by Susan Faw
The Charun had reached the spot of their recently vacated campsite. There were three of them in total. They sat on black horses, examining the spot where Cayden’s men had been. Overhead, half a dozen large black birds circled. Their heads were featherless, their large wings spiked with clawed tips. Vultures. Were they the same ones Ryder had seen in the legion camp?
A fourth black rider galloped up to the group, carrying a struggling person in its grip. Cayden felt alarm spike through his body. The man was dropped to the ground and as he tried to run away the creature grabbed him by the hair from horseback and held him still. A second rider dropped to the ground and floated up to the prisoner.
Cayden saw the prisoner shake his head in response to a question being asked. The Charun reached out with a clawed hand and hooked a digit into the prisoner’s chest, causing him to scream. The first Charun hauled him back upright by his scalp, blood oozing down the man’s chest.
Cayden felt his stomach roil, sickened by the scene. He recognized who the prisoner was. It was James. Ziona gripped his arm in warning. “Stay still,” she hissed.
The second Charun hauled out a knife and sliced off the scalp of the prisoner while he screamed and screamed. Abruptly James fell to the ground as the scalp came free. Blood sprayed fountaining through the air.
Floating back to their beasts, the Charun mounted up and headed north. As they drifted away, the vultures fell from the sky, obscuring James’s body from view.
Chapter 30
CAYDEN ROLLED OVER ONTO HIS BACK, eyes squeezed shut, trying to wipe out the scene behind him. It did not, unfortunately, stop sound from reaching his ears. The vultures screeched and fought over James’s remains.
Cayden thought he was going to be sick, right there, right then. His stomach heaved and he broke into a sweat, trying to keep from throwing up. He failed. Rolling onto his side, he spewed his stomach’s contents over the rocks at his side. Swiping the back of his hand across his lips, he panted, chest and belly heaving.
He sensed rather than heard movement at the base of the rocks. Sheba sat, staring up at them both and whined. He had almost forgotten about her in their recent flight.
Ziona edged back from the lip of the rock face and sat beside Cayden. Sheba crawled up onto the rock and rested her chin in Cayden’s lap. He petted her soft head, drawing comfort from her presence.
“I can’t rejoin them, can I, Ziona? I put them all in danger whenever I am near them.”
Ziona nodded. “We cannot go back to them. The Charun are tracking us with black flies. Black flies can always find people, as they feed on blood. They are attracted to death and all life is slowly dying. They know what they hunt. If we leave, they will follow us. The others will be safer if we are not with them. They have no interest in them other than to find you.”
Ziona crawled back up and checked the horizon. Nothing moved, except for the vultures. The others would not return as long as they were present.
“We need to go. I think James bought us some time, sending them off in the wrong direction. We need to use the time he bought us with his life,” said Cayden.
“We will ride hard. We should be able to reach Cathair within two days if we do. We stop for short periods only and take shifts standing guard while the other sleeps.”
They slid back down to their horses. Cayden took a swig of his water to rinse his mouth, spitting it out on the ground. He patted Sheba on the head and whispered, “Keep up, girl, and keep your eyes open, OK?” She licked his hand and tilted her head, listening. She trotted off ahead of them, seeming to lead the way.
They rode hard and by nightfall the area of the attack was far behind them. They did not see any sign of the band or any sign of their pursuers. The flies also disappeared. That evening they ate a cold dinner, not wishing to alert anyone to their presence. They hobbled their horses and allowed them to graze close to their camp, but they remained saddled. They slept under the open stars under a blanket, fully clothed.
Sheba sat with Cayden and watched with him while Ziona slept. All was still. She gnawed on the thigh bone of the rabbit she had caught for her dinner. Cayden pulled out his flutes and rolled them in his hands. He pondered their use, beyond calling the creatures to him. Was it possible they could help him in some other way?
He sensed Sheba’s presence separately from the other wolves around them. He thought about his flutes tucked back under the grandfather oak tree back home. He wished he had brought them all along now.
If Ziona played the flute, would the animals come to her? He had never considered what would happen if others played them. He would have to have Ziona try it when she awoke.
Worried about what had happened to the others, Cayden unconsciously ground his teeth. Surely they had escaped. There were only four of those creatures. The band would be OK. They had to be. Cayden’s frustration mounted as his ever-present worry about his friends came back full force. Was there anything to be done differently to protect them? They were dying because of him and he didn’t understand why. He needed answers and he needed them now. His eyes were drawn south again toward that persistent nagging tug at his soul. Answers were waiting for him in Cathair and he was anxious to get there.
He glanced at the sky and saw the moon was about three quarters gone. Dawn would be arriving in about three hours. He got up and shook Ziona awake, changing places. Crawling under the covers, he fell into a restless sleep in which werewolves stood guard while demons played his flutes and the dead clapped along.
***
Ryder huddled with the band members, midstream of the river. Their horses quivered with fear and exhaustion. The flies did not seem to like the water and refused to follow them into the streambed, a lucky break for them. Ryder took a quick head count. Everyone was accounted for except for Cayden, Ziona, and James.
Ryder prayed they were safe. “All right, here is what we are going to do. We will ride downstream toward Cathair for a couple of miles in this river. When we find a good location, we will exit the stream on the opposite side of where the Charun are located. Their flying spies should not be able to find us at least until the Charun cross over. Hopefully, they never do.”
In their mad flight, they had headed north for a mile or so and then cut back to the river. The last few stragglers of the band had finally caught up to them. This had been the fallback plan Darius had discussed with the band in case they were separated. He had not shared this with Cayden or Ryder in the hope that if disaster struck they would leave on their own as the band led any danger away from Cayden. Ryder thought this plan rather brilliant of Darius. He would need to promote the man earlier than he thought.
“Let’s head out!”
They splashed down stream for a few miles and eventually came to a sandbar extending out from the right-hand shoreline. The horses scrambled up out of the river happy to regain the solid ground of the riverbank, spreading out onto the grassland on the west side of the river.
Glancing at the sky, Ryder judged they had roughly three hours of daylight left to them. Their sidetrack had taken them another two hours off the path. Assuming Cayden, Ziona, and James headed due south they now had a five-hour lead on the band. Ryder’s gut told him Cayden would push hard to reach Cathair now. He would not attempt to rejoin them.
Laurista rode up to Ryder and placed a hand on his arm. “The men are tired, my lord. They need to rest, as do the horses. To push on now would not be wise. There are injuries amongst the men I need to attend to.”
He glanced down at her. “I am not a lord, Laurista. My name is Ryder.”
She looked askance at him. “Of course, my lord.”
He frowned, not understanding what she meant.
“Darius, have the men make camp, but they must be prepared to ride at a moment’s notice. No cook fires, understand?”
“It will be as you command, sir.” Ryder returned the salute from his captain and then followed Laurista back to her tent that was now acting as a field hospital. A small service ten
t had been set up to receive the wounded. Most injuries were not serious, cuts and scrapes and one arm broken when the man had tried to outrun the Charun. His horse had stumbled, throwing him, but he had managed to remount and escape. All in all, they had survived this first test and come through the other side relatively unscathed.
Ryder was sure it would have been worse if they hadn’t discovered the flies’ weakness. He was also sure they had been tracking them and would return to the hunt once the Charun discovered their prey had escaped once again. There was no doubt in Ryder’s mind they were after Cayden, which meant he was in danger every second of every day.
Ryder strode over to Darius. “Captain Darius, I need you to select four men with demonstrated skills to perform as scouts.”
Darius surveyed the men. “Gregory, Samuel, Phillip, and Macon, with me.” The four soldiers walked up to him and Ryder. “These four have excellent horsemanship. Gregory and Samuel have served as trackers and scouts in the legion already. Phillip is from my village and can track a squirrel up a tree to its den. Macon can smell a rat even if it has been pickled and stuffed in a jar.”
“Excellent.” Ryder examined the four men. All were of a wiry build and short. “We need to know what we are riding into and who may be trailing us. Your job will be to continuously scout for enemies. I want one man out front as we advance and one checking our back trail as we march. The other two are your relief. You will scout day and night in six-hour shifts. I will leave you to arrange your scheduling, but it begins immediately. I do not want to be surprised ever again.”
Ryder strode away, leaving the men to carry out his orders.
Chapter 31
THE WIZARD STIRRED ON HIS FILTHY PALLET on the floor. The cave-like cell was dank and damp, having been formed out of a natural occlusion in the limestone rock. In the corner stalactites and stalagmites, created by a steady drip of water, formed a jagged toothy cavity perfect for hiding small treasures he wished to keep out of sight of his hosts. He thought they were actually quite a bit longer than when he had taken up residence in the cave seventeen years ago.
The only reason he knew it had been seventeen years was because of the rough calendar he had gouged into the soft rock with a piece of calcite. That stone made a perfect chalk and it was plentiful in the cave. The difficult part was getting enough light to see to be able to write anything by. The few stubs of candles left behind by the guards soon sputtered and died, giving barely enough light to eat and perform his toilet once a day.
The door rattled and his usual jailer, Wendell, poked his head in.
“When are you going to die?” he puffed, dragging in a bucket and a plate with gruel. “You make me work so hard, hauling this slop up and down the stairs all the time.”
“I am indeed sorry to inconvenience you, my good man. As luxurious as my accommodation is, I would hate to leave it empty. Now tell me, where would you ever find such an excellent tenant? Why, you would be retired and bouncing your grandkids on your knee before you could find a suitable replacement.”
Wendell snorted and plopped down the bucket with an audible splash.
He set the lantern on a peg by the door, illuminating the cell for a short time. The old man sat on his pallet as always, long white hair flowing over his shoulders and onto his chest. It curled at the ends, reminding Wendell of a horse mane.
“Well, at least I don’t have to shave you anymore, not that they ever checked on it. I need that shave more than you do. The lice are your buddies now, right? Bed bugs keep you company at night.” He chuckled at his own dark humour.
“Alas, they certainly do,” the wizard agreed pleasantly.
“Well here are your candle stubs.” Wendell lit one and placed it on the ground. “I have a special treat for you tonight. Don’t go expecting it every day, mind you. I had to sneak this in for you.” He frowned at the wizard, suddenly unsure if this was a good idea after all. Shrugging, he tossed a package to the wizard. The small bag was made of old leather and tied with a drawstring.
“There is an extra candle strapped to the base of the water bucket. Enjoy your few extra minutes of light.”
Wendell backed out of the cell with the full slop bucket and took up the lantern from the peg on his way out. The light dimmed and the key squawked in the lock. The sound of boots on stone faded with the light.
Mordecai Ben-Moses was a practical wizard. When materials presented themselves, there was no reason to flaunt one’s powers. He retrieved the candle from under the bucket and set it aside so the wick would not be wetted by his ablutions.
He picked up the bag and tugged on the drawstring, dumping its contents onto his filthy robes. Out tumbled a multifaceted crystal, its cut surfaces sending rainbows of light flashing around the cell from the candle’s flickering flame.
Mordecai grinned. Finally, his hard work was paying off. It had taken seventeen years of chit-chat and conversation to win the reticent Wendell over to his side. Now Mordecai had his focus stone back in his possession. The time was close; he knew it.
Mordecai felt him coming. The bond was working. Gwen would be pleased that their plans of so long ago were coming to fruition. His grin widened and then he set about bathing and eating his meal just as the liquefied stub of candle sputtered out.
He snapped his fingers and a flame danced to light on his fingertips. He checked another day off his chalk calendar and then lay back down to sleep. He snapped his fingers and the light extinguished. Closing his eyes, he reached out to the boy in his dreams, calling him to his destiny.
***
Cayden’s band settled in a copse of trees nestled in a valley about half a mile off the main road. An animal trail had led back to the spot and, as Cayden had suspected, a small spring bubbled from the rocks near the trees.
A light rain continued to fall so they took luxury in putting up both tents, stretching a canopy between the two to keep their small fire dry and give them a spot to sit together.
Cayden scoured the underbrush to find kindling and dry wood for their fire. He located a very old birch tree, the white bark peeling in long curls. Perfect kindling lay at its base and he collected that along with some more substantial branches. One in particular was of great interest.
Arriving back at their campsite, he started a fire, while Ziona pulled food from their packs. She suspended a pot and a kettle from the arm of a tripod and added dried meat, beans, and water to the one and tea leaves to the other.
Cayden grabbed his satchel and lowered himself to the ground under the canopy, pulling out his carving tools.
Sheba trotted in from the scrub line, another rabbit clenched in her jaws. She settled on her belly beside Cayden and tore into her meal.
Ziona sat down beside him, watching. “Do you mind if I look at your flutes?”
Cayden reached into the bottom of his satchel and pulled out the three flutes he had stored there.
“These two, I carved back home and this one I made while I was in the legion camp.” He hesitated before handing them over.
Ziona examined them, her slender fingers tracing the designs he had carved into them.
“Do you know what these symbols are?” Her nimble fingers followed the serpentine marks on the snake flute.
“They are designs, I imagine…aren’t they? I carved whatever inspiration came to me at the time.”
“I don’t think so, Cayden. They look like runes to me.”
Cayden paused halfway through reaching into his satchel again, eyes flashing to hers.
“Runes? I know nothing of runes. That is not possible.”
“Nevertheless, it is what they appear to be.” She smiled at him. “If you have discovered a talent for the ancient rune language, you are unique, Cayden. The knowledge of runes vanished over a thousand years ago. What do you want to do with them?” She held them up for his inspection. “Shall I play them for you? Or do you want to play them?”
Cayden studied her. Then he took back the ones he had carved at home, leav
ing the rainbow-barked one he had carved that day in the meadow in her hands.
“Play this one. I know what happens when I play it. You try it. Play any song that comes to mind.”
Ziona put the flute to her lips and played. The flute sounded…well, like a flute, Cayden thought. The music was pleasant, the song pleasing. She played on for a few minutes. Then, she lowered the flute, eyebrows raised in enquiry.
Cayden shook his head. “Nothing happened, Ziona.” He took back the flute, examining it. It was still the same as when he had played it. “It played nicely, but the song…the sound was different than when I play it.”
Ziona did not seem surprised. “I think, Cayden, it is because this flute is bound to you. To anyone else, it will be a pretty flute. Only you have the ability to make it come alive. Come, you play it for me. Maybe I can see the effects, even if I can’t make them happen.”
Cayden put his lips to the flute and played. Instantly, the tone changed and laughter bounced out of the flute. The song giggled with light notes and a breeze gusted, swirling the leaves on the ground. This time when the child appeared in response to his playing, she was dressed in vivid green gossamer skirts and a halo of flowers nestled in her curls. She spun in a circle, dancing a jig to the music Cayden played.
Sheba raised her head and watched attentively. She did not growl or show any aggression at all. She seemed to accept the girl as normal. She went back to chewing on her rabbit.
Cayden lowered his flute and grinned at the familiar figure that appeared.
“’Tis a much better song than the last time, Cayden of the Cliffs,” she said in a lilting accent.