Achan laid the meat on the rock. He scanned the ground near the water’s edge and picked up a sturdy branch. Using Vrell’s knife, he stripped bark from the branch and growled. “Is there no green wood in Darkness? I’m surprised the whole land hasn’t gone up in flames.”
Sir Caleb arrived and set his birds beside the rock. “What are you two doing?”
“Achan is teaching me to skin the bird,” Vrell said, as if the idea fascinated her. “He says plucking will take too long.”
“He’s right on that account.”
Achan sharpened the stick like a spear and handed it to Vrell. He rinsed his hands in the river and pointed at her satchel. “What have you got in there? To cook with, I mean?”
Vrell’s mind raced. What herbs were good for cooking? “Um…cloves?”
Achan wrinkled his nose. “Not for fowl. What else?”
“Fennel?”
“Okay. What else?”
“Yarrow?”
Sir Caleb chuckled.
Achan’s shoulders slumped. “Let me see.”
Vrell handed him the bag. He set it in his lap and drew each bundle out one at a time and smelled them. “Rosemary. Is there any garlic in here?”
“Yes. At the bottom.”
He handed her the satchel, but kept her bunch of rosemary. “Can you find it?”
She dug until she found a bulb of garlic wrapped in leather where it could not overpower the rest of her herbs.
Achan slicked open the bird’s breast and shoved the rosemary inside. He took the clove of garlic from Vrell’s hand and smacked it against the rock to knock the skin loose. He tucked a clove in with the rosemary and handed the rest back. “Sir Caleb, do you have any twine?”
Sir Caleb burst into a hearty laugh. “I think so. I’ll go look.” He trudged toward the horses, laughing all the way.
Vrell put away the garlic. The smell of rosemary and garlic masked the stench of blood. “Where did you learn to do this?”
Achan cocked an eyebrow. “Your first clue is on my back. Forgetfulfox.”
Vrell flushed, the image of Achan’s scarred back fresh in her mind. “Right. Sorry.”
“I didn’t hate Poril, you know. Deep down, for most my youth, I thought of him as my father. I never understood why he… Well, he’d beat me for the lightest transgression and show no remorse. Did your master ever beat you?”
Vrell glanced down at her hands. “No.”
Achan huffed. “Luckyfox.”
Sir Caleb returned with twine. Achan tied the breast to the stick to keep the spices in. He carried the stick to the campfire.
Vrell trudged after him.
“Not bad, Your Highness.” Sir Caleb nodded at Achan’s meat, now propped over the fire. “Care to see how I do it?”
Achan shrugged. “What other way is there?”
“The hunter’s way.” Sir Caleb walked to the riverbank, Achan and Inko at his heels. Vrell followed, uninterested in seeing another bird gutted, yet what other way could there be?
Sir Caleb set a gowzal on the ground on its back and spread the wings to the side. He stepped on them, pressing his boots against the body, grabbed the legs, and pulled. At first nothing happened. Then something popped inside the bird.
Vrell jumped and started at the dead bird, wincing.
Sir Caleb continued to pull, eliciting more cracks and tearing from the carcass. Suddenly, the feet ripped away from the rest of the body. Vrell shrieked and jumped back. The innards were still attached to the legs.
“Whoa!” Achan’s eyes were wide, like he’d never seen anything so amazing.
Vrell did not think she could take much more.
“This gets you right to the meat.” Sir Caleb held up the feet, dripping with guts. “All the innards are right here. And, see? The breast is bare. Just pull it out and cook.”
Achan leaned forward to look. Vrell stayed put.
“Then strip back the innards over the leg…” Sir Caleb demonstrated. “Snap them off at the knee…and you’ve got two drumsticks ready to go. Toss the rest.”
Achan reached for one of the other gowzals half-covered by snow. “Can I try?”
Vrell walked back toward the fire. “I shall keep watch on the one cooking.”
* * *
Dinner warmed Achan’s insides, but Sir Gavin extinguished the campfire and the darkness and cold returned.
Achan didn’t feel like sleeping. He wanted to talk. “Do we follow the river all the way to Berland, Sir Gavin?”
“Nay. We’ll leave the river here and head north.”
“And follow your nose?” Achan asked.
“For a while.”
Achan decided to look in on Gren, just to confirm her safety. Sparrow, I’m checking on Gren. Make sure no one stabs me.
Achan, you should tell one of the knights. Mocking them is not—
Achan closed his mind and concentrated on Gren’s face. He saw nothing. Weariness gripped his limbs. She was sleeping.
On a whim, he sought out her father instead.
A dark room came into focus lit by a candle on a bedside table. Master Fenny lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Don’t say that, Master Fenny said. There’s always hope.
It’s false hope. Tears laced Gren’s mother’s voice. No man will marry a widow. We shouldn’t have given her to Riga. She didn’t want to marry him. It was a poor choice.
You blame me?
We should’ve let her marry Achan. She could be queen now.
Master Fenny snorted. They wouldn’t have let him marry a weaver’s daughter.
But don’t you see? Had we given in, they would’ve wed already. She’d be queen by default. They wouldn’t have taken his wife away.
We cannot live in the past, Frida. She married Riga and he’s dead. We must look to the future. I for one will not give up hope. We have a new life here. Carmine has rich soil. And I’ve never met such kind people. You yourself said this morning how kind they are here.
I did. They are kind. To us. But to Gren…
We must put all our hopes in this young squire. He’s been good to us, and I’ve seen him looking fondly at Grendolyn.
He’s betrothed to the duchess’ daughter. We cannot compete with nobility. If we’re to find Gren another match, we must set our sights lower.
Master Fenny recalled his time in the fields with Master Rennan earlier that day. I think the man fancies her.
What does that matter? Prince Gidon fancied every girl in Sitna. Did that make him a good match for anyone?
Do not speak that name! I say, Achan should be named again. Really, for that boy to take on a name so tainted—
Achan pulled away, thoughts drifting. He wrinkled his nose. It felt stiff in the icy air.
Gren’s parents wanted her to remarry. It would be best. Why hadn’t Achan demanded Sir Gavin let him marry Gren? Shouldn’t he have put up a fight? His heart didn’t ache any less for what he and Gren had lost when she had married Riga.
Had Riga kept him silent? The baby? Achan didn’t know.
Master Fenny suspected Bran had feelings for Gren. But Bran had spoken passionately to Gren about his betrothed, Lady Averella. Could the squire’s feelings have changed in her absence? Master Fenny had likely read more into Bran’s polite behavior. Besides, no man could help looking twice at Gren.
His eyes ached. Time to sleep. Sparrow? I’m back and alive, so stop worrying. I’m going to sleep now.
After a long pause, Sparrow said, Good night, Your Highness.
Achan felt he’d hardly slept when Sir Caleb shook him awake. They rode into a thick forest. The horses slowed to a lazy amble in the snow. The trees were so close together there seemed to be no room for the animals. Branches swiped at Achan’s arms and face, knocking snow over his head and arms. He kept his wool cloak fastened tight, the hood up, but it wasn’t enough to ward off the chill. His fingers were numb.
Before long Sparrow began to complain. “Are we unable to find the road?�
�
“There’s no road to Berland.” Sir Gavin’s voice carried back. “This trail is narrow on purpose.”
Achan breathed on his fingers, making them moist. “Then how does one travel to Berland?” Before they freeze?
“No outsider travels to Berland,” Sir Gavin said. “They’re brought there.”
Sparrow’s heavy sigh hissed from behind him. “But should Berlanders travel elsewhere, they must have a way home. Why can we not take their road?”
“This is their road. Berlanders train their horses for these narrow hunting trails. They don’t want it widely known where their stronghold is located.”
Achan shifted in his saddle, his bruised body aching and saddle sore. He guessed eleven days had passed since Mirrorstone. Three nights in Melas, and he’d walked two days to Barth, but the other six had been spent on horseback. What did Sir Gavin have in mind once they freed the men from Ice Island? A long stay in Tsaftown where Achan might court Lady Tara? The idea seized him with a thrill of excitement and fear.
They rode all day, ate lunch on horseback, and kept going. Therion Forest made noises similar to those in Nahar Forest. Pecking, the occasional flutter of wings, snapping branches. Just as Achan was beginning to crave his bedroll, a loud click, click, click, click, click, click, click sounded from the trees above.
Achan tipped his head back to the blackness above. The sound was right above him.
Wump wump wump.
“Something’s up there.” A clump of soft snow fell in his eyes. He lowered his head and wiped the moisture away.
“Probably an animal,” Sparrow said.
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Achan pulled his hood tight. “Do you know what kinds of animals live around here? Do you know what a cham is?”
Sparrow tsked. “A cham would not make such a sound.”
“How do you know what sound a cham would make? Have you seen one?” Achan really wanted to see a cham, but not in Darkness, though a fire would be nice.
Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.
“I think a cham would roar,” Sparrow said. “And if he did, we would see his fire.”
Chee wa. Cheeee wa. Chee wa. Cheeee wa.
Achan looked again to the blackness above, shielding his eyes with his hand. “Then what do you suppose that one was?”
Sparrow didn’t answer.
Picka picka picka picka picka picka picka.
Click, click, click, click, click, click, click.
Shweeeeeeeee.
Balls of yellow light illuminated the forest around them. “Black knights?” Achan reached to draw his sword and found his scabbard empty. His stomach clenched. Had it fallen?
“Not black knights.” Sir Gavin said, calming his horse. “Don’t fight them. All will be well.”
Achan twisted on his saddle, feeling for Eagan’s Elk, squinting for the glint of the blade in the pale light. The multitude of strange sounds seemed to magnify.
Shweeeeeeeee.
A furry beast fell from the treetops, hovering to Achan’s right. Achan cried out. Metal scraped over wood on his left. He swiveled in his saddle. A fur-clad man held Eagan’s Elk to his throat. These weren’t beasts. They were men in fur clothing.
Achan lifted his hands above his head. The chilled air snaked in the gap of his cloak and up his torso.
“Where you go to?” the man holding Eagan’s Elk asked.
“We travel to Berland to seek the hospitality of Duke Orson,” Sir Gavin yelled. “We are friends of Prince Oren. The young man behind me carries his ring.”
The creature glided over the back of Achan’s horse, somehow hanging mid-air. He grabbed Achan’s hand and inspected Prince Oren’s ring, then drew Achan’s hands behind his back. Achan tried to jerk free, but the man holding Eagan’s Elk pulled a burlap sack over Achan’s head. Achan stood in his stirrups and tried to throw himself from Scout’s back. Strong hands gripped his shoulders while another rope was threaded under his arms, bound around his chest. Achan’s muscles tensed. What had Sir Gavin meant by “Don’t fight them”?
A hand slapped Achan’s back, a voice yelled, “Hay oh!” and his body zipped into the air. He screamed as he flew, feet swinging out behind, ripping past branches. He sucked in a breath and burlap filled his mouth. He spit it out, desperately wanting to grab something. Before he could think what to do, his flight slowed. Hands caught his arms, pulled him forward.
His feet landed on a wood plank. The rope around his chest tugged away, and he was ushered along a platform that swayed under his trembling steps. In the distance, Sparrow screamed. Achan couldn’t help but smile. The little fox was flying.
His captors led him along the wooden bridge for some time, surrounded by the bedlam of clicking and drumming. His breathing heated up the bag on his head, moistening his face. Soon, voices rose above the percussion, chanting in low tones.
“Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!”
Achan’s guides stopped. His wrists were freed. The sack slipped from his head and cold air engulfed his sweaty face.
A man’s hairy, familiar face looked down, framed by fat, black, frizzy braids and curly sideburns. A small bone ring looped through the top of his left ear.
Shung Noatak, a man Achan had fought at Esek’s coming-of-age tournament, grinned and slung a cape of furs around Achan’s shoulders, blanketing him in warmth. He held out Eagan’s Elk. “Little Cham. We have been expecting you.”
22
Achan gripped the log railing and took in the scene. An entire village lived in the trees, built on branches and platforms. Wattle and daub huts perched at a myriad of levels, connected by rickety split-log staircases and narrow bridges.
Two levels down, a wide, round platform had been built into a clearing of tree trunks. A log banister edged the platform, forming an outdoor great hall. In the center, a low, circular stone hearth held a bonfire. People dressed in fur and leather danced around it. Smoke curled up from the flames, drifting out of the clearing in the treetops above. In the surrounding trees, blazing glass balls of colored light in red, blue, green, and yellow dangled from branches, railings, or lampstands that stood along the bridges.
Achan pointed at the nearest glass ball. “What is that?”
“Come. Shung will show you.”
He led Achan along the bridge, down a short staircase, and across another gangway to a blue ball that hung from a lamp stand on a chain like a lantern. It had a round opening that let out heat and smoke from a blue torchlight burning inside.
“We call luminaria. Pleasant, no?”
“Aye. Very.”
“Let go of me!” Sparrow’s voice carried from the trees across the platform. “I can walk myself!”
Shung chuckled. “The small one did not like lift.”
Achan scanned the staircases and bridges but did not see the boy. Stop making so much noise, Sparrow. You’ll call the chams.
These fur men nearly killed me, yanking me into the trees like a bag of meat. And those, those…singers are making more noise than I am. “I said, I can walk myself!”
Shung started back down the stairs. “Another little cham?”
Achan followed. “Naw. That one’s a fox.”
“I heard that!” Sparrow called out.
“Little Cham has come to Berland. Shung is glad.”
Achan looked into Shung’s dark eyes, recalling their sword match at Esek’s tournament months ago. Shung had won, technically. He’d also promised if Achan ever came to Berland, he’d take him hunting. “Are we going to hunt a cham?”
Shung grunted. “Not this night, Little Cham. Come. The celebration awaits.”
Shung guided Achan down a maze of stairs and bridges to a wider staircase that led to the center platform. Three thrones were arranged on one arc of the perimeter, facing the bonfire. A young man sat in the throne on the far left. He was as hairy as Shung, but slimmer. His tunic and trousers were made of short brown fur. Red fox tails hung around his neck like e
dging on a robe. It also circled around the tops of his deerskin boots. He wore a necklace dripping with at least two dozen cham claws.
The center, and largest, throne was empty. A matronly woman sat in the throne on the far right. She wore a tunic of white fur with matching boots and dark leather trousers. A white fur hat tied under her chin. Long salt-and-pepper braids spilled down into her lap.
The dancers and drummers were still chanting. “Hey ya hey! Hey ya ho! Hey ya ha! Hey no no!”
The young man stood and held up his hands, palms out. The drums trilled, voices warbled, all sounds increased. Achan shrank into himself at the noise level. The young man clenched his hands into fists and the noise stopped. He stared at Achan and spoke in a commanding voice. “Prince Gidon Hadar, also called Achan the Cham of Sitna. We welcome you to Berland, we do. We welcome you, our future king.”
The man went down on one knee.
Beside Achan, Shung went to one knee. All around him fur-clad men, women, and children knelt. Across the platform, one boy still stood, looking lost. Sparrow.
Achan didn’t bother hiding the grin in his voice. Still trembling after your flight?
Sparrow jumped, eyes darting everywhere but Achan’s direction. Where are you?
The young leader stood and approached Achan. They were about the same height, but this man was several years older. He wore straight spears of white bone through each ear that looked to have been stabbed through and forgotten.
“I am called Koyukuk Orson. I am heir to Berland and Therion Duchy, I am. My father, Duke Orson, has not yet returned from Mahanaim where he attended Council.” Koyukuk gripped Achan’s shoulder and steered him before the matronly woman. “Please, meet my mother, Duchess Crysta.”
Achan bowed. “I am honored, my lady.”
The crowd cheered.
Koyukuk led Achan to a slender young woman standing beside his throne. “Please, meet my betrothed, Kumna Attu.”
To Darkness Fled (Blood of Kings, book 2) Page 25