Talen squatted with Legs behind a tangle of blackberry brambles that grew at the wood’s edge. In front of them a small orchard of pear trees glistened in the moonlight. At the end of one of the rows and across a path stood Uncle Argoth’s home. And patrolling the grounds about the house were three Lions of Mokad, dreadmen all.
Talen had his bow and more than twenty arrows. He might be able to pin three regular soldiers down, might even be able to take out one of these Lions if his aim was true and the arrow took the man in a vital part, but the others would not stay put. And once they entered the woods, his arrows would be worth nothing.
So Talen sat and waited, and while he waited he practiced what River had taught him, to open and close himself. To pour out Fire and to stop it up. He could still feel the memory of suffocating, of her pressing into his being. And he wondered if what he did at this very moment was Slethery.
“He’s not coming,” whispered Legs. “It’s past time.”
What did this boy do-count the seconds? “Since when do the blind know what time it is?” asked Talen.
“The mosquitoes have begun to rise. The mice and deer are moving. Morning’s coming.”
Mice and mosquitoes? He realized he had indeed just shooed away a mosquito. He looked to the eastern horizon and saw the faintest lightening of the sky over the peaks of the mountains. The boy was right.
“So you’re not blind?” asked Talen.
“I’m blind. I just pay attention.”
Talen grunted. What had happened to Nettle? Was he sleeping peacefully, knowing to come out would only reveal them, or was he on some table being put to the question?
“What else have you paid attention to besides deer and mice?” asked Talen.
“Nothing,” said Legs. “If the dreadmen know we’re here, then they don’t care.”
“Or they’re waiting for daylight to get a good look at us. Give me your hand,” said Talen. “It’s time for us to go.”
“You’re just going to leave him?”
“I don’t see that we have much choice,” said Talen. “Besides, Uncle Argoth’s with him.”
“Maybe they have him too,” whispered Legs.
“Then our only hope is to muster the rest of this… Order.” “Nest” is what he wanted to say. But he just could not apply that term to Da, River, and Ke. He didn’t know what terms to use. Sleth, good soul-eaters, bad Divines-it was all a bewildering mess.
He took Legs’s hand and picked his way carefully down the line of brambles. The forest canopy here was thick, and as a result, squelched almost all growth on the forest floor. Still, he had to keep an eye out for branches.
They passed a fat chestnut and Legs pulled on Talen’s hand. “There’s something dead here.”
Talen paused and smelled the air. Some carcass was indeed rotting nearby. The leaves off to their left suddenly rustled.
Talen froze. The last thing he wanted was to stumble upon some bear’s or wildcat’s kill. But then, Argoth had dogs, and they would have smelled this out long ago. They would have chased off any cat or bear except he hadn’t seen or heard Argoth’s dogs.
The leaves rustled again.
Whatever made the noise, it was something smaller than a bear or wildcat, a weasel or badger perhaps. Talen’s heart stopped palpitating.
He realized he hadn’t seen or heard Blue or Queen last night. Where had his dogs been? They’d often go hunting in the evenings, but they never stayed away. They always came home before it got too late. Had they gone to River’s aid?
He thought of River running out to draw that thing and a gloom descended upon him. Da had fought it to no avail. It had eluded the cohorts of the fortress. Surely, one girl, even with River’s talents, could not best it. He wanted more than ever to get to the Creek Widow’s to see if River had arrived. They needed to move faster.
“This way,” he whispered to Legs and pulled on his hand. “We’re going to take the roads.”
“Won’t that be risky?” asked Legs.
“Yes, but I don’t know the woods in these parts like I do at home. We’ll be stumbling about. If we’re going to sneak, I want to do it quickly.”
They left the line of bramble and, as carefully as they could, took a direct route to the road that cut like a pale ribbon through the dark woods. When they came to the road’s edge, they stood in the darkness of the forest for some time watching and listening. When Talen was satisfied they were alone, he led Legs out into the moonlight. Hand in hand they went, Legs keeping his other hand out in front of him so something didn’t smack him in the face. Down the hill they walked, to the first crossroads, a left, over a muddy brook, around the bend where a woodikin had been spotted last year, and along the Misty Falls trail.
Their grip became wet with sweat. “Change hands,” said Talen. He released his grip and switched his bow to the other hand.
“We’ll go faster if you just give me a stick,” said Legs.
“I don’t doubt it,” said Talen. “But the last thing we need is for someone to hear you rattling along. Change hands.”
Talen couldn’t quite believe what River had told him earlier. In fact, the whole incident with the beast was unreal. But her comments about him were more disturbing. So he could handle astonishing amounts of Fire, so what? And the whole business about Mother and the wisterwives, her pouring out her life into him and her odd comment about him needing a flaw. What did it all mean? A hundred questions coursed through his mind. But all of them came back to the fact that he was walking a lonely road in the wee hours of the morning, holding hands with this hatchling like a lover.
“So did your mother teach you anything about the black arts?”
“They’re not black,” said Legs.
“No, of course not. There’s just that ragged grassman killing people left and right and chasing down our women. But other than that, I’m sure the whole business is as pure as the morning’s dew. So, did she teach you anything?”
“She taught me that some people are idiots,” said Legs.
Talen looked down at the boy and his wild hair. “A lot of squeak for a little man. Look, you and I are in the same boat, heading down the same river toward the same rapids. Besides, having been worked on by not only my father and my mother, but now also my loving sister, I suppose I’m more hatchling than you.”
And it was true. Lords and lice, what would the bailiff say now?
They took another few steps in silence.
“Do you trust your sister and father?” Legs asked.
“Do you trust yours?”
“I’m blind,” he said. “I’ve had to trust them all my life.”
“So it doesn’t bother you that your mother is Sleth?”
“ ‘Sleth’ isn’t the word we use,” said Legs. “Weren’t you listening?”
Talen looked at Legs again. Squeak indeed. “Whatever they’re called. The Order then.” And was that just another lie? They’d lied to him all this time. Years of lying. And if they could hide such a huge mountain of stinking cess, then they could lie about anything.
“Your mother lied,” said Talen.
“Yes, she did,” said Legs. “But everyone lies.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Yes, they do. You’re telling me a Mokaddian hasn’t ever pushed ahead of you in some line, and you nodded politely, but inside you were all resentment?”
That wasn’t a lie. That was avoiding a beating. Of course, it wasn’t the truth either. He wondered, was it a lie to swallow your tears when you got hurt so others didn’t think you a child? Was it a lie to act bravely when facing an enemy, even when you wanted to run? Maybe everyone did lie. Maybe the kinds of lies you told defined who you were. And what did it say when the lies were as monstrous as the ones his family kept?
“You asked me if I was bothered,” Legs said. “Yes. But mostly I just feel a crushing nothing where my da used to be. I feel like I’ve taken a step where I thought ground was, but there’s nothing there. And I’m falling”-His voice grew small, as if he’d curled in on himself-“I’m falling. And I have no idea how I’m going to land, or if I’m going to break my neck.”
That was exactly how it felt, Talen thought. “My da says Sparrow was a great man.”
“He was,” said Legs. “He was everything.”
They walked a few dozen yards farther, and when they came to the turnoff that led to the Creek Widow’s, Talen stopped.
“What are we doing?” asked Legs.
“I’m getting my bearings,” said Talen. “Give me a moment.”
If they continued on the current trail, they’d eventually arrive in Whitecliff. And that was the trail he should take. Everyone knew Sleth twisted things. If his family could be redeemed, then only a Divine could do it. But if they couldn’t be redeemed, then they would only spread the poison of these arts to others. He should follow the trail to Whitecliff, to the first official he could find and ask for the Skir Master. He should offer his services to inform on the activities of this Order. After all, who better than a trusted family member? And if they tortured and killed him, what of it? He’d done his duty.
Dawn was coming. It was light enough for him to see quite a distance down the path. He could be in Whitecliff before some of the rich there took their breakfast.
But what if River was telling the truth?
What if?
Following a trusted face-that was how one lost his bearings. You hesitated, wanting to show mercy and patience, wanting to give people the benefit of the doubt, and soon enough you’ve lost all perspective. Soon enough you want justice to prevail only when it is convenient, and then not at all, for by that time your idea of right and wrong is so warped it cannot serve as a standard. Perhaps the only defense against the dark ones was a heart of stone. A heart so hard with righteousness it could carry through the murder of those it loved most.
No wonder the Divines destroyed whole families.
He knew where his duty lay. He should march this blind boy right into the hands of those who sought him.
Still, despite the secrets River had revealed, there wasn’t an evil bone in her body. Nor in Da’s. Or even Ke’s. This he knew. Of course, that didn’t mean they couldn’t have made an honest mistake joining this Order. It didn’t mean they couldn’t have been coerced.
But if what River had said was true, if the Divines really were nothing more than a guild that had chased away all competition, then he’d be making the biggest error of his life. Was it possible that the world was as topsy-turvy as she described, with Divines hunting down those who encroached on their monopoly like greedy merchants and the Creators giving vast powers to commoners?
It didn’t explain the grassman or all the horrifying stories of soul-eaters. But then, it did explain how some Divines fell from grace.
She could be right, even if the possibility was remote.
Talen looked down the road to Whitecliff again.
He owed it to River to give her a chance. He owed it to Da and Ke and Mother. To Uncle Argoth.
It was wicked, but he couldn’t see a better way. Besides, maybe it was his task to walk into the heart of the black forest in which they were lost, find them, and bring them back from shadows and into the light.
He sighed and shook his head. This whole situation was unreal-a tavern story headed for a dark end. He looked down at Legs. “So you don’t know any tricks? No bloody rites? It’s just me and you out here on our own?”
“I can sing you a ditty about a one-legged slave,” said Legs.
“Your mother put half an army to flight and that’s all you’ve got?”
“I can do this,” Legs said. He looked up at Talen, the whites of his eyes rolling in their sockets.
We’d seen that before, and it was even more unnerving in the early morning twilight. “Right,” said Talen. “When we want to make our enemies lose their breakfast, we’ll bring you in.”
“And what have you got?”
“I’ve got my bow,” said Talen. “I’ve got my brains. They’ll get us to the Creek Widow’s. And maybe there we’ll find some clarity.”
Legs cocked his head and held his hand up for Talen to be silent.
Talen looked around. The woods about them were dark and deep.
“Somebody’s coming,” Legs whispered.
Talen listened. At first there was nothing, and then he heard the soft thud of men running on dirt, running down the path that led to the Creek Widow’s.
“Off the road,” Talen said. He grabbed Leg’s hand. “Quick.” The road here was bordered by a few tall pines and some beech, which meant there wasn’t a whole lot of cover. But if they could get fifty paces in, the trunks of the trees would hide them.
They didn’t get fifty paces before three Shoka appeared on the road. They’d barely gotten more than fifteen. There were two bowmen and a spearman. The Shoka stopped, and Talen halted Legs.
“You two take that side,” one of bowmen said. “We don’t want to proclaim our presence.”
None of these three looked to be much older than Talen. One of the bowmen and the young one with a short spear stepped into the woods on the far side of the road. The one who had spoken walked five paces in on Talen’s side. Not straight in front of Talen, but at a slight diagonal from where he and Legs stood. He stopped at the trunk of a fallen pine, knocked off the nub of a branch, then sat himself down.
He was close enough that Talen could have pinged him in the head if he were the target of a muskmelon seed-spitting contest.
Talen carefully took one step back and a twig popped underneath him. He froze.
The Shoka on the pine log turned his head slightly as if trying to listen.
By the Goat King’s hairy arse, Talen thought. He’s going to turn, and I’ve got my bow in the wrong hand.