The Seer - eARC

by Sonia Lyris

Before them was a crossroads. To the south another road opened, leading temptingly downhill, unlike the ascending road that was their direction.

  “The village south,” Amarta said softly. “Isn’t it closer?”

  “The river, you said,” Dirina answered. Was that reproach in her sister’s voice?

  “You and Pas could go south, and I’d go to the river. We could meet at the town of Sennant later, and—”

  “No.”

  “What if there isn’t really anyone after us? What if I’m wrong?”

  “Ama?” Dirina’s voice cracked. “Are you—”

  “I don’t know!” She swallowed the lump in her throat, looked into the woods. A winter finch fluttered to a fallen stick, pecked at it hopefully, fluttered away.

  Dirina moved close and wrapped Amarta in her arms, the baby between them, and they huddled there a long moment. Then Dirina held Amarta at arm’s length.

  “We will go where your visions say,” Dirina said, standing, helping Amarta up and hefting Pas in the sling at her chest. She caressed his cheek and, with a force that surprised Amarta, said: “We will not be among the fools who ignore your words.”

  At that Amarta blinked away tears, brushing snow from her lashes.

  They struggled their way up the incline, heads down in the falling snow. After a time, the snow lightened to flurries.

  “Diri, if it keeps snowing . . .”

  “Will it?”

  “I can’t tell,” Amarta said miserably, too tired to think, let alone ask questions her vision might answer. “What if the way-house isn’t there? What if there raft is gone? What if the hunter—”

  “What if, what if,” her sister snapped. “I’m not leaving you for him to find. Say no more of that. You understand?”

  “Yes.”

  A pause, the sounds of their footsteps crunching in snow.

  “Ama. You must tell me when you foresee things. Even if it’s about me. I know what I said, but it’s different now. Yes?”

  Suddenly Amarta felt cold inside as well as out. “Yes.”

  * * *

  Exhaustion forced them to stop more and more often as the short day wore on.

  At another rest, leaning against Dirina, again Amarta felt herself dragged into unconsciousness, waking minutes later, gasping for breath, lurching to her feet and stumbling forward on the path. Dirina followed wordlessly.

  Daylight began to fade. Dirina picked up her pace, and Amarta struggled to keep up.

  Something like pain hit her abruptly. An echo of pain to come, it was. A wrenching, sick moment of tearing. “Diri,” she hissed. “Stop.”

  “What?” Her sister looked around, face drawn, eyes wide.

  “Something ahead. Something bad.”

  Dirina took a quick step backward, eyes on the path before them.

  Amarta felt the pressure of the shadow hunter behind, urging her forward, an ominous warning. But before her on the road, something sharper and sooner.

  “Pull the knife, Ama.”

  Reaching into the back pocket of Dirina’s sack still on her shoulders, Amarta took out their only knife, gripping it in her hand, wondering when they had last sharpened it on anything.

  They both went still and silent, listening to the deep quiet of the woods. Overhead a cloudy sky darkened.

  Dirina watched her. At last she whispered: “What now?”

  Hunter behind, a horror in front. Overhead, a gray sky darkening with night.

  “I don’t know.”

  Dirina rocked Pas gently to keep him from making any noise.

  Again and again Amarta tried to summon a clear thought, a way to vision. Her thoughts felt stuffed with hay, sluggish with cold.

  If they went forward, then—what?

  The strange musky smell of wet animal. Pas’s terrified wailing. Amarta tried to get to him but she could not seem to move. Pas’s wail abruptly ceased.

  Softly Dirina breathed out, “We have to go somewhere, Ama.”

  Amarta turned around slowly in the dimming light, looking for what, she didn’t know. A tree, a rock—anything that might connect her confusing vision to direction. She took a small step off the road in one direction, then another, but nothing changed. Then forward again on the road. Was it still there?

  The ground was hard and cold beneath her, Pas’s broken, lifeless body just out of reach.

  Amarta exhaled sharply, a soundless cry, and doubled over, fingers on the frozen ground.

  “Ama?” Alarm in her sister’s voice.

  Struggling back aright, she stepped close, reached out to touch Pas’s face where he curled in Dirina’s arms. At this he opened his brown eyes, smiled. She put her lips to his forehead gratefully.

  They must move. Where? Swallowing hard, she again took a step forward on the road.

  It was suddenly free of disaster.

  “We can go forward now,” Amarta said.

  “What? But why?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But—are you sure?”

  Another step. No warnings. “Yes.” she said. Her visions were sure, anyway.

  They went forward, hesitantly, Amarta in the lead, holding the no-doubt-useless knife in front of her.

  They rounded a curve, the land sloping up on one side and down on the other, then rounded another curve. With every step Amarta listened for warning, heart pounding in her ears.

  When at last they came to the place, there was barely enough light to see the broad, dark stains in the snow, the large animal pads where something had walked, the gouges where a body had been dragged away after a struggle.

  Something had died here. Minutes ago. Instead of the three of them.

  As they passed, they gave wide berth to the blood-soaked snow and bits of fur.

  Darkness fell around them as the cold settled hard. Dirina took Amarta’s hand and led her forward as if she knew where they were going, but of course she could not possibly.

  Another flash of vision, and Amarta squeezed Dirina’s hand, leading them by feel to the side of the road, then on a short path to a tiny cabin. The waystation, the dimmest of outlines. They felt their way inside blindly, finding the room empty and small enough that they could both barely stretch out on the wood floor.

  But it kept out the wind, and the door bolted.

  She woke her sister at dawn, feeling the pressure of pursuit.

  By early afternoon they could see down the steep embankment to the river valley below. From this distance the Sennant was a thick gray and white rush, the sound a distant roar.

  “You see,” Dirina said, her tone one of relief as she pointed out a small square of brown at a wide, slow area on the other side of the river where the road continued from the rocky banks. “The raft. It’s attached to a rope, strung between those two huge cedars. We’ll be able to draw it back over to our side and take it across.”

  As they hiked down the switchbacked road to the river, the roaring was a welcome sound. Amarta felt her spirits rise. Underfoot, snow gave way to rockier land and patches of dirt.

  Once they found the town, what then? They were out of food, had no more coin, knew no one there. A woman, a girl, a baby—how much generosity could they hope for in winter, when strangers were even less welcome?

  It would not take long for the talk in Botaros to follow them. The first thaw’s trade wagons would see to that.

  “We won’t be welcome in Sennant, will we.”

  A pause. “We’ll see when we get there.”

  Beggars. That’s what they were. As welcome as mice in a granary.

  Mice who knew things they shouldn’t.

  They reached the riverbank, their feet crunching over rocks. On either side the tall rises were edged with snow-tipped firs and pines that rose to points against the flat, gray sky.

  At last they reached the short wooden dock where a pole for the raft was waiting. Dirina handed Pas to Amarta while she set to pulling the dangling rope. On the other side, the raft jerked and began to move toward the
m.

  Pas was restless, so she let him down to the dock, where he he tried to stand, bouncing up and down, almost hopping. He looked up at her and smiled. Her fear eased. Dirina was right. She worried too much.

  Then she looked back at the hills. At the high point of the road was a dark-clad horse and rider.

  “Diri.”

  Her sister looked and inhaled sharply.

  The rider was trotting toward them.

  Amarta let Pas’s hand go to help Dirina pull on the rope. Pas sat heavily on the dock and began to whine.

  The two of them put everything they had into retrieving the raft. A glance back showed the rider halfway down the hills, now moving even faster.

  No point in looking at him. She pulled harder, not thinking; grab and tug, grab and tug.

  The raft bumped the dock on their side.

  “Get on,” Dirina said.

  Amarta snatched up Pas and stepped onto the raft.

  Now the horse was past the switchbacks and on the bank of the river.

  “Diri?”

  “Downstream,” Dirina said curtly. She pulled the knife and began sawing at the ropes that held the raft to the pulley. “Not to Sennant town. He’ll follow there. Understand?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “He’ll track you along the shore,” Dirina said, strands of the thick rope parting as she cut fiercely. “It’s rocky, so you can go faster than he can ride, but stay to the other side.”

  “Diri. Get on.”

  The rocky bank slowed the horse, but not much. The sound of hooves grew louder.

  The cut rope gave way. Dirina held tight to the end that held the raft. She turned on Amarta. “Take Pas. Hide. Pretend to be someone else. Find someone to take care of you. Use your visions, Ama. Use them!”

  “Diri!”

  “I’ll stop him. You go.”

  With that, her sister released the rope. At the same moment, Amarta grabbed her arm with the hand not holding Pas. The raft struggled in the current, held only by Amarta’s tight grasp on her sister.

  “You have to come,” she said, struggling to hold both Pas and Dirina at once. A seeing haze came over her, a warning. They had to leave, and now. If Dirina stayed . . .

  The horse and rider were nearly on them.

  “You won’t slow him down,” Amarta cried desperately. “Not enough.”

  Uncertainty flickered across her sister’s face.

  Amarta’s visions were howling at her, one thing and one thing only: the shadow hunter was coming, and if he got her, she would not get away. Closer each heartbeat.

  “I’m sure,” she lied firmly. “Get on.”

  Dirina hesitated, a precious moment they didn’t have. Amarta jerked her onto the raft, and she didn’t resist, taking up the pole. With it she gave a hard push, propelling them away from the dock.

  He was close enough now that she could make out details. He was well-wrapped against the cold, his chestnut-brown horse’s hooves finding traction on the ground to come alongside them.

  Amarta knelt down on the raft, holding Pas, keeping the two of them steady. As the raft wobbled, Dirina took a wide stance, poling into the water, pushing them farther away from shore.

  Now the rider held reins in one hand and in the other a bow and arrow.

  “Down,” her sister shouted. Amarta went prone on the wooden raft, curling around Pas, who made frightened sounds. She whispered in his ear to comfort him, but he only cried louder. She went silent, letting him cry for the both of them.

  Maybe there was no escaping the future. Maybe all you could do was trade one bad happenstance for another. She shut her eyes, not wanting to see what would happen next. But in the next moment she opened them, craning her head around to see him, this hunter.

  Every part of the man was covered, gloves to high boots, a snug hood, only his eyes showing. He dropped the reins, but the horse continued forward as if nothing had changed. He took the bow in both hands.

  “Diri!”

  Amarta sat up, grabbed her sister by the arm, and tugged her down. Dirina dropped by her side, still managing to hold the pole. Around Pas they hugged each other.

  A hard thunk on the raft. An arrow stuck upward, a scant foot from Dirina’s back.

  At that, fury overcame her. He was supposed to be coming after her, not Dirina. She was on her feet, struggling for balance. “Stop it!” she yelled at him. “Go away!”

  The distance between the raft and the horse was widening slowly. Too slowly.

  “Ama, get down!” Dirina shouted, grabbing at her hand. She shook off Dirina’s grasp and turned to face her pursuer.

  He lifted his bow again, aimed at her.

  She felt oddly calm, as though she had all the time in the world. She considered how he had almost hit Dirina with his last shot. From a moving horse. Aiming at a moving raft. He was very good at this.

  Next time he probably wouldn’t miss.

  Especially if she were standing.

  Or maybe it would be easier for everyone if he shot her now, killed her dead, and got it over with. Then, perhaps, Dirina and Pas would be safe.

  “Ama!” Dirina screamed.

  Still she watched him. She needed to see him, see this next moment. With every step his horse was losing ground as their raft was caught in the downstream current, but his bow was still pointed directly at her.

  Now everything was moving: the raft, the horse, the banks on either side. It seemed to Amarta that the place where the bow in his hand crossed his arrow was the only thing in the world that did not move.

  “What do you want?” she yelled at him. “What?”

  “Ama,” her sister hissed. “Don’t.”

  As if in answer, he lowered the bow. His horse slowed, still following along the riverbank but falling farther behind.

  Amarta sat heavily next to her sister. A half-hearted attempt to foresee only gained her a tangled, misty sense of fading danger as the man on the horse, still following along the shore, receded into the distance. At last they could no longer see him.

  One thing she had seen clearly, though, was that she would meet him again.

  Amarta began to tremble. Dirina held her, spoke soothing words, but she was shaking as well.

  In time Pas calmed down enough to want to be fed and changed. Swapping one patch of moss for another, Dirina handed the pole to Amarta while she fed him. Amarta stood on the raft, keeping them at the center of the wide river. She glanced at the bank behind.

  Would he follow?

  Of course he would.

  The skies cleared and the shadows lengthened. It was colder on the water than she thought it could possibly be without being frozen solid. They huddled together.

  “We’ll stop soon,” Dirina said, bundling Pas in her arms. “When we find a road. We’ll go—” She broke off, then started again. “We’ll go—”

  “Diri?”

  Her sister was silent, inhaling raggedly, as tired and worn as Amarta. She had never seen her sister so shaken.

  “We’ll find a road on the other side,” Amarta continued. “Go inland.”

  Dirina nodded as Pas reached for her hair. She kissed his forehead. “We will need to get off the river,” Dirina said. “Find food and shelter.”

  But they would stand out wherever they went.

  “Diri, if we cut my hair, could I seem a boy instead?”

  Dirina gave her an assessing look. “Maybe. With a little change to how you move and what you say.”

  Amarta pulled out their knife, grabbed her shoulder-length hair around front in a fist, and began to saw through it as Dirina had with the rope.

  “Here, let me,” Dirina said, arranging Pas and herself closer. Then, after a time: “It will do for now.”

  Amarta held a handful of the cut hair, some of her tresses nearly a foot long. About to toss them into the river, she hesitated, recalling the eyes of the hunter. The strands might float downstream, tangling with fallen leaves and branches. He might find them.

&
nbsp; She tried to foresee. The future was cold and swirling and uncertain like the water around them. She put the strands in her pocket.

  “Look,” Dirina was whispering to Pas, pointing to the moon in the deepening azure sky, “a shard of the first stone from which the world was born. And those lights? Those are stars, the children of the sun.”

  Dark banks passed to either side, thick forests, an occasional campfire.

  Lamps from houses in small villages. Amarta envied them their warm houses, their families, their food. What would it be like to live in a place with the confidence you would still be there tomorrow and the next day? The next season? A year hence?

  “There,” Dirina said, pointing.

  A road along the bank. Dirina stood, poked the pole into the water, maneuvered them to the shore. Amarta stepped off into the frigid water. Together they dragged the raft partly up onto the bank. Good enough. Or was it?

  Dirina on the ground, blood oozing wetly from an arrow in her leg. Amarta turning to see him atop his horse.

  Dirina held Pas and the rest of their belongings.

  “Diri, the raft. He’s seen it.”

  For a moment her sister looked confused. Then she nodded. “We’ll send it downriver.”

  They launched it with as much force as they could, and off it went downstream.

  “Travel far, travel true,” Dirina whispered.

  Amarta didn’t try to foresee the path of the raft. It would have to be good enough.

  They stood by a tree at the edge of a fallow field, Pas deep in exhausted sleep against Dirina’s chest, and stared at the lights of a farmhouse.

  “This one, or do we go on?” Dirina asked, tone flat.

  They had been careful, walking on rocks, considering every step. No broken branches. No stray hairs.

  Tired, cold, hungry. Would whoever lived in this farmhouse take them in, at least until tomorrow?

  Beggars in the night.

  Amarta looked at the farmhouse again, trying to foresee. She felt empty. “Maybe,” she said.

  “Maybe?” Dirina said, her voice cracking. “Yes or no?”

  They were both so tired that it was hard to say anything, let alone anything nice. Amarta squinted at the farmhouse. If they knocked on the door, could it lead to being warm?