I hugged the slope, walking slow and wary toward the post. I couldn’t see anything at all. No one standing, no silhouettes against the bobbing lights beyond…no one lying down. I came to the place where the skirmish had happened – it was windless here and the churned sand still showed signs of the battle.
And there, buried to the hilt, was Yatol’s knife.
My eyes blurred so badly that I could barely see it. I pulled it from the sand and dusted it off, the tears streaming down my face. It was bloodied, but not on the blade. Not from any wound it had inflicted. The blood had trickled down from the hilt and pooled around the crossguard, leaving the edge and length of the blade spotless. I hugged it to my chest, sobbing. Forced myself to my feet.
Yatol. Where had they taken him? I found myself in their camp. No tents. Bonfires. Why were they all sitting around the fires? They couldn’t possibly be cold. Oh God, where did they take him?
Toward the center of the camp a cluster of Ungulion stood in a ring. They were the only ones standing. Chanting. Their arms stretched out to the center of their circle.
No.
I stumbled into a run, still holding Yatol’s knife gleaming in my hand.
The drone grew louder, lower, more intense. Rotted fingers curled rhythmically as if they were picking something apart. My hands started shaking with rage. Blood pounded in my face. I sprinted the rest of the way, shoving two of the Ungulion out of my way as I reached their circle.
“Stop!” I shouted, holding out the knife to ward them away, then murmured, “Stop,” and dropped to my knees beside Yatol.
The Ungulion drew back. The chanting broke off, dissolving into a wailing, seething voice. It seemed to come from all directions, like a single voice echoed a hundred times over.
“She bears the blade!” the voice sobbed. “The Blade of Heaven! Take it from her! Take the blade!”
They writhed and flinched away from me. I stared at them in confusion, gripping the blade more tightly. An Ungulion tried to snatch it from me, but without thinking I lashed out and struck him in the hand. I didn’t see it cut him, but a sudden pain shot through me. My scream of anguish melded with his. Clutching his hand, he turned and fled.
Feeling braver, I brandished the knife at the others. And as I did I saw the blood seeping from my fingers and palm, trickling down the hilt. I nearly dropped the blade in horror. But the shadow was pressing over me again, the circle reforming and drawing in closer. I hardened my clutch.
“Take the blade…”
“Leave him alone!” I screamed, whirling around.
I lunged at the nearest Ungulion, striking out in a blind fury. I must have hit him somewhere, because the pain renewed in my arm, shooting up toward my spine. I ignored it.
“They’ve come, they’ve come!” the voice cried, and the whole plaintive drone renewed in a chaos of hate and fury.
I drew my arm back. The Ungulion nearest me wasn’t looking at me anymore – his gaze fixed on the dunes. Through all the wailing I heard a sharp, high-pitched whine, and then there was an arrow piercing his breast. He slumped to his knees, frozen as stone.
Another fell, and another, and the whole of the Ungulion force began to mobilize. I couldn’t see anyone on the ridges. The spears and arrows seemed to materialize out of the darkness. And then somewhere I heard a voice calling, clear and deep.
“Mer, run! Run while we have them!”
“Damian?” I whispered, taking a half-step forward.
I couldn’t see him, and didn’t dare call out his name. But it didn’t matter. He was all right…for now.
I ran back to Yatol. In my panic I didn’t even look at him, didn’t bother trying to wake him or see how he was injured. I shoved the knife back into its sheath and grabbed his arms, hauling with all my might. I managed to drag him a few short inches and nearly gave up, until I realized that not all of the Ungulion were ignoring us. From the corner of my eye I saw a small group circling toward us. And there, farther away, was another – taller than the others, darker somehow. He turned toward us. I couldn’t see his face, but visceral terror seized me. I reeled with panic, tugging desperately on Yatol’s arms.
“Please, Yatol,” I whispered. “Wake up.”
But he just lay there, skin ashen, face quiet. With the strength that terror lends I dragged him a full foot and a half, but it was as far as I could go. My hands went weak, losing their grip on his sleeves. Some strange dizziness seeped over me, and my vision blurred. The group of Ungulion reached us, surrounded us. And before I knew what was happening, one had slung Yatol over his back and another swept me up effortlessly. I froze, paralyzed with shock.
“Will you not struggle?” the Ungulion hissed.
What? On a sudden impulse I writhed against his grip, trying to slither out of his arms. He held me fast while the whole group rushed toward the rear of the camp. I fought the entire time. The Ungulion wanted me to fight. But I didn’t have the energy to escape, and for some reason I didn’t think I needed to. Soon we reached the darkness, and they deposited us on the ground.
“We followed Elekeo till the end,” my captor murmured, his voice like the rasp of sand in the wind. He cast a furtive glance over his shoulder. “We would see no harm come to you. Take him swiftly. Do not let our sacrifice be in vain.”
They disappeared back into the camp, striking out ruthlessly against the other Ungulion. I wondered briefly if the taller one had lost interest in us, but didn’t stop to check. I picked myself up and grabbed Yatol’s arms again. The sand shifted stubbornly beneath my feet with every step, churning up billows of dust that choked my throat and burned my eyes. It coated Yatol’s face and arms with a film of sand that made his already pale face even ghastlier.
I managed to pull him well away from the border of the camp, but by then the strength in my arms and legs gave out entirely and I dropped onto the ground beside him. I just sat and stared at him, numb. Couldn’t think. Saw the sand on his skin tinged red, but couldn’t see any wounds. I didn’t really expect to. When I finally gathered my wits, I felt for a pulse at his wrist. If he had one, it was too faint for my unskilled fingers to find. I swallowed and tried to find the pulse in his neck.
A hand grabbed my arm. I jerked back in terror before realizing that it was his. It flexed a little, tightening unintentionally. Before I could cry out in pain his grip slackened, but he kept hold of my arm as he strained to open his eyes. He fixed his gaze on me, his lips parting, but couldn’t force a voice.
“I told you to run,” he gasped finally. “Why did you come back?”
“What is the Blade of Heaven?”
His eyes widened, startled, and he struggled to sit up.
“What did you say?” He let go of my arm, but grabbed both my hands to inspect them. “You didn’t…did you strike them? How did we get here? What happened?”
“Don’t be alarmed…” I closed my eyes. “Just rest now…just rest…”
“Merelin!”
He seized my shoulders and shook me roughly. My eyelids fluttered open, and I managed to scowl at him. He fumbled in the pouch at his belt, but I didn’t see what he pulled out of it. The dim light from the camp faded.
Vaguely I felt him catch me, then the familiar thick, acrid taste spilled over my tongue and down my throat. I coughed and waved my hand in front of my face.
“You too, Yatol. Drink some too.”
“I’m all right,” he said. “Don’t worry, Merelin. I know my strength.”
“You took some earlier, didn’t you? You’re sure you’re all right for now?”
He nodded.
“You’re not angry with me?”
There was a brief silence, then he said, “You’re strong. A little reckless, but I admire that.” He smiled gently. “I can’t be angry with you. I thank you with all my heart.”
“I only did what I could,” I said, cheeks burning. “I didn’t do anything at all, really. But the Ungulion seemed afraid of the knife, so I tried to keep them away from you. I
hit one, or maybe two, because they kept trying to get it away from me. Then…”
I spun around to look at the camp. It still seethed with a chaos of activity, and I couldn’t make out what was happening. But I glimpsed a group of Ungulion pacing the perimeter, still some distance away.
“Then what?” Yatol prompted. His eyes followed the Ungulion, too, measuring their stride.
“I think Damian was there. I heard his voice – he told me to run. There must have been a few of them. They had arrows and spears, and it distracted the Ungulion. So I tried to pull you away…” I could tell the idea amused him. “I tried! And then some Ungulion came, but they saved us. They picked us up and carried us out here and then went back to fight against the others. I wouldn’t have made it this far without them.”
For a moment we sat in silence. I watched his face closely, trying to read in its steady features some whisper of his thought. But he only gazed quietly out across the sands. He seemed utterly beyond me at that moment, and I sighed unhappily. The sound stirred him, and he met my gaze with a faint smile.
“Can you run a little longer now?” He gestured behind him. “We’re nearly there!”
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Will Damian and the others be all right?”
“They’ll put up a sound fight until we’ve gotten away, then I imagine they will retreat.”
He got up and smiled down at me again, more encouragingly. His face looked so wan, pale and strained, but his eyes shone with an intense and disconcerting light. He didn’t help me up, but when I got to my feet he turned and set off at a jog. But he hadn’t run ten steps before he stumbled, and collapsed unmoving on the sand.
Chapter 23 – Truth and Myth
I didn’t scream when he fell. I didn’t say a word, and I didn’t even cry. I ran to his side and stood staring down at him, mute and numb. I saw him lying prostrate, stone still at first, his face cradled by the earth. I saw him blink rapidly and fiercely, saw his hands clutch vainly at the shapeless sand. I saw his chest rise and fall with deep, raking gasps, empty rattling breaths like air drawn through a torn bellows. And I just stood and stared.
Then something snapped, and I spun around desperately searching the empty sky.
“Help!” I cried once, then again, but my voice was swallowed in glum darkness.
I dropped to my knees beside him and tried to lift him off the sand. Finally I managed to drag him into a half-sitting position, but his eyes were closed now and his head sagged. I called out again, but when the darkness didn’t fade and no voice answered, I shut my eyes and made my plea silently in my heart. The darkness brooded over us. I clung to Yatol and bowed my head from the blindness.
Time froze.
“Take heart, child.”
A voice, gentle, scarce more than a whisper.
I opened my eyes, felt the breeze cold on my tear-stained cheeks. All around us the air shimmered with a rainbow of radiance. I lowered Yatol onto the sand and backed slowly away. They gathered around him – Mykyl and Akhmar, Stitista and many others whose names I didn’t know.
I thought I heard one of them say, “It is not yet your time.”
They formed a circle of light around him, and faint but pure in the bright stillness came a melancholy strain. I could hear each voice distinctly, yet they wove together in perfect harmony. Their forms blurred into a pool of color, dazzling my tear-brimmed eyes. The song rose until it felt as if the entire world sang, then suddenly it was gone. All of the Brethren were gone. Yatol alone remained, standing straight and still with his hands open at his sides and head bowed.
I stood frozen, bewildered. And Yatol seemed utterly oblivious to me, to himself. When I thought he would never move, he seemed to come into himself, or out of himself, and he lifted his head. I backed a step. His eyes were fire and his whole face shone, while some radiance surged from the palms of his hands. The fire seemed to consume him, and then it vanished and he collapsed onto one knee.
“Merelin.”
I uprooted myself and inched closer to him.
“Give me your hand.”
I held it out to him. He took it firmly, and I dropped to my knees in front of him.
“This was all my fault,” I whispered. “If I hadn’t been so stupid and crawled up the dune where they could see me, none of this would have happened.”
He lifted his head at that, his eyes calm and sad. “Oh Merelin, do you think it was you they sensed?”
“I don’t understand,” I said, frowning. “I don’t understand anything.”
That made him smile. “Can you understand this?”
He swept out his hand, and a flood of soft light erupted from his palm. It raced over the sand until, not twenty paces from us, it bathed the tall shrubs and strange trees of the Branhau. I ran toward the trees.
“Yatol!” I cried in relief. “We made it! How—”
I turned to wait for him – he was coming slowly, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of pain or exhaustion, or some kind of solemnity. Something had changed in him. I just couldn’t place what it was. But he carried himself straight, head high and eyes still filled with the light of stars. No. He wasn’t weak or in pain. Not now.
“We’ve made it this far,” he said. There was no smile in his eyes, but no uncertainty either. “But we’ve barely begun.”
Before, those words would have crushed me. But he spoke now with strength, and I steeled my nerves as I followed him into the trees. Here at last we found some break from the consuming darkness of the Perstaun, as the trees and flowers threw their best assault of light against the shadow. The soft luminance spilled from the tiny flower-cups in pools of gold, and whispered down from the swaying tree tendrils in opaline streams. It warmed some inner part of me that I suddenly realized had been cold. I was almost happy, in a bizarre sort of way. We’d gotten past the Ungulion. Nothing stood between us and K’hama.
Nothing but long emptiness.
And just like that, my sudden burst of energy fizzled. The forest stretched on and on. Blue-cascade trees surrounded us, towering over our path and spreading a net of web-like roots over the ground. As I nearly tripped in them the second time, I remembered the clinging grasses that had thwarted me my first day here. It seemed so long ago, almost a different life. I clenched my jaw and forged on.
I had to practically jog to keep up with Yatol. I didn’t have room to walk beside him, though I desperately wanted to talk to him. To be near him. I just tried to stay close behind and kept my silence. Hunger snapped emptily at my stomach, and I was so thirsty my blood felt like sludge. But I didn’t want to stop. I only wanted an end. Then I remembered Yatol’s words and echoed them bitterly to myself: We have barely begun. Fantastic.
After a while, the dusky blue luminance of the trees faded to a mere shimmer in the darkness, and a thin veil of cool fog drew up around us. It dampened my spirits as much as the light, and I bowed my head and jogged on doggedly.
I’d stopped paying attention to the forest when the ground pitched down abruptly. Everything had changed. The trees shot up straight and grey, unblossoming with rough sandpapery bark. My feet sank deep into the loamy soil as we picked our way down into the valley. And still the mist curled like noisome wraiths’ fingers around the tree trunks and my legs. The strangeness of it all finally brought me to a halt.
“Yatol…” I called through the eerie fog. He came back to me, his gaze straying over the forest. “We must be past Enhyla’s. It all looks so different here.”
“I’ve never been to these reaches of the Branhau, but I do know them.”
“How can you know them if you’ve never been here?” I asked sullenly.
“I have learned every path our people have forged this side of Alcalon,” he said. “And I know this too – we’re still a long way from the borders of the forest.”
I knew what he meant: stop wasting time. I hung my head and managed a nod, but he had already turned away. A sick pang tugged at my heart, but I forced myself into a
run.
Just like track. Don’t think about it. Just run.
I was doing so well not thinking about it that I jumped in surprise when Yatol’s arm caught me around the shoulders. He had stopped and I hadn’t even noticed. My feet halted, but my mind kept wandering.
“Merelin. Wait here.”
He turned to leave, but then his words registered.
“What?” I cried.
“I’ll only be gone a few minutes. Rest, but stay alert. This place should be safe enough.”
He glanced around briefly, then vanished into the strange somber trees. I stared after him, too dumbfounded to move. The sound of his steps faded into the deep silence. No breeze gave life to the tree-tendrils, and there was a strange dead feel to the air. All of a sudden I realized how exhausted I was, and I collapsed onto the ground.
As soon as I sat down, I knew it was a mistake. I couldn’t stand up again. My legs ached too badly. The sandals clung to my feet, coated with soil and wet from sweat, even blood. I shuddered in horror as I loosened the straps. In the misty glimmer of light I could see blisters between my toes and on my heels, and I winced as I tore one open easing the sandal off. I stared at my feet apathetically for a few minutes, then flopped back onto the moss-shrouded ground.
My momentary feeling of peace dwindled in the span of about a minute. A faint wary alarm triggered in my mind – the vague feeling that someone was tracking us. All my senses sharpened in response. My eyes drifted carefully over the grey skeletal trunks leaning over me, gleaming strangely pale against the muddy sky. I listened so intently that I could even hear the soft click and scrape of insects creeping through the dirt.
Then, abruptly, the alarm vanished. Serene indifference filled my mind, and I closed my eyes contentedly. I could feel every swell and dip in the spongy moss. A warm, earthy smell hung in the air, like Mom’s garden in the spring, traced with just the faintest scent of flowers. Even the dank chill of the air felt strangely wonderful. I let my thoughts drift…
“I have food.”
Down a Lost Road Page 22