Instead she burst into tears and spurned them all — dogs and man — running back into the woods she had come from. The dark blot of evergreen rhododendron was almost easy to find, and she threw herself under it. A whole day of being cold, and frightened, and hiding! A day of waiting for Dacey to come back so she wouldn’t be alone, and now he was here, and she was still alone! And her family was in danger, her whole community was in danger, and she was stuck here with no way to do anything about it, stuck someone who wouldn’t even let her pet his damn dog!
Blaine sobbed into the crook of her arm, great big racking sobs.
A wet nose in her ear was the first she noticed Blue had found her — and that Mage, uncharacteristically, quietly sniffed her hair. And then there was Dacey’s hand on her shoulder, a gentle hand this time.
“Blaine.” His quiet voice was almost obscured by the sobs she tried — unsuccessfully — to tame. “Blaine, I’m sorry.”
She coughed, and snuffled loudly, and kept her face buried in her arm. She didn’t say anything.
“I run into some of them in town,” Dacey said. “That’s why I’m late. It had me spooked, Blaine. I’m sorry. Come down to the cabin. Bet you’re as hungry as I am, and I know for a fact that ham’s still sitting down in the dairy.”
She laughed, though it was a sad thing, and said into her arm, “I’m pure hunger from front to back.”
“Let’s go, then.”
It was better than being alone.
She followed him, slowly, back down the hill. By the time she made it to the cabin, Dacey was banging around in the dairy. Blaine picked the bedding off the floor — even if Dacey slept on it there, anyway — and straightened it out, making up the bed and folding his quilts while he continued to create odd noises below. Finally there was a solid thump of the shelf coming back to rest against the wall, and then Dacey appeared, ham in tow, up the dairy ladder.
It was the first she’d seen him in the light. “Dacey,” she gasped. “There’s blood everywhere!”
He looked down at himself. “I run into some of ’em in town,” he repeated. “And yours, on the way back.”
“It ain’t none of it yours?”
He touched the front of his shirt, as though he was thinking about it, and set the ham down. “Don’t reckon.”
She was nearly speechless — but not quite. “Let me see! You should tend yourself, Dacey, not fuss around in some stupid dairy!”
He gestured to the meat. “After we eat. I got some potatoes saved out that’ll go fine with this ham.”
She could see right off that there was no use in arguing, though she couldn’t keep the reluctance from her voice. “I got some greens. But I bet they’re mighty wilted by now.”
They were, but they went down well. Blaine kept eyeing Dacey and the blood he wore, all while they ate. He sat in the chair, she on the bed, and she stole enough glances at him between bites to see that his thoughts were wandering, in an almost dazed sort of way.
“Why’d you change your mind?” she asked suddenly, when there wasn’t anything left on her thick pottery plate worth pushing around.
He came back to the present slowly, and set his own plate on the floor beside the chair. “About what?”
“About me. Whyn’t you let me just stay up there, in them bushes?”
He looked away, and his face was undecided just what expression it should settle on. Finally, one side of his mouth quirked slightly in self-depreciation. “Nothing noble,” he said. “Annekteh-Took don’t do dramatic-type things. Iff’n they do, it’s an act, and easy to see through. It’s why...why they try to borrow so much from us. Anne-nekfehr,” he added, without explaining any further.
Both eyebrows went up about as high as they could go. “You mean you knowed it was me cause I threw a hissy-fit?”
He nodded.
“Huh! You mought have said it was that you trusted me.”
“Not in my nature,” he said, somewhat apologetically.
She heaved a sigh — more dramatics — and nodded. “No, I guess it ain’t.” She got up from the bed and picked up their plates, dumping them in the tin basin of steaming water she’d had heating on the stove. She did a quick but efficient washing-up, and when she turned around, Dacey was pulling his blood-stuck shirt from its tuck-in at his belt.
Blaine rolled her eyes and went to him, waving his hands away. “I can do that a lot easier’n you.”
He was tired, she knew, because he didn’t protest, just held his arms up slightly so she could tug the thing off. Mostly the shirt came away clean, peeling away from the smooth, tight skin of his side. And then he winced, and the material grew stubborn. She gave him a dark look, and he said gently, “It ain’t much, Blaine. Just soak it off and put some salve on it, and it’ll do.”
That made sense enough. If it had been serious, he’d not have made it through dinner so casually. “Lucky for you I had tea water warming up, or it’d be straight from the spring,” she told him. “I’ll have to get some anyway, and put this shirt to soak.”
“Never mind the shirt,” he said. “I’ve got another. We’ve got other things to do tonight.”
She’d follow up on that one in a minute, she thought, carefully applying a warm, wet bit of rag to the stuck place. “What happened in town?” she asked. “Were they looking for us?”
“Us and any other of my kin they could find — the ones that can’t be Took.” His face was grim, and she didn’t think it had anything to do with the shirt that was now coming nicely away from his side. “There was three of them, that anyone saw. I got two of them in town. The third — well, most of this blood’s his.”
“You’re right on that. This ain’t much.” She gently wiped crusted blood away from his skin, and discovered just what he’d said — a long, shallow cut that could use a stitch or two but would get along all right without them. “Spirits be on your side, tonight, Dacey. You got three of ’em and they done you no worse than this?”
“Salve’s on that shelf behind me,” he said, getting his distant look back again, and a little bit of a frown. Finally he said, “Mage warned me of him.” And then jumped, his skin twitching, as she applied the salve.
“It’s cold,” she said.
“So I see.” His voice was dry, and a little amused, as though he could tell she’d purposely forgotten to warm it. Chillbumps patterned his skin.
“Wish I had something to wrap that with,” she said, pretending not to notice. “Mought as well get that other shirt out, before you catch your death. At least you didn’t get none on your jacket.”
“Wasn’t wearing it.” He considered her, still somehow carrying that distance-look on his face. “Truth is, Blaine...I killed two men today, caused the death of a third. They weren’t bad men. Except for the last, they didn’t even see me coming — and that’s not the way for a man to go. But they were Took, and I didn’t have any choice. Talking about it right now...” He shook his head. “It’s a hard thing.” Carefully, he pulled out the trunk that lived under the bed, and, without undue searching, found the shirt he was looking for.
She wanted to touch him, to let him know she understood, somehow. But she could see that wasn’t what he wanted, not now. So she smeared what was left of the salve in little patterns on the back of her hand, and said, “Why ain’t we asking none of your kin to come and help us? Some of the others from the seers’ lines?”
“No.” His voice was quiet but did not invite argument.
Blaine argued anyway. “I don’t see why not. We need all the help we can get, you’ve done said as much yourself. You said we ain’t prepared and can’t handle them by ourselves. Then why not —”
“No,” he repeated, and carefully pulled the new shirt on. It was new, too, as far as Blaine could tell, made with fine, careful stitches and an eye for detail. A woman’s eye. She wondered whose. “’Twouldn’t do.”
“And why not? Won’t they realize how bad we need —”
Dacey snorted. “Blaine,” he
said, “don’t forget they are seer’s kin. They more’n know the dangers to both your folk and ours, but — we ain’t asking.”
“That don’t make sense,” Blaine complained. “Seeing as we need the help so bad.”
He fastened the bone buttons and said, with finality, “We ain’t asking cause they can’t do it. The youngest of ’em with the blood as strong as mine was kilt today — and he was my oldest uncle. The rest of ’em can’t even make it up here to visit me.”
She wiped the back of her hand against her skirt and started to say something, but settled for wrinkling her nose at him in thought.
“You got it,” he said. “The seer’s line is dying out. It’s hard to make a go when you’re all so close kin. Babies die and there ain’t no one your own age to choose from. You’re looking at the last, Blaine, that’s me.” He shrugged. “Some might say the seers did the wrong thing by taking us away. Seems we lost half our people to further south, where there’s a fine big town and some space between the mountains. But I’ve touched those Annekteh.” Dacey drew his shoulders back in a motion Blaine suspicioned was meant to hide the shudder that went through them. “I can understand the seers needing to leave that place forever.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 9
The last thing Blaine had expected after hearing — after understanding — Dacey’s words — the seer’s line was dying out, she and Dacey were alone — was to find herself climbing the hill not above his cabin, but opposite it — on her way to a night of listening to the dogs run fox. “Dacey,” Blaine said, curling her fingers around Blue’s collar so he unwittingly helped pull her up the steep incline, “just how far is this spot?”
Which wasn’t what she really wanted to know. She wanted to know why they were climbing this hill at all. She was tired, he was tired, and here they were climbing this damn hill.
Dacey looked down at her and she could see his teeth gleam in a rare grin. “Thought I got you hardened up on that hike from your hollow.”
“I thought so too,” Blaine moaned to herself, catching enough breath to grumble, “I’d like to see you climb this hill in these skirts, Dacey Childers!”
When he answered, she thought his voice was as strained as hers. “It’ll be worth it. You won’t go on no foxhunts to match this ’un at your place.”
“That,” she said pointedly, “is because I won’t be allowed on no foxhunts at home.”
“Leastways you won’t have to see how poor it is without these dogs.” There was a smile in that one, one she could hear.
Blaine shifted her blanket roll with an irritated shove, trying to reclaim her dropped skirts with the same motion. She had a sudden scandalous notion involving scissors, needle, and thread.
“This is it,” Dacey announced, peering back over the edge of the slope. He extended a hand and hauled her up, settling her on the flat of what could only be the top of the mountain. There was barely enough light to show the terrain, and Blaine squinted out into the chill night around them.
“It’ll be better when the moon comes out,” Dacey promised. “We got off a little late, made for a hard climb. But it’s a good night — damp ground, clear air. They’ll give us a real race tonight.”
As long as the dogs did the racing and not her, Blaine thought, dropping her blanket roll to the ground. The dogs in question instantly trampled it, milling around Dacey with eager whines and little, restrained half-jumps. Dumb, she thought yet again. Whimsy turned to give her hand a quick lick, generously including her in the excitement. Blaine waited for her to turn away and vigorously wiped off the slobber.
“All right, all right, go!” Dacey said, and laughed right out loud. Their clawing feet spewed bits of dirt and moss into the air as the dogs sprang out into the trees and across the ridge, not yet giving tongue. Mage sat with a sigh and wiped his paw across his nose — looking, Blaine thought, as vexed as old Bayard when he saw the younger men heading off on a hunt. Dacey’s hand dropped to his hound’s head. “You’ll have your hunt, son.”
“Why’d you keep him?” Blaine asked. “You must have knowed he couldn’t hunt.” And then she winced, wishing she’d managed to say it better than that, knowing that somehow, this dog was his favorite.
But Dacey didn’t look at her at all, raising his head to peer into the darkness. “He’s worth more’n all the others,” he said softly. “He’ll earn his keep all right.” After a moment he looked her way. “Course, I am a little soft-hearted at times.” Before she could say anything else, he put his hand up. “Shhh. Listen.”
Blaine cocked her head in response and heard, floating up from the hollow, the first barks of a hound on scent. “That’s Chase,” Dacey said, still listening, a smile in his voice. A higher, clearer voice joined in. “And there’s Whimsy.” Then two at once, a rough booming yell that underscored a lower warble. “And Maidie and Blue. Blue’s just out for fun — he’s too heavy a dog to keep up with this for long. He’ll quit soon.”
“How do you tell who’s who?”
Dacey’s response was startled. “Does your sister sound like your mother?”
“No, of course not.” Blaine scowled. “That’s not the same.”
“Sure it is. You’ll get used to it,” he said with assurance.
That’s what she was afraid of. “How can I? We’re going home soon.”
“Blaine...” Dacey turned his full attention on her. “You’re going home, all right — but that don’t mean it’s ever going to be the home you remember. The Annekteh are there. Just ’cause we know what’s happening don’t mean we can we can trot in and make it all right again. Folks are gonna die, Blaine. Things are gonna change. Things have already changed.”
Blaine stared at him, a stricken kind of understanding seeping into her. She’d been worrying and fussing, but underneath it all, she’d still refused to see. She had thought Dacey could tell her Shadow Hollers how to fix it all. That he and his Annekteh-lore could fix it all.
“If it was so bad, why’d we leave ’em?” she finally blurted.
Silence from Dacey, but not for long, and when he spoke, it was with resignation. “You know why. Way things went, it was the only thing to do.” Resignation, and a sort of weight she could almost see settling on his shoulders. “I went up there after ’em. Wanted to spy ’em out and warn your people. But...I hadn’t counted on them catching me. And when you got me loose, it probably spooked ’em big. Leaving was the best thing to do. It gave me a chance to tell my own people. It kept you safe. And I’m hoping my not being there has took some of the pressure off them, so they’ll be easier on folks. But — they probably moved in on ’em the day we ran.”
Blaine was speechless for a moment — though when the words came, she nearly shrieked them. “And we’re on a foxhunt?”
“We’re safest out here,” Dacey said, letting her panic get lost in his easy-going voice. “We don’t know for sure only three of them come down the river after us. It weren’t smart to stay in the cabin tonight. On the morrow, we’ll go back just long enough to pack up some things. So...” he said, looking at her so the light from the rising moon silvered his hazel eyes, “enjoy this foxhunt, Blaine. You’ll need the memory when things get rough.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Chapter 10
He was right. Of course he was right. Blaine found herself savoring the memory, less than a full day old as it was. She’d smiled with Dacey when Blue trotted back to their small fire and threw himself down, pressing his stomach against the cool earth, his tongue lolling far over the side of his mouth. His hoarse panting covered the baying of his packmates, the rhythms of which Blaine had just started to understand. Occasionally, as he cooled, Blue looked her way and gave a hopeful thump of his tail. Finally Dacey absently patted the ground and the dog went to curl up next to him and Mage.
The dogs had run for a few hours, and then their barking changed. Even Blaine could tell they weren’t moving anymore. “Are you going to kill the fox?” she’d asked as Dacey sat
and listened.
“Not tonight. It’s for fun tonight.” He patted the horn at his side. “I’ll let ’em bark down that hole for a while and then call ’em in.”
And that’s what they’d done. Sat atop the mountain under the stars, listening to the night music until Dacey lifted the horn and made it moan through the trees.
Just recollecting the sound made her shiver even now, in full daylight — though not in the same way of the eerie howling that had started this whole adventure. It was a call of fellowship, one that had triggered Blue and Mage into howling along, and it made her shiver because...it was so right somehow. Primal, but right.
Blaine forced herself back to the present. She and Dacey had been traveling since early morning, after a surprisingly satisfying, if brief, sleep on the ridge. Burdened with supplies — even Blue carried a little pack, the only dog big enough to do so — they stopped for a full-blown lunch. They had things to eat before they went bad. And now she sat, full, her knife hovering uncertainly over the garment.
For she’d had it. She was full sick of hiking in these skirts, of tangling up in them and having to jerk them high to get any climbing done. She had Dacey’s needle, and his thread — she’d been thinking on this for days — and she’d determined to divide the full skirts down the middle and sew them up split.
Yet despite that determination, she hesitated, easily imagining Cadell’s scandalized cry and seeing Lottie mourn over good clothes ruined.
In sudden clarity, Dacey’s recent grim words came back to her. She’d never again see the very home she had left. Perhaps she’d never even again hear those familiar parental cries of objection.
The knife slid from suddenly nerveless fingers, but only long enough to fall into her lap. Then she snatched it up again and poked it into the wool, cutting carefully but steadily. When it was done she threaded up the needle and started the awkward process of mending the very clothes she was wearing.
Dacey stretched out longways on the hill — feet downhill, head up — and politely kept his gaze elsewhere while she sewed — big, rough stitches she promised herself she’d refine later — but Blue had no such manners. He wandered into their resting spot and straight over to the bit of high ground Blaine had chosen, intrigued by the unusual arrangement of the material — and of course without respect for the fact she was still wearing it, much as he had no respect for the fact that her braids were still attached to her head. He stuck his nose underneath the panel of wool and blew his cheeks out, tossing his head in the air to flip the cloth around.
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