“Claim? Is that how you find your loves in the Spires? Do you claim some woman, and she’s yours?”
“No! No. I just don’t want to cause any harm. I—I speak fast and act fast sometimes. Sometimes too fast. My father says it’s because I’m still young.”
“I know. I’m still young, too.”
Silence again. I forced myself to ignore any more voices. I forced myself to return to sleep—dreamless sleep.
The next day we journeyed farther into the stony plains. Cerulean avoided me as we rode. The others continued jesting and learning about one another. Korah and Galatea rode near each other, but they did not display open affection. The sun rose and set again, and we made camp in another rough circle.
Lazul approached me. “Adal, thank you for the respect you showed my kin. I know that you did not know them well, but I thank you for the blessings you spoke over their graves.”
I smiled as I stretched. “Please don’t give me too much credit. I started, but I didn’t finish. Korah took over. He said he knew Gwelodar.”
Lazul rumbled a laugh. “That fool, always concerned with making a better metal. He never knew how to craft a thing of beauty, just how to make the raw material.” He glanced up, waiting. When I had nothing to say, he added, “And I can tell you have no dwarf blood in you. If you did, you’d leap to his defense and argue that the best carving isn’t worth anything if the material is flawed.” Lazul glanced away. “I’m sorry. I came to ask you. Every dwarven chief has a ring of office. Did anyone claim them from the other two?”
I reviewed my memories. “Yes. Korah retrieved both rings.”
“Ah. The boy has some sense. We’re to travel through Graz lands?”
“That was the plan. We wanted to go through dwarven lands and come through Garethen’s territory from the north.”
“Well, my lands won’t be a problem. My people will let us through. We’re the most hospitable of all the dwarves, you know. And Korah’s made sure we’ll be welcomed in Delodwenar and Graz lands. They’ll need to see the royal rings.”
“They won’t be threatened by us appearing with their chiefs’ rings?”
“They might. But between the rings and me? We should be able to pass through. And then we’ll eventually reach my people.”
“I suppose your people are the best of all the dwarven nations?”
“Of course!” He harrumphed. “But you knew that already. After all, who survived? Only the best!” He boasted, but his tone told me he still grieved.
That night I took my watch with Cerulean, who remained silent. Korah and Galatea relieved us. I covered my ears so they would not wake me. I slept dreamlessly.
The day after passed much the same.
Our last morn in the Maddarin Hills dawned gray. Clouds marbled the sky and threatened to drizzle on us. The air was thick with moisture.
As we began the day’s ride, I kept my eyes to the tops of the many stone fingers about us. Karen Cordolis had said she would be waiting on the other side of the Hills, and I did not expect her to have spoken in vain. Though neither Daragen nor Korah had eaten anything from her tiny cauldron, the rest of us had enjoyed the stew for two full days before it finally went dry. I suspected it would have lasted even longer had everyone been eating out of it. Such it was in tales; the magical item would give as long as it was appreciated.
Shortly before midday, I spotted a faint trail of smoke rising into the sky. I pointed it out to the others and altered our course slightly northward so we would meet up with it. In this badland, it would likely be Karen Cordolis and no other. The others did not disagree.
As we drew near, I grew worried. I saw that the column of smoke was not from a small chimney, but from the entire roof of a tiny house. “Faster,” I urged them. Abani saw my concern and raced ahead. Cerulean galloped past me as well, quickly catching up to Abani and outpacing her.
Lazul urged Korah to ride faster. He gripped his axe, leaning forward. “I’ve just met her, and I won’t lose a new friend to something as simple as a house fire!” he roared.
The elf reached the house first and scaled the column it was perched on.
The house lay on its side, and underneath twitched goat legs. Fire had singed the white fur. Cerulean started speaking an old language in a whispered hush, and the flames began to retreat from the front door of the house. Abani reached the door. She pulled it open and searched inside as best she could.
The rest of us reached the pillar and sat below, waiting. Lazul dismounted and tried climbing the pillar. He took to swearing at it instead.
Above, Abani shook her head at Cerulean. They jumped from the top of the rocky pillar.
The house, Peor, let out a pained bleat, and the entire land around us shook.
The sky let loose its fury. Rain pelted us. Large drops fell with incredible force. Wind struck, roaring through the rocky columns. The ground shook again, toppling a few of the fingers around us. With some difficulty we were able to dodge the falling rocks. I squinted through the maelstrom and saw that, though the wind and water raged around us, the flames of the house’s pyre did not die. They rose higher.
Lazul made his way to me. He still held his axe, ready to attack someone. Something. He roared over the screaming wind, “I will slay whatever attacked the little woman!”
I shook my head, water cascading off my body. “How could we find it? The story’s angry now. Grieving.” I wasn’t sure how I knew this, but I felt the truth of it even as I spoke. “I don’t know how long it will do this, but it’s three or four hours to the edge of the story’s domain. It may be better to stay here and try to stay clear of any falling pillars.”
The others gathered their horses around, huddling in their saddles. There was no shelter here; no trees to hide behind, no cover to retreat to. I considered how bad the bruising from the pelting rain would be. I prayed a silent offering, sending thanks that the story had not chosen hail for its grief.
Abani reported, “I didn’t see her.”
“Karen Cordolis wasn’t there?” I had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“No. I looked for any sign of a small woman or even the remains of a potato. Nothing.”
The water kept getting into my eyes, making it even harder to see. The wind increased in speed, whipping my breath away as I tried to suck it in. I glanced to Lazul. “If she wasn’t in the house, she may be nearby. Everyone, dismount. Search for her!”
They all obeyed and began searching the ground as best they could. I wiped my eyes clear time and time again until my eyelids were raw. Still the downpour continued. We separated. I continued walking, my eyes raking the ground for any sign of the little woman.
I was so intent on the ground I almost ran into it: a tree.
I looked up. I stood at the edge of a grove of trees. A dead grove of trees. Over my head hung a bear’s carcass.
The mysterious thicket had returned.
Chapter Fourteen
The path into the thicket loomed before me. Rain slicked off my eyebrows and ran down the back of my neck.
I could call for the others, but they would never hear me over the storm. I could run and get them, but the grove could disappear as it had before. Or I could go in.
Alone.
I peered into the path. Gentle moonlight broke through in patches here and there. No water touched the branches.
Whatever was in there had destroyed two well-experienced dwarves. It had destroyed Karen Cordolis’s home, and possibly the legend herself. Whatever it was, I couldn’t face it alone. I didn’t have the power.
But I was the one that could be lost most easily. I had no great skill in battle. Not anymore. They needed my stories, but Cerulean could tell them just as easily as I could.
They didn’t need me.
I chuckled. It was a freeing thought: I didn’t need to survive for my people, for the nations of men, to continue. And that meant I could go in and face whatever this beast was. And if I could damage it, if I could find i
ts weakness and stop it, it would be worth my life.
I straightened and hefted my blade. Water continued pelting me.
I pushed through the branches into the tunnel within.
Almost at once, the rain stopped. I glanced behind me. The water continued pelting the ground outside, but here it was dry. Calm. The light turned silver, as if cast by the moon. I shivered in the sudden cold.
I struggled to refocus my thoughts. I could consider the weather another time. Right now, I had to find this beast, find out what it was. Face it and get out. Hopefully.
I passed through to the clearing inside the grove. I inspected the area more closely now. Without Abani here to aid me, I needed all the information my senses could give. Anything I might be able to use to my advantage in this strange place.
The bear was not the only felled animal here; a pair of badgers lay rotting in the dim light, and I spotted a pile of antlers that were still bloody. A mound made of dead grass and mud lay amid dead trees. There was a hole, a burrow in the side of it.
I prepared to strike the first creature that stirred from the mound as I approached it. The weight of the blade pulled at my arms, but I could not afford weakness. Not yet.
A careful step around a small animal skull and then another over a stack of furs. I came to the edge of the mound and approached the hole. Peering in, all I could see was darkness. I detected a faint odor of death.
A voice cut through the quiet behind me. “Whelp of Man, what do you here?” The voice was deep, coming from somewhere below the throat and heavy on nasals, dwelling on the hums. It sounded pained, as if it took much effort to speak.
I spun and saw a creature that did not fit any tale I knew. The dark mass streamed water from outside. It stood on two legs as a man might, but it was hunched over so that it could use its long forelimbs to aid in running. It stood a few heads taller than a man. Thick mats of brown fur covered its body. All I could see of its face were two large black eyes.
I took a steadying breath. What story spoke of something like this, a traveling grove housing a predator? No story jumped to mind, but a thought brought a wry smile. Every hero who faced a creature like this could stall and get information out of it. All he had to do was stall.
“I come seeking the resident of this hole,” I answered.
The beast began circling. A long whip-like tail lashed silently behind it. I kept my face and my blade toward the creature.
“That hole is my home, young one.”
“Where is Karen Cordolis?” I kept my voice even.
The creature watched me but did not reply.
The question was too direct. If I was stalling, I needed to draw it out. “Did you attack the dwarves that were traveling south of here?” I pressed.
“Attack? I wish only to be left alone.” Then, it paused in the circle, and its eyes narrowed as it beheld me. “Did they send you? The ones who would chain me?”
Ah. There. The information the hero would find if this was a story.
Wait. Did that make me the hero?
I set the question aside. I had to get more information while I could. “Who? Who would chain you?”
It seemed to consider, as if the fact I did not know what it was talking about made a significant difference in its hostility.
It spoke again, “You are not welcome here. You are a tale-teller. You… name things.” It stretched out on its hind legs, reaching its full height. As it stood, it lifted its head upward to sniff the air.
“I only use the names objects lend to themselves. Or are told in song and story.”
It hunched back down again. It seemed larger than before somehow, but still it did not attack. Why didn’t it attack? I was alone, and it was on its home territory. I knew I didn’t stand much of a chance against this creature.
Unless the nature of the story we found ourselves in constrained it…?
“I have no name.” It rasped. “I prefer it that way. Men name things to control them, and I will not be controlled. This place has no name, and thus it too is unchained. I prefer it that way.” It resumed its pacing.
I decided to try another tack. “Do you like the cold?”
The beast paused and looked directly at me when I asked the question, and its eyes narrowed into obsidian slits. “Whelpling, you try my patience. You ask me questions. You avoid naming me, yet you would categorize me. My tale is untold, and thus I am free to be and to do what I wish. That is all.” It reached for a skull, taking it in its front claw. It seemed to sniff at it and then crushed the dry bone. The cracking was the only sound.
This beast did not want a name. It did not want to be known. I began to form a theory.
“You won’t attack me,” I declared with a bit more confidence than I felt. “If you had wanted to, I would already be dead. I can see you are of formidable strength and great in form.” I paused. “But you are as afraid of my death as you are of my life.”
The beast growled loudly. “I fear no man!” It spoke the word “man” in derision.
“No. But you fear what we can do to you. We can take away your freedom. You are in no tale, but if you kill me, these hills would become the home of some fearsome beast. The tale would bind you here, wouldn’t it?”
It did not need to answer; the throaty growl was enough.
“But if I return to my friends and tell them what I have found, that story would be just as dangerous to you. You thrive on being alone, on being unfound, unknown, unformed in the thoughts and words of men.”
It seemed to wince away at each word. Yes. There was a chance I would not only survive this, but even return with needed information. I was winning this subtle game, now that I had determined its rules. Even by defining its undefinition, I was restricting the creature before me.
“And so, you did not attack any of those on the way to Scarletholme. And you certainly didn’t attack Karen Cordolis. You wouldn’t have. That would be even worse than my presence here. You are innocent of what I thought you had done. There is no blood on your head that I must go hunting. Is this correct?”
“Yes, whelp. I did not attack anyone, though now I might kill you!”
“No.” My word halted the threat. I panted. My sword was so, so heavy, but I had to keep it between us. “I have no reason to be here, nor to tell my companions what I have found. Whatever attacked us is not here. You are not the creature I was hunting.” I had to be careful. If I made a vow to this creature, I had to be careful with my wording. I couldn’t risk saying something that could be easily twisted. My thoughts raced. “I will leave here quietly. I will not attack you, and you will not attack me. Now I give you my solemn vow, and may Garethen take me should I renounce this vow: unless you attack us, I will never speak of you. Do you accept this, the vow of a Man of the North?”
The creature did not like the name Garethen. Its tail twitched this way and that when I outlined my plan. “Very well. You will go, and never speak of me again.”
I nodded and backed out of the dead area. I kept Northwind between myself and the unnamed beast. My arms burned. As soon as I had exited the thicket, it vanished into its hole.
I returned to the pelting rain. I raced away a few steps and spun. The stand of trees was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
The rain blinded me. Again.
I sheathed Northwind and resumed my search for Karen Cordolis. I’d learned enough: The grove was not the threat we needed to fear. If this were truly a story, it would likely return at some point, but for now I could ignore it.
Oh, the rain was cold.
I didn’t stumble through the maelstrom for even five minutes before I heard another scream besides the wind: a woman’s. My heart froze. Whose cry was it? I searched, but my eyes were useless in the dark rain. I allowed my ears to lead me. Soon Cerulean was at my side. I saw other shadows approaching—the rest of us had heard the same scream.
I found her.
She lay on the ground. Water gathered around her in a murky puddle. Lit
tle stubs of potato jutted where her legs had been. She screamed into the storm, “Stupid story! I’m fine! I’m alive! Stop it, you’re hurting me!”
I reached down with shaking hands to pick her up, and she jumped as she saw my form looming above her. “Get away from me! You won’t be getting a meal that easily!”
I drew back. “Karen Cordolis, it’s Naeharum Adal. You gave me stew.” My voice was raw, but it didn’t matter. Though she was small, this woman could cause me a great deal of damage.
“Adal! Oh, thank Janica! Pick me up, quick! Get me away from here!”
I obeyed, resisting the urge to cry. She was cold to the touch, as cold as the snow of the North.
But she was safe.
As soon as she saw the rest of the gathered group, she spoke again. “You all need to run! There’s a terrible thing on the loose! It attacked us! Me and poor Peor! I heard him cry as he died. He sacrificed himself to save me from it—from them—warriors wrapped in blue flame!” She shivered. “You must run, or they will strike you down as well. You have no hope in facing them!”
She was scared.
Something scared Karen Cordolis. The Potato Maiden. The one who had faced down hagri with her wits and journeyed to unknown lands far to the East. But this, whatever this was, it frightened her.
All my courage from before, all my bluster, vanished.
The men glanced at each other. Lazul brandished his axe, searching for his chance at revenge. I looked up from Karen. “We need to go!” No one lingered.
The journey was not easy. The horses’ eyes were round. Their flanks trembled. We led them by their reins. The ground became slippery, and all but Cerulean found themselves face-down in mud more than once. My knees ached after the first time I fell; soon I fell again and again. Even with that pain, I pushed to hurry. Thankfully, the earth had stopped quaking, so no more pillars fell on us. Karen Cordolis continued to cry out to the storm, her voice shaking in anger and fear and grief. The wind and the rain lashed at my face, rubbing it raw.
After a few hours I saw the border of the storm’s rage. A forest lay beyond the curtain of rain, untouched by the downpour. Cerulean led the way. The others followed, but I hesitated at the border, looking down at the potato woman.
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