He stopped talking. Mina was biting her lip and digging the toe of her shoe into the dirt.
“You didn’t!” he said, groaning.
“Shut up,” she said, glowering.
“You left my map back there! Way back there! Halfway around the world back there!”
“I didn’t leave it there. You did. It was your fault!” she flared.
Nightshade was so taken aback by this accusation that he was reduced to spluttering.
“You were supposed to pick up the map and bring it with us,” Mina continued. “The map was your responsibility because it was your map. Now I don’t know which road to take.”
Nightshade looked to Atta for help, but the dog had flopped onto her belly in the dirt and lay there with her chin between her paws. When Nightshade calmed down enough to speak without spitting all over himself, he stated his case.
“I would have taken the map, but you ran away with me so fast I didn’t have a chance.”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Mina said petulantly. “You lost the map so what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going back to the Inn and I’m going to find Rhys and then we’re all going to have a good dinner. After all, it is chicken and—”
But Mina wasn’t listening. She walked over to a group of idlers hanging about the street outside a tavern with mugs of ale in their hands, arguing drunkenly about whether they should or should not go to see what the ruckus was about.
“Excuse me, sirs,” Mina said. “Which road do I take to go north?”
“That way, sis,” one of the young men told her with a belch and a vague wave of his hand.
“Told you,” Nightshade said.
Mina picked up the scrip, slung it over her shoulder, and walked off.
Nightshade immediately realized he’d made a mistake. What he should have said was that he didn’t know the way north and they should wait for Rhys. Too late for that now. He watched her walk off, alone and forlorn, and considered leaving, but he knew Rhys wouldn’t want him to abandon her. Though Nightshade didn’t know what good he could do. She never listened to him anyway.
He looked at Atta, who was sitting on her haunches, looking at him. The dog offered no advice. Heaving a deep sigh, Nightshade trudged after Mina and now here they were together, heading north towards Godshome without Rhys.
Nightshade continued to try to persuade Mina to go back to the Inn, but she continued to adamantly refuse. The argument carried them several miles out of Solace, at which point Nightshade finally gave up and saved his breath for walking. He was at least thankful for one mercy—since they didn’t have the map, Mina couldn’t very well run off at a god’s pace. She had to walk like an ordinary person.
Nightshade could only hope that Rhys would find them eventually, though the kender didn’t see how. Rhys would believe they were hurt or dead or hiding somewhere … Maybe Rhys himself was hurt or dead …
“I won’t think about that,” Nightshade told himself.
They walked a long, long time. Nightshade hoped Mina would eventually grow tired and want to rest and, whenever they came to a wayside inn, he hinted strongly that they should stop. Mina refused and pressed on, dragging the scrip along in the dirt behind her.
Travelers they met along the way stopped to stare at the odd trio. If anyone tried to approach Mina, Atta would growl at them, warning strangers to keep their distance. Nightshade would roll his eyes and spread his hands to indicate he was helpless in the matter.
“If you meet a monk of Majere named Rhys Mason, tell him you saw us and we’re going north,” he would call out.
The road went on, and so did they. Nightshade had no idea how far they’d come, but he couldn’t see Solace anymore. The highway had dwindled to a road and not a very good road at that, and then, without warning, the road heading north ended. A large mountain stood in the way, and the road went around it, branching off to the east and the west.
“Which way do we go?” Mina asked.
“How should I know?” Nightshade grumbled. “You lost the map, remember? Anyway, this is a good place to stop to rest—What are you doing?”
Mina put her hand over her eyes and began twirling around and around in the middle of the road. When she made herself dizzy, she staggered to a stop and thrust out her hand, her fingers pointing east.
“We’ll go this way,” she said.
Nightshade stood staring at her, dumbfounded.
“For a gnome nickel, I’d leave you to be eaten by bugbears,” he told her, then added in a mutter, “But that would be mean to the bugbears.”
He glanced to the west, where the sun was sinking rapidly out of sight, as though it couldn’t get away fast enough. Shadows were slithering over the road.
Nightshade began wandering up and down the side of the road, looking for largish rocks. When he found one, he picked it up and lugged it over to where Mina was standing and dropped it down at her feet.
“What are you doing?” Mina demanded, after he came back with the fourth rock.
“Marking the trail,” Nightshade said, hauling over rock number five. He threw it down, then began arranging the rocks, stacking four on top of each other and placing the fifth to the east of the stack. “This way Rhys knows which direction we’ve taken at the crossroads, and he can find us.”
Mina stared at the stacked rocks, and suddenly she ran at them and began to kick at them in frenzy, knocking Nightshade’s neat pile all askew.
“What you are doing?” Nightshade cried. “Stop that!”
“He’s not going to find me!” Mina shouted. “He’s never going to find me. I don’t want him to find me.”
She picked up a rock and threw it, almost hitting Atta, who leaped to her feet in shock.
Nightshade grabbed hold of Mina and hauled off and swatted her a good one on the rear portion of her anatomy. The blow couldn’t have hurt very much, because he encountered nothing but petticoat. His swat shocked her immensely, however. She stood gaping at him, and then she burst into tears.
“You are the most spoiled, selfish little kid I ever met in my life!” Nightshade yelled at her. “Rhys is a good man. He cares about you more than you deserve, because you’ve been a real brat. And now you’ve run off, and he’s probably worried sick—”
“That’s why I ran away,’ ” Mina gulped between sobs. “That’s why he must never find me. He is a good man. And I almost got him killed!”
Nightshade gaped at her. She had not run off to escape Rhys. She’d run off to protect him! Nightshade sighted. He was almost sorry he’d spanked her. Almost.
“There now, Mina.” Nightshade began to thump her on the back to help her quit crying. “I’m sorry I lost my temper. I understand why you did it, but you still shouldn’t have run away. As for almost getting Rhys killed, that’s nothing. I’ve almost gotten Rhys killed a couple of times and he’s almost gotten me killed a bunch. It’s what friends are for.”
Mina looked extremely startled at this, and even Nightshade had to admit his explanation didn’t sound as good when it came out of his mouth as it had when it was in his head.
“What I mean, Mina, is that Rhys cares about you. He won’t stop caring just because you’ve run off. And now you’ve added worrying and wondering to caring. As for you putting him in danger”—Nightshade shrugged—“he’s known all along that he would be in danger when he decided to take you to Godshome. The danger doesn’t make any difference to him. Because he cares.”
Mina regarded him intently, and it seemed to Nightshade that her tear-shimmering amber eyes would swallow him whole. She reached out a tentative hand.
“Is it the same with you?” she asked meekly. “Do you care about me?”
Nightshade was bound to be truthful. “I’m not as good a person as Rhys, and maybe for a moment or two back there I didn’t care much at all, but only for a moment … Or two.”
He took hold of her hand and squeezed it.
“I do care, Mina. And I am sorry I spanked you. So help me stack up these rocks up again.”
Mina helped him arrange the rocks and then they continued on, heading east. The road led through fields of tall grass, past a small pond, over a couple of creeks. By this time, the sun was barely a red smear in the sky. From the top of a hill, they could see the road dip down into a valley and disappear into a forest.
Nightshade considered their options. They could camp here, by the roadside, out in the open. Rhys would be able to find them, but then, so would anyone else including thieves and brigands, and while Mina, being a god, could take care of herself, would she take care of Nightshade and Atta? Having seen her in action in the temple, Nightshade didn’t much like the odds.
If they camped in the forest, there would be lots of places—hollowed logs, thickets, and so forth—where they could rest close to the road and yet remain hidden. Atta would alert them if Rhys came along.
Having made up his mind, Nightshade started down the road leading into the forest. Mina, being on her best behavior after their fight, kept close to his side and Atta padded behind them. The sun slipped away to wherever it went to spend the night and left the world a lot darker than one might have imagined it could be. Nightshade had hoped for a moon or two to give some light, but the moons were apparently off on other business, for they didn’t make an appearance and the stars were obscured by the thick leaves of the overarching tree branches.
Nightshade had been in a lot of forests, and he couldn’t recall having been in one quite this dark or this gloomy. He couldn’t see hardly anything, but he could hear quite well and what he heard was a lot of slinking, skulking, and sneaking noises. Atta didn’t help matters by glaring into the woods and growling, and once she made a lunge at something and snapped her teeth and the something growled and snapped back, but it went away.
Mina took hold of his hand, so as not to lose him in the darkness. She was obviously frightened, but she never said a word. She seemed to be trying to make up for being a brat, which gesture touched Nightshade. He was thinking that his idea of camping in the forest had not been one of his best. He had been keeping an eye out for a place to spend the night, but he couldn’t find anything, and the forest was growing darker by the moment. Something dove at them from a tree and soared over their heads with a cawing shriek, causing Mina to scream and crouch into a ball and Nightshade fell and twisted his ankle.
“We have to stop and make camp,” he said.
“I don’t want to stop here,” said Mina, shivering.
“I can’t see my nose in front of my eyeballs,” Nightshade told her. “We’ll be safe enough—”
Atta gave a blood-curdling bark and attacked something and wrestled with it briefly. Whatever it was yelped and loped off. Atta stood panting and Mina’s lower lip quivered. So did Nightshade’s heart.
“Well, maybe just a little farther,” he said.
The three continued on along the road; Mina walking close to Nightshade and Nightshade shuffling along in the dark, with Atta growling at every other step.
“I see a light!” said Mina, stopping suddenly.
“No, you don’t,” Nightshade said crossly. “You couldn’t. What would a light be doing out here in a dark old forest?”
“But I do see a light,” Mina insisted.
And then Nightshade saw it, too—a light shining amongst the trees. The light shone from a window and a window meant a house and a house with a light in the window meant someone living here in the woods in a house with a light in the window. What’s more, he smelled the most wonderful smell—the tantalizing scent of bread or cake or pie hot out of the oven.
“Let’s go!” said Mina excitedly.
“Wait a moment,” said Nightshade. “When I was a little kender, my mother told a story about a horrible old witch who lured the children into her house and stuffed them into her oven and baked them into gingerbread.”
Mina made a gasping sound and clutched his hand so tightly he lost all feeling in his fingers. Nightshade sniffed the air again. Whatever was being cooked smelled really, really good, not at all like baked children. And spending the night in a soft bed would be far preferable to sleeping in a hollow log, providing he could find one.
“Let’s go see,” he said.
“Go see a horrible old witch?” Mina quavered, hanging back.
“I’m pretty sure I was wrong about that,” Nightshade replied. “It wasn’t a witch. It was a beautiful lady and she baked gingerbread for the children, not the other way around.”
“Are you sure?” Mina wasn’t convinced.
“Positive,” said Nightshade.
The odd thing was, however, that he could have sworn the moment he mentioned it that he did smell gingerbread.
Mina made no further argument. Keeping tight hold of his hand, they walked up to the house. Nightshade ordered Atta to stay by his side, since he was forced to admit privately that they were far more likely to find horrible witches living in dark and gloomy forests than beautiful ladies. Atta had quit growling, and Nightshade took that for a good sign.
As they drew closer to the light, Nightshade grew more and more hopeful. He could see the light came from a snug little cabin of maybe two or three rooms. A candle stood in the window, gleaming through white curtains and lighting their way along a neat flagstone path lined with flowers whose petals drooped drowsily and filled the air with sweet perfume.
All this boded well, but Nightshade was a cautious kender, and he had a spell prepared for use, just in case.
“If this turns out to be a horrible witch,” he whispered to Mina, “I’ll yell ‘run’ and you run. Don’t worry about me. I’ll catch up with you.”
She nodded nervously. He had to pry her hand loose, because he was going to need one of his hands to knock at the door and the other hand to cast his spell in case a witch answered.
“Atta, you be ready,” he warned the dog.
Reaching the door, Nightshade gave it a brisk rap.
“Hullo!” he called out. “Is anyone home?”
The door opened and light poured out. A woman stood in the doorway. Nightshade couldn’t see her very well, for bright light dazzled his eyes. She was dressed all in white, and he had the impression she was kind and gentle and loving and yet strong and powerful and commanding. He didn’t know how anyone could be all these things at once, but he felt it was so, and he was a little fearful.
“How do you do, madam,” he said. “My name is Nightshade and I’m a kender Nightstalker and I know some very powerful spells, and this is Mina and this is Atta, a biting variety of dog. Her teeth are quite sharp.”
“How do you do, Mina and Nightshade and Atta,” the woman said, and she held out her hand to the dog. Atta sniffed at her and then, to Nightshade’s immense astonishment, the dog stood up on her hind legs and put her paws on the woman’s chest.
“Atta! Don’t do that!” Nightshade commanded, shocked. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She’s not supposed to jump on people.”
“She’s all right,” said the woman, and she smoothed the fur on Atta’s head with a gentle hand and smiled at Nightshade. “You and your little friend look tired and hungry. Won’t you come in?”
Nightshade hesitated, and Mina wasn’t budging.
“You’re not going to shove us in your oven, are you?” she asked warily.
The woman laughed. She had wonderful laughter, the sort that made Nightshade feel good all over.
“Someone has been telling you fairy tales,” the woman said, with an amused glance at the kender. She held out her hand to Mina. “By a strange chance, however, I have baked some gingerbread. If you come in, you can share it with me.”
Nightshade thought this a very strange chance, maybe a sinister strange chance. Atta had already accepted the invitation, however. The dog trotted into the house and, finding a place near the fire, she curled up, wrapped her tail around her feet, buried her nose in her tail, and settled herself comfortably. Mina took hold of th
e woman’s hand and allowed herself to be led inside, leaving Nightshade by himself on the stoop with the tantalizing aroma of fresh-baked gingerbread pummeling his stomach.
“We can only stay a little while,” he said, inching his way across the threshold. “Just until our friend, Rhys Mason, finds us. He’s a monk of Majere and quite handy with his feet.”
The woman cut a piece of gingerbread, placed it in a bowl and handed it to Mina, along with a spoon. The woman poured sweet cream over the gingerbread. She cut another large piece and held it out to the kender.
Nightshade gave in.
“This is remarkably good, ma’am,” he mumbled, his mouth full. “It may be the best gingerbread I’ve ever eaten. I could tell for certain if I had another piece.”
The woman cut him another slice.
“Definitely the best,” said Nightshade, wiping his mouth with his napkin and accidentally stuffing the napkin and the spoon in his pocket.
Mina had fallen asleep with her gingerbread half-eaten. She lay with her head pillowed on her arms on the table. The woman gazed down at her, smoothing the auburn hair with a gentle hand. Nightshade was feeling sleepy himself. One of the first rules of traveling was that you didn’t fall asleep in a strange house in the middle of a dark forest, no matter how good the gingerbread. His eyes kept trying to close, and so he propped the eyelids open with his fingers and began to talk, hoping the sound of his own voice would help keep him awake.
“Do you live here by yourself, ma’am?” he asked.
“I do,” she replied. She walked over to a rocking chair that stood near the fire and sat down.
“Isn’t it kind of scary?” Nightshade asked. “Living in the middle of a dark forest? Why do you do it?”
“I give shelter to those who are lost in the night,” said the woman. She reached down to pet Atta, who lay beside the chair. Atta licked her hand and rested her nose on the woman’s foot.
“Do many people find their way here?” Nightshade asked.
“Many do,” the woman said, “though I wish more would find me.”
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