Without maintenance, the houses had suffered. Thatch roofs had rotted away in the elements. Holes had opened, and twine mesh had given way, spilling damp material earthward. Walls sagged from water damage, and close to the ground, more rot had split open dark spaces where water could seep through.
Even those buildings that had survived these years without great decay did not appear lived in. Jasen could not put his finger on why. Perhaps it was the darkness in the windows; perhaps the pervasive silence gave away the village’s lack of inhabitants, even if he had not known prior to arriving. Perhaps it was the lack of smoke coloring the sky. Terreas had plenty of that as the afternoon wore on. It brought a smell with it too, one Jasen hadn’t really been aware of until now he was absent from it. A soft, subtle tang of burning wood, undertones of cooked meats or warm bread—it lingered in the air, growing heavier as the sun lowered to fall behind the mountains and vanish into velvet night.
Wayforth did not have this scent. It smelled only of rain, and the faintest, softest hint of the decay that would eventually strip these buildings, the way the scourge had destroyed the woods down the hill, returning it all to the earth.
Alixa cradled herself as the cart rolled down the main street. “I don’t like this at all.”
“It’s unnerving,” Shilara said—rare agreement with Alixa. “We’ll be quick.”
They rolled on.
A house passed. It looked not unlike those in Terreas. A few touches that made it unique to Wayforth—the timber was a slightly different color, with twisting curlicues in a handful of places. A sign above the front door had once hung by two short chains, but only dangled on one now, the other rusted and snapped. The words had faded, leaving only a faint black ghost of whatever had been written upon it. Names, probably. Whoever had owned the place was long gone. A side wall had given way, spilling brick into an alley between houses.
Jasen squinted into it as they passed. It was dark though, impossible to make out what was inside.
“Have you ever been inside these buildings?” he asked Shilara.
“A few times,” she said, and she sounded uncomfortable admitting it. She’d probably avoid his gaze if they were face to face, frowning uneasily. “They’re not places you’d want to wander into.”
“Why?”
“Plenty of dust, for a start. Dust that thick gets in your lungs and doesn’t want to get out again.”
Whatever her other reasons for warning Jasen off, she did not elaborate. He did not ask her to, and instead went back to watching. Maybe when they stopped, he’d peek in one. Just to see.
Shilara must have known where she was going, for she directed Milo throughout the outer reaches of Wayforth. Jasen wasn’t sure whether he longed to delve farther into its center or not, to see the more built-up parts of it. They intrigued him, seeing another human settlement beyond his own. But the disquiet felt as if it would only grow more unpleasant as they pushed deeper.
Not to mention the fear of scourge. Putting more buildings between them and the open hills only gave more places for the beasts to hide.
A series of compact storehouses had been erected by a roadside, once wide enough for two carts to amble past side by side. Two were open. One was practically empty. In the other, he caught a glimpse of barrels.
“Your whiskey?” Alixa asked.
Shilara grunted. “That’ll be it. I’d offer you a nip, but I doubt you’d take it.”
“I wouldn’t,” Alixa said stiffly.
“Thought not. Shame, though; it’d loosen you right up. Almost make you bearable.” Shilara tugged Milo’s reins, pulling him to a stop. Then she dropped onto her feet, ducking the jutting wooden beam and making for the next storehouse. “Seed’s in here. Those sacks dry yet?”
Jasen felt over the fibers of those laid out nearest him. “Not entirely.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’ll do. Anything wet will dry—or if it’s ruined, it’ll ruin by the edges and protect what’s in the middle. Go on, grab them up and come over. Every one of them. No, not the one you used to plug the hole with; it might need to be there on our way home.”
“Won’t the river wreck the seed?”
“Possibly,” said Shilara with a nothing-we-could-do-about-it sort of shrug.
The door was closed, but not locked. No need, Jasen supposed. So Shilara just yanked it open. Grass had grown thick around the door’s base, and so impeded more than the first half-inch opening. She tugged harder, grunting, tearing tufts up and smearing mud into a flat, exposed streak as the door obeyed.
Jasen and Alixa followed, arms loaded with sacks between them.
Inside were rows of barrels. The building was not particularly deep—some eight feet perhaps, and only about four wide. It was loaded with shelves though, and tall. A set of ropes dangled from the ceiling, presumably for bringing down barrels from the higher shelves.
Labels were stuck to the front. In the dim light coming around the half-opened door, the faded words written upon them were even harder to make out.
Shilara found a discarded metal bar and used it to pop the lid of one of the barrels by the door.
Inside, packed to the brim, were pale green seeds. Grain, by the look of it.
“That’s the summer dealt with,” said Shilara. “Start loading up,” she told Jasen and Alixa, pointing at it.
“What about you?” Alixa asked indignantly.
“There are winter squash seeds somewhere back here,” Shilara said. She was bowing already to squint at labels, wrinkles starkly pronounced under the strain. “I’m fairly sure, at least.” A moment later: “Got it.” She cracked open that lid too.
“If you knew there was all this seed here,” Alixa said, “why haven’t you brought any back before now?”
Shilara shrugged.
“It would’ve helped with Baraghosa,” Alixa started hotly.
“I helped the village,” Shilara snapped back, turning on her and jabbing out with a finger. “I fought for Terreas. I still would fight for Terreas. I got shunned for that.”
Alixa’s mouth had fallen open. At Shilara’s last words, though, she clamped it shut.
“You are fighting for Terreas,” Jasen said. “We all are.”
Shilara pursed her lips. “Hmph.” She didn’t say anything else and set to easing the barrel out bit by bit, gripping it in around the top and rolling it back and forth to bring it out.
Jasen and Alixa set to filling a sack. She held it open while he took handful after handful and poured them in—”You’ve got bigger hands,” she said. That was slow going, and soon he found a scoop that had fallen into a corner, speeding the process. After a few minutes of this, Shilara came over and watched, frowning.
“This is a waste of time,” she said, and Jasen stared blankly at her. She seemed to be calculating, and then, abruptly, she was done. She gave a barrel a shove, and it tipped, just slightly. “Nothing for it, then – we’ll take these and forget about filling the sacks.”
“But—” Alixa started to say.
“But nothing,” Shilara said, already positioning herself, bracing to lift one. “Come on, then, children. We don’t want to be scooping all day, caught here with our breeches down when the scourge come to eat us.” Scourgey, who was meandering around at the entry to the storehouse, looked at her. “Not you. You’re housebroken, though I struggle to understand how that happened.”
Scourgey made a low, whimpering noise. To Jasen’s ears, it almost sounded like approval.
They set to work as three, dragging the barrels out and loading them onto the cart together. It was not an easy job, not even close to it, and it made Jasen ache in his muscles, all the way down to his bones.
But they were doing it. They’d come all this way. And though it caused Jasen’s muscles to moan, made his arms feel as though they were creaking and ready to give out, he felt a swell of relief with every barrel he loaded, for each one brought Terreas a little closer to being saved.
All they had to do was get
them home.
24
The last barrel was the hardest. Jasen groaned, breath hitching. He couldn’t suck the air in properly, and the little he could manage was right at the top of his lungs only, filling only a few inches’ worth of space. But up it went, up, up …
He groaned as it finally touched down atop the cart.
Releasing a white-knuckled hold, he sagged.
“Jasen?” Alixa asked. “Are you all right?”
“Just a … minute,” he panted. “Get my … wind back.” Sweat clung to his hair, wetting his curls into thick bands that stuck to his forehead. Salty liquid had run down into his eyes and left them burning. He’d tried to blink it away then. Now, he gave up, just closing his eyes and focusing on refilling his lungs.
Damn it. Why had this exhausted him so much?
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Alixa asked warily.
Jasen nodded. He forced himself to look up and grin, a wide show of teeth that wasn’t very much in line with just how exhausted he felt at this moment. “Thought I was … fitter than this,” he said. “I guess these years of not having a trade to labor at have made me soft.”
“It’s these last few days, more like,” Alixa said. “They’ve made us tired, harried all the worse from the ride and the worry. My body aches.” She made a show of rubbing her shoulder. Yet though she had a sheen of sweat damping her body, Jasen suspected it was mostly that: a show. She didn’t wheeze the way he did, wasn’t struggling for breath. And he didn’t think she’d skimped on taking her fair share of the weight.
Must be something about sleeping on wood that doesn’t agree with me, he thought. He’d have to ensure he didn’t get into a habit of it, breaking it with a nice long stay in his bed as soon as they were back in Terreas—
But he didn’t have a bed anymore, did he? It had burned, along with his house. The thought sent a small dart of shock through his body, from the top of his skull where it rippled like goosepimples beneath his hair to the bottom of his feet. Well, there wasn’t anything to be done for it now. He’d have a bed again. Along with the greetings and many thanks bestowed upon them when they rode back into town would come gratitude. This amount of seed would help feed the village for many years to come, allow them to plan more carefully. He looked around the storehouse. And if this cartload wasn’t enough for years, they could come back, as many times as needed.
Yes, he’d have a bed again. And a house. And a life, really, because this—this journey, the one he’d undertaken to Wayforth, had been like an opening of his eyes after a long slumber. He’d need to change, of course, and he could see the direction of it, now.
For the first time in...ever...he could see a future for himself.
He thought fondly of it—
The earth rumbled.
He grabbed out for the nearest sturdy object—the barrel they’d just pushed onto the cart—and held firm. Eyes wide, he stared at Alixa, confusion flooding him as the earth shook for long seconds—
A house across the way gave in. It crumpled, wood cracking over the top of the rumble.
The vibration underfoot grew soft and gave up. The house was left moaning alone, clattering into a heap of rubble. Dust and airborne fibers from the splintered wood plumed up in a fine cloud.
Jasen and Alixa exchanged an alarmed look. “What was that?” she asked.
Before Jasen could tell her that he didn’t know, Shilara came running from—someplace. Another storehouse, most likely; something she’d forgotten, she’d said, abandoning them with this last barrel between them, seeing as it was only half-full.
“Are you all right?” she called—and then saw both Jasen and Alixa at the front of the cart, sweaty but not much worse for wear. Milo was still tethered where they’d left him. He shuffled nervously back and forth, whinnying and shaking his head. Her concerned expression softened. “Oh.”
“We’re okay,” said Jasen.
“What was that rumble?” Alixa asked.
“Don’t know,” said Shilara. “Don’t much care. We’re all set, aren’t we? Barrels loaded?”
“Yes,” Alixa said, a little flat. She gave Jasen a sidelong look, apologetic. He wondered just how much of a state he actually did look right now.
“Good. Clamber up then. We’ll be off.”
“Now?”
“Afternoon isn’t yet over. If we make good time, we could shave some hours off this return trip.”
“I just thought …”
“What?”
Alixa rolled an uncomfortable shrug. “That we’d stop to catch our breath. Or that we could sleep, you know, in a proper house, in a proper bed.”
“Dusty houses and beds do not make for a good night’s sleep,” said Shilara. “Trust me.” And she untethered Milo, walking him to the cart. “The swifter our return, the better.”
“What about catching our breaths?” Again, Alixa cast Jasen a sidelong look. She wore a concerned frown, drawing lines across her forehead. “We can have a little pause before moving off, can’t we?”
“We’re not walking to Terreas,” said Shilara, tying Milo back into place.
“But—”
“Listen,” Shilara cut across. Her thin patience had been exceeded. “Look at the both of you. Look at me. Loading the cart has been strenuous. We’ve sweated, all of us, and gotten soaked. And in doing so, we’ve lost our camouflage.”
She was right. Jasen couldn’t know his own face, but he could see his hands and arms. They were almost the color of his skin again. Only a faded brown coating was left. Alixa was the same. Shilara too. Between their jaunt through the racing river, and the sweat pouring off them as they loaded eight barrels into the rear of the cart, their protection had been reduced to a fraction of what it had been when they set off in the early hours of yesterday morning.
“Scourge will smell us,” said Shilara. “From a mile off, the way we probably stink at the moment. And seeing as we lost our only cover against that, I’d rather like to head off sooner rather than later. All right?”
“Yes,” Alixa mumbled. “Of course.”
Shilara smiled smugly. Then she looked about, frowning as she craned her neck. “Where’s your...hanger-on?”
Alixa and Jasen peered.
“Scourgey?” Alixa called.
“A scourge with a bloody name,” Shilara mumbled, shaking her head. “It’s not a pet. It’s overgrown, murderous vermin.”
Alixa ignored her and called for the scourge again.
It wandered out from between two buildings back up the road. Head hung, it cast their cart a sad sort of look as it came, walking piteously slow.
“Scourgey?” Alixa said. She approached, reaching out to touch it. Pressing a hand against its flank, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
Shilara looked less than impressed. “Get up on the cart, girl. We’re leaving.”
Alixa shot her an annoyed look. “I have a name.”
“Get on the cart.”
Alixa huffed. Patting the scourge gently, she obeyed, returning to the cart and climbing aboard. Jasen followed, and together they settled into their usual spots on either side of the cart’s bed. Shilara dropped heavily onto the front and wound Milo’s reins around her hands, and with a snap of them, the horse sprung into motion.
It was not particularly quick motion.
“See this pace?” Shilara said to Alixa. “This is another reason why we’re moving now instead of dallying. Those barrels aren’t feather-light.”
“I know.” Alixa rolled her eyes. “I helped load them.”
“Then you know Milo’s struggle. Only he’s pulling eight times more than we were at a time.”
“Seven and a half,” Alixa muttered, voice just loud enough for Jasen to catch. “Plus however much whiskey you managed to bottle and slip into your pocket.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“Hmph.”
Wayforth slipped away behind them. Jasen found he didn’t care as much to
look into the windows as they moved now. He still hadn’t quite managed to fill his lungs. Though he could not see a reflection of himself, he knew color blazed in his cheeks, as he felt its heat riding high in his face.
He’d do more to keep himself in shape when he got home, he thought. Start by finding a laboring job to assist with. Build up his arms, his shoulders, so if ever—whenever—they needed to come to Wayforth again and raid its abandoned stores, he’d not find himself so beleaguered.
The village faded behind them, cart and scourge descended the hill. Shilara took them sideways along the slope, charting a longer, shallower path so the weight of the barrels would not cause the cart to lose control, ploughing Milo down by rolling over top of the horse as its momentum allowed it to overtake the horse in the only way it possibly could.
“Ancestors protect us on this return trip,” Alixa said as they went. “May the spirit of our mothers and fathers gone before ride with us and keep us safe from harm.”
Then it was quiet again.
“We’ll avoid the woods,” Shilara said as they neared the bottom of the hill. “What’s left of it.”
“In case of scourge?” Alixa asked.
“And the ground. Extra weight will dig us in.”
She kept watch all the while—a thorough watch. Her head turned and turned. When it twisted in Jasen’s direction—back up the hill toward Wayforth—her forehead was covered with lines. Her lips were downturned, pressed incredibly thin.
“What is it?” he finally asked.
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing, surely.”
“It is,” Shilara said, tense. “Very much nothing. There don’t seem to be any scourge in this area. Not compared to before.”
“There’s one,” Alixa said.
Shilara turned sharply—then realized Alixa meant Scourgey. Grimacing and waving her off dismissively, she continued to Jasen, “We’ve run into almost none. One pack in less than two days—that’s nothing. And then it was only a small one. Not at all like the masses I’ve encountered on other journeys here.”
“There must’ve been a lot here to chew up these trees like that,” said Jasen, gesturing.
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