Seer's Blood

by Doranna Durgin

  “And what were you doing up there anyway?” he inquired as she tried gather herself together. She waved the question away — today might be the first time she had come down in his sight but he knew well enough how much time she spent in the hills.

  “Rand,” she said, barely able to voice words through her panting, “there’s men — over the ridge — in Fiddlehead. They got Dacey. Tied him up and—” she gulped, unable to come near to explaining what she’d seen. “They got swords —”

  “Swords!” Rand snorted. “Didja fall asleep chewing on some strange weed? You been dreaming again, Blaine.” He shook his head and muttered again, “Swords!”

  Chewing a weed? Blaine straightened herself and smacked her hands on her hips, putting all she had into her indignation. “Rand Kendricks, do I look that dumb? A weed! An’ do I look like I’ve been sleeping up over the rise or do I look like I’ve just run back from the other side of this hill?”

  “Well,” Rand admitted, jerking his pitchfork from the manure and gently bouncing the tines off the ground at his feet, “You kinda look like you run a ways.” He hesitated, squinting down at her, his square-jawed face uncertain.

  Blaine braced herself — Rand’s squint was a signpost of his reluctance. “I seen this, Rand! Men, across the ridge, and they ain’t up to any good! I seen ’em days ago, and they’re still there!”

  The squint stayed in place. “You tell this to Daddy, you’ll hit real trouble. Use sense, Blaine. You know you always think those dreams are real right at first. “

  “But —” Blaine started, as the rest of her protest died unspoken. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of reason to say such a thing. She did have dreams, and sometimes she did wake from them — trees, rushing down the hill — even at seventeen years old, and needed her mommy’s comfort, reassurance that the things she’d seen so vividly were not real. “But this ain’t right at first, Rand, not any more! I’m telling you certain truth!”

  “All that aside, it’s a far fetch to think a whole mess of men wouldn’t notice you snuck up on ’em, and then you just walked away from ’em, pretty as you please. An’ you know if I’m saying that, Daddy’s just pure gonna laugh out loud. You done a pretty fair job over the years of convincing him you don’t even care to go face the spiders in the springhouse.”

  “He’d believe me iff’n you back me,” Blaine said, hurt blooming in a small place inside her, knowing she could never explain about the blinder. Never. “You know he would.”

  “You’ve just got that Dacey feller on your mind,” Rand said kindly. Infuriatingly. “Him an’ all his tales. Blaine, you run to Daddy with this dream and he won’t believe nary a word, no matter what I speak for you. He’ll tell you never go in them hills again, and right off start looking for a husband who’ll settle you down.”

  Cadell didn’t understand her to begin with — not her nor her dreams nor her unhidden reluctance to start her own family. He would likely do just as Rand said — and that wouldn’t help Dacey, it wouldn’t help him one bit. It wouldn’t warn her family about those men, with their swords and their fearsome ways. “Come with me, Rand,” she begged. “You’ll see what I seen, and Daddy’ll listen to you.”

  Rand grinned, a rueful expression. “Can’t, little sister. Got plenty to do around here — Daddy’s got through pitching his fit cause you was nowhere to be found, and he’s got me spreading the old manure pile out in the garden. He wants it done timely, and he ain’t in no mood for another one of us to slack off, iff’n you follow my meaning.” He pulled her long braid, a gentle tug to jog her out of her scowl.

  She glared at him. “All right, then!” Tired and afraid and grieved by the lack of support she’d counted on, Blaine lost her temper but good. “I’ll go back there myself, and after it’s been long enough, you’ll come and find me!” She turned her back on him and marched out of the barnyard and back up the hill, ignoring the cry of protest from her tired legs.

  “Blaine!” Rand called, sounding uncertain. “Spirits, Blaine, don’t cause yourself trouble over a dream!”

  Blaine only straightened her back and continued to climb, boldly, the blinder stuck safe in her pocket. This time she didn’t care if her daddy did see her, not if it meant he followed her, too.

  But once she was out of sight of the Kendricks farm, her shoulders slumped and she leaned over, hands braced on her knees, to relieve the ache in her legs. It was then she felt the first cold ping of rain against the back of her neck.

  She almost laughed out loud, and decided, as she straightened and tugged her woven wool jacket back into place, that she wasn’t at all surprised that the rain was trying to discourage her, too.

  She resumed her climb, more slowly now; the rain drizzled steadily onto her head, dripping down her ragged bangs to trip off her eyelashes. The sweat she had built up turned cold and clammy inside her clothes, and she ducked her head and clambered on — fervently hoping she’d scared Rand into following her, although he was as stubborn as she and could just as well wait out the day before his assurance gave way to worry.

  The rain, never enthusiastic, faded off as Blaine reached the ridge — but a low rumble of thunder warned that it was not yet over, despite the sudden bright slash of sun. She reached her rock and climbed it, glad to rest, and to spread her skirts out in the sunshine. Sprawled on her back, exhausted and lulled almost to dozing by the lazy thunk of a wood hen driving at a dead tree, she nonetheless immediately stiffened at the sound of scuffing feet and grumbling voices. Rand, so soon? And with someone else along?

  She rolled over on her stomach and peeked over the edge of the rock. Instead of Rand, she saw two men in fine cloth and hard leather coming from the other direction, and she turtled her head right back out of sight.

  “I still say it’s a deer trail — maybe fox,” one of them said, sounding irritated. Blaine didn’t have to take a second look to know they were talking about her own tracks.

  “Do deer run the hills like they do the flatlands?” his partner asked uncertainly. “I don’t see any clear hoof prints.”

  “How do I know? The sooner we get a few of these families helping us, the better. Then instead of all this sneaking around and trying not to get lost, we can watch them do the work.”

  The voice grew loud enough that they must be right next to the rock, and Blaine shrank against it, even though she knew they couldn’t possibly see her. When their unfamiliar accents didn’t fade, she realized they were resting right there below her, their backs to her rock. She groaned inwardly — but her breathing stopped altogether when she heard them speaking of how useful these mountain-grown trees would be. About searching out the sassafras groves.

  Her book said something about sassafras. And it used sassafras in almost all the recipes that she could see. But the way he said it, the way he spoke of the groves, like there was a specific grove, something special, and not just the occasional tree along a ridgeline.

  The meeting hall was made of sassafras, she suddenly remembered; the building was so old, the wood so faded from its normal burnt orange bark-lining, that hardly anyone mentioned it anymore. But the logs were smaller than most building logs, and if you scratched one, you could still smell the spicy scent of the living tree.

  It had taken quite a few trees to build the hall, there was no escaping that fact. And quite a few trees meant...once, at least, there had been a grove of them. A grove these strangers seemed to know about. No, groves.

  Up on her rock, hidden, the blinder once more in her hand anyway, Blaine grew bold enough to scowl. Rand just had to follow her, had to help reveal them and their strange plans, before all of Shadow Hollers was took by surprise, and facing those swords.

  Then she had another sudden thought, one that sent her heart to racing. They were following her trail. They could trail her right back to the homestead!

  No. She took a deep breath. No. She’d been over two sections of bare, gritty rock. Surely they would lose her trail there. Surely they would give
up when they got that far, considering that they still weren’t sure if they were following deer, fox, or human. Blaine’s light step in the woods might just do well by her this day.

  At last the men had moved on; she strained to follow their conversation as it faded, but they had turned to recounting lewd stories, anyway. She waited a good long piece after their voices dwindled, and then climbed down the rock, blinder clutched securely in her teeth.

  This time her descent from the ridge was careful, as stealthy as she could make it. At least she didn’t have to make any effort to cover her trail — the two men and their big careless feet had blazed a path in last fall’s flattened leaves, and she easily kept within their marks. Her final approach was one step at a time, with plenty of opportunity to remember to breathe in between, to be thankful again for her bland clothes, to remind herself of the blinder. As long as she stayed silent and slow, it would keep her hidden; she’d had enough close calls with her cousins in the barn to know that much for sure.

  Most of the men were gathered in the middle of the camp, where they sat on the ground with slicker capes over their heads to keep off the fitful drizzle that had started again. From the tone of his voice, the leader instructed them about something, though she could hear none of the individual words. Blaine blinked a raindrop out of her eye and crept closer, worming through the rhododendrons, looking to see if Dacey was where she’d left him.

  She’d been gone several hours. There was no telling what else they might have done with him. Or to him.

  But, no, he was there. Motionless. Asleep? Not dead, please not dead. With an eye on the camp, Blaine crept back to her old position above Dacey and then some closer. Enough to see the rise and fall of his chest beneath the gape of his coat, where his struggles had pulled it open and no one had bothered to close it. Enough to see that after a few short hours, his face suddenly looked like it belonged to an entirely different man. Haggard, drawn...haunted. Drained of the quiet spirit she’d seen in him, facing Cadell over the supper table. And battered by more than human hand.

  He stirred, then — she thought it was the rain dropping off his nose that roused him. After a hard look at the camp, Blaine set the blinder aside and made a quiet rustle in the leaves. He shifted, barely enough to see her, brief surprise on his face. Maybe he thought she had been there all along.

  At least he seemed to be in his right mind again. With a glance down at the camp and a moment to convince herself that they could not hear her over the distance and above the sound of trees shedding old rain, Blaine inched even closer and murmured, “Rand is coming to help,” even though she was sure of no such thing.

  Dacey nodded and closed his eyes, looking infinitely weary, and not very hopeful. She couldn’t blame him; she’d promised Rand, but all he had was her. She hugged her jacket closed, tired and cold and uncertain, jamming the blinder into her pocket along with her hand.

  The gust of wind warned her, would have warned anyone who knew these mountains, though the plainsmen below ignored it. Blaine hunched inside her partial shelter as the drizzly rain, driven by the a suddenly frenzied wind, lashed around in a dozen directions. Another instant, and the sky abruptly opened up in a wild deluge of rain and thunder and lightning.

  Even halfway down the mountain, the sky was never far away; the storm enveloped them, wrapping the camp in chaos. Simultaneous lightning and thunder terrified the mules while the wind wrapped the men in their slickers, fighting them at every turn, strobing the camp with brilliant flashes of light against the storm-dark air. Rain stung Blaine’s face, tripping her eyelids closed more than they were open — but she saw enough to recognize the tumult below.

  She didn’t even think about it. Suddenly she found herself sliding down to Dacey, fumbling her pocketknife from her skirt to cut at the ropes that bound him. They were thick and many but she didn’t pause to answer the fearful prickling at her neck, the sure inner voice crying, they’ve seen us! or to check the cuts she inflicted on herself. Then she had him free, and he stumbled to his feet on awkward legs that didn’t seem ready to carry him.

  He grabbed her arm — or maybe she grabbed his arm — and they ran, both of them slipping on rain-slick leaves and stumbling over root and rock hidden by rain in their eyes. With terror on their heels they ran south along the side of the slope, clawing their way upward with the instinctive desire of the hunted — go to high ground. When the storm slackened — almost as suddenly as it had started — they were still holding on to each other, and by tacit agreement, they sank to the ground.

  “I can’t believe you did that.” Panting, Dacey shoved the wet hair from his eyes, still looking plenty dazed but eyeing her with some incredulity nonetheless.

  “Daddy always said I didn’t have no sense,” Blaine gasped back. They listened to each other breathe for a while, until the sound faded enough to hear the drip of water from the trees and the occasional rustle of small indignant animals. In the face of her own audacity, Blaine retreated to practical matters. She wrung the water out of her skirt and said, “They’re lowlanders. I heard ’em say so. They sure don’t know nothing of our spring storms. Pure luck, that was.”

  “Not all luck,” Dacey said, giving her a look she couldn’t read. He got to his feet with some effort, hesitating halfway up; she stood, wanting to offer her hand and not sure of it — he was so private, this one was — and then he was standing beside her. He gave her a wry little grin and struck out along the ridge.

  Blaine just stood there, entirely befuddled. Was he walking off, just like that?

  But he turned and looked at her, then gave a little jerk of his head, an indication that she should come along.

  She didn’t. “Reckon I’ll head home now.” Home to warn Cadell — to convince him.

  “There ain’t nothing but trouble that way,” Dacey said shortly. “Trouble for your family, if those men find us on your farm. This ain’t no easy matter you’ve got yourself into, girl.”

  “Blaine,” she said, polite but pointedly. “And what did they want from you? What do they want from us?”

  “Blaine.” He looked at her a moment, and then straightened his back some. “Blaine, you can’t go home. Not now. You know they saw you, even just a glimpse. How long do you think it’ll take to find you there? You seen what they can do. You want your family facing that?”

  Fear gripped her, made her rigid. “Then I gotta warn ’em, Dacey, how can I not warn ’em?”

  He took a few quick, sudden strides, startling her, coming right up to her. “Because it’ll do ’em more harm than good right now, that’s how!” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes — eyes surrounded by bruises, by puffy flesh and split skin, though the rain had washed away all but traces of blood. Exhausted, haunted eyes that drove home his every word. “I done warned your daddy already, Blaine, that night I was there. Right now we got to go back to my last camp, and then we’ve gotta leave your hills for a piece.” He startled her again, then, resting a gentle hand on her arm, giving it the slightest of squeezes. “I’m obliged and owing you, Blaine. I hope you don’t come to regret what you just done...but I reckon you will.”

  As she blinked in surprise, he turned and moved off again. Still, she hesitated, weighing his words against what she’d seen, and what she knew. He’d warned Cadell already. And I warned Rand. Had either of them listened? Would they actually be prepared for those sword-bearing strangers?

  Not likely.

  Briefly, she considered making her way home despite Dacey’s convictions, but couldn’t bring herself to deny what he’d said. Bad enough if those men found her at the farm...what would they do to the rest of her family, for harboring her?

  He stopped again, turned his head just the slightest bit to say back at her, his voice gentle and understanding, “Blaine. It’s best.”

  Numbly, Blaine found herself following him.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 4

  Rand stood on the porch, listening to the rain drip into the gutter barr
el and looking out at the new-washed hill.

  No sign of Blaine.

  He’d been so sure the storm would drive her home. But maybe she knew these hills even better than he thought, maybe she had some hidey-hole to keep her warm and dry, and no need at all to return home for such things. Maybe she was safe somewhere, rightly satisfied to know that at this very moment, he was worrying about her.

  No. That would be too easy on him — too easy a way to salve his conscience.

  Dammit, Blaine, I’m trying to protect you! Trying to protect the solitude she found so important, and the escape he didn’t blame her for hunting out. No one deserved to listen to such teasing all the time, to have their daddy’s disapproval heaped on her just for what she was. And there wasn’t any point in losing it over a damn dream!

  Not that any of that would matter, soon. If she wasn’t back by nightfall, he’d have to tell, and tell it all.

  ~~~~~

  Blaine struggled to keep up with Dacey, fighting all the exertions of the day. How many times had she gone over that mountain? And how fast?

  Her legs, gawky as they were, were strong and sturdy and never failed her. Until now.

  She tripped again, hissing an almost-curse as she caught herself on a tree; Dacey didn’t look back. But soon enough, their pace slacked, and after that it wasn’t long before he stopped, just standing there, one hand against a tree. Blaine gave the area a befuddled inspection, and after a moment realized that there was a small pile of undisturbed belongings shoved up against a long-fallen tree, and a couple of sacks double-hung high off to the side. Spread out on the other side of the fallen tree was a jacket, and on the jacket lay the crippled white hound that had accompanied Dacey to Blaine’s yard, his chin resting on the tree trunk to regard Dacey with much affection while his tail thumped the wet ground. As Dacey went to him, the dog struggled to rise, revealing a dry spot where he had waited out the rain.