Age of Myth

by Michael J. Sullivan

  Once again Suri waved for silence. “Follow the wolf.”

  The breeze died.

  They waited.

  Suri finally nodded with a happy look. “There you go. The answer to your questions.”

  Persephone blinked. “That’s it? Welcome the gods; heal the injured; follow the wolf? What does any of it mean?”

  Suri shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tight Places

  Life on the dahl was dangerous. We lived in fear of everything: spirits, sickness, famine, wolves, and bears. That spring there was less sickness and famine and more wolves and bears.

  —THE BOOK OF BRIN

  Raithe and Minna were friends from the moment they met, but then he’d always gotten along better with animals than people. In Dureya, some of the less aggressive wolves made a living off discarded scraps. The animals were tolerated because their yipping warned when trouble came to visit. As a boy, Raithe had grown fond of many of them, but few had been as friendly, and none so large, as Minna. In Dureya, animals didn’t grow big for the same reason the people didn’t smile—a lack of everything. Raithe held a similarly high opinion of Suri, who reminded him of his younger sister, the only sibling he loved. That she was a mystic despite her young age was astounding. Mystics were about as common as two-headed unicorns. The few who existed lived apart from the world of men, remaining untainted by influence and corruption. Having a wolf as her best friend demonstrated the sort of wisdom he appreciated.

  Persephone was another matter.

  He couldn’t decide about her. She was attractive for her age; he guessed her to be about ten years older than himself. But she had been a chieftain’s wife, the worst sort of woman, and he hadn’t liked the way she’d tried to manipulate him. Using others was the way of those who slept in lodges. They thought nothing of deciding the lives of others. Then there were the three men who had tried to kill her. That sort of thing didn’t happen by accident. If people wanted you dead, there was likely a reason. Also, she had acted stupidly on the cascade, risking her life for a man who had tried to kill her. Still, it showed more decency than he would have expected, which gave him pause. So did the fact that she’d spoken to him—a Dureyan—with respect. Such behavior would have been unusual from a farmer’s wife, but she had been married to a chieftain and lived in a wealthy dahl. Although it was easy to assume her actions were designed to beguile, there was a genuineness about her. Raithe was far from worldly and no expert when it came to the ways of powerful women, but he’d always been able to tell the wolves that would bite from the ones that wouldn’t.

  “Minna?” Suri raised her brows when the wolf settled next to Raithe, nuzzling his leg. “That’s no way to act. You just met him.”

  “She’s friendly.” Raithe bent down and scrubbed the wolf’s coat.

  “No, she’s not, are you, Minna?” Suri smirked at the wolf, then shrugged. “Okay, from here follow the ridge back the way you came.”

  Persephone, who was still staring back at the old oak, turned sharply. “Wait. You’re not coming with us?”

  The mystic shook her head. “No, ma’am. I live over that way.” She pointed through the blur of trees.

  “But…” Persephone said, confused. “I thought you came to the dahl to stay.”

  “Did you hear that, Minna? She’s a strange one. We only came to tell you the news. Then there was the whole business of waiting on the trees to wake up, but that’s done. You have your answer, so we can go home.”

  Suri took a few bounding steps, causing Minna to leap from Raithe’s side and chase after her. This made the girl grin. “Still likes me best!” She took two more steps, then stopped and looked up at the sky. “Better be quick, ma’am. Night appears to be in an awful hurry.”

  Then, without so much as a wave, the girl ran off, the wolf chasing her through the trees.

  “Ah, good…bye,” Persephone called after her. “And thank you.” She continued to stare until the mystic vanished, swallowed by the green.

  Persephone looked back at the big oak, and said, “That’s it? I nearly die and all I get are riddles? Not even good ones.” Raithe wasn’t certain if she was speaking to him, the tree, or herself. Taking a breath, she sighed. Unfolding Raithe’s leigh mor, she pulled it over her head like a hood and walked forward. “This way, I guess.”

  Raithe followed Persephone through the trees. Malcolm had been slow to join them, lingering a while longer by himself.

  “If we hurry, we can have a hot meal,” Persephone said, following the faint trail they had made in the grass on the way in. “You two like mutton? Sarah is working her way through a ewe Delwin butchered. I’ve lived with them since my husband’s death, and I’m sure you’d be welcomed. She’s down to the shank, which isn’t the best, but—”

  “It sounds like a holiday feast,” Malcolm said, running to catch up.

  “I take it you’re hungry.”

  “Famished, good lady, famished. We’ve been living on a sparse diet of nuts, mushrooms, and the rare squirrel or rabbit, which between us doesn’t amount to much more than a bite or two.”

  Back up on the ridge they traveled in a line, their feet plowing loudly through dead leaves. The light cut through the gaps at a sharp angle. Trunks and plants were splashed with brilliant gold, and long shadows stretched out from the base of every tree.

  “I’ve heard of your husband,” Raithe told Persephone as he walked behind her. “They say he was old.”

  She nodded. “Over sixty years.”

  “But you’re not so old.”

  “Thank you.” Persephone glanced back at him with a curious look. “I think.”

  “I’m just saying your husband was a lucky man. Not only did he live a long time, but he was blessed with a young wife.”

  She laughed—a nice sound. “I’ve not known Dureyan men to be so charming.”

  “Ha!” Malcolm scoffed.

  Persephone turned to peer at the slender man marching along at the rear of their parade. “Why do you laugh?”

  “Raithe isn’t what most would describe as charming.”

  “How would you know?” Raithe asked.

  “I’ve been with you night and day for who knows how long now, and you’ve never struck me as charming.”

  “You’re not a beautiful woman,” Raithe replied.

  “Beautiful?” Persephone said. “Charming or not, you are certainly most kind, but there must be a terrible shortage of girls in Dureya if you—” Persephone froze in place, and her hand flew to her mouth in horror. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…I…” She bit her lower lip in agony.

  Malcolm looked at Raithe with a bewildered expression as the three stood listening to the wind in the leaves.

  When she didn’t say anything else, Raithe asked, “What?”

  She stared at him a moment longer as embarrassment slowly shifted to surprise. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?”

  “Dureya—the Fhrey.” She shook her head, her hand still lingering over her lips. “They destroyed Dureya and we think Nadak as well.”

  Raithe stared at her, puzzled. People often said things that didn’t make sense. Those who talked a lot were the most prone to the practice. Words spilled out of their mouths with little thought behind them. Persephone might be one of those. But she didn’t seem the sort to lie, and there would be no point in making up such a thing. “What are you talking about?”

  Persephone looked to Malcolm for help, but he remained silent, leaning on his spear. “A group of men from Nadak came to Rhen. They said they saw it themselves. The Fhrey killed everyone.” Then, more quietly, she added, “They burned the villages as well as the dahl.”

  “The Fhrey did that?” Raithe asked, trying to picture such a thing in his mind. The gods had never attacked Dureya before, but he found it disturbingly easy to imagine. He looked to Malcolm. “Is this possible? Would they do that?”

  “I…I expected them to come after us, not you
r people. But I suppose it’s possible.”

  “How many villages? Which ones?” Raithe asked Persephone.

  His question made her cringe. “All of them. The report I heard said…” She frowned.

  “What?”

  “They found no survivors. None. You might be the last living Dureyan.”

  She said more after that, but Raithe had stopped listening. Malcolm spoke, as well, but Raithe walked away. He had a vague sense of trudging down the ridge with them following. He wanted to think, needed to think, but couldn’t. Once, when Herkimer had been training Raithe, he was struck in the head with a wooden mallet. He’d collapsed but was still conscious, his father looming above. Herkimer yelled, but Raithe couldn’t hear. The words were faint and muffled, Raithe’s thoughts lost in a fog. That’s how he felt now. The world had stopped, and when it started again, his first thought was that Persephone must be mistaken. Dureya couldn’t be gone. As poor as they were, his people numbered in the thousands. They lived in hundreds of settlements from the Forks to the High Spear Valley. They couldn’t all be gone.

  Why would anyone destroy a place as insignificant as Clempton?

  “Raithe, do you know where you’re going?” Malcolm asked.

  Raithe stopped. They still traveled along the ridge, but the hardwood trees had given way to spruce and cedar as the three plodded uphill.

  “Are you all right?” Persephone asked.

  “I’m fine.”

  She looked at Raithe for a long moment as if she were going to offer a dissenting opinion.

  “We’re going back to Dahl Rhen, right?” Malcolm asked. “I don’t remember walking downhill at any point when we were on our way to the oak.”

  Persephone paused and turned around. “You’re right; we didn’t.”

  They were in the middle of an endless group of trees that were different from the ones Raithe remembered passing through earlier.

  “We should have turned off the ridge at some point, I think,” Malcolm said.

  The world beneath the canopy was darkening. The conifers blocked more sun than the hardwoods but not enough to account for the growing gloom. The piercing shafts of sun were gone, night was coming, and it was already hard to tell where one tree stopped and another began.

  “I suppose we should head back to where we started going up again, then—” Persephone was interrupted by a not-too-distant howl.

  “Do you think that’s Minna?” Malcolm asked, his voice concerned but hopeful.

  “Came from the other way,” Persephone replied. “Out there.” She nodded her head at the forest to their left.

  Another howl echoed from slightly to the right of the first.

  “Maybe we should go this way.” Persephone walked briskly in the opposite direction of the howls. Raithe followed after her with Malcolm in tow.

  Soon they were skidding down a steep slope, plowing through brown needles still damp from a recent rain. The deeper they went, the darker the forest grew. Near the bottom, the air became noticeably cooler, and the floor of the forest was green with ferns. They waded into a grove of knee-high fiddleheads, where they discovered a creek.

  “Is this the stream that goes to the cascade?” Persephone asked.

  “Maybe,” Malcolm replied. His voice sounded strained.

  Persephone followed the flow of water downhill. They trudged onward, but nothing looked familiar.

  Howls continued, closer than before. Down off the ridge, the eerie sounds bounced off tree trunks and echoed back. Raithe couldn’t determine where the howls came from, but he was certain of one thing—there was more than one.

  Persephone picked up their pace as they continued downhill through brush and over stones. With each step, it seemed the world grew darker and the forest changed. Evergreens transformed into black curtains; scattered birches became slender, staring ghosts. Rocks and boulders hidden in shadows took on the shapes of crouching animals waiting to pounce. In the growing dark, he felt closed in, blinded and trapped by the closeness of the trees.

  “I’m not sure I know where we are,” Persephone told them while pausing beside the creek.

  “I don’t think any of us does,” Malcolm said.

  Persephone rubbed her arms. “Well, at this point I’m—” She stopped.

  Movement. Creeping figures emerged from the undergrowth.

  Three wolves, all black, with sharp, white teeth snarled through curled lips. The trio came out slowly, too slowly.

  “Get behind me,” Raithe ordered, drawing the Fhrey sword and backing up.

  Malcolm clutched the spear in front of him. “Just point and stick, right?”

  Before Raithe could answer, Persephone screamed. He whirled around in time to see another wolf rush up from behind. Her shriek frightened the animal. It skidded to a halt. Raithe swung, but the wolf retreated out of range.

  “Take my shield.” Raithe pulled the wooden board off his back and handed it to Persephone.

  More wolves approached. Raithe saw ferns quivering all around them. This was a large pack, more than a dozen.

  “Put your backs to each other!” Raithe shouted. “Stay close. Don’t run.”

  The wolves closed to within a few feet, swarming, circling; their tongues hung and dripped. The bravest, a big black wolf with some gray in its coat, inched closer. It snapped, then darted back when Raithe swung. This generated a round of loud yipping.

  “Dammit!” Malcolm shouted, missing his wolf, which had darted in at the same time.

  Persephone was the first to land a solid blow. Using the edge of the shield, she struck one hard on the snout, causing the animal to yelp and scuttle away. Another wolf lunged at Raithe. He was ready and caught fur, maybe a bit more. The animal yelped.

  The pack looped around them in a constantly moving circle. Then, abruptly, one would dart in, snarling and snapping. The lunges and feints caused their tiny triangle to shift. Uneven ground hidden beneath ferns caused Raithe to stumble more than once. If he fell—if any of them did—the wolves would be on them. One deep bite and the smell of blood would put the pack into a frenzy. Bloodlust would overpower fear, and they’d attack as a group. That would end it. Raithe was certain he could kill two, maybe three, but the wolves would win.

  “Ah-rou! Ah-rou!” A howl echoed in the forest.

  A pair of lights darted through the trees. The flickers appeared, vanished, and then reappeared, closer.

  “Ah-rou! Ah-rou!”

  The wolves hesitated, backed up, and turned toward the noise—a howl not made by any wolf. Then the lights burst out of the forest. With a torch in each hand, Suri raced at the wolves, leaping fallen trees and running along their trunks. She sprang over ferns and ran straight for the thickest part of the pack, howling, barking, and swinging the torches. The pack scattered in a panic, splitting apart to let her pass.

  “Follow me!” she shouted, racing by.

  The three of them didn’t hesitate. They turned and chased the mystic through the trees. The pack followed, the leader spearheading the pursuit.

  “Keep running. Follow the stream!” Suri shouted as she slowed and dropped to the rear. Raithe stayed back with her as Persephone and Malcolm raced on.

  The big black wolf with the splash of gray charged. Ignoring Raithe, it went straight for Suri, who stood her ground and waved torches to no avail. The leader neither stopped nor slowed and launched its full weight at the girl.

  A flash of white shot out of the darkness. Minna caught the pack leader in midair and bore him to the ground where the two rolled apart. Before the lead wolf could get up, Suri was on it, stabbing with the torch’s fiery end.

  The black wolf yelped and fled, its singed fur smoking.

  “Ha-ha!” Suri shouted before darting off again.

  Raithe followed her, struggling to keep up with the lithe girl as she and Minna sprinted, splashing through the little stream. Persephone and Malcolm stood in a patch of moonlight, looking back.

  “There’s a drop!” Persephone shou
ted to them, pointing down at the edge of the cliff they stood on. “Oh, Grand Mother of All! It’s a waterfall!”

  “Jump!” Suri called.

  “What?”

  “Jump!”

  Raithe slowed as he neared the drop. Suri didn’t. Together, the mystic and her wolf leapt off the edge. As she fell, as she disappeared from sight, Suri let out a loud whoop!

  The wolves were still after them. Barks, yips, and growls filled the forest. Persephone and Malcolm looked back at Raithe, both wide-eyed.

  “Better than being eaten,” Malcolm said, and surprised Raithe by being the first of the three to jump.

  “Oh, Grand Mother, be with me,” Persephone prayed, and she, too, leapt.

  Raithe looked over the edge, but in the growing darkness all he saw was a cloud of moon-kissed mist rising from blackness. The wolves closed in, growling. They knew the ledge was there and slowed their approach. Six animals fanned out in a semicircle, teeth bared, saliva seething from their mouths.

  “Oh, Tetlin’s Witch!” Raithe turned and followed the others.

  —

  The fall nearly killed Persephone. The impact was only water, no jagged rocks or partially submerged trees. And she was able to get back to the surface easily enough after pushing off the bottom, but the fall itself, that blind drop through total darkness, had almost scared her to death.

  She had spent twenty years carrying official news to the other dahls and was one of the few people who’d visited Alon Rhist. The tales of her travels had impressed everyone. But the sum total of two decades paled in comparison with what she’d been through in the last few hours. Persephone had conquered her fear of the forest, survived a murder attempt, received a cryptic message from an ancient tree, battled wolves with nothing more than a wooden shield, and leapt blindly from the top of a waterfall. In one day, her life had gone off its own cliff, and she suspected the bottom hadn’t yet been reached.

  Once everyone broke the surface, Suri shouted for them to swim behind the curtain of falling water, where a massive hollow of bare rock suggested that the little stream had once been much bigger. Snow wasn’t such a distant memory, and the pool was bitterly cold. Still, Persephone barely noticed. Her pounding heart generated its own heat. After swimming to retrieve his floating shield, Raithe was the last one out.