Green Rider

by Kristen Britain

  Her wrists began to burn. “My skin!” Black blood seared her wrists.

  The eagle flew over to her. Water. You need water to bathe in. I saw a stream this way.

  Karigan dropped her sword uncaring. Tears of pain filled her eyes. She limped through the woods behind the airborne eagle, stumbling from exhaustion. Branches snagged at her greatcoat and slapped her face. The dense canopy of the woods blotted out moonlight, and she fell twice. Groaning with the pain, she climbed back to her feet.

  Quickly, the eagle said. It’s not far.

  “My water skin would have been closer.”

  It would not have been enough. And he flew ahead over the trees.

  After another fall, Karigan remembered her moonstone. When she removed it from her pocket, it lit the woods around her like brilliant daylight. Her pains diminished as she held it, and travel through the woods became easier.

  The promised stream appeared, a glimmering ribbon in the light of the moonstone. She set the stone on a fallen tree trunk and dropped to her knees in the soft mud of the stream. She plunged her wrists, sleeves and all, into the cold, soothing water. Her whole body felt hot, as if she had bathed in the creature’s burning blood. She splashed her face with stream water.

  I hope for your sake we were not too late.

  Karigan looked at the eagle. His feathers showed a veritable rainbow of colors in the light of the moonstone. “What do you mean?”

  The blood—its poisonous effects.

  It was like listening to someone else’s conversation from far away. She cupped water in her hands to slake her sudden thirst.

  Creatures such as we fought tonight haven’t been seen since the Long War. The eagle preened a little, then watched her impassively as she dunked her whole head into the water.

  Her thirst quenched, at least for the moment, she stood up, wobbling with dizziness.

  What are you doing? the eagle asked.

  “The Horse . . . he needs me. And the wolf.”

  Karigan limped back through the woods, stumbling and falling despite the assistance of the moonstone. It seemed to take years to reach the clearing where the carnage of the battle lay. The creature’s carapace had darkened in its pall of death. She felt numb all over. Only the eagle’s loud protests prevented her from stepping in a puddle of black blood.

  The Horse watched her approach. He lay on his side with his legs tucked up against his belly, and though his neck was grotesquely swollen where he had been stung, his eyes were bright. The wolf, on the other hand, did not move. Karigan cried in rage and pulled at the claw that still clenched him, rocking it back and forth. His eyes were empty of defiance and life.

  “I won’t have this!”

  She dropped the claw and found her saber on the ground. The blade was still black with the creature’s blood. She carried it over to the creature. The Horse whinnied in alarm, but she ignored him. She swung her sword again and again at the creature, but it bounced off its shell.

  The eagle flew at her face, pushing her away. Foolish human. It’s dead.

  “Leave me alone!” She swung the sword erratically, nearly catching the eagle in midair, but gentle hands took it from her. She wasn’t sure if she could see the hands or not, but they were cool to the touch. They led her from the clearing and helped her lay down.

  She closed her eyes and fell into dreams of thousands of silvery creatures stinging her, making her drink black blood, of fire and burning. When she opened her eyes again, F’ryan Coblebay stood next to the eagle, flickering like a candle in a breeze. She could not hear their words as they conversed, only whispers that may have been the branches of trees rattling together like dry bones. They glanced down at her, talking about her, she was sure, as if she wasn’t there.

  “Talk to me . . .” She had meant to yell, but her lips and mouth were so dry the words were no more than a raspy breath.

  She saw the wolf. Like F’ryan Coblebay, there was a luminous quality about him, an otherworldliness. He looked right into her face, his amber eyes challenging her once again. Challenging her to what? She could not maintain that gaze, and she closed her eyes. She fell into a dark slumber with tiny silver-shelled creatures feeding on her mind.

  SOMIAL OF THE ELT WOOD

  The nature of her dreams changed abruptly. She heard fair voices in song and talk around her. The voices weren’t intrusive, but soothing, though she could not understand the words. She awakened once, and a myriad of stars brightened the sky like beacons, and silhouetted the tops of evergreens. She lay in a great round clearing softened by deer moss that looked like clumps of snow in the starlight. Stars flickered among the trees . . . no, not stars, but moonstones . . . dozens of them. She was not alone.

  Light followed in the wake of folk tall and slender, who glided across the clearing and disappeared among the trees. She sat up with a start that set her head ringing.

  “Easy, youngling,” a quiet voice said. A gentle but firm hand on her shoulder eased her back down. “There is nothing to harm you here. You’ve the good fortune of being found by friends in your time of need. You need not fear the Tree Kindred of the Elt Wood.”

  As Karigan drifted back into sleep, she heard the eagle say, My Lord Drannonair of the Mountains calls me. I confess I’ve no wish to get mixed up in the affairs of earthbound creatures, and it was time I left.

  The quiet-voiced one laughed, and it was a sound of joy. “But, Softfeather, you are always betraying yourself!”

  Someone put a cool hand on Karigan’s burning forehead, and she fell into deep slumber. She dreamed of feasting, of fair folk amidst the moonstones singing and laughing, and dancing to music that could not be heard. The women, clad in long and simple dresses, spun and danced with fluid grace as if their movements were some flowing language. If so, what were they saying? The swaying, dipping, leaping figures were strong in her vision, but after a time, they faded into the moonstone light.

  The singing continued for a time, and though Karigan didn’t know the language, it seemed she understood the words nonetheless:

  By bright of light in Laurelyn’s step,

  By the brilliant light of Moonman’s beam,

  We leave the shadows of the night,

  In the realm of poison dreams.

  Our hearts will lift at the hour,

  When the light conquers the dark,

  And when poison from the heart is driven,

  We dance in a glade in Laurelyn’s step.

  The song faded, and the men entered the clearing and picked up on the rhythm of the unheard music where the women had left off. They danced for a short time, but could have as easily surpassed the Ages.

  Karigan dimly perceived a change of light from dusk to dawn. Stars still dangled above as the sky transformed into the blue blush of day. The dance went on and the strains of a song she could not hear carried through her dreams. When the dance stopped and the women reentered the clearing, Karigan moved to join them, but the cool hand on her forehead cast her into a deeper sleep where dreams would not disturb her.

  When she awakened again, stars still dotted the sky and moonstones shimmered in the woods as before, and the clearing was not so far removed from her dreams, except now it was empty of dancers. It was all she could do to open her eyes, so overcome with weakness was she.

  “So you are with us again, youngling.”

  Karigan recognized the voice, but the speaker wasn’t within her vision. When she struggled to her elbows, the clearing and stars spun.

  “None of that,” the voice said. “You are too weak yet.”

  Hands pressed her shoulders down. When the spinning ceased, a young man such as she had never seen before knelt beside her. At least, he was young in appearance, though the weight of years could be felt through his mild manner. Long hair shimmered silver in the starlight, though she could not be sure that silver was its true color. Wide bright eyes of pale gray set into a fine-boned face gazed down at her merrily. He was slender like a reed, but not bereft of heft an
d muscle.

  “Who—” she croaked. Her mouth and throat were parched.

  He lifted a skin of water to her lips and helped her drink. It was cold and clear as if it had been drawn from the root of all waters, from a mountain spring that flowed into a sunny glade where the trees around it grew taller than any she had ever seen.

  “I am Somial,” the man said. “I am Somial of Eletia, or the Elt Wood as your folk would call it.”

  Karigan choked on the water. Eletia! “Eletians are legend,” she whispered.

  “If that is so,” he said with a smile, “I must then be a legend.”

  “Estral always claimed there were still Eletians around, but I never believed her.”

  “Your Estral, then, is most wise.”

  “The Horse—” She tried to sit up again, but Somial pressed her firmly to the ground.

  “He fares well,” he assured her. “We have been caring for him most diligently.”

  Karigan struggled no more. She hadn’t the strength to. “A long night,” she murmured.

  Somial arched his right brow. “Yes. This night and the last two.”

  “I’ve been—?”

  “Yes, messenger. Your fight only just began when you slew the creature of Kanmorhan Vane. Softfeather told us of your courage. Such courage is not often found among your folk, nor such resilience. The poison of the beast raged hot and thick through your veins.”

  Karigan couldn’t get over the feeling he was secretly laughing at her, but his gaze and tone were sincere enough. “Softfeather? Who—?”

  “The gray eagle. He, too, is a messenger of sorts among his folk.”

  Karigan closed her eyes. The lights around her had begun to dim and flare, and dim again. How was it the Eletians had come to be here at this time? Were they just another fever dream?

  “How did you find me?”

  Somial said, “We are tiendan, hunters, or watchers for the king. We walk the lands, even outside our beloved Eletia. Long it has been since last we traveled Sacoridia’s fine northern forest. Our king and his son have sensed a great unease in the world, and the creature of Kanmorhan Vane only confirms some unrest of the dark powers. We would that we could have come to your aid sooner, but we only knew of you when we saw the light of the muna’riel. Curious that a mortal should possess one. We don’t know what to make of it.”

  “You mean my moonstone?”

  “Yes, your moonstone. You have been touched by the light of Laurelyn. It makes you a friend of the Elt Wood, though our king cares little for your kind.”

  “It was a gift,” Karigan said, a little defensively.

  “And a worthy one. As is this.” He held in his palm, a tiny white petal. With a clear ringing laugh, he tossed it into the air and it might have vanished, but to Karigan, it seemed to become a star. She couldn’t hold on any longer, and as she slipped again into slumber, Somial said, “Your wounds were grave, the poison is still within you, but you shall be well soon. Do not fear the night or the creatures within. We shall watch over you, Karigan of Sacoridia, till you have regained the strength to continue your endeavor.”

  “Can you take my message to Sacor City?” she asked in a groggy whisper.

  “Your path lies long and dark,” came the quiet reply. He brushed damp hair from her forehead. “But you’ve the will and strength, and the muna’riel. Laurelyn’s light can shatter the strength of the dark powers. Yours is not our mission, youngling. We seldom venture where humankind dwells.”

  “Youngling . . .” she protested.

  “Though I am young among my folk at nigh on two hundred years, you are younger still.” He kissed her forehead, a gesture that reminded her of her mother, and as she slipped into oblivion, she thought she heard him say, “May Laurelyn light your way.”

  Karigan drifted off and did not know how long she slept, and though the sleep was deep and healing, she was always aware of the rhythm of the music. The Eletians watched over her, and thus reassured, her sleep was peaceful.

  When she did awaken, the clearing was awash in the glow of late morning sunshine. Experimentally she moved each limb. Her right leg was still sore, and when she inspected her ankle, it was bruised black. There were numerous purple marks on her legs where the hatchlings had stung her, but the swelling was gone and the marks were not very painful.

  Her wrists were wrapped in a gauzy material where the creature’s blood had burned her. In all, she felt as anyone else coming out of illness: weak but renewed, and grateful to be well.

  There was no sign of Somial or any other Eletians in the area. They had tended her wounds well. She lay on her bedroll wrapped in her blanket, her head pillowed on the greatcoat, just as she had slept so many nights during her journey. Maybe Somial and the Eletians had been dreams, but her tended wounds proved otherwise.

  Nearby, The Horse’s tack and her packs lay on the ground, and beside them, the unsheathed saber which glared in the sun. Someone had cleaned it of black blood. She shivered as she remembered that night, and wondered how many nights had since passed.

  A loud rattling of branches on the outskirts of the clearing made her heart leap. She took up the saber expecting another creature to attack her, but relaxed when The Horse emerged from the trees. She staggered to her feet and limped over to meet him halfway across the clearing. When she saw no evidence of his sting wound, she wrapped her arms around his neck. He nickered softly.

  “Never thought I’d be so happy to see you, you stubborn old horse.”

  Karigan lingered another day and night in the clearing trying to regain the old strength that still eluded her. There was no trace of the Eletians, though when she slept, she could still feel the rhythm of their silent song.

  AMBUSHED

  The world beyond the clearing was oppressive. Biters swarmed in clouds about Karigan and The Horse, stealing away any pleasure they might have found in the budding of wildflowers, and the trills of warblers recently arrived from the south. Deciduous trees, few and far between the spiky sun-stealing spruces, strained to open their leaves.

  The weather alternated from cold damp to summerlike heat and heavy humidity. Karigan opted to wear the greatcoat often despite the heat as her only defense against the biters. The cuffs were all burned through and tattered from her confrontation with the creature of Kanmorhan Vane. Still, it offered a sense of security.

  They cantered long on the road as much to outpace the biters as to make up ground. The Horse’s gait was tireless, his tail whisking behind as they loped along. Whether it was relief from biters or a sense of spring that drove him, it was hard to say. For all their speed, they were no less cautious in covering their tracks, for she knew Immerez and his men still sought her and the message she carried.

  If they were cautious on the road, they were equally cautious off. No longer did they blindly follow deer trails to find a campsite. Karigan chided herself over and over for ever having done so in the first place. Following deer trails at dusk was like walking into a predator’s trap. Encountering the creature of Kanmorhan Vane at what was suppertime for most predators had been no mistake. Who was to say some bear or catamount, equally as dangerous, wasn’t waiting at the end of some other deer trail for an easy meal?

  Between Immerez and the creature, Karigan felt like prey in more ways than one.

  After a week of swift travel, she began to find signs of human habitation. Though the road had in no way improved, it was grooved with wagon wheels and hoofprints, all recent. Every so often, travelers rode or walked down the road, and she and The Horse concealed themselves in the woods and watched those who passed by.

  There were grim men with thick beards and broad shoulders dressed in buckskin, their horses or mules burdened with pelts. Merchants in bright garb sat on wagons laden with goods. Though they were not nearly as prosperous looking as the leading merchant clans of Sacoridia, they were heavily armed and guarded, their cargo masters casting stern expressions over the road.

  At the sight of merchants, whethe
r they were of a clan or not, Karigan felt pangs of homesickness. All merchants longed for spring after a winter of little or no travel and no haggling or dealing. Spring brought increased commerce and an opportunity to see old friends. Karigan had accompanied her father on many spring journeys which often included fairs. She would sit proudly with her father atop the foremost wagon of a long wagon train on its way from one town to the next. But she was not with her father. She was alone on a dangerous road and fairs were a distant dream.

  Other armed travelers passed down the road, but she couldn’t decide if they were brigands, mercenaries, or both. They were male and female, some jolly and lighthearted in conversation, others grim and stern like the merchants’ guards, and yet others possessed a downright disreputable air. Their clothing was soiled and their bodies reeked, even off the road where she stood.

  What conversation she picked up was more often foul than not. She didn’t know whether to feel glad to see others on the road, or alarmed. Carrying the life-or-death message, given to her by a murdered Green Rider, made her suspicious of all who passed by.

  The message. The all important message. What did it say? She was dying to take a look at its contents. She had already risked her life to carry it—didn’t she have a right to read it even though F’ryan Coblebay had told her not to?

  Karigan pulled The Horse to a halt, disregarding the cloud of biters that massed around her head. She unfastened the message satchel and drew out the envelope. “King Zachary” had been written on the front in quick, uneven strokes. She frowned. This isn’t for me.

  She turned it over and took a look at the wax seal. It remained uncracked and unblemished despite its hard journey. A bead of sweat glided down her forehead and pattered onto the envelope. She wiped it away carefully with her sleeve.