The Wild Road

by Jennifer Roberson

  Or perhaps one day, one year, his wife and children would find a way out of the deepwood. He dared not depart in case they should do so. And there was work for him here, he realized, tasks to be done. The boundaries between safety and Alisanos were to be mapped and marked, crops planted, livestock raised, river fished, people fed. The wagon carried the makings for a new life. It would not be impossible to begin again; that was precisely what he and Audrun intended when they elected to move to Atalanda.

  Not impossible but difficult, oh yes, and exceedingly painful, because he would be alone.

  Davyn climbed down from the wagon. Throughout the grove other folk were stirring. He heard again the echoing call for rites for the hand-reader and reflected that tea could wait. Afterwards, he would approach the ale-keep and the karavan-master to offer aid.

  Then he heard the shouting, the screaming, and broke into a run, heading for the bonfire.

  ALARIO STOOD IN the borderlands in the verge between the human world and Alisanos. Here, the shadows were pale, the trees less shielding. Much had happened since last he visited. The woman he killed, then resurrected, had entwined her heart with his worthless get, a dioscuri not worth the name. His get took great joy in the world among the humans, turning his back on his heritage, even on his blood. Alario could not fathom how his get could so easily reject the traditions of Alisanos. He found it both infuriating and perplexing.

  There was no sound, but he knew Ylarra’s scent, her step. He did not bother to turn. “And now you must wait five more years,” she said in her husky voice.

  Alario spun around. “What?”

  “Five more years,” Ylarra answered, allowing a delicate disbelief to color her tone. “Ah, but I was forgetting. You were not present when we discussed what to do with Brodhi and Rhuan.” Her smile was faint, but he saw the amusement in her eyes, heard it in her voice. “For differing reasons, they broke their vows and came back into Alisanos,” she said. “But circumstances were judged to matter, so it was decided that they should begin again. Five more years before they may return to the Kiba.”

  Alario let the red scrim in his eyes drop down. His flesh warmed on his bones; he knew very well that his skin had darkened. “I should kill him now. Now.”

  “And break with ritual? You?” She raised her brows. “That would cost you your place among us. Is that what you wish?”

  “He is unworthy.”

  “Of course he is. And you will have the opportunity to kill him for it . . . in five years.” She was nearly as tall as he, and equally able to intimidate when she wished. “A weak seed, Alario. You selected the wrong woman. You would do better to select one of us.”

  He smiled thinly. “You?”

  Her shrug was casual, insousciant. “Karadath would not take kindly to that.”

  “And yet you give him no child, no dioscuri of your own making.”

  “The human woman will. We know she is fecund.”

  It startled him, though out of long habit he showed nothing. “Has Karadath found another woman? A human woman?”

  “He has. Alisanos swallowed her then spat her out. Rhuan—himself swallowed and spat out—brought her to the Kiba. We saw her mettle. She dared to suggest we aren’t gods at all.”

  “And that is a recommendation for breeding?”

  “Of course it is, Alario. And you know it.”

  “It was a human woman who gave me a worthless dioscuri. If Karadath takes this other woman, how certain is he that the same won’t happen to him?

  Ylarra laughed. “It wasn’t Karadath whose seed was weak. He sired Brodhi on a human woman, and no one may argue that Brodhi is worthless. That title falls only to Rhuan.”

  She judged him, he knew. As did all of them. Brodhi had killed all of his siblings to claim the favored place, the honor of challenge when the time came; Rhuan killed no one. There was no denying it: Alario’s get disdained the ritual, repudiated their customs. “When we engage, he and I,” Alario said, “there will be an end to it. I’ll kill him immediately.”

  “I would assume so,” Ylarra agreed. “No one will take that wager. But you have no other dioscuri.” Her mouth quirked. “Is it better to raise up a weak one? Or to begin again?”

  Karadath had Brodhi. Brodhi was all any of them were, and strongly favored. But as Ylarra suggested, it was a wise plan for Karadath to sire another dioscuri, in case Brodhi should fall. A wise plan indeed.

  And nothing to persuade Alario from doing the same himself.

  RHUAN WAS FIRST out of the grove, running to the screams. He, Ilona, and the others spilled out of thick-bolled, storm-wracked trees into the cleared central area that surrounded the hub of the new bonfire ring. Folk had been on their way to morning rites for Ilona. All had been arrested in motion, originally heading toward the swell of hill between the damaged grove and the old-growth trees, exiting tents and wagons, crossing new footpaths and the circumference of the bonfire ring. But now all were frozen in place. Rhuan thought initially a Hecari culling party had arrived, but then he realized that everyone was staring into the sky, many of them pointing overhead. Something black flew out of the rising sun.

  The shadow was huge. Despite thin morning sunlight, it flowed across the ground. The wingspread was enormous.

  Rhuan knew. Instantly.

  “Down!” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. “Everyone down! Lie still! Don’t move!” He spun in place, gesturing sharply to Bethid, Mikal, and Jorda as they came up behind Ilona. “Down—down!” He closed urgent hands on Ilona’s arms and pushed her to the ground. “’Lona—down. Make no movement, no sound.” Once again he raised his voice. “Everyone down! Mothers, keep your children still!”

  He did not himself flatten, but dropped to one knee. Movement here and there caught his eye as some folk followed orders while others gathered up children and ran for the grove, for the tents, for the wagons. For any shelter they might find in the new-laid settlement.

  Too much movement— “Be still!” he roared. “No one is to move!” He saw one woman, frozen in place by panic, standing in the open like a single stalk of corn in a flattened field. Cursing, he plunged to his feet and ran to her, still shouting. “Lie flat! Everyone!”

  Ironic, he thought, when he himself was doing precisely what he told the folk not to. But there was no choice.

  Rhuan caught the woman, shoved her down without warning or apology. She landed hard, one arm trapped beneath her, and he went down beside her. He understood the impulse that cried out for motion, for flight, but movement was too dangerous.

  From the corner of his eye he saw a young boy darting near the bonfire ring and a woman racing after him from the shelter of the tents. The shadow against the ground loomed close, loomed large. The wingspread swallowed woman and boy. In the light of the new sun, scales gleamed russett and ruddy and gold.

  The beast came down. Rhuan smelled the odor of it, the musky scent of Alisanos. Talons closed in flesh. Whirlwinds of dust eddied in the air as massive wings beat toward the heavens. Horrified men and women screamed in disbelieving terror. The woman next to him ceased her noise only when he clamped a hand across her mouth. “Be still! Be still!”

  But panic infected the folk. Some followed orders and lay flat, shielding their heads with hands and arms, but others, in the open and unable to stand it, scrambled to their feet and ran.

  “No!” Rhuan cried. “Don’t move!”

  But they moved. They ran this way and that, filling footpaths, darting across the central area surrounding the fire ring.

  Already he grew hoarse, his throat burning. “Be still!”

  But they were not still. They tempted, tantilized, though unintentionally. The bodies of the woman and child were dropped from overhead and thumped into the earth, dead limbs asprawl as people screamed. The beast canted right, scooped. This time a man was yanked up into
the air.

  Chaos. Any chance Rhuan had of controlling the people vanished. He knew the beast, knew its instincts. In Alisanos, Audrun had listened to him. Audrun had done as told. These folk were frightened out of their wits and running for their lives.

  A quick glance showed him that Ilona, as instructed, lay perfectly still, face-down against the ground. She made no sound. Nearby, Bethid followed suit. Mikal and Jorda were slower, heavier, and flung themselves down at the fringe of the grove several paces away. Too many fled this way and that. From the air, all that frenzied movement would further incite what was already a deadly prey drive.

  Now the man’s lax body was dropped. The beast altered direction.

  Sprawled humans wailed, shrieked, sobbed, prayed. Cursing, Rhuan saw the massive body lower, clutch, then rise. This time, a girl. Her thin, piercing scream cut off sharply. The beast’s pungent odor lingered in Rhuan’s nostrils, bathed the back of this throat.

  Four were beyond help. Three of them lay broken against the ground, and the last, limp, was clasped in talons. But now, finally, movement ceased. Humans were sheltered by tents, by wagons, or lay very still. At last, they listened.

  Too late for four.

  Expansive wings stretched, flapped, lifting the sinuous, coppery mass into the air. The girl’s body remained clutched in talons.

  Somewhere a woman wailed in tones of desperate grief.

  ILONA LAY FLAT, face down, one cheek pressed into earth as both arms cradled her head. As she breathed, she felt puffs of floury dust rising against her mouth. She tasted grit, salt, astringency. A stone cut into her cheek. Every instinct in her body screamed at her to get up from the ground, to run, run, run to shelter. But Rhuan had told them all to go down, get down, to remain still. As exposed as she felt, she trusted him. So she lay pressed into the dirt, every measure of unshielded body aprickle with dread, with the stark awareness that death hovered just overhead.

  Mother, Mother, Mother. She was afraid to speak it aloud, to make any noise at all.

  The beast’s scent was strong, and yet she did not find it unpleasant. It was a melange of odors that struck her as toweringly male. She felt pressure in the air, saw from the corner of her eye that shadows moved. And then the pressure lessened, the shadows withdrew, and the scent of the beast faded. She felt a hand in her hair, briefly cupping her skull, and knew it was Rhuan’s.

  “All right,” he rasped in a voice roughened by shouting. “It’s gone.” Then he raised his voice once again, pitching it to carry. “It’s all right! It’s gone! We’re safe!”

  Ilona pushed herself to her knees, shaking back her array of tangled ringlets. She brushed dirt and debris from her face, spat out grit, wiped it from her lips with the back of one hand. Rhuan was standing next to her. For a moment, as had the beast, he blocked the sun. Then he leaned down, reached out a hand, and she let him pull her to her feet.

  Others came out of tents, climbed from under wagons, picked themselves up from the earth. Children wailed. Women keened. Voices were raised in frantic questions.

  The sun now showed its entire face above the horizon, warming the day. Beneath it, three bodies lay sprawled near the fire ring, fragile, broken, flesh torn by talons.

  Bethid came up beside Ilona, backhanding grit from her bottom lip. “Mother of Moons,” she murmured blankly, staring at the bodies. Then she turned to Rhuan, asking exactly what Ilona meant to ask, “What was that?”

  “A draka,” he said.

  Bethid’s eyes were intent. “From Alisanos.”

  Rhuan’s tone was purposefully light, but Ilona saw a brief flicker in his eyes. “Where else?”

  Bethid looked shaken. “Will it come back?”

  Mikal and Jorda joined them. Anticipating the questions, Rhuan said, “A draka. Deadly, as you saw. And no, I can’t tell you with certainty whether it will return, though it’s possible, but I can say that we have a reprieve. For a while.”

  “How do you know that?” Bethid asked. “How can you be so certain?”

  Rhuan’s expression was grim. “First, it will feed.”

  The flesh tightened on Ilona’s bones. “Oh Mother . . .” She knew. She knew, and it sickened her. It sickened all of them, who had seen a child’s body carried into the air.

  “You must understand,” Rhuan told them, habitual humor absent. “Learn this lesson now and remember it: anything is possible.”

  “But—” Mikal began.

  “Anything,” Rhuan repeated, cutting him off decisively. “The world you knew is altered. When Alisanos moves, it swallows some and disgorges others. For days, months, years, it remains unstable.”

  Jorda’s eyes were full of horror. “Might there be others? Of, of—” he flapped an arm toward the sky, “—that?”

  Alarmed, Bethid fixed on something else. “Are you saying Alisanos might move again?”

  Rhuan’s expression was grim. “Anything is possible.”

  Mikal gestured. “Then we should pack up the settlement and move!”

  Rhuan nodded. “That is certainly understandable. But I would strongly recommend that you let Brodhi and me sort out where the boundaries are first. It serves nothing to pack up and move until we know where safety lies.”

  Ilona was aware of others straggling up, tent-folk and karavaners alike. She understood why: Mikal and Jorda had established themselves as leaders, and Rhuan had been the one to issue orders when the draka attacked, clearly familiar with its habits. Dusty faces were stunned, tense, and frightened. Everyone spoke at once, asking questions, demanding answers in tones of desperate insistence.

  A glance at Rhuan proved he was as aware of it as she. “I promise,” he said to the folk, “I do promise to answer your questions as best I may. But for now—” He broke off, brows arching sharply, attention once again drawn away. Ilona turned and followed his line of sight.

  Brodhi. Out of Alisanos.

  He paused, saw the gathering of folk, the bodies, Rhuan in the center, and swiftly altered course.

  He walked away.

  Ilona couldn’t believe it, even of Brodhi.

  Rhuan’s mouth stretched into a taut line, but he continued smoothly with what he had started to say, ignoring Brodhi. Ilona understood why Rhuan did so: expressing any curiosity about Brodhi’s appearance might lead folk to question where he had been. And just now there were too many other questions to be answered. Addressing the fact that Brodhi had been in Alisanos searching for Audrun and her children would undermine any calm Rhuan might achieve. “But for now,” he said, “we’d best look to rites for the dead.”

  Ilona felt a chill. Rites that had been originally intended for her.

  And it was nearly tangible, the weight of questions in everyone’s eyes. How could she be standing among them, clearly alive?

  Chapter 3

  ILONA BLURTED THE first thing that came into her mind. “I wasn’t dead. I appeared to be dead, certainly, but I was only unconscious.” She realized that laid blame for the mistake at Jorda’s door, and hastened to absolve him. She was a diviner; there were many things about divining and its different sects that folk did not know. “I was dream-walking.” She infused her tone with confident matter-of-factness. “Lerin taught me how, before she died in the storm. I struck my head.” Ilona touched her temple briefly. “I wasn’t dead after all . . .” Oh Mother, help me find a way through this tangle! And then she found it, altering the topic. “—but Rhuan is correct. We do need to hold rites. For the others.”

  Bethid raised her voice. “She’s a diviner. She can officiate. We’re lucky she isn’t dead. Now we have a link to the Mother, even if not all of us are accustomed to relying on a hand-reader.”

  Ilona smiled inwardly with relief. Nicely done. She owed the courier her thanks, when the opportunity presented itself.

  “I’m going to Brodhi,” Be
thid told Ilona, touching her elbow briefly. Then she circled around the crowd to take the shortest route.

  “Dawn rites,” Jorda announced, promptly assuming Bethid’s lead. “Tomorrow.”

  It would allow time for the bodies to be cleansed and made ready, two more graves dug, and vigils held. It also bought Ilona time to sort out a more detailed explanation for her resurrection. She couldn’t contradict her story and tell them she wasn’t Shoia; and people would certainly ask when they came requesting she read their hands in the wake of the draka attack. It bought, as well, a day for Rhuan to prepare answers that would calm them. To nearly all tent-folk, he was mostly a stranger, but he had warned the settlement of the deepwood’s imminent shift, saving lives. The karavaners knew to trust him and would say so. Rhuan was believed to be Shoia, as was Brodhi; like diviners, they were expected to know things others might not.

  Ilona reflected that she could not look less like a hand-reader had she tried, clad in a wrinkled, dusty burial shift with grit on her face, and hair a tangled mess. But she summoned a professional demeanor despite her disarray. “We will see to it that the dead are given proper rites as they cross the river. At this time tomorrow, we’ll meet at the burying place.”

  Where she herself, this morning, would have been interred.

  “Wait!” called a voice. “Brodhi—wait! Did you find them? Did you find my family in Alisanos?”

  The farmsteader, Davyn. Of course. With exquisite timing, hastening toward Brodhi as he exited the grove. “Sweet Mother,” Ilona murmured as a stirring ran through the crowd. Shock was palpable.

  A man blurted what all of them were thinking. “He was in the deepwood?”