Claudia J Edwards - [Forest King 02]

by Horsewoman in Godsland (UC) (epub)

  “Very well. Remember that things that happen in the overmind can affect the body that remains in the physical world, and don’t be too confident that you can just leave.” He handed Adelinda her cup and watched her drink. ,

  * * *

  It was dark and cold. The heavy air reeked of smoke and the smell of death. The thin sound of a child’s hopeless crying wove itself through the crackle of the dying flames. A little girl, a blond child of six or seven, dragged herself out of the brush pile where she had lain concealed for hours. She pushed the tangled hair out of her face and peered around through the darkness.

  “Lenny,” she squeaked anxiously. “Lenny, where are you?” She cocked her head to listen to the crying. “Lenny, please come out. It’s Addie. We have to get away.”

  The crying paused and resolved itself into hiccups. “Addie, is that you?”

  “It’s me, Lenny. Where are you?”

  “I’m under the box, Addie. I can’t get out.”

  The girl scrambled out of the brush into a scene of desolation. Six dead onagers were still hitched to the smouldering remains of what must once have been an ornate traveling coach. She averted her eyes from the sprawled human bodies that lay about, stinking of blood and exposed guts, and scurried to a small crate that was overturned at the side of the clearing. A staring corpse lay draped across it, its weight making the crate an effective prison for the childish strength within.

  Addie circled about the gruesome tableau. “Lenny? Are you in there?”

  “Yes, Addie, get me out! I want to go home!” The crying began again.

  Shuddering, the girl put her little hands against the cold, stiff body and shoved with all her feeble strength. It was fortunate that the thing was balanced precariously; it flopped over grotesquely, turning the crate on its side. A thin, dark little boy of about four scrambled from beneath it, wiping his runny nose on his sleeve.

  “I want to go home, Addie. Where’s Mama?”

  “Mama’s dead, Lenny,” the girl said, with a child’s brutal directness. “Uncle Orris brought his soldiers and came and killed everybody. We have to run away or he’ll come back and kill us.”

  The boy began to wail loudly. “It isn’t so. You’re lying to me. Mama isn’t dead. Mama, Mama! Addie’s being mean to me!” He looked bewilderedly around. At least under the box, he had been spared witnessing the brutal massacre of his mother and her few loyal retainers; his sister had not been so lucky.

  “Look over here, Lenny. That’s Mama. I told you. She’s dead.” She pointed to one of the distorted corpses, the hacked and haggled body of a once beautiful and pampered young woman. Lenny stopped crying and stood staring, shocked. “Now come on. We have to run away. If you don’t come on, I’ll pinch you.” She took the little boy’s hand in her own and tugged him into the darkness at right angles to the road.

  They stumbled through the darkness, shivering in the cold. It was too dark to see much, and as soon as they were a few steps away from the sullen light cast by the embers of the coach, they began to blunder into the thorny bushes, scratching their hands and faces. Addie hurried them on their way, though, and Lenny struggled bravely along as best he could.

  They were long out of sight of the smouldering coach when Lenny stumbled and fell, rolling down a little declivity that neither of them saw. In reaching to grab him, Addie fell too, and both bruised themselves and tore their clothing. Lenny was too exhausted to do more than whimper, and Addie lay in a heap where she had fallen. When the baying of the hounds trickled into her consciousness, she raised herself suddenly and listened.

  “Lenny, do you hear that?”

  The whimpering stopped. “Yes, I hear it. What is it?”

  “Uncle Orris’s killhounds. Come on. We’ve got to run.”

  “I can’t run any more. I want to go home.”

  “We can’t go home. Uncle Orris is there. He wants to kill us. Come on.”

  With a small child’s assurance that if he harps upon something long enough he’ll get it, Lenny insisted, “I want to go home. I don’t want Uncle Orris to be there. I want to go home now.”

  Addie abruptly changed her tactics. “All right. Go home.

  Good-bye.” She set out determinedly, listening behind her. Sure enough, stumbling footsteps soon came pattering up.

  They trudged on for hours. The cold grew more intense, and neither of the children was dressed in more than the simple shift and pantaloons they usually wore under their elaborate costumes. An icy drizzling rain began to fall. At times the hounds seemed to draw near, but then the baying would fade away, and at last, as the eastern sky began to gray, the sound went away altogether.

  The children were exhausted. When Addie spied a hollowed cavity under a fallen tree, she pulled Lenny into it, burrowing into the drift of fallen leaves.

  “Are we going to rest?” asked the boy.

  “Yes. Lie down and let me pile some of these leaves over you.”

  The children huddled together for warmth. Lenny fell asleep at once, but the girl was too tired to sleep, and too frightened. She was too young for the terrible responsibility that had fallen upon her, too young and too lost to know what they were to do.

  The sun was high when they awoke. It was a dismal scene that met their gaze when they scrambled stiffly out of the leaves and looked about. The icy rainwater dripped off every naked branch and twig. The autumn’s fallen leaves lay sodden on the ground. Even as far as they were from the site of the massacre, scorched smell hung in the air, making breathing difficult Their little fingers were stiff with cold, and Lenny’s lips were blue. Both were shivering helplessly.

  “Addie, I’m hungiy.”

  “Me, too. We’ll have to find something to eat.”

  “Where?” The two children gazed about the winter-dead forest. There was nothing that resembled food in the black trunks of the trees, the brown soil, or the gray sky. A single raven flew over; the forest was so still they could hear the beat of its wings.

  “Well, come on, Lenny. Maybe there’s something to eat over there.” Hand in hand, they trudged wearily through the forest, angling away from the direction they had followed the night before. A leaden weariness weighted down their limbs, but they knew by some dumb instinct that to quit and lie down was to die, and weak as they were, the will to live pulsed as strongly in those tiny bodies as in the mighty frame of some great warrior.

  On and on they walked, sometimes stumbling in a daze, sometimes looking about or even stopping to examine some fungus or withered berry. Once Lenny even tasted a bit of some white substance growing from the side of a tree, but he spit it out in haste. They were both beyond tears now, and the little boy seemed to have matured in the night beyond his childish petulance.

  When the light began to wane again, Addie was nearly at the end of her strength, and Lenny was pinched and staring, head lolling as she pulled him along. The air was growing even colder; there would be a frost that night, and unprotected as they were, no covering of leaves would save the children from death by exposure—no doubt what their uncle was counting on, for the baying of killhounds had not disturbed the day.

  Their feet had fallen naturally into a path they had come across. The walking was easier there and the bare branches were thick and tangled on either side, herding them along the track. They were too far gone now to care where they went anyway, and they were only kept moving, mechanically, by Addie’s fear.

  When the shadow fell across them, they halted, as animals will halt when they find their way unaccountably blocked. “Why, what’s this?” The voice was deep and resonant, and when Addie raised her eyes, she had to look up nearly forever, before her gaze finally reached the face of the tall man standing astonished before them. It was a kindly face, if an amazed one. “Children, in this forest, and all alone, without even coats!” He sounded like a man used to talking to himself. “Where are your mother and father, little girl?”

  Addie had to moisten her lips with her tongue before she could answer.
“They’re dead, sir. Uncle Orris killed them, and we had to run away so he wouldn’t kill us, too. But we’re lost and—and Lenny’s hungry.”

  The man smiled. “And you’re not, I suppose. What’s your name?”

  “Addie, sir.”

  “Well, Addie, if you would like to come home with me you may. There’s a nice warm fire and a pot of soup that should just about be ready and a couple of cozy inglenook beds that would be just right for children about your size. Would you like that?”

  The man seemed kind and friendly, and there was nothing in the world, except to have her mother alive again, that' ' Addie wanted more than the promised warmth and food. The man meant well, she knew. The feeling of concern radiated from him the way light radiated from a candle. But Addie recoiled. She couldn’t help herself. Without really knowing why, she felt that they would be better off to keep going, trusting to their own meager resources. The man observed her hesitation.

  “Only if you want to come, mind. You can do anything you want,” he said, more sharply, perhaps a little hurt.

  Lenny too had seen his sister’s indecision. He tugged on her hand. “Please, Addie, please?” he whispered. She looked at hipi. His dark eyes were pleading up at her.

  Addie sighed and gave in. She was nearly at the end of her resources, anyway. “We’d like very much to come with you,” she said, with a seven-year-old’s grave dignity.

  “Well, that’s fine. Come on, then; my house is down this trail.”

  As young as she was, she knew better than to give a stranger their House name and rank. “My brother is Lenny.”

  “You may call me Shai, Addie. Lenny, would you mind if 1 carried you?”

  The little boy stretched his arms up trustingly and the man picked him up, settling him in the crook of his arm. He offered his free hand to Addie, who hesitated for a moment but took it, grateful for the support. They had not walked fifty yards down the trail before Lenny was limply asleep, his head pillowed in the hollow of Shai’s neck.

  Shai accommodated his long strides to Addie’s shorter legs. The child was almost dazed with relief at having the responsibility for their two lives removed from her frail shoulders, and followed the man trustfully, not even watch-

  ing the trail. Before long, the forest opened up into a winter-brown meadow. Tucked under the spreading great trees at the back of the meadow was a little cabin, neatly fenced with rails. It was a comforting, welcoming little place, and Addie, Used all her short life to the austere stone halls of her father’s fortress-palace, felt as though at last she had come home. Releasing her hand, Shai pulled on the latch, kicking open the door.

  They were in a sort of all-purpose room. A fire crackled cheerfully on the hearth of the great stone fireplace where a big soup pot simmered, giving off a delicious aroma. On each side of the fireplace, inglenooks contained little beds, made up with crisp white sheets and lots of fluffy pillows. Beneath a side window giving a view down the dappled aisles of the forest, a hand-hewn table and four chairs were placed, with sturdy crockery on shelves to the left and a sink and pump and food safe to the right. Comfortable chairs were drawn up before the fireplace and a door in the comer led to what was obviously the forester’s bedroom behind the fireplace.

  Lenny stirred and wakened as Shai put him down on the left-hand inglenook bed, and looked around wide-eyed. “Are we home?” he asked simply.

  Shai laughed. “Yes, Lenny, we’re home. Do you want a bowl of soup now?”

  Lenny scrambled off the bed. “Oh, yes, please!” He trotted over to the table and climbed into one of the chairs.

  Shai took two deep bowls off the shelf and put them on the table. Moving with swift and economical movements, he fetched fresh crusty bread and golden cheese from the food safe, then stepped outside and came back with a brown pitcher full of cold, foamy milk, a plate of yellow butter, and a bowl of crisp apples. Ladling each bowl full of the fragrant soup, he placed the bowls and spoons on the table. Taking his place at the table’s head, he began to carve off great slices of bread and pieces of golden cheese. But he paused in his task, turning to look at Addie, who still stood in the middle of the floor. “Aren’t you hungry, Addie?” he asked kindly.

  Addie was hungry. Her mouth was so full of saliva that she had to swallow before answering. “Yes, sir, I am, but I don’t want to eat your children’s supper.”

  “I haven’t any family, Addie. There’s plenty for you.” Addie walked over to him and looked up, her gray eyes questioning. “If you don’t have any children, sir, why are there little beds, just right for children, all made up? Why is there such a big pot of soup?”

  For the first time, Shai showed a little unease. Lenny had stopped spooning soup into his mouth as fast as he could blow it cool and was listening intently for the answer, spoon clutched in his little fist. Addie looked up into Shai’s face and waited. “Well, Addie,” he said at last, “I knew last night that something was disturbing the peace of the forest. The forest is my domain, and its dwellers often bring me news of happenings far away. I had a feeling I might have company today, and that they might be two children about your size and that they might be hungry and cold and tired. So I got ready, just in case. And as you see, my feeling was right.” Still Addie looked into his face, waiting, her own face grave. Shai made a little exasperated gesture. “Please trust me, Addie. I promise to take good care of you and your brother. Come and eat your soup.”

  Addie was not quite satisfied, but she was very hungry. She climbed into her chair and began dipping the bread, still warm from the oven, into the rich broth. Lenny’s spoon clattered in his bowl.

  Their meal finished, Shai took them outside and to a smaller cabin, built into the earth and heavily chinked. When he opened the door, warm steam wafted out. Within, a spout gushed water from a hot mineral spring into a bathing basin almost big enough to swim in. Shai efficiently stripped off their bloody, filthy, tom clothing and popped them into the constantly refreshed hot water. Briskly but gently he scrubbed Lenny clean. (Addie took the soap and cloth from him and retired with dignity to the far side of the basin, where she washed herself.) Drying them with huge towels that had been left on a shelf over the hot water inlet to warm, he laid out clothes that just fit, a soft gray-green dress for Addie with a woven design of silky butterflies and soft gray shoes to match, and for Lenny, a small forester’s costume like the one he wore, trousers and smock and thick-soled boots with soft tops.

  When Addie found that the clothing fitted exactly, she looked long and searchingly into the man’s eyes, but this time he was ready for her, and met her gaze squarely with just a hint of a friendly grin. “My feelings are often more detailed than other people’s feelings,” he said.

  He wrapped them in warm furry coats and ushered them outside. After the steamy warmth of the bathhouse, the outside air was chilling, and a few flakes of snow were starting to swirl lazily through the darkening forest. As they crossed to the house, Shai threw up his head. Muttering something, he listened. Thus alerted, Addie listened, too, and was horrified to hear the killhounds, near and drawing rapidly nearer, making the forest ring and echo with their hunting song. There was a sound of men’s voices, too, shouting and laughing.

  As they paused in the open between bathhouse and cabin, a baying mass of huge, brindled, heavy-shouldered war dogs erupted from the forest, followed by a group of men in fur-trimmed leather hunting costumes. They were joking and calling to one another. “Gone to ground!” one of them yelled when he saw the cabin, and the others laughed at his jest. Hunting children through the winter woods was obviously a fine and amusing sport.

  Shai, still muttering, turned, stepping between the children and the pack. When they reached him, he spoke only one word, and in a soft voice and an almost conversational tone. But the air vibrated and the ground shuddered with the power of that word. “Stop,” he said.

  The killhounds piled up on themselves stopping. Panting, slavering, whining, they milled about uncertainly—but none of
their movements took them any closer to the children. Orris himself stepped forward, magnificently dressed in sable-trimmed russet leather. “Woodsman, those children are mine. Give them to me,” he said, arrogantly.

  Shai looked at the hard-faced, beautiful young man mildly. “By what right do you claim Addie and Lenny?”

  “They’re my dead brother’s children. Stand aside, and perhaps I’ll let you live.” Orris stepped forward, confident of having his path cleared.

  Again, quietly, Shai said, “Stop.” The air shivered and the sky darkened. Orris halted as suddenly as if he had encountered a brick wall. “What do you intend to do with them?” Orris tossed his gleaming head, baffled. His arrogance was undiminished, but the sudden check had made him perhaps a little warier. He laughed, a chillingly cruel sound with nothing of humor or merriment in it. “I just want to play a little game with them. Shall we play huntsman and hunted, little Addie?”

  Addie shivered with sudden terror and shrank closer to the forester. His big hand fell reassuringly on her shoulder. Softly, Shai said, “These children are under my protection. Isn’t that so, Addie?”

  Addie looked up at him. He glanced down and smiled reassuringly. “Yes,” she said, as loudly and as clearly as she could. “We belong to Shai.”

  Orris snarled, his beautiful face distorted by rage and hate and greed into an ugliness that reflected his warped and violent soul. Drawing his sword, he stepped forward. “The woodsnmner can’t save you,” he sneered. “He can keep you company in death, though.”

  Shai made a motion as though gathering some invisible substance into his hands. The air around him seethed and crackled. As Orris lunged forward, he flung his hands open again. Orris screamed, dropped his sword, and clawed frantically at his chest. The dogs howled and ran off into the forest. The men of Orris’s retinue drew back, fascinated eyes on their writhing prince, who fell to the earth, convulsing, and then lay still.

  Shai turned to the men, gathering the power into his hands again, looking steadily at them. They shifted, whispered among themselves, and drew back. Shai held up his cupped hands. They were clotted about with some shimmering substance that hummed faintly. “Do you want to take up where your master left off?” he asked, mildly. The men shook their heads nervously. “Then take him up and carry him away. I don’t want him littering my front yard. You may tell those who are interested that I can and will protect the children against any who try to harm them. Tell them also that this forest is my domain and that I will tolerate no trespass within its borders—and I have the means to enforce that, too.”