by M. C. Elam
“Close your eyes,” Evan told her.
“Can’t. Lids froze stiff a while ago. Hurts frightful. I put my hand over top when I can.”
“Any cloth scraps in your pockets?”
“Nay, miss.”
“Tear a piece of your skirt then, and tie it over your eyes. It’ll keep the wind away.”
Annabelle fumbled and managed to rip a long strip of fabric from the hemline.
“What’s that you’re up to now?” Luther called. He paused to look. “What’s she up to with that tied over her face?”
“Her eyes will be ruined if she doesn’t protect them from the wind.”
“And that’ll keep her from it?”
“I hope so.”
“Whore’s no good with bad eyes. See she keeps them covered.”
The blasting snow and ice-clad surface made descending the Arch more treacherous than the climb to its crown. The snow continued building along with Evangeline’s slow realization that she would have to rely on her own survival instinct. No one was coming to help them. They were losing the light when a sudden pull on the rope made her think Luther had lost his way. He jerked again, and she realized they had reached the other side. The ledge felt wide and firm underfoot.
Luther untied the rope and shoved a dirty blanket at her. “Take what ease you can this night. Won’t happen again ‘til we’re down to the flats. Think on running? Have you another hard think. Only trail be back the way you come. You won’t make it. Promise you that.”
He fished a loaf of dark bread from his pack, broke off a meager chunk that he tossed to Evangeline, and kept the most sizeable piece for himself. He settled against the mountain and pulled a blanket over his head.
Evangeline divided the bread and passed a portion to Annabelle. The snow eased, but the wind raged. It dipped into the crags along the mountain face, found the little pockets where the snow managed a hold and whipped it high into the air. Visibility of more than a few feet was impossible. The violent gusts peaked and eased in a constant, hypnotic rhythm. She listened to the predictable rise and fall until another sound broke the night. Alert, she strained to hear. Twice more the rich full-throated call came to her across the arch. Out of the fury of blowing snow, she glimpsed Chinera standing not ten feet distant at the head of the arch.
Evan pinched Annabelle hard enough to attract her attention and nodded toward the wolf. The woman tensed.
“Good, you can see.”
“Aye, milady.”
“Listen to me. You must do as I say. Chinera can get you down the mountain and back to Baline. You must get away.”
“How, milady?”
“Chinera will lead you. Trust her.”
“That Luther, he’ll kill me sure.”
“No, Annabelle. Chinera will lead you home.”
Annabelle buried her head in her hands. “Leave you, Lady Evan? I can’t.”
Evangeline grabbed her by both arms and gave a furious shake. “Stop that. You hear me? Stop right now. You heard Luther. You’re of no value to him. He’s going to sell us to a slave market. You’re too old my dear Annabelle. They will work you to death. Follow Chinera, now, before Luther rouses and it’s too late.”
“But what of you, milady?”
“He won’t go after you, but he thinks I’m as good as a pocket full of silver. If I try, he’ll follow.” If Annabelle turned stubborn now, she would have to send Chinera away. Evangeline watched her expression change from fear to acquiescence.
“Aye, milady, I’ll go and I’ll bring them back for you.”
“Not much time now. Look, see Chinera ahead? Go now. Go.” Evangeline slipped her arm out of the parka and gave her one tight hug. Annabelle refused and pushed it toward her.
“Milady, I be good with the blanket round me if I keep moving. Cold be fierce. Best you keep this.”
“Haven’t I enough weighting me down? I’d only leave it behind.” She tried to smile, but her cheeks ached with the effort. “Now, go on before Luther hears your complaining.”
“I love you well, milady.” She fastened the binding of the fur around her. “Truly, I be loving you well.”
“And I you. Now go. Stay safe, my friend. Mother protect you.” She fought the well of emotion that spilled from her heart and watched dry-eyed until they disappeared in the snow.
22 - Witch Woman
The trail widened and Luther decided they would make better time if she rode the mare. After all, where could she run? The arch loomed behind them, an ice covered barrier that separated her from Baline. Even if she did attempt an escape, the old horse would never make it to the other side. When Luther missed Annabelle, he didn’t even ask if Evan knew anything about it. As she predicted, he figured Annabelle for disposable goods, not worth a copper of his time to chase after her.
Evan started to think about time in terms of days before or after the Arch. Sometime during the second day after the Arch, the wind died, and the sun broke through the clouds. Below, the valley lay hidden in mist so thick she could not get a feel for the land. Reflected sunlight made it look like fields of mounded snow, and for a while, she believed it was until she saw the mounds shift and change as the mist crawled over the landscape. By afternoon, the first hazy fingers stretched along the trail and enveloped the legs of both horses. Evangeline thought how odd Luther looked riding in front of her on a horse with no legs. She could not see the ground at all but trusted that his lack of concern meant the trail was wide and safe. Even so, the mare trembled. Evangeline’s mind sought the animal and eased its discomfort. She felt a warm place above her breast where the black pearl throbbed inside the closed seam Annabelle had stitched. So, at close range she did have some access to it.
Last night she had tried again to find Melendarius the same way. Six days and still, his image eluded her. She wondered if word about the abduction had reached Marcus. Did Hawk know? What if they tried the mountain passes now? Clogged with ice and snow, they would never get through. She prayed they would not risk the crossing. If the wind and snow didn’t beat them back, miles of ice would. Melendarius, was he alive. Could he send them to her through a portal? She knew that could happen only if he had physical knowledge of the land. She tried to visualize the inn’s great room, tried and failed. Her focus drifted like wisps of smoke. She would need more than that for a portal. Something blocked her.
***
The first thing she noticed when they came off the mountain and onto the flats was the odor. Clouds of murky vapor hung in the air and reminded her of the sulfur pool outside of Baline. Only here the smell weighed heavy, mingled with a sodden kind of decay and the reek of rotting vegetation. She gagged, leaned sideways, and lost the contents of her stomach. A glob of sour bread clung to her lip, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. The look of it brought on another spell of the heaves that made her sides ache.
Luther glanced over his shoulder. “What ails you?” he said. “Third time you done that. Not going to sicken-up and die on me are you?”
“It’s the smell, like green rot all mixed up with rotten eggs.”
“Aw nary a thing except sulfur pools and bog rot. Get used to it. A days travel afore we make the other side.”
Another wave hit her, and she chewed her cheek until it passed. She knew it was more than the smell, but that pungent sulfur gas and green rot got all mixed up in her head. The mare’s swaying gait combined with the babe’s stirring, rolled her insides a final time despite all the cheek chewing she did to avoid it. The sound made the mare jittery. Luther chuckled, but he didn’t turn around. She bent low over the mare’s neck.
“Easy, Sally, old girl.”
“Give it a name, did you? How’d you come by that?”
“She told me while you slept.”
He raised his eyebrows and looked at her. “You some kinda witchy woman?”
“If I were, I’d turn you into a flea and squish you between my fingers.”
“I’d watch my tongue, I be you?” He li
fted one cheek off the saddle and broke wind. “A fart in the face of a witch turns her spell round-a-bouts.” His rough laughter stretched across the mist. A mournful howl, deep-throated and heavy answered, and his horse shied. “You cast that sound witch woman? Trying to spook me? Nah, I reckon not. I be knowing that sound. Wolf packs ranging through here. Best we pick up the pace.” He chucked his heels against the sides of his horse. Sally followed. ”Watch you keep behind me, now. Bog’s pure deadly, you don’t know the way. New layers growing right over the old and the whole mess floating on pools that’s got no bottom. Fall through and it’ll suck you straight down and cover you over. Why, I heard tell of a man worked the bog the whole of his life ‘til one day his boy come home alone, dragging the sledge behind him. Story he told was how his pa made a false step and broke on through a thin place. Said he’d tied himself up to the sledge and inched along to the spot. But the fear had set into his pa. He grabbed hold to the edge and tried climbing on out only to have it break off under his bulk. Got tired out after a spell and the bog took him. That be what the boy told anyway. Me, I think mayhap that young fella pushed him on out when they got close to the edge. Everybody round about knew he beat on that boy regular, his woman, too. Little less misery in the world, you ask me.”
Evangeline knew he didn’t lie. She’d heard stories about men who harvested peat and sold it in Falmora for winter fuel. Some worked the bogs their whole lives. Most worked in pairs, like the man and his son, and sometimes, if they were careless, they didn’t come back. Dry peat made better fires, but bog peat cut easier. She supposed that was how they measured it. She watched Luther ease his horse along. The bog made him edgy.
He snorted and looked around at her. “I feel those witch eyes of yours boring into my back. Get them off me, you hear. You got no business thinking you know me.”
But she did know him, saw him plain as day. Luther was the boy in the bog.
***
In time, sunlight ate through the mist, and fumes from the sulfur pools faded. The sweet fragrance of fresh air drove away the stink. By afternoon, they came out of the bog fields and onto the Lawrenzian plain. The land turned and twisted along a river that meandered through waving grass, and the day warmed. Sprinkled along the water’s edge, groves of gnarly apple trees, now bare of leaves, looked like wizened old men ready for a winter sleep. Brown shriveled apples that no one thought worth harvesting covered the ground. Flocks of hungry blackbirds pecked at the remains battling for position over the best of the pickings. The old ones made mock charges that challenged the young and drove them into the trees where they perched on low-hanging branches preening their feathers as though they had meant to leave the apple feast all along. Further on a large oak forest spanned both sides of the river and spilled across the plain. A few leaves clung to the tree branches and made a clattery kind of rustle whenever the wind stirred them.
Evangeline loosened her cloak and pushed the hood back from her head. Her hair, a wad of grimy coils, lay limp across her shoulders. Her back ached, and she had stopped feeling her legs a long time ago. She wished Luther would call a halt, but he pushed ahead. The sun began to drop behind the mountains making long shadows that played over the tall grass and painted it with waves of dark lavender that deepened to purple as it swayed in the wind. They topped a rise and started down the other side. That was when she heard the wolves begin calling to each other. The pack tracked their scent. Luther must know they would stand no chance outrunning a large group, not with two exhausted horses, but he doubled their speed.
“See them bastards?” Luther pointed.
The leader, a large fellow with a striking black coat, swung left in a wide arc. His rumbling howl brought another up on the right.
“I see them.”
“Set the whip to that nag.”
Evangeline didn’t answer. She watched Luther lay on the lash. His horse leaped forward and distance grew between them. Sally snorted and reared. Evangeline wrapped the trail blanket around her head. With her vision blocked, she calmed and centered on the sound of Evan’s voice.
Charging ahead the remaining members of the pack sped by them and straight for Luther. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the leader. She knew him well. The turn of his head, the single ear that drooped and gave him a look of playful whimsy when he wrestled with his pups. She remembered the first time he appeared just outside the ring of firelight on the trail from Falmora to Baline. So determined and valiant when he came seeking Chinera. What courage it took for him to trust her. What a gallant effort to gather his brethren to save her now. In a few minutes, he would bring down the horse. She must hurry or bear Luther’s death on her conscience.
The pearl turned golden inside the protective pocket of her chemise. She covered the place and felt its heat stroke the palm of her hand. He must understand. Words had no meaning for him. She must rely on images. Sally made agitated snorting noises, but the blanket obscured her vision and kept her calm. Heat from the pearl intensified, and the golden glow emanating from its core wrapped them in a cocoon of pure light.
Rogue felt her move inside his head. The man beast was her enemy. Of that, he had no doubt. A series of sharp yips ordered the charge. Mere seconds remained before they would claim their prey. Her plea for its life befuddled him. The stink of sweat and cowardice made him long to sink his teeth into its throat and snap its neck. Yet the pack had rallied for her sake, and she wanted the vile thing alive. Head raised, he sounded the retreat call, but bewildered they plunged ahead. Twice more, he called before they turned and disappeared through the tall grass.
Alone he came to her, and stood motionless beside the horse. She slid from the saddle and put her arms around his neck. He rested his head against her firm belly and felt life. Her pup moved, and the depths of her soul opened. For the pup’s good, he must retreat to Baline, back to Chinera. Evangeline tore a strip of lace from the trim at her sleeve and tied it around his neck. She held his head, looked into his warm eyes, and bent to kiss his silky muzzle.
“Go, sweet Rogue. Be safe in your journey.” She watched him disappear like the others through the waving grass of the Lawrenzian plain.
***
“You be a stupid witch woman. Could a got shed a me.” Luther arranged a stack of kindling and dried grass for a fire. He struck flint sparks until the grass flared. Then closed his hands around it and blew until the flame licked his cupped fingers.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Evangeline. Wary and aching she sat with her back against a tree. The fire blazed turning dusk to night.
“Can’t put that one over on me. Think I didn’t see when them fiends turned for the tall grass? I thought they took you and the nag. Come back looking for what was left and found you sitting on the ground, that black fiend hugged up close. What I be thirsting to know be why you called them off me?”
“Must have been shadows. Sally reared up and I lost my seat is all. The wolves passed us by.” She turned toward him, and firelight played across her face.
“That story’s not worth piss. I be knowing what I saw, and I saw you with that wolf.” He worried a plant at the base of one of the trees and came up with a fat root. “Give me your shoes and get on down to the river.” He crushed the root under his heel to soften it and tossed it into her lap. “Reckon that’ll soap you down. Clean brings more coin on the block.”
Evangeline untied her shoes.
“Scrub up them clothes while you’re at it.”
“I’ve nothing else to wear.”
He dug around in his pack and threw a worn set of trail leathers her way.
“Reckon these’ll suit your ladyship good as any.”
She stayed where she was.
“Go on, get on down there before I strip you naked and do it myself. Don’t be worrying about that little bud hiding between your legs. I don’t crave me no witch arse.”
The half-frozen ground made the bottoms of her bare feet tingle, and she shifted from one to the
other. She shed the cloak and left it near the water’s edge. Her brown, homespun skirt was a stinking mess from days on the trail. She beat the soap root against a flat rock until it turned soft and pasty, then waded waste deep into the river. The shock of icy water turned her nipples rock hard, and they pushed against the thin fabric of her chemise. In a hurry to be finished, she pulled the skirt over her head and draped it across one shoulder. She scrubbed it clean and doused it in the water. The river carried away the soapy residue, and she threw the garment onto the grassy bank. Her chemise and linen drawers clung like a second skin. She didn’t really want to take them off, but the cold ate into her flesh. The pearl was safe. She couldn’t see it even though the fabric had turned nearly transparent as soon as it was wet. She finished scrubbing, rinsed the garments free of soap root and tossed them onto the bank with her skirt. She soaped her hair, scrubbed it clean and dove beneath the surface to rinse the soap away. Skin burning icy cold, she came out of the water in a rush. That was when she saw him, Luther, leaning against a tree. She snatched the leather vest and britches from the ground and moved into the shadows.
“Just thought I be taking a bit of a look. Been keeping that belly hid. Looks like you fooled old Luther into thinking you be pure. Why like as not you be no better than one of them ninth hour girls.” He moved toward her. “Now that bud’s been plucked you won’t bring such a good price as I thought. Mayhap old Luther’ll have him a taste after all.”
Moonlight gleamed through the sparse branches of the naked trees and birthed a shadowy maze that stretched across the ground like the slow-moving creep of a foraging spider. The pale skin on her bare legs turned splotchy and bluish. The shadows played a warped kind of game as they skipped over the bridge of her nose and dug hollows beneath each eye. Moonlight caught the point of her chin. The moist curve of her eyes drank the white light and transformed it to amber fire. In those moments, she thought of killing Luther, stripping the flesh from his bones, ripping the skin from his face and gutting him like a white bellied flounder. Her breasts lifted and fell with every jagged breath. Her skin glistened with water and a look of visceral disgust burned in her clear eyes. Her lips, blue with cold, pulled back at the corners of her mouth, and her voice was a breathy hiss. The sound that spilled from her had a foreign ring, not her voice, but that of something stronger. Something that pooled and writhed and squirmed in the darkness. Something that grew more monstrous until she knew that, with a single glance, she could stop his heart.