by Jon Wilson
“Hardly surprising.” Keone spoke around
a mouthful of potatoes. “Doesn’t invite
expansion. Come to the frontier, be on the front lines of the coming war.” He smiled,
studying the platter for his next tasty morsel. Sihr cast a quick, entreating glance up
at Holt. Forcing a smile, she told him, “As you
can see, we eat like pigs. Jump in or there
may be nothing left.”
Holt felt his body obeying—even though
the thought of eating with the cowardly pair
threatened to spoil his appetite. How could
Kawika have chosen a man like Keone as his
da’an? And how could something as
wonderful as being chosen as the ranger’s
ward have led to something as horrible as
having to endure the stonediver’s supervision?
Why hadn’t he been able to remain with
Ardee? She was a ranger; she would have
trained Holt to be a ranger also. Surely that
would have pleased Kawika more than this. “I was telling Holt that Belfayne has
established a port on Jir-Theesa. I’m not sure
he believed me.” There was playfulness in her
tone. “He looked rather skeptical.”
Holt was trying to ignore them. In
addition to his opinion of them, the smell of
the food was overpowering. And he was
starving; there was no use denying that. He
wiped his fingers on a dirty trouser leg and
reached cautiously for a potato.
“How do you feel about the notion of
war?”
Holt’s hand hovered indecisively over the
food. It struck him as an unfair question
coming as it did on the heels of Sihr telling the
man Holt knew little about the subject. He did
not want to look any more foolish, however.
He tried to remember what Sihr had told him.
Keone and someone else sat up
commiserating because they were against
fighting. And the demon was from Belfayne.
He grabbed a potato and brought it to his
mouth. Before taking a bite he said, “If they
are all so evil, perhaps war is the only just
thing.”
Sihr stifled a giggle. It made the succulent potato turn to chalk in Holt’s mouth.
What had been so funny about his answer? Keone wiped his chin with the back of
his hand. “Ifwhoare all so evil?”
“The Belfaynes,” Holt told him, hearing
the sound of his own anger tempering the
words. The two cowards would try to make
fun of him! “She said they were responsible
for what happened to my village. She said
they paid pirates to attack her island.” Keone considered his ward with a
bewildered expression. “You said that?” The girl was still struggling not to laugh.
“I did not. I said everyone knows that the
government subsidizes the exploits of the
pirates around Feathersbone.”
Holt gestured with the half of the potato
still in his hand. “Well?”
Sihr’s chuckle finally escaped her. “Oh,
Holt. It isn’t the Belfaynese government I was
talking about. It was the crown. Macadre.
Feathersbone Isle is part of Belfayne. I am
one of the evil Belfaynese.”
Holt threw the potato back down onto
the platter and struggled angrily with his own
body to get back to his feet. Sihr grabbed his
wrist, surprisingly strong.
“Don’t be angry. I know you didn’t mean
anything.”
He struck her hand, amazed he found
the grip so hard to break. Finally he freed
himself and staggered back. “I don’t care
where you’re from, you’re both cowards. I
don’t want to go with you! I don’t want to stay
with you!”
Keone looked unimpressed. He
continued to examine the platter. “Where will
you go?”
Holt fought back his tears. He would not
cry in front of them. “I don’t know. I just know
I hate you!”
Sihr rose up onto her knees. “Holt!” “Why do you stay with him? He’s
terrible. Ardee knew it.” He directed his rage back toward the stonediver. “She didn’t want me to go with you. She wanted to take me away herself. Why didn’t you let me go with
her?”
The man shrugged, lifting another slice
of meat toward his mouth. “Because I was
Wika’s da’an.”
Holt jumped forward, kicking the platter,
throwing all the food up onto Keone—down
his chest, across his folded legs. “I don’t
believe it! I don’t believe you were his da’an!”
He saw the furious expression come over
Sihr’s face as she started to her feet. He
turned to face her, but Keone grabbed her
arm, holding her back.
Even covered with the spattered dinner,
the stonediver remained calm. “Why?” “Because you’re a coward!” Holt knew
the tears he had wanted to hide were staining
his cheeks; he could hear the ragged sobs
between his words. “You aren’t good enough!
He wouldn’t have chosen a man like you.
You’re a coward!”
Sihr was struggling to free herself, but
Keone just tilted his head a few degrees to
the side. “Because I didn’t kill that man with
the knife? Once he had the blade to your
throat, if he’d wanted to kill you, there was
nothing I could have done to stop him.” “It isn’t just that.” Holt’s crying nearly
rendered him incapable of speech.
“Then what?”
Holt flew at him, arms outstretched,
fingers forming claws with which to gouge
cheeks and eyes and pull hair. Before he
reached his mark, however, Sihr’s foot struck
his chest. He staggered back and collapsed,
his arms crossed over the stricken area.
When he looked up, he saw Keone had pulled
his pupil in his lap; he was holding the
struggling girl tightly.
The stonediver met Holt’s eyes. Finally a
note of emotion entered his voice. “Tell me
why. Tell me what it is that makes me a
coward—what it is that makes you hate me.” “You know,” Holt cried, feeling as if the
sobs and the kick would cause his chest to
collapse. He struggled to rise, managing to
maneuver one knee under himself. “You know
where that thing is. You used me to find it.
But you’re afraid to go after it. You’re a
coward.”
Sihr’s struggling began to subside. Her
eyes widened. Keone said, “I knew where it
was yesterday afternoon. The demon isn’t
stupid enough to linger where he knows we
might come searching for him.”
Holt felt his face twist with contempt.
“You’re a coward! You could find it again.” “Not without your help.”
Sihr looked up at her paradigm. “Keone,
no.”
But the stonediver was watching Holt.
“You would need to come with me.”
For a moment the only sounds in the
small chamber were those of Holt working his way once more erect.
He lowered his arms to his sides, hardening his expression. Keone’s expression—intrigued, but clearly as prepared for either answer—twisted Holt’s anger back into an icy ball. “I’m not afraid.”
Chapter 3 Ardee rubbed her hands over the fire. Was that cold in her fingers? It was such an odd, alien sensation, she almost thought she must be imagining it.Just feeling old and stupid,she told herself. She had covered little ground during the day, lingering outside Darnouth until she saw that the stonediver and the two children were on their way. Even then, she had moved slowly, half-heartedly, as if her thoughts were not where they ought to have been: on her duty.
She craved wine, but was still set on abstaining—at least for a week. Trying to occupy her mind, she wondered about her brother and Bill. How were they faring? Lorre, she knew, must be well on his way to the northern territories if he had not already found Euch and Hare. Maybe they were headed back toward G’nash. And Bill would surely be reaching G’nash in the morning, assuming he’d traveled through the night as trolls were wont to do. Perhaps she should go to G’nash; that’s where everything seemed to be centered. The damned savage Huerunans and their raid on the breeder village lay at the root of all her disquiet. And poor Kawika ending his days in a Moadaeshe demon’s poison claw.
It still wore on her that she and Lorre had discovered no sign of the demon themselves. Bad enough rangers had to suffer such a loss, but to then have a stonediver come out and explain things to them. It was too much. And Kawika’s body— that, too, would be in G’nash. The trolls always displayed the heads of rangers when they could get them.I should turn back; Kawika deserves better.She knew that Lorre and the others would demand the body, but she was of Kawika’s first watch. She should claim the remains. To think that even the ranger’s da’an had not done it, after he had journeyed so far out into the wilderness.
She felt her head pull up as if the wind had tugged her braid. Her eyes scanned the darkness.What was that? Something approaching? No, she was imagining that too. It was just memories of the stonediver. Why had she let him take the boy? She should have spirited the child away in the morning when she’d had the chance. But Keone had been right: it was his duty as Kawika’s da’an to take charge of Holt. And the stonediver had seemed to feel the call of his duty strongly, at least where the boy was concerned.
Another sharp, nagging pull on her attention.What?Perhaps she needed sleep. It had been days since she’d managed more than a few hours at a time. And thoughts of Keone had proven quite capable of riling her. It amazed her to consider they had never actually met until the previous day; her animosity felt nearly overwhelming. She recalled her threat, that she would do everything she could to turn Holt against the stonediver. More an expression of pain than a promise—how dare he pull thoughts of Dot from her mind! But she thought she might do it, given half the opportunity. Keone deserved no better. Keone hadn’t deserved Kawika, clearly. No, Kawika hadn’t deserved Keone. Kawika had deserved better. He had deserved someone who would not simply wander out onto the frontier, identify his murderer and then slink back to the VaSaad without doing anything.
The stonediver’s willingness to throw up his hands had surprised even Ardee, who thought little enough of the mystics. And it certainly made the journey across Macadre seem unfathomable. What had she told Bill?I do not try to understand him.And well she should not: coming five days from the VaSaad, immediately ripping open the poor sick child’s memories, discovering the machinations of the demon, and then claiming the boy and as abruptly setting off.
She was on her feet. What a fool! What a fool! What a fool!More likely he had cast some witchcraft over her which blocked her reasoning. How could she have been so blind? He had manipulated her completely. He had shown her what she expected to see and used it to beguile her. She immediately set about clearing her camp. Despite her exhaustion, she was determined to return to Darnouth that night. Then she could begin tracking them at first light. With any luck she would catch them by midday and crack his skull before dark.
Chapter 4 Holt was standing in the doorway, one foot on either side of the sill. His back was against the frame, and his arms were crossed over his chest. He reckoned his expression was uninviting, so kept it directed outdoors. He stared blindly at the open window across the yard. Raised, merry, drunken voices as yet issued from there, and he tried to tune his ears to deciphering them. The angry voices inside the hut were simply repeating the same endless refrain.
“No!” Sihr said again.
“I will not spend the night discussing it. We need sleep.”
“You’re a fool, Keone. You can’t set off
into the Huerunan lands with two children, one
of whom isn’t even trained to protect himself.”
She looked witheringly at Holt.
“I think he’ll surprise you,” Keone told
her. “And if you don’t wish to go, you can stay
here.”
“How dare you say such a thing to me?” He went to her, placed his hands softly
upon her shoulders. “I will not fight this thing
through yet again, not with you.” He looked
deeply into her eyes. “And somewhere inside
of you you’ve known all along what I planned.” “You’ve chosen the wrong word. I
fearedall along that you planned something
like this. A fear that was so great I blinded
myself to how you’ve plotted and maneuvered
everyone so nicely into position.” She jerked
free from him and took a large step toward
Holt. “Can’t you see that he forced you into
making this happen? It’s suicide to go up into
those mountains.”
“That’s enough,” Keone told her. “Yes, that is enough. We’ll all be dead.
Quite enough.” She grabbed Holt’s shoulder,
nothing as gently as Keone had done her
own. “You think me a coward? Does it make
me a coward to believe that three more deaths will do nothing to right the wrong of Kawika’s death?” He ignored her, and she shoved his shoulder, knocking it against the
door jam. “Answer me!”
Keone took her elbow, gently tugging
her back. “This is not the cool reasoning I
have come to expect—”
She turned on him before he could
complete the thought. “Damn your feeble,
cool reasoning, Keone!” Her fist struck his
chest with surprising fury. “You’re the
disappointment! You’re the hypocrite! How
grandly you speak of ideas, and yet you’re
nothing but a silly man who—”
He slapped her.
Holt turned at the sound. Sihr was
holding her cheek, her eyes wide with
amazement, her jaw drooping halfway to her
chest. It was as if she had never been struck
before. But she did not look abashed; that
emotion was solely Keone’s. His head hung
as if he had suffered some slamming rebuke. They held their positions a long, silent moment, and then Sihr rushed past Holt out
into the darkness.
He watched her disappear down the
alley, and then turned his eyes back to
Keone.
The stonediver had not moved—had not
even looked up when his pupil fled. His eyes
were closed tightly and his jaw was working,
flexing the muscles below his temples.
Abruptly he turned and started toward their
supplies.
“It is many days to where the demon hid
yesterday,” he said, picking out his own
rucksack and beginning to dig inside. “We
need rest if we are not to die from the journey
itself.”
“What about Sihr?” Holt thought of the
&nbs
p; soldier and the scout. What if there were
more like them wandering the streets? Keone’s search through his belongings
slowed, as if he were considering the question. “She will either return on her own,
or she won’t.”
Holt was stunned. Did the stonediver
believe what he said? It seemed impossible.
Whatever else Keone was or did, Holt knew
that the man and Sihr shared a special
kinship.
Keone dropped his rucksack, his right
fist clenched tightly. “I will presume to make
your own burden a bit heavier if I may.” Holt did not understand until Keone
opened his hand. The black stone was lying in
the stonediver’s palm. Before Holt had a
moment to consider, Keone tossed it to him.
Holt caught it, trapping it just as tightly in his
own fist. The smooth texture and gentle
warmth of the stone proved oddly comforting. “This’s yours,” he said, finding his voice.
“He said it was for you.”
“No. He said it was for his da’an. I think
you should retain charge of it, as long as you
doubt my claim to that title.”
Holt opened his hand, studying the
stone. Did he doubt it? He certainly could not
believe it, but was that the same thing? He
slipped the stone into his pocket as Keone
moved toward the door.
“I will go and find somewhere to clean
up.”
Holt said nothing, but stepped into the
shed, clearing the doorway. Keone stopped
just before passing outside. “You will be so
kind as to clean up this mess? Otherwise
we’ll have rats dancing all over us while we
sleep.” Even then, he did not sound angry at
the disruption of their meal. Holt, nodding as
he stepped over toward the discarded tray,
said he would see to it. Keone thanked him
and left.
Alone, Holt gathered the scattered bits
of food and piled them with the dishes, both
broken and whole, upon the tray. He carted
the tray swiftly back to the kitchen steps and
left it. Returning to the shed, he dowsed all of the candles except one and laid out one of the two blankets Sihr had packed for him. He settled atop it and covered himself with the other blanket, resting his head upon his own
pack.
He lay for a long while on his side with
his eyes open, staring at the wall. He