Huntress

by Malinda Lo

  Chapter XVII

  It began to rain scarcely an hour after they left Jilin. They pulled out their oilskin cloaks, but as the day wore on with no sign that it would let up, Kaede began to feel the wet weight of it like a burden on her back. That morning, Shae’s family had seen them off with as much good cheer as they could muster, but it was obvious they had a difficult time fighting their fear that Shae would never return.

  Niran had convinced Tali that their wagon would never make it through the narrow trails carved into the Wood, and he traded them two sturdy packhorses for the wagon itself. Pol and Taisin rode the two wagon horses, outfitted with saddles that Tali bought from one of Niran’s neighbors. As they picked their way through the dim, drenched Wood, Kaede peered out from beneath the hood of her cloak at the surrounding trees. She felt, again, the eerie sensation of another presence. The farther they rode into the Wood, the more she noticed that there was a peculiar awareness to this place. The oaks might be half dead, but something else was distinctly alive out there.

  When it began to grow dark, they set up camp just off the trail; downhill, the river Nir was pregnant with rain. Tali and Pol struggled to set up their tents in the downpour, staking them out between trees as best they could, while Shae and Con took the empty water skins down to the river to be filled. Taisin volunteered to search for bits of dry wood, and Pol called, “You’d better take Kaede with you.” He stuck his head out from one of the half-constructed tents. “I don’t have a good feeling about this place.”

  Even though the day had been one long, wet slog through an increasingly muddy forest, Kaede was absurdly pleased about the prospect of taking a walk through the Wood with Taisin. Taisin herself looked momentarily alarmed at the prospect of Kaede accompanying her, but the expression vanished almost instantly, making Kaede wonder if she had imagined it. As they struck off down the trail, Kaede glanced at Taisin, but Taisin kept her eyes to the ground, seeking out sheltered places that might have kept fallen wood dry.

  They found a few branches here and there, and piled them into their arms beneath their oilskin cloaks. As Taisin pushed her way through thickets and into hollows, Kaede was surprised by her classmate’s apparent disregard for mud. Taisin had always seemed so neat and orderly, not a hair out of place. Now she pushed back a stray lock with dirty fingers, leaving a dark streak on her face.

  They came to a clump of hollyberry trees sheltered by a giant overhanging oak, and they bumped shoulders and hips as they reached for kindling beneath the brush. Taisin backed out a bit breathlessly. “You go first,” she said, her face flushed. Kaede tried to stuff down the warmth that flared in her when Taisin’s body had snaked past hers, and she began to haul out handfuls of twigs, handing them to Taisin.

  When their arms were full, they headed back to the camp, and Kaede said with a grin, “You’re covered in mud.”

  Taisin pointed out, “So are you.”

  Kaede glanced down at herself and laughed; the entire front of her, from her chest down to her knees, was smeared with dark brown. Taisin began to giggle, and then they were both bent over double, clutching the twigs and branches to their chests as they guffawed, their voices ringing in the twilight Wood. Kaede felt a little delirious; she was soaked through, muddy, and darkness was falling. The whole situation should be terrifying, but she felt a kind of helpless surrender to it. Here she was on this journey to a place that didn’t exist on their maps, and all around unseen things seemed to stare out at them day and night. But there, not two feet away from her, was a girl who made her feel light-headed.

  As their laughter faded they looked at each other, and there was an openness in Taisin’s face—a kind of camaraderie—that Kaede had not seen before. It made her skin tingle. She did not think she was doing a good job of letting the seed die.

  The rain clung to them for several days. Sometimes there would be a break in the middle of the afternoon, or the rain would turn to mist for a while, but their belongings began to have an exasperating dampness that could not be burned off by their smoky campfire.

  On the morning the rain finally stopped, they awoke to a world covered in fog so thick it was difficult to find one another in their small camp. It curled around the trees in ghostly white, seeping through their clothes and into their bones with its chill. But the fire burned hot that morning, and they drank their tea standing up, turning around slowly to warm their backsides. The fog clung to the river Nir all morning, making the trail difficult to see, and it did not burn off until afternoon. That evening, her teeth chattering from cold, Kaede stood so close to the campfire that when the wind gusted, it sent flames dangerously close to her face. She jumped back in alarm, and Tali laughed at her as he eased the iron kettle into the fire.

  “Watch out,” he warned her. “This wind is not like any I’ve encountered before. Sometimes it seems to have a mind of its own.” The two of them had stayed to set up camp while the others went to gather more wood and refill their water skins.

  Shae and Con returned from the river as Tali spoke, and Shae set her heavy water skin down on the ground and sighed, stretching her arms. “I’ll take the wind over the rain any day—or night.”

  “At least the rain drowns out the sound of the wind,” Tali said. “Sometimes I swear I hear it calling my name.” He shuddered. “I don’t like it.”

  Con looked at him curiously. “What do you mean? Are you hearing things, Tali?”

  The guard squatted down and stirred the pot with a long-handled wooden spoon. “I must be. This Wood gets to me; I don’t think it wants me here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Shae said. As if her words were an invitation to prove her wrong, the wind whipped around them, ruffling Shae’s short hair and making the flames roar.

  Kaede felt it like a silken scarf sliding quickly around her neck. She shivered.

  Shae glanced at her sharply. “Did you feel something?”

  Kaede put her hand to her throat, touching her skin with cold fingers. “I don’t know. It was so fast.”

  They didn’t notice, at first, that Tali had cocked his head a little, as if he were listening to someone whisper in his ear. His eyes were slightly glazed, and his entire body seemed pulled in a direction even he was not aware of.

  “Tali!” Con called, alarmed.

  Tali blinked and let go of the wooden spoon in surprise, and it fell into the fire. “Blast,” he said, standing up. “I don’t have another one.”

  “What did you just hear?” Kaede asked.

  He looked confused. “Just now—did you hear it as well?”

  “I don’t know,” Kaede said, disquieted. “I felt something, though.” She looked at Shae and Con. “Did you hear anything?”

  “No,” Con answered.

  Shae seemed worried. “Not really. The wind seemed a little… odd, but I don’t know why.”

  Tali said grimly, “It’s only talking to me, then.”

  “Who’s talking to you?” Taisin asked. She was coming back toward the fire, Pol following her. She dropped an armful of wood on the ground.

  “The wind,” Tali said. His broad shoulders were stiff with tension as he added, “The Wood itself.”

  Taisin’s eyes widened. “You must not listen. Do you understand? Whatever you hear—whatever they tell you—you must not listen to them.”

  Tali was taken aback by her intensity. Pol, laying his firewood down, asked, “What’s going on?”

  Tali said gruffly, “We’re just hearing noises in the dark.”

  Taisin’s forehead wrinkled. “Has anyone else heard anything?”

  They all looked at one another, anxious faces turned gold by the firelight. The black night beyond the camp had never felt so heavy; the branches of the trees leaned above them like ghosts. For a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. The strange wind had left them.

  Kaede finally said, “I felt something.”

  “What?”

  “It—it felt like the wind was tightening around my neck.�
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  Taisin stared at her, fear plain in her eyes. She turned to Tali. “Tell me what you heard.”

  “It wasn’t speaking our language,” Tali said, scrubbing a hand through his gray hair. “But it wanted—it wanted me to follow it.” He had broken into a nervous sweat, and he wiped his forehead on his sleeve.

  “You mustn’t follow it,” Taisin said.

  He seemed a bit affronted. “Of course I’m not going to follow it.”

  “I just—I’m just trying to keep you safe,” she stammered.

  “Taisin,” Con said, seeing the distress on her face, “have you felt something, too?”

  “Yes,” she said reluctantly. Whatever it was had been increasing in strength the deeper they traveled into the Wood. At first it had been merely a whisper, as if a feather were lightly brushing against her, but now it came more insistently, like a child pulling at her hand.

  “What is it?” Tali asked.

  Taisin hesitated. She hadn’t known what to make of it in the beginning, for the Wood was full of energies she had never encountered before. It was difficult to separate out this presence from the others, but she was increasingly convinced that this spirit—if that is what it was—had a goal. It reminded her of something she had felt once, but the memory eluded her, like an itch in the middle of her back that she couldn’t quite reach. It was irritating and frightening all at once, for she sensed that this presence was not benevolent.

  She said carefully, “It is intelligent. There is a purpose to this creature—or this presence. I don’t know what it is. But it seems… it wants something. It seems malicious.”

  “Is it the Xi?” Pol asked.

  Taisin thought back to what Sister Ailan had told her and what she had read. It was so bizarre to apply those dry teachings to the eerie reality of this Wood. “Sister Ailan—my teacher—she always described the Xi to me as possessing a presence of great purity. Powerful, of course, but pure. Not hot or cold; not emotional; simply there. Pure. This presence that I feel is not pure. I don’t think it is the Xi.”

  Tali asked, “What do you think it wants?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “How can we protect ourselves, then?” Con asked.

  Taisin turned to Tali, expecting him to answer, but the guard was looking at her with a reluctant expression on his lined face. “Taisin, you know the most about this of any of us.”

  Taisin realized he was relying on her now, and she felt paralyzed. She hadn’t even been marked yet. She might be the most gifted in her class, but she was still a student. All at once the gaps in her knowledge seemed too great, and a cloud of panic engulfed her. How could her teachers think she was ready for this? She was only a frightened schoolgirl. She felt faint, and pressed her fingers between her eyes. She took a deep breath, and another. She could not crumple into a puddle of fear—that was not why her teachers had believed in her.

  “We must stay together,” she said, her voice wavering at first. “If you hear anything speaking to you—in the wind, in your ear, whatever—just ignore it. And tell someone. Don’t leave the camp alone.” She looked over her shoulder at the dark. It was alive with energies she hadn’t yet teased apart, but one of them was waiting and listening. Taisin turned back to the others. Her mouth was dry as she said, “Promise me. Don’t leave the camp alone.”

  They all agreed, and their nodding shadows rippled across the trees.

  Wrapped in her bedroll that night, the chilly air seeping through the thin canvas walls of the tent, Kaede longed for the dry heat that used to bake the streets of Cathair in the summer. She dreamed of sunlight spreading like honey over her skin; she dreamed of sweat sliding down between her shoulder blades as she ran down sweltering alleyways behind the palace. She dreamed of Taisin, standing in the shade of a stone building at the end of a maze of narrow streets, a bouquet of flowers in her hands like the prize at the end of a race. But no matter how fast Kaede ran, she couldn’t quite reach her. The muscles in her legs groaned with the effort; her lungs heaved; she woke with a jerk, gasping.

  Beside her Shae shifted, turning her back to Kaede. It was the middle of the night. Kaede’s heart was pounding, her skin flushed as if she had truly been running. She flung off her blanket, feeling overheated. What had awakened her? She wanted to go back into that dream world. She wanted to reach Taisin, take the flowers out of her hands, touch her. A wave of longing rushed through Kaede’s body.

  She turned over, looking past Shae toward Taisin. She could barely make out her silhouette in the dark, but she could hear her breathing. It was uneven. Was Taisin awake, too? The thought made Kaede’s skin prickle all over with excitement. It seemed impossible that Taisin could sleep through this—every nerve in Kaede’s body was screaming for her to notice—but there was no answering sound or movement from Taisin.

  Kaede lay awake for some time. She was tense from her dream. She counted her breaths, attempting to make them regular. She lost count. She listened to the sound of wind in the trees, remembering Taisin’s warnings, but she heard nothing out of the ordinary. She did not realize she had fallen asleep again until she was awakened by shouting outside. Someone was calling for Tali.

  Shae scrambled up first, pushing aside the tent flap and stumbling into the dim morning, pulling on her boots as she went. “What is it?” Shae asked, and outside Con and Pol were standing, dazed, near the ashes of the fire.

  “Tali is missing,” Con said, panic thick in his voice. “When we woke up this morning, he was gone.”

  Chapter XVIII

  It was Shae who found him. He was lying in a clearing barely fifty feet from their camp on the other side of the trail. Dried leaves encircled his body as if blown by a great whirlwind. He lay on his back, arms and legs spread-eagled, his face expressionless. A strange gray dust was trapped in his salt-and-pepper beard, and a thin white film had crawled over his open brown eyes. He was cold to the touch, and there was not a mark on him.

  Con knelt on the ground next to Tali’s body and lifted the older man’s hand. His fingers were stiff. Con was stunned; he couldn’t believe that Tali was dead. He had survived so many military campaigns; how could he have been taken so easily, so silently, by—Con didn’t even know what had taken him. “Who—what did this?” he demanded.

  All the color had drained from Taisin’s face. She knelt beside Tali’s head, stretching her hand out over his eyes. She felt nothing. There was no life energy left within him; his body was only a shell now. And she did not know whether his soul had safely traveled to the other side. The thought chilled her to the bone, and she muttered to herself, “I should have done it.”

  Con looked at her. “You should have done what?”

  Guilt washed over Taisin, hot and sour. “I could have—I should have done a protection ritual. Around the camp.”

  Con’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t speak. A torrent of emotion battered at him: disbelief, grief, anger. Was Taisin saying she could have prevented this? He felt like he had been punched in the gut, and he had trouble breathing.

  Shae squatted down beside him and squeezed his shoulder. She asked in a carefully measured voice, “Why didn’t you?”

  Taisin gulped, her heart pounding. She said in a rush: “My teacher told me that I shouldn’t use that ritual except as a last resort. I didn’t know this could happen. I thought we would be safe enough if—if we didn’t leave the camp.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she blinked them back fiercely.

  “Can you do that ritual now?” Pol asked. He stood at Tali’s feet, his arms crossed.

  “I can do it tonight when we set up camp. I can’t protect us as we are moving.”

  “Wait,” Shae said, frowning. “Taisin, why did your teacher warn you about the protection ritual?”

  Taisin drew in a trembling breath. “Because it—it might draw attention to us.”

  “What do you mean?” Pol asked.

  “Weaving a protection ritual around our camp would… rearrange the natural me
ridians. Those who are sensitive to the lines of energy would—if they are near enough or powerful enough, they would notice.”

  “The creatures we’ve seen,” Con interjected, struggling to make sense of what she was saying. “Can they sense these things?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose… it’s possible.”

  Kaede understood, suddenly, the reason for the hesitation in Taisin’s voice. “You think that by doing the protection ritual, you’ll draw them to us.”

  Taisin met her eyes somberly. “It has occurred to me.”

  “But what’s the alternative?” Con asked. “Tali was—” His voice broke, and Shae slid her arm around his shoulders. Con wiped away the tears that burned down his face. “Tali was stronger, I thought, than all of us. For this to happen to him… We can’t let it happen again.” He looked across Tali’s still form at Taisin, and he noticed how young and vulnerable she looked today, with purple shadows beneath her eyes and her narrow shoulders slumping. He realized that he had been on the verge of blaming her for Tali’s death, but he couldn’t. She was only seventeen. She had done the best she could. He felt a yawning ache inside him as he said to her, “You have to do it tonight, Taisin. Whatever protection ritual you can. We’ll deal with the consequences when they come.”

  Taisin’s lips trembled, but she squared her shoulders. “All right. I will do it tonight. But first, we must leave this place. And we must bury Tali.”

  “Here?” Con said.

  “No. This place is—it isn’t right. We must take him with us, but we have to bury him before nightfall.”

  None of them disagreed. It was the worst kind of luck to leave a dead body in the open overnight—especially when the person died of unnatural causes. And though there were no signs of struggle on Tali’s body, there was no doubt in any of their minds that his death had been far from natural.