Chapter 17
A Trip for the Lost
Come here, dear boy. Lay down your head.” The smiling old crone held out her sinewy hand.
Dorhen shrank back, but did he have a choice? She and three others held the only light in the dark forest. A cold, misty breeze grazed his back. His decision didn’t matter. Several hands shot forward and snatched his arms.
Were they hands or branches? They might as well have been branches for their chilling scratchiness. Three crones’ faces glowed in the soft light, but the grabbing hands suggested more people. It was hard to tell.
Their skull-like witch faces moved around the light source in the onslaught, casting moving shadows over pronounced cheekbones and smiling, crooked teeth. Wispy hair in various shades of grey and white waved about.
The bony hands caressed his face and moved down his body. Other hands eased him onto his back on a bed of moist, decaying leaves. More branch-like hands secured his arms until he couldn’t move and tore his shirt open to continue the caress. Two, three—six or more hands searched his sides, sliding against the flow of his ribs.
One hand found his sternum to inspect where the bones were weakest. He relaxed under the chilling, yet soothing touch. Right after his eyes closed, they sprang wide again as his skin opened up beneath the drag of a fine blade.
Murder.
No, it wasn’t murder. The knife didn’t plunge between his ribs; it sliced with thoughtful precision. The other hands inserted their fingers into the incision and pulled his flesh open for the hand of the crone in charge to squeeze into his body.
His temperature dropped as the sudden freezing presence explored upward, bypassing his lungs. A surge of blood overflowed and spilled down his sides to make room for the foreign object. The chill took him over in an instant. He wouldn’t survive despite the old crones’ intention.
The light faded.
He had never gotten to live the life he wanted, but for some reason it didn’t matter. An odd sense of fulfillment calmed him. He had served his purpose. Still. What a shame he couldn’t have enjoyed his life for a while at least.
Deep in his chest cavity, the hand found his heart and grasped it in a frozen fist. He screamed in numbing agony.
His scream continued into the waking world as usual. That dream again. His vision didn’t return quite the way it should have, and his head floated with the lightness of dandelion seeds on the wind. The shapes rushing past him remained blurred and oddly colored with deep purples and piercing yellows. He couldn’t focus his eyes. Deep, rumbling sounds rolled across him in long heavy echoes, pounding on his head. Voices. At least the ache had lifted off his chest from the nightmare, always so real…
“HE DOESN’T HEAR NOTHIN’.”
“BUT HIS EYES ARE ALL FLUTTERY NOW.”
Dorhen groaned.
“See? He can hear us.”
The blur of vibrations caused by sound and…movement began to separate and settle. A steady roughness dragged up his back. Dim firelight focused in his vision, showing wooden ceiling beams passing over him one after another. He was being dragged, dragged by his feet. Hands appeared behind him and scooped under his arms.
“Down some steps we go, boy-o.”
A few dizzying jolts indicated the change in direction. His stomach churned. Unable to warn anyone, and with no energy to lurch away, Dorhen couldn’t do more than turn his head to spew all his stomach contents out.
“Ah, shit!” A hand dropped one of his shoulders, and it banged against the edge of a stone step. He moaned weakly at the painful shock.
The other man laughed. “Hey, you’ve been on opium before, can’t blame the kid.”
“Yes, I can.”
During their pause, the man behind him must’ve used the edge of Dorhen’s dragging tabard to clean his shoes. The vomit’s warmth seeped through his clothes.
Dorhen blurred out of consciousness until some slaps landed on his face. “Are you done skipping through fantasy land? We’ve gotta talk to you. Eh? What’s your name, boy-o?”
Dorhen closed his eyes and leaned over. Had he been sitting up?
“He’s not done yet. Let him sleep some more.” The man’s voice alternated between deep underground and high in the air.
“What mixture did you give him? He is an elf, after all. They respond differently to the recipes than men do.”
“Nightshade was in it; it was one of our strongest recipes.”
“Overkill for an elf, I’d expect.” The man clicked his tongue, and it sounded like a slap straight to the center of Dorhen’s face. “You better hope he lives through this trip. Let’s try to straighten him up and get some answers out of him. The lord will be here from Ilbith tomorrow, and he’ll want to see our catch.”
“Do you think…? Could it be him?”
“Who knows? I can’t get over where we found him.” Laughter stabbed through the room and bounced off each bare wall one hundred beats over. “How long do you think he’d been visiting those little vestals?”
“You dirty boy.” The laughter continued and a tousle on his head stirred all his hair follicles like needles. “This one right here. He’s special. I think we caught a rare fish last night, though he managed killing three full-fledged sorcerers. This fish might be worth it.”
“Considering that alone, the little bastard is special. Look at ya, you little fornicating, murdering rapscallion!”
They laughed, and the piercing noise churned his stomach again. He didn’t vomit, though; he blacked out.
To avoid getting lost in the woods, Kalea followed the path down to Tintilly to access the road going north. The market was open today, so the streets were clogged with villagers and farmers. Kalea squeezed through the crowd, reaching for the little bit of money she had stashed away over the years, most of which her parents had sent with her upon entering the convent.
The tables had been picked clean and the farmers were already leaving, shouting back at the tense crowd and shooing them away with wide, arcing arms. The sun had yet to reach its apex, and not even a scrap of stale bread was left for Kalea to buy for her journey.
She gave up and headed for the north exit, where a lot of the farmers’ wagons were already filing out.
“Are you going north?” she shouted to the first one to pass her outside the city where the trees huddled in close to the road.
“No, dame! I’m turning off east at the second fork.”
“I’m going north, madam,” the wagon driver rolling in behind him said, pulling on his reins. “Need a ride?”
“Oh, bless you!” Kalea replied, already rushing to the back of the wagon. “I can pay, rest assured.”
“No problem, dame, I trust you.” Four other men were already riding in the wagon bed. She sighed and dropped her basket near the back, where she could dangle her feet off next to one of the men.
“Better sit closer up front,” he said, pointing toward the driver. “The roads’ve been roughed up by the rain.”
“Thanks, you’re right about that.” She stood up in the wagon bed and lifted her basket.
“Where ya headed, ultimately?” The driver twisted around and took off his wide-brimmed straw hat. Dirty blonde hair clung to his temples with sweat. His nose leaned to the side. “Where’s yer elf-lover?”
“Kemp,” Kalea squeaked, and swallowed. She lunged toward the back of the wagon again and dodged the men’s grabbing arms.
“That’s her, fellas. Get her!”
The man sitting on the end grazed her arm, but she leaped away and landed on the ground. She fell and rolled, bending her weak ankle wrong. Sparing not a second to worry over it, she dashed into the forest where the wagon couldn’t follow.
“Come on!”
Kalea sprinted forward, her basket bouncing wildly on her shoulder.
“Beware the elf!” Kemp called to his friends. “He’s strong, so when he shows, we’ve gotta overwhelm him.”
Kalea pumped her legs. She hoped they wouldn’t chase her on foot, as foolish
as that hope was. If only she did have an elf to run to. Her and Dorhen’s disturbance of the town had left it unsafe for her, and after the incident at the convent, she truly had nowhere to go, except for Taulmoil, where her parents lived, but no. She wouldn’t go home. She couldn’t forget about that elf.
The men’s voices grew louder, but she couldn’t chance a look over her shoulder to see how close they drew.
Keep running. Just keep running. Who was she kidding? She would run out of stamina soon, and her old ankle strain ached.
She whirled to her right, darting behind a tight cluster of pine trees. Her foot skidded on the pine needles. She tensed her legs and focused on not falling, for if she did, it would all be over. She launched forward, but the men’s voices increased in volume. They didn’t pant as heavily as she did.
She whirled around another bunch of trees, this one with the additive effect of thick shrubs, budding with fresh new leaves. A hiding place would be imperative soon. If she kept running, they’d catch her.
She used the cover of the greenery to traverse the gentle slope of earth. There might be hope for her if she could make them think she had gone a different direction. At the bottom of the slope, she slowed and looked around for an idea. Her chest heaved, gasping for air.
A trickle of water echoed nearby, and the voices sounded from above. “She went down there!”
Kalea took off again and ran until she found the creek at the bottom of another slope. She used to wash clothes in this same creek; this part of it wove between lifts and falls of rocks and sloping earth, picking up speed as it went deeper, until the sound of rushing water echoed as it flowed into a cave.
Following the rushing current, she spotted a hole in the ground on her side of the stream. Similar, nearby holes were taking in water to supply the echoing noises. This hole was narrow, but so was she. She stepped into the water and crammed her basket into the hole, then herself. She couldn’t move fast enough, because as soon as she squeezed into the opening, the voices rang above her.
“She crossed the river!” Kemp said.
She gnashed her teeth and wiggled to get farther into the hole. If she wedged herself in too far, she could eventually drown if the water level rose—a better fate than being caught by these men.
She pushed her basket farther in. Apparently, the hole went deep, because the basket continued with each nudge. The men walked right over her hole, their feet kicking rocks and pine needles over the opening in front of her face.
Please, Creator, don’t let them cross the water and see me!
“No sign of the elf yet,” Kemp said. “When you find him, catch him alive. The man at the pub promised a great reward for us to bring him in.”
“She’s been using the slopes to hide,” one of the men said. “Let’s go this way.” The group tromped away along the stream.
She nudged her basket again, and it dropped. Smack! The sound came after a second. She should be able to fall the same distance with no injury. She inched along. Water trickles echoed in the distance; it must be a good-sized cave. How perfect it would be if she could hide here until the men quit their search…as long as any late-sleeping bears didn’t mind.
She squeezed inward until her feet found open air. She worked them forward so they could touch the ground first. Could she pull herself up onto the same ledge to squeeze back through the hole later? Too late to change her mind.
Her eyes adjusted easily to the dark, thanks to several more holes allowing in beams of light which darted across the space. No bears.
Water trickled into a pretty little pool with reflected blue-green lights shimmering on the wall. A brighter light toward the back suggested a better exit. Shouldering her basket, she traversed around some jagged rocks and down several tiers until she landed on a dirt floor.
Her heart skipped at the sight of a charred spot with a pile of ash. Someone had built a fire in here. No sign of anyone now, though, no belongings or food scraps to be found.
Kalea dropped her basket before noticing the marks in the dirt. A, C, E, F, and G. She covered her mouth. A stick lay on the ground next to the scrawled letters. The ground had been stirred in a few places and more letters drawn on top of the stirred earth.
“Oh, Dorhen,” she whispered. To the side of the practiced alphabet, her name had been spelled out. The K was drawn prominently, and the following letters had been brushed over and redrawn a few times.
He really loved me. She pressed the back of her wrist against her mouth. Shaking her head, she dropped to the ground beside the graffiti and put her hand over one of the symbols, gently so as not to ruin his work. “I’m going to help you.”
He might’ve made this cave his permanent home if she had agreed to let him support her life in the convent. This must be the cave he had wanted to sing with her in.
She sniffled and leaned her head against the large rock beside her. “I can’t believe this has happened.”
She closed her mouth, remembering to be quiet. Her lip quivered, and she swallowed and took a few deep breaths to keep from crying. She couldn’t sit idly for long. Dorhen was out there somewhere, and he needed her.
Ruffians or no ruffians, she stood and shouldered her basket. Ahead, more accessible holes gaped with stabbing light beams. Before exiting, she glanced around for any belongings, or possibly a travel pack, he might’ve stowed here. Nothing. Maybe he hid his things somewhere closer to the convent so he and Kalea could make a faster escape. No time to go look for them.
A gentle waterfall splattered outside, but she emerged on dry ground. She followed the stream, unable to hear any voices over its babble. They must be gone.
By the sun’s position, she did her best to find north. She picked a direction and departed from the water after filling her belly with a good drink of it. She went back to walking across the thinning pine needles. In this area, the pines grew scarce and were replaced by poplar. Her feet trod through leaves and tall, green grass now.
She hadn’t been out of the cave for more than a few minutes before Kemp and his lackeys charged up from another slope.
“There’s my girl! Come here, sweetheart. Haven’t found your stud yet?”
When she ran again, her legs felt thick and heavy, not ready to exert such effort so soon. “Leave me alone! The elf is gone!” she shouted.
“We thought if we gave ya time, you’d come out of there with him. Boy, I’d like to snag him even more than you. You know what he did to me on my way to your convent to hear the choir?”
So Kemp did mean to come to my convent with the townspeople.
“He attacked me. It must’ve been around midnight when I woke up. Your little creature gave me a good wallop that evening. I’ve still got a knot on my skull.”
Dorhen had attacked Kemp to keep him out of the convent—to protect Kalea? That was also the night he had kissed her and she yelled and told him off. Kalea moaned.
The stream wound back into view again, and she dashed for it. Splashing into the chilly stream, she plunged past her knees. The firm current pulled on her skirts, trying to sweep her away. She waded across with all her strength and was approaching the steep bank on the other side, hauling her heavy basket, when Kemp and his men stepped in.
“What the hell?” they yelled behind her before she took off on the other bank.
“Creator preserve me!”
Kalea turned around. Discolored hands were reaching out of the water and grabbing the five men’s clothing. The men were splashing and kicking and falling over as the hands grabbed and pulled them under.
Kalea froze. Kemp’s crooked-nosed face showed fear, and he reached toward her frantically for help now. Blue, grey, and green clawing webbed hands reached up and pulled down. Sometimes ten of them appeared at once!
A head, slimy with matted clinging hair in a greenish hue, blue smiling lips, and big, wide frog eyes emerged to smile at her as if quite pleased with itself. The hands dragged the first man under long enough to drown him, and he bobbed back
up to float on with the current. The hands continued furiously with the rest of them.
Into the water they went, until they all were released to float after their friend. Once all of them were dead, the frog-eyed spirit retreated underwater, eyes open as it immersed and disappeared from view.
The sound of the babbling water returned to its peaceful steadiness after the screams echoed away. Sharp needlepoints stabbed up Kalea’s legs and spine. Her throat constricted and she gasped for air. Should she murmur a prayer for the men’s last rites or pray for her own safety from that demonic…thing in the water?
It was over now. No more Kemp. She could travel in peace. Shaking her head, she turned and continued her northward route. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have to cross any more water.
Chapter 18
An Heir for the Kingsorcerer
Dorhen awoke to the same men murmuring off in the corner. He didn’t move at first. Let them think he was still asleep.
“Tomorrow, he said,” one of the men answered the other’s question. “He’s being delayed another day, the usual type of business. But I told him we found an elf, so he should come as soon as he can.”
They glanced over, smiling at Dorhen, who kept his eyes low enough to look closed. He couldn’t chance a peek at his clothes, but he still had Arius Medallus’s blue cloth on under his brown mantle, swathed around his neck as always. Warm and secure, it was a treasure to keep him safe. The knife and supplies he always wore on his belt were gone, but they wouldn’t have known to take his blue hood.
“How long have we been looking for this kid?”
“Has to be fifteen or sixteen years.”
“That long?”
“Yep. I was positive the kid had died ages ago, eaten by a bear or frozen as soon as winter caught him—it’s what shoulda happened.”
The other man snorted. “But our lord’s been so certain we should keep looking, and it got easier when we secured this manor. But yeah.”
“Well, this one seems the right age. And brown hair. He had to have brown hair, which this one does.”
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