Uther insisted they sleep without the refuge of the tents. Partly, he said, because they needed to be able to hear approaching riders. Also, they wouldn’t have the time to break camp if they did hear anyone coming for them, and they would surely need the tents once they reached Sanctuous.
With only the thick bedroll for shelter against the chill, howling winds, the cold gnawed at Sage’s bones. And she didn’t much care for lying awake and having nothing to stare at but a black, starless sky. The moon and its children hadn’t deigned to make an appearance for the last couple nights.
Riken screamed again. He sounded like a coyote being skinned alive.
“Why won’t he stop?” Renna begged, mashing her ears into Sage’s back to muffle the horrible sound.
“His pain is strong,” Sage said. But he is stronger still. He won’t let it win. He can’t.
Abby said Riken’s leg was worsening by the day, and that he must have treatment of some kind soon or they’d have to take the infected appendage to save his life. Illter said he could make ointments that would suffice if only they could reach the mountains in time, though he hadn’t looked optimistic of the chances.
Sage knew better. She knew Riken would hold out long enough. She’d seen him back in the tent, the undefeatable determination in his eyes as he’d endured the tortures visited upon him. She’d witnessed his bravery, his sheer unselfishness in a seemingly futile bid to save her life and the lives of the other captive girls. Even when all hope had been lost, Riken hadn’t waned. He was the bravest man Sage had ever known, and she’d never even spoken a word to him. That man would not let the darkness take him.
“Go back to sleep,” Sage told the girls.
She pulled the bedroll snug over all their heads, and after a while, fell asleep to the soft melody of their snoring.
There was no darkness in the clearing.
In fact, the light shone so brightly it caressed the bare skin of his arms with tingling warmth.
Stranger still, the limbs of the trees encasing him had sprouted scores of beautiful pink and white buds. A silky blanket of fallen petals swathed the ground at his feet, veiling the bed of dirt and pine needles beneath.
A gentle, soothing breeze whispered through the trees, scooping up lines of the vibrant petals and swishing them into the air. They fluttered back to the ground like fat snowflakes, a few tickling his cheeks in their descent.
“Where am I?” Riken asked the trees. He knew the answer, of course. He’d been here most every night of his life. But now he found it so changed, he thought he might be mistaken.
A cruel jest, if this is Haven. No matter the tranquil beauty of the place, it was still the setting of his beloved sister’s demise. Could the Father be so spiteful as to make this my final resting place?
A tiny hand cupped his own.
Riken turned, startled.
Amana looked up at him with big eyes, smiling serenely. She was majestic, an angel on land. She was dressed in a flowing, white gown so pristine it hurt his eyes. And she glowed –her tussled hair, her milky skin, her petite fingers encircled in his. She radiated. When she parted her lips to speak, her breath smelled of sugared mint.
“My brother,” she said, her voice like a nightingale singing a lullaby to the clouds.
Despite the joy streaming through his body, Riken grew suddenly worried, and searched the trees beyond for signs of danger.
“The wolves have gone, my brother,” Amana said, squeezing his hand. “They won’t return.”
“They won’t?”
Amana shook her head whimsically.
“Why?”
“You destroyed them.”
“I didn’t.”
Her smile seemed unconvinced. “Aye,” she said.
“Nay, I let them have you, and now they’ve taken me as well. This place is our reward for such a dreadful life. This is our Haven, and we’ll be together now for always.”
Amana giggled at him, like a parent might a small child making up ludicrous stories. She looked up at him – big eyes sparkling – with fathomless patience.
“It could be this is Haven,” she said, taking in the lush scenery surrounding them. “It is exquisite. But even if you’re right, you can’t stay.”
Her simple, aloof statement hit Riken like someone had poured molten steel over his head. He clutched her hand tighter, afraid she might let go.
“But why?” he asked.
“It’s not your place.”
“And if I want it to be, if I choose to stay here with you?”
“It’s not a choice offered you.”
Riken thought he understood. The revelation terrified him, and a numbing tremor ran the length of his body.
“Not there either,” Amana said, giggling again.
“Nay?”
“Nay, my brother. The Seven Layers are not for the likes of you.”
He exhaled the pointed breath lodged in his windpipe.
“Then where?”
Amana looked confused. “Why, where you’ve always been.”
Riken shook his head emphatically. “Nay, I don’t care to go back there. There’s nothing for me.”
“Why say that?”
“Why not say that? I failed everyone. They’re all gone because of me. I can never go back there. I won’t.”
“You failed no one,” Amana said, her hand slipping from his. She moved in a sort of half-skip, her face tilted up, enjoying the feel of the warm sunbeams on her skin. At least in his dreams, she looked more contented than he’d ever seen her. She twirled like a top in the middle of the clearing, stirring the huge pink and white petals.
“They’re all dead,” Riken said, unable to join in her whimsy. “Uther, Payton, the rest. Abby. Sage and the other little girls I went to save. If only Jillian had knocked on another door that morning. Maybe Hammer’s. Then they’d all be alive, instead of rotting in a black ravine in the middle of a dry wasteland. The Black Earth tribe may have wielded the weapons, but I slew them all with my tainted hands. Please let me stay here with you. I have nothing to go back to.”
Amana ended her twirling and craned her neck upward, cupping an ear with her hand. Her cheeks were rosy and full. A curly lock of hair fell between her eyes. “Listen,” she said.
Riken did. He heard nothing.
“Beautiful,” Amana said, drawing a cleansing breath.
“I hear not a thing,” Riken said.
“Right. Nothing. No wolves. Their low rumble haunts me no more.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You don’t have to. Not yet.” She held her arms out to him. “Hug me, my sweet Riken. Hold me in your arms like before. I want to feel the sanctuary of my brother’s embrace one last time.”
Riken went to her. He fell to his knees on the soft earth and enveloped her within his arms. Her little hands squeezed at his back, and he gripped her tighter, smelling the sweet scent of her hair as if it were medicine for his tarnished mind. He trembled at the warmth of her easy breath on his chest. When she pulled away, he felt momentarily barren.
“I must go,” Amana said.
“Take me with you,” Riken said, still on his knees, his cheeks wetting with tears.
His sister shook her head, smiling. “You vanquished my wolves, and theirs. But there are still wolves lurching in dark shadows. You must contest them.”
“I can’t.”
“You know you can.”
“But how, baby girl?” he asked.
“You’ll find a way, my sweet Riken,” Amana said, fading away into the line of burgeoning trees. “It’s in your nature.”
Then she was gone, and he was alone, and scared.
“Please, by the Father, please don’t leave me again,” he cried. “Please…”
“…don’t leave me again. Please.”
“I’m right here. Shh, I’m here, Riken. I’ve gone nowhere, and don’t plan to.”
Riken felt something cool on his forehead, something warm on his chest. He
heard the voice speaking as if at a great distance, like he was falling down a bottomless well. He started to shake, terrified for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend. The warm hand on his chest pressed gently.
“Shh, calm yourself,” the voice said. “You’re safe. We all are.”
Riken opened his eyes. “Abby?”
“Then I’m not as forgettable as you’ve made out?”
She was smiling. He hadn’t seen her doing that in a long while.
“What?” he asked, groggy.
“Nothing,” she said, patting at his forehead with a damp cloth. “You haven’t been yourself of late. I’ll forgive it once, under the circumstances.”
Wherever he was, the light was dim. He couldn’t make out his surroundings.
“Where?”
“Harrenport,” Abby said. “We’ve been here a week now.”
“How?” His mind, what portion of it could presently be engaged for purposeful thought, was racing, desperately trying to remember something.
“With difficulty.”
“Like there’s any other way.”
“Around you,” Abby said, “not too likely.”
“Comforting. Wouldn’t want to ruin my hard won reputation.”
“Safe as a babe in its mother’s arms.”
“Depends on the mother,” Riken said. The jest grew less humorous the more he thought on it.
“Quite,” Abby said.
“So?”
“That’s a tale for another time. For now, you need to rest if you’re to regain your strength.”
“My strength? Shouldn’t take long,” he said, squeezing his eyes at a sudden throbbing pain in his head.
“Least you haven’t lost your humor,” Abby said with a soft laugh.
“The others?”
“Uther and Dexter are around somewhere. They’ve been spending a goodly amount of time at the local tavern hustling the poor fishermen out of their wages. Good thing these bumpkins can fish; they sure as shit can’t play cards. Illter’s in the next hut over. He’s hurt, but not irreversibly so. He’ll be back on his feet before you, I’d wager. Sage and the rest of the girls are well, if malnourished. The fishwives have been seeing to that. They’ll all be plump as Winter’s Kiss pigs by the time Crystalline docks again.”
“Payton…and Tawny?” Riken asked.
He didn’t care at all for the frown that Abby tried to hide. She bit at her upper lip. He’d seen her do that so many times before.
Suddenly, maliciously, and without fair warning, it all came cascading back. His chest tightened beneath her touch, and the dull throbbing in his head picked up momentum. A shroud of sadness engulfed him, and he was powerless to dam the fountain of tears that burst forth.
Abby let the wet cloth fall to the ground and wrapped him in her arms, taking care not to hurt him, but providing a welcome, familiar comfort. Her poured his grief onto her, his face buried in the supple, musty cloth of her cotton shirt. Her hand went to the back of his head, pressing him closer, and he sunk into her embrace.
Later, he couldn’t say how long he’d cried, but when he’d finished, his throat was raw and parched. His eyes burned like they had smoldering coals affixed to them. Still locked to Abby, he opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t conjure the energy. He closed his eyes and sleep took him.
Even with the morose burden of his friends’ deaths weighing him down, it was a peaceful slumber.
He dreamt not at all.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“I need to see her.”
Abby pulled the curtains from the small, glassless window. A fat beam of sunlight appeared on his bed sheet, warming his legs beneath the thin fabric. The salty aroma of ocean water filled the room, as it had for the last seven days.
“She’s roaming about the beach, I think,” Abby said.
“Would that I could go out to her,” Riken said.
“I’ll fetch her. Hungry?”
“A little, though I’m already tiring of clam and fish chowder both.”
“See what I can do,” Abby said, parting the slim curtains that acted as the door to the small, grass hut.
“Has she been told?”
Abby bit at her upper lip. The spot had grown a tiny scab of late. She shook her head, then left.
Sage Ullimar entered a few minutes later, carting a couple steaming bowls of some chowder or another. She stared at the impression of his leg in the sheer sheet. “How is it?”
“Numb,” he said, patting the injured leg for emphasis. “Illter’s ointments seem to be doing the trick, for now. I worry how long I’ll be able to say as much.”
“May I see it?”
Sage looked every bit an eight cycle old girl – smooth, unspoiled face; knobby arms and legs; wild, tussled hair – but her voice, though soft, betrayed her maturity. Riken had to remind himself that the little girl before him was well past a cent his senior.
He pulled the sheet back, revealing his mangled leg. Honestly, he’d rather not have looked at it himself. Always skinny, the appendage seemed to have been stripped of a few more ounces of meat, replaced by raw, bumpy flesh that looked as if a pissed off cheese grater had been let loose on it. Illter’s homemade ointments had cured the infected boils, but Riken feared the scarred products of their work would be forever with him. Worst was the still exposed spear wound just above his knee. The weapon’s head had sunk into bone. Abby insisted that he leave it unbandaged, stating that it needed to breath, that the salt air would do it good. Riken had obliged, though hesitantly. He didn’t care for the memories the sight of it invoked.
Sage wrinkled her sharp nose, obviously empathizing with his assessment.
“Truly? Is doesn’t hurt?” she asked, setting the bowls on the table under the window. She took a wicker chair from against the wall, pulled it close to the bed, and sat.
“Not yet. How are the others faring?”
“The girls? Well, I suppose. Wilma still hasn’t spoken, and Renna cries herself to sleep still, but they’ll come around, I think. I hope.”
“And you?” Riken asked, trying to figure out how to broach a terrible subject.
“Alive, thanks to you.” The look in her eyes – those youthful, innocent eyes – puzzled Riken.
“Sage…I need to tell you something. Something…hard.”
“About my parents?” She spoke solemnly, but she could’ve been asking after a family pet for all the emotion she showed. She must’ve caught the queer look on his face. “No one’s told me anything about them, and I’ve been asking. I figure word is not good.”
“Nay,” Riken said.
“Then they’re dead?”
He nodded.
Sage’s facial expression didn’t alter. “I see. How?”
“They…I…I need to eat,” he said, racking his brain for words, the right words. “Fetch me that bowl. I’ll tell you what you ask.”
She did, and as he ate, taking great pains not to spill the thick chowder on his bed sheet with his unsure hands, he unfolded the whole sorted tale, from Jillian’s morning visit to his room at the brothel – he didn’t tell Sage it was a brothel – to his finding out about Sefen’s hand in her kidnapping, to her mother and father’s selfish demises.
Sage took in the tale with marked acumen. She occasionally took a spoonful of her chowder, and cried only twice – when she learned of Beatrix’s part in the tragedy and when he told her of Jillian’s staunch determination that Riken continue on with the search when it had seemed a lost cause. The details of her parents’ deaths, he left to a minimum. As with Jillian, he painted a slightly less ghastly picture of her mother’s suicide, telling her Min Ullimar had taken poison with her wine. But he had the feeling she could’ve handled it either way. Maybe she’d already prepared herself for the worst, or maybe…
“And Min Dumay?” Sage asked. “How was she when last you saw her?”
“Anxious. Worried.”
“She’s a good woman, kind. You think her own daughter w
as taken by to the Black Earth tribe, don’t you?”
“Aye,” he answered.
Riken was puzzled by how easily she skimmed over her father’s involvement in the kidnappings, at least those of the other girls. Maybe it was more manageable to glaze the truth. But she would have to deal with it sometime. Grim realities rarely went away quietly. Usually, the simply festered, awaiting acknowledgement, surfacing at the worst of times. Sage was strong, though. When the time for her inevitable commune with her father’s atrocities, she’d fair admirably.
Sage’s eyes glistened, but the tears held. “It will be good to see her,” she said. “There’s no conveyer in this village, so we haven’t been able to send word. She must be impossibly vexed. Probably puttering around the house, tidying things for the hundredth or two hundredth time even though she did it right the first time.”
“Seems about right,” Riken said.
He finished his food, and Sage took his bowl, setting it on the table along with her own, which she’d barely touched. The curtains on the window were fluttering. Palms flat on the table, she gazed out the oval hole in the grass wall for a long while.
“I don’t know how to express my gratitude to you,” she said finally. “What you did for me, for the others…there are no words. What those savages did to my little Brook…they would’ve done to us next. Whatever is left of the rest of my life, whatever I do and accomplish, I owe to you. How can I make good on such a deed?”
“You could pay the rest of my fee,” Riken said.
That drew a chuckle. “Whatever it is, it’s well worth, and more.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
“As am I,” she said, “though I’d hardly call them parents. I may have been born of their loins, but Min Dumay has always been my mother, and I’ve had no father for some time now. When I return to that empty home, I doubt I’ll find it much changed. Riken?”
“Aye?”
“Correct me if I err, but it seemed from your tale as if there is more between you and Jillian than a simple business arrangement.”
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