Silence hung for a moment as his revelations sank in.
“But won’t those from the city know this?” one of the twins asked.
“It’ll depend.” Sal kicked a loose rock. “Many will jump to the conclusions they want despite signs to the contrary. And if it’s someone inexperienced who’s leading them, they won’t even know enough to see the signs.”
“Something similar to this is bound to happen across the mountains as well, isn’t it?” Micca stared, his voice small.
“You can count on it. If they spark off both sides at once, no one will stop long enough to realize they’re being manipulated.” Torren grimaced. “The Black Lords have done their job well.”
“Do Landers not think it wrong to murder their own kind?” Styn stared at the bodies as if the answer might be among them.
“Aye,” Sal told him, “for the most part. But there are times when it’s necessary, times when it can’t be helped—to protect country, family, those who’ve hired you to guard them and the things I’ve just said. This, though, was none of those.” He slowly shook his head. “We’ve got to tell someone.” His expression was grim. “We’ve got to stop this before it gets out of hand.”
“No! We can’t turn back.” Micca stood with fists curled at his sides, wings splayed as if for flight. “There’s no telling how long the council can hold our people back or Aen’s condition remain stable.”
“It might be too late if we wait,” Sal countered. “I could take one of the horses and ride back. It might slow you down a little, but at least both tasks could be done.”
Micca’s face screwed up with indecision then cleared slightly as he nodded.
The twins stepped up before Torren could give his opinion one way or the other. “There’s another possible solution. One of us could just fly back. This way Aen’s rescue wouldn’t be threatened in any way.”
“Would one of you be willing to do this?” Torren asked.
The twins’ eyes met for a moment and then Mar stepped forward. “I will. And I can take some of the grain and water back with me as proof.”
“Let’s do that, then. Take the proof back to the nearest station and then to Dom Rux. He will contact the governor and the emissary. The more we can wreck whatever plans the Black Lords are up to, the better.”
The group quickly got what was needed and outfitted Mar with food and drink for his journey. The two brothers hugged one another warmly, and then Mar took flight back in the direction they’d come. Styn watched his brother until he disappeared from sight. Then he and Micca piled into the back of the wagon as Sal and Torren took the front, and they set off again.
It wasn’t long before they began their ascent up into the mountains. Following the directions Sal had paid for in Caeldanage, they stayed in the main pass, the road turning to dirt from stone once the highway ended at the border. In the decreasing light, they kept their eyes open for the branch of the road that would take them where they wanted to go.
“There should be a camping place for caravans not too much farther up. A trail splits from there toward where the ex-priestess lives.”
Torren kept watch, wishing the road left them a little less exposed to curious eyes. “Think we can make it before we lose all the light?”
Sal pondered on this a moment before replying. “It’s hard to say. But I think we’d better try, or Micca will go bumbling in the dark trying to find it anyway.” He flashed him a grin.
Torren could picture that eventuality only too clearly. He absently clucked at the horses so they’d pick up the pace a little.
They reached the caravan resting spot and found the trail turning off to the right. From what he could see of the resting area in the fading light, a caravan had been by recently. They’d met no one on the road, and no wagons had been in the burned-out town so he supposed they must be going north. He didn’t envy them the sight that would probably greet them on the other side.
The new trail proved little more than a beaten track but was not badly overgrown, so it was being used on occasion. Their pace, however, slowed down to almost a crawl as the trees and other foliage stole what little light they had left.
“It doesn’t appear we’ll make it,” Sal commented sadly.
Torren brought the team to a halt. “I think there’s a lamp amongst the provisions. I can lead the horses from the front.”
Sal nodded and jumped off to go get the lamp for him. Torren descended more slowly, stretching stiff muscles. Micca and Styn returned with Sal, the lamp already lit and doing its best to push back the deepening darkness.
“Are we almost there?” Micca stared up the road, able to see very little past the range of the light, his wings stretching and retracting nervously.
Torren reached for the lamp. “If the directions are accurate, it shouldn’t be much farther.”
Sal pulled it back. “I’ll hold it. I need to stretch a bit, and you’re going to have your hands full, anyway.”
The two Flyers sat on the bench of the wagon, their wings wrapped around them, as Torren and Sal moved in front of the horses. Sal guided the way, Torren leading the horses by hand only a few steps behind him.
Two of the moons were already in the night sky by the time the trail opened up into a small clearing.
“Is this the place?” Torren glanced around, seeing no evidence that anyone lived there.
“I think so,” Sal replied, “though our man said it’d be hard to tell.”
Micca got off the wagon. “He said the house would be on the north end, didn’t he?”
“And who might you all be?”
Startled, all four turned to the left, in the direction of the unexpected voice. There was nothing there.
Sal took several steps in that direction, bringing the darkness to light. He stopped as the vague form of a woman appeared at the edge of the clearing. She wore a heavily patched cloak, its hood hiding her face in shadow.
“Look like a strange lot, you do.” Her soft cackle made the horses pull against the reins. “Guess you’re not with the others.”
“Are you Mala?” Micca asked. “We’ve come on some urgent business to see her.”
The woman chuckled. “Urgent business, is it? That’s new.” She stayed in the fringe of the lamp’s light, straying farther into the clearing. “What would this urgent business be?”
The four of them sent furtive glances to one another, knowing perfectly well she’d not verified if she was the person they were looking for.
Torren decided to risk it. “We’ve heard of a poison made from a rare fish in these mountains. We’ve come in the hope that since you’ve sold this poison, you might also be able to sell us an antidote.”
The clearing filled with expectation as they waited for the woman to speak.
“From a fish, you say?” she asked quietly. “Was this poison ingested or placed into the blood?”
“We believe it was ingested. It’s put a young girl into a sleep from which she will not awaken.”
The woman in the robe nodded absently. “It was given to a Chosen, was it?”
“Yes! And she’s been in this hideous sleep for days,” Micca’s voice exploded across the clearing. “She has to be made whole. We will give you whatever you want.”
“Micca!” Torren’s annoyed bark brought the Flyer up short. Micca stared at him with confusion tainted with defiance. Leave it to the Chosen not to know you never offered anyone the choice of whatever they wanted. Let alone do this to the very person who most likely sold the poison to their enemies in the first place.
“You needn’t worry,” the woman told Torren. “I will not take his words to heart.” She laughed. For the first time, she drifted into the light, coming closer to Micca. “It’s rare to see such openness. Especially in these troubled times.”
Torren frowned at her words as she brought her hands up to throw back her cowl.
Mala was fair, with a mature, handsome face and dark, penetrating eyes, nothing at all like her gravel
ly voice. Dark auburn hair fell to her shoulders, showing the barest hint of gray. Micca stood as if transfixed as she lightly ran her fingers over his half-retracted wings, her eyes trapping his own.
“Very rare, indeed.”
“Come, all of you,” she said, turning away from the Flyer. “It is late, and there are those about who I am sure you do not wish to become aware of your presence. Bring your wagon and horses as well.”
She took Micca’s hand and pulled him away from the light.
Sal sent Torren a questioning look, which was answered by a shrug. He placed one hand on the hilt of his sword as he tugged on the horses’ reins to get them moving again. Sal ventured forward to keep Micca and Mala within the field of light.
At the north edge of the clearing, Mala stopped; and taking a long pole from behind a tree, she poked up at something hidden beyond a twisted branch. Torren was forced to pull hard on the reins of the horses to keep them steady as the branch snapped out, making a resounding sound like a whip, and disappeared up. In the dim light, with the leaves now out of the way, they could see another, smaller clearing covered by heavy foliage and a small stone cottage almost totally overgrown by moss and ivy. Its doorway stood open to the night, the pale glow of firelight filtering out from within.
Torren saw Mala smile a secret smile as they took all this in.
“You can tether your horses in the back. There’s a well there for water and a trough. One of you, reel in the rope there to set the branch back again.” She pointed up one of the larger trees, her voice showing she was used to giving commands and having them obeyed. “Meanwhile, we’ll make us some tea.”
She squeezed Micca’s hand and then let him go, her smile inviting him in. Not waiting, she stepped into the cottage. After throwing a glance back at the others, he followed her.
Gingerly, Styn drifted to Torren’s side, his wings quivering. “Will he be all right with her?”
He could see the fear of Lander childhood stories in the Flyer’s eyes.
“I doubt she plans to eat him. But why don’t you go keep an eye on him all the same.”
Styn nodded, hurrying over to the cottage’s doorway.
Torren unhitched the horses and rubbed them down before getting some feed from the back of the wagon and some water from the small well. Across the clearing, he heard Sal grunting as he strained to put the counterweighted branch back in place. As soon as they were done, they headed for the cottage. He could hear Mala’s voice, though it sounded softer than before, almost as if its previous roughness were from disuse.
His first glimpse into the place showed him it was warmer and brighter than he’d expected. Colored glass bottles and jars of unknown substances took up room on shelves built into the walls, every one labeled in a strange angular script. Heavily carved rafters held up a tall ceiling, making the room seem larger than it was. A wide hearth hung with tied bundles of drying flowers spread light and warmth, welcoming them in.
“Balance is the First Mother’s way,” Mala was saying. “That’s why there are plants that flower while others don’t, some that have edible roots while others bear fruit. Why some can heal while others kill. There’s no good or evil to these elements, only in how they are used.
“For the very thing that can bring life to one could also bring death to another. Yet still, in all of it, there is balance.” She looked up as Torren and Sal came in. “Ah, there you are. Your tea has been waiting.”
She indicated two misshapen ceramic cups set close to the fire. Micca and Styn sat on stools drinking their own.
Hesitantly, wondering if it were wise, Torren retrieved a cup and passed Sal the other. He noticed Mala watching them intently from her perch. The flickering light from the fire added and took years from her face from one moment to the next.
Torren took a tentative sip of his drink, trying not to give credence to the small voice in his head warning him it could be poisoned. Warm tea tickled his tongue, a tart, fruity aftertaste mingling with it as the scent of cinnamon wafted to his nose.
“This is good!” Sal grinned with pleasure.
“You seem surprised it’s not poisoned.” Mala smiled at Torren’s sharp glance. Styn looked away guiltily. It seemed a conversation about this had occurred before.
No one said anything for several minutes as they drank.
“You took a great risk coming here,” Mala told them. “Things are becoming unstable in these parts.”
“How do you mean?”
She glanced over at Micca. “Dark forces are at work, trying to bring the world into chaos. Order normally holds sway with chaos beneath it, maintaining a balance, as it should. But now chaos is seeking to overthrow order and at a higher magnitude than ever before.”
Torren felt goose bumps rise on his arms as her eyes took on a strange, unfocused look.
“It will sweep us all away if we’re not careful.” Her voice changed to a faraway tone, as if she were no longer entirely with them. “Many will die, and the cancer will eat away at all until everything we know is destroyed.”
“Give us the cure for the poison, and perhaps we can stop it before it goes too far.” Her portents reminded Torren only too well of his own dreams of late.
“Is that so?” Mala’s intent, dark eyes latched on to him, her smile almost feral. He had to struggle not to look away. What was she playing at?
“There is a cure, but I will have to make it. You will all stay here the night, and by dawn I will have it ready for you.” Her gaze didn’t leave his face.
“And what will you demand as payment?” Torren tensed, sure he wouldn’t like the answer.
The feral smile returned. “Well, that is the question, isn’t it?” Her eyes gleamed. “What if I fancied a pair of wings for myself?”
Micca blinked in confusion. “How would we give you that? Only El has the power to grant wings.”
Her eyes remained locked on Torren as she answered. “There are other ways, are there not?”
Torren’s face grew hard. He’d heard some of those who dabbled in magic used the Flyers’ feathers for other things than stuffing pillows, sure that magic resided in the wings as in the Chosen themselves. Did she think she could use them to become one of them?
Micca rose from his stool, looking from one to the other, then paled as Mala’s meaning slowly dawned on him. “If…if it’s what you require, so be it. Take mine.” His wings quivered at the ends.
Torren growled a warning. “Micca…”
The young Flyer turned on him. “No, I mean it! I’ll do anything for Aen, for El. And if you can survive their loss, so can I.” His eyes looked wild.
Torren stepped toward him, not knowing what he intended to say as his mind screamed that this young fool possessed no idea of the consequences of what he was willing to give away.
Loud laughter stopped him in his tracks. It was sweet and joyous.
“How brave you are!” Mala took a surprised Micca’s arm and flashed a grin in Torren’s direction. “Don’t worry. I don’t want any wings. Money, a few feathers and promises for rare herbs from places only the Chosen can reach will be more than enough to satisfy me.”
Micca reached behind him and yanked several from his wing, grimacing. He extended them toward her, drops of blood gleaming on the ends. “You have my word.”
Mala’s features changed to resemble those of a child, her eyes bright. “Wait for me here. I will not disappoint you.”
She released his arm then cut past the others to the door. Without another word, she was gone; and soon it seemed as if she’d never been.
“Are other Landers like that?” Styn wondered aloud.
“No,” Sal responded, his answer just as quiet as the question. “She’s a weird one in our books as well.”
Torren couldn’t have agreed more. “Since it appears we have a long wait, we should set up a watch and the remainder get some rest.” The others nodded. “I’d also suggest we not sleep in here.”
He got no argument on th
at, either.
Sal volunteered to take the first watch. Micca and Styn retired to the inside of the wagon while Torren took out a blanket and settled down not far from the where the horses were resting. Each of them took a turn during the night, its quiet oppressive but revealing no signs of danger or of the ex-priestess.
Close to dawn, Torren was awake—and not sure as to the reason. Sitting up slowly, listening for what might have roused him, he spotted Styn pacing in the clearing not far away, his wings coiled about him.
He scanned the rest of the clearing and ended up at the cottage. He blinked as he saw the door was open.
Rising to his feet, he approached the pacing Flyer. “Did you see her?”
Styn frowned. “See who?”
Torren pointed at the open door. Styn’s eyes widened. “Get the others.”
Nodding, Styn hastened back to the wagon. Torren headed for the open doorway.
Peeking inside, not sure what to expect, he found the fire rekindled with fresh wood and a large pot set over it.
“Ah, there you are.”
He almost jumped at the voice as a dark shadow disengaged from the wall on the left to become Mala.
“I’ve put breakfast on—it should be ready before long. I doubt it would be prudent for you to leave before the sun arrives.” She took a bowl of dried berries and dumped them into the pot.
Torren tried hard to find his voice. “Were you able to get what you needed?” He felt cold and nervous all at once.
“Oh, you mean this?” She pulled a small vial from the folds of her cloak. A dark-green liquid swirled inside it. He was forced to control the urge to step forward and snatch it from her hands.
As if she knew his thoughts, Mala laughed like a small child and set the vial on the table closest to him.
“Go ahead, take it.” Her eyes sparkled. “Make sure to only give her a few drops. Too many will not improve her condition.”
He picked the vial up, not sure if he actually believed it was what it was.
“Torren, did she…?” Micca popped in the doorway, his eyes immediately drawn toward the vial as he spoke. “Is that it?”
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