The monsters were no longer held by the confines of the forest.
Her body flinched with a shudder, and she clenched her muscles, trying to still her own thoughts.
The goat nuzzled at her, and she gripped one of her horns tightly, trying to keep the animal from stirring the brush. The three of them—young woman, young man, and dead animal—waited for a few breathless minutes. Only when Ryn could hear nothing, when the forest was silent and still, did they dare move again.
By the time dawn cast the sky into shades of pink and gold, they were deep into the forest—farther than Ryn had ever dared go. Her legs ached, but she kept moving. The forest was beautiful in the morning—with dew still clinging to the leaves and the air bright and clean. It smelled of juniper, of the sharp tang of mountains, and of—
Smoke.
That made her go still.
Smoke meant people—and she was not sure if that frightened or excited her. No one was supposed to live out here. The lure of copper was not enough for the villagers to risk their lives. At least, not yet. Ryn wondered if perhaps a few more years of lean summers and harsh winters would change that. Perhaps when people were as thin as bone houses they would willingly walk into the forest for coin.
A branch snapped behind her and she flinched. Ellis gave an apologetic shake of his head. “That was me,” he said. “Sorry.”
That was one thing she liked about him; he never hedged or tried to shift blame. He simply apologized—and she had not realized how rare that was until she met him. “We should move more slowly,” she replied. “Smell that smoke? I think there are people ahead.”
His face had been sharpened by lack of sleep—his cheekbones cut across his face and his eyes were overbright. “People,” he said, as if testing the word. “People in the forest.” He placed his right hand on a tree, leaning against it. “What… kind of people live near Annwvyn?”
Something about the question made her hesitate. It reminded her of a starving man, one who sat at a table and asked with restraint if he might have a helping of food. There was hunger behind every word.
She should have asked for specifics earlier. When they were in the warmth of the Red Mare, surrounded by walls and people, when she had a cup of tea in her hand and the knowledge that she was safe. Perhaps then she would not have feared the answers.
“I think it’s time you told me why you wished to come here,” she said quietly.
Ellis’s gaze lifted to hers. A corner of his mouth unfurled into a mocking smile—but all his recrimination seemed to be turned inward. “I want to map the mountains. This place is a mapmaker’s dream—if one can survive long enough, of course.” He took a breath, and his exhalation fogged the air around them. “But no. I am not here merely for the mountains.” He closed his eyes, steadying himself.
“When I was a young boy, the prince of Caer Aberhen found me on the edges of this forest. Took me in. I had nothing—only the clothes on my back.” Again, there was that mocking half smile. “Have you ever been to the other villages that border Annwvyn? Do you know what use they have for the woods?”
She shook her head.
“It’s a dumping ground,” said Ellis. “Well, not here. Colbren doesn’t seem to have that much to get rid of. But if you went south, you’d see. Villagers send things into the forest—things they do not want. Sickly animals, people who’ve fallen ill with plague, and even unwanted children.” His smile became so sharp it was nearly a grimace.
Unwanted children.
“You’re looking for your parents,” she said, understanding.
“For some sign of them,” he said curtly. “I know it’s unlikely. I’ve searched several other towns that border the forest. I’ve looked everywhere else—except inside the forest and the mountains. And I would like to try.”
To venture into the mountains in search of his past… it was irrational and foolish—but she understood. There were some things that couldn’t be laid to rest by time nor distance.
“And of course,” Ellis added, as an afterthought, “mapping Annwvyn will ensure that I become the most sought-after mapmaker in the isles.”
“Of course,” she said.
“But,” he continued, “if there are people in the mountains… I don’t know. Maybe I wandered away or they didn’t mean to lose me. Maybe my family still lives there.” His voice quieted, as if even voicing the desire aloud was a show of weakness.
She bit back her reply: Or they might be dead.
Death was common in the wilds. Death from starvation, from cold, from sickness, from an animal bite. His parents might be rotting in the ground—or still walking above it. But she did not say that, because some things could not be said. Not when a person looked cracked open with pain and hope, when a single word might shatter them.
To most people, death was the worst thing.
After years of digging graves, Ryn had little fear of death. Death was quiet and stillness. It was fresh earth and wildflowers. It was coin in her purse and a hole in the ground.
No, the worst thing was uncertainty. When her father had vanished, it would have been a relief to have had a body, rather than just questions. For her family there had been none of the small rituals that surrounded death: no draping of white cloth, no placement of fresh flowers, no building a mound of stones.
Her fingers found the wooden love spoon in her pocket, traced the broken edge.
“We should keep moving,” she said, glancing behind her.
The goat had curled up on the ground, as if she were sleeping. Eyes shut, nose gently brushing the leaves, hooves neatly tucked beneath her.
Ellis saw where she looked, then grimaced. “Is it dead?”
“She’s been dead for a while,” she said drily. “If you’re asking if she’s the unmoving sort of dead… well, it is daylight. I suppose if she’s anything like the other bone houses, then she won’t wake until nightfall.”
Ellis shook his head. “A bone goat,” he said. “Of all the things I thought I’d ever see, a bone goat was never one of them.”
That made her laugh.
“What do you know of this place?” asked Ellis, nodding to the pillars of smoke.
Ryn began walking again; her steps were slower, more careful. “There would have been people here long ago,” she replied. “All mines have them—small communities that crop up nearby. Families of the miners, those who sell food, tradesmen who deal in black powder and repair equipment, and those who cart the metals away.” She pushed a branch from her path, holding it so that Ellis could pass. As he did, she saw the sketchbook in his hand. One eye seemed to be on their path, the other on the parchment. She caught a glimpse of lines and notes—measurements, she realized. He had been counting his footsteps.
“That was before the bone houses, though,” she said. “After the dead appeared, reopening the mine must have proved impossible.”
“The risen dead do seem to have an ill effect on commerce.” Ellis nodded at the smoke. “So people still live out here?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her jaw tight. “Eynon would be furious if he knew this place was being used for something other than his coffers. They must be squatters—explains why they haven’t been to Colbren. But I don’t understand why they’d stay here. It can’t be safe.”
“Perhaps they did not come here for safety,” said Ellis mildly.
It took another half hour before they arrived at the encampment. She stepped beneath a low-hanging branch and found herself in a clearing. The houses had been built of oak and cedar, and some had foundations of stone. They formed a circle and at the center was a building that likely served as a small eating house or tavern. Time had taken its toll; one roof sagged and another had fallen in entirely. Ivy crept up the walls, and moss across the paths.
One of the doors opened, and in the scant space, Ryn saw a small face watching her. The door slammed shut.
“Traditional country greeting?” asked Ellis mildly.
She opened her mouth t
o reply, but a voice called to them. Ryn’s hand went to her belt. The old woman had a walking stick carved of an old tree branch, the whorls and knots polished smooth. She had been sitting on a chair beside one of the cabins, Ryn realized. And now she was making her way toward them, eyes as hard and beady as those of one of Hywel’s chickens.
“Good morning,” said Ellis. He touched his fingers to his heart in greeting. “I hope we’ve not disturbed you.”
The woman’s gaze narrowed as her attention settled on Ellis. “You speak like a southerner,” she said, “but you’ve the accent of the north. What brings you to these parts?”
Behind the woman, Ryn glimpsed movement. Other doors were opening, and from the houses spilled more people. They were dressed in clothing that was patched but clean.
“We’re looking for a place to rest,” said Ryn. “We’ll be no trouble to you, if you’re no trouble to us.”
Ellis threw her a sharp glance, his face taut. He did not seem to approve of the tacit threat.
Ryn merely smiled, her fingers resting lightly on her axe. She knew enough of hunger to be wary—these people looked as though they had little, and desperation might drive them to take what they could. Ryn wouldn’t attack without cause, but nor would she allow them to rob her.
The old woman’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze snapped from Ryn to Ellis. “No one else?”
The question made Ryn hesitate. She was not sure if the woman were ascertaining that they were alone, that they had no reinforcements, or if there were others who needed feeding. But it was Ellis who answered.
“There are no others.”
If the answer put the woman at ease, she did not show it. Her gnarled fingers tightened on the walking stick, and she gave the sharpest of nods. “There’s a spare house on the eastern side of the encampment,” she said. “You can stay there, if you like.”
It was as though she thought they wanted to live in the encampment. Ellis opened his mouth, but Ryn seized his sleeve, silencing him. He threw her a confused glance, and she shook her head.
“Thank you,” she said to the woman. “I’m Ryn, and this is Ellis.”
She half expected the woman to ask for their family names, but she did not. “Ah,” the woman said. She turned on her heel and walked toward one of the houses, moving with surprising speed for a woman of her years.
For a heartbeat, Ellis and Ryn stared after her.
“What do we do?” he said, in an undertone.
“Eat breakfast,” she replied.
“And then?”
“You can ask around. See if anyone here knows of a child who was lost about fifteen years ago. I’m going to ask if anyone has visited the mine.” She shifted on her feet, eyes drawn to the shadow of the mountain. Together, they set off in the direction of the aforementioned empty house. They walked slowly, taking in the sights and sounds of the encampment.
Ellis looked at the cabins. “How do they survive in a place like this? How have they kept the bone houses at bay?”
Ryn met his gaze and held it. “That is a good question. And it is another reason why I do not trust this place, nor its people.”
“Hello there.”
Ryn looked over her shoulder; a woman stood a few strides away. Her hair hung in a heavy braid over one shoulder, and she appeared only a few years older than Ryn. She gave Ryn a small smile. “Has anyone offered you breakfast yet?”
“No,” Ryn replied.
The woman laughed, but it was a rueful sound. “I fear my neighbors are not great believers in offering hospitality to travelers.” She drew a shawl more tightly around her shoulders. It was of fine make, and this woman was pleasantly rounded. She had not lived here long—or if she had, she’d brought better supplies than the others had. “Come in,” she said. “I have a spare room and the kettle is on the fire. You look as if you could use it.”
Ryn did not move.
The woman’s friendly expression did not falter. “I’m Catrin,” she said. “My mam lives here as well. I know—this place seems rather intimidating at first.” She cocked her head. “I know what it’s like to come here with little more than a few things on your back. Mother and I did the same a year ago—it wasn’t easy. You can repay me. I have wood that needs chopping before winter, and another pair of hands wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
Ryn nodded. Kindness was not to be trusted in these lands, but a fair trade—she could depend on that.
Ellis looked to Ryn.
“I’ll leave the two of you alone to decide,” said Catrin, and took a few steps back. “I live two doors over—you can knock if you decide you want to stay with me.” She gave them a little nod before retreating along the path.
“I don’t like this encampment,” said Ellis.
“Nor do I.” Ryn shuffled a little in place; her calves ached from walking, and she yearned to sit down and close her eyes. The exhaustion of the last few days was seeping into her bones. “But at least we can not like it indoors. With a warm fire. We’ll spend a night—we need the rest.”
Ryn took a step, but Ellis remained in place. “Come on,” she said. She nudged him with her elbow. “We’ve got your crossbow and my axe. She’s no taller than you. If it came to a fight, we could bring her down.”
“She did say she lives with another,” Ellis pointed out.
“Her mother,” said Ryn. “Likely a frail old woman.”
“Clearly,” said Ellis, “you have not spent time near older women. I’ve met ones who could bring down a dragon with a glare and a sharp word.” He rubbed his left shoulder. “All right. Food and rest—and then we’ll decide what to do after.”
CHAPTER 16
CATRIN’S HOME WAS larger than Ellis expected. Catrin led them to a kitchen; a fireplace was lit and the heavy scent of burning peat made Ellis’s eyes water. Iron skillets and a baking stone rested on a table, and a half-full cup of tea had been abandoned near a rocking chair.
“Here,” said Catrin, and she gestured upward. There was a loft built above the room, and a wooden ladder leaned against the wall. “I don’t have much in the way of beds, but I’ve blankets. It’ll be better than the cold ground.
“Mam sleeps down the hall, but please leave her be. She’ll wake when she’s ready.” She took a step back. “I’ll be in the second room down the hall. If you need something, knock.” She gave the two of them one more look before closing the door behind her.
“Come on,” said Aderyn, reaching for the ladder. “We might as well get a little rest.”
Ellis took a step back. The thought of climbing made his shoulder twinge; after a whole night of walking, he wasn’t sure he could do it. “I think I’ll take a short walk,” he said. “Get a feel for the camp.”
Aderyn shrugged. “Don’t get bludgeoned over the head, please.”
“Thank you for the advice.” He gave a small bow of his head before slipping out of the house.
He did not know why, but he felt better the moment he walked outside. Perhaps it was the burning peat or the oppressive darkness. Such homes had the smallest slits for windows, and they let in so little sunlight.
The camp was awake and bustling. The communal stone oven was aflame, and a woman removed loaves of flat bread, loading them into a woven basket. Children strung damp clothes across a line, pausing every so often to use the sodden shirts and socks as playful weapons. A pen of sheep made themselves known with loud braying until a man unlatched the pen, herding the animals into the forest. A dog trotted alongside.
Ellis could feel eyes upon him. He stood out—with his fine clothes and neatly trimmed hair. The woman at the oven gave him a polite nod but the children shied away. He walked to the fringes of the camp, where he found an old yew tree. He sat among the roots, his back resting against the trunk. The sunlight warmed him, and he felt his body relaxing. He stayed there for some time, simply listening to the sounds of the forest.
A branch snapped.
He straightened, opened his eyes, and looked toward the circle of ho
uses. A boy around twelve or thirteen approached Ellis, all the while keeping a wary eye on the others. He had the wiry build of a stray dog, and the keen eyes of the street children Ellis had seen in the cities.
“Hello, there,” said Ellis, smiling.
He received no such warmth in return.
“You new to town?” said the boy. He gave a little jerk of the chin to indicate that he didn’t truly care about the answer.
“Yes,” said Ellis.
“You run off with that girl?” the boy asked. “Which one of you is it, then? Got to be you—all pale and skinny.”
Ellis frowned. “Pale and skinny?”
“Maybe girls like that sort of thing,” said the boy, as if trying to unravel a puzzle. “Don’t know why, though.”
Ellis tilted his head, and then he laughed. “You think—Aderyn and I—”
“Pretty name,” said the boy with a shrug. “Pretty girl. You’d not be the first married against their family’s wishes, nor even the first to come here when things don’t work out.”
Ellis smiled, just a little. It wasn’t as if Aderyn was not attractive—she was, of course. She reminded him of an ocean—beautiful, with enough salt to kill a man. He suspected it would take a knight or a hero of legend to impress one such as her.
“No, I’m here looking for my parents,” said Ellis.
The boy squinted at him. “You from here? You don’t look like it.”
“I grew up at Caer Aberhen. The prince took me in.”
The boy’s brows flew skyward. “You run away with a servant?”
Ellis snorted. “No. Aderyn verch Gwyn is a gravedigger from Colbren. I’m a mapmaker.”
“And you came here?” said the boy, confused. “Why?”
Ellis smiled faintly. He knew what he looked like—a tall, thin young man in borrowed finery. “I was found near here. When I was a very young child—starving and alone. Surely my family must have been near.” If they hadn’t simply shoved him into the forest and walked away.
The boy eyed him with new interest. “When’d you go missing?”
The Bone Houses Page 11
