They climbed in silence. The first sign of habitation was a wooden fence whose beams sagged in the middle. A few posts had toppled over. Wind and sun had bleached the old wood silver.
Jendara patted a remaining fence post. "The goat meadow. We're getting close."
The path cut through the meadow, which had once been a pleasant field. Now its grasses were mostly overgrown with bracken and berries. A few spruce seedlings straggled up from the earth.
She tried to see the field as it had been when she was a girl. She'd spent most of her time snaring rabbits while she kept an eye on the goats. There were plenty of small animals on the island. No big ones. Her father took her to Flintyreach or the mainland to hunt bears and wolves.
The first house sat just beside the field. Once, there had a barn for goats and chickens, but there was no sign of the smaller building. Through the open framework of the dead house, the chimney and fireplace stood, still solid.
"This is where I found the first body," she said quietly. "A torso. It had been a man, but they'd taken the limbs and head. There was a heap of polished bones on the other side of the village; probably some of them belonged to him. I have no idea who he was. He must have come to the island after I left."
She picked up a fallen stick of wood and pushed at a mound of bracken a few feet beyond the first house. "I think this was my cousin Malva's hut. Looks like the ferns really took over here." She stood up straight. "I never found her body, although I think her skull was in the bone pile. She had a gold tooth. Pretty unusual around here."
Jendara pointed out the broken remains of the village meeting hall and the scattered fragments of other houses in the former village, most it heavily shrouded in bracken and brush. She had a story about each of the inhabitants and what condition their bodies had been in when she'd found them. Vorrin listened, but he seemed to have left his voice in the field outside the village.
The last of the village's buildings, a stone-and-timber structure, had maintained its shape. Two of the walls sagged, but the doorway stood square and true. It was an old-fashioned house, dug deep into the ground, and the earth had supported the structure even after the wind had torn away the thatched roof. Only a few plants had made their way through the gaps between the rough planks of the floor.
Jendara rested her palm against one of the heavy cedar beams. "Father always said he built this house to last."
"This—" Vorrin cleared his throat, tried again. "This was your house?"
Jendara nodded. "For eight years." She stared up at the lintel. "I came back from my second sea journey ready to brag about what I'd seen and done. I had the pirate goddess's tattoos and a belt pouch full of gold. But instead, I came up that path to find my father staked through the gut in front of his own house."
"That's horrible."
She ran her thumb over the handaxe at her belt, the axe that had pinned that swollen, rotting hand to this very house. "The devils paid for the blood they took," she said. "Father went out fighting."
Vorrin turned in a circle, staring at the little ring of houses. Jendara followed his gaze. Six houses, most falling down or rotted away. The old village site had a lonely, abandoned feeling about it.
"Everything's so overgrown," Vorrin said. "I don't see how we're going to find any clues."
Jendara sighed and walked a few yards beyond her father's ruined house. Here, where the woods had already swallowed up the last edge of the village, a weather-beaten shrine still stood, its roof supports sagging over the big stone shelf where once villagers had left offerings to their gods and ancestors. Jendara picked up a broken soapstone figurine.
"A crow, of course." She offered the totem to Vorrin, then picked up another chunk of stone. "Here's its head."
He took it from her and pressed the head piece to the body.
"My father put out milk and bread every day for the clan spirits. He sang ancestor songs at every holiday and lit candles on full moons. He believed in the honor of the Eirkillsing clan and attributed our successes to our ancestors' guidance."
She picked up a nubbled green stone and turned it in her fingers a moment before recognizing it for a copper coin. She flipped it on her thumbnail and it clanked against the stone.
"All those years venerating the ancestors, and did they even bother to give him a warning? They couldn't have said, ‘Hey! There's a party of deranged cannibals coming your way! Grab your sword!'"
She brought her fist down on the shrine, hard enough to make the tarnished coin jump. "He didn't even have his sword! That's the worst thing."
She closed her eyes and rubbed them with her fists. "I broke the clan totem. I ripped up our clan flag. And I'd do it again."
She opened her eyes and looked at Vorrin. He set the soapstone figure back down on the shrine without a word.
Jendara shook her head. "I don't know why I wanted to come back here. There's nothing." She reached into her belt pouch and removed the crow pendant, then tossed it into the ferns. "Let's get back to the Milady."
Vorrin let her go first. She heard his boots crunch on the ferns behind her and knew he was retrieving the crow pendant. She didn't tell him not to.
The sea breeze blew through the abandoned village, stirring branches on trees that when she'd been a girl hadn't been tall enough to even cast a shadow over the village green. The tiny town had been bright, filled with sunlight and the booming laughter of her father's people. Everyone on Crow's Nest had laughed like him.
Now, beneath the heavy trees, it seemed impossible to imagine anyone ever laughing in this broken place. Time lay heavy over the ruins. The salt smell of the sea clung to everything.
But it wasn't silent. Somewhere in the distance, something roared. A low, booming roar, the sound of a bear or troll. The kind of creature that hadn't set foot on Crow's Nest as long as she'd lived.
"Did you hear that?" she called over her shoulder.
"And I don't want to see what made it," he said. "Let's get out of here."
They raced back the way they'd come: across the goat field and down the winding, spruce-lined trail. Jendara peered over the edge of the trail. Far below, waves sparkled on the soft brown sands of the cove, and the Milady bobbed by the stumpy ruins of the old pier. Everything looked peaceful and serene.
The roar sounded again, shaking the air.
"It's closer," Vorrin warned. He grabbed Jendara's hand and tugged her forward.
A faint whistle sounded overhead. Instinct made Jendara leap toward the inside of the trail, pushing Vorrin into the hillside. Fragments of bark and branches exploded everywhere as a tree smashed down on the path ahead of them, wedged in a steep V against the rocks.
"You okay?"
Vorrin rubbed his side. They scrambled under the fallen tree in silence. White cormorant dung crusted patches of the tree's trunk. Jendara paused a moment in the shelter of its outspread limbs. Its lower quarter swung over the side of the cliff, attached only by an unbroken strip of thick bark. Jendara's mouth went dry at the sight of its thick, earth-covered roots.
"That didn't just fall," she whispered. "Something uprooted it!"
The roar resounded again, and this time she tracked the sound. She stared up at the cormorant knoll. It stuck out against the sky like a raised thumb, its flanks sheer basalt. "I think it's up there."
"Then let's hurry before it comes down," Vorrin growled. They began running again.
Above them, something crashed through the rock and scree. Jendara risked a glance upward and felt her boot slip on exposed rock. She snatched at Vorrin's sleeve, but too late. Her other foot came down on only bracken, and she tumbled over the edge of the path.
She hit hard and lay stunned. She'd landed on the next switchback, her head inches from a hunk of stone the size of a big dog. The perfume of crushed ferns filled the air. With a groan, she rolled to her knees. She wasn't hurt, but she'd had the wind knocked out of her.
Another tree smashed onto the path, just feet beyond her. Thicker than the last one,
its limbs filled the path like a wall.
"Dara?" Vorrin's voice sounded thin and sharp on the far side.
"I'm okay!" she called. She hoped she sounded less terrified. She was just lucky this tree hadn't exploded into bits like the last one.
A horrible roar made the ferns around her tremble. She jumped to her feet. Something bounded down the side of the hill, following the swathe of broken plants she'd left behind. Something huge and green and leathery.
A troll.
It swung a broken tree limb at her head. She rolled beneath the wild blow, but a twig scoured her cheek. She swore and swiped away blood as she sized up her opponent.
The hair on her neck stood on end. She'd helped hunt trolls years ago, but she'd forgotten just how big they really were. This one must be young, standing only about seven feet tall. Its gray, stringy body hair was streaked with guano.
Jendara drew her sword. Her best hope was to confuse it, throw off its sense of space and rush it over the edge of the path. She charged to its left.
"Jendara!"
The troll spun toward Vorrin's voice. Its nostrils flared, drawing in the man's scent. Then, in a surprise burst of speed, it charged toward the fallen tree. Jendara swung her sword and missed by a mile.
She leaped after the troll.
Vorrin swung himself over the top of the fallen tree trunk just as the troll reached it. He didn't even have time to shout before the troll's palm caught him in the chest and tossed him backward.
Jendara's eyes widened. For one second, the image of Vorrin, smashed against the rocks of the trail, hung in her mind. The thought was so perfectly real she could almost hear the crunch of his bones as they hit the stone.
Then her sword plunged into the troll's back and skewered it to the tree trunk. It shrieked in pain. Its arms flailed and legs kicked. Ignoring its death throes, Jendara grabbed handfuls of brittle moss off the tree. She just needed a dry stick of wood for a torch.
She stretched to reach for a dead branch above her head and the troll's fist grabbed the back of her shirt. She plummeted to the ground. Her blade made a damp suctioning sound as the troll twisted itself so its face turned her way. Blood trickled out of its tusked mouth, but anger still gleamed in its piggish eyes.
She thought of Vorrin again, and something shifted in Jendara, that hot bristling force she remembered from her pirating days. Her axe jumped into her hand and she slammed it into the beast's eyebrow, rupturing its eye. Her teeth flashed with pure joy as yellow ichor rolled steaming down its cheek.
With a roar, the troll pushed itself free. The tip of her sword stuck out from its belly and blood streamed down its legs. Jendara hurled her axe, but it ricocheted off the troll's collarbone. It lunged at her, claws just missing her face. She dropped to the ground and rolled into a thicket of ferns.
Fire. She needed fire. She snatched at a low-hanging branch and yanked it free.
The troll spun around, searching for her with its one good eye. She glanced around. The spruce tree beside her must have lost a major limb during the last storm season—a raw spot in its bark leaked strings of sticky pitch.
The troll roared. Its eye had already stopped dripping. Its nostrils flared as it searched for her scent. She only had a second.
It was between her and Vorrin now. The anger inside her flared. She had to keep it from him. She rolled her tree branch in the spruce pitch, then dove aside as the troll's claws slashed through the air, ripping out the brush around her. She could see her sword hilt still jutting out of the creature's back. The blade must have lodged itself in something hard, probably the spinal column. On any ordinary creature, it would have been a paralyzing blow, if not a fatal one. But the troll's flesh was already healing around the blade, writhing unnaturally back together.
She launched herself at the hilt, bringing all of her weight down on the cross-guard. Something inside the beast crunched.
The troll roared as its legs collapsed under it. Its face slammed into the ground. Jendara gripped the torch between her knees and dug in her pouch for her flint striker. The makeshift torch caught at the first spark, and she leaped forward onto the troll's shoulder blades, snarling and laughing. Her tattoos prickled on the backs of her hands. She pressed the torch into the troll's neck and ears.
It slapped weakly at her, claws piercing her layers of wool and leather. Its back bucked, hard, and she tumbled off it. The scratches burned. Were trolls' claws poisonous? She couldn't remember. Her brain had choked with blood rage. She kicked the troll in the temple. It rolled onto its side to kick back at her.
But she had forgotten any fear she ought to have felt, and lunged forward to stab the torch into its belly. The troll screamed, a piercing sound. Jendara snatched her knife from her belt.
It had hurt Vorrin. It had tried to kill her. It had to pay.
With one boot, she pinned down its neck, then plunged her knife into the troll's good eye, driving it deep and twisting the blade, digging through bone. She was laughing again. The blade rose and came down again, squelching as it stirred through something soft, deep within the troll's skull. Flames crackled as the torch's sticky pitch clung to matted hair.
"Jendara. Stop."
Vorrin grabbed her shoulders, dragging her away from the troll. She struggled and twisted, but he stuck to her like a burr. "Stop," he whispered.
He spun her around and pressed her face against his cheek. The backs of her hands went cold. She sagged against him, suddenly exhausted. "You're okay," she breathed.
"I'm fine," he said. "We're both fine." He stroked her back. "We're both fine."
She pulled away from him and moved to the troll's side. She began piling deadwood around it, wishing she didn't have to look at it to finish it off. The troll's body lay twisted on the ground. Its legs twitched, trying instinctively to push it away from the guttering torch. Days of living on the island's limited resources had taken a toll on the creature. Its ribs showed through its hairy green hide, what little of its skin wasn't obscured with guano or blood.
Its face was the worst. The meat of its left cheek hung off the bone. Both eyes were gory, accusing pits.
Jendara grabbed onto the nearest tree and vomited.
She had done this. Butchered this pathetic creature. Tortured and mutilated it. It was a hungry, desperate animal, starving on this tiny island.
The smell of smoke brought her back. Vorrin had finished what she'd started, and the small flames he rekindled were already licking at the deadwood. Her knife lay on the ground beside it, carefully wiped clean. He looked up at her. "Are you all right?"
"No." Her shoulders shook. "This was wrong."
Vorrin gave her a confused look. "It was a troll, Jendara. It would have killed us."
"So we killed it. But that didn't give me the right to do this." She gestured at the ruin of its face, then swiped at the snot and tears streaking her own. "This was sick."
"You were scared," he said, cautiously. The troll bucked and shuddered beneath its pyre.
"No," Jendara said again. "I wasn't scared, not then. I knew what I was doing, Vorrin. And I liked it. That's what really scares me."
She stumbled over to the troll and reached out for her belt knife. As she grasped it, she caught sight of the black skull and crossbones on the back of her hand. "I wish I'd never let you under my skin," she whispered.
∗ ∗ ∗
The pair made their way down to the cove and their dinghy. Jendara could smell her own stink now, troll blood and sweat and bird dung. She wished it had been the sweet spruce smoke that clung to her, and not the funk of battle and shame.
She knelt beside the breaking waves and watched them sluice away the filth on her boots. Vorrin untied the dinghy while she scrubbed her hands with sand.
"Looks like the weather changed while we weren't looking. There's a serious fog bank moving in."
She drew herself wearily to her feet. "It matches my mood. We should never have come here."
Vorrin held the boat steady as
she climbed inside. "It's awfully strange, finding a troll on an island this small. It looked pretty malnourished.
"I can't even make a guess how it got here," she admitted. "My head hurts from all of this. The murders at the quarry. Finding Kalira's crow pendant. Seeing this place again."
He offered her a handkerchief and she waved it away.
"It'll be good for me to get away from the islands," she said. "Getting away—that's what I did after Ikran died. I killed that slaver captain, then tried to hole up in Absalom. A nice big city to disappear into."
Vorrin knew as well as Jendara did that "kill" was not an adequate description of her treatment of the man who had murdered her husband. She tried not to remember that he'd been with them on that trip, trying to make trade connections in Katapesh. It pained her to think that he'd seen her at her most malicious, worse even than she'd been up there on the knoll.
She looked over at him, trying to read his expression. His dark eyes were serious. "That's when I told myself I was giving up piracy," she admitted. "When I came back to myself and saw what I'd done to that man. The rest of my own boarding party wouldn't even look at me."
He folded his handkerchief and put it in his pocket.
"I don't want to feel like that ever again," Jendara said, her voice stronger. "It's one thing to kill. It's another to enjoy it. I should be better than that."
"You are, Dara. And I know you're not—" Vorrin frowned. "Do you see that?"
She followed his gaze and saw the light winking off the Milady's foremast. The ship stood outlined against the immense fog bank rolling toward it. "They're signaling us."
He jumped to his feet. "Let's get moving."
They ran down to the beach and launched the dinghy, Vorrin rowing hard toward his ship. Within seconds, land had vanished behind them, the encroaching fog bank obscuring even the skeletal spruce trees on the cormorants' knoll. Jendara strained her eyes toward the Milady, but the fog closed around the ship in heavy curtains. Their oar strokes resounded in the stillness of the fog bank.
"Ahoy!" Tam shouted as they approached, although he himself was invisible in the mist. A gaffing hook appeared from above, pulling the dinghy in tight to the Milady's side. Vorrin scrambled up the rope ladder Tam had already lowered.
Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers Page 9