by Amy Hopkins
“Strike me down with a feather,” Marcus muttered. “This trip has been one surprise after another. You think he means it?”
Julianne nodded. “Every word. I’d best get my information out of him as fast as I can when we get back to the Temple, or he might just leave before we’re done.”
“Speaking of the Temple,” Marcus said. “We might just make it back tonight, if we leave now and ride hard.”
Julianne gnawed at her lip, then jerked her head in a nod. “Let’s. I don’t want to wait longer than we need.”
They walked the horses down the shaded path back to the road, and kicked the horses into a run once they were there, much to Artemis’s distress.
They rode through the day, only stopping for a brief time to rest and water the horses when their shadows shrank to nothing and the sun lightly bled the ground. Even the brief stop was enough to make Julianne shiver when she climbed back up on Cloud’s back.
“The weather turned quickly,” she remarked to Marcus as they walked along the empty road.
“You’re just normally coddled up in a big stone castle when winter hits,” he pointed out. “For us less fortunate folk, we live through this every year.”
“Less fortunate?” Julianne asked, an eyebrow shooting up. “Less fortunate as in, you didn’t have freshly pressed clothes delivered every morning, or hot meals three times a day or a warm, dry place to sleep?”
Marcus stretched, cracking his spine. “You always take everything so literally.”
“You’re walking into an ambush,” Julianne said pleasantly.
“Like I couldn’t see that coming. I adore you, Jules, but leading me into these loaded discussions always leaves me feeling like I’ve put a foot wrong.”
Julianne frowned, then laughed. “No, Marcus. A literal ambush. There are four men waiting for us to pass under them. They plan to scare the horses, so we’re thrown off, then rob us blind.”
“Oh. Well at least this trip won’t all be boring.” Marcus slowed, waiting for her to give instructions.
Julianne sat still in her saddle as Cloud Dancer slowly ambled on towards the waiting men. Her eyes shone white, and her posture was relaxed.
“Marcus,” she said in a low voice. “This isn’t right.”
“Well… yeah, we’re about to be hit by bandits. There’s nothing right about that!” He edged his horse closer to hers, concerned at her hesitance.
“That’s just it. I have control of one of the men, and he’s not a bandit. They’re traders.” Julianne’s brow furrowed in concentration.
“Why are they jumping us, then?” Marcus asked.
Julianne shrugged. “He doesn’t know. Marcus, this feels a lot like the compulsion that hit two rearick on our way out of the Temple.” She gave him a quick explanation and he nodded. “Artemis?” she asked. “What do you think?”
Artemis snorted. “I couldn’t say. My ass is too sore from all that bouncing around.”
Marcus groaned. “So, you think Donna passed through?” he asked Julianne.
Julianne nodded. “But… this compulsion is buried deep. I don’t know if I can undo it soon enough to stop them. And I don’t want to hurt them for something they can’t help doing.”
“What if we knock them over the head?” Marcus shrugged. “That seems to solve most problems.”
Julianne clicked her tongue. “Marcus! I’m not beating innocent men over the head! Especially if I can’t be sure it will work. They might wake up and hurt themselves, like some of Rogan’s victims did.”
“Or, track us down and murder us while we sleep.” Marcus grinned to take the edge off his words. “Look, we’ll take them down gently, then tie them up. You can play in their heads while I raid the rations. I’m absolutely starving.”
“You ate three plates at breakfast!” she reminded him dryly. “And if this holds us up too long, we won’t make it back to the Temple in time to eat.”
“Then I’ll just have to make sure I save you some.” Marcus slid off his horse and wrapped the reins around his hand, making sure the animal had plenty of slack. Marcus didn’t want to lose his fingers if the horse took fright and reared up.
Julianne joined him on the ground, holding Cloud’s reins loosely. She had worked with the horse long enough now that she was sure Cloud would return even if something scared the usually stalwart mare away.
Marcus watched Julianne instead of the trees. Her connection with the trader would give her more notice of an attack than any sign he saw.
When she faltered just slightly, placing a foot down and hesitating for the barest of moments, Marcus drew his sword with a zing. He spun around as the leaves above rustled and three men jumped from the branches.
The thud of feet behind him, followed by the crack of Julianne’s wooden staff on hard bone made him smile. He didn’t turn to check on her, confident her skills matched his own.
Marcus slammed the flat edge of his blade against the round stomach of the nearest man. He bent over in pain, and Marcus turned to the next. He led with his blade, swinging it towards the terrified trader’s neck.
At the last minute, he turned it away and while his opponent tried to duck the feinted swing, Marcus shoved a boot into his chest. The man gasped and stumbled back.
“Catch!” Marcus looked up at Julianne’s cry just in time to snatch a length of rope she had thrown at him.
It uncoiled, one end slithering to the ground, and the trader squealed as it touched his leg.
“It’s just rope,” Marcus said, and the man stopped trying to squirm away, but lay muttering quietly to himself.
Marcus bent closer to hear what he was saying.
“Must… must stop her. Have to stop her.”
“Stop who?” Marcus asked.
The trader stilled, eyes stretched into wide circles as they rolled back to look in Julianne’s direction. “Her.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Bette groaned and cracked open an eyelid. “Who put that bloody light on?” she muttered. “Turn it off.”
She reached down to pull her blanket over her head to block out the offensive glow, but a stab of pain shot her eyes open. “Bloody hell!”
“Ah, yer awake!” Garrett’s face swam in front of hers as the room blurred. “Settle yer wee self, lassie. Still short a few drops of blood, ye are.” He pressed a gentle hand against her good shoulder, and she collapsed back into bed.
Bette panted with the pain, trying to think through her sudden panic. “The remnant. George!”
“Aye, old George is tucked up back in his own bed,” Garrett reassured her. “Ye didn’t keel over until the remnant were all dead.”
“What about that bastard bandit?” she asked.
Garrett shrugged. “He’s back under guard at Muir with the rest of his ugly friends.” He held out a wooden cup. “Here, wet yer lips.”
Bette took a big gulp. Acrid tang filled her mouth, and she spat it back out, showering Garrett with brown liquid. “Fuck! Yer tryin’ to poison me, ye prick?”
Garrett dabbed a sleeve to his face, then pulled back, sniffed it with a disgusted look. “Stinks, doesn’t it? Drink it anyway, ye pansy. It’ll help yer blood rebuild and take the edge off the pain.”
“I don’t—” Bette began.
“Ye don’t need it?” Garrett asked. “Aye, that suits me. The longer you’re in bed, the longer I get to run the guard!” He grinned gleefully.
Bette stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped to the cup. Screwing up her face, she downed the dark sludge in one gulp.
“I’ll be back on me feet by tomorrow,” she snapped. “Go get me more of… more…” The room twirled around, and she watched as tiny stars dipped and swam through the air. Warmth suffused her limbs as her muscles weakened.
“Yerr balfurd.” The mangled slur sounded nothing like what she had intended to say. She tried again, but when her mouth opened, a giant yawn filled her lungs as her body slumped back into the pillow.
“Aye,” s
aid one of Garrett’s heads. The other one smiled. “Ye get some rest and ye’ll be right as rain in no time.”
I’ll chop off both yer heads tomorrow, Bette thought as darkness surrounded her and she slipped back into sleep.
Garrett patted Bette’s hair. When her eyes drifted shut, his smile drifted into a scowl. “She’ll have my fuckin’ ass fer that later,” he grumbled. “Bitch help me.”
He stalked out of the room and into the kitchen, where Mary stood by the stove. “Did she drink it?” she asked.
Garrett nodded. “Sleeping like a wee babe. Do ye think she might forget that I tricked her into it?”
Mary chuckled. “With luck, yes. But don’t let her near any sharp weapons when she first wakes.” She patted a hand on a cloth-wrapped pot. “There’s some broth in here. Give that to her before anything solid. It’ll be nice and gentle on her stomach. It should keep warm for some time.”
Garrett sucked in a deep breath and sighed contentedly. “Mary, if I ever get stabbed in the arm, will ye make me some of that?”
Mary shook her head and headed for the door. “There’s enough for two, don’t worry. No need to create an emergency just for some old soup.”
Garrett grinned and leaned over to give her a quick hug as she passed. “Thank ye, lass. I’ll make sure Bette knows ye were lookin’ after her.”
“Me and half the town,” Mary said as she pulled the door open. A pile of flowers and candles tumbled inside.
Garrett gaped, then scrubbed his suddenly stinging eyes. “Aye,” he said. “I’ll let her know.”
He saw Mary out, hugging her again before she took off down the street. Spotting Danil headed out of town, Garrett called him over.
“Mystic! Get yer blind arse over here,” Garrett yelled.
Danil looked up and grinned. He lifted his thin cane from the road and tucked it under his arm as he headed over.
“Do ye know who has been doing all this?” Garrett asked as he gathered up the gifts left at his doorstep.
“It would be easier to tell you who hasn’t,” Danil said. “That would be… well, no one.”
“What?” Garrett said, dumping the wilting flowers on the table. “We only came in last night. Who the bloody hell organized it?”
“You flew through those gates screaming for a medic,” Danil reminded him. “We thought Bette was dead, or close to it. Half the town heard the ruckus!”
Garrett turned away, stomping over to a tiny cupboard and pulling out some cups. He filled them with water from the tiny kitchen pump, then lined them up on the table. “I wasn’t that loud,” he grumbled as he fed bunches of wildflowers into the cups. “And if ye’d seen the blood, ye’d have been worried, too!”
Dani gave a soft chuckle and straightened a crooked stalk of lavender. “We were, rearick. We were. The whole town cares for Bette—and for you.”
“Me? Why the bloody hell would they do a silly thing like that?” Garrett snapped.
“Because you saved them from the Dawn. I know, Julianne did the hardest part, but you and Bette didn’t just fight alongside her. You taught them to fight for themselves. You gave them a kind of freedom you can’t just hand over. You let them earn it.” Danil tapped the table restlessly.
“Aye.” Garrett sat down with a thump. “And I won’t deny the sight of all that blood…” he shuddered.
Danil reached out and squeezed Garrett’s arm. “We know how much you care for her. You’re allowed to be concerned.”
“Aye. I’m glad ta have those around that care,” Garrett admitted. “It’s not like the Heights, that’s fer damn sure!”
Danil sighed and tapped the table again. “I’m leaving,” he said.
“What, yer headed to the hall?” Garrett asked.
Danil’s face dropped. “No, Garrett. I’m leaving Tahn.”
“What?” Garrett shot up in his chair. “Ye can’t go! Not yet, not while Bette’s—”
“Not now,” Danil reassured him. “Not for a while, actually. But once Bastian’s school is underway, and once I know Julianne is back at the Temple safe and sound… well, Polly and I want to go somewhere.”
“Where?” Garrett screwed up his face, confused. “Tahn has food and beer. The whiskey’s not much, but it’ll do. What else could ye want?”
Danil stared at the table, a small smile on his lips. “Adventure. Garrett, I barely left the Temple when I lived there. Sure, a few trips to Arcadia if I couldn’t avoid them. But even my pilgrimage didn’t take me as far as we’ve travelled together.”
“Ye got the bug,” Garrett said. “Aye, it happens to us mountain folk, too. Most of us like to stick close to home, but some? Oh, those ones will walk ta the ends o’ the stars and beyond.”
Danil looked up at that. “Do you think they have an end?”
“What?” Garrett cocked his head.
“The stars. Do you think they have an end? All the old legends say that’s where Queen Bethany Anne went. I wonder how far she got?”
Garrett snorted. “What, ye plannin’ ta go look for ‘er? Bah. Half the stories are just that—stories.”
“You’d be surprised,” Danil said quietly, thinking back on the reams of paper, books, and pictures kept back at the Temple. “But either way, we’re going to go. I just need to break it to Bastian.”
Garrett winced. “I don’t envy ye that job. But if yer off ta do it now, tell the lad not ta leave Tahn for a bit, eh? With those monsters runnin’ about the woods…”
“What?” Danil said, jolting up in his seat. “I thought you killed all the bandits.”
“Bandits?” Garrett barked a laugh. “I guess ye were all too busy worrying about Bette ta pay attention ta the real worry. They were remnant, lad! Remnant, runnin’ about like nobody’s business. We killed the ones we saw, but I don’t want people wanderin’ around until we have a nose around, like.”
Danil stood quickly, knocking over his chair. He leaned over the table, eyes pleading. “No, Garrett. You don’t understand—Bastian has already gone!”
“What?” Garrett screeched, jumping up and racing for the door. He doubled back to grab a sword off the floor by the fire where he had discarded it the night before, too exhausted to do more than clean it.
Garrett paused, eyes darting to the closed bedroom door.
“I’ll stay,” Danil said. “I’ll look after her, Garrett, just… please. Don’t let Bastian get hurt?”
Garrett nodded in thanks and sprinted out the door, hollering for Sharne and Carey.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The remnant jumped, thrusting the spear forwards at Bastian. Tansy shoved him out of the way, pirouetting so that it missed her as well. She flung a foot around and connected with the remnant’s leg, making him stumble.
He recovered quickly, stabbing at her three times, his movement quick but fluid. Tansy scrambled back and yanked her knives out, gripping one in each hand.
Bastian ran at the beast, knife pointed forwards. The remnant turned and slammed him in the chest with the spear butt, sending Bastian sprawling on the ground, legs in the air.
The remnant took a step, then staggered as Tansy’s right hit him in the back. Its throat blossomed, then sprayed blood as her knife flashed in a stray beam of sunlight.
Tansy shoved the writhing body away and stood, hands on her knees, trembling. Bastian scrambled to his feet.
“Are you ok?” he asked, breath short and gasping.
She nodded, then straightened. “Yes, I’m—” she stopped, and her lip trembled for a moment. Then, sucking in a hard breath, she spoke quickly. “Fine. I’m fine, but we should go.”
Bastian nodded. He grabbed his dropped pack and took her arm, walking quickly through the dense foliage. The forest crackled and shifted, each tiny noise sending a spike of fear racing through Tansy’s heart.
Gripping her knives—she had dropped the sword and forgotten to go back for it before they left—Tansy forced her mind to the worn trail ahead. Yet, the twisted face of the remnant ke
pt rocking its way into her thoughts.
She shuddered. “Are they all like that?” she asked quietly.
Bastian nodded. “More or less. But they normally travel in packs, so—”
A loud crack behind them startled Tansy, and she jumped, whirling. Two hunched figures, as twisted and ugly as the first, blocked the path behind them.
“Run!” she screamed and pushed Bastian forwards.
She ran, years of practice at running and jumping lending her feet speed and balance. The remnant were fast, too, though. The slap of footsteps inched closer, and their mangled growls were too close.
Bastian tripped. He fell, his momentum skidding him along the dirt until he came to a painful stop.
A shriek of glee behind them made Tansy’s breath catch. She dove off the path, into the trees as the remnant pounced on Bastian.
She spotted a young, thin sapling stretching high into the shadowed canopy. Beside it, a sturdier tree covered in knots and stubby branches gave her an idea.
Tansy scaled the thicker tree, lifting herself up like a cat skittering up a wall. She jumped onto a branch and threw herself through the air, landing on a thicker branch, as balanced as she would be during a well-rehearsed performance.
A quick look down at the ground below made her grin. “This is no tent,” she muttered as quick steps brought the sapling into view.
Tansy took a second to check her balance, standing with two feet securely on the wider branch as she stared at the swaying tip of the smaller tree.
“One… two… listen to the crowd roar.” Narrowing her focus, she blew out a sharp breath.
She hurled herself forwards, grabbing the sapling with one hand. It stretched and bent, the pliant trunk building tension as it lowered her to the ground… right before a remnant.
She swung, wrapping her legs around the tree and freeing her hands. When she grabbed the startled remnant, yanking his flimsy shirt over a nub protruding from the trunk, she wondered if she had any chance of her plan working.
She dropped down and kicked the remnant, shoving him further onto the tree as the spring-loaded trunk was relieved of her weight. It shot up into the air, taking the screaming remnant with it.