“Indeed.” The man spooned another bite into Tahn’s mouth. “Well you’re lucky to be out of it alive, then. Lore holds that Stonemount has belonged to the walkers since the hour its residents abandoned it. If it is so, you two must certainly have gone unnoticed there.” Gehone watched Tahn closely.
“What are walkers?” Sutter asked, his voice tense.
Without shifting his careful gaze from Tahn, Gehone explained. “Walkers were the first creatures deprived by the Whiting of the One; they were left with no physical form to house their Forda. They are known as untabernacled; they’ve no bone or muscle, and so they seek to take it from other men. They are the revenants of Stonemount because the bones of the dead there are believed to be able to give life to vagabond spirits. Silly, superstitious stuff, but creatures out of the Craven Season are creatures of appetite. They would not have allowed you to leave, if they exist at all.” A careful smile crossed Gehone’s lips.
“Perhaps we defeated these walkers,” Sutter said. “Perhaps that is why we came to you weak and in need of help.”
Gehone put down the bowl and shifted to face Sutter. When the man’s back was turned, Tahn shook his head, trying to shut Sutter up.
Gehone spoke with fatherly patience. “Not likely, my young friend. Unless you boys are more than you seem.” Gehone ran a hand through his beard and shot a look at the leather piece on Sutter’s hand given him by the Sedagin. “But let me be honest. I’ve seen you both without your breeches, and if you’re not melura, you’re just my side of the Change. If you really came by way of Stonemount, then I’ll wonder what brought you through. Melura or no, there is something different about you lads, and I’m hoping it isn’t your penchant to lie. Because tomorrow my commander pays his usual visit to gather my reports and bring me orders. He’ll want to know about you, and he’ll be a good deal more insistent.” Gehone turned around again and began to feed Tahn, who ate quietly, the leagueman occasionally mopping his chin.
When Tahn’s feeding was complete, Gehone gathered the dishes and prepared to leave. He stopped with the door halfway shut. “My colleagues direct the course of the fraternity, and that course is my course. But a serpent’s tail is where the head was several turns ago. So far from the leadership, I cannot be sure what changes may be coming. And for it all, I think the progress…” Gehone departed without finishing.
Tahn and Sutter sat looking at the door as the sounds of the leagueman’s boots retreated down the hall.
Sutter got out of bed twice that day, quietly pacing the room to test his strength. Nails winced with pain at every stride, but he could stand, and the sight of it eased Tahn’s own discomfort. The first time, Tahn had him check for the sticks in his cloak; they were still there. By evening, Tahn found himself capable of moving a few of his fingers and toes. He’d never been so happy to feel the stirrings of such inconsequential things. Gehone came again at dinner, this time bringing thin slices of meat and quartered tallah roots covered in meat drippings. With it he served a mild bitter. “Good for your circulation,” he said, and held the cup to Tahn’s lips.
The leagueman didn’t again mention their travels or the impending arrival of his superior the next day. Instead, he limited himself to idle banter, allowing Tahn and Sutter to enjoy the meal, and taking his leave without a further word when he was done. After supper, Tahn found he could ball his fists and raise his arms. As the night descended, Gehone left a lantern burning for them, the flame just barely taking the chill off the air and lending warmer tones to the surfaces of their beds and skin.
Looking at the scar on his hand, Tahn spoke. “He never once went through our things.”
“What?” Sutter asked with a preoccupied voice.
“As far as I know, Gehone has not once tried to know us by going through our belongings.” Tahn looked up at Sutter.
“Maybe he didn’t need to,” Sutter answered. “I get the feeling he has a good idea about us already.”
“You think he knows, and is protecting us?” Tahn looked nervously toward the door.
“No. I don’t think he suspects we’ve come from the Hollows or Sheason or Far. But he senses we’re running from some danger. And he knows we came out of Stonemount. He has to be wondering what made us sick. Maybe he knows it was a walker, because he knew how to help us.”
“Green goop,” Tahn muttered.
“Yeah … And if that thing was a walker like he said, then he’ll be wondering how we got rid of it. My Sky, Tahn, that thing was Quietgiven. How did we get rid of it?”
Tahn sat quietly, thinking of an empty bow and an aimless pull over a vast canyon. Weakly, he clenched his fists and lashed out with both arms, striking the headboard to either side. What do these images mean?
Sutter waited for his anger to dissipate. Through the hiss of the lantern he said, “I’ve been thinking about the Bar’dyn, Tahn, when we were first separated from the others. They said things, something about lies. Do you remember?”
“No,” Tahn answered immediately. “They are abominations out of the Bourne. The lies belong to them.”
“I was just thinking,” Sutter continued, “Gehone does not speak like a member of the League, and offers to help us, while Vendanj is closemouthed, even when his silence seems to put us in danger. Things seem twisted, backward. I can’t figure it. I’d like to get back to my roots just now.”
Tahn laughed in spite of himself.
“I’m serious,” Sutter said, chortling through the words. “What I wouldn’t give to track mud into Hambley’s common room and listen to him prattle on about it. A race to the quarry, you and me; spying on the girls at the Harvest Bath. Now those were adventures,” he finished, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Then he spoke a bit more wistfully. “Or to see my father again.”
But Sutter didn’t linger long on sadnesses, and soon had Tahn laughing. They laughed hard and filled the room with forgetfulness for the place they were in. Sutter laughed, then moaned at the pain in his chest, but he laughed again. The odd rhythm of his jocularity and controlled winces made them laugh that much more. With it all, some feeling returned in Tahn’s chest, and the relief brought a fresh dose of cackles that lasted longer than they could have hoped, and took them close to sleep.
* * *
Shivering, Tahn awoke to the sight of lesser light pooling on the floor through the window. As he pulled his blanket over his shoulders, two observations hit him with simultaneous, opposite force: he could feel his chest and legs, and the window was open. He looked to the opening and then quickly surveyed the room. In the shadows he narrowed his gaze, peering into the darkness. The fall of moonlight lent sharp contrast to their bedchamber, and left Tahn uneasy beneath his wool blankets.
“Sutter,” he whispered. The sound of his own voice fell flat. No response. He could not tell if his friend’s bed was occupied, or if the coverlet and sheets had been rolled back in the semblance of a body. Tahn propped himself on one elbow. “Sutter, this is no time for games.”
No answer.
Tahn scooted back, aware of the weakness in his arms, but happy to have their use. He sat upright and squinted intently across the room. The bed lay empty. Then outside he heard the crunching of stones beneath boot soles. A shiver passed down his spine and prickled the hair on his legs. Vaguely, he continued to thrill at the return of sensation across his skin, but the prospect of an unseen visitor left his muscles paralyzed with fear. It might be Sutter, but something warned him that it was not.
Where is my bow?
Still watching the window, Tahn swung his legs out of bed. He started to stand, then he realized that he wore no bedclothes. His body cast a thin, ungarbed shadow against the rear wall. With no time for modesty, he forced himself up, only to collapse on weak legs at the side of his bed. He shot a glance at the window, hoping his fall had been soft, and listening for the stranger’s approach.
Silence.
He looked around, searching for his weapon, and spied Sutter beneath his own bed as naked a
s Tahn. He was shivering, wide-eyed and searching.
Over the hard, cold wood, Tahn crawled to retrieve his cloak. Forgetting his bow, he then scuttled toward Sutter, who pushed deeper under his bed as Tahn approached.
“It’s me,” Tahn said. No recognition touched Sutter’s eyes. He clutched at his chest, his eyes darting toward the window and back at Tahn. The grit on the floor scraped his knees and palms, but Tahn lay on his belly and crawled under the bed. Sutter drew up to the wall, his eyes darting to and fro like a ferret’s. “Put this on,” Tahn said, proffering the cloak. Sutter did not seem to hear.
A roll of boot heel and toe over hard soil came again. It was more distant this time, Tahn thought, but perhaps only because he was now under the bed. He finally disregarded Sutter’s skittish look and forged ahead. His friend appeared to expect Tahn to produce a blade and open his throat. Tahn pulled the cloak over Sutter and scooted in close.
“What is it?”
Still Sutter could do nothing more than look about, his eyes rolling widely.
Tahn grasped his friend by the arms and shook him. “Tell me.” Sutter came to himself as though he’d been asleep. He looked at Tahn, perplexed, then at the bed, then cast his eyes toward the moonlight falling in a long rectangle from the window.
“I saw it,” he said. Tahn was about to question him further when the sound of boot heels came again. The air had just grown colder.
Tahn listened for several moments, looking back to his friend and wondering if Nails had seen the owner of the boots they heard. His skin prickled, the cold of the floor seeping into his bones. Having heard nothing for what seemed a long time, he took Sutter by the hand and led him out from beneath the bed. He cautiously looked around the room, then rose to his knees. Together they stood, and Tahn had started helping Sutter into bed when he again collapsed to the floor, pulling Tahn down with him.
Sutter gasped and pointed at the window. Tahn instantly looked up, but saw nothing there.
“What?” Tahn asked, the sound of it louder than he’d intended.
“Don’t you see it?” Sutter cried. “By all the Skies of my life, Tahn, don’t let her take me.” Sutter began to crawl away, the cloak slipping from his shoulders. He stood, his bare skin covered with goose bumps, holding his hands up to ward off nothing more than the pale light of the moon that poured through the window. His mouth opened in a silent scream. Tahn jerked his attention back to the half-open window, which began to hum as though the ground shook with the flight of swift horses. A thin mist floated over the sill, into the room, and onto the floor. Tahn scrabbled back, bumping into Sutter’s legs, but still he could see no one.
The freezing mist licked at Tahn’s toes as it roiled across the floorboards. He tried to stand, but weak legs sent him to the floor again. In an instant, Sutter snapped out of his fear. He swung around, took up the lantern that sat upon the table, and hurled it toward the window. With a loud crash, the upper pane blew outward, a spray of shards littering the sill, the broken glass clattering on the hard ground outside. A rush of wind twisted in the fractured portal as Gehone, clad only in a nightshirt, threw open the door and stepped into the room. Across his chest he carried a large war hammer, his hands in well-worn grips along its haft. He spared a look at Tahn and Sutter before stepping over them toward the window, where shards of small glass whipped in the air like cottonseed in a summer wind. With a flick of his wrists, he spun the hammer in a practiced movement and reared one arm with the weapon. He pointed an open palm at the window and crouched, a level eye prepared to meet an intruder. The muscles in his legs bulged, his thick waist ready to accept a blow. Gehone waited, a cat ready to strike, but the mist evaporated. The wind whistled out into the eaves and was gone.
As soon as it had left completely, Sutter lunged for his sword and clutched it to his chest. Tahn picked up his cloak and wrapped himself modestly. Gehone, advancing cautiously toward the window, studied the wreckage. When he turned, he looked blankly at Sutter. “Put on some clothes and gather your things. I’ll put you both upstairs.”
Tahn shuddered in the lingering cold. Gehone came close. “You need help?”
Tahn nodded. One bulky arm grabbed him around the waist. “I’ll let this pass tonight, lads. But on the morrow, I’ll need more answers from you. Nothing sounds so suspicious as the truth, and I’d better know the whole of it, or close to, when my commander comes to call. Hear me?”
Again Tahn only nodded. Still naked, Sutter had picked up his belongings and, with his eyes fastened on the broken glass, waited at the door to be ushered to a new room.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Revelations in Parchment
In the predawn light, Wendra lay still, listening to birdsong high in the trees and the deep melodic imitations the Ta’Opin made of them while he packed his bedroll and hitched his team. The smell of dew and koffee hung in the air, the latter a gift from Seanbea as he prepared to depart. For the time being, Jastail left Wendra alone, saddling the horses and continuing his charade of friendship with Penit. Wendra tried to ignore it all, focusing on the birds and the hopeful sounds they made.
Lingering memories of shadowy dreams troubled her, but remained vague, like memories of memories. The melodies of last night’s song lingered, too, a refrain of the saddest sort.
When she could stand the inner songs no more, she rose. Seanbea sat at the fire, hunkered close to the flame, sipping a mug of koffee.
“Have a cup, Anais,” he invited. “My beans are fresh from Su’Winde. I ground them myself this morning.” He poured her a cup from a pot, and returned it to its rock beside the fire. “Is there a better smell when day is young?” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “There are advantages on the highroads.”
Wendra intensely desired to plead for help. Seanbea sat just a stride away. She could whisper their trouble, ask him to intervene. Just when she thought she might do so, Jastail and Penit joined them.
“A fine day. Good fortune to our separate enterprises, Seanbea. Hardly a worry on a day such as this.”
“Right you are,” the Ta’Opin answered, lifting the pot of koffee to offer a second cup. Jastail amiably declined. “I’m hitched and loaded. I’ll be off when my cup is empty. Is there any message I can carry for you?”
Wendra hoped the offer would raise concern in Jastail’s face, betray his intentions to the Ta’Opin. The highwayman did not blink. “How good a man you are, Seanbea. Thank you, but we are fine. Is there more we can do for you?”
“There is.”
This time Jastail’s expression faltered a moment. Wendra could see her captor mentally working the positions of each of them at the fire. How the physical exchange would develop if he were forced to draw. She knew he’d cut the Ta’Opin’s throat in an instant if what the man said next jeopardized whatever business he meant to conduct with her and Penit.
Seanbea looked at Wendra, and ever so subtly she shook her head. He’d sensed it; he knew. He would ask her if she traveled with Jastail of her own free will. Ask Penit’s true relationship to the highwayman. Deep inside her the thought of it terrified her, but also made her feel relieved. Perhaps Seanbea could beat Jastail in open combat. She and the Ta’Opin locked eyes; to her right, Wendra heard the soft squeak of a tightened palm over a leather hilt.
“I’ve something for you,” Seanbea said. He reached into his coat, and Jastail began to move. Seanbea held in his hand a rolled parchment. He ignored Jastail’s movement. The Ta’Opin only focused on Wendra as he passed the sheet to her with both hands. “It is your song, Anais. The one you made last night in harmony to mine.” He smiled paternally. “I’ve rarely heard instant song so beautifully made. The lines of your music played on in my head and demanded to be written down. Keep this and remember your song. The notation is for only a single instrument, but when you can use that instrument to share the gift of this music, you gift others. Study it. And when you come to Recityv, show it to the Maesteri. They’ll recognize it for what it is.”
Drawing back, she said, “Thank you. I never thought … thank you.”
Penit seemed pleased with the gift. He came over to look at it as Wendra sat beside Seanbea and took his hand. Jastail’s guarded look eased, and he dropped his hand from his sword. “How foolish of me,” he said. “You do my fire honor. You have my gratitude as well.” He bowed, but not so deeply that he lost his vantage on all three. “We should be going,” he said.
“And I,” Seanbea added. “Safe haven to you at your … uncle’s, did you say?”
“Safe haven to you,” Jastail responded.
Seanbea ruffled Penit’s hair and squeezed Wendra’s hand. He said to her, “I hope one day to hear you sing again,” then mounted his wagon and drove to the road where he turned north, raising a streamer of dust until the trees obscured him from view.
Jastail’s smile frayed at the edges, but only slightly. The highwayman maintained his good humor, calling Penit to take his saddle. In moments, dirt had been kicked over the fire, and Jastail led them back to the road.
For half a day they rode, Penit tirelessly asking the highwayman questions. Wendra stayed behind them, a mixture of gratitude and simmering anger contending within her. More than once the image of the Bar’dyn clutching her child erupted in her vision; each time it came when she saw Jastail put an encouraging hand on Penit as the two laughed and talked. She fought back the sounds that struggled to escape her lips, wondering what they might appear like in Seanbea’s beautiful script.
The Unremembered: Book One of The Vault of Heaven Page 55