by L. P. Dover
As we slowed, I remembered the fire in the clearing, my lessons with Chevelle. It had been obvious with the fire, I guessed because I had used it for so long. “What about your hands?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” Steed answered, ignoring Chevelle’s warning glance.
“Why do you use your hands, if you just think it, I mean?”
He laughed. “That’s simply a quirk, I guess, a funny habit. Like when you’re playing flip ball and you want your piece to go in so bad you lean hard to ‘help’ it in.”
I remembered the game from when I’d first come to the village. The children would be bound from magic and have to use their physical skills to throw an odd-shaped piece into the corresponding hole on a game board placed several yards away. They would lean forward after they threw, sometimes bouncing and chanting, “Come on … come on,” sometimes tilting sideways at the waist and twisting like somehow wishing would make the ball respond. The game held no interest for me. I didn’t have to be bound to not have magic; it wasn’t a novelty, it was everyday life.
“We should stop for breakfast,” Chevelle said levelly.
We hadn’t been riding more than a few minutes, but it wasn’t really a suggestion. I didn’t mind, I’d been eating berries for too long and I wasn’t quite sure about riding yet.
“I suppose you’re right … Might as well enjoy the journey,” Steed said, giving me one of those conspiratorial winks. We stopped under the canopy of a large tree and he grabbed me as I slid down off the horse. “You may ask him to kneel, Elfreda.” But he didn’t seem to mind handling me about the waist to help me down.
I brushed the hair back from my face. “Yes, well, I guess I should start practicing.” I noticed the fire Chevelle was building flare and then die down to the proper size.
“Sit, Elfreda,” Chevelle commanded.
Steed followed as I walked to a fallen limb by the fire and sat. He joined me, apparently not concerned about who was finding us breakfast. Irritation rolled off of Chevelle as he concentrated before running into the tree line to the west. In a moment he was back, carrying three large birds.
“Where is your bow?” I asked.
Steed laughed loudly. “She’s a hoot!”
Chevelle looked as though he could be in danger of losing his temper. I didn’t get the joke.
“You’re serious?” Steed asked. He wasn’t laughing now. He gaped at Chevelle. “What, she’s a bright lighter?”
Chevelle was across the gap and in his face almost before Steed could stand. I started to respond, but a screeching siren pierced my ears and I doubled over, boxing my hands to cover them. It was inside, screaming, tearing, inside my head.
I tried to open my eyes, hoping someone would be there to help me, but I could see through the slits they were just standing face to face … arguing? Did they not see me? I tried to scream for help, but couldn’t get the sound out. They were leaning toward each other, oblivious to me. My eyes closed tight and I curled into a ball as the seconds dragged on. Would I die?
And then, abruptly, it stopped.
I sucked in a ragged breath, then another. The pain was completely gone. I seemed fine, a little dizzy maybe, so I risked unclenching my body to look around. I expected someone to be leaning over me, having rushed to my aid. But there was no one. I straightened to a sitting position, finding Chevelle standing by the fire roasting fowl. Steed was beside his horse, adjusting the saddle. Both of the men had their backs turned to me as if they’d not even noticed. A wave of vertigo hit when I opened my mouth to speak, and I fell back against the tree limb, hoping to steady myself.
I thought it was only for a moment, but when I opened my eyes again the scene had changed.
Steed was reclined beside me, lazily winding a feather in his hand. Chevelle was across the fire. He gazed at me through his lashes, past furrowed brow, and stood to bring me a piece of meat.
It was cold.
Stunned, I sat there. Had they nothing to say? Had they seriously not known? I started to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. I was too drained for explanations, but mostly I was scared. I didn't know what had happened, what was wrong with me, but I was certain whatever it was, Chevelle would take me straight back to the village if he knew.
We stayed there for some time, a fact for which I was grateful even though whatever had happened seemed to have passed, but Chevelle and Steed appeared in no hurry to go. Chevelle glanced at me occasionally, but kept himself busy around the fire.
Steed still played with his feather, eventually entertaining me with it. It spun toward me, and turned down, tickling my arm and then my nose. I giggled despite my wariness, and reached up to rub my nose where the tickle had been. I noticed the map on my palms. “What about spells?” I asked.
He eyed my hands. “Been working spells?”
“Not on purpose.”
He smiled. “Yes, spells can be dangerous.”
“Yes,” I agreed, “but why do you need words for spells and not magic?”
“A spell can be left, set with a trigger, or larger than your magic. They are complicated and wicked things. And the ancient language is … tricky. Definitely something you should stay away from. Years of learning and practice and you can still wreck a spell pretty good.”
I thought about that for a moment, and then, suddenly, Steed jumped up.
“What do you say we water the horses?” He wore a wild smirk as he held out a hand for me.
I didn’t have to ask my horse to kneel; Steed just grabbed my waist and threw me up. He was mounted before I had settled into the saddle and our horses took off, galloping north in synchronization. I looked back for Chevelle. He was leaning forward, legs nearly straight in the stirrups as his stallion raced to catch us.
We were covering distance so quickly I could barely take in the new surroundings. It wasn’t long before we were coming up on a large creek. I assumed Steed had control of my horse; I was simply concentrating on staying in the saddle as we ran beside him. The horses edged closer to the creek, splashing along the muddy bank and the shallows of the water. Silt and cold water sprayed my face as we ran. I wondered if this was what it felt like to fly like the fairies. We followed the creek until it turned west and we kept north, slowing to a walk. I tried to catch my breath. Steed was watching me, smiling appreciatively, and I realized I was wearing a huge grin. And about three pounds of mud.
The slower pace gave me time to look around. The ground had leveled off again, clearing to open meadows of low grass and a few scattered trees. Large gray rocks dotted the landscape. There was a haziness on the horizon, but as we kept riding I could start to see clearer. A mammoth lake lay ahead, a hundred times bigger than the tiny forest ponds I was used to. It was as smooth as glass and behind it the haze cleared just enough I could see the outline of mountains. Mountains.
Chevelle rode up beside us. “The hills of Camber.” His countenance had changed somehow; he seemed more at peace as we rode closer. Junnie had said he was from the North, and I wondered if this was his home. Maybe that was why he’d brought me here, a much needed vacation from the duties of council, the task of being a watcher. They’d never know, as long as he got me back soon.
When we reached the lake, the horses came to a stop and I realized I had forgotten I was riding. The mountains and lake were almost too much to take in; none of it seemed real. This time, Chevelle was next to me before Steed had the chance. As my horse knelt, he held out his hand and I stepped down beside him. The three stallions followed Steed to a nearby tree and I watched as he fed them apples from its branches.
I glanced back at Chevelle; he was watching me. I wanted to ask him if this was where he was from, but was afraid to set off any conversation that might end with me being hauled back to council any quicker.
I looked again out over the lake to the mountains. If I was incarcerated for a thousand years in the village, I would want this memory. I inhaled deeply; the air was cool, moist, and smelled so unlike the harsh flor
al scents that saturated every part of the village. I could smell the deep green moss covering the rocks at my feet, the fir trees that edged the east bank, even the soil smelled richer. My eyes were closed as I took it in. Feeling something brush my cheek, I opened my eyes. Chevelle. He had brushed debris from my face. I wiped a hand across my forehead and felt the dried mud crumble away. I looked down; it was caked on the fabric of my pants and splattered about everywhere.
I walked to the edge of the water, and then in, clothes and all, until I was waist deep. I relaxed and fell back, gliding under the dark cool water and floating back to the surface. I marveled at the size of the mountains as they seemed to dissolve into the blue haze of the sky. It didn’t seem real.
Eventually, I made my way back. I was surprised to find a shelter had already been set up for me. It was excellent news, given that I hadn’t considered what wet clothes would feel like in this cool air as I floated in the water. Chevelle nodded toward the hut as he prepared a fire. When I entered, I found my blankets were on a raised bed of birch branches and a small flame lit the room. My pack lay on the bed, along with a pile of material. I examined it, relieved to discover it was a stack of dry clothes.
As I pulled on the gray pants, I wondered if Chevelle had made the first set, not Junnie as I had assumed. Or maybe she had packed extra for me. The shirt was fitted to my shape, but of a heavier fabric, and a pair of boots was at the bottom of the stack; it must be colder in the mountains. I remembered stepping out of the cold, wet gown on the bank of the creek and dressing in the new clothes, finding the scroll, the map. Chevelle's words came back to me. I’m sorry, Freya … I let you down at the creek … I was distracted … should have been paying closer attention … should have prevented this … too late now.
The smell of cooked meat cut through my thoughts. I ran a hand through my wet hair and walked out to the fire. The scene wasn’t any less impressive this time. I sat on a large rock facing the lake and Chevelle brought me a plate of food and sat beside me. He’d apparently been gathering while I bathed, it was practically a feast compared to what I’d been eating. And even though he was my watcher, my captor, I had to admit I felt less alone with Chevelle there. Steed tore a piece of meat from the spit and sat to my other side, the three of us quietly gazing out across the lake … to the mountains.
The mountains at dawn were so much more intimidating and I was hesitant to leave our camp. Everything had begun to seem real, and reality was much harder to deal with. I tried to distract myself as we rode east around the lake. I concentrated on naming the species of plants and trees we passed to keep my eyes off the mountains, but there were so many I had never seen before that it started to remind me of the differences rather than distract me from them. So I bantered with Steed regarding horses, imps, and everything I could come up with to keep him talking. Chevelle rode quietly behind us, casually scanning our surroundings. I wondered if he was enjoying the scenery or playing lookout.
We rode a few days to and in the base of the mountains. We’d stopped to camp when, over dinner, Steed announced he would be leaving us the next morning, heading east. His easy humor had become a comfort to me during the long days, our quiet evenings a pattern I knew I would miss. The disappointment must have shown on my face.
He reached a hand up and brushed my hair behind an ear. “Don’t worry, Sunshine, I will see you again.”
I smiled a little and got a wink in response. Chevelle stiffened at my side, as he often did when Steed touched me so casually, and I couldn’t help but think of being alone with him after tonight. My stomach tightened and suddenly in comparison the mountains didn’t seem like such a big deal.
The next morning, Steed said good-bye privately to Chevelle and then both came to where I stood with the horses, stroking one’s neck. “You’ll remember me, Butterfly?”
“Always,” I said, smiling.
“Yes, well, at least as long as he’s yours.” He patted the horse.
“Mine?”
He smiled and swung onto his horse, nodding to us as he spun and galloped east.
My horse knelt and Chevelle offered his hand to help me get seated. My grin widened as he mounted his own horse and he looked back at me questioningly.
“I’ll name him Steed,” I announced proudly. Chevelle rolled his eyes as I rubbed the horse’s neck.
Chapter Eight
Mountains
We rode quietly through the morning hours. Chevelle seemed content not to talk, but I was wrapped up with trying to decide whether I was brave enough to ask him questions, and if so, which to ask. I had no idea how much would he put up with before he called it all off and hauled me back to the village for sentencing.
Our path had gotten more defined, pushing us through trees and between rocks, trailing upward so minutely I hadn’t even realized it until I glanced back and saw we were looking down on the base of the mountains. I appraised the narrow path ahead, snaking high through the vast rocky mountain, and turning back didn’t seem so bad after all. I clenched my fists and pushed out the question I’d been most concerned about asking, but I was so tied up it twisted into an accusation. “Watcher.”
My face flushed with embarrassment and fear when the word came out so harsh. He spun to see me and I could not place the expression on his face.
I panicked, and tried to recover. “You’re my watcher.” It still sounded angry. “Why?”
He hesitated. “Frey …” His voice was gentle and he seemed to be searching for a way to answer. He must have decided I had no right to anger, because his face turned hard, his tone formal. “The council was concerned after you tried to choke Evelyn of Rothegarr.”
I gasped. “What are you talking about?”
He didn’t explain, and I was completely taken aback. But the shock was quickly turning to anger. I was more than offended. Did he really think I choked Evelyn? A flash of the speaker’s face as he struggled for air hit me, and the image of a blackened thistle in the back room at Junnie’s. Evelyn’s expression as she ran from the garden was accusing, and it suddenly seemed right.
I swayed; my eyes went out of focus. I didn’t even realize I was falling until I felt Chevelle’s arms around me; he was quick, catching me before the rocks did.
He was kneeling, one arm around me, my back against his leg as he bent over me. “I’m sorry, Freya. I thought … how could you not know?”
Embarrassment flooded through me. He was right, and not only had I wished her to choke, I was too stupid to see I had caused it, just as I had caused the speaker to. I squeezed my eyes closed tight and rolled away from him, curling onto a rock.
He didn’t speak, but I heard him step away, unsaddle the horses, and settle onto a rock several feet away. We were both still until nightfall, when he retrieved a blanket from the pack and laid it over me. I didn’t thank him, fearing what would come out if I spoke.
The next morning, we were both quiet as Chevelle saddled our horses. I had plenty to think of besides the questions that had seemed so important the previous day.
I’d been convicted of practicing dark magic. I had thought it was a mistake.
The images rolled through my mind as we continued up the mountain. The lifeless body of a small gray bird. A garden of weeds with roots as black as soot. The faces of council as their speaker struggled to breathe. A thistle growing in Evelyn’s throat, slowly choking off her airway. Chevelle’s face when he had asked who showed me to fuse the crystal with blood. His expression as he looked down at me yesterday … How could you not know? That image had haunted me the most. It seemed so familiar somehow. He’d let his guard down, and though strained with worry and fear, there was something else there, sadness or maybe just plain sympathy.
“This is a good place to stop for the night.” Chevelle’s voice broke my ruminations. I hadn’t noticed the entire day had passed. I glanced at the path behind us, the lake below in the distance shaking me from my stupor.
I climbed down from my horse and sat on the tru
nk of a fallen tree, facing the mountain top instead of the view below, preferring not to concentrate on the distance we’d come. Chevelle led the horses to a large tree several yards away where he spun his hand and formed a trough from bark and tinder on the ground. Mesmerized, I didn’t see where the water came from, but it filled. The horses drank from it as he spun his wrist, and grass from the sparse patches here and there collected in front of them.
Movement caught my eye and I looked to Chevelle in alarm. Though he appeared calm, he was staring in the same direction, studying the black mass that was approaching in the dusk. After a moment, it proved to be a dark cloak, though it was moving exceptionally fast. The full cape covered every part of whoever it was, a large hood shielding their face.
Chevelle nodded in greeting to the figure, who seemed to be traveling alone. They began to whisper, Chevelle glancing toward me every few seconds. Their tones were too hushed to pick up and curiosity surged through me. When a delicate arm reached out and passed Chevelle something, her hand lingering in his during the exchange, my chest felt like it was burning inside. They were whispering about me, I knew it. Hiding it, even though I sat right here.
Chevelle continued throwing glances at me as they spoke. I hungered to hear what they were saying, enough that my mind spun, even wishing I were invisible, because if they couldn’t see me, I could get closer and finally know.
Frustrated, my gaze fell downward. A small scream escaped when I saw my arms. They were covered in tree bark, the same bark as the tree I sat on. I bolted straight up to standing and began hitting them as if my shirt were on fire, trying to put out the flame, get the creepy bark off me.
I looked up when I heard Chevelle and the cloaked woman running toward me. But, panicked, I couldn't keep my gaze off my arms for long. To my surprise, they were normal again. Had I imagined it? Was I losing my mind?