Marion Zimmer Bradley & Holly Lisle - [Glenraven 01]

by Glenraven (v1. 5) (html)

  We have always been searching, he thought. Searching for answers we fear we'll never get. Searching for courage, for hope, for a promise of life better than this life. All of us search, until we would wear the very bones of the earth thin as hairs…and for all this searching, we do precious little finding.

  He wondered if they were searching for answers to the wrong questions.

  He pictured Jayjay and Sophie, closed his eyes, forced his doubts and fears out of his mind. Jayjay and Sophie. Jayjay and Sophie.

  After a moment, a vision grew in front of him. The two of them riding up a shallow stream bed between sloping, brush-covered banks. On either side, forest. Endless, unbroken forest. He knew the stream, realized the two women had fled up it when he and his men were pursuing them. They'd stuck to it.

  He couldn't have asked for more damning proof that his brother was right. Not only had they lived—he could have forgiven them that if somehow he had been able to see that they were still his heroes—but they lived, and that the two of them rode unmolested into the very heart of Her domain, through the hunting ground of Her Watchers, straight to her. Untouched. Any man who could see that and not realize the depth of treachery and disaster he faced deserved the death that would surely come his way.

  He had to get the book back. He hoped he could recover Jayjay and Sophie, too, so that he could have them executed for treason to the Machnan. But if they gave the artifact to her, she could—would, why mince words?—destroy the Machnan utterly.

  Twenty-seven

  Sophie and Jay rode. East, east and south, east, east and north. Moving, moving, keeping themselves in motion, making some sort of progress, though they needed to be heading steadily southeast if they hoped to make the gate by nightfall.

  They rode.

  Their shadows rolled ahead of them in ever-lengthening lines. Trouble, Sophie realized. They should have passed a road, come to a bridge, seen a house or a planted field…something. But in the whole time they'd ridden along that stream, they had seen no sign at all that another human being existed on the planet. Not even a jet had overflown them, leaving its friendly white contrail in its wake.

  Darkness pursued them. Night. Night, when people hid behind their walled cities and their locked doors while something unspeakable, something deadly, hunted the places they controlled with such confidence during the day.

  Jayjay reined to a stop.

  "What's the matter?" Sophie caught up with her and reined in, too.

  "We're running out of time."

  "We haven't found a place to spend the night." Sophie had been hoping they would find the gate and be out of Glenraven before dark, but she could tell that wasn't going to happen. She still hoped they would find a hotel where they could rent a room for the night. All she wanted was a single room with a lock on the door and shutters over the windows. She wasn't picky. She didn't care if she had to spend the night with livestock, or fleas. But she wanted to be able to see other people, to feel that she might find some safety in numbers.

  Jayjay looked miserable. "We can't keep hoping we're going to find a place indoors. And we're losing our light; if we keep moving, we'll end up trying to set up camp in the dark, and we'll have to make our preparations without being able to see what we're doing."

  "What kind of preparations?"

  "I don't know. It would be great to think we'd have time to build some booby traps, but I imagine all we'll be able to do is gather enough firewood to keep a fire going all night."

  Sophie nodded. Jayjay was being logical. Practical. They were in trouble, neither of them had seen any signs that they were going to get out of trouble any time soon, and they needed to do whatever they could to protect themselves and minimize their risks before they lost what little chance they had.

  Where there's life, there's hope, Sophie thought, and right on the heels of that she remembered that she hadn't believed in hope since Karen's death.

  Maybe I believe a little bit, she thought.

  The hellish sense of being watched returned, stronger as night drew near. They found a place on the opposite side of the bank from the side where they had seen the lights. It wasn't a clearing, but the trees were so huge and ancient and the overhead canopy of leaves so dense that the ground was clear in a space large enough to tether the horses, set up camp, and build a fire. They dropped their bags where they would pitch the tent and tied down their still-saddled horses; then, as the pressure of her fear became a physical weight, she and Jay went scavenging for firewood.

  The horses were weary. They needed to be rubbed down, groomed, fed and given a good rest before they had to do anything else. Under normal circumstances, Sophie would have seen to their comfort before her own. Under normal circumstances. The invisible eyes of the forest threatened, though. The horses would wait. They would have to.

  She and Jayjay stayed close to each other, gathering deadwood in a tight circle near their chosen campsite. Neither spoke. Sophie found the sound of her own voice frightened her, or perhaps what frightened her was the way the forest again swallowed sound.

  They found several armloads of deadwood apiece. They stacked it next to their chosen tent site. Sophie suggested, and Jayjay agreed, that neither of them were going to want to walk away from tent and fire to get more wood.

  They were scavenging for a fourth load when a soft breeze brushed against Sophie's cheeks. She froze, heart thudding in her throat; she felt as if she'd walked through a spiderweb and the sticky tangling silk clung to her skin and covered her nose and mouth and eyes.

  "Breeze, Jay," she whispered.

  Jay's head came up and she stared all around the campsite, through the forest, toward the stream, back the way they had come. Darkness sucked the last of the color out of the day, falling hard and fast, leeching life out of the clinging rim of twilight to the west, and Jay's face looked ghost pale, her eyes like two smudged black sockets in a death's-head. She cleared her throat—a nervous cough, a strangled sound. "It might be nothing more than a breeze," she said. "Maybe we left behind whatever killed the soldiers."

  "Maybe."

  "Still, I don't think we'd better get any more wood. We need to start the fire."

  "Now," Sophie agreed. They scuttled back to the center of their camp, arms full of deadwood.

  Sophie dug a firepit and filled it with wood; Jayjay hunted for and found the matches. Sophie located one of the quick-light tinder blocks she'd brought with her. She hated struggling with fires when she was hungry, and she'd decided those would come in handy; never in her life had she been more grateful for a bit of foresight. Between the two of them, they had a blazing fire going in just under ten minutes. The ruddy light flickered and grew bold, and the darkness danced back from the circle of flame. Sophie drew a slow, shaky breath. The pressure of fear eased up as she stared into that warm, reassuring light. Not gone, but better.

  "Set up camp?" Jay asked.

  "I'll take care of the horses if you'll get the tent."

  Jay nodded. "We could use some water for cooking."

  "We can eat cold food." The stream was very close, but Sophie didn't care. After that single puff of air, the breeze had died again, but it didn't matter; neither water nor food nor the promise of instant wealth could have drawn her from the dubious protection of the campfire. She removed the tack from the horses and stacked it in a neat pile to one side of the camp, brushed all four animals, cleaned their hooves, rubbed them down. They'd been able to drink from the stream at will for the last few hours. They were going to have to do without water for the night. She had nothing in which to carry water to them, and she had no intention of walking them one by one down to the banks of the stream for a drink. She had nosebags for each of them; she filled these with grain and slipped them into place, attaching them to the halters.

  By the time she'd finished, Jay had the tent up, the gear stowed, and was sitting with their aluminum camp skillet on her lap, slicing slabs of Spam into it.

  "Spam?" Sophie asked.

>   "A treat."

  "Those cans weigh a ton."

  "I only brought one. And one can of smoked salmon. I figured there might come a time when we wanted the comforts of home, and I couldn't think of any way to bring a Subway Sub Shop with me."

  "But Spam?"

  Jay shrugged. "I like it. So sue me."

  She and Jay sat in front of the tent, watching the fire, smelling the mouthwatering ham scent of the cooking Spam as it sizzled on its metal tripod to one side of the fire. Sophie had a big supply of dried fruit and oatmeal-raisin cookies to add to the meal. They each had their canteens. They sat quietly, eating and staring into the dancing flames, looking for an omen. And waiting.

  The strip of sky to the west over the stream glittered with stars. In the east, it paled with the luminous leading edge of the rising moon. Sophie heard owls hooting and insects droning, the plish-shirr of the stream as it hurried over its stony bed. No breeze stirred the still, sweet night air. No unidentifiable lights flickered through the forest.

  The horses stood with their heads hanging, nose to tail, unconcerned.

  "One of us ought to sleep," Jay said.

  Sophie had been concentrating so hard on the faint sounds outside the circle of light that Jay's voice was as startling as a shotgun blast would have been, and she jumped. She glanced over at her friend. "Jesus, you scared me."

  "Sorry. I was just thinking."

  Sophie felt her heart stop racing, and she drew a deep breath. "I know. One of us needs to tend the fire and keep an eye on the horses. And, um, everything."

  "So do you want first watch? I can take it."

  Sophie snorted. "After that little burst of adrenaline, I don't think I'll be going to sleep any time soon. So I might as well take the first watch. Go ahead and get some sleep."

  Jays smile was grateful, and genuine. Sophie watched her crawl into the tent, and listened as she wrestled with her sleeping bag. Jayjay, the ultimate morning person, needed her eight hours of sleep at night more than anyone Sophie had ever known. She would be able to take her turn at watch…eventually. Sophie figured she would do well to wake her up at two a.m. That was morning, sort of. Jay could be a morning person then.

  Sophie got her own rolled sleeping bag out of the tent and propped it behind her. She sat on the ground with her knees tucked to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. She rested her chin on her knees and watched the fire.

  She didn't want to think about the night noises, about her on-again/off-again feeling that the forest watched her. As long as the horses were calm, she probably didn't need to worry. They would sense danger approaching long before she did. Night birds flew over, silent, their silhouettes blacker against the deep black of the trees, the velvet blue of the sky. Bats flicked past. The horses dozed, the fire crackled comfortingly.

  Sophie put more deadwood on; it caught with little crackles and sputters, then burned with a rhythmically pulsing red-gold light. For a moment, she could imagine Karen and Mitch sitting across from her; smiling and chatting while they cooked marshmallows and sang ridiculous camp songs about the frog who went a-court-ing and the old woman who swallowed the fly. She smiled. She hadn't thought of that trip in a long time. She could see Karen sitting on a log, ten years old, front teeth outsized and crooked before she got started on braces, bright eyes laughing and mouth wide open as she bellowed, "I don't know WHYYYYYY she SUH-WALLOWED that fly—I guesss sheeee'll DIIIIEE!" Off-key. Karen couldn't carry a tune in a bucket; no…she couldn't carry a tune in sealed Tupperware. Karen…and Mitch…and her.

  Sophie and Mitch toasted their marshmallows to a pale golden brown. Karen caught hers on fire, watched them burn, then sucked the liquid centers out from between cracks in the charcoal, insisting that they tasted better that way than anything else on earth. And Mitch sat there and let her feed the awful things to him, and got smears of charcoal all over his face. And Sophie laughed at him, and because she laughed, he tackled her and kissed her and smeared the charcoal on his face all over hers. And Karen sat there laughing like a wild thing, egging them on.

  The horses' ears twitched in their sleep. Their tails flicked lazily back and forth, across each other's faces. Sophie put more wood on the fire.

  They had a food fight. Got up the next morning, went fishing. Karen had put the worms on her own hooks, and took the fish off herself, gently removing the tines from the cartilage mouths, not rubbing the slime off the fishes' sides. Letting the little ones go, and one of the two bigger ones she caught. The other she gave to Mitch, informing him that was what she wanted for breakfast. By the time the sun was fully up and the mist burned off, she sat next to the fire eating a breakfast she'd earned.

  So proud of herself. Ten.

  At least Karen always knew how much she meant to us.

  One of the horses snorted and twitched, raised his head, looked around with nostrils dilated, ears swiveling in all directions. Sophie leaned forward, listening too. She heard nothing, and felt no breeze, and the horse, for all his alert concentration, didn't seem spooked. Just…curious. She decided that she didn't need to wake Jayjay up.

  Still, because she was feeling paranoid, she threw more wood on the fire. It burned brighter, and the cheerful glow helped dispel some of her anxiety.

  The horse grew bored with whatever he thought he heard. He whickered softly, and gradually his head dropped lower and he fell back to sleep. Sophie watched, grateful for the horses' presence. They made good watchdogs; defensively they would be worthless, but the fact that they were prey animals kept them cautious. If anything dangerous was out there, they would warn her in time for her to be ready.

  She leaned back and watched the flickering patterns in the firelight, watched Karen's face, Mitch's face. Karen. Mitch. Karen…

  A sharp, frightened whinny woke her, and with horror she realized she had drifted off while on watch. Her neck and back throbbed. She'd slept sitting. And she'd slept for a long time. The fire, so bright and comforting earlier, had nearly burned out. A few flames licked along the ends of pieces of wood at the periphery of the fire pit, and the embers still glowed red. But a coating of white ash filled most of the pit where in the center even the good-sized branches had burned to nothing.

  The horses milled on their tethers, rearing and tossing their heads, stamping fitfully at the ground. The forest moved in around her, encroaching on the tiny, shrinking circle of light, watching with gloating eyes. She heard wind rustling through the tops of the trees, rattling the branches. The little patches of sky she could see proved the night was still clear, yet the wind whistled, growled, whispered.

  A shiver crawled down her spine and nibbled at the hairs on the back of her neck. Now that it touched her, she felt this wind and knew it wasn't wind at all. It was the thing that had watched her and Jay as they rode down the road. Watched as they entered the forest to hide. Watched. Waited. It was hatred. Evil.

  Hungry.

  The fire, she thought. I have to build up the fire.

  "Jay!" she yelled, but she didn't unzip the tent. She grabbed the smallest twigs she could find and scraped the few still-burning pieces of wood into the center of the fire pit.

  "Jay!" She fumbled with her pack and came out with another of the tinder blocks.

  "JAY! Wake up!" She shoved the twigs in among them, and watched with relief as they caught.

  "Jesus, Jayjay, wake up! It's coming!"

  She heard the sound of the zipper as she put bigger logs on top of the smaller ones. The fire was still tiny, still a dim light. Out over the stream, the brighter light of the moon competed with it.

  Jayjay crawled out of the tent, bleary eyed. "What?" she murmured. She was still more than half asleep.

  The wind began to howl. The horses panicked; rearing and plunging, they fought against the ropes that tied them. If they didn't calm down, they were going to break loose.

  "Oh, my God!" Jayjay shouted. Sophie looked over at her long enough to ascertain that she'd awakened completely.

 
"Come help me with the horses!"

  The horses were more than spooked. They were wild. Even as Sophie and Jay ran toward them, one of the animals broke its lead rope and galloped into the darkness. The other three screamed, and kept rearing and plunging.

  Sophie moved to the two closest, hoping she would be able to calm them. She approached slowly, making soothing noises. Both horses laid their ears flat against their skulls. One reared and struck at her with his hooves. The other kept fighting with the rope.

  "Sophie—" Jay backed away from the horse she'd been trying to calm. "Soph, get to the fire. Now!"

  Sophie heard the terror in Jayjay's voice. She backed away from the horses and moved immediately to the questionable safety of the edge of the fire pit. Again the horses were going to end up taking second place in her priorities.

  Jayjay pointed out into the dark. Sparkles of light circled around the periphery of the camp. They weren't in a flattened cloud as they had been when she'd seen them streaming through the forest.

  Jayjay made torches out of two of the good-sized branches and handed one to Sophie. "Better than nothing."

  "Yeah." Sophie held the burning branch and tried not to shiver. The howling of the wind increased in volume; in its currents she heard eerie, ululating, trembling calls that wavered and sang; in every gust she heard a hundred discordant voices…or a thousand. What good would her torch do against such wind-borne death? What possible good?

  Another horse broke free and charged out of the circle, into the darkness.

  Sophie saw a tentacle of beautiful, glittering light coalesce in the direction in which the horse had fled. Whatever it was out there, it didn't only want people. It would take horses, too. The horse didn't have much chance. She bit her lip. She and the horses would probably share the same fate.

  She didn't get long to worry about it. The wind worsened overhead by an order of magnitude; from the hard wind of a thunderstorm, it mutated into the screaming banshee of a tornado. It slammed down out of the treetops in a fierce howling, roaring, angry spiral, and now she saw the firefly lights en masse, a streaming spinning starfield of them, pouring down through the center of the funnel, illuminating it from the inside.