by L. P. Dover
I glanced down at my palm, reviewing the symbols again. I thought I had figured out most of the lines—creeks curving through the landscape, jagged mountains overlooking a lake—but there were still a lot of things I was unsure about, nervous about. I squeezed my hand closed into a fist and kept moving.
I tried not to think about all that had happened, tried not to think about Fannie, not the trial, not Junnie, and especially not Chevelle. Not the watcher. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. I couldn’t even imagine what lay in the mountains where I was heading.
I wasn’t tired anymore, not as I had been almost every day since I’d been using magic. But I forced those thoughts away, counting steps as I ran. I was miles from home. A home I might never return to.
I pushed myself forward through the day, only stopping momentarily at a patch of berries and twice to drink. The berries were much less palatable without the guiding hand of an elf, but the stream water was cool and refreshing. As evening approached, I began to get uncomfortable about the coming darkness, aloneness. Not that I hadn’t spent my share of time alone at home, just not in the middle of a strange forest, outside … really alone. I considered running through the night and sleeping during the day, but eventually decided to find shelter before nightfall. Slowing my pace, I gave my surroundings a little more attention.
A half mile or so later, I came upon a suitable hollow in a low embankment. I gathered some shrubbery to cover the entryway and give me a little more security, or at least the feeling of it. It hadn’t gotten dark yet, but I went ahead and settled in, sitting so I could see through an opening in the shrub door I’d created. It was quiet and I had to fight the thoughts that were trying to creep in. I began to run songs through my head for distraction, mangling the lyrics and humming through the parts I couldn’t remember at all. … and she’s a tall long dawn … wanna freedom of drink … yeah, yeah, yeah …
A flicker of movement outside stopped me. I held my breath for what I was sure was impending—and painful—death, and it happened again. I blew out a breath, grateful it wasn’t my last, as a small gray bunny loped a few feet in front of the bushes. My stomach was interested, but I’d never prepared meat; I’d only ever gathered berries and vegetables that someone else had grown. I didn’t have the first idea how to make a bow, let alone shoot one. I’d never actually killed anything, except plants. And a bird. Yes, I’d killed a bird, but I had no idea if an animal killed by magic was viable. I thought of the thistle, its black roots, how it had turned to ash. The bunny sniffed at the air in my direction and continued on its way, answering the dilemma for me.
I squeezed my arms around my knees. I was sitting in a hole, utterly alone, and it was beginning to get dark. I lit a small flame and decided to practice my fire magic. Leaning forward, I danced the little flame back and forth in front of me. My control had progressed a good deal since my training; it seemed almost easy to navigate a small flame. I smoothed it out into a line, tracing arcs and more intricate designs. The designs started to resemble portraits and I had to concentrate hard to keep from seeing them. I tried to focus on landscapes, and those went from tiny village houses and small trees to rolling hills and curving creeks, and finally the hills to mountains that eventually melted into unidentifiable monsters. I snuffed the flame with a wave, leaving the den black with darkness until the clouds broke and a soft glow of moonlight filtered in through the opening. I leaned over on an elbow and examined the glistening patches of light on my twisting hand. In the moonlight, I finally lowered my head, using my arm as a pillow, and fell into a peaceful sleep.
Chapter Seven
Steed
The next morning, I woke to find rays of sun had replaced the moonlight in the tiny hole. I considered covering my head and sleeping longer, but my stomach ached for food and I worried that Chevelle or Junnie might not be far behind. I crawled out and squinted through the bright light to find something, anything, to eat. I located a few roots and greens, knowing it would have to be enough to tide me over until I could figure out a way to hunt.
Grabbing my pack and knocking down the brush over my shelter, I headed north again. There were plenty of streams and the occasional berry patch along the way, and the route was undemanding; the ground was smooth, nothing too overgrown to make passage difficult. I carried on without incident for days as the rolling hills continued, making each new day a surprise. I was glad; this might have seemed daunting if I could have seen hundreds of miles straight ahead of nothingness, just flat plains.
I was moving every moment of light and sleeping every moment of darkness. I concentrated on each step, breathing in the new scents, doing anything I could to keep my mind on task instead of the dark thoughts gnawing at me.
I’d been counting my steps when I came over the top of another hill and saw a bridge in the valley. I hesitated, slowly making my way down the hill as I tried to decide if a bridge meant a village and a village meant elves. I didn’t want to get caught, not after all this, and I was fully prepared to run by the time I reached the bridge. It was rather large, stacked with the gray stones that had been appearing more frequently on my path.
Water flowed quietly beneath it, smoothing the stones at the base, which looked like they had been in place for centuries. As I crossed, I saw there was a light path on the other side, so I swung wide and through the trees instead. When the sudden scent of roasting meat caught my attention, I found myself following it, despite my concerns about other elves.
The trees broke to a small clearing where a cloaked figure was bent over a fire pit, turning a meat-covered spit. I pressed tight behind an oak tree, trying to get a better view; I was sure it was an elf, male from his size. The smell of real food was consuming and I was watching the meat turn as I moved again, crushing a dry leaf beneath my shoe.
“Come then, there’s plenty for both of us.”
I mentally cursed my clumsy feet before finally taking a cautious step out of the trees. He turned toward me, tossing his cloak aside to stand too proud, his right leg propped up on a rock as if he were posing. “Don’t be shy,” he beckoned, indicating a large log beside the fire. The meat sizzled and popped as I crossed to him and sat obediently. It’s too late to hide, I convinced myself, might as well have something decent to eat.
Its smell was unfamiliar, but I didn’t care. It smelled like food. He reached down and tore a hunk of it from the spit, tossing it to me with a wink. I flushed at the gesture and he smiled a wicked smile.
He was tall and broad with dark hair and eyes. Like Chevelle. Handsome, too, though I could tell from the first few moments he was a little cocky. He reminded me of Evelyn, always so proud of herself for finding me out.
He watched me as I ate. When I devoured the first piece, he laughed and threw me another. I hoped I looked appropriately abashed. As I finished the second serving, he stepped closer to sit on a rock beside me. He held his hand out to the side, and a canteen flew up from a pile of things by the fire. He passed it to me, still smiling, and I tilted it back, expecting cool water. I almost choked when warm wine hit my throat. He laughed again and leaned forward to get a better look at me as I lowered the container.
He was uncomfortably close, eyeing me with what I was certain was the same look I'd just given my meal. I figured he must have sensed my discomfort when he started to move, but he just stood, which brought him even closer. Well, parts of him.
I turned toward the fire, unsure what to do, preparing my plan for a graceful exit. For my departure from food and a warmth.
I jumped a little when the first tree uprooted across the clearing. He chuckled as the second and third followed. “You look like you’ll need shelter, Sunshine.”
I stared at him in disbelief as the trees split and began forming a hut. His smile was wide as he shot me another wink; I couldn’t be sure he was kidding. As the tearing and slamming noises ceased, I examined the hut. It was quite impressive really. He didn’t even seem to be watching, let alone concentrating. An
d no blessings on it, no thanks to Mother Earth. It seemed he was just enjoying himself, not being responsible to the magic.
Magic that I needed. That I wanted. He was good enough, there was no question of that. He’d definitely be able to teach me. I started to ask, but fell short. I had no idea who this was and I probably shouldn’t let him know who I was.
He noticed my open mouth, blank expression, and sat again, eyeing me questioningly, all humor gone.
“You seem to be really good at magic,” I said.
He laughed. “Is that so?”
“Yes, well, I … I need to learn,” I added timidly.
“Learn?” The humor was gone again. “What do you mean learn?”
“I’ve never learned, well, except for fire, and I need to learn … someone to teach me … and you’re …” I was in serious danger of rambling.
He was looking at me as if I had just professed cannibalism.
“I’ll need food and … well, and shelter.”
“I don’t understand.” He appeared overly concerned, like maybe I was a few nuts short of a bushel.
“I’ve lost my mentor. Can you teach me magic? Help me, so I don’t do something out of order, hurt myself?”
His eyebrows drew together as he opened his mouth to reply.
A branch snapped at the edge of the clearing and his head turned instantly. I sucked in a harsh breath as I saw Chevelle striding toward us. The elf that had been sitting with me, jovial since I’d met him, was now in a fiercely protective stance in front of me. I leaned around him to see, placing my hand on his leg as I angled my head past it. That broke his stare and he glanced down at me.
I watched Chevelle, still walking casually toward us, as if there weren’t two angry panthers preparing to pounce on him. But I must have appeared about as threatening as a mad kitten because the leg I was gripping shook a little with laughter. I turned my angry gaze on him and he raised his hands in surrender, still laughing quietly.
“I take it you know him?” he asked.
“He’s following me,” I announced, too loud.
His eyes were concerned for a moment, so I forced my anger back and stood behind him. Chevelle approached us and looked directly at me, ignoring the large elf between us. For one half of a second, he seemed irritated, then relieved, before his features melted back into a polite sternness. I had an incredible desire to berate him for being my watcher, but then I remembered I was on the run. I remembered the elf in front of me; I remembered and decided to keep my mouth shut about everything.
A large arm wrapped around my shoulder and drew me forward. “Introduce us, Buttercup.”
I grimaced. He was certainly enjoying himself.
Chevelle held his hand out in a formal greeting to the man. “Chevelle Vattier.”
“Vattier, eh?” I thought I heard him under his breath, “Well, you can call me Bonnie Bell.” Chevelle waited unmoved for his response. He finally held his hand out in return. “Steed. Steed Summit.”
They both shot me a disbelieving glare as a giggle slipped out. I struggled to stay composed, a giddy thought that at least I finally knew someone with a cornier name than mine momentarily eclipsing the distress of getting caught. By him.
I realized the man was staring at me. He didn’t seem to think it was funny at all. “Our lineage is long and we breed the best stallions in the land.”
Chevelle spoke up as if he had been the intended recipient of the comment. “Yes, I have heard much regarding the lines of Free Runner and Grand Spirit. Tell me, is that what brings you out this far?”
As they carried on the exchange, Chevelle explained we’d be needing horses. So that’s it, then. He’d be taking me back to the village. For sentence by council.
Plans were made for a trade; Steed said he would bring in the herd and we could choose our mounts the next morning. They kept talking, settling into conversation, and Steed offered Chevelle what was left of the roast. They sat, Chevelle beside me and Steed across from us, forming a triangle.
I picked up the canteen and choked down more wine.
The evening carried on, and though the conversation still held a formal tone, neither man talking of anything personal, they seemed to be getting along. I faded in and out of the various discussions, listening occasionally but never talking. Steed seemed very aware of me. He was looking at me in a way no one ever had. It must have been obvious because when he excused himself to check the herd, Chevelle studied me, sliding a strand of my now black hair through his fingers. “It suits you.”
It was a very familiar gesture and it should have made me flinch, but as I looked at him, my anger at the betrayal was fading. Maybe it was the wine, but it was hard to believe his concern wasn’t real. His eyes burned with intensity; they seemed even darker now. Dark … like mine, I thought and had to look away.
And then Steed broke in through the trees.
“They aren’t far,” he said. As he approached, he glanced at me and Chevelle, close beside me. “We can get an early start.” He was carrying a pack he’d not had before.
He said, “Bluebell?” I stood to follow him into the hut, not missing the irritation on Chevelle’s face.
Steed unclasped the pack and rolled the blankets out with a flip. He smiled and nodded his head good evening before stepping back outside. Spent, I unlaced my vest and threw it down, kicked off my shoes, and flopped onto the blankets. I stretched, happy to lie on a comfortable bed, under a roof with no plans of the sunrise waking me. It was quiet outside, no more conversation between the men when I slipped off to sleep, trying not to think about my capture and coming return to the village.
“Freya.”
A low voice broke into my dreams of gently rolling hills and soft gray stone. I peered through slitted eyes to find Chevelle standing a few feet from my bed, facing the door. It was dim in the shelter and it took a minute to get my bearings. I sat up, realizing why he was facing the door, and picked up the vest to lace it over the thin material of my blouse. I slid my shoes on and stood, following him out.
“It’s dawn,” I complained.
“And good morning, Sunshine," a smiling Steed announced.
He was atop a large black stallion whose nostrils flared and steamed with its breath in the cool morning air. Two more horses pawed behind him, and when he twisted his wrist, they walked toward us. A dark, muscular horse stood beside Chevelle as a mammoth crossed in front of me and knelt. I gasped and Steed shot me a mischievous wink.
“Well?”
I was speechless. The beast was as large and black as a starless night. Steed was pleased with my reaction. Chevelle rolled his eyes but held out a hand to help me on my horse before he swung onto his own.
“I will ride with you as far north as Naraguah, then make my way east to trade with the imps at Bray,” Steed said to Chevelle.
I swung a shocked look at Chevelle, who simply nodded to Steed in reply. My eyes followed the exchange and I was staring, completely confused, at Steed. He saw my face and gave an admonishing look to Chevelle as he clicked his heels and his horse shot past us, its black tail whipping fiercely behind.
“North?” I asked.
Chevelle glanced back at me, his calm a complete contradiction to my response.
“You aren’t taking me back? You are going … we are going north?”
“I’m sorry, Freya. I let you down at the creek.” His gaze fell to my hands. I remembered my burnt palms and instinctively closed them into fists. “I was distracted. I should have been paying closer attention, I should have prevented this.” Regret was thick in his voice. I stared at him, confused. “It’s too late now. You’ll never rest until you’ve followed the map.”
He was wrong; I’d completely forgotten my plans, surrendered to my captor.
“Yes,” I said without hesitation. It made absolutely no sense, but I didn’t take the time to think it through, didn’t give him the time to change his mind. I just kicked my heels into the horse’s side and gripped the saddl
e with all my might as he leapt into a run.
I’d never actually ridden a horse; there weren’t any in the village and I’d only seen them from the occasional visitor. Most elves didn’t need horses; they could walk or run where they needed to go. He was huge and I could feel how powerful he was as the ground rushed beneath us. We were gaining on Steed as I glanced over my shoulder at Chevelle, who was running, but not with the same determination I had. I looked forward again, wind whipping hair in my face, and we had caught Steed, who gave me a wide smile as we came up beside him.
“Enjoying the beast?”
I smiled in return, but as we started to pass him, I realized I didn’t know how to slow down. I didn’t know how to stop. For nut’s sake, I didn’t know how to ride. I stared back at Steed, the exhilaration gone, and he recognized panic.
At once, my horse slowed and fell in beside his, our legs almost touching as they ran in tandem. “Never ridden?”
“No.” My voice was shaky.
“We only train them with commands for the imps, just use your magic.”
I thought of the horse bursting into flames. “I haven’t learned animal magic.”
He gave me that same baffled look from the first time I’d questioned learning magic. “Just feel it, Elfreda.” I ignored the slight annoyance that Chevelle must have told him my name that way instead of Frey or Freya.
“I don’t understand,” I complained.
“You don’t learn magic, it’s part of you. Feel it. Think about what you want the horse to do.” My confusion must have still been evident. “It’s like a muscle. You didn’t think about lifting your leg to get on the horse, you just knew you wanted to climb on and your leg lifted.”
Chevelle had caught us now, riding up as Steed was finishing his explanation. He didn’t bother hiding the anger in his tone. “This isn’t the time for a magic lesson.” Our horses slowed to a walk in tandem as he shot Steed a serious glare.