“It’s strange because Lady Ariana and Princess Fiona are such different people. Somehow, still, they strike the right chords in the medley of my heart,” Reldion rambled on, with another slug from his flask. That was another property of his rotten fruit drink; it worked fast.
“I do not know if Fiona would accept a partner in life,” Reldion mused. “She is proud like her mother, in case you haven’t noticed. They are both individuals who stand alone.”
That was true enough.
“Despite what I dream of, I’d be afraid to be with her,” Reldion said, soft as the last notes of a wistful song. “Suppose, even with Fiona, my heart could not forget Lady Ariana and the golden days of my youth? I care for Fiona too much to wrong her like that,” Reldion said. Then, like a stilled music box, he went silent.
I left him to his thoughts and pondered my own under the bright winter stars.
{****}
Three days more, we followed Reldion’s unseen path north. Each night, Zellia seemed brighter, closer.
On the third afternoon, we encountered a Family of Wagoners with the same fiery hair as Reldion. We shared their fire, food, and protection for a night. I put on my best facade of confidence (without seeming princess-like) and exchanged pleasantries with them in their broken sentences and heavily-accented words. Much of their talk with Reldion occurred in the Wagoner dialect, a powerful, passionate language that made me think of Russian. Reldion translated the important bits: that we were two days’ ride from the forest we sought and that he was trading Rolly to the Wagoners to buy more feed for Marksman. The horse would need all his strength in the foothills, to say nothing of the mountains, and it was only practical since there wasn’t time to teach me to ride. I was still sorry to bid Rolly farewell, but at least I knew he was among caring people who would feed him. I still wondered about Bella and hoped her fate had been kind.
To Reldion’s delight, his fellow Wagoners had a whole barrel of the rotten fruit drink. The almost ceremonial refilling of his foul flask needed no explanation. Much rotten fruit drink was imbibed after the evening meal, I guess to honor Reldion’s presence. (I discretely poured mine out.) Though I couldn’t understand the Wagoners, I enjoyed the dancing and music.
With considerable reluctance, Reldion and I left the Wagoners the next day. Eating our fill (and in Reldion’s case, drinking it), having the comfort and protection of other people had been a wonderful change. However, they were going south and, from their account of their travels, they’d been avoiding the forest all along. Also, though I’d been focused solely on finding Ger, there would be danger involved: the dragon, the rider, possibly the forest journey. It wasn’t fair to involve the Wagoners, despite Reldion’s being prince over at least one Wagoner family and renowned among the others.
As the Wagoners had said, Reldion and I reached Edonai Forest at noon on the second day. It had been in sight since late afternoon the day we parted from the Wagoners, a patch of dark green that resolved itself into tree shapes as we neared. Close-up, this forest towered like gods over the Other World woods I’d been in. If the Autumnstead trees had been children, these were elders many times over, possibly with the First Trees in their ranks. I’d been to the Redwoods once when I was very young. I didn’t recall much on my own; the pictures remembered for me. But if I ever returned, I was certain I’d find similarities.
“So this is it,” I said to Reldion when we’d stopped for lunch.
“Edonai Forest,” Reldion said through a mouthful of one of the flat cakes the Wagoners had given us.
I looked back at the lands behind us. Over the past few days, the snow had melted, and the hills and meadows had lost their pristine Winter Wonderland quality. The brown patches that shone through were frequently muddy. I was grateful for the colorful silky pants Reldion had gotten for me from the Wagoners; they made riding and walking easier. Still, I had no illusions that the mud and slush wouldn’t cover them within a matter of days. That was a price of outdoor living.
Despite the muck, I found myself gazing with longing to the south. This is foolish, I told myself. My eyes could discern no immediate danger from Edonai Forest. Why, then, did I want to turn back?
“Do you sense it too, this forbidding feeling?” I asked Reldion.
Reldion looked puzzled. “No. I feel nothing.” He licked the last crumbs from his fingers with an appreciative smack. “What magic training do you have?”
“I learned a little elemental commanding at Valeriya. And they say I have an aptitude for mirror magic. Well, you knew that already.”
“I only know practical tricks passed down from generations of Wagoners that seem like magic to the uninitiated. So perhaps your abilities are allowing you to perceive something that I cannot.”
That made sense.
“In any case, this forest and the mountains beyond were old in the days of the First People,” Reldion said. “It is a timeless sanctuary for magical beings. If a legend still exists, it will be here.”
That explained why the dragons had their cave here.
“So now that we’re here, what’s the plan for finding the dragon cave?” I said, still reluctant to mention Lady Ariana’s name in conjunction with what we were doing. If I encountered her at the cave, I still wasn’t sure if I’d shun her or demand to know why the hell she’d gone into my world and done what she had.
“We will continue northward,” Reldion said, pointing to the mountains. “Zellia will continue to be our guide at night. By day, we will watch the skies for dragons. Any sightings of them will help modify our direction.”
I sighed. It was better than nothing, but it still wasn’t much of a plan. Maybe the palpable menace emanating from the forest had something to do with my pessimism.
My dread only increased as we neared the trees. If I hadn’t been on horseback, I don’t know if I could’ve made myself enter. Hissing voices filled my head, their words indistinct, but their meaning unmistakable: get out! I cringe to admit it, but I huddled close to Reldion for at least the first hour. When I finally found my courage to look around, it was disorienting to say the least. The leaf canopy was so thick, it was more like riding through a cavern than a forest. At the massive, gnarled tree roots grew mushrooms as large as computer chairs. Sheets of moss that gave off a faint blue, pink, or yellow light hung like ghostly shawls from lower branches.
I’m not sure if the bad feeling lifted by evening or if I’d gotten used to it. Reldion lit the fire just enough to cook or thaw out our hands for a minute. Even this brief period drew unfriendly eyes to us, and the sounds! They were a whole different class of scary: skittering, growling, crunching, snorting.
“What is that?” I asked Reldion when I couldn’t stand it any longer (about five minutes total).
“There are big animals in this forest.” Reldion didn’t seem the least bit concerned. “Bears, bigger wolves than we saw in Tarra. Probably creatures we’ve never heard of before, either. You’ll have some stories to tell when you get back to Autumnstead.” Despite his nonchalance, I didn’t miss how Reldion slept sitting up, with one hand on his dirk.
Though Reldion and I had the help of a four-footed animal, the going was slow on Edonai’s slopes. Our obstacles included roots, boulders, and treacherous patches of snow and mud that I named ‘slush slides.’ My neck ached from craning it to look up between trees for dragons.
Two days passed. Zellia became a beacon drawing us north. But we had yet to see a dragon.
Chapter Eighteen
The Chosen People of Mersania
The third night found us camped by a rock shaped like a turtle. All around, the night creatures carried on: squeaks, shrieks, rustles, snapping branches. By now I managed to pay them less attention. My eyes and mind were on the campfire, a last precious bit of light before utter dark closed in. Even in clearings we’d crossed on our trek, the sun had been muted behind a screen of clouds. If a shaft of light ever managed to penetrate to the forest floor, I planned to ask Reldion if we could
stop and bask in it like cats in a window. I hoped he’d take me up on it. The Californian in me missed the sun so much!
During the day, we’d said very little to one another. Reldion’s normally-brash approach to riding and his perpetual stream of songs and conversations with himself had given way to quiet concentration on navigating the often-treacherous forest terrain. By night, all of Reldion’s pent up talk came out for me to enjoy (or ignore, as I was doing in this case). On the rare occasions he brought me into the conversation, an mmhmm usually deflected his attention. It wasn’t that I didn’t feel like talking; I just had this unsettling sense that the forest was listening.
As my mind drifted around Reldion’s monologue, I saw it just beyond the circle of light: an unmistakable smile in the dark. Goosebumps zoomed up my arms, but it was already too late. A whisper filled my head, different from those I’d heard entering the forest. I opened my mouth, only to find my voice extinguished like a blown-out match. Determined to alert Reldion, I tried to get to my feet, wave my arms, even kick snow into the fire if that’s what it took. My limbs and torso couldn’t budge, no matter how my mind screamed. I was forced to watch, helplessly, while my peripheral vision glimpsed shadows advancing on Reldion and the fire. So much for the all-seeing eyes of Reldion le Valen. They saw nothing when turned inward to one of his rambles. Or maybe that was unfair. They might have enchanted him, too.
They felled Reldion like a tree, hitting him from behind with a wooden club. With Reldion on the ground, our attackers moved in. The first thing they did was kick out the fire. The lack of light didn’t hinder their movement at all. In fact, they seemed to see better without it. Still, it didn’t stop me from seeing their worn, brightly-colored clothing, the head scarves and earrings, and clattering jewelry.
I stared in incomprehension as they moved through the camp. Why were Wagoners attacking Reldion?
One Wagoner lifted me easily and slung me over his shoulder. Then he began to run, a startlingly smooth lope, given the terrain, that didn’t seem to wind him at all. At this point, I still couldn’t move or speak, and my head felt about to explode with questions. Where were they taking me? How did they see so well in the dark without lights? None of the Wagoners had lit a single flame, yet they still ran without hesitating or stumbling.
Then the answer came to me. These were the ones Fiona had called “Wilders,” who shunned civilization. I’d bet if I could see them in the light again, they’d have dark hair, just like the children who’d brought me Gerry’s crown and Driver’s License.
After our extended run in the dark, I saw faint flickers of through the trees, like Christmas lights the size of rice grains. As we neared, they turned out to be bonfires and their orange reflections dancing on the trunks of distant trees.
These Wagoners, I reflected, must not be afraid of attracting the attention of Edonai Forest’s night creatures.
At the campsite, I discovered my guess was right: all of these Wagoners had black hair. The ones who had attacked our camp had yellow eyes with dark pupils, like wolves’. They carried me past painted wagons, women cooking at the fires’ edges, children playing, and countless mean-looking dogs that were likely related to wolves, themselves. We stopped at an extra large wagon painted in gold leaf scrollwork and studded with clusters of shining gold coins that reflected the flashing firelight.
My captor shrugged me off his shoulder. One of his companions handed him a rope, which they used to bind my hands and feet; I hoped that meant the spell keeping me from moving would wear off soon.
The wagon doors, also trimmed in gold, swung open. A fat man in sagging breeches and a half-laced shirt emerged. (I immediately dubbed him ‘King Tub.’) The wolf guys knelt and from this subservient position, spoke to the man in a Wilder dialect. I strained to listen, seeking any words the Wagoners outside Edonai Forest might have taught me. To my frustration (thought not unexpected), the only recurrent one I recognized was gold.
Suddenly the talk ceased. The big man beckoned with one sausage finger. Black hair covered the knuckles. (Eww!) To my horror, two wolf guys dragged me toward him. King Tub took some strands of my hair between his fingers and inspected it. I hoped it would repulse him; I hadn’t washed it since Castle Autumnstead. Instead he smiled, revealing golden teeth and gestured for the wolf guys to rise. They smiled, too, but uncertainly.
For a moment, King Tub disappeared into his wagon and shouted something. A woman appeared, her hand on the key hanging around her neck from a leather cord. Her black hair fell like a veil to her waist, except for a strange blonde hair extension. The sight made my skin crawl. I wondered if they scalped hapless travelers to get those.
All business, the woman beckoned for the wolf guys to carry me and follow her. I was starting to feel like a piece of furniture. We went to the edge of the rows of wagons to a place where, despite the clean wintry and pine air, it still smelled like sewer backup with hints of petting zoo. They left me on a stool to look at sad bobcats, wolves, bears, birds of prey, and a few I couldn’t identify.
As I sat there trying to breathe through my mouth, I thought I heard my name. My entire body clenched at the sound. I didn’t dare look around. The Wilder’s camp creeped me out enough already. If I saw one of these caged animals speaking, even if it were just my name, parrot-style, I’d scream.
“Leah!” More persistent this time. I didn’t budge. Had the voice actually sounded annoyed?
“Leah from another world, do not ignore Reldion le Valen as if he were a beggar on the street!”
“It is you!” My voice cracked as relief ran through me. I scanned the circle of cages on wheels until I sighted Reldion’s red hair. I hopped over, letting the stool topple behind me.
“What’s with these Wagoners?” I whispered fiercely.
“They are Wilders,” Reldion said with a shrug, as if that explained it all. “The dark-haired people, who swore themselves to everlasting opposition against the red.”
This was no time for stories. “So…they are the enemy of your people,” I said, trying to cut to the chase.
“And all from civilized lands as well. When Queen Arencaster asked me to undertake this mission, I was afraid this would happen. There is no way to keep a secret from a Wilder when you wander their territory. They have the ability to communicate with animals, and so, nothing escapes their attention. I hoped the Wilders here would leave me alone. Most of their Families out in the world do. This one, however…”
“Reldion… You didn’t personally wrong these people, did you?” I had a mental image of red-haired children growing up among the black-haired Wilders, Reldion’s thanks for their hospitality some years past.
“Only by my existence,” Reldion said. “As you know, I am equal to a prince among my own people. It’s clear to me what has happened in this family: Shaldom Valtan has clawed his way to power. To say he is greedy is like saying a le Valen makes women abandon their senses.”
I finished mentally gagging just long enough to hear Reldion say, “He worships gold.”
“You mean King Tub,” I said, finally putting a face to the name.
Reldion raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had the pleasure of meeting him, I see. In any case, Shaldom rules by intimidation, making hostages of beasts special to his people.” He stuck his arm out of the cage and gestured at the area. “So no, my excesses of the flesh had nothing to do with -” Reldion fell silent. I would have teased him about having heirs among the Wilders, but for the grave expression on his face. “Someone’s coming!”
I sprang back to the stool, planning to sit down as though I’d never moved. But the stool lay on its side, and I lacked the hands to set it right. There was only one thing to do. I dropped to the ground.
When the Wilder saw me, he shook his head and said something, I guessed along the lines of So much for that escape attempt.
He set me upright; then proceeded to Reldion’s cage. The two exchanged words that sounded angry, but really, it was hard to tell with the Wagoner’
s language. Perfectly jolly statements frequently sounded like the speakers wanted to kill each other.
As I had done at King Tub’s wagon, I listened hard for words I might know. A few fun ones came through: you dirty bastard (a Wagoner favorite); Shaldom; eat. Encouraged, I continued to listen. It was a bit like finding a radio signal. Unexpectedly, one of the Wilder’s sentences came through with perfect clarity. “Lucky for you, his pet bear died last week, or you’d be sharing the cage with it right now…until it got hungry.”
Whoa! Shocking content aside - the Wilders were cruder than Reldion, if such a thing were possible - I had understood him!
I fixed my gaze on the slushy, hay-strewn ground and concentrated while Reldion cursed the Wilder out with phrases HBO might have hesitated to put on the air. The giggling Wagoner children outside Edonai had taught me vocabulary, not grammar, but somehow, it was all comprehensible. And I was getting a sense that Reldion was drawing on both Wagoner and Wilder dialect.
The Wilder wheeled Reldion’s cage away. I wished my “signal” had come in earlier so I would know what was going on. Another thought hit me, a snowball in the pit my stomach. I didn’t dare let on what I had discovered. If I continued pretending to be ignorant of their language, they might let something slip.
The Wilder woman with the key around her neck and blonde hair extension, came back to undo the ropes around my ankles. I made no move to escape, still determined to spy on the Wilders with my strange new language ability.
To my disguised elation, she brought me to Reldion’s cage, which was parked in front of one of their huge bonfires.
“What’s going on?” I hazarded to whisper. My stomach churned from all the gruesome possibilities, beginning with Reldion and myself being thrown into the fire.
“Shaldom is asserting his power over the Family. A gathering such as this is like a banquet in civilized lands. Instead of having servants prepare the food and entertainment, Shaldom has commanded the Family members to do so.”
Rescuing the Prince Page 25