And that was it. She hung there feeling confused and cheated. Then embarrassed and annoyed with herself.
"Ashyn?" he called as she began walking away.
She looked back.
"You are doing fine," he said. "We're going to make it."
She nodded and hurried to her sleeping blanket.
Twenty-nine
They found no water the next morning, and the sun seemed hotter than ever. Ashyn remembered tales of travelers to Edgewood, those who'd come late in summer, when some of the oases had gone dry. They'd told of having to drink their own urine. I could never be so desperate, she'd thought at the time. By midday she was reconsidering.
They'd found an outcropping of rock that provided some shade for a rest. Wenda was so weak she'd fallen straight asleep. Once the sun started to drop, they'd headed off again, but Wenda could barely walk, and when they prodded her, she'd vomited, losing what little liquid her body had retained. Neither had the strength to carry her. As for Tova, the hound was the worst off of them all, trapped in his heavy coat.
After Ashyn settled Wenda into her sleeping blankets, she found Ronan sitting guard.
"How is she?" he asked.
Poorly. That was the truth, but he didn't need to hear it. "Well enough."
He shifted as if restless. When he noticed she was still standing, he waved for her to sit, but as soon as she did, he stood and peered out across the lava plains.
"I know you want to keep moving," she said.
He looked down, as if startled. Then he gave a short laugh. "No. Well, yes, I would but . . . Do you know what I'm truly doing?"
"What?"
He lowered himself again. "Promise not to laugh?"
"Of course."
"I'm looking for water to steal."
She choked on a laugh.
"You promised," he said, waggling his finger. "Yes, I know, it's ridiculous. Obviously there's no one here to steal water from. I just can't shake the urge. That's how I was raised. If you need something and you don't have it, you take it from someone else."
She nodded and watched Tova as he settled in beside her.
Ronan's gaze slid her way. "You've never asked me why I was condemned to the forest. I'll presume that means you'd rather not know."
"No," she said. "I don't ask because that would be rude."
Now it was his turn to sputter a laugh. Then he leaned his shoulder against hers, briefly, but enough to make her cheeks heat.
"I ought to have guessed you were simply being polite," he said. "I'll tell you my crime, then. Selfish of me, but I'll feel better if there are no illusions for me to shatter." He sobered. "We killed a minister. He wasn't supposed to die. It was a robbery. We ran a . . . a scheme. With a woman my father . . . spent time with. She used to . . . entertain men."
He cleared his throat. "That part isn't important. The point is that we had a scheme for robbing rich men while they were . . . otherwise occupied. It had worked many times. This time, something went wrong. We were caught."
He went quiet then, for so long that she thought that was the end of his story.
"No," he continued. "I was caught. Things went wrong and I didn't get out quickly enough, and my uncle . . . It doesn't matter who killed the minister. We were all responsible. So we were all exiled."
"Including your father?" she asked.
He nodded.
"So he perished in the forest?"
"He hung himself shortly after we arrived. He . . . was a man given to extremes. Life was wonderful or life was hopeless. Once we were abandoned in the forest, he gave up."
And abandoned you. That's what she thought, and the anger that flared in her gut had nothing to do with Ronan for his thievery or his uncle for killing the minister. His father had committed the worst crime. He had brought his son into that life, and when things went wrong, he abandoned him in the Forest of the Dead. Ronan might joke that he was selfish, but that was true selfishness.
As she judged Ronan's father, she was well aware that her mother had also taken her own life. But it was not the same. It could not be less the same.
When Ashyn and Moria were born, their mother had kept their twin birth a secret for a very good reason. Because when the girls were discovered, their local governor would inform his warlord. The warlord would tell the marshal, who would, as soon as possible, dispatch a nursing Hound of the Immortals and nursing Wildcat of the Immortals.
This great hound and wildcat would be deprived of food from the moment they left their kennels. When they reached the twins' village, the babies would be placed in a room. The starving beasts would be put in with them at dawn. The door would be closed and not reopened until dusk, no matter what terrible sounds emanated from within.
If the babes were truly a Seeker and Keeper, they would be found nestled with the beasts, suckling, the Seeker with the hound and the Keeper with the wildcat. Then they would be given the best pup and kitten from the hound's and wildcat's litters, as their bond-beasts, and the family would be transported with much pomp and circumstance to their future post.
If the twins were not a Seeker and a Keeper? Then the starving beasts would do what all starving beasts did when left alone with defenseless prey. It was said that the chance of twins being blessed was one in a hundred. Those were the odds her mother had faced. That was why she had tried to run with her daughters. When she'd been caught, she'd taken her own life not in despair, but to ensure the girls' father would not be implicated. Take all the blame on herself. Let their father live, for his sake and their daughters'. There was nothing selfish in that.
Ashyn realized then that she'd been quiet too long after Ronan's confession. He was fussing again, obviously uncomfortable now, as if her silence judged him.
"I'm sorry about your father," she said.
He glanced over sharply, as if that was not the answer he expected.
"I'm sorry about your father and your uncle. I can't imagine how difficult that was."
He met her gaze. "I think you can, Ashyn."
She nodded and looked away.
Ronan reached over and squeezed her hand. "We'll get you out of here. You and Tova and Wenda. And we'll find Moria." He paused. "I'm going to keep walking."
"What?" She stared at him. "Tonight?"
He nodded. "We can't be far now. I'll get water and come back."
"How will you see your way?" She waved up at the cloudy sky.
A tired smile. "I'm a thief, remember? I see very well in the dark. The road is clearly marked. Waiting until morning will only mean we've gone that much longer without water. With luck, I'll be heading back before you wake."
"I shouldn't have used up the water."
"You were worried about my wounds." He managed a strained smile. "I can't fault you for that." He brushed off his breeches and leaned over to give Tova a pat. "I should probably leave now. I was planning to as soon as we'd spoken." He waved at what she'd thought was a rock. It was his pack. He stood. "I'll find us water, and I'll see you soon."
He hefted his pack, offered her one last smile, and set out across the lava plains.
Ashyn woke to Tova growling. When she lifted her head, she could see only his pale shape, so close she could smell his fur. The sky was dark gray.
As Wenda stirred beside her, Ashyn looked up at Tova. His big head moved, as if tracking something. She tried to listen, but all she could pick up was Tova's growling, growing louder until she could feel the vibration of it.
"What's wrong?" Wenda asked.
Ashyn shushed her, then softened it with a reassuring pat.
Tova was turning his whole body now, his nails scratching the rock as he moved, his gaze fixed in the distance.
Another death worm?
Ashyn sucked in air, but reminded herself that they hadn't seen sand or soil in a day.
As she sat up, she heard a scraping to her left. She caught movement. When she glanced over, it stopped, but she could make out the faint outline of a human figure.
She heard a crack behind her. Something struck her, fast and hard, searing her skin, wrapping around her neck and yanking her up as Wenda screamed. Ashyn's hands flew to her neck as the cord tightened, cutting off her air. Tova let out a roar and raced behind Ashyn. The cord tightened again as if he'd grabbed it in his teeth. Then it slackened, and as she yanked it off, she fell to the hard rock.
She heard another roar and lifted her head to see Tova leaping onto a dark figure. Both went down. A man screamed. Then Tova threw the man aside, his body falling limply as Tova stood there, snarling, his legs planted, fur on end.
"The dog!" a man shouted. "Shoot it!"
"No!" Ashyn screamed.
She ran for Tova and threw herself over him. Something hit her shoulder, piercing right through her cloak and tunic. Then another, this one catching in her cloak before clattering to the rock. Arrows.
"Get off the dog, girl!" a man shouted.
"It's not a dog!" Wenda shouted. "It's a Hound of the Immortals. And that's the Seeker."
Laughter echoed seemingly from every direction. Ashyn's heart pounded, but she stayed on Tova and slid out her dagger, keeping it hidden under her.
"All right, Seeker," a man's voice said, mocking, drawing closer.
He stepped from the darkness. He had the coppery skin and eyes of one from the distant desert lands. His head was shaven and he stood at least half a head taller than any man she knew, with broad shoulders and burly arms, bare despite the cool night air. His filthy clothing was covered in silver beads, an odd display of wealth on such shabby apparel. When he smiled, his teeth shone, too, his front ones silver-coated.
A bandit.
Another man sidled up behind him, smaller, with lighter skin and braids.
"Look at that hair," he said, his voice breathy. "The color of the setting sun."
The big man snorted. "Have you never seen a Northerner? Skin pale as a fish belly. Hair like dirty straw." His lip curled in distaste. "We'd be lucky to find a man willing to take her to bed."
"Oh, I'd be willing," the smaller man chortled. "I think you need spectacles, Barthol, if you think that hair resembles straw. And those eyes? Like a summer sky."
The big man--Barthol--shook his head. "On your feet, girl. Mind your cur."
"It's not a cur," Wenda said. "It's a Hound--"
"Yes, yes," Barthol said. "It's a poxed Hound of the--"
He broke off as Tova rose. Then he stared at the huge hound. Behind him, the smaller man whispered, "By the spirits . . ."
"His name is Tova," Ashyn said, as loud as she could while keeping her voice steady. "I am Ashyn of Edgewood. I am the Seeker who guards the Forest of the Dead. He is my bond-beast."
The smaller man dropped to his knees. "My lady. I meant no offense with my joking--"
"Oh, don't grovel," Barthol muttered. "She's a girl, barely old enough to be sold to a whorehouse."
"Barthol!" the other man said.
Another man stepped forward, still hidden in the dark. "Fyren's right, Barthol. Our customs may not be yours, but you ought to show some respect. The girl is blessed by the spirits."
"I know what a Seeker is. A rare and valuable creature." Barthol smiled, teeth shimmering. "The empire will pay well to ransom her."
"Ransom?" Fyren choked on the word, sputtering. "A Seeker? They'd exile us all to her forest . . . after they burned out our tongues for blasphemy."
Noises of assent came from the darkness.
"It's true," Ashyn said. "You cannot ransom me. But if you found me and the child--the last survivors of our village, dying of thirst in the Wastes--and you gave us water and escorted us to Fairview, you would be handsomely rewarded."
"Last survivors?" Fyren said.
"I can explain," she said. "When you bring water for the child."
As Ashyn soon realized, the bandit leader--Barthol--was not a stupid man. One doesn't rise to that position without at least a feral intelligence. He dismissed her stories of shadow stalkers and death worms as the panicked ravings of a girl who'd spent too long in the sun without water, but her suggestion of a reward struck him as rational and sensible. They would escort Ashyn and Wenda to Fairview.
The bandits had plenty of water and food, and strong men willing to carry the child. Fairview was less than a half day's walk, they said, and they set out immediately, lighting the way with lanterns.
As they walked, Ashyn watched for Ronan. She did not mention him--the bandits might fear competition for that reward and send a runner ahead to make sure he didn't reach Fairview alive. Wenda took the hint and stayed silent as well.
Thirty
It was barely midmorning when they reached Fairview. Wenda had seen it first, from her perch on a bandit's shoulders. She'd cried out so suddenly that the man nearly dropped her. Ashyn looked up and there it was, the whitewashed clay buildings shimmering under the sun.
The bandits sent a runner ahead, before the village guards trooped out with their blades flashing. When the party drew close enough to see warriors in the guard stations--and the runner hadn't returned--Barthol sent another. Both came back escorted by armed guards.
Ashyn had her speech prepared. She didn't need it. The guards took one look at Tova and a second at her, and they ordered the bandits back. The warriors surrounded her like a shield and took her to the village.
The governor was waiting at the gate when they arrived. When she drew close enough to see his jowly face, he dipped his chin and bent one knee in a stiff bow.
"Ashyn of Edgewood," he said. "It has been many summers, Seeker."
She remembered him then. He'd visited Edgewood nearly ten summers ago.
"Sir." She gave a slight bow, as taught by the court Seeker. Always show respect but never genuflect. Remember who you are. Remind them who you are.
"I bring you news of Edgewood," she said. "The village is no more."
The governor shifted his bulk and glanced at Barthol. "I heard something of that from the runner these men sent. I need to hear more, of course. After you have rested and been fed." He waved to the guards to bring her inside.
"Wait," Ashyn said. "There were children, from my village. They were taken by men. Are they here?"
"No, Seeker. We have seen no one but your party in a fortnight."
"And my twin sister? You have not seen the Keeper?"
He dropped his gaze and shook his head. "No."
He said something else then--platitudes and reassurances, from his tone--but she didn't hear the words. He'd said the only thing that mattered.
Moria was not here.
Ashyn let the guards lead her through the gates.
Fairview was not like Edgewood. Ashyn realized that as soon as they entered. Of course, it looked different, with rounded, whitewashed buildings instead of squared, rough-hewn wood. And they were close enough to the edge of the Waste that villagers had brought in plenty of soil for yard gardens. But it was more than that. The people were . . . not the same.
They looked the same, of course. Mostly native to the region, though it was hard to tell because she saw few villagers as she was escorted through. In Edgewood, by this time of day the streets would have been humming with voices and laughter, footfalls and cart wheels, everyone off and about on their daily chores. Fairview was so quiet that her heart almost stopped, stricken by the irrational fear that she was walking into another empty town, decimated by shadow stalkers. That passed, of course. There were guards and a governor and villagers, just very few of them, most hurrying inside.
The windows along their path were battened shut. As they passed, she'd hear one open, and glance over to catch a flash of a face before it banged shut again.
"Do you get sandstorms here?" she said.
"We do," panted the governor as he struggled to keep up. "Thankfully, they are rare. But the people have retreated because I sent a messenger
to clear your path, Seeker. You do not need to be gaped at."
She murmured her thanks and continued on down the empty street.
Seeker, a voice whispered, so faint she could barely hear it. It is a Seeker.
It had been so long since she'd heard and felt ancestral spirits that her eyes filled with tears.
"I am Ashyn of Edgewood," she murmured, too low for her escorts to hear. "Seeker of the Forest."
The forest. Ashyn of Edgewood. Seeker.
They seemed merely to repeat her words, voices running together.
"I'm looking for--" she began.
"Who are you talking to?" Wenda asked.
Ashyn smiled and patted Tova. "Just Tova. He's not used to new places. I'm reassuring him."
The hound chuffed, supporting her lie. When Wenda's attention turned away, Ashyn listened for the spirits, but they'd slipped away. She was alone. Again.
The governor left Ashyn and Wenda in his guesthouse. It was unlike any house either of them had ever seen, with silk drapes and cushioned chairs piled with embroidered pillows.
The governor had said he'd return at midday. Soon after they'd arrived, two women had come with food and drink, richer than either girl was accustomed to. Not just honey cakes, but peach jelly and green-tea biscuits and dried persimmons and fruits they'd never seen. Wenda chattered endlessly about the food and the room and the village and the bandits until Ashyn longed to say, "Be still, please, just be still." She wanted to retreat into her thoughts and ponder their situation, but the girl had been so strong during the trip, never complaining. Now, as the ordeal ended, her grief and fear must all be rushing in, and she was dealing with it through girlish chatter.
After the meal, the two women returned with clothing--dresses of linen and silk. Any other time, Ashyn would have delighted in the gifts. Right now, she was only glad that they were clean.
Soon she'd be clean, too. They'd brought buckets of hot water for the tub. Wenda was in no hurry to wash, which gave Ashyn an excuse to retreat into the next room for a quiet bath.
It was then, as she stood by the steaming tub, that she broke down and cried. A silly thing to bring tears. But she saw that tub, and she thought of all the times Moria had drawn a bath for her. She'd come all this way, and she'd been so certain Moria would have at least come through.
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