"What's in Wood'aven?" asked the waif.
This time Tinko kept his mouth shut. He knew he had already said too much. The waif looked at Loras and Regan but neither would answer his question.
"Well, do any of yas know how to swim?" The teens all shook their heads. "Cause' yer never gonna make it to Wood'aven if you can't swim. Dat is, unless, you had a boat."
"It wouldn’t just so happen that you have a boat, would it?” asked Regan suspiciously.
"S'pose I might have somethin', but it ain't free."
"But we don't—" said Tinko before he was interrupted by Loras.
"We can pay! But only after you get us to Woodhaven. We will pay you once we get there," said Loras.
The waif pondered this for a moment. "You wouldn't be thinkin' of pullin' a fast one, now would ye? 'Specially seein' as how friendly I've been to yas even after yas tried ta jump me."
"No, we have money," added Regan. "But it's in Woodhaven. That's why we need to go there. Please, can you help us?"
The waif walked over to where Loras was laying and offered him a hand up. "Aye, it's a deal." Loras cautiously accepted the hand of the waif who pulled him off the ground with surprising strength.
"Ya should'a jumped," said the waif.
"What?" said Loras as he dusted himself off.
"When you was chargin', you should'a jumped. Wouldn't 'ave hit you 'den," said the waif with a wink.
Loras gave the waif a confused look then he, his sister and Tinko followed the woodsman back up the river from where he had come. The waif refused to trudge through the woods and so they reluctantly kept to the path. They walked in silence, keeping their eyes and ears open. Several times Tinko thought he heard something behind them but each time he looked around, there was nothing there. "Easy, big fella," the waif would say each time without turning his head. Eventually, Tinko realized that if something was truly pursuing them, the waif would know before anyone else did.
Only once did they come across a traveler who, fortunately, took no extra notice of them as they passed. But the teens noticed that the waif's grip on his walking stick had shifted slightly as the stranger approached.
They walked all day without stopping to eat or drink. Nobody, not even Tinko, protested. Their fear of being caught was greater than their hunger, and they decided that the more room they could put between them and Reysa, the better. Also, they had no clue how far it was to Woodhaven and the woodsman would not tell them. He simply would say "It's up 'ere aways. You'll hear it before ya see it."
Finally, evening came, and the waif instructed that they find a place to sleep for the night. The teens explained how they had spent the previous night in a tree, to which the waif gave an amused laugh.
"It was to hide us from—" Tinko began but was quickly cut off by Loras.
"Animals," said Loras as he shot Tinko a look that said you're not allowed to talk for the rest of the night.
"We were afraid that some animals might attack us while we were sleeping," added Regan.
"Ain't no animals gonna attack you," said the waif, "'sept for maybe a mendkin, but dats only when dey're real hungry. And if a mendkin finds ya, der ain't no tree dats gonna keep you from him." The teens looked at each other warily.
The waif led the group into the forest where they found a gathering of small, tangled trees whose overgrowth formed a canopy overhead. Loras and Tinko went about building a small wall to conceal their location while the waif went in search of firewood. When he returned, he had two dead pipkens and a nimber slung over his shoulder. Within minutes, the woodsman had dinner cooking over a neat little fire.
"So how big is your boat?" asked Tinko as he eyed the roasting nimber ravenously. He had never been on a boat before and the thought of riding on one made his stomach a bit queasy.
"What boat?" said the waif.
"Your boat," replied Tinko. "The one you told us you had!"
"Never said I 'ad a boat," said the waif as he turned the nimber over the fire.
"You said you had a boat to get us across the river!" added Loras.
"I said I 'ad somethin' to get ya across da river, but I never said it was a boat." The waif winked at Tinko as he grabbed the smoking hot nimber off the fire with his bare hands. He then tore off half and tossed it to Regan. "Ladies first." Regan let the smoking meat fall into her lap to cool. The waif then tossed the other half to her brother who caught it one-handed, never breaking eye contact with the waif.
"No need fer dat look of yers, my young floater friend. I says I would get yous across da river and so I will. Yous just make sure dat you keep yer end of da bargain."
Loras continued to stare at the waif, but he said nothing. After a few moments, he took an extra-large bite of the steaming-hot nimber. It burnt his mouth terribly, but he tried not to show it. Only after water began to pool in his eyes did Loras break eye contact with the waif. The waif gave an amused snort as he skewered the remaining two pipkens and placed them over the fire.
Tinko still had nothing to eat. Regan and Loras had been so hungry that they had totally forgotten about their friend. Tinko watched miserably as his companions tore into their dinners. All the while the waif slowly turned the spit and grinned at the hungry boy. Tinko could see that it had not been by chance that the twins got their dinners first.
"Yous needs to learn to control yourself a bit der big fella. "
"Excuse me?" said Tinko. "You don't even know me. You have no id—"
"Right der, dat’s what I mean. You just start spoutin' uncontrollable from yer mouth without thinkin’ first, just like ya run at me in da woods today." Loras and Regan looked up from their meals, their mouths full of meat. "Yous don't want to let people know what you're thinkin' or doin' all the time. Makes ya an easy target." As he said the word target, the waif took one of the sticks off of the fire and flung the end of it toward Tinko. The pipken flew off and hit the boy directly in the stomach, juices squirting everywhere. Tinko didn't care. He tore into the meat with both hands and ate greedily.
The waif looked sideways at Loras while he nodded at Tinko. Loras simply shrugged his shoulders and went back to his own dinner.
"Who does this guy think he is anyway?" said Tinko with a mouthful of meat. "We don't even know his name."
"That's true," said Regan. "What should we call you?"
"Yous can call me Lem if ya need ta," said the waif.
"Well, Lem," replied Regan, "my name is Re—" Loras stopped her.
"We shouldn't tell him our names!" he whispered. "What if he decides to double-cross us?"
Lem looked incredulously at the twins and then at Tinko. "He knows I'm right 'ere, right?"
Tinko just rolled his eyes. "He's not the brains of the operation," said Tinko through a mouthful of pipken meat.
"We don't have any choice but to trust him," said Regan, not trying to hide her voice from their companion. "Besides, if he sells us out then there will be no money for him."
"Aye, dat's the spirit," said Lem.
"Mr. Lem, my name is Regan. This is my brother Loras and our friend Tinko. It is nice to meet you," said Regan.
"I'm glad ya got to meet me too," said Lem with a toothy smile. Tinko chuckled. Even Loras grinned a bit. Everyone's mood began to improve, as usually is the case when you have food in your belly.
Chapter Eleven: Lessons
It had taken almost no time for Damnar and Damina to find the set of tracks left by Loras, Regan and Tinko. As Damina had predicted, the tracks led straight to the river and then onwards from there. The Gartune trackers' eyes never left the ground as they quickly made their way through the forest. Xander and Belkore followed their guides in silence, listening for any sign of movement up ahead. They made good time. At the pace they were going, they thought they might even catch up to the teens by nightfall.
But night came, and the tracks continued on. It appeared that the teens had pushed themselves hard during the day. Fear must be driving them, thought Xander. He remembered his
father telling him when he was a child what a great motivator fear was. The fact that three lost teenagers had evaded him thus far seemed to validate his father's theory.
The moon shining through the trees provided enough light for the Gartune twins to continue tracking the footprints in front of them – although the light wasn’t really needed to follow the trail. The tracks were obvious. The teens had apparently been more concerned with speed than covering their footprints. Finally, Damnar stopped in a small clearing in the forest. All around were broken branches and trampled undergrowth. There were footprints everywhere, but they were sloppy and unorganized.
"Something happened here," said Damnar.
"It looks like a fight," said Damina.
"Do you think they were killed?" asked Belkore with a hint of disappointment.
"Not unless the dead can walk," said Damnar, pointing to a new set of tracks that led towards the river.
Back on the trail, he followed the footprints until he reached the worn path that ran along the riverbank. "Whatever happened back there convinced them that they didn't need to hide in the forest anymore. Look – the tracks go right along the path now. And there is an extra set of footprints. They've gotten help."
"They must have found a Reytana!" said Belkore excitedly. Just a minute ago he worried that his search had been prematurely cut short, but now it looked like he might actually get to fight a real Reytana.
"No, those aren't Reytana footprints," said Damnar. "They're too small. And one of them doesn't look right." Xander walked up to where Damnar was standing and inspected the footprint that he was pointing to. He was right – there was something wrong with the angle of the right footprint. It was pointed inward at an awkward angle. A brief memory flashed through Xander's mind but was gone before he could make any sense of it. Still, there was something familiar about that foot.
"It's getting late," said Damina. "These tracks aren't going anywhere. Why don't we pick them up in the morning?"
"No," said Xander. "Now is when we gain on them. You can sleep once they've been captured. Keep moving! Damina sighed. "What was that?!" snapped Xander.
"N-nothing," stammered Damina who was unaccustomed to the prince's serious tone.
"What's your deal, Xan?" asked Belkore. "Did something happen back in Gartol that we don't know about? Daddy giving you a hard time again?"
Xander turned slowly towards his old friend. "What did you just say to me?"
Belkore took a few steps towards the prince. He made sure to lift his chin up into the air and swing his eüroc casually as he sauntered forward. "Must be tough being the son of the king; getting everything you want all the time, nobody ever messing with you. And on top of all of that, landing a cushy position ruling over the floaters. I can see how it might put you in a mood."
Xander's eyes were barely more than black slits. The little violet that did show burned with intensity. For several seconds, the two Gartune stared at each other in silence. Damina stepped forward to break the tension, but her brother immediately held out his arm and stopped her.
Slowly, Xander's familiar grin spread across his face. "I've missed you, Belk."
Belkore grinned back. "Ahhh. For a second there, I thought I was going to get to thrash you like old times."
"Oh, don't worry," said Xander. "There's still time. Bring my father up again and you may get your chance."
Belkore laughed. "I thought for sure that would have done it. I guess the floaters really have made you soft."
Xander stretched. "Not soft. Just – out of practice. It's good to be out doing something productive again. Now, if nobody else has anymore objections…” Xander looked over at the twins who shook their heads in unison.
"Good – then we keep moving," said Xander as he brushed past Damnar and took the lead. Now that the footprints were on the river path, it did not take an expert tracker to follow them. Xander set the pace as the Gartune hastily made their way west under the moonlight.
Septa had been trekking non-stop through the woods since she departed the hyper-rail the previous night, but she was not tired. Her determination was all the fuel she needed. The moons were at their zenith when Septa entered the woodland city of Spirea. People said that Woodhaven was for the cast-outs of The Crescent. If that was true, then Spirea was for the cast-outs of Woodhaven.
The city lay in a shallow ravine, surrounded by large, overhanging trees on all sides. The canopy of trees served to keep the city cool, but it also trapped a large amount of moisture in the ravine, giving the city a constant mildewy smell. This pungent smell greeted Septa as she entered the city.
Spirea, the armpit of Dellwood Forest, she thought. In truth, the city was more of a blemish on the face of the forest than an armpit. From above, it looked like a small brown and red circle festering in the center of a lush, green face. Nothing in Spirea contained the natural green colors of a forest. Everything was the color of rust. From the dingy tin roofs of the buildings to the rotten smoke that was emanating from their chimneys, everything was a mixture of brown and red. Even the dirt on the ground had a reddish tint, as if it had been mixed with blood for many, many years.
Spirea had but one street, and it ran straight down the middle of the city. On the north side of the street was a hodgepodge of mercantile stores, butchers, barter shops, skilled (and un-skilled) tradesmen and a post office that looked like it had been closed for years. That side of the street was dark and lifeless. Everyone had moved to the south side of town. For it was nighttime, and the south side of the city consisted entirely of saloons, hotels and gambling halls.
A cacophony of sounds emanated from these buildings, and the street reeked of lewdness and debauchery. Septa glanced into some of the dirt-smeared windows as she slowly strode down the main thoroughfare. Inside she saw drunk waifs smashing bottles against the walls for no apparent reason. Fat-fingered piano players pounded out songs on out-of-tune instruments as ladies (in the loosest sense of the word) sat on mens' laps and sang bawdily as the drunkards groped them up and down. Septa watched one woman drag the man whose lap she had been roosting on up the stairs to the second floor. The man stumbled behind her, his tongue hanging out of his head like a rabid nimber. The smell of spilled beer and urine rose from the ground. Everything was covered in a sticky, wet film. Septa's boots actually began to stick to the dirt street.
Spirea was the polar opposite from the immaculate paved roads and polished marble walls of Gartol. But Septa did not feel the least bit homesick, even though this was the first time she had been outside of her city's gates in many years. Nor did she feel pity for the citizens who had to live in this squalor. No, the only thing she felt for these people was contempt. But it was more than that. She hated these dirty little forest people, and she intended to let them know how she felt before her visit was through.
Several waifs stumbled by Septa as she walked down the street, but none of them paid any attention to the towering Gartune. This she found odd. It wasn't that they were too drunk to notice her. Several even had the temerity to look up and make eye contact with her! But they just kept on walking as if... as if they were used to seeing a Tormada in their street. Perhaps coming here wasn't a waste of time after all, Septa thought. Could this be the place that the high-and-mighty Reytana have been hiding this whole time? No... this city is too small to hide hundreds of fully-grown Tormada. Still, these people have seen them. She was sure of it.
Septa decided that it was time to make her presence known. She entered one of the larger saloons, expecting the room to become immediately silent as she walked through the door. If anything, the noise escalated. Two drunks were wrestling on the floor in front of her. She deftly stepped over them with one, giant stride, making sure to prod the fellow on top with her eüroc as she walked over him. A waif at a nearby card table saw this and actually tried to reach out and grab her staff.
No sooner had the waif reached out his hand than it was lying detached on the floor. Septa had removed it with one swipe of
her eüroc, having first transformed the end of her staff into a large blade. Before the first drop of blood fell to the floor, she pressed a small button on the top of her eüroc and the blade retracted with a quick snap. The waif didn't make a sound. He simply held his bloody stump in his good arm and looked up at the Gartune, his face a mixture of surprise and sadness. It was as if he fully expected to lose his hand at some point in his life, he had just hoped to hold onto it a little longer. The waif then turned back in his seat and resumed his card game, struggling to pick up his cards with his one good hand.
After Septa's performance, the crowd became a bit more subdued. The piano player continued his song though he pounded the keys a little less forcefully. Septa thought it sounded better. She walked over to the bar at the far end of the saloon. This time, nobody tried to grab her eüroc as she passed.
The bartender was an ugly man, even for Spirea. His hair was long and shaggy, with one or two patches missing. A massive scar stretched from his forehead to his jaw, passing through an empty left eye socket. Septa thought it interesting that he chose not to wear a patch to cover the gruesome hole where his eye had been. She liked the decision. It gave him a more imposing look, which was probably an advantage for anyone running a bar in this town.
The bartender spoke to her without looking up from pouring his drinks. Septa appreciated the lack of eye contact, which was appropriate for a torman addressing a Gartune. Maybe this one has learned better, she thought.
"I haven't seen you here before," said the bartender.
He said you, not your kind, thought Septa. I was right. There have been Tormada here.
Septa minced no words. "Tell me where they are."
Septa could see that the bartender was weighing his next words carefully. He grabbed a dirty rag and slowly began to wipe the bar in front of him, all the while keeping his head down. Septa waited patiently. This man is smart, she thought. Whoever took his eye did not come by it easily.
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