Aramaesia rocked the boy in her arms. He looked pale, his gaze far off.
“Aryngmm... ” he said.
Aramaesia frowned trying to make out the boy’s word.
His eyes rolled back into his head. His body convulsed.
The archer let out a sound that was part squeal, part sob, and set him on her bedroll. His face grew flushed, but it was a dark flush, almost black, and his convulsions grew violent.
“Aju!” she shrieked. “I need help!”
Grae ran to her side. “What’s happening?”
“The Shudders,” said Aramaesia. “The Black Shudders. Help me hold him down! Hammer!”
Hammer knelt next to her. “My training don’t cover this, maid. I don’t think I got nothin’ to help.”
“Anaseur! Anaseur will slow the shudders.” She turned to him, her eyes wide and wild. “Do you have anaseur!”
Hammer shook his head softly. “My lady, I don’t even know what that is.”
“No!” she fought tears. “I don’t know in your language. It comes from a flower. Enrrageh… red. Near water.” She cried out again, her voice straining. “A silver ball at the center of the flower! It… Ru ne lo! Aju se, Ja’Drei! Aju!”
Hammer rubbed his face, his hand jittering. “I don’t know it!” he called “I don’t know it!”
“Foxgurgle!” Meedryk shouted. “Red flower. Silver ball. It’s foxgurgle.”
Maribrae had slipped quietly from the pavilion to investigate the noise. Tears shimmered on her cheeks. “Foxgurgle blossomed by the creek. Feet be wings, I’ll return with it swiftly.” She bolted toward the north.
“Maribrae, wait!” Grae called after her, but she didn’t stop.
“Hammer, dreamlily!” shouted Aramaesia. “It may relax him!”
Hammer sprinted to his pack, looking like a man half his age, sliding onto his knees and pawing madly at his pack.
“Meedryk, what can you do?” said Grae.
Meedryk knelt next to the child, reaching into the sleeves of his cloak, but shaking his head. “I might be able to calm him, but there is no cure for this.”
The boy’s face grew brighter. A divine blue light shone from his forehead. The gem pulsed, growing dimmer then brighter, then remained steady, so bright that no one could look directly at it.
When it dimmed enough for them to look, the dark flush had faded. The convulsions slowed, then ceased altogether. By the time Meedryk removed his hands from his sleeves, Ulrean’s breathing was steady.
“Blythwynn’s heart,” said Hammer. “Great Mother of Forgiveness.” The rest of them stared wordlessly at the child and the glowing jewel. The light faded from the stone.
Ulrean sat up. He cleared his throat, tried to speak, but only squeaked. Aramaesia gave him water and he drank for a long time before speaking.
“I don’t think Beldrun Shanks could take a man’s head off like that. Not a trained fighter. Not a Laraytian Standard.”
Chapter 34
Every forest has beasts, deep within its folds.
Care must be taken to keep them there.
—Elendyl Bask, Warrior Poet
Maribrae raced through the forest, shielding her face from the clawing branches. Sharp rocks and fallen limbs speared through the thin leather of her shoes, but she ignored the pain. Her grief-ravaged mind seized upon one goal. Find foxgurgle to help Ulrean. It was so simple. Go to the creek and pick flowers.
In her flight, she rushed past Beldrun Shanks without seeing him. He heard her run by, watched her plunge headlong into brush and over rocks.
She reached the creek and ran south along its banks, past the tiny swells and clumps of bankside grass. She leaped over a boulder and found a stand of crimson wildflowers. The long delicate petals were streaked with a thousand hues of red and orange.
She set one knee down, feeling the seep of cool water from the waterlogged grass, and plucked flowers. The fold of her chopped skirts served as a pouch.
Her stockings were in tatters, leaving large expanses of bare flesh. Beldrun Shanks gazed at those long stretches as he approached. He noted how the hacked skirts rose as she leaned forward. More torn hose lay beneath those skirts.
Shanks made his way toward her quietly, loosening the threads on one of the large belt pouches at his waist. He separated the pouch from the belt and dumped three crumbling strips of dried antelope. Maribrae looked up.
“What a start you have given me.” She stood and tried to run back to camp, but Shanks blocked her path. “Out of the way, lunk! There’s a life to save!” She tried to get past him again, but he blocked her path again.
“It’s dangerous to pick daisies all alone out here.” He stretched out his arms so she couldn’t get past.
Maribrae’s eyes flashed. “A sickness has gripped the child! These he needs at once! Move!” She tried to dash past again but he was too fast. “You’re dreadfully far for a perimeter, are you not?”
“And your awful mouthy for an uppity whore,” he said.
She let out a sharp breath, eyes flashing, then her shoulders slumped. “Oh, if I could truly be stupid.” She tried to run past him again, and he stopped her again. “If I could wander these lands as Beldrun Shanks, suffering the subtle, crushing disappointments in life without even knowing they had occurred.” She feinted to the right, then dashed past him on the left, calling over her shoulder, “Living in overwhelming ignorance, but too stupid to realize it. If only that were my road, Beldrun Shanks. If only that were my lot.”
“Oh, right,” snarled Shanks. “Smart little Maribrae. Smartest songmaid that ever lived.”
He chased her down and grabbed her from behind with one arm. Then he stuffed the empty pouch into her mouth when she tried to scream. The infantryman dragged her back into a line of sersettan shrubs as she thrashed. He leaned close, his mouth beside her ear. “How smart are you now?”
Maribrae tried to scream again, but the leather soaked up the sound. She reached down to her right boot where she kept a stiletto and drew it. Shanks knocked it from her hand with barely an effort and dumped her forcefully onto the leaves.
He placed one knee on each of her arms and ripped open her corset. Maribrae shoved at the pouch with her tongue. Shanks jammed it back in with two fingers and pulled the fingers out again before she could bite. He unloosed his belt and wrapped it around her head, tightening it against her mouth until there was no room for her to eject the pouch.
Tears washed down Maribrae’s temples as she struggled against the infantryman. She screamed, making almost no sound at all. She bucked her waist violently but could not move him. Shanks reached under her skirt and ripped the hose away. Maribrae screamed again, wildly, then managed to free one arm and strike the side of his head with as much strength as she could muster.
Shanks winced and slammed one of his massive fists into her cheek. The blow knocked her senseless. “If you keep fighting, I’ll make it hurt more.”
Maribrae’s eyes couldn’t focus. She shook her head from side to side. He shifted and settled onto her, and the songmaiden’s bearings returned as he entered her. She howled and bucked, then sobbed.
Shanks ran his hands along her back and thighs, made long, low moaning sounds. “You… you puffed-up court women with your shorn mounds. So nice… so whippin’ nice. Like little girls.”
Maribrae screamed again, and again but the leather pouch stole the sound. She shook her head wildly from side to side and then caught a gleam in the leaves. Her stiletto. Not far.
She walked her fingers toward the steel blade.
Slowly.
So slowly.
One of Shanks’s hands scooped soil from beneath the leaves and rubbed it into her face absently. Her nostrils flared. Her face twisted with revulsion, but she forced herself to keep from looking at the stiletto, to keep her eyes on the canopy above, to keep from betraying herself.
“You dirty birther,” mumbled Shanks. “You dirty, dirty whore.”
Maribrae’s hand wormed throu
gh the leaves. She looked into his face. His eyes were closed. One finger touched the stiletto. Another finger. She raked the knife with those two fingers, sweeping it toward her. Once. Twice. Then she had it. She took three quick breaths, grabbed hold and swung it toward his neck, shrieking.
But Beldrun caught her hand.
He squeezed her wrist between two fingers until she dropped the knife, then he slammed her arm back onto the earth. With his free hand he drew his dagger. Stabbed the blade through her forearm and into the earth.
She screamed, her eyelids twitching, her back arching.
“You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?” he said. “You dirty snail. I was almost finished. You just got yourself some extra time.”
Shanks continued his assault and Maribrae cried and stopped resisting. After what seemed like years of torment, his body stiffened, he uttered a shuddering groan, then his full weight fell onto her. One of his beefy hands held her free arm.
She opened and closed her mouth several times, feeling the belt slide over her slick face, then slip away from her mouth. She pushed with her tongue until the salty leather was almost out. Then, just as the pouch fell free, Shanks swung his hand down toward her open mouth.
“I won’t scream,” breathed Maribrae before his hand could silence her completely.
Shanks scowled. “Course you will.”
“I won’t,” she replied.
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Because,” she said, and broke down sobbing. “I have nothing left to scream for.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She turned her head, watched a beetle on a slow journey across a branch. “You’re going to kill me,” Her voice broke. “Aren’t you?”
He sighed, spit. “Don’t have much choice.”
She turned back to him, eyes distorted by the thick tears. “Do it then. Make an end to this Terrible World. I am ready for the next.”
Shanks nodded. “Alright then.” He ripped the dagger from her arm and held it to her throat. Through the wrenching pain Maribrae cried: “No! No, please!”
He placed a hand over her mouth, covered most of her face with it. “Shut that seamarkin’ mouth or I’ll put the pouch back in.” She nodded and he lifted his hand.
“Please, Beldrun Shanks. Please. If decency is left in you, spare my throat. Find another sheath for that dagger.”
“What difference does it make?” he said. “The throat’s quick and won’t hurt much.”
“Please,” she whispered.
“Fine.” Shanks looked over her body. She took his hand and guided the blade to her chest, placed the tip of it over her heart.
“Here,” she said, her thoughts sailing to the future she would have endured. A life chained to the memory of love. The life of a leper in a dungeon, her only joy the beam of sunlight that slips beneath the door in the mornings. She thought then of Jjarnee Kruu, poor Jjarnee Kruu, dead because of her. She thought of the Beast and the dreadful maurg and brilliant little Ulrean Cobblethrie. She thought of Black Murrogar and Brig Barragns, and shy Meedryk Bodlyn. She thought of the dead Cobblethries, their silk-draped bodies torn and black and fanged. And all the cairns. So many cairns.
“Here,” she said again, her voice a whisper.
“That ain’t the best spot,” said Shanks. He studied her chest, a tattoo, letters in the shape of a heart. The letters spelled the name JASTYN. “I’m gonna have to push through cartilage. Gonna hurt.” He raised himself and put both hands on the dagger. The tip drew blood and Maribrae’s expression of calmness shattered, as if a trance had been broken.
“No!” She shouted.
“Bugger it all.” He raised the dagger to her neck again.
“No! No. I won’t scream.” Her voice came in gasps. “I won’t scream.”
He nodded, his eyes far away. He brought the dagger back to her chest. “Tell me you love me,” he said.
“Wh… what?”
“Tell me you love me. Just say it. I know it ain’t true. Say ‘I love you Beldrun.’”
She shook her head, crying. “I won’t,” she croaked.
“You queynt.” He raised the dagger to her throat again and she grabbed the hilt with both hands. Guided it back to her breast.
“I won’t scream,” she whispered. “I won’t scream.” She pulled the dagger downward slowly, sobbing as she spoke. “I won’t scream. I won’t scream. I won’t scream. I won’t scream.”
She closed her eyes and saw Jastyn Whitewind as she had first seen him, astride his charger, wearing the white tourney harness, a bright smile as he saw her for the first time. Then she saw him at Daun Arraey, in his chamber at night, gazing up at the stars. In Maug Maurai, the shaft of sun from behind setting him aglow like a hero, an immortal, a prime. She saw him on a leaf-shaped boat in the pond behind Arraey, holding her in his arms as they drifted in the setting sun. She saw him kissing her in the orchard that day he fell out of the pear tree. Kissing her in the gallery. Kissing him in the moonlight. Kissing him in a carriage. Kissing her from his horse before a tilt, she on tiptoes to reach him. On his bed. His hands holding her face, smiling a sad smile. She sobbed once more.
“I love you,” she dropped her hands from the dagger.
Shanks hesitated, then braced himself for the final push. Some instinct in Maribrae brought her hands back to the dagger and she tried to push against him, to keep the dagger away. The strength of death gripped her and it became a struggle between the two of them. The dagger slipped downward a little with each heartbeat. Just as Shanks leaned forward to put his weight behind it, she leaned forward too. She could feel the blade piercing the thick cartilage around her heart, could feel the cold pressure of the blade.
Her face was up against his breastplate as he finished the thrust. She bit down. Felt herself slipping away. The end of her tale.
She groaned, but never screamed. Stared up toward Beldrun Shanks but saw nothing. Her head tilted back slowly, eyes staring upward, upward, toward the stars hidden in the skies above. Tears made rivers on her cheeks. She opened her mouth, as if to speak or sing. A long rattling breath escaped and then she moved no more.
Beldrun lowered her body to the forest floor and stared. He balled both his hands into fists and struck the ground as hard as he could with one of them. Then with the other. Then with both, one at a time, until the knuckles were raw and bleeding.
Chapter 35
Men who no longer have ambition do not look forward. They look sideways.
—Mulbrey Arlineous, Duke of Nuldryn
Sir Jastyn approached Grae Barragns and Hammer, his eyes darting toward the edges of the camp. “Sir,” he called to Grae. “Maid Aramaesia told me that Maribrae went into the forest by herself. She’s worried.” He licked his lips. “How… how long has she been gone?”
Grae slipped into his most neutral expression. “She bolted from camp to find some herbs to heal the boy.”
“How… how long has she been gone?”
“A bit longer than I would like,” said Grae. “I sent Drissdie to look for her.”
Jastyn’s gaze drifted off, a ship unmoored.
How can I protect her when we are apart?
He focused on the Brig, his fingers fidgeting with the Whitewind signet on his finger. “Sir, I request permission to search for her as well.”
Grae thought it through. “Granted. Drissdie went toward that creek we passed north of here. I told him not to stray from the creek or he’d be lost. I’ll tell you the same thing.”
“She’s been gone a long time, then?” asked Jastyn.
“Not all that long,” said Grae. “She likes that boy fierce. She’s probably searching everywhere she can.”
“But the Beast …”
“Rarely attacks in the daylight. You know that. And after last night’s exercises, I’m sure it will be resting snugly.”
Jastyn nodded hopefully. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, that is probably so.” He took a few steps toward the forest, look
ed over his shoulder at them. “I’ll go search with Drissdie.”
“Trudge Whitewind,” called Grae.
“Aye sir?”
“Next time, speak with the hammer before addressing me.” His voice was gentle, though, and Sir Jastyn nodded.
“Of course, brig, sir. My apologies.”
The brig and the hammer watched him disappear in the trees.
“Your sending one of our best fighters into the forest?” said Hammer. “I can almost understand sending Drissdie. But Sir Jastyn? If they’re caught out there alone …” He didn’t finish the thought.
“If there was any way I could have refused him, I would have,” said Grae. “Truth or silence, he’s worried weak with her. He won’t be any good until she’s found.”
Hammer scratched the back of his neck. “She’s been gone a long time, Grae.”
Grae nodded, still looking out into the forest.
“I’m thinking something happened to her,” Hammer continued.
“It seems likely.” Grae replied. “Although she’s a bit stubborn. Might be searching farther and farther.”
Hammer sat down on a stone. “The farther she gets from us, the more bad things could happen to her.”
“I should have sent Sage to look for her,” said Grae. “But if we lose our scout out here it would kill us. I should have sent someone out after her immediately when she left.”
“There was a lot goin’ on,” said Hammer.
“I should have sent someone out with her,” Grae repeated. He looked toward the center of camp. Aramaesia was whittling for Ulrean again. “I don’t know where my mind is these days.”
†††
“Maid Maribrae!”
Drissdie’s shout startled Beldrun Shanks. The big infantryman was rolling the songmaiden into his cloak. He lifted her body, walked to a thicket and dumped body and cloak behind a rotting log.
“Maid Maribrae, we don’t need the plant no more!”
Drissdie was close now. Shanks spun Maribrae out of his cloak then shoveled handfuls of leaves and branches over the body, covering it as best he could.
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