The Gantlet

by Linda L. Dunlap

  She felt it first against her elbow, a push, then against her hands that held him down. He came up from the current, flailing and kicking.

  “Are you trying to drown me?” he demanded, gasping for breath. She hugged him tight against his will as water ran in rivulets from his thick yellow hair.

  “Sean, you’re back! We have to hurry. I’m so sorry that your mam and poppa are gone, but we must go quickly.”

  “Where will we go? What happened to me?” Sean asked, coughing, his practical mind working. “What was that thing and why did it come here?”

  “It was a mordant. It wants to kill us.”

  “What am I doing in the water? How did I get here?”

  “Please, we can talk later,” Breanna said. “Where’s your poppa’s boat?”

  “Behind the tall tree, tied to a post. He was careful with his boat.” His eyes grew red, the grief in him over the loss of his parents raw. He wanted to be a little boy again and cry his heart out, but now he had to learn to be an adult. Twelve winters old, still growing into the man he would be someday. Sean held back tears and said, “Let’s get on with it.”

  The boat was a fisherman’s dory, barely large enough for the three of them and a few supplies.

  “What will happen to Poppa and Mam?” Sean asked. They needed to be put in the ground.

  “I sent the lambs to the Greenwalls’ pasture; you know he’ll take care of them. The calves went too. Mer Greenwall saw me getting ready to go, and he gave me the coins in his pocket. I took the rest of the silver from the teapot,” Elida reported. “Poppa and Mam won’t need it. Besides, we’ll be coming back soon,” she said with her chin out. Her lips trembled for a moment, and she added, “Mer Greenwall covered Poppa and Mam with some sheets from the house, and he said he would put them in the ground, being neighbors and all.”

  At that, both children began sobbing quietly for their parents, as the shock of losing them became stark fear at being left alone.

  Breanna took one of the paddles and rammed it into the water, trying to guide the boat down the Tribon, but succeeded only in making it move from side to side.

  “Here, Breanna, I’ll guide the boat,” Sean said, drying his tears. “You steadily pull with the oar for speed.”

  His father had taught him well how to row a boat to the best advantage. They needed to get away fast from the farm, where the mordant would surely return, bringing a greater horror against them. Three children had little hope for defeating a deadly demon. The Tribon was still turbulent from the early upheaval; the thrashing of waters caused by the mordant bounced the small craft in terrifying ways, making Sean worry he might be unable to control the dory and guide it around the shallows. He had never been so far down the channel, had never seen it become so wide between banks. Willum would have cautioned him to keep it slow and steady, his eyes on the middle of the Tribon, watching for the hidden traps that could take them down.

  Breanna Ascroft, sweet child, harken to Willow now, and I will tell you a little something. I’m true to my word, wee one, and I love you fiercely as if you were my own. This is my secret, child—keep it dear to your own thinking, and as you grow older, tuck it away for a day when it will help you survive in a horrible place. Use it, and it will save you. The memory was deep, from days gone by, the lesson there from the past.

  The mordant was on its way, bringing other spirits stirred by evil, their presence so terrible each of the children would suffer horrible death. Call the White. Dig deep, child, breathe hard three times and take it into your chest; hold it there and think on me. You will disappear from your enemy’s sight.

  They flew down the raging Tribon, its waters sloshing into the boat, soaking their feet and clothing. Elida held the supplies in her lap and leaned into the bag as she planted her wet feet against the sides of the dory, bracing herself against going overboard. She saw the darkness approaching, covering the sky from horizon to horizon.

  “Bree,” she screamed over the noise of the water, “they’re coming.”

  “Wait, Elida. Wait. Say your prayers quietly,” Breanna replied on the wind.

  She stood in the small boat, throwing caution aside, as she knew she must. I remember, she thought, I remember soft brown curls lying behind her elven ears, and blue-green eyes full of love as she held my small body.

  “Willow,” Breanna whispered, breathing deeply once, twice, three times, holding it inside as the source within her sent its power. Above her head, falling down, covering the boat and the three, a thin sheet of white softness hovered, hiding them from sky terrors and all other foes. The water’s turbulence stilled, settling the dory right as it trailed peacefully down the Tribon, all danger gone. There were no fears inside the White, no thought of falling into deep waves, or of terrible spirits reaching with long black arms. They were safely hidden from all harm for a long space of time.

  A need for breath sent Breanna stumbling to the seat, where she grabbed the sides of the boat and sucked in air. The sloshing sounds of water against the bow returned as the white softness faded. She shook herself like a dog drying its coat, feeling the cool evening air on her prickled skin as time returned to her and the Vale children.

  The day had passed as the wind pushed them far down the Tribon, away from whatever new entity might have assaulted the farm. Breanna was tired, more exhausted than she’d ever been in her life. Her head ached, and she wished she could still hide in her mam’s skirts. They were at the mercy of witches and their spells, and the child within the girl knew nothing about fighting. How could they run from what they did not see? One thing was sure: her friends, especially Elida, trusted her with their lives. Such a big responsibility weighed on her thin shoulders.

  “What will the mordant do to our neighbors? Will it kill them?” Elida asked, her face a picture of sadness.

  “I don’t know, Elida, but maybe it will go away or dissolve when it finds us gone. If the people stay hidden in their houses, the village may be safe.” Breanna was making up answers, hoping to ease the younger girl’s fears. “Now our responsibility is to ourselves, to find a safe place tonight. We can’t stay on the Tribon in darkness. We’re all hungry and need sleep before our trip tomorrow.”

  “Where are we going tomorrow?” Sean asked, his hand still guiding the dory as it floated down the river. “Do you know, Bree?”

  “No, but I thought since we can’t go back to the farm, we can search for my home. I’m not afraid of what lies ahead; I am more frightened of what’s waiting for us if we go back to the farm.”

  Breanna’s head was aching, a pain she had noticed each time she pulled knowledge from her memory, but it had never been as bad. “Sean,” she said wearily, “keep watch for a crossing onto land. We need to find a place to stay tonight.”

  Elida had been paying attention to the water level at her feet, noticing it rising by the moment, unsure where it was coming inside.

  “Sean,” she said, “there’s water on the floor. It’s covering my feet now and I’m getting cold. We have to get off the boat. Now, Sean, look at how low we sit in the Tribon. We’re going to sink.” She started crying hysterically, and Sean felt terrible. Poppa had taught him to take care of his younger sister. He was bothered when she cried.

  “A’right, Elida, then we’ll pull to the bank at the first landing, but we may be alone there with just the forest. Still, we don’t want to sink. Here, pull with this oar. Bree is hurting, so you have to do your part.”

  “Hurry, Sean, hurry. I’m getting wet.” Elida was near screaming, the events of the day more than she was able to take; her young mind, accustomed to the security of her poppa’s protection, was now incapable of handling further fright.

  Breanna had been dreaming, as the pain in her head dissipated. “What is it, Sean?” she asked, as Elida’s cries awoke her.

  “The boat is sinking, and there’s a pile of logs we can pull beside, maybe save our supplies and ourselves. I’m guiding the boat in. Hold on should we hit hard.”

>   He was right about caution, for the boat slammed into the logs extending into the water. One of them punched a ragged hole through the side of the dory.

  “It’s going down, Sean, jump!” Breanna yelled. “I’ll get your sister out.

  “Elida come to me; hold on to my waist. We must go now,” she said as quietly as possible to keep from further frightening the child. Breanna stood on the seat of the water-filled boat, the place where she had been sitting was now covered with trash and rising water from the swift river.

  “Here, Elida, hold tight,” Breanna said, pushing off on her right foot, but with the added weight of the girl, she leaned too far to one side. Correcting her position, she pushed harder, for a longer jump. They soared, over the boat, over the logs, onto dry land, where Sean was waiting with the bag of supplies from the boat. “Thank you, Sheela,” she whispered to herself.

  “How did you do that? How did you jump so high with my sister in your arms?” Sean asked suspiciously.

  “It wasn’t very far, and Elida helped. She jumped too.” Breanna was concerned with Sean’s suspicion. She didn’t want him to think the witches had infected her. “It was less than you think. Anyway, we have no time for talk; darkness will be coming soon. There’s no shelter here, but maybe we can build a fire and make a cover for ourselves. Sean, you’re the best at these things. Will you find dry wood and light the fire?”

  Thinking that maybe the jump was possible, Sean accepted Breanna’s explanation, for he had seen stranger things happen on the farm. Once his poppa had been using the pitchfork, lifting hay into sheep pens, when a giant beetlesnake, larger around than Willum, came out of the haymow, ugly as you please, hoping to have mutton for his dinner. Poppa stepped high and brought the pitchfork down so hard it penned the beetlesnake to the ground. When he was asked afterward how he’d done it, he couldn’t say.

  “A’right, such things happen and we can’t say how,” Sean said to himself, as he searched for firewood. The boy’s mind was unsettled; he was discovering the world to be much bigger than he had ever thought, and it frightened him terribly.

  They gathered the makings for shelter and piled them out of creatures’ paths to water, under cover of a few thin trees. Sean laid the fire, while Breanna and Elida leaned brush and small limbs together at the base of the biggest tree. It offered little protection, but it was better than nothing at all. Nearby, they found thick brush and dragged it to their shelter.

  “We must cut small pieces to lay on the ground under the covers for our bed,” Elida said in her best Alane voice. “Mam says we need comfort at night so we can have a good day the next.” Saying her mother’s words brought tears to the young girl’s eyes. She couldn’t believe Alane was gone from her forever.

  The light in the sky disappeared and only stars lit the night. Darkness hovered around the small band of travelers, but as the black settled, a few fireflies sparked, lighting the open land. Under the flimsy shelter, the two younger children huddled together, their shoulders covered by a thin quilt.

  “I have no flint or coals for making fires,” Sean said, after failing miserably at using two rocks and striking them together. “I’m hungry; do you think we can have something to eat?”

  “What did you bring us, Elida?” Breanna asked cheerfully. “Do we have food?”

  The younger girl dug into the bag that once served as one of her mam’s pillow covers. “There are biscuits and onions, some turnips, and a pack of dried meat. We have water, a’right, but no cups for drinking.”

  They divided the food into the evening meal and the next day, hoping they would find a place later to buy food with the coins in Elida’s pocket.

  “Onions are a’right if you eat them with a biscuit,” Sean said, popping hunks of food into his mouth.

  “Eat slower; we have to make it last,” Breanna cautioned. “Here’s what I think. See if you agree. We need to sleep tonight. Tomorrow we won’t have a boat, but we should follow the Tribon. There will be a village somewhere before long.” She had grown accustomed to soothing the younger children, but she changed her tactics as the need arose. She hadn’t asked for the duty, to lead them, but it was true she had the knowledge that might help them find their way, if only Sean didn’t grow troublesome and demand to know her secrets. Barring that, the time might still come when she would be forced to tell them of her skills, thus breaking a promise she had made to her loving friends of Nore Mountain.

  “A’right, well said,” Sean said in his new manly voice. He hadn’t yet reached the age where his voice broke, but it was close by, causing hoarseness sometimes when he got excited. “I’m going to sleep now.”

  Two thin quilts were all Elida had brought for them. Sleeping just off the ground would be uncomfortable without enough bedding to keep them warm. The two farm children snuggled together, pinching one another once, setting off some giggles from Elida. Breanna was glad to hear her laugh again, if only for a moment. The child had suffered enough sadness in one day to last a lifetime.

  Her own attempts to sleep were miserable moments fighting the biting flies and trying to get warm. She snuggled close to Elida about the time Sean decided to turn, taking the thin covers with him. Breanna huddled by herself as the air turned colder, and she shivered in her still-wet clothing. Her thoughts ran back to Nore Mountain, where she would be tucked inside her own soft bed, warm as fresh bread.

  Breanna, baby girl, Mam is going to make us a nice fire, warm up the cottage. Watch me now, watch Mam, then you’ll know how to build your own someday. Watch close. Her fingers had snapped twice over the thin kindling in the fire pit, the spark jumping, becoming a stream of lightning that trailed from Mam’s fingers, catching the wood. Careful, now, she said, you must control the flame, child. Use it wisely, and keep the knowledge in your head.

  Breanna rose from the thin bed and found two small rocks that she set aside. She placed her hand above the kindling Sean had laid. Snapping two fingers together, she remembered her mam, the smile on her face, the love in her eyes.

  The spark came, slowly at first, then a stream of uncontrolled fire. She guided the fire to the kindling and watched it catch, her mam nodding at her smart baby girl. The source trembled as fire went from her fingers—just a touch of flame, not enough to destroy the world.

  The warmth soothed her frayed nerves and the slight pain that had begun between her eyes. Being only fifteen summers in a world where demons and witches wanted her dead was not only new, it was catastrophic. She was scared beyond any fear she could show the others; she knew she must be strong and cast her doubts aside. Fire was her mam’s secret, long hidden in her memories, but the voice of her mother had returned. The thought brought comfort, as though Mathena was standing close by, watching over her.

  3.

  The souls of Nore Mountain were disconsolate; no amount of words could cheer them, for Breanna, their baby, was gone, taken by the Orbels from her bed.

  “Not possible,” Mathena said, fearing the worst, “that some entity captured our only child from her bed.”

  “But true,” Lyman wailed. “She is gone, never to return to us.”

  Throughout the city, the wail would be repeated over and over again: “How did they take her?”

  Later, cries of disbelief came. “Foul, no Orbel tusk entered this door. Something evil has taken her. Who would take her? How could they know, unless… No, impossible; no evil could live here.”

  For four years the town mourned, and then one day the council gave approval for another child to replace the one lost. A new babe was born, and his soft pink skin made him the darling of Nore Mountain, but the memories within the seven had already been shared with Breanna Ascroft. The new child brought joy, some even to Mathena and Lyman, for a baby was unmistakably the best cure for their heartache and pain. The couple got on with their lives on the surface, but beneath the displays of happiness, Mathena grieved for her little one, truly missing her as the best part of her soul. She had shared her knowledge with Breanna, l
oved her, cared for her; how could such a horrible thing happen to her daughter?

  Time heals wounds; but memories lie quietly only until they are stirred. Mathena looked into the past, remembering, noticing things around her, hearing the clicking she remembered from many ages gone by. Click-click, in the night, outside the doors, from cottage to cottage, the bone tapping, the same bone young Mathena had freed of meat and blood in a final confrontation. It was the knee bone of Yahmara she heard tapping against itself. The witch, long despised by all elves and once defeated by Mathena, had been put down for an age, but now sent her spirit to walk on Nore Mountain, spreading chaos, searching for followers.

  Too long I have been locked away in this village on the side of a mountain. I am far from able to thwart any witches’ spells. What is called for is Eliandor of the Elf Council, long separated from Qays, yet still head of all elves, for he alone can summon the faeries, the true enemies of witches. She, Mathena, must go toward Pentara Wood, the only direction she knew. It was to have been her home before the turning out.

  On the fortnight before Breanna’s fifteenth birthday, Mathena brought news of her intended journey to Lyman, her mate, expecting his objections, but prepared for the worst or the best.

  “It is time, Lyman, time I go from this place to my grandfather, Eliandor,” she said, holding her head high as she stared into her mate’s soulful eyes. “He must be made aware of the evil that visits here, evil I know, but can no longer contain. Eliandor must be told; only he will have the means to stop Yahmara and her minions, for it is she who visits our people. It is she who took our Breanna. What we have is safety, but at what cost, dear mate? Will we hide from all which threatens our lives? Will we always be absent the sound of children’s voices playing in our homes? Will we forsake new blood to our old race? You know I speak the truth.”