by AC Cobble
“Blessed Mother,” whispered the innkeeper as Rew staggered into the light of the open door.
“It’s not mine,” said the ranger as he lurched up the two stairs to the porch of the inn.
“Inside. Inside,” Anne insisted, a hand raised tentatively toward the rough bandage Rew had made with his shirt and the ropes.
Rew stumbled in, and as gently as he could, he laid the giant youth down on one of Anne’s tables. He fell back into a chair, exhaustion rolling over him like an avalanche.
Anne, ignoring Rew, began directing the girls like a general in the field, instructing them to gather water from the well, a kettle to boil it, linens, alcohol for sterilization, herbs, incense, and the other apparatus of her art. She removed the makeshift bandages Rew had made then leaned close, listening to the boy’s faltering breath. She prodded at the wound, her mouth pinched with concern.
She turned to Rew. “I’ll do what I can, but I’ll need your help to finish this.”
“Don’t push it too far,” Rew warned her. “If he’s beyond saving, do not expend yourself.”
“I know my art,” she said, grim-faced. “I’ll push as far as I have to. If it’s possible, we will save him.”
Rew winced. He forced himself to stand. He moved beside Anne for when she needed him. He mumbled, “I’m ready.”
“What is she doing?” questioned the blonde, glancing down at the supplies they’d assembled, apparently realizing there were no potions, no threads for stitches, no sharp blades to clean the flesh, none of the normal tools of a physician.
“She’s an empath,” guessed the dark-haired girl. “This wound needs more than a simple transference, Ranger. Why did you bring us here? We need to find a physician. My brother needs—“
“Anne knows what she’s doing,” declared Rew. “Watch, wait, and be ready to help if she asks it. There are no physicians in Eastwatch, but even if there were, this is beyond their skill. Anne is the only chance your brother has of surviving the day.”
Grim-faced, the two girls took the opposite side of the table and, at Anne’s direction, helped strip the boy’s clothes away, exposing the brutal, jagged tear in his stark white flesh. They wiped blood from it, cleaning him with hot water and alcohol, and watched as Anne began to work.
She placed her hands on the boy, unconcerned for the wet blood that had not been entirely cleaned away, and closed her eyes. She began to pray to the Mother, lips barely moving, the words hardly audible.
Rew couldn’t hear her words clearly, but he knew them well. He’d heard them often enough before, dozens of times as he’d stood beside her over the injured body of one of his rangers, and occasionally, he himself had been the one laying on the table. Eastwatch had no physicians, just the barber and Anne.
Rew and his rangers had plenty of experience with the work of both, but the girls across the table stared, astonished. Empathy was low magic, the province of hedge witches and charlatans. It offered some relief, true, but what pain it took from the patient, it visited upon the healer. There were few practitioners who had the strength to take on the pain from a wound like what the boy suffered, and amongst those, there were even fewer who could be convinced to actually do it. But even that, transferring the pain, was a mere shadow of what Anne attempted. Taking on the pain of a wound was one thing. Bringing rapid healing was another. It was the type of low magic people had only heard of, the kind done in storybooks in the time before the kingdom had been formed. Few people would believe the miracle that Anne was working.
Before their eyes, the boy’s wound began to heal. Flesh, pale where blood had been drained, gained a rosy hue. His torn skin crept back together, knitting deep inside of his body, covering the white of his bone in pale pink. In a manner that Rew knew tricked the eye and the mind, the skin began to crawl. It was impossible to see it happening but also impossible not to notice.
Shaking her head, the boy’s sister stared with her mouth hanging open.
Anne put her hand on Rew’s, and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth.
The act of healing brought incredible pain to the empath. With a wound like the boy’s, it was a deep, indescribable torment. It was more than a mortal soul was meant to handle, more than many could survive. It was more than Anne could do alone.
Eyes and jaw locked shut, Rew waited until the waves of agony rolled over him, scouring his bones, spiking lances of pure hurt through him. Later, he knew Anne would apologize, would cry at the pain she transferred into him, and he would forgive her, beg her not to worry, tell her it wasn’t so bad, and secretly wish that it would never happen again. He wasn’t trained for this type of pain, wasn’t used to it, and the few times over the years he’d been forced to support her, Rew had always been surprised at the violence of the misery.
Was it the same for her when she drew the pain to herself? He didn’t know, and she didn’t say. In truth, it was a level of suffering neither of them could describe. He could not mark it against the physical hurt he’d experienced in life because it was magnitudes worse. It consumed everything, chased every thought from his mind except for the terrible pain.
Fleetingly, before he was overwhelmed, before his conscious curled into a trembling ball of unawareness, he thought Anne would regret using him, that the emotional toll it would put on her was nearly the equal to the psychological hurt he felt, but it had to be done. She couldn’t do it alone, and without her, without him, the boy would die.
Minutes, hours, Rew didn’t know, but eventually, the throb that enveloped him faded, and he was able to open his eyes. Slowly, fighting trembling muscles in his neck, he turned his head. Anne was sitting in the chair he’d slumped down in when he’d first arrived. Her head was in her hands, and she was weeping. He moved his head back, the muscles in his neck spasming in minor jolts of protest at the motion, and he saw the boy was breathing evenly, his skin bare and smooth, just a long, pale line where he’d been torn open. His sister stood on the other side of the boy, her hand clutching his, her gaze on her brother’s sweat-streaked face.
“How long?” croaked Rew.
“An hour,” offered the blonde, rising from where she’d been seated behind the dark-haired girl. “It took an hour. It’s almost dawn.”
Straightening, fighting twitching muscles, Rew stood his full height.
“How did she do that?” asked the dark-haired girl. “That… that’s not possible. I’ve studied… What she did is not possible.”
“Anne’s staff should be coming in soon. We’ll get him up to a bed,” said Rew, ignoring the girl’s disbelief. “Anne as well. They’ll both need rest—days of it. Her people know what to do, but I’m certain they’ll need your help moving the lad.”
“One of them is here already,” mentioned the blonde. “She’s back opening the kitchen, stoking the fires. She said to call when we are ready for her. She… she said you and Anne needed time.”
“This isn’t the first occasion they’ve…” mumbled Rew. He breathed deep, trying to steady himself. “Anne’s staff knows what to do. You two, we’re going to talk. We’re going to talk, and you’re going to tell me what is going on, but first, I have to see to my man at the ranger station. Stay here, and I’ll be back in an hour or two.”
He looked at Anne, knowing soon she’d recover and that she’d be all right, but for now she was unreachable, trapped in a well of agony. Until she’d had time to let it settle, to dissipate, she’d sit there unspeaking. Gritting his teeth, Rew pushed his hands away from the table where they’d been grasping the edge. Forcing stiff fingers to move, he winced as spikes of discomfort stabbed up his arms with the small movement. He breathed in and out, trying to gather the courage to move his legs. Movement, painful at first, would help. It would help, if he could force himself to do it.
“She transferred the pain into you,” surmised the dark-haired girl.
Rew returned the girl’s look but did not reply.
“You need to rest as well, then,” insisted the girl. “Y
ou were up all of last night. You tracked us and you fought those men. You carried my brother three leagues on your shoulder. You need rest as much as any of us. More, I’d think.”
Rew nodded. “You’re right, but not yet. I still have work to do.”
Chapter Five
It was midmorning by the time Rew shuffled back up the two plank steps to the front door of the Oak & Ash Inn. Weariness hung on him like a cloak, and a sharp knife of sorrow twisted in his gut. Tate had been the most experienced ranger ten years ago when Rew had first arrived in Eastwatch. Rew had known some woodcraft, but Tate had shown him more. Rew had known how to swing his sword, but Tate had taught him when to do it. Tate was the one who’d guided the angry young man to shoulder his responsibility, had lived as an example of how to be a leader. The old ranger had demonstrated how to stand for something instead of running away. Tate had been a steady presence at Rew’s side, no matter what difficulties they faced.
The old ranger had been popular in the village, as well. He’d been the kind of man people stopped and waved to on their morning chores, and the kind of man people listened to when he spoke. Tate was the kind of man that when you were in trouble, you invited him over late in the evening for a drink, and you spilled your problems to him. When he spoke his advice, you listened, and you did what he said. He hadn’t been born in Eastwatch, which might have surprised many younger people who had been. Tate had become a part of the place and a part of the people.
In recent years, Tate had been sick. In recent months, it’d gotten worse. Despite what Anne thought, Rew had been watching, and he’d known it was near the end. He and Tate may not have held hands, gazed into each other’s eyes and spilled their souls out, but they’d both known. Tate had accepted it, and Rew had gotten as close as he could to accepting it.
He had come to terms with the older ranger dying, but not like this. Tate had earned an evening with too much mulled wine before the fire, having his friends surround him with love, and then a quiet passing in the night. The old ranger didn’t deserve to be cut down in the common room of the building that had been his home for the last three decades. He didn’t deserve to die in pain with no idea why.
Tate had survived the migration of the Dark Kind two years prior. He’d lived through countless scuffles with narjags, ayres, valaan, ogres, simians, and trolls. There were stories of an encounter before Rew’s time with a drake. There had been fires, famines, years where the tax collectors showed twice, and years where the king’s bursar forgot to send the ranger’s stipend. Through it all, Tate had been someone that the village had leaned on.
There had been plenty of good as well, and that was what Rew had tried to keep in his thoughts as he’d buried the man. The old ranger had an infectious smile and a jolly laugh. There had always been a sly quip waiting on his lips. He’d been the first in the circle to dance at a marriage feast and the last to leave the party. But now, Tate was gone, and Rew didn’t know why.
He knew who might, though.
Rew strode into the common room of the Oak & Ash Inn with purpose. Anne’s staff had been hard at work, it seemed. The innkeeper and her charge had been moved upstairs. The tables had been rearranged, and the bloodstained one had been taken away, either to be cleaned or fed into a fire somewhere. A scattering of locals sat around tables over bowls of lumpy porridge. There were none of the fluffy eggs, hunks of fried ham, or pastries that drew Eastwatch’s denizens from their own hearths to Anne’s, but with such a commotion that morning, everyone would understand. The people of Eastwatch had been through worse, and they knew when it was best to simply lower your head and eat your porridge.
Rew frowned. The boy would be upstairs, asleep for at least another day, but the two girls?
Jacqueline, one of Anne’s serving staff, caught his eye and nodded toward the corner of the room. Rew walked over to find the two girls curled up on a short couch Anne kept in front of one of the fireplaces. It was there for the old men to gather during cool nights, sipping their brandy or their cider, smoking their pipes. The girls were sound asleep on it.
They were not cuddled together like sisters after a trauma. Their legs were tucked under their own bodies, half a pace of open space between them. They slept under separate blankets, facing away from each other. Not sisters, not friends. These two only knew each other because of their journey.
Rew thought to wake them but sat down to give his legs a bit of a rest first. He’d just spent the last two hours straightening up the ranger station and burying Tate. He’d been up the entire night before, he’d fought the bandits, had carried the boy several leagues on his shoulder, and been through the torment of the youth’s healing. Rew could feel the weariness in his bones, like the marrow had been replaced by dead iron. Just a few moments of quiet, then he would wake them.
Rew drew a deep breath and opened his eyes. Confused, he saw he was not looking at the wall of his room in the ranger station but at an empty couch. He was tired and dreadfully sore. An empty couch?
He raised a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes with a balled fist. It was warm, but he had no blanket on. He was dressed. What— He bolted out of the chair in the Oak & Ash’s common room, his hand going for his sword.
“Calm down, Senior Ranger,” suggested Ranger Blythe from a nearby table. “You fell asleep.”
Rew looked at her, blinking to clear his vision from the slumber that still crowded his eyes. Blythe was sitting at a table a dozen paces away with Jon, the new ranger, and the two girls from the cell. The girls were hunched over bowls of soup and looked at him with a mixture of concern and amusement.
“Don’t worry. They haven’t been out of my sight,” assured Blythe. “I figured that if you were so tired you fell asleep in the middle of the Oak & Ash, we’d best let you rest a few hours.”
Rew breathed deeply again and shook himself, jiggling his body to wakefulness.
“Come and sit,” suggested Blythe. She added, “I stopped by the station.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to tell you,” he murmured, looking away. “I’m sorry I didn’t wait.”
“Anne told me,” said Blythe. Then she chided him, “And you’re not sorry you didn’t wait. You meant to spare me the sight. I know he didn’t tell you, but I’m guessing you knew anyway. You’re not as thick as Anne makes you out to be. It was his time. Tate’s days were at an end, and I’d made my peace with it. I hate to lose him like this, I really do, but we were going to lose him, Rew. We all have our time. Tate lived a good life, but it was going to end. He lived a good life, Rew, and he’d want us to raise a tankard in his memory, not shed a tear.”
Rew didn’t answer. He looked at Blythe’s red-rimmed eyes, the hair sticking out from behind her ears, the hasty binding she’d tried to tie it back with. Her cheek was scratched, as if from a fingernail, and her lips were white where she’d been pressing them tightly together. She offered him a wan smile and a small shrug. Rew nodded, and there was nothing else they needed to say.
He turned to the two girls. They froze under his gaze, the blonde with a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth.
“My name is Rew,” he said brusquely. “I’m the King’s Ranger in the eastern territory. I’m responsible for upholding the king’s law in this part of the realm, among other things. At the moment, it seems that all of my trouble is stemming from you two and the lad upstairs.” He glanced at the dark-haired girl. “He is your brother?”
“Raif,” she said, looking down into her soup. “His name is Raif. I am Cinda. This is Zaine.”
“Cinda and Zaine, care to tell me what is going on?” Rew asked calmly, still standing with his fists on his hips, looking between the two girls.
Cinda swallowed uncomfortably and brushed back a dark lock of dark hair. Zaine deferred to her.
“My best ranger was murdered last night,” added Rew. “I killed seven men, and I don’t know who they were, only that they broke you out of my jail. There is important, dangerous work my rangers and I need to
be doing in the wilderness, yet it was in our own station we lost someone. The door to my jail cell was ruined, but I’ve another. I don’t have another ranger like Tate, and I’m at the end of my patience. If you two ever want to experience freedom again, you’d best get to talking. The time for games, the time for secrecy, is over.”
“I am Cinda Fedgley,” said the dark-haired girl, drawing herself upright, though she still had to look up at him from the table. “My brother is Raif Fedgley. We are the two youngest children of Baron Fedgley of Falvar. We have urgent news for him, and we were rushing to get to him. I am sorry we attempted to steal from this inn, but we’d run out of coin and were desperately low on food. We thought… It was wrong, but it is imperative we get to Falvar. Lives hang in the balance, Ranger. You saw what our enemies are capable of last night. If we cannot reach my father, many more people will die.”
Nobles. He’d known it. Not petty thieves. Even worse. Blessed Mother. That was going to complicate matters.
He frowned at the two girls. “Going to Falvar through Eastwatch? Where did you come from?”
“Yarrow,” said Cinda. She must have noticed his skeptical look because she added, after cutting her eyes at Zaine, “We thought this would be a quicker route than going through Spinesend… It looks closer on the maps.”
Blythe snorted.
Shaking his head, Rew mentioned, “There’s no road to Falvar through Eastwatch, lass. We’re at the end of the path here.”
“I know there’s a way!” cried Cinda before sitting back, tossing her spoon into her soup. “I know there’s a way over the Spine and down through the barrowlands. I’ve heard of people coming that way. The Dark Kind migrated south through there two years ago, didn’t they! It’s closer on the map…”
“Aye, there’s a way, I suppose,” agreed Rew, taking a seat beside Blythe and studying the girl across the table. “It’s not an easy way, though. I mean that. There’s no road. I’ve traveled over the Spine myself a few times, but when we have need to visit Falvar from Eastwatch, we take the road through Yarrow and Spinesend. It’s safer, for one, and quicker than rough travel in the wilderness. The son and daughter of the baron, why are you not taking the road yourselves? You ought to be sitting in the back of a comfortable carriage, sipping wine and eating cheese and sweetbreads as the landscape rolls by, footmen ready to set up your camp each evening, a trail of handmaids following behind to attend to your comfort. Nobles don’t traverse the wilderness. They don’t cross the Spine.”