn't until after the Storm―"
"No one had ever seen them because no one in Southlight ever got into trouble with the Tribunal! For all we know, they were getting summoned all the time all over Darnoth. None of that means we should suddenly start believing dragons are real."
"It's just ahead!" Iggy, who had been scouting, careened around a bend in the road as he returned. "You can see it just past this hill. I think―" He shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. "There's a lot of smoke. I think it got here before us."
The smell hit him first. The acrid tang of smoke, the black stink of cooked flesh. Angbar pulled up his cloak, breathing through his mouth, but it barely helped.
Then came the bodies, charred and smoking, strewn across the road like confetti. They were running, Angbar thought, but not fast enough. His stomach lurched.
His eyes burning, he looked away—and saw a building a hundred feet up the road, the doors and porch supports shattered, fire growling behind its broken windows. It was a little inn, no bigger than Mellerson's place back in Southlight.
"Too late." It was possibly the dumbest sentence he had ever uttered. Obviously, it was too late. Shepherd's Hill was a blazing ruin. We should go back. The words were on his tongue. He couldn't be the only one thinking them. But they wouldn't turn back. If nothing else, Lyseira—
"There may be survivors. Someone who needs our help." She swung down, her eyes shining. "Hello?" she called, and Seth shushed her.
"We can go check," he said, "but whatever did this might still be here. We need to be quiet."
"Everyone down," Iggy said. "The horses stay here." The animals looked nervous, the smell of smoke and burnt flesh making them jittery. Iggy stayed behind to tether them while the others fanned out, making their way up the road.
Helix pulled his sword, his face a mask of cautious dread. Syntal held her hands up as if she were about to choke someone. Angbar could imagine the chant on her lips. I may need to chant, too, he thought. I should get ready. But he couldn't Ascend without the mantras, and his mind was too heavy with fear to recall them.
Like the man in Feldra had said, it was a little town—a smattering of houses and outlying shepherd's farms dotting a gently sloping field. A broad hillside sprawled away to the west, dropping down to a river. But while the others picked their way toward the closest pile of debris, poking the ruins and calling softly for survivors, Angbar kept his eyes on the sky.
Suddenly, the notion of a dragon didn't seem outlandish at all.
"Blesséd sehk," Helix whimpered. "Bodies everywhere."
"But not enough," Seth answered. "The whole village is deserted. Either they're holed up somewhere, or some of them got away."
"Not down the way we came in," Helix said, a familiar whisper of hysteria lacing the words. "We didn't run into anyone, and the bodies―" His throat closed, choking off the words.
Seth nodded; a hint of empathy flickered in his eyes. "Just keep your eyes open."
The road angled south, into a channel of scorched ruins. A house to the left crackled with flame; a roaring chunk of wood collapsed somewhere inside, and the doorway collapsed.
Ten feet farther lay the blackened body of a man still clutching a water bucket. The water had spilled, leaving a patch of damp grass in the middle of all the devastation.
Helix's dad used to make impossible smith's puzzles; two metal rings that could be separated, or a collection of rods that could only be stacked one way. The damp grass, surrounded by burning buildings, felt like one of those puzzles: a paradox jammed into Angbar's mind sideways, irreconcilable and horribly mesmerizing. He turned it over and over in his head, struggling to understand.
Poetry, he finally thought, or metaphor. Filing the image moved it safely to arms' length. He would take it out again when he had time for it—or in his nightmares tonight.
"Anything?" Iggy called from behind, moving at a brisk trot. Helix shook his head.
"Do you think they went to the river?" Lyseira asked. "Maybe―"
"Wait!" Helix's gaze latched to one of the burning buildings. "Something moving! I saw―"
A red, hairless thing crept around the side of the building on all fours, sniffing the air. Its eyes were pools of lava, featureless, shivering like ripples on a lake. Two small, curved horns jutted from either side of its skull; nostrils gaped below its hooked nose like a pair of open sores.
Angbar froze, his mind white with terror. No.
It can't be.
The thing reared back, its slumped shoulders towering seven feet above the ground. Its mouth dropped open like a snake dislodging its jaw, releasing a sizzling hiss.
He had seen this thing before. In his father's book, The Epic of Beh'lal. A red nightmare studded with black: black horns, black talons, black fangs bulging haphazardly from swollen gums.
A fire-breathing troll.
Seth raised his spear to charge. Iggy tore his bow loose.
Angbar's mi
nd caught like a stuck axle, grinding uselessly. Fire-breathing troll.
Syntal snapped a chant. A sliver of white punched into the creature's side. The monster didn't flinch.
Fire-breathing―!
He opened his mouth to shout a warning, and the world turned to fiery screams.
Lyseira fell back, her hair a crown and cloak of fire, the debt from her walk in the flames finally coming due. Helix and Syntal ignited like pyres.
The cloud of flame from the creature's mouth roiled upward, thinning into vanishing wisps. Beneath it, Seth shot unharmed out of a diving roll and buried his spear in the thing's gut.
There was a squirt of blood, a stink like rotten eggs. The troll grunted, its eyes rippling. Then it snapped the spear in half, tore out the point, and hurled it into a burning building. Its wound writhed like a nest of maggots as it closed.
Healing, Angbar thought. Just like in the story. Then he realized his sleeve was on fire.
He dove, scrabbling in the dirt to tamp out the flames as Iggy dropped his bow and dashed forward, tearing off his cloak to help put Lyseira out.
"Run!" Seth shouted. He angled around, drawing the thing's attacks and steering the threat of its breath away from the others. "Get to the horses!" Then he lunged forward, darting for the monster's eyes, but it was too tall. He danced back again, sparing a quick glance down the road—and the troll landed a backhand, hurling him through the wall of a burning stable. The structure collapsed, devouring him.
Angbar regained his feet, his sleeve smoking and coated in filth, and fought to Ascend. Put it to sleep, he thought. Put it to sleep! But Ascending required calm and focus. All he had was terror.
Iggy helped Lyseira to her feet—her face was blistered, the flesh glaring, but she was alive—and ran to help Helix and Syntal.
The troll's eyes flashed to Angbar. The words of the mantra (Moshak? his mind screamed. Matchka?) withered in its glare. Then it bounded toward Lyseira.
"Vashan Akir!" she cried, the words shrill with panic. "Vashan dehall―!"
A Season of Rendings Page 9
