The Gantlet

by Linda L. Dunlap

  “Yes, Mathena, I know you are going,” Lyman said. “But you mistake me for someone who does not care deeply for your welfare. I will not see you go alone. Your friends are here, awaiting you, each of them on their own merit prepared to leave the valley. Your powers are still strong, Mathena, for you have called them to you, and I must step back as your mate and think only as a Qay. I have readied carts for you with Farqells, those noble beasts willing to journey from the Redway road, past the valley, and wherever you guide them. You must travel with care, my heart, for I cannot look into a future without you. I stay to attend the council, for of late the city is rife with ill deeds and unrest. You must reach Eliandor in time, for the witches’ coven will gather in a half-year, two seasons from now. After the gathering, there will be no stopping Yahmara. I fear our whole existence will be at risk.”

  “Goodbye, Lyman,” Mathena said the next fortnight as tears built under the surface of her lids. “You have been a good mate and I will see you again, if not here, then at the portals of Faydor, where we will gather for all time. I will find our child, alive or lying dead.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Knowing the danger ahead, she was reluctant to leave him. Lyman had been her mate for longer than she could remember, and she should have known he was aware of her distress, would sense her leaving. Her heart was heavy on the one hand, for she might never return, but it was light on the other, for she knew on the moment her journey began, Yahmara’s foul following would be close behind, keeping watch over her, leaving the souls of Nore Mountain alone. It will be good to leave this land for a time.

  The wagons packed with traveling goods left after full light, for the Farqells were impatient to see new territory. Lyman stood aside, his dark red curls damp from a light, misting rain. His family was on his mind. He, like every Qay, knew his responsibility was to care for his loved ones. Sending Mathena away with her sisters had been a difficult decision, but he knew her leaving was the only right and true solution to the witch problem in their settlement. His mate believed him to be ignorant of the burdens she carried, but the gift she was given by her grandfather so long ago was a part of the love Lyman had for her. He stood a moment longer, water gathering in his eyes as the big grass eaters pulled the carts away. He was missing Mathena already, but he was convinced her journey was necessary.

  Seven Qays began the journey: seven, whose home should have been the Haven of Pentara Wood, all happy souls to be trading the cloister of Nore Mountain’s hollow tree for the valley below, then onward to another land a thousand leagues away. Nothing would ever be the same as it once was, a premise both delightful and dreadful.

  4.

  The morning came quickly, bringing sharper temperatures. The children shivered without cloaks or warm clothing in the unnatural cold. Sitting before the fire, Sean pounded two rocks together, determined to produce a spark, but none came.

  “I don’t know how you did it in the darkness, Bree. I keep trying to get these to fire a spark, but it doesn’t work for me,” the boy said disgustedly.

  Breanna nodded. “I’m sorry, Sean, but we don’t have time for you to continue. We have no choice but to start walking. I wish we could have kept the boat, but as you know, it’s at the bottom of the Tribon.”

  “Bree,” Elida said, “we don’t have much food. Should we finish it off now, or eat part of it, and save the rest?”

  “I think we should save part of it to give us something to look toward if we don’t find other food today,” Breanna replied. “Although I’m sure we’ll find something soon.” She was worried, for their path was a mystery, and no one they knew had ever been this far from the Vale farmhouse and the village of Weir. There were many possibilities along the journey, and few looked good, but a cheerful face was called for to keep up the spirits of the younger children.

  “Sean, would you lead us away from here?” Breanna asked, her voice light, as she gave the boy respect and encouragement. Her mood lightened even more as the sun warmed the air, step after step, mile after mile. It was Sean’s responsibility to keep them near the river as they passed through brush and trees.

  “People live near waterways, and there we’ll soon find help,” Breanna said. Elida was humming a tune, hanging back a little, her eyes staring off into brush, which was more and more of the same since they’d begun the morning’s journey. Concern for the little girl made Breanna wish there was a way to relieve her suffering, but Elida had to grieve her own way. There was no question of traveling back to Weir and the sadness there, and even if they could, how would they live without adults to provide for them? If only they could find Nore Mountain, all would be well.

  “Elida,” Breanna whispered, “come and walk with me. Sing the tune to me.”

  “My mam sang it,” Elida said, her tears starting again. “Remember when she sang and canned the beets and turnips for winter?”

  “Yes, Elida, I remember. Your mam was good, loving her family like she did. She was kind to me, too. She always made sure I had a share of everything. She made it better for me, missing my mam and poppa like I did. I still miss them. They’re as near and dear to me today as they were back then.”

  They grew quiet as Sean motioned for them to stop talking. He nodded at Breanna to stand beside him and look over the top of a hill. A small farmhouse like the one they had lived in sat off by itself with a stream of smoke curling from its chimney. In the front of the house, there were signs of great destruction. A whole side had planks crushed into pieces, fence posts around the sheepcote were broken into small sticks, and wooly animals were scattered, with some lying unmoving on the grass. The ground had been lifted in spots as though a great plow had turned the soil and awaited planting in holes large enough to hold the entire cottage.

  “What happened, do you suppose?” Sean was curious, not yet understanding the destruction of the farmhouse meant whoever lived there had been hurt also. “Should we go down there?”

  “Yes, we should see if anyone is hurt,” Breanna answered. “The smoke from the chimney means someone lived there, and whatever did the damage has not been long gone or is still there. Either way, we must be cautious.” She wished they could walk on by, but that was impossible, for their help might be needed.

  They made their way down the hill, staying hidden wherever possible. The damage to the farmhouse became more clearly defined with each step. The wall on the far side trembled in the wind where it had been broken away from the front of the house as though by a giant hand.

  “Bree, do we have to go? I’m scared.” Elida whimpered.

  “No, no you don’t. Here, sit here under this brush. Stay hidden. We’ll come back for you.”

  Breanna tucked a quilt around the girl then told her to lie quietly, to not call attention to her hiding place. Breanna and Sean eased their way under cover of brush toward the farmhouse, keeping eyes peeled for mordants or other unearthly beasts. The front door of the cottage was open, and, on closer inspection, revealed two dark figures darting back and forth inside.

  “Sean,” Breanna whispered, “stay still.”

  The boy nodded and pushed further inside a leafy evergreen shield. “What are those things?”

  “I don’t know, but it means nothing good for us. I’m going to get closer to see if I can hear voices. Stay here.”

  “Okay, but if you need me, I’ll come running.”

  “Thanks. I hope I don’t need you,” she said.

  How did all this happen? The farmhouse was decimated, the insides barely upright through some fluke of construction. The black figures inside were leaning over something, talking. Breanna moved closer but was afraid of being seen. Then she remembered Willow. Taking three deep breaths, she held the air inside then thought, Willow, I need help. She reached deeper, and a jolt of power caused her mind fingers to recoil for a moment. You have always been here, she said. What are you? Are you a phantom of Willow?

  The White drifted over, blocking her from all view with its peaceful calm.
I am here, child. You are safe. We have heard you, Willow replied from far away.

  “We missed her again. Is there more to this Qay girl than we were told?” the first figure asked.

  “My mirror showed her presence. How could we have missed?” the second responded with an arrogance belying any failure on their part.

  “Fool, it was wrong. Throw it away. She isn’t here and we’ve spent too long searching for her. Yahmara will be furious.”

  “Sister, what of these two? Shall we finish them?” the second asked.

  “No, they will die soon enough. Common men are weak. They fall and die easily. We must go. Leave them for the crows.”

  The figures were like wraiths, drifting about the small hut, and then they were gone, leaving nothing of themselves behind. Breanna felt them leave, felt the giant whoosh as the air around their black skirts shifted, stirring chaff and dirt, leaving the terrible smell of sulfur in their wake. She choked and blew the air from her chest, coughing with the need to fill her lungs with clean air. The White rose, its cover dissipating with each breath she took.

  Sean had heard the sound of the wind and smelled the stink behind the witches, but had lost sight of Breanna. “Where are you? Bree, where did you go?” He was petrified she had been taken by the black-skirted figures in the house.

  “Shush. They may not have gone far,” she whispered back. “Come with me, but carefully.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Here behind this brush near the door. Don’t you see me?”

  “Oh, aye, I see you now.” He was puzzled, as though he had been asleep for a while, and when he awoke everything had changed.

  “Let’s go inside. There are people here needing our help. I heard the witches talking.”

  “Is that what they were? Witches?”

  “Yes, they were sent here by someone named Yahmara. She must be the one who stirred up the mordant in Weir. For now, we have to help these people if we can.”

  They eased themselves forward, into the broken house, searching for survivors. A man and woman lay on the floor, bleeding, and breathing shallowly. They appeared to be a heartbeat away from dying. Breanna settled beside the woman and took her hand, wishing she could make it better, but nothing she had learned told her how to defy a witch’s spell.

  “Let’s bind their wounds and put them to bed, Sean. It’s the only thing I know to do.”

  Several minutes later the farm couple was lying in the bed, holding each other in their last breaths.

  “Bless you, children,” the woman said. “Take what you need and get far, far away from here. We won’t survive, but you must. It’s imperative that you do.” The woman looked straight at Breanna and nodded. “Tell Mathena that Willene remembered; say she held her peace even at the end.”

  “My mother? You knew her?” Breanna asked desperately.

  “Yes, I knew her well. We were young together,” the woman said in a dying whisper. She leaned into her mate and laid her head on his unmoving shoulder. “Tell her Willene found happiness,” she whispered, and lay still.

  “What did she mean, Breanna? Is this woman one of your kin?” Sean asked, uneasy around the couple on the bed.

  “Look at her ears, Sean. Willene must be one of the Qays who came this way instead of abiding in the hollow tree at Nore Mountain,” she answered. “But you heard her. Let’s get some food and warm clothes, and get out of here fast.”

  She began searching for items they needed on their journey and located a knife, some cured sinew, and a beaded strip for Elida to wear in her hair. The beads were made from small Tribon rocks, but they had been polished to a high sheen. Holes had been drilled in the rocks to allow for the sinew.

  The pantry held a few food items, including two hard loaves of bread and a bowl of butter. Breanna used the knife and spread the butter in the middle of the bread before wrapping it in a clean kitchen rag. Sean loaded a bag with all he could carry, even down to some dried apples. They quickly left the house as it shook on its foundation in preparation for total collapse.

  When they reached the crest of the hill where Elida slept, Breanna looked backward and saw the cottage fall in on itself, burying the couple under the rubble. The Vale children were frightened by the violence, and felt inadequate against whatever force had begun at the farm in Weir. Breanna knew Elida and Sean were not safe, for after listening to the witches earlier, she knew they had come for her, and wouldn’t rest until she was captured. Even the mordant had been sent specifically for her. For a while she had been uncertain, and wondered if it had destroyed the Vales in the course of some other mission, but now she was certain. The foul plan for her capture five years earlier had lulled, but it was now active again, only this time the perpetrators were destroying everyone in their path. Breanna wished she knew what they wanted from her.

  The farther they went, the thicker the forest grew along the Tribon. Taller trees with wide trunks and long limbs provided homes for exotic birds that sang to them day and night. On and on they traveled, with new land and new sights passing before their eyes every day. Forest creatures with brightly colored fur and feathers flipped through the tree limbs, awing the children with their splendor.

  When their food supplies ran out, they depended upon the fish Sean caught. He had grown quite good at building traps. Sometimes when they found a safe place to wait, they built a shelter and stayed a day or so, ever mindful of the things hunting them.

  On one of their stops, Breanna found some tall, thin yew trees and cut one, stripping the bark as she went, bending the pole this way and that. She cleaned it by removing all the pits from the wood and then rubbing the wood with a handful of sand until the white limb was slick. When she was a child on Nore Mountain, she had watched her father cure wood to make his bow. Hers was smaller than her father’s, for she was not strong like him, but it was flexible and would serve well. She used the sinew from the farmhouse to string it, believing the woman would be glad for its use.

  The bow needed arrows, and Sean helped find them. They peeled small, tight branches and polished the knobs and pits from the wood with the same riverbank sand used to smooth the bow. Breanna hoped the sticks would fly straight and true. While Sean and Elida were searching through the forest for berries, Breanna used the fire stream from her fingers to harden the wooden tips of the arrows. At first the fire consumed them, but after several tries, she grew more adept at control, finally learning to issue the smallest fire strips from her finger tips, thus curing the pieces of polished wood without making them brittle.

  The art of arrow-making was one my father perfected, she remembered, seeing in her mind the many times he had heated the points of the wood, tempering them to penetrate game without the necessity of flint. She stopped her work, thinking of her father, and what he must be doing. Does he miss me?

  Sean eagerly waited until the bow was ready and the arrows gathered together, and then presented her with a bag he had made from the skin of a large white rabbit he had trapped. It was soft and smooth, with the inside scraped and slick to hold arrows without hang-ups inside. Breanna was touched by his gift.

  “Thank you, Sean. It’s the best quiver ever made.”

  He smiled and nodded, the cowlick in his hair showing darker in the colder weather. The unruly strands had grown long below his coat collar, covering his ears and neck, the bulk of it tangled from the wind. He had taken to wearing a band around his head, a wide swath of fur from a beaver he had bludgeoned with a rock. The animal had fought him using its wide tail to slap at the boy a couple of times, but the rock was surer than the beaver’s aim.

  Sean learned to sharpen his knife on the river rocks, making it easier to skin their kills without ruining the fur. None of them had cared much for the beaver’s meat, but they ate it to keep from wasting the animal’s life. The soft fur would make a warm cap for Elida, and her brother worked long hours scraping and forming the skin as his father had done. When he placed it on her head a few days later, she was grateful an
d happy for a while, forgetting her sadness at losing their parents.

  Breanna located several pieces of flint in the shallows of the river; the rocks had probably washed in during flood waters, and wedged against the larger boulders. She gave them to Sean for fire building, one of his duties as part of the group. True to her words, Breanna kept her mam’s secret from the rest of the world, but she hated she had to hide her abilities from Sean and Elida. She knew in her heart that kept promises were more important than injured feelings that would eventually heal.

  “I am not good at this bow shooting! How can I ever help feed us it I can’t kill game for food?” Breanna complained to Elida, grimacing as her last arrow careened off a rock and flew through the forest. “I’ve been practicing for days and I still can’t hit my targets.”

  “Can I look?” Elida asked, reaching for the arrows. “Maybe there’s something wrong. My poppa once made a bow, and he had trouble for a while.” After a bit the young girl sighed and said, “It’s the fletching, Bree. It’s not on center and the arrow flies wrong. We need to find new bird feathers for fletches. Come, I’ll help.”

  Breanna was amazed at Elida’s quick grasp of the problem, and smiled as she affectionately tousled the girl’s white hair. “You are very observant to be so young,” she said admiringly.

  Most of their trip Elida had felt ignored by the older ones, and even though she was given a share of the chores close to the campsite, she knew she was protected from harm by the others. Secretly she hoped Bree would give her more responsibility.

  The thought was heard by the older girl, and she remembered how it felt to be the only one who didn’t belong. “Yes, good thought.” Breanna said. “I would like some of the red and blue feathers from one of the birds I saw yesterday in the tall tree near the river. You know the one; it’s as wide as your father’s boat. If you want to go by yourself, you can find them and bring them back, but you need to hurry—it will be dark soon.”