Only then did Flinn notice the wind whistling into the valley. Both the warrior and the girl shuddered in their wet clothes. “We’ve got to get back to the cabin,” Flinn said. He moved away slowly, picking his way through the rocky streambed. Jo did not follow, her eyes fixed on the beast.
Flinn turned, approaching Jo from behind. He placed his hands on her shoulders, compassion running through him. “Is this the first time you’ve seen something die?”
“No,” she replied, “but it’s the first time I’ve ever really killed anything. The wharf rats were always dead by the time I collected them. The traps killed them-not me.” She rubbed the beaded handle to her blink dog’s tail nervously. “I ran out of arrows and had to use my knife.”
“You did well, Jo,” he replied, smiling grimly. “Not an arrow left, eh?”
She nodded, her eyes still fixed on the dead abelaat. “Sorry about that. I think I can retrieve some of them-not all of them broke on the rocks I hit.”
Flinn pointed to the tail at her waist. “Good thing you had that, by the way. Proved useful. Y our father gave that to you, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.” The girl’s eyes didn’t waver. “A mage made it for my father. I don’t know why he made it, or else I’ve forgotten. The magic’s beginning to fade though; I can’t blink nearly as far as I used to.” With another shudder, she turned to Flinn. He was glad to see that she had recovered her nerves. “Are you hurt bad?” she asked. “Did it bite you?”
“No, I don’t think so anyway. I can wait until we get back to the cabin.” He wiped at the blood on his face and neck. “Much of this is from the abelaat.”
“If its teeth didn’t pierce you, maybe you didn’t get any of its spittle. It was drooling quite a bit, though,” she added matter-of-factly.
Flinn turned, his eyes scanning the ground. “Perhaps some of the abelaat’s saliva mixed with the blood and formed more crystals.” He began backtracking the fight’s route, following the tracks of blood in the snow. He also picked up the undamaged arrows he came across.
“Flinn?” the girl asked, concern in her voice. “Why don’t we just leave? I’m cold.” She, too, began retrieving arrows.
“It was about here,” he mumbled under his breath. He searched several more steps, bending low and coursing back and forth. A few moments later, he stopped. “Ahhh,” the warrior murmured and knelt in the trampled snow and mud. His fingers brushed aside slush and debris, and he picked up six crystalline rocks.
Flinn said slowly, his eyes never leaving the stones in the palm of his hand, “These are like the eight crystals I withdrew from your wounds, only not so dark.” He studied the newly formed rocks for a moment, then looked up at the girl.
Her eyes met his, their expression intense. “What’re they for? If there were eight in me, why are there only six? The abelaat had eight fangs,” Jo asked.
“I’m not sure what they’re for, but we’ll find out. As to there being only six, I’d guess that only six measures of poisoned spittle found blood,” answered Flinn, his eyes returning to the crystals.
Jo shivered again from the cold. The wind was picking up, and the two of them were soaked.
Flinn stood and scanned the hills around them. His face grew pale. “Did you see which way Ariac headed? If he could make his way out of this valley, I’m guessing he’s not too badly injured. He’s quick to panic once he’s hurt.”
Jo pointed northward. “He went that way; you can see his trail. He was bleeding quite a bit…”
A deafening roar swelled strangely inside Flinn’s head, drowning out Jo’s voice. He shook his head, tapping his ear. Then he spotted a mounted horseman, watching from the southern crest of the valley. The figure wore armor and a midnight-blue tunic. Flinn turned toward it, squinting, but it melted into the forest. Snow began cascading down, and the moan of the wind deepened.
“Come,” he said abruptly, scooping the crystals up and placing them in his belt pouch. He considered whether to tell Jo about the figure he’d seen. The wind howled again. “We’ve got to go, Johauna, or the storm will trap us here.” Already the sky was growing dark.
“Let me at least stop the bleeding here in your side-and your head, and your shoulders.”
He shook his head. “There isn’t time. Gather the things-and hurry! We’re both wet and chilled to the bone, and we won’t last long out here if we don’t move.”
Flinn’s dark eyes scanned the area where he had seen the mounted knight. The snow had begun to fall fast. “We’d die before catching him on foot,” Flinn murmured to himself.
Just why was a knight from the Castle of the Three Suns watching him? And why did the knight let him and Jo fight the abelaat unaided? Why?
“Flinn?” Jo called, breaking his reverie. “Is something wrong? I’ve gathered our things. Shall we go?”
He looked at the girl again, wondering again if he should tell her of the figure he had seen, but he decided against it. Until he could discern why they had been watched, he wouldn’t frighten her. He took his sword and breastplate from her, and then they began following the griffon’s trail out the valley.
“Ariac hasn’t lost his sense of direction-he’s heading for home-which means he’ll be all right. We’ll follow his trail while we can,” he added, flashing a concerned look at the thickly falling snow. The mounting wind promised a terrible storm. Flinn tried to hurry his pace, but felt a sudden pain rip through his side. The abelaat’s claws had done more damage than he had thought.
“Here, let me help,” Jo said. She pulled his free arm over her shoulders, her right arm going around his back. Flinn lurched forward and almost fell.
“Take it easy, Flinn. We’ll get there… we’ll get there,” the girl struggled to hold up his weight. “Let’s just make it up the hill.”
Flinn focused his remaining energy on the task the girl had set him. “I’ll make it, Jo.” His tired eyes looked around the valley once more, both fearing and hoping to see the mailed horseman.
***
Jo feared they would never top that first hill, or the second, or the third. Snow piled deep in the protected, wooded spaces, impeding their progress. They floundered through the thigh-high snow, uncertain of the footing. The undergrowth tore at them, raking their exposed hands and faces.
Jo and Flinn were both freezing, their clothes drenched from the stream and the snow. Only the struggle of moving forward kept their joints from stiffening and their limbs from going numb. But their strength was waning rapidly. Night loomed in the east, swallowing the thick clouds. The falling snow darkened the sky even more. Jo’s lips drew into a tight line as she studied the snow-choked woods. At least the trees cut the wind, she thought. And though Ariac’s tracks were being covered by the snow, Jo could still make out the depressions and broken branches marking his passage.
“Take another step, Flinn,” she mumbled, hardly aware of the words. “We’ll be home soon. To the top of this hill, Flinn, to the top.”
She tried not to think about how far they had come, for she knew the path ahead was much longer than that behind. The swirling snow and the dark sky confused her sense of direction. Although she was sure they were lost, remaining still meant only freezing death. She gritted her teeth, determined to press on to the cabin or die of exhaustion.
“Another step, Flinn, another step,” she murmured. “One more hill to go.”
A familiar screech broke through the surrounding wind, and Jo stopped. Ariac? she wondered. Could the griffon be coming back to us? She searched the gloom ahead of her, her eyes so tired she could only focus on passing flakes of snow and not beyond.
Jo saw the griffon led by the wildboy, Dayin, appear through the gloom. Seeing them, the boy hurried forward with the steed. Exhausted, Jo leaned against Flinn, hoping he wouldn’t fall. She was certain she would crumple if he did and that neither would rise again. Brushing aside a frozen tendril of hair from her eyes, she pulled her wet vest closer.
The boy halted beside them, a
nd Ariac bent his head to gently nibble at his master. The griffon squealed in distress. His forequarters where the creature had raked him had stopped bleeding, though the wounds had not been dressed.
“Jo,” Flinn said hoarsely, “climb into the saddle. We’re almost home.”
“You’re hurt, Flinn.” Jo’s whispered words emerged from lips so numb she doubted she really said them. “You get on Ariac; I’ll lead.”
The warrior gave her a push. “No, Ariac’s too injured to bear my weight,” he said weakly.
“Then we’ll all three walk.”
“Fine. You get on the other side and loop your hand through the stirrup,” Flinn responded mechanically. He gestured to the boy. “Dayin, lead us home.”
The rest of that trip was lost to Jo’s memory. She knew only that she clung to the griffon’s saddle and that she found a little warmth from his body. The snow fell relentlessly. The wind howled overhead, and dead branches rained down on them. Darkness fell, too, the true blackness of a night let loose to the elements. Jo’s wet garments clung to her coldly. She wanted only to lie down in the white, white snow.
Then, somehow, they found themselves standing before the bam. Johauna fell to the ground, her legs numb from the hips down. A strange haze was engulfing her, and she wanted to sleep. The wind had begun to sing to her.
Someone was shaking her, forcing her to stand again. It was Flinn. “Dayin,” she heard the warrior say, “the lantern’s inside and to the right. Take Jo inside and light a fire. Make sure she doesn’t sleep! I have to tend Ariac.”
The boy led her inside the cabin, quickly lit the lamp, and helped Jo to the chair before the hearth. He removed her icy outer garments and threw one of the bed’s furs around her. The wildboy removed her shoes and briskly rubbed her feet until the white glow had turned pink. Then Jo felt a pewter tankard against her lips, and a little water wet her mouth. Jo could only stare glassily back at Dayin, her thanks mute on lips too cold to even murmur.
“It’ll be warm soon, pretty one,” the boy was saying.
The numbness in her limbs gave way to a painful prickle, like a thousand needles. The pain cut through the fuzziness of Jo’s mind. She wanted nothing more than to crawl to the bed, but that seemed too great an effort. Her bloodshot eyes mechanically followed Dayin’s movements, and a sensation of warmth began to wrap her skin. Instinctively, she turned toward the hearth, cheered by the glow of yellow flames and the smell of smoke. She held out her hands eagerly. Dayin, sitting at the hearth, smiled and did the same.
Flinn entered the cabin with a gust of snow. He closed and barred the door wearily, then leaned against it. Jo watched him look about the room, fatigue lining his face and making him suddenly look old. She stood and helped him with his wet clothing, piling it beside the door with her own. The warrior sank into the chair, and she covered his shoulders with a fur.
“How’s Ariac?” Jo asked, her own strength slowly returning to her. The painful tingle grew stronger across her body. She took some bandages from the cupboard and with slow, measured movements began dressing Flinn’s injuries. Fortunately, most of them weren’t severe, though the one puncturing his arm was still bleeding.
“He’ll live, though it’s going to be the better part of a week before he can be ridden. He’s had a bad scare. Griffons are flighty beasts,” Flinn said heavily, then turned to the boy at his feet. “Dayin, there’s some bread and dried meat in the cupboard. Fetch some, will you?”
Dayin gathered together the simple meal. Flinn, Jo, and the boy huddled around the fire, too tired to move or eat much. They nibbled their cold food in silence.
“You two can take the bed, Jo,” Flinn said when he had finished his last bite. He looked at Dayin and said, with a touch of his old asperity, “Unless you’d prefer to go back to the woods tonight, boy?”
Dayin vigorously shook his head. “No, please.”
“Flinn, you’re injured,” began Jo. “You take the bed.” The warrior waved a hand. “Actually, Jo, the bed’s bad for my back. I’ll be all the better for not sleeping in it.” He stood, shoved the chair to the side, and grabbed an extra fur from the bed. After Jo and Dayin moved out of the way, he spread out one fur and gingerly lay down on the floor. “Good night,” he groaned.
Jo blew out the lantern, and by firelight she and Dayin crawled into the bed. She rolled over once to find a better position, then fell asleep listening to the warrior’s heavy breathing.
***
Flinn awoke to a noise behind him, by the fireplace. He grew suddenly still. Who-? What-? The morning’s disorientation left him when he recognized the low tune Jo sometimes hummed. Slowly he turned over, his muscles protesting, and sat up. Jo smiled at him, then turned back to the porridge she was trying to stir while straddling his legs. Looking toward the cupboard, Flinn spied the boy, who sat on the table’s edge, his feet swinging back and forth. Dayin smiled also.
“Time to get up!” Jo said cheerily. “Are you feeling better today? I am, though my legs are still sore. Quite a walk back last night. The storm’s still raging. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”
Flinn was irritated by her talkative good humor so early in the morning, but the smell of a warm breakfast appeased him. Jo was a good cook, and even the inevitable porridge was appetizing when she made it. He arched his back and groaned, the bones shifting into place. Then he stood and began stretching his tight muscles.
Jo busied herself at the table, scrubbing it clean and trying to set it with the ill-sorted dishes. The usual braid down her back was replaced with a riotous length of unbound reddish tresses. She was wearing her leather shift and breeches and had cinched her waist with a wide belt.
Flinn was suddenly struck by how different this day would be if she weren’t here in his cabin.
“Quite a walk, indeed,” he agreed, “and quite a fight. It was like the old days-tracking, doing battle, returning to camp frozen and wounded… and happy.” Jo glanced quickly at him, her cheeks flushing and a smile spreading across her face.
Flinn turned away, replacing the fur on the bed and reaching for his dried clothes. Can I do it? he asked himself. Can I return to those days of glory? In that moment, he acknowledged the secret desire that had germinated the day Johauna Menhir entered his life: to be worthy again of the faith and belief she had in him, that other people once had. The Quadrivial is a long and treacherous road to walk, he thought. I’d have to regain each of the four corners as though I were a squire again. And even if I completed the four comers, the Order of the Three Suns would rather spit on me than readmit me.
“Few knights are worthy of the legends told of them,” Jo said quietly as she stirred the porridge. “You proved yesterday that your courage still remains.”
Flinn winced, then looked into her hopeful eyes. I am nothing now, he thought. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If only I had her faith in me. But I cannot disappoint that faith.
“Jo, I-” Flinn said haltingly “-I’ve a question for you, about… about your petition to the council to become a squire.”
Jo whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Without a word, she gestured for him to sit down. When he did, she did the same. Dayin watched them intently. “Is… something wrong, Flinn? Did I do something wrong when we fought the abelaat?”
Flinn shook his head. “No, Jo, it’s not that-not that at all. You were wonderful in the fight. I doubt I would have survived without you.” He played with his food, then said slowly, “I was hoping you might consider something… else.” He took a deep breath and caught her gray eyes. “You see, I’ve decided to petition the council myself, to try to reinstate my knighthood. I want you by my side as my squire. Of course, since I’m technically no longer a knight, you wouldn’t technically be a squire. Whatever-I’d like you there with me.”
“Flinn…” the girl whispered, blood draining from her face.
“Of course,” he said nervously, “if-if they refuse to review my case, I will gladly
recommend that the council take you on as a new squire for some other knight.”
He held up his hands, cutting her short when she tried to speak. “Know this, Jo: the decision is yours. I have no right to ask you to become my squire; in fact, I’d caution you against doing so. If the council members refuse my petition-if they refuse to even see me-they may look with less favor on your petition. It’s a risk, Jo, and one you’d probably better not take.”
“Oh, Flinn,” the girl’s voice was tight, fighting back tears. “I’d do anything to be your squire. Even at the risks you mention.” She swallowed convulsively. “When do we leave?”
Jo’s eyes were shining, and Flinn found himself swimming in their gray purity. He looked away.
“As soon as Ariac’s well enough to travel,” he said. “Now, let’s eat before the oatmeal gets cold.”
Chapter VI
Flinn, Jo, and Dayin stared at the crystals spread across the table in the cabin. Flinn had grouped them by type: the eight he had pulled from Johauna’s shoulder and the six that had been formed with the creature’s blood at the stream. Several candles added their glow to the lantern light and the wan beams of the winter sun. The inside of the cabin shone brightly.
The stones from Jo’s shoulder were the color of clear red wine. They were about an inch long and spindle shaped, with six lateral edges that slanted to a point at each end. Those from the abelaat’s blood were rougher in line and form, as though shaped too hastily. They were nearly an amber hue, and they were eight-sided.
Flinn picked up one of the crystals he had pulled from Jo’s shoulder, his dark eyes glinting in the bright light. He twirled the stone between his long, scarred fingers, his moustache twitching as he frowned.
“My guess,” he said at last, “is that the ones I removed from you, Jo, are better formed because the creature’s poison was in you longer.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I think the extra time allowed the crystals to draw more blood.”
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