The Thirteenth Scroll

by Rebecca Neason

  Without the maps of the Cryf marking their path, Lysandra doubted any of them would have made it through the first night’s travels without disaster. Surely all of Rathreagh can’t be like this, she thought, as they circled yet another unsafe area. When at last they stopped to rest and eat, Lysandra posed that question to Renan.

  “There are bogs all through this region,” he said, consulting his maps, “and this isn’t the only one we’ll have to cross. The scroll did give a warning when it said ‘beware the earth of the Ninth House that beareth not footsteps’ and that only ‘in the memory of the forgotten will safe passage be found.’ Of course,” Renan added with a little half smile, “like so many of Tambryn’s words, the warning only makes sense now that we’re here. The good news is that we’re almost through. Another… three miles I think, and we’ll be on the other side.”

  “And the bad news?” Lysandra asked, knowing that there usually was some. But Renan said nothing… and his lack of answer told her that ahead was something he did not want to reveal.

  A town, Lysandra thought. Maybe several—and that means people. Up-worlders.

  She understood Renan’s silence. It was better to wait and see if they could skirt the town than to upset Talog. Lysandra held out little hope that they could cross an entire province, even by night, without some contact with other people. But she refused to borrow trouble.

  No need, she thought, as rest and mealtime ended. She stood and shouldered her pack. if trouble is coming, it will find us easily enough.

  They safely crossed the first of the boglands that night, but Renan knew from the map that there were others coming that would not be so easy. On the other side of the bog, the land grew soft and fertile and the traveling became easier. The trees grew straighter, and while they were not thick enough to be called a forest, they would provide welcome cover.

  Rathreagh was the largest of all the provinces and, except for the bogs, it looked to hold few obstacles to travel. There were no high mountains or unfordable rivers to stop them; towns were well spaced, rather isolated, and connected by a well-developed road system that carefully avoided the boglands.

  It would make their travels easier if they could stay to the roadways, but there would be no way to avoid the towns and all the questions that might well arise were they seen. Had he been traveling alone, Renan could have gone anywhere without arousing suspicion—a priest could be traveling for any number of reasons, from a personal retreat to carrying a message from the Primus, visiting friends or taking on a new parish. But a priest traveling with a woman—and a wolf—was sure to be remembered, even if Talog could manage to avoid notice. Maintaining their pace, Renan was fairly certain that in another three or four days they could reach the northernmost tip of the province that he believed was their destination.

  But what if he was wrong? This question remained ever present in Renan’s mind as they searched for a place to take their day’s rest. Eiddig had seemed very certain that the Holy Words of Dewi-Sant agreed with the Scroll of Tambryn and that both pointed to the little fishing village of Caerryck, built where a little crook of land curved out to meet the sea.

  But Renan still feared failure—and at some point during this journey, the bigger question of the future of Aghamore had become less important to him than not being a failure in Lysandra’s eyes. That meant the one they were seeking had to be in Caerryck—and that Renan must get them all there and back in safety.

  They finally found a dense thicket, a natural shelter. Although he was as tired as the others, Renan could not sleep. Turning over on his pallet, trying again to find a comfortable position, he finally sighed and accepted that no amount of tossing or turning was going to help. He had too much on his mind.

  He sat up and looked at the prone figures next to him. Talog had the hood of his cape once more pulled up over his head. His deep, untroubled sleep was a testament to the trust the young Cryf had placed in Renan—and while he valued the gift, it made him feel all the more afraid of failure.

  Lysandra lay on the other side of Talog. She slept curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. Renan found himself filled with such tenderness as he looked at her, and such a need to be certain she was always safe, always protected, that it shook him down to his bones.

  Cloud-Dancer, curled against Lysandra’s back, raised his head to look at Renan. Beast though he might be and only one step away from the wild, Renan knew that at that moment he and Cloud-Dancer shared an instant of perfect understanding. Then the wolf closed his eyes, the same blue as Lysandra’s, and lowered his head back to watchful sleep. By his simple, silent action, he had let Renan know that not even slumber would keep him from protecting his human companion.

  Renan decided to give up on sleep. He would scout the land in daylight, thinking that it might make this night’s travels easier if he knew what lay ahead. Moving slowly and carefully, he eased himself off his bedroll and crawled from the thicket, not standing until he was well away from the sheltering undergrowth.

  Once out in the relative open, he finally stood and stretched. It felt good to be awake and active during the daylight again, to hear the sounds of the birds, the way the woods moved in the daytime breeze that was so different from the sound of night…

  To hear voices, men’s voices…

  Renan dropped down into a crouch, praying he had not already been seen as he quickly moved behind a tree. He stood very still, trying to catch what the voices said. Though there was an occasional bark of laughter, the voices sounded rough—and not like the shouts of farmers going about their day’s business. They held an edge that sent a shiver up Renan’s back. But at least they were not coming closer. Silently, he sent a prayer of gratitude for the thickness of the trees and undergrowth here—and for his good ears that had heard the voices quickly.

  He was in a quandary. Should he stay where he was until the men went away? Their voices did not sound as if they were on the move. Should he wake the others so that they could find another place to hide, even if it was daylight and Talog would have to brave the pain the brightness might cause him? Or should he try to get closer, to find out who these men were and what they were doing?

  Renan decided on this latter course. To awaken and move his companions might put them in far greater danger than letting them sleep on unawares.

  Renan crept toward the voices, keeping behind tree trunks and moving carefully enough not to break twigs or rustle bushes. He only needed to get close enough to hear what was being said, he decided. He was wearing one of his clerical shirts, and he was fairly certain that his collar would protect him. Even so, he did not want to draw attention.

  Without buildings and city noises to block or disguise it, sound can carry quite a distance; the men were farther away than Renan had thought. He was glad, for the farther away he was from his companions the safer they would be.

  Finally, Renan drew close enough to glimpse the men between the trees. There were several of them, maybe even a dozen. As he feared, these were not farmers.

  The trunk behind which he was crouching belonged to a towering yew tree, and was big enough for Renan to feel quite safe. He leaned against the solid wood for support while he eavesdropped.

  “’Ow long do we have to wait in this God-forsaken place?” one of the men barked, his voice making it plain that he had no patience, whatever the answer.

  “We wait as long as it takes,” another voice answered in tones that were both quieter and full of command.

  “Then why here? There be a town not more than a couple of miles distant,” said the first man. “It’s not much of a town, true enough, but it’s better than ‘ere. I’ve a hunger for a meal I’ve not cooked m’self, if nothin’ else.”

  “We was told to wait here, and here we wait.”

  “I say I be tired of waitin’.” The first man’s voice grew louder. “We all is. Giraldus is a soldier hisself. He’d not grudge us a bit of comfort to pass the hours. Right, lads?”

  Renan listen
ed to the murmur of agreement, startled by the mention of the Baron of Kilgarriff. He slowly eased his head far enough around the tree for one eye to look at the men. They were lounging in various attitudes of boredom around a bit of a campfire—all except one, who was pacing angrily.

  Renan knew in an instant that the men were soldiers, though they wore neither uniform nor heraldic device. Both their own clothing and the trappings of their horses, tethered a few feet away, were carefully unremarkable and the black griffin of Kilgarriff was nowhere to be seen. Even so, the way they moved, the way all of them had long swords, not daggers or hunting knives, laid carefully within reach, even the order of command they obviously followed, said these were trained soldiers with a lifetime of service—and Renan did not want to think what they might be hunting.

  “Giraldus might understand,” the quieter man who was certainly their leader replied, “but she wouldn’t. We was told to be waitin’ on the edge of the woods outside the town of Diamor, and here we be waiting—unless ye be the one what wants to explain to her why we disobeyed.”

  The first man, for all his anger, did not reply. But Renan had seen and heard enough. The she of whom the soldiers spoke could only be the Lady Aurya.

  But what were she and the Baron doing in Rathreagh? And with soldiers? He would have expected them in Kilgarriff, preparing to follow Giraldus in his bid for the throne.

  Or perhaps they were; Renan’s heart grew cold with this new thought. Aurya’s use of magic, her adherence to the old ways and hatred for the Church, were well-known throughout the kingdom. If she was as well learned as her reputation proclaimed, Renan could only guess at the resources and contacts she might have outside of Aghamore. What if she, too, possessed copies of Tambryn’s scrolls, and was searching for the Font of Wisdom? Were Aurya, Giraldus, and the soldiers the “dogs of darkness” whom both Tambryn and Dewi-Sant had warned would be “biting their heels”?

  The scroll and the Holy Words had also both warned to “beware the rise of the Third House”; that meant Kilgarriff. But what could Lady Aurya want with the Font of Wisdom whose rise was supposed to “vanquish the rise of the Third House”—what, except destroy it?

  Renan knew he had to get back to the others, wake them, and get them moving. Whether Aurya and Giraldus were an hour, a day or even a week behind them, they were too close. Yet Renan found himself paralyzed with unexpected fear.

  Renan knew the dark side of magic—the magic Lady Aurya practiced. Running from it—even into the Church—was no protection, it seemed. It was here, hard on his heels, and even after all these years, even though his life was now dedicated to the service of Light, Darkness threatened to overtake him again.

  He struggled with his fears, forcing them—and his memories—back into the hiding place. Now he knew why he had been unable to sleep; that long-disused part of himself, the part where magic lay in chosen somnolence these last twenty years, had felt and responded to Aurya’s nearness and the magic she brought with her.

  For a long moment, Renan felt both powerless and hopeless. But then, from somewhere, new life and strength began to fill him. It started down deep, in that still, small place where resides the core of personal truth.

  Down in that place of deepest solitude, Renan found he was no longer alone. The Light was there… and in that Light was hope… and hope looked at him with eyes that were the rich blue color of forget-me-nots.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Renan woke Lysandra first. Mindful of how the soldiers’ voices had reached him, he kept his voice to the barest whisper as he told her of what he had learned. She agreed that there was no time to rest; they would have to wake Talog and put some distance between themselves and Giraldus’s men. They could only hope that Giraldus and Aurya were days rather than hours behind them.

  It was a hope not a certainty. Until they had reached their destination, found the child, and were safely away again, they would have to eat on the move, rest only when they could go no farther and only for the shortest time possible… and pray that their strength did not fail them.

  Although he did not know who the Lady Aurya was, Talog accepted Renan’s statement about the need for speed and silence, uttering not a single complaint about the daylight. Renan was grateful and he wished that he had something more to offer the Cryf to protect his sensitive eyes.

  It now became imperative to avoid any towns—not an easy thing to do in such a marsh-and bog-ridden place as Rathreagh, where the towns were built wherever solid land presented itself. However, Renan wanted no rumors of their passing to reach the ears of those who followed.

  He consulted his map often. That Giraldus or Lady Aurya possessed a copy of the scroll made him fear that she also possessed some chart or map that showed her the lay of the bogs. Lacking that, Giraldus’s party would be slowed by having to stay to the roads. Even Lady Aurya’s magic could not change all of Rathreagh into solid ground, and horses could not run through bogs. That was Renan’s one hope.

  They marched for two hours before he called a halt. By now, he hoped, they had put enough distance between themselves and the soldiers to be able to wait out the rest of the daylight.

  “Keep the fire as small as possible,” he told Lysandra as she began piling sticks around the tinder she had collected, “and try to find wood that is very dry so that it doesn’t smoke overmuch.” Even as he spoke, he realized that Lysandra knew what she was doing better than he. But there was no sense taking any chances. If Giraldus and Aurya had arrived, and the company was on the move, Renan did not want to give them a signal toward which they might aim.

  While Lysandra tended to the fire and a meal, Renan brought the maps over to Talog. He wanted the Cryf’s eye to make certain he was not missing anything.

  “We’ve reached the end of the woods, at least for a time,” Renan told him. “But I think we’re safe here until nightfall. The safest way I see is to go by the road for a time, here.” He traced it on the map. “But the fastest is across another area of bogs. What do you think?”

  Squinting in the shaded daylight, Talog also studied the map. “The ones who follow, take they the road?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Renan answered. “Their horses will keep them to the roads, but also means they can travel faster.”

  “Then we shall follow this path,” Talog said. His finger began to trace a trail through the bogs. “Seest thou how it goes? In the first times, when Up-worlders were few, the Cryf also walked here. There will be signs to grant guidance unto our steps.”

  “Signs?” Renan said, new hope flaring. “You will recognize them?”

  Talog gave his sharp single nod. “I shall guide,” he said. “But the Great Light hideth the marks, for Cryf travel not in the time of the Great Light.”

  “Then it’s back to traveling at night,” Renan said. “But I think from now on, we’ll do best to sleep in rounds, with one of us as guard.”

  Renan was watching Lysandra as he spoke. He had learned to read her body signals and knew that right now her Sight was active. He knew also that she was listening closely, even though her hands were busy elsewhere. As always, she brought them a cup of hot tea. This one was familiar, smelling slightly of apples.

  “Chamomile,” he said even before he took a sip. Lysandra smiled at him. At the sight Renan felt an instant of light-headedness, as if his heart was racing far too fast. She did not smile often enough, he decided, wanting to think of ways to make and keep her smiling forever.

  There’s little enough reason to smile here, he thought quickly. Perhaps when all this is over… But when all this was over, they would go their separate ways. He would not see her or know if she smiled.

  The thought gave Renan a stabbing pain, making him feel as ill as just a moment before he had been elated. Once more he shied away from these thoughts and made himself return Lysandra’s smile so she would not see or feel his private turmoil.

  “You see,” he said aloud, “I’m learning.”

  “Oh?” Lysandra’s smil
e broadened, revealing a little dimple in one cheek that Renan had not seen before. “Then why did I choose this herb and not another?”

  Renan swallowed around the lump that constricted his throat. “That,” he said, “I do not know.”

  “But you should,” Lysandra said. “Chamomile grows everywhere, an easily found and harvested herb that should be in every kitchen. There’s so much that can be done with it, but best of all is this tea. It soothes and calms. I thought that if we’re to try and sleep again, this might help.”

  “So it might,” Renan agreed. And we need every bit of help we can find, he thought. I wish sleep were the only problem we faced.

  At that moment, while Renan and the others once more settled to rest and the soldiers waited with bored anticipation, Aurya and Giraldus were stuck in a small town where Giraldus’s stallion had thrown a shoe. Now the town’s blacksmith must be found—and the farrier, if they were not one and the same—the smithy fired and a new shoe made while the horse’s hoof was prepared.

  But neither man was in town. They and several others, having no immediate work to hold them, had gone hunting. When they would return, no one knew; they had been gone two days already.

  While Giraldus cursed and paced and drank too much of the local ale, Aurya studied the scroll. The three swans carved into the bridge at Yembo, the swans she was certain were the Three Sisters mentioned in Tambryn’s words, had been pointing north. North they had come—but she had neither seen nor discovered anything to fulfill more of the scroll’s words. There was nothing hidden that she had found, nothing forgotten that she had discovered.