Murder, Talen thought. That’s what Nettle was proposing.
Except killing those outside the law wasn’t murder. It wasn’t murder to kill Bone Faces wherever you happened to find them. It wasn’t murder to kill someone the law demanded exterminated. The lords would prefer Sleth be brought in alive so they could question them, but dead was perfectly acceptable.
Talen had never killed a person. He’d fought in last year’s battles with the Bone Faces as a skirmisher. But who knew if your arrows and stones actually finished a man or merely wounded him? With these two it would be very clear. He’d need to smoke himself with godsweed to prevent the souls of the slain Sleth from trying to attack him.
Just thinking about killing these two turned his gut. It was different from going to battle. It would be a nasty business. If they were simply what they appeared to be-two unlucky children-then an arrow in the back would be enough to bring them down. Another to the heart or through a lung would end it.
A dark, nasty business. But he couldn’t understand why he should hesitate, why he didn’t feel right about it. None of the old tales of Sleth hunters ever mentioned this. Those men and women had never balked at cutting the abominations down. But who was he kidding? He wasn’t a mighty Sleth hunter.
But what if they were innocent? What if they were just like him? Caught up in the bad decisions of their parents.
“It’s possible they learned nothing from their mother,” Talen said.
“Anything’s possible,” said Nettle. “But that’s unlikely. Either way, masters of the dark or snotty-nosed children, I don’t think anybody is going to care. After all-” Nettle stopped himself.
Talen knew what he had been about to say. “After all, what?” said Talen.
“Nothing,” said Nettle.
“My hairy arse,” said Talen. “You were going to say it didn’t matter. After all, they’re just two Koramites.”
“I knew you’d take it that way. But it’s not how I feel. It’s how the lords feel, and I can’t help that. All I’m saying is that nobody is likely to accuse you of a crime.”
No, of course not. But that didn’t seem to matter. “It would even be less of an issue if you did it, Mokaddian captain’s son,” said Talen. “If any murdering is to be done, then you’ll have a hand in it, you can be sure of that.”
The sins of Purity had done nothing but put his family in danger. And the danger and risk would only increase. They’d have to kill the girl and boy. There was no way around it. A sick feeling welled up in Talen, a black numbing.
Talen flicked Iron Boy’s reins. They’d wasted precious time going to the glass master’s. The only consolation was that nobody would expect them along this route. Of course, nobody should have expected them to pass through Gallow’s Gate either, but riders had come after them all the same. Nettle must have felt the black numbing as well, for he said nothing. They traveled for many rods in silence, Talen pondering this bloody medicine and hoping no Fir-Noy had thought to search this road.
If he killed the boy and girl, his father would be furious. But how did he know that Da wasn’t threatened? Da hadn’t told him a thing. Why? Why couldn’t he tell them his big secret on the way to Whitecliff? Why wait?
Because he wasn’t going to tell them anything. He just wanted them out of the way.
Da was involved with something. And that something included a Sleth woman and her monster.
As they traveled Talen began to feel tired. The itch in his legs was lessening. They turned down a narrow trail that led into a piney wood, and an overwhelming weariness fell upon him.
The baker had probably used something like thresher’s seed. It was the way with such herbs that they left you weaker than when you first took them. And that herb was probably the root of his black thoughts.
No, it was not the herb. It was his heart. It was sometimes said the heart perceived things the head could not. It was said that sometimes the ancestors could speak to a man’s heart even when his head was full of stone.
“We’re not going to kill them,” said Talen. “Not immediately.” The road here was thick with pine needles. It muffled Iron Boy’s hooves. It seemed to muffle Talen’s words. He knew it was not a smart decision, but the moment he said it the dark cloud smothering his heart seemed to lift a bit.
“They’re going to tumble mountains of troubles upon your whole family,” said Nettle.
“You’re probably right,” said Talen. “But we can’t just kill them. What if that brings the monster? What if this nest does something to Da in retaliation?”
“Is it right to appease evil?”
The answer to that was obvious. As were the risks.
Talen looked at Nettle. It was unfair to ask him to assume these risks. There was trouble down this road and there was no reason he had to travel it. “You’re a good friend, cousin. Maybe you should go home and tell your father what’s going on.”
“Now?”
“Yeah,” said Talen. “He might be able to help.”
“You just want me to get up and go?”
“I think so.”
Nettle gave Talen a frustrated look. “Even you,” he said.
“What?” asked Talen.
Nettle set his jaw. “I’ll leave and you’ll get turned into some wicked minion, and then, no doubt, I’ll be the one that will have to kill you. No thanks. I’m coming.”
“You’ll drag your whole family into this. Even if Da’s right and the children are not Sleth, there’s a huge chance anybody involved is going to find themselves hanging in Gallow’s Grove.”
“I’m not running home to daddy,” said Nettle.
Talen heaved a sight of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that,” said Talen. “I guess this means when monster comes around, you’ll be the man to take it.”
“I said I wasn’t running home. Not that I was an idiot.”
“Oh, you’re an idiot,” Talen said. “I think that’s already been established.”
“Right,” said Nettle. “And if I’m an idiot, that puts you somewhere on the level of a cabbage.”
Talen smiled. With all that had happened and all that was at risk, the clear and easy choice was for Nettle to take his leave. A wave of gratitude washed through Talen. There probably wasn’t a finer friend in all the New Lands than the one sitting next to him on the wagon. He reached over and clapped Nettle on the shoulder.
“What?” asked Nettle.
“Nothing,” said Talen.
Up ahead there was a break in the tall pines to either side of the road, and the sun cast long shadows across that part of the trail. Talen saw one lone firefly shine and wink out as it ascended to a tree. In a few hours the woods would pulse and sparkle with thousands of them.
Iron Boy’s ears suddenly pricked forward.
Talen looked up the road, but didn’t see anything.
The mule held its head up, alert, and slowed.
“What is it, boy?”
Talen scanned the woods and caught movement out of the side of his eye. He turned.
Iron Boy had stopped now. He stamped one foot.
“Where are they?” asked Nettle.
“It’s not a they,” said Talen. “But an it.”
“Where?”
Talen pointed at a tree in front of them. Something was standing in the boughs about halfway up. It was not a mountain cat. Not nearly that large. Nor was it one of those troublesome monkeys that were expert in stealing everything from knives to fruit. It was about the size of a small dog, hunched, and long-limbed.
He looked closer. It was a light gray, the color of shadow and bark, and its limbs seemed awkward and long. Or maybe it was just the light. “What is it?”
Nettle followed Talen’s gaze and stared. “Well, it’s kind of hard to say. I can’t be sure, but it looks like a tree to me.”
“Goh, in the tree. About fifteen feet up that pine. There’s something looking at us.”
Nettle looked at Talen, he looked back at the tree, squinted, and looked back at Talen.
“Nothing’s there.”
“It’s right in front of your face.”
“Hallucinations.” Nettle said. “Maybe those stupid ginger abominations did have come-backs.”
Talen wasn’t seeing things. It was right there.
“I never have this problem with bread pudding,” said Nettle.
Whatever it was moved out of the shadows of the trees and into the waning light.
Talen blinked. It was still there.
Iron Boy chuffed.
“See that?” Talen asked. “Iron Boy didn’t have any ginger.”
He had to admit the coloring of the thing made it difficult to see. It put him in mind of insects that camouflaged themselves to look exactly like bark or leaves.
“There’s nothing in the tree,” said Nettle. “Nothing on the trail. Let’s just get home.”
Talen flicked the reins and started Iron Boy into a trot. The mule protested and tried to turn away, but Talen gave the reins a good tug and shake and put Iron Boy in motion.
When they passed by the pine, the creature began to move again.
Iron Boy whinnied and picked up his gait.
The creature swung down the limbs of the tree to the needle-strewn road. Then it began scampering after the wagon in an odd, hunched gait, quickly closing the distance.
“You’re right,” said Talen, “I’m hallucinating.”
Because if he wasn’t, that meant they’d attracted the attention of a small nightmare. What else could it be? As the thing drew nearer, Talen could more easily discern the eyes, hands, and feet. But they were misshapen. The nose was flat and crooked. The fingers too long.
There were creatures not wholly of this world. There were the mighty skir that the Divines enthralled and the souls of the dead. But there were also other things, some of which could, under certain circumstances, be seen with the naked eye. This thing matched the descriptions of one of those. Talen had never seen one before, but he’d heard about them. They fed upon the Fire of the weak and dying. Like the creatures that ate carrion of the flesh, they were attracted by death and disease. They shadowed the edges of armies and hid in cellars and the thatch roofs of villages smitten by pestilence. They did not flock in great numbers like crows and ravens. At least, he’d never heard tell of anyone seeing more than a handful together at once. But did numbers matter? When they got a hold of you, they burrowed in like ticks to gorge upon your Fire. And like ticks they were hard to dislodge and sometimes left bits of themselves behind.
Godsweed was supposed to keep them at bay, which is one of the reasons why soldiers smoked themselves with it before battle. Drinking it in a tea was also supposed to help, but such a tea gave men horrible cramps. Talen reached up and felt the godsweed braid on his arm. Even wearing it was supposed to have an effect.
Iron Boy trotted down the road, nervously turning his head to the left then right so he could get a better view of what was behind him. The odd-limbed thing was only a few paces behind them.
“I believe,” Talen said, “that we’ve just attracted ourselves a fright.”
At that moment the creature closed the final distance. It grabbed the wagon bed with one long-fingered hand and disappeared underneath.