by Jeff Wheeler
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
It was a small cabin, pockmarked from woodpecker drilling and dusty from lack of use. The sun was just beginning to set behind the massive range of mountains, causing a shadow to fall over the dwelling hidden in a copse of evergreens. There was always snow in the winter, and so the cabin had a steeply slanted roof to prevent too much from accumulating. Phae and Trasen were both exhausted from the arduous hike into the mountains and since neither had slept the night before, they reached the door grim-faced and weary.
Trasen hefted a short axe and motioned for her to stay back. “I’ll go on ahead. Wait here.”
The windows were covered in dust and the curtains drawn. He opened the door—there was no lock—and warily pushed it. A lizard scuttled out near his boot, and a plume of dust came as well. He paused in the doorway, listening intently, letting the fading light from outside reveal the small interior. Trasen gave her a warning look and then ventured inside.
A few moments later, he returned and beckoned to her.
The cabin was deserted. Winemiller stocked no provisions because of the bears that roamed the mountains. They had to eat what they brought. The meal was silent, for both were exhausted, and then Trasen used some wooden wedges to seal the door shut.
“No fire tonight,” he said. “Even though someone can’t see the smoke, they can smell it. I’m so tired I can barely stand. But I will keep first watch tonight and wake you later.” He yawned.
Phae nodded greedily, thanking him with a grateful smile, and then nestled in a blanket on the floor on the far side of the room.
“Trasen?”
“Yes, Phae.”
“Why do you want to buy a homestead in Wayland?” She stared at him, her eyes growing heavy.
“I would be content to get one in Stonehollow. With all the abandoned ones, you would think the Council would give them away.”
Phae smiled. She admired Trasen for his work ethic, his sense of humor, and his friendship. He was growing up, though. The responsibilities of being an adult were starting to weigh on him.
She lifted her head and rested her cheek on her palm. “Have you ever thought about coming back to the vineyard? You could work there. Perhaps Master Winemiller would give you part of the land someday.”
Trasen lowered himself sluggishly and leaned back against the door. “I want my own place. My own family.”
“Are you going to collect orphans too? You need help running a homestead, Trasen. One person cannot do all the work alone.”
“I know.” He looked down at his boots and then used his dagger to pry loose a pebble. “Maybe you could help me.” He glanced at her.
A warm feeling shivered in her skin. She blinked at him, trying to stay awake. What did he mean by that? The thought was delicious. Working side by side with him. Having their own homestead. Being with him day after day. It sounded wonderful. Did he mean something more, though? Did he look at her as more than a friend or a sister?
“Look at you,” he chuckled. “You can hardly keep your eyes open. Don’t answer me tonight, Phae. Just think about it. Get some sleep.”
When her head rested on her forearm, she fell asleep instantly.
The sound of jackdaws awoke her in the morning, just before sunrise. Grayish light filtered through the dusty windows. She heard the birds flittering along the roofline and slowly shook her head. She sat up and saw Trasen leaning against the front door, his jaw slightly open, deeply asleep. Part of her wanted to laugh at the expression on his face, but her stomach was raw with hunger and her feelings were all tangled with anxiety. There was little to laugh at in their circumstance, fleeing from the homestead and hunted by the Arch-Rike of Kenatos. But Trasen’s presence did make her feel safe—even though he had fallen asleep himself and forgotten to wake her.
Rising quietly, she rubbed her arms for warmth and went to the window facing the slope of the hill they had ascended when climbing the mountain. She parted the curtain and rubbed a small square panel in the corner with the back of her fist to clear the glass.
Dawn was just beginning to peek through the tangle of bristlecone pine and cedar. She waited patiently, watching the horizon light up. It was a clear view to the foothills below. There was a speck on the horizon, a blot of black against the pale long grass mingled with boulders. Her heart started to pound feverishly. The blot was moving.
“Trasen,” she whispered, staring in shock. “Trasen!”
He was awake instantly, cursing himself for falling asleep. He rubbed his hand over his face and scratched the curly tangle of hair on his head. “I’m sorry.”
“Look!” She pointed, her mouth suddenly dry.
Trasen rushed to the window and squinted into the dawn. His countenance fell. “So quickly? That must be Winemiller.”
“If he’s come already, it must be worse than he thought.” She rubbed her hands together, a growing dread in her heart.
Trasen kicked the wedges away from the door and opened it, welcoming the morning air with its chill. Puffs of mist came from their mouths as they emerged on the porch. Squirrels chased one another into the trees nearby, chattering at each other playfully.
The person was still a ways off and it took time to draw near. Phae studied the shape, watching the relentless way he walked. It gnawed at her suddenly. She had expected Winemiller to go to Stonehollow first and learn what he could. That would have taken time to go there and return before venturing west into the mountains. Two days. That trip should have taken two days. How could he have come so soon?
Trasen shielded his eyes from the rising sun. “It’s difficult to see him,” he said.
A pang of nervousness slid inside of Phae. A butterfly danced on the morning air, coming in front of her. Strange to see such a creature so early in the morning. The feeling of dread intensified.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Phae murmured.
Trasen nodded. “I agree. It feels wrong. Grab your things.”
Phae went inside and collected her blanket and gear. She saw Trasen stringing his bow and did the same herself. She tested the pull and then put an axe in a hoop on her belt. After securing her pack, she joined him on the porch.
Trasen shook his head and muttered softly to himself. “Doesn’t have Winemiller’s gait. I don’t know how the Vaettir did it, but I think he followed us. Let’s go into the woods a bit where we can watch the house. Might have to put an arrow in his leg to slow him down. I hope not, though, if he’s a prince. Come.”
They shut the door firmly and fled into the trees surrounding the small cabin, moving to higher ground. Many giant boulders had tumbled down the mountainside and finally crashed through enough trees to slow down and stop. The boulders were oddly shaped and varied in size. They were interspersed with a variety of trees—mostly stunted bur oak and bristlecone.
Trasen pointed to a cluster of granite boulders and motioned her to join him where they could observe the cabin and remain hidden.
The smaller stones allowed footholds to mount the rest and soon the two sat amidst the stones, above the ground and with a clear vantage. The stone was freezing against her palms and Phae started shivering. The feeling of dread that had eased somewhat as they walked intensified again. She was not prone to irrational bursts of emotions, but the fear and dread she experienced was quite real. She leaned close to Trasen, trying to share his warmth a little and hoping it would calm her.
It didn’t.
Phae watched the stranger approach the cabin, a man with a hood and cloak. He was dressed in browns and grays, a woodsman’s garb and not the black vestments the Vaettir had worn. This man was not a Rike of Seithrall. Looking at him caused a shiver to go down her back. He approached the cabin straightaway and tugged at the door, not bothering to conceal his approach.
Trasen shook his head worriedly. “Looks like a Finder,” he muttered.
Phae knew somehow he was wrong. She knew it by instinct. Every part of her body warned her to flee that man. “I don’t thi
nk so.”
He nodded with certainty. “They wear garb like that. Strange that he doesn’t have a bow. Lucky for us. Wait, he’s come out already.”
As soon as she saw him, Phae’s stomach turned to jelly. She began shaking uncontrollably.
“Cold?” he ventured, then looked at her face. “What’s wrong?”
“We should go. Now.”
“We’ve both got bows, Phae. He has none. If he follows our trail, I’ll give him a fair warning. I could hit him in the leg easily before he reaches us. He’s ill-equipped to be hunting us.”
“I don’t like it, Trasen. We should go.”
“We’ll be all right, Phae. It might be helpful to get some information out of him.”
“No!” She clutched his arm tightly. Her breathing was short, gasping. Every part of her screamed to run.
He saw the look on her face and sobered. “Remember the trail we found years ago, leading up the mountain? Dragon Pass, we named it. There was that stump that we fancied was a dragon’s skull. You go up there and I’ll wait here. I’m a good shot, Phae. I can handle this.”
She shook her head adamantly. “We need to go, Trasen. Now. Come on.” Phae scrambled down off the rocks.
Trasen waited a moment longer, staring at the cabin. “He’s coming after us. He’s not even pausing to look at tracks.”
“Come on!”
The two began winding their way up the mountainside. It was steep, the trail overgrown with thick green vegetation and mossy boulders. The trees were thicker now, crowding together to block the vision of their pursuer. Phae’s heart started to calm once they began moving again. She felt slightly better, though still panic-stricken. The path ran up and back, winding sinuously along the steep edge. Sweat came easily now and she was no longer chilled by the morning air. Phae had assumed they would have several days together before Winemiller showed up. Something was terribly wrong.
The trees whipped by as they hurried up the hillside. It rounded and leveled off slightly, exposing a small grove of trees. She recognized the place immediately as it was always a favorite haunt during the family trips to the cabin. She could not recall which of them had discovered it first, but part of her was comforted when she saw the large misshapen tree stump, whose gnarled roots were shaped like a dragon’s head.
They paused there, resting a bit, trying to catch their breath.
Trasen’s neck was gleaming with sweat. He bent over, huffing, and stared back down the trail.
Phae began pacing. The feelings were coming back again, stronger than ever. Every moment resting was a danger. “We can’t stay here.”
“You’re right,” he said, staring. “I hear him.”
Phae jerked around and then she too heard the trod of boots coming up the trail after them. A moment later, the figure appeared around the bend, cloaked, veiled, and relentless.
Fear nearly made her scream.
“Go,” Trasen said, dropping to one knee next to the stump. He turned the quiver over and spilled the shafts on the ground next to him. In a fluid motion, he fit one to the string and raised the bow. “I will find you. Just start running. Change directions often. Try to throw him off. Cross water when you can. Go!”
“I can’t leave you…”
“Don’t be a fool,” he said. “He’s after you, not me. Now, go!”
Phae’s conflicted feelings made her nearly refuse. But the presence of the stranger struck terror in her soul. She kissed Trasen’s hair and then rushed away from the grove and plunged into the woods.
Moments later, she heard the bow twang and a shaft thud into a tree, then Trasen’s voice. “That was a warning, friend. Keep following us, and the next one won’t miss.”
Her legs burned with the effort. Her chest heaved for air. There was another thrum from Trasen’s bowstring.
The sound of the arrow thumped as it struck something solid. Not a tree.
“I got him,” Trasen shouted. “He’s down.”
Part of her feelings surged with relief, but the black cloud of fear had not left her. She noticed several insects buzzing around her. Birds were chirping at her as well. It felt as if the entire forest was alive and heckling her to run.
“You got him?” she called back, stopping. Instead of relief, she still felt intense worry.
“I was aiming for his leg, but I hit him in the chest. He walked right into it. Collapsed. I’m going to search the body.”
Phae stopped, leaning back against a tree, trying to calm her heart but unable to. The conflict inside her raged on. She could not leave Trasen behind. He was her best friend. She should not have doubted his aim. Yet why did she feel such irrational terror? Why were her feelings screaming at her that the danger had not passed? She pushed away from the tree, head spinning with confusion. She started back down the trail to him.
She watched Trasen approach the body, another arrow nocked and ready. He was being careful. His boots were nearly soundless despite the brush and needles carpeting the area. Their pursuer was crumpled nearby. Where was the arrow? She could not see the arrow sticking out of him. At that close range, the tip should have been poking out his back.
As she was about to call out in warning, Trasen reached the body.
The stranger moved like a serpent striking a mouse. He was lying still for a moment and then suddenly Trasen’s bow and arrow were jerked from his hands and tossed aside. The stranger was on his feet again, unharmed. It had been a trap.
“Trasen!” she screamed.
“Run!” he yelled back, yanking the short axe from his belt. He swung it expertly, defensively, driving toward the cloaked man with every intent to kill him.
Phae stared in horror.
The stranger watched the stroke of the axe, stepped inside it, and suddenly Trasen was on his back, slamming so hard the axe flew out of his hand. Before Trasen could do anything else, the stranger hauled him up and encircled his neck with his arm. The cowl raised as he looked up toward her. She could see the stranger’s scarred face, the quill-tipped dark hair, and ice blue eyes. The eyes stared right up at her menacingly.
Phae looked in his eyes and tried to connect with him to steal his memories away, but she sensed he was too far away. She had never attempted doing so with someone at that distance. She blinked but nothing happened.
Trasen’s eyes were panicked. He could not breathe. Then his whole body went slack.
Phae ran. She did not bother to hide her trail or attempt any trickery. She was running for her life, and she knew it. There was no mercy in those eyes. There was only determination. She was his prey. He was hunting her, not for any fault of her own that she could understand, but for some debt owed to someone else. What did it matter?
She ran, dodging trees and boulders. The trailhead split two ways and both were steep. One went higher into the mountains. She knew it would reach a ridgeline and then descend on the other side and there would be a river. A river could possibly help hide her tracks. She chose it instantly, her legs throbbing with pain as she continued up the mountainside. Tree limbs swatted at her as she clawed past them, trying to put distance between them. Was he torturing Trasen? Was he already dead? Her stomach threatened to heave with the thought. Guilt at abandoning him threatened to choke her. If he died, she would never forgive herself.
She did not dare to look back, even once. The feelings swirled inside her, bidding her to flee. She trusted the feelings. She should have trusted them earlier. Her legs strained with the pace, but she knew she would reach the summit soon, then it would be downhill to the river. That river was the farthest she had ever traveled in her life. They had camped at the river’s edge on a summer’s eve three years ago. Winemiller had warned them not to cross the river and enter the mountains on the other side. He said that it was dangerous on the other side. She would follow the river down the mountain then.
When she reached the summit, the sun was blazing with promise. The light blinded her momentarily and she stumbled and sagged to her knees, coughing
so violently she vomited. Her legs trembled with the punishing pace. Her stomach was lurching again, and again she felt the fear. He was behind her. He was hunting her. The man with ice blue eyes. The eyes of someone without a soul.
“There are many things in this world that cannot be explained. There are an equal number of foolish theories that persist despite the evidence to the contrary. To kill a mistruth or an error is as good a service as, and sometimes even better than, the establishing of a new truth or fact.”
—Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
Phae tripped and plunged into the stream, soaking her pants and cloak. As she struggled to her feet, a branch raked her cheek. She nearly tripped again, but managed to catch herself in time. Ahead there were few boulders to hide behind.
The steepness of the brook challenged her differently and the stones and boulders were treacherous enough. It slowed her to stay in the water, and so she decided to scrabble up the other bank and enter the dense woods for concealment. The sounds of nature around her were terrifying. Blue jays flapped and squawked and even the insects formed a cacophony of sound. Moths and butterflies flitted in the sunlight all around her. She swatted at them and tried to squeeze water from her drenched cloak as she walked. She followed the sound of the brook, knowing it would bring her back to the low country.
Her stomach was twisted and worried about Trasen. She knew going back would be foolhardy, but it was agony not knowing what had happened to him. Her ears strained for the sound of her pursuer. Her legs felt swollen and aching from the punishing pace. She was grateful to Master Winemiller for all the years of hard work. A weaker girl would have collapsed.
The sun was deceptive beyond the branches of bristlecone. She did not know how much time had passed. Her stomach began raving with hunger and so she sat on a small boulder by the creek to rest and eat. Immediately the feelings of dread and worry exploded inside of her. She had to keep going. She pushed away from the boulder and ignored the hunger as best she could.
Her mind was a jumble. It took concentration to avoid the pitfalls that would twist an ankle, but the pace did give her some time to think. Somehow her father was involved in all of this. That her father was even alive was a complete revelation to her. She had assumed that he was dead, killed during the last bout of Plague because he had the fireblood. Winemiller had never even mentioned the possibility of him being alive. Why had her father sent the Vaettir prince and not come himself?