Zel knelt in the water, silent. She seemed frozen. Petrified.
“Zel?” Bramble called, but she didn’t respond. Bramble edged down the stream, still holding the bridles, so she could see her face side on, but Zel’s expression was fixed in a grimace of surprise.
“Turned to stone?” Cael wondered, voicing all their thoughts. He picked up a pinecone from the track and threw it at Zel’s back. She twitched in response. He did it again and she scrambled up to her feet, her face changing gradually from surprise to fear, her eyes following something to her right, her head turning as she tracked something that wasn’t there.
“Zel, keep going!” Safred called, but Zel remained still, breathing hard. Cael threw another cone, and another. Zel’s back shrugged and involuntarily she took a half-step. Then she screamed, the scream of a child who has seen a monster. Bramble bent and grabbed a cone and threw it, too. Then they were all throwing cones, some landing near Zel, some hitting her legs and back, and one bouncing off her head.
“Aow!” she said, and took one more step. Enough to bring her out of the water. She stood looking down the track and shook her head as if to clear it. Then she turned, her flexible tumbler’s body seeming heavy. Her feet fell solidly with a thwack into the mud.
“Are you all right?” Martine called.
Zel nodded and looked around again, clearing her throat as though she hadn’t spoken for a long time.
“I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Safred asked.
Zel shrugged. “I dunno. Everything… changed. Like I were somewhere different. There was elk. I think elk, but they was huge. A whole herd of ’em. And the trees was different — oak, I think, maybe some elm, and grasses and… and there were this thing, like a giant cat, shagging enormous, chasing the elk and they was running and running and the ground were shaking and then that thing, that big cat, it had these teeth down to here,” she gestured to below her shoulders, “it stopped running and it turned to me and started to come. It were going to jump, like a wolf jumps — it were going to take out my throat, I could smell it. Then something hit me on the back of my head and I took a step and it — it was gone. All of it were just gone.”
She sat down heavily, as though talking had exhausted her.
“You were right here,” Cael reassured her. “You never left us.”
Zel bit her lip. “If that thing had landed on me, I’d be dead,” she said with certainty. “Here or not, there or not. I’d be dead.”
“Mmm,” Safred said. “Better not to take the horses through it, then.”
“How do we get over?” Martine asked.
“We tie a rope high on one tree over this side,” Cael said, “and then throw it to Zel. She can fix it lower to a tree on the other side and we slide down the rope. We can use one of the leading reins to hold onto.”
Safred looked doubtful. “I’m not so good at climbing trees,” she admitted. Bramble was amused to hear that the Well of Secrets had any flaws. “There’s an easier way,” she said. “It’s simple. Just tie a rope around your middle, toss the other end to Zel and let her drag you across. Or if she’s not strong enough, she passes it around a tree over there, throws it back and we all haul on it. Doesn’t matter what you see or what you smell while you’re going over, you’ll be across in a moment and back to your senses.”
“It’s a risk,” Cael said thoughtfully. “That cat thing might be waiting for the first one over.”
“I’ll go first,” Bramble said.
“No,” Safred said. “We need you. We can’t risk you.” She looked at Cael.
Silently, he took rope out of his saddlebags and prepared to throw it to Zel. Safred’s eyes clouded for a moment and then she shook her head as if to clear it. Asking the gods? Bramble wondered. If so, she hadn’t got an answer. Her face was hard to read. This was her uncle, after all, Bramble thought. She had to be worried, even if she didn’t show it. Or was she so used to being controlled by the gods that she didn’t fear anything they didn’t tell her to fear?
Zel pushed herself to her feet and caught the rope Cael threw over easily, then passed it around a nearby pine at waist height and threw both ends back. He caught them and tied one end securely around his waist. They took hold of the other end and held the rope taut. Zel positioned herself at the tree to make sure the rope didn’t catch on anything.
Cael walked back a few paces from the stream.
“I’m going to take a run-up so I’m moving fast when I hit the water,” he said. “Ready? Pull!”
He ran at the water and they had to haul quickly on the rope to keep it tense. As his feet splashed into the stream his steps faltered. Unlike Zel, he kept going, but he slowed down and put his arms out in front of him as though warding something off. Bramble was closest to the stream and she hauled hard on the rope, jerking Cael forward.
“Pull!” she commanded and they pulled together, leaning into the rope and walking backward up the path. Cael was drawn forward across the stream but he went in staggering paces, arms frantically trying to clear something from in front of him as he went. He grunted with effort as he swept his arms from side to side. A couple of times he jerked as though he had hit something. He stepped sideways and the rope went slack. He was only a few steps from the bank. Zel was shouting at him, waving her arms near his face, balancing precariously on a rock at the water’s edge, all her tumbler’s agility called into play. He didn’t react to her at all.
“Pull!” Safred shouted and they pulled more desperately, tightening the rope and dragging him facedown into the water. The smell of the stream became much stronger, making them gag. Then he was flung up in the air, his arms flailing, by a force none of them could see, although they felt the strength of it as the rope was jerked through their hands, burning as it pulled. Cael was thrown up and forward, as dogs who are gored by a boar fly through the air from the boar’s tusks. He landed heavily on the side of the stream. His shoulders were above the stream and Zel grabbed them and hauled him as they pulled the rope. As though aware of her for the first time, he rolled to his hands and knees and shuffled himself out of the water, then collapsed on the ground, his hands shaking as he tried to undo the rope.
There were scratches all over his face and his clothes were ripped across the chest. A long, shallow gash cut across the width of his body. It looked much like a tusk wound, Bramble thought, widening as it went from a narrow point. He had been very lucky.
“Are you all right?” Safred called. He nodded and touched his face. Blood was welling in a dozen scratches.
“Uncle? Can you talk?”
“I always told you to get outside and play more when you were little. You should have listened to me and climbed a few trees while you could because, niece, I think you should climb one now.” Cael was trying hard to speak light-heartedly, but long tremors wracked him, the aftermath of terror.
“What was it?” Martine asked, but he shook his head, shuddering at the memory.
“Tell me,” Safred said urgently, her eyes intent.
He smiled shakily at her. “At last, I have a secret that you want! But this is not the time, niece.”
“Tell me,” she said again, pleadingly.
He shook his head. “Never mind about it now. Just rig up that rope and hold on tight.”
Safred’s face was a mixture of exasperation and thwarted desire. Bramble realized that knowing things, being told things, was as necessary to Safred as breathing. She was called the Well of Secrets because once told, the secrets were never spoken of again, disappearing as if into a deep well; but she drew those secrets to her more like a whirlpool than a well. She sucked them in as though they were air to breathe. Martine was staring at Safred, too, as though comprehending the same thing. She saw Bramble looking at her and raised an eyebrow, as if to say, “Interesting, isn’t it?”
Cael tied off the rope around the pine tree they had used as a pulley and Martine pulled the rest of it back to their side. She looked doubtfully at the ne
arest tree. Bramble took the rope from her, exasperated, then took a rein from Zel’s chestnut and tucked it into her belt.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t climb trees when you were a youngling either?” she said as she swung up onto the lowest branch. Fortunately, near the stream the pine branches grew close to the ground and were relatively easy to climb.
Martine didn’t respond, but Zel answered for her.
“Travelers don’t, mostly,” she said. “You get yelled at if anyone sees you. Sometimes they throw rocks.”
Bramble sniffed. She had been yelled at more times than she could count, climbing other people’s trees, but no one had ever thrown rocks at her. Because she wasn’t really a Traveler, just Maryrose’s wild little sister. Gods she hated that whole way of thinking about Travelers! It stank like rotten fish. She put her anger into her climb and ignored the scratches from the pine twigs and bark. At a point where a branch had broken away, leaving a gap they could swing through, she attached the rope firmly to the trunk, making sure it was lodged securely on the stub of the branch. The line stretched tight right across the stream. She would have to bring her legs up at the end, though, to stop them splashing in the water as she landed.
She balanced on the branch below and doubled the rein, then flipped the doubled length over the rope and caught it with her other hand. She understood the theory. You were supposed to hold on to the rein and your body weight would slide you down the rope to the other side. From here, the rope looked frayed and the rein too thin. Break your neck, or simply fall into the stream and be ripped apart by whatever had attacked Cael. She grinned, feeling her blood fizz with the familiar excitement of danger, and launched herself from the tree.
The rush through the air was dizzyingly fast. Bramble tried to bring her legs up in time so that they did not hit the water on the far side of the stream, but just as she began to lift them, something invisible grabbed her ankle and yanked. She fell into the water with a flurry and splash that blinded her.
Scrambling to her feet, she blinked the water from her eyes and found that the something was not invisible after all. It was a man — no, a woman — no, a something almost human which stood, lounging, on the bank, laughing at her dishevelment and her astonishment.
Everything around her had changed, and she was caught in a surprise so profound that it left no room for other emotions.
Movement caught her gaze, and the being on the bank looked with her, still laughing. Fleeing through the trees was a herd of brown deer, but of a kind she had never seen before, with a broad white stripe down their back and black legs. They bounded over bushes and fallen trees, through undergrowth which masked the rest of the Forest. What had been pine trees were now elms. There were birds singing. Thrushes. The stream was narrower, and clearer, the water less brown, the stones rougher under her feet.
Her companion had a long knife in its hand. A stone knife, the kind that never dulls. It looked sacrificial. As she thought it, the laughter stopped. The person on the bank looked at her and smiled a kind, terrifying smile. It was thin, and no taller than she, and beautiful the way a hunting cat is beautiful, the way a hawk is beautiful as it hovers, waiting for the kill. There were hawk’s feathers woven into its hair, so that she could not tell where the feathers stopped and the hair began, and its eyes were gold and slitted like a hawk’s. Behind her, the undergrowth rustled and she wondered how many of them there were, and why she was still alive. Astonishment gave way to acceptance. If it was her time to die, so be it.
“Will you not run, as the deer run?” it asked. Its voice was warm and oddly husky, as though it spoke little.
Bramble shook her head. “I have done running,” she said. “If you want to kill me, go ahead.” She knew the edge of the stream would get her back to her own people, her own — what, time? place? world? She also knew she couldn’t get to the edge of the stream before that wicked blade took her throat. She wasn’t inclined to run for its amusement.
Concern filled its eyes but it came a step closer. Its bones moved oddly under its skin, more like a cat than a person. Another step. It raised the knife to her throat but did not touch her.
“There must be fear to cleanse the death,” it whispered.
Bramble knew that she should be shaking in terror, but the feeling refused to come. She wasn’t good at fear, never had been. With the roan and Maryrose both gone, there was nothing in this life she would mind leaving. It would take more than the threat of death to make her afraid. As though it recognized the thought, the hunter frowned.
“There must be fear,” it repeated. It increased the pressure on Bramble’s throat until she felt a runnel of blood make its way down her skin.
“I’ve been dead,” Bramble said. “There are lots of things worse than a clean death.”
It began to shake, its face crumpling with uncertainty. “Without fear, the death is tainted. The hunter becomes unclean.”
“Then don’t kill me.”
“But the Forest requires it. All who see us must die.” Then it cocked its head as though listening. “If I do not kill, I betray . . .”
Bramble listened too. Around them, everything became quiet. The thrushes stopped their trilling, the wind died, the stream itself seemed to pause. Then a shiver came through the trees, not from the wind but from the earth, a shiver that passed up the trees and lost itself in the gray sky above. Bramble felt that a message had been sent, but in a language she could not hear. The golden eyes filled with tears which trickled slowly down its face, as though the message had been one of great grief. It lowered the knife and slowly slid it into a belt sheath.
“I may not kill you now. The Forest knows you, Kill Reborn. You may travel safely here.”
“And my friends, too,” Bramble demanded. “And our horses.”
It nodded. “If you will it. But the Forest says, move swiftly. The time is almost ripe.”
It drifted back toward the undergrowth, and as it went, the scent from the stream intensified.
“Wait,” Bramble said. “What is that smell?”
It laughed bitterly. “Memory,” it said. “Memory and blood.”
She took a step forward to follow it, to ask it more about the Forest, but the step took her from the elms back to the pines, to a blue sky above and Cael grabbing her hands, hauling her out of the water.
“How long was I there?” Bramble said. Safred and Martine, on the other side of the stream, opened their mouths to ask questions but Cael waved them silent.
“Only a moment. How long was it for you?” he answered.
Bramble considered. “A few minutes, maybe. Hard to tell. Long enough to almost be killed.”
“What did you see?” Safred called. Her face was intent.
“Later,” Bramble said. “There was a message from the Forest. Travel swiftly, it said. The time is almost ripe.”
“Aye,” Cael said grimly. He called to Martine. “Keep your legs well up, lass, when you come over.”
Bramble shook her head. “No, it should be all right now. The Forest has given us leave to travel.”
Immediately, Safred plunged into the stream, crossing in a few strides without incident. She reached the other side and Cael took her hand to haul her up. He grinned at her.
“Should have gone first if you wanted to know what was out there, girl,” he said. She looked sideways at him, annoyed.
The smell had gone from the stream. Martine led the horses to the water and this time they ambled across willingly, snatching mouthfuls as they went.
Safred laid her hand on Cael, her eyes closing. Martine said quietly to Bramble, “Healing him,” and Bramble nodded. Safred opened her mouth to sing and Bramble felt a shock go through her when the song came: grating, horrible, somehow familiar. She turned to Martine.
“Is that how she healed me?”
Martine nodded. “With a little help from Ash.”
Knowing how horrendous her own injury had been, Bramble expected Safred to deal with Cael’s scratches
easily. But the song continued, louder, and Safred was frowning. Cael looked down at his chest, where the long gore mark stood out livid against his skin. It began to bleed. Sluggishly, then faster and stronger. His face paled and he reached up to grip Safred’s wrist. She stopped singing and her own face was so white each freckle showed up clearly.
“They are not there,” she said. “The gods are not there.”
There was such desolation in her voice that Bramble went to her instinctively and put a hand on her shoulder.
Safred looked at Bramble’s hand. It was scratched and bleeding from climbing the pine tree. Safred touched it lightly and closed her eyes. The scratches disappeared, fading away completely, just as her shoulder wound had. Safred didn’t even need to sing.
Her eyes opened full of relief, but as she looked at Cael, she was at a loss. “I don’t understand. They were there, easily, then. For Bramble.”
“But not for me,” Cael said. His face was unreadable.
“You said,” Bramble reminded Safred, “that whatever guides you is weak in the Forest. Perhaps a wound that the Forest has inflicted is beyond their power here.”
“You got that scratch from the Forest.”
Bramble shook her head. “Not from the Forest. Just from a tree. There’s a difference.”
Cael shook his head as though it were too hard for him. He went to his horse, pulled a kerchief out of his saddlebag and mopped the blood from his chest.
“Enough,” he said. “If the Forest wants me to bleed, then I’ll bleed. Let’s get going.”
Safred studied him with a worried face, but eventually she nodded.
In silence, they mounted up and followed the trail before them.
“Me first this time, I think,” Bramble said and Safred nodded agreement.
“Quickly, then. The lake is not far now.”
The Hunter’s Story
I WAS THE FIRST the fair-haired invaders killed here, but of course I did not die. I think the blue-eyed people did not understand what I was; where I was; when I was. I have heard that there was no Forest where they came from; only trees, here and there, lonely and longing for the Wood.
Deep Water Page 8