Child of a Dead God
Page 42
She never wanted to hear that hissing voice again, but felt this was only a reprieve—it might come again. And having reached the Everfen, they would soon have to find a way to cross it.
So far, they’d found adequate solid ground, but Magiere had heard accounts of this region. As they crossed its eastern end toward Droevinka, the dry islands and ridges would grow sparse, and then vanish for leagues beneath the swamps.
Sgäile led with Leesil, Chap trotting beside them, until the day grew late. Magiere wasn’t sure why, but Sgäile had become even more laconic than before, had been withdrawn and preoccupied since they’d come out of the foothills. She knew she’d never get an answer out of him and didn’t try.
Chap pulled up and barked once.
Leesil stumbled under the orb’s swinging weight as Sgäile halted. “There is a dwelling up ahead.”
“Who would live out here?” Leesil asked.
Wading through the last few yards of mucky water, they stepped up a dry knoll to a small, thatched shack. Its hint of a garden had long gone fallow and an empty chicken coop rotted away along its side. One soggy, aging willow tree stretched up over the roof.
Chap sniffed about the chicken coop as Leesil knocked on the door.
“Hallo?” he called halfheartedly.
Barely waiting for an answer, he shoved the door open, dragging Sgäile along as he entered. Magiere followed and quickly covered her nose and mouth. A fetid stench filled the shack’s one room.
“What is that smell?” Wynn said.
Leesil pointed. “Over there.”
An old man lay in a ramshackle bed beneath burlap blankets pulled to his chin. He was clearly dead, and his sallow skin had shriveled upon his face beneath thinned, straggly hair.
“He must have died here alone, in his sleep,” Wynn said, gasping for air. “A sad thing.”
Magiere guessed the man had been dead less than a moon, and she agreed—it would be sad to die alone.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Wynn exclaimed.
Magiere spun about. The little sage looked upward in exhausted relief.
Burlap sacks hung from the rafters and down the walls to keep them free of excess moisture and scavengers. One high shelf above the hearth held tin canisters and an unglazed clay jar. Wynn went straight for the hearth and began digging through the odds and ends. Her brow wrinkled as she inspected a blackened iron pot.
“No rust that I can see,” she reported. “Let us hope there are oats and grains or dried peas in those sacks.”
She set down the pot, grabbed the clay jar, and lifted its lid.
“Oh,” she groaned as if finding a lost treasure. “Honey . . . honey for biscuits!”
Leesil shook his head. “Just get some water boiling, while we find a better place for the owner to rest.”
Magiere looked over at the old man. “We’d better scrap the bedding as well.”
Though it felt wrong to invade a dead man’s home, no one balked at the prospect of sleeping inside and eating something besides wild game. Leesil and Sgäile rolled the old man up in his bedding and carried him out back to bury him. Magiere shifted the orb to the back corner, then sat on the floor while Osha played assistant to Wynn.
“Go look for rain barrels outside,” Wynn told him pointedly. “And do not bring swamp water in its place.”
A scowl spread down Osha’s long face. He looked thoroughly snubbed as he headed out the door, pot in hand. After some time, Sgäile and Leesil returned, but Sgäile hesitated in the doorway.
“I should scout the area,” he said. “So we may choose a final path.”
“Forget it,” Leesil said, settling beside Magiere. “Just rest, and we’ll do that in the morning.”
But when Magiere looked back, Sgäile was gone.
Most Aged Father lay deeply troubled in the bower of his great oak. Half a moon past, he had received word from Hkuan’duv, the first in a long while. But the report was worse than expected—beyond displeasing.
Magiere had indeed acquired the artifact.
But A’harhk’nis and Kurhkâge were dead, and Hkuan’duv and Dänvârfij had lost her trail. The Greimasg’äh and his favored student guessed at Magiere’s most likely route and were in pursuit. There had been no further word from Hkuan’duv, and Most Aged Father was left wondering. How did a reckless human woman and her companions continue to elude two of his best anmaglâhk?
Perhaps it was Sgäilsheilleache’s intervention.
Not that Most Aged Father blamed him. He only held to his oath of guardianship and sense of honor. No, the blame lay with the deceitful Brot’ân’duivé—not the misled Sgäilsheilleache.
If Magiere reached these human “sages,” it would be harder to retrieve the artifact, and the consequences could be dire. Something so ancient had no place in human hands.
Most Aged Father grew agitated in anticipation of better news.
A soft hum rose in the oak’s heart-root surrounding his bower chamber, and he leaned back, closing his eyes in relief. Hkuan’duv had finally called to report.
Father?
The voice threading through the oak into Most Aged Father’s mind did not bear Hkuan’duv’s cool dispassion. Lyrical but strained, it made Most Aged Father’s frail heart quicken.
“Sgäilsheilleache?”
A brief pause followed. He had not heard from Sgäilsheilleache since the ship had sailed from Ghoivne Ajhâjhe.
Father, forgive my long silence . . . much has happened.
Most Aged Father’s first instinct was to rebuke him for his lack of contact. His second was to order Sgäilsheilleache to seize the artifact and return. But this was a precarious situation, and he heard pain and doubt in Sgäilsheilleache’s voice. Whatever had kept him from contact, the dilemma clearly troubled him.
This anmaglâhk was balanced on the edge of a knife. He needed reassurance.
“How do you fare, my son? Are you well?”
I am well, Father. . . . His voice broke off and then returned. I still travel with Léshil and the humans. Brot’ân’duivé felt they would fare better on our ship with an interpreter, and I have . . . continued my guardianship. But so much has happened . . . now my thoughts turn circles.
In the mountain peaks, I found A’harhk’nis and Kurhkâge slain. I could neither transport nor burn their bodies. I could only ask that the ancestors reach out and guide their spirits home.
Another pause, and a strange edge filled Sgäilsheilleache’s words when he spoke again.
Do you have knowledge of their mission in that region?
Most Aged Father took his own moment of hesitation. He preferred not to lie outright to one of his own.
“Your news will bring mourning to Crijheäiche. My heart is heavy at their loss. Perhaps your brothers tried to pass over the range and veered off. Kurhkâge often coordinated efforts with Urhkarasiférin. They had discussed plans to scout the Ylladon States for potential ways to complicate the Droevinkan civil war. I will speak with Urhkarasiférin, as he may be able to enlighten us.”
Yes, Father. Relief filled Sgäilsheilleache’s voice. That would be appreciated.
“How does your journey fare?”
Magiere has succeeded . . . but a good distance remains before we can deliver her find to its destination.
Most Aged Father stifled frustration.
Osha and I will travel on to Bela. I will contact you then, on the chance that one of our ships might be near. If not, it will take us longer to return home.
“Ah yes, you have taken young Osha as your student. I was surprised, but you often see promise and potential where others do not. How goes his training?”
He has faced harsh times but remains unwavering in duty and purpose. What he lacks in aptitude, he counters with devotion. I believe, in the end, he may find a place of value among us.
Sgäilsheilleache sounded glad to speak of caste matters and the everyday trials of tutelage. It reassured Most Aged Father that he had taken the correct approach.
“I am pleased to hear you fare well, my son,” Most Aged Father said warmly. “And what is your current location?”
Our location?
“To gauge the days until you reach Bela . . . and if possible, dispatch a military vessel to meet you.”
That would be most welcome, Father. We are southwest of the mountains below Droevinka . . . at the inland end of what the humans call the Everfen.
“In the swamplands? That will not be pleasant going. How far in?”
Barely a morning’s travel due west. We were fortunate to find an empty dwelling and will pass this one night in better comfort.
Most Aged Father could not extend his awareness beyond his people’s forest. But he could feel a sense of place when one of his caste spoke to him through word-wood. In touching such to a living tree, the speaker’s voice was altered subtly by what the word-wood pressed against.
“And you call me from a willow tree?” he said. “In the middle of that swamp? Ah, a hardy tree it is.”
He played this little game with a few of his oldest or dearest children— to see if Most Aged Father could name the caller’s tree.
Yes, Father, you rarely miss. Another pause followed. It is so good to speak with you again.
“And with you, my son.”
I will contact you again when we reach Bela.
“I look forward to your return . . . and will do what I can to hasten it.”
In silence and in shadows, Father.
The connection faded.
Most Aged Father had put Sgäilsheilleache’s troubled mind at ease, and this situation would soon be over. He clicked his fingers against his bower, waiting a long time, until another voice threaded through the oak’s wood.
Father, I fear that I have little—
“Wait, Hkuan’duv . . . and listen carefully.”
The next morning, Leesil had barely stepped outside to stretch when Sgäile called from around the shack’s rear.
“Léshil . . . Magiere . . . come!”
Magiere emerged behind Leesil, rubbing her eyes. “What’s he yelling about?”
Leesil shrugged and walked off around the dwelling with Magiere on his heels. When he saw Sgäile holding up the edge of a tarp, he stopped. Magiere nearly stumbled over him.
Sgäile crouched beside a narrow longboat pulled up the knoll. It looked sound and in good shape.
“This must be how the old man gained his supplies,” Sgäile said, far more cheerful than he’d been in days, “which means there is a settlement somewhere within reach.”
Leesil glanced at Magiere.
She raised one eyebrow. “He’s in a rare mood.”
When Sgäile had returned from his short evening scout the night before, his demeanor had altered drastically. He’d checked on the orb, nosed in on Wynn’s cooking, and Leesil could have sworn the dour elf almost smiled at the aroma rising from the blackened iron pot.
But in any case, the boat was a welcome sight. Leesil trotted forward to inspect it.
“Well, a settlement might not be so good,” he replied. “Not if Droevinka is turned upside down in a civil war.”
“True enough,” Sgäile agreed. “But it is an opportunity to renew our supplies . . . and make the rest of the journey more tolerable.”
Leesil looked up at him. “Did you find a flask of rum you didn’t bother to share?”
“A flask of what?”
“Never mind.”
Magiere stood with folded arms, quietly looking over the boat.
Leesil knew her feelings were mixed. She was desperate to reach Miiska but not eager to pass through her old homeland during a civil war—and neither was he, for that matter.
Wynn and Osha came around the side of the shack, erupting in excited chatter at the sight of the longboat. Chap came last, tail in the air. Magiere just rolled her eyes at them. She gazed around the marshes and cattails, moss-laden trees and murky green waters. Frogs croaked and enormous dragonflies sailed past.
“Never thought I’d miss this country,” she said, “but after so long in those mountains . . .”
“Oh, we must be mad!” Leesil returned with exaggerated drama.
Magiere half smiled at him as she headed back inside.
They had all passed a pleasant night, and what remained of dinner, from flatbread and honey to chickpeas and smoked-cured beef, was still welcome for breakfast. As they began gathering their gear, Magiere retrieved the orb herself.
Soon, everyone had coats or cloaks with weapons strapped on. All their belongings were piled at the knoll’s edge as Leesil helped Sgäile slide the longboat into the murky water.
“Store goods both ends—better balance,” Osha suggested.
“I forgot the rest of the flatbread,” Wynn said and ran for the shack. “I will be right back.”
Sgäile spun the boat slowly, pulling its side in against the knoll. Leesil grabbed the pack Osha held out and tucked it in the bow.
“Magiere . . . ?” Wynn called out.
Leesil looked up.
The little sage stood at the shack’s corner just beyond the half-collapsed chicken coop, and then she backed up without turning.
“Sgäile!” Wynn shouted.
Chap bolted toward her as Leesil took off past Magiere. He grabbed Wynn, a freed stiletto already hidden in his hand, and pulled her back. Magiere raced around him to the shack’s front, hand on her falchion’s hilt. Leesil saw the source of Wynn’s warning as Sgäile came into the open.
A man and a woman approached through the shallow water at the knoll’s north side. Leesil went rigid at the sight of their gray-green attire.
Anmaglâhk.
Both weatherworn, the woman held a shortbow drawn with an arrow nocked. But Leesil focused on the man.
Cowl down, his hair was almost white and cut short, standing up in unwashed bristles. His amber eyes were flat and emotionless, and even trudging out of shin-deep water, his steps barely left ripples. He didn’t look down once, as if he’d never missed a step in his life. His gray-green cloak was tied up, and he held no weapon.
“Sgäile?” Leesil said, tearing his gaze away to glance at his companion.
Sgäile remained silent as the newcomers crested the knoll, stopping ten paces off. Then he nodded once to the older male.
“Greimasg’äh.”
“I have a purpose from Most Aged Father,” the man said in perfect Belaskian, and his tone was as emotionless as his gaze. “You will turn both the artifact and the dark-haired human over to me.”
Magiere ripped the falchion from its sheath, as the female anmaglâhk turned the bow on her.
Hkuan’duv had not seen these humans this close. It was unsettling.
He did not blink when Magiere pulled her weapon.
Somehow, her black hair with the strange red glints, her white face and dark eyes, made him feel tainted. The proximity of the shabby half-blood, the deviant majay-hì, and even the small woman in rolled-up pants did not affect him the same way.
This half-dead thing with the defiant face and unnatural color sparked revulsion.
Most Aged Father had warned Hkuan’duv about her, ordered him to eliminate her.
In spite of his discomfort at her close proximity, he was relieved to finally reveal himself to Sgäilsheilleache and Osha, no longer skulking behind them. He had openly given his purpose, and it superseded all others. This entire matter was over.
Sgäilsheilleache stepped out and raised a shielding arm before Magiere.
“I do not understand,” he said in Elvish. “My oath of guardianship is not completed . . . and cannot be broken.”
“The word of Father outweighs all,” Hkuan’duv answered flatly.
“With respect, Greimasg’äh . . . nothing outweighs my oath.”
Hkuan’
duv stared at him.
Sgäilsheilleache was openly questioning the will of Most Aged Father and the needs of his caste and people. Hkuan’duv studied him more closely, as Sgäilsheilleache’s gaze shifted wildly back and forth.
“We serve!” Hkuan’duv snapped. “It is our place to put the hope and safety of our people above our own concerns. You will turn the artifact over at once!”
Sgäilsheilleache’s eyes stopped shifting and locked upon Hkuan’duv.
Sgäile’s stomach clenched.
In the night, Most Aged Father had spoken to him like a son, asked after Osha, and expressed relief at the prospect of their homecoming. Now Hkuan’duv, one of the revered Greimasg’äh, had arrived by the next dawn— demanding that Sgäile revoke guardianship and turn over the artifact . . . and Magiere?
Chap lunged out before Hkuan’duv with a threatening snap.
The Greimasg’äh held his ground, but Dänvârfij backed a step, visibly uncertain of turning her bow on a majay-hì.
“Wait!” Léshil called, and the dog pulled up short. “What’s this about?”
“He will not listen to Sgäile,” Wynn whispered. “They want Magiere and the orb.”
Sgäile flinched as Magiere took a threatening step forward, trying to push past his arm. He grabbed for her, but she slapped his hand away. Sgäile shook his head sharply, holding up his open hand, and she stopped.
“Relinquish the artifact,” Hkuan’duv repeated, and his eyes narrowed. “Or I will take it.”
The tightness in Sgäile’s stomach released.
Hkuan’duv could not relinquish his accepted purpose. And Sgäile would not break his guardianship—to Magiere or her promise to the human sages. He stood opposed to two of his own caste.
He stilled his emotions and shook his head slowly at Hkuan’duv.
“I am my people,” he said in clear Belaskian, “their ways and the protection of them . . . and I will not break a sacred oath!”
Leesil couldn’t follow anything said in Elvish, other than what Wynn had translated in a whisper—and one Elvish term.
Greimasg’äh.
How had these two anmaglâhk found them on the edge of the Everfen? He quickly calculated who he’d have to take down first. Between a master anmaglâhk and the woman with a loaded bow, it was even odds which was more immediately dangerous.