“For fear of what you mi—” Alkin said.
“Yes, exactly,” Avea cut in. To Tall, she said, “You’ve traveled, haven’t you?”
Tall eyed her, squinting into the sunbeams of emerging daylight. “Of course, how else would I get here?”
“He doesn’t know,” Rhyliath said.
Alkin said, “He knows.”
Avea pulled back her finger, causing Tall to start. “He knows.” To Tall, she said, “What otherworlder has tethered to you? Out with it, describe him.”
Tall started to speak, Alkin cut in. “He’s of no use. Ruined to us.” He pointed at Tall, gestured angrily with his hands, then walked away.
Tall shouted at the other’s retreating back. “I’m not ruined. I am of use to you. You said I had the light of a seer. You need a seer. I can become that seer.”
“Go home to what’s left,” Alkin said, and then he continued into the darkness.
Grandin, who had been silent, weighed in, “Uncalled for. The boy is blameless. He had no part in any of it. It was I who found him; I who nursed him.” He paused for a moment. When he continued his heavy eyes were fixed on Avea’s. “I know him better than any of you. There’s strength in him and his heart is as strong as his mind.”
Avea held Grandin’s gaze, intimidating as it was. “A protector needs a heart as strong as his mind,” Avea said gently. From the way she said it, Tall knew she was speaking to something that had passed between the two previous to this night. To Tall, she said, “You’ve won over Grandin, a mighty feat, and I’ve a mind to follow his lead. Describe the otherworlder now. Spare no detail.”
Tall described the specter clad in tattered, but-once-fine robes. The glowing eyes. The weathered face. The sunken cheeks. The head adorned with a crown of bones and wood. Alkin returned, wide-eyed. “Could it be?” he asked. To which, Avea replied, “I think so.” And Rhyliath said, “I as well.”
Rhyliath seemed to take a sudden interest in Tall. “Tell me,” Rhyliath said, “What did Tag’Erh think of you?”
“Tag’Erh?” Tall said. Then he remembered Ehzrit’s great cat. He told how Tag’Erh’s tail sliced the air, how he strutted, scraping the floor with his claws, and how he jumped up and pinned Tall to the table. Then he told them of Ehzrit’s nervous laughter and how badly he wanted seed.
Avea lamented this, as did Alkin. Avea said, “I should’ve seen the signs.”
Alkin put a hand on her shoulder. “No, no one could have seen. Ehzrit didn’t want us to know. But we should know to look. There is no true cure. The hunger is ever present. Controlling the hunger is at best what we can do.”
From the way he said it, Tall knew Alkin had once had the wizard’s curse as well. It was perhaps the reason Alkin distrusted him. Rhyliath said, “He lied to us.”
“At the least,” Avea said. “I fear the worst. If he’s gone back to—”
Rhyliath bellowed, “Tag’Erh would never allow it.”
“Easy now,” Avea said, her voice edged with softness. “None but Tag’Erh and Ehzrit truly know what one or the other will or won’t allow.”
“I know,” Rhyliath said.
“All right,” Avea acceded. To Tall, she said, “You’ve given us much to think about as we prepare. It’ll be a long hunt. Best you rest now. I’ll wake you after midday. We travel then.”
Tall tried to refuse, but Avea already was leading him away from the fire. “Don’t lose hope,” Avea told him as she pointed out a place for him to sleep. “Ray’s family may have been the only one lost. We arrived too late, had to rush back too quickly to know all.”
Leaning back, Tall asked, “Why?” It was a simple question, with a lot unspoken behind it.
Avea leaned over and kissed his cheek as she might a child’s. Quietly she said, “We don’t have all the answers. We just don’t. The wizard does as he does. Sleep now, no objections.” And Tall did.
Chapter 15: The Hunt Begins
Midday came much sooner than Tall thought it would. His body ached, and though he stretched and worked his muscles he couldn’t get the pain to ebb. It was Grandin who awoke and fed him. Avea and Alkin, riding Rhyliath, were just returning.
For a beast that was not a dragon, Rhyliath sure had the look of one, at least if tales of such things had any truth to them. As far as truth and trust went, Tall trusted his new companions, but was unsure about all that had been said. They’d saved him. There was no question about that. Their aim was to rescue Ray. There was no question about that either. But so much was happening so fast, he’d had little time to absorb it all. His goal had been to find Ray and return with him so that Ray could save his village and his people, but it seemed he was too late.
“You question. I understand,” Rhyliath said. “But you are hardly too late for anything. None of what’s happened could have been averted and you need only think bigger to see what’s at stake.”
Avea called out, “Rhyliath, enough. He’s much to learn, but in due course.” Rhyliath snorted, plodded away. To Tall, Avea said, “Finish that. We’ve to leave. Alkin has found their trail. Grandin and his have something to share.”
Tall swallowed the last spoonful of the pasty gruel. He followed Avea. She led him to his brood. There was a pond north of the camp. The bulls played and hunted fish in it. Lady and Lucky grazed on the high shore grasses. These same grasses were Hazard’s hunting grounds. The slither loved the long-tailed things Deanna called “rats.”
“We’ve a problem,” Avea said, pointing.
Tall was afraid of what she might say next. He said quickly, “They’ve followed me this far. Waited, even when I was in the city.”
“That’s not the problem,” Avea said. “Grandin will train them properly soon enough.”
Tall forced himself to take a deep breath. His heart was racing. The mere thought of being separated from his brood again was terrifying.
“That’s the problem exactly,” Avea said, taking him by the arm.
He tried to shake off her grip. It was eerie enough that Rhyliath seemed to be able to read his thoughts, but Avea too?
“Yes, me too,” Avea said. “You all but broadcast them to the world, and I need you to stop.”
It was Tall’s turn to harrumph. How was such a thing possible? How was any of it possible? How could he stop what he didn’t understand? Was he just supposed to tell himself to stop and it would.
“No,” Avea said, “But it would be a start. The more practical thing to do is to want to stop, to focus and direct your thoughts, and to enclose your thoughts otherwise. The connections work both ways. You tether to the host. True enough. But it is the host who allows the tether in the first place.”
“Focus. Direct. Enclose. Bah!” Tall said to himself as much as to Avea.
Avea turned on her heel and started back to camp. “Well enough for a first try,” she called back.
Tall hurried after her, calling out, “I didn’t do anything!”
“But you did,” Avea said as he caught up to her. “In all my days, I’ve never met anyone like you, Tall. You’ve a truer gift than any I’ve ever known in all my years, and yet no knowledge of how to control it. I wonder myself how can that be.”
“Seer. Caller. Tree singer. What does any of it mean?” Tall said. “The smoot said I was a caller with the heart of a seer. I didn’t understand then. I don’t understand now.”
The camp was alive with activity when they returned. Alkin and Grandin joined her side immediately. To Grandin’s men who were breaking camp, Avea said, “It’s time. Past time.” To Grandin, Avea said, “The beasts are yours to tend with. The boy rides Rhyliath with Alkin and I, an extra pair of eyes on the lookout for the wizard’s soldiers.”
Grandin nodded. He seemed pleased with the decision. Quite the opposite, though, was Alkin’s expression, which was dark. Clearly he didn’t like the idea.
Grandin gave Avea her sword and belt. Tall hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t wearing the blade. He thought someone like her would never be
parted from her weapon. He thought the same of all of them.
Grandin seemed about to lose his lunch. He choked and swallowed, then after a quiet moment, said, “I thought you were going to teach him the closing.”
Avea spoke as she donned the belt, put her sword at her side, “We win this war against the wizard by doing the unexpected. He knows what he needs to know. If he chooses to do so, he does. If he doesn’t, he doesn’t.”
Alkin said, “The boy needs proper training.”
Avea said, “Does he now? I wonder what would happen if I try to tame his gift. I wonder if such a thing could and should be tamed, or if it is best untamed. Wild things are unpredictable. Tame a wild beast and it becomes predictable. Clear enough for you now?”
Tall wondered that they talked like he wasn’t there until he realized what he heard and what they spoke were different. They spoke in a singsong language as unlike the harsh undermountain speech as his own language. He cleared his throat, was about to object when Avea glared at him. “And Rhyliath,” she called out. “Thank you very much for teaching him the listening.”
The edge to her voice was chilling. Now it was Rhyliath’s turn to object. “I merely suggested—”
“The boy hasn’t a clue what he does. Might as well be a trained pig—at the least you could eat the pig when you tire of it or it dies.”
The remark cut at Tall as much as Rhyliath. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t as if he cared what Avea thought of him, except that he did care. Somehow what Avea thought of him mattered a great deal.
Alkin climbed onto Rhyliath’s back, put his hand out to Tall. Avea followed. Rhyliath launched into the air, rapidly stroking his wings.
Flight. It seemed a mighty struggle destined to failure, perhaps because Rhyliath carried three passengers instead of two, but more so because the lizard was so very large. The thought that something so immense could fly seemed preposterous. Yet there Rhyliath was, beating his wings furiously and climbing into the sky.
Rhyliath made no complaint even as he strained to circle around and level out on a northwesterly path. On the ground below, Grandin and his men moved at a pace that belied their stout frames and heavy packs. Tall’s brood followed closely, with Lucky and Lady moving at the rear due to the saddle bags and other cargo they were weighed down with. Tall didn’t mind that they were being used as pack animals, but he wished Avea, Grandin, or someone had asked him first.
His frustration gave way to wonder. He never dreamed of going where buzzers lived or soaring where rain birthed. Their course made the sun seem a great orange ball that loomed just out of reach. Tall imagined he could wrap his arms around it and snatch it out of the sky—if he dared.
He closed his eyes against Rhyliath’s sudden rise and fall. Wind rushed by his ears. His stomach was in his throat.
Born to a floating world as he was, sudden shifting and other movements were not unusual. The movement of the land spoke to him, as did the ebb and flow. It was in fact the stillness of the stone land that made him homesick. He longed to feel the earth move under his feet again. This was different, however. There seemed no method, rhythm, or sense to it. He felt like they were so much jetsam caught in a flow, for the air seemed as much in control as Rhyliath.
As he stared into the distance, he studied Rhyliath’s movements. Rhyliath stroked his wings repeatedly to climb, set his wings to glide, tucked his wings to dive. But then suddenly, for no reason, they’d be buffeted about, like they were fighting a force unseen.
A sudden popping of his ears caused him to cry out. It wasn’t until he screamed and his ears crackled that he realized there was something wrong. He could hear, but sound was muffled.
Alkin slapped Tall’s thigh roughly. Tall started, turned, realizing the rider was trying to say something to him.
“Be of use in the search or join the others on the run,” Alkin said tersely.
Avea said, “Alkin, manners.”
“The boy daydreams and stares off into nothingness.”
“The boy has never been aloft. I’m sure it is all a wonder to him.”
Tall said, “The boy is right here.”
Avea and Alkin turned to him at the same time. Avea said, “Would that we had a seer. We would know where to begin. Lacking one, we must hunt.”
“Ever hunt?” Alkin asked. “A good hunter knows the signs, how to pick up a trail and follow tracks, how to distinguish between a false trail and a real trail. While aloft, we look for signs, try to follow where trail and track lead us.” Alkin paused. Tall nodded to indicate he was listening.
“The soldiers may have a few days on us, but there are so many of them. They leave a wide path of destruction in their wake. Trampled grasses, broken plants, felled saplings. Not to mention litter and waste.”
Avea added, “As we close in on them, we should see a dust plume like that one.” She pointed to the distance.
The thought that they were close to finding Ray made Tall’s heart race. Ray was hope, even if finding Ray meant telling him of his parents’ deaths. “The wizard’s men?” Tall asked.
“Hardly,” Avea said. “That’s your brood. We’ll need to do something about that. Can’t have them announcing our presence to our enemies.”
“But,” Tall objected, “Surely Grandin and his make a wake too.”
Alkin pointed. “That’s Grandin and his. See anything?”
Tall stared, squinted. He saw nothing.
“Grandin and his wear soft leathers and padded jerkins. They move silently and without sign.”
Tall sat silently, glumly. For a long time, he stared out at the vast expanse below.
Alkin broke the silence, saying, “Staring at one point in the distance isn’t much good. Take a post and scan it. It’s what a good spotter does. Avea looks ahead. I, to our right flank. The left flank can be yours.”
Tall started to respond, a glint of mischief came to his eyes. He grinned, pointed. “Don’t make sign huh? What’s that then?” A thin plume of smoke rose into the sky. In the amber hues of the setting sun it was like an exclamation point etched into the horizon.
“That,” Alkin said, “Is Grandin signaling.” Alkin touched Avea’s shoulder, pointed to the smoke trail. Avea must have said something to Rhyliath, for the great lizard banked immediately and soon after they were landing beside Grandin and his men.
Tall slid off Rhyliath’s back. Snub Nose, Horn Eyes and Big Tooth tackled him and playfully nipped at his legs and arms. Big Feet, Bent Snout and the others seemed to think it was funny. They watched and snorted. The bulls were half grown now and nearly as big as Tall himself. Tall rolled, rubbed bellies, scratched behind ears.
Grandin broke up the play with a thunderous clap of his hands. The bulls formed a loose circle around Tall, eyeing Grandin. “There’s a stream west of camp. Go, find your dinner,” Grandin told them by way of Tall, who had only to think to pass it along.
Big Tooth circled Tall protectively before scampering after the others. It was a warning to Grandin, and Grandin seemed to understand it.
“Their joining to you is more than the tethers now,” Grandin said. “It is unfortunate.”
Tall didn’t understand. “Why?”
“No one person can bond so many.” Grandin walked toward the others as he talked. He handed Tall a plate and scooped something from an iron pot onto it. “Such a bonding is unheard of. It takes Avea and Alkin both to bond Rhyliath, and then only because Rhyliath restrained it and allowed them to draw off it as he grew to adulthood. You, with so many, have no chance, and yet to break the connections now will… Will…”
“Enough, Grandin,” Avea said. “Between you and Rhyliath, I don’t know which is worse. Telling the boy things he should not know so soon, and perhaps not at all.”
Tired of being spoken of like he wasn’t present, Tall said, “I’m right here, Avea. I want to know.”
Avea spun about on her heel, came to stand right in front of Tall. “You want to know. Do you really? Do you want to kno
w that as they grow and grow and grow the bonds will become such a burden you will not only wish them broken but desire it above all else, knowing even that it will kill you or them or both? You won’t be able to ingest enough seed to stay the hunger or cure the desire.”
It was Alkin who came unexpectedly to Tall’s defense. “Unfair, Avea. You speak of Rhyliath’s binding. There were many who told you attempting to bind a wivre was foolishness. That it would kill you and the wivre with a certainty. And yet you tried… You tried because of our great need, and you succeeded.”
“Forget to mention my great conceit, you old fool?” Avea said. A hint of laughter was meant to hide her lament, but Tall still heard the sorrow in her voice. As she stalked off, he was certain there were tears in her eyes. She called back, “See that he doesn’t expire just yet, at least until after I return.”
With that Avea was gone into the deepening shadows. Grandin patted Tall’s shoulder, ladled another heaping spoonful from the iron pot onto his plate. Tall joined the others on the ground and started eating. It was a thick stew. “Vegetable, no meat,” Grandin told him when he poked at it with his spoon.
The stew warmed his belly. Tall washed it down with cool water. He went to refill the emptied water bag. The stream was alive with the sounds of his bulls. They churned the waters with their frolicking.
Snub Nose was the first to see him. She crawled up halfway onto the bank and turned her head for him to scratch behind her ears. Tall obliged her. The others followed, clambering over each other. When each got their turn, they returned to the stream.
Tall squatted down at the bank to watch them play and hunt. They were efficient, indiscriminate hunters. They seemed to eat just about anything that swam, crawled, flew or hopped.
The way they suddenly pounced reminded him of the way Avea suddenly snapped at him. She’d done it several times now. In front of one of the others each time, bringing them to his defense. He wondered if it was like when Ever Hungry chased his prey, feinted right, only to pounce left. If so, her antagonism was a ploy.
Into the Stone Land Page 12