“Get back!” he shouted to Tessa. He drew out the sword she’d given him and held it in position. Remembering the phrase he’d chosen for himself at Lance’s urging, he cried out, “From ash you came, to Ash you return.”
Razor-sharp wheezed by way of a laugh and swung his mighty sword. Caught off-balance, Ash jumped backwards. The boarman came at him like a battering ram, attacking so fiercely Ash could do nothing but parry. Ash’s movements were lithe and he could have danced around Razor-sharp given half a chance, but the beast gave him no opening. Razor-sharp slammed Ash's sword again and again, wearing him down, pushing him back. Ash slowed in his responses, growing less nimble. His practices had been all about technique, not endurance. He knew now that was a mistake. The boarman had no skills whatsoever, only sheer, unrelenting brute force.
Ash didn’t know how much longer he could hold the beast off. Where did Tessa go? He half-hoped he’d given her enough time to save herself, and half-wondered why she didn’t smack Razor-sharp with a heavy branch behind his head. In his distraction, he stumbled and fell onto his back. My first and last battle, already over. He watched the boarman raise his great sword to finish him off. Remorse filled him, not that he would die in combat, but that he had only fought this opponent—who meant nothing to him—and would never face the one who filled his nightmares.
Then a strange thing happened. A bird flew into Razor-sharp's face, scratching and pecking at his eyes, throwing off the boarman’s aim. Ash rolled out of the way as the blow from Razor-sharp landed beside him. The bird flapped its wings in the boarman’s face, continuing to peck and claw. Razor-sharp tossed his head, nearly slicing the little bird with his tusks. It darted away at the last second.
Taking advantage of the boarman’s distraction, Ash bounded to his feet and drove his sword through the boarman’s ribs. Razor-sharp toppled backwards, thrashed in place for a moment, and then died. Ash stood over him, gulping in air, his entire body trembling. It took a moment to settle himself. When he had, he drew back his sword and wiped it on the dead boarman’s uniform.
He glanced around. “Tessa?”
She walked out from behind a tree. “Are you all right?” she said.
He wasn’t sure. “First time I've killed anyone… anything?” He didn’t really know how to define a boarman. Though the creature was half man, half beast, Ash derived no pleasure from taking his life. Lord Fellstone’s magic had created them, and forced them into his service. Only he was accountable for their actions.
“You were amazing,” Tessa said.
“Really? You were watching? Didn't know where you went.”
“Sorry, I was frightened.”
“Thought you might hit him with something.” He hoped that didn’t sound like criticism. He meant it more as a suggestion for the next time he engaged in battle.
“I should've,” she said. “I don't know why I didn't think of that. I just froze up.”
He looked around nervously. “Let's get out of here. I was lucky this time. A bird flew in his face.”
“That was some brave bird,” she said, smiling.
CALDER
Calder rose from his place of hiding and retrieved his bag. He brushed the leaves off himself, ignoring the small twigs still stuck in his hair. He opened his bag and searched through its contents for several moments, cursing repeatedly, until at last he pulled out the object he needed: a handheld compass. His plan was to head toward the castle, hoping his friends would do the same. They had little hope of finding each other inside the forest. He raised the compass close to his face and held it under the moonlight to read its dial. If he had not gotten too turned about, his destination ought to be due south from this point. But if he was wrong, he could end up deeper inside the Cursed Wood, which circled the castle. He would have to take that chance, he decided, slinging his bag over his shoulder and setting out.
“Tessa? Ash?” he called out in quiet tones, in the off chance they had not gone far after all. The wind sighed and the branches went scritch, scritch against each other, but no one answered him. He walked on.
During his long travels across the sea, he had managed to contain his memories of Faline underneath his daily thoughts and concerns. But the closer he came to the place she might be, the more those memories pushed forward, so that he could barely think of anything else. Even now, her image appeared to him in the sweep of a willow tree’s branches, looking as she did when he last saw her, an enchanting young woman, sixteen years of age.
By then he’d fallen hopelessly in love. Worse, as a mere lad of seventeen himself, he had been foolish enough to believe his feelings might be returned, despite the enormous differences between them. Her rank, her wealth, her beauty and refinement… these should have told him what insanity it was to believe he had a chance with her. Instead, he convinced himself they had a unique bond that went deeper than any earthly considerations. His practical side understood that when nothing was ventured, nothing was gained, and so he resolved to risk humiliation and heartbreak by confessing his feelings to her on her sixteenth birthday.
A grand ball was held in her honor that night. Faline wanted to invite him, but her parents would have burned the hall down before allowing Cook’s son to enter it as their guest. Calder watched through the glass at the terrace door while she danced in the arms of other men, as light and graceful as a cloud, with her billowy white gown whirling round her. As entrancing as she was, he preferred her in the simple garb she wore during their walks, when mud would stick to her slippers, and leaves catch in her hair.
Every gentleman, young and old, waited for his turn to partner with her. But Faline showed particular favor to Daniel, a young man who had claimed the most number of dances by far. Daniel belonged to a well-to-do family in the neighborhood. Faline’s parents treated them like poor relations: they were tolerated as long as they acknowledged the vast superiority of the Eldreds in every way.
Seeing Faline’s face brighten whenever Daniel approached, Calder suppressed twinges of jealousy. She’d known the boy for several years; naturally she was friendly with him. But Calder had noticed the frequency of Daniel’s visits increasing over the last few months. When he’d mentioned it to Faline in an offhand way, she had brushed his concerns aside.
“We talk about books,” she said. “His family is dull and hardly owns any.”
Every birthday since she turned ten, Faline had snuck out of her house at midnight to meet Calder under the alder tree. He had left the terrace early to go there and wait for her, but it was not till several hours later that she finally arrived. Her face was flush with joy as she approached.
“Oh Calder,” she said. “This has been the most perfect night of my life.”
“Happy birthday,” he whispered. He had planned to pour out his feelings, but her words made him hesitate. He was not such a fool to ignore that the most perfect night of her life had not, up till now, included him.
She clasped his hands. “Tonight, we’re going to elope.”
“We…?” Calder said. For one exquisite moment, he was the happiest man alive.
“Daniel and me, of course. We’ve tried to cover our feelings, but I thought you must see it. You know me so well.”
On the contrary, he now understood he knew her heart no better than she knew his. He turned away, bracing himself against the tree, as he absorbed the blow. He kept his face in darkness so she wouldn’t see the lines of despair that must have formed over it.
“He’s gone to fetch the carriage,” she said, oblivious of his suffering.
“Why?” The word arose from him like a cry for help.
“My parents would never approve of him,” she said. “This is the only way.”
Calder heard the carriage approach. At the same time, Faline’s brother Mace ran toward them from the house. “Stop!” he cried out.
Calder wanted to welcome Mace’s interference. But something inside took hold of him. Some code of behavior that had planted itself without his even knowing. Al
l this time spent with Faline had clearly given him ridiculous notions that didn’t fit with his station at all. Her parents would consider a black adder more capable of noble action than he… and yet he felt compelled to do the honorable thing.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll hold off your brother.”
Her eyes glistened. “Dearest Calder. I’ll never have a better friend.” She kissed his cheek and squeezed his hands before letting go. Then she turned to the carriage, which had slowed to a halt on the road several yards away.
Calder reached into his bag, and for once, he didn’t need to search. He only had one of the item in question, and it lay on the top. Quickly he lit the pouch with his flint and threw it on the ground in front of Mace. Thick smoke poured out from it, blanketing the boy. Its odor threw him into a fit of coughing and no doubt stung his eyes. Calder turned back and saw that Faline had gotten into the carriage. He grabbed his bag and prepared to run.
But Mace was faster. Half-blinded, he emerged from the dense cloud surrounding him and leapt at Calder. He grabbed his arm, pulled him around, and thrust his sword into Calder’s eye. It might not have been where Mace intended the blade to go, but he could hardly be blamed for his poor aim at the moment.
Calder had no memory of anything that happened after that. A few weeks later, when he lay in his room recovering, Faline came to see him. With his one remaining eye, he looked up at her in surprise.
“You’ve come back,” he said, annoying himself by stating the obvious.
“I never went away. When I saw what my brother did to you… I couldn’t leave you like that. I made the driver stop. He and Daniel carried you up to the house.”
Calder meant it when he told her he was sorry. A shroud had fallen over her eyes since he last saw her.
“My parents told us they would cut off my inheritance if I married him. I haven’t heard from Daniel since then. He didn’t love me at all, it seems.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she swiped it away.
He wanted to tell her it was all for the best, even given the loss of his eye, but he knew she wouldn’t thank him for judging Daniel unworthy.
“Since then… my parents made me a match,” she said. “I shall marry the man in a fortnight.”
And with that, the tiny bubble of hope was pricked once more. “Who?” he croaked.
“A man of great wealth and power. The Conjurer Lord Fellstone,” Faline had said.
#
With his mind wandering, Calder wasn’t sure how much time had passed. He had given up on the compass and moved onto a rough trail. Now he noticed a strange-looking tree atop an incline on one side. It had a sinister aura about it, with many bare and spindly limbs that gave it the look of an enormous spider. He was about to turn away and continue without drawing any nearer, when he noticed a figure moving at the base of the tree. Can it be one of my companions? From where he stood, he wasn’t certain, and therefore his only choice was to approach with caution, hoping to get a closer peek at the person without their glimpsing back.
Strange oval shapes hung from the tree’s lower branches like dreary decorations. The figure—he could now confirm it was a woman—cut one down and cradled it. Her mane of curly black hair seemed to move with a life of its own. Fascinated, Calder drew nearer still.
The woman wore layers of clothing: pantaloons under a skirt, two blouses covered by a vest, several scarves and a shawl. Calder's gaze shifted to the bundles hanging from the tree. They looked like animals—squirrels, rabbits, raccoons—wrapped up in some sort of greyish yarn. Movement from the woman attracted his eye. With her back to him, she hunched over the thing she’d cut down, making a strange sucking noise. She now appeared to be bald.
He’d seen enough to tell this was not someone likely to help him find his friends or complete his journey. As he crept backwards, a branch cracked under his foot. He froze in place, silently cursing. The woman twisted around and glowered at him. Her face was ancient and hoary. Her hands had spider webs between the fingers, and long, deadly-sharp nails.
But the thing that drew his eye and made the blood curdle inside him, was one of several bracelets on her left wrist: a leather wristband with a fox’s face in pewter, matching his own pewter cat. He stared at the hag with a growing sense of horror, as thousands of spiders swarmed up her skirt from the thing that she had dropped—a half-eaten rabbit—and settled over her scalp to resemble undulating hair.
TESSA
As Ash and I made our way through the shadowy landscape, every crackle of a twig, hoot of an owl, or scrabble of a nocturnal animal made me start. Under normal circumstances, I didn’t scare easily, but the Cursed Wood had fed my nightmares as a child. It was known to be so dense and dank that sunlight had little effect, and daytime could hardly be distinguished from night. When we began our trek, there had been a half-moon guiding us, but somehow its light had gone dark, and I could not have said whether it was blocked by trees or clouds or incantations. It was a forest thick with thorny undergrowth and huge mossy canopies, with air that stank of decay. Worse—oh, so much worse—was the aura of menace that hung over us like a shroud. We inched forward along a path of sorts, watching for roots that would trip us, and branches that might reach out to slash our skin. We spoke in whispers, anxious not to wake the forest demons.
“I don’t think this is the right way to the castle,” I said.
“Do you think we should look for Calder first?”
“He would expect us to continue on. I’m sure he’s doing the same.”
“Okay, well our best bet seems to be this path,” Ash said. “It must come out somewhere. I don’t think the forest is very wide.”
“Not wide, no. If we followed a straight line to the castle, I imagine it’s no more than half a mile. But it surrounds the castle. What if the paths are meant to lead us round and round the circle?”
“That’s impossible. Sooner or later we’d come back to the road that cuts through it.”
“The paths might double-back before reaching the road,” I said. “Haven’t you heard the legends? No one who enters here is ever seen again. But if the paths led straight through the wood, or back to the road, don’t you think people would find their way out?”
“Those could just be tales to discourage intruders.”
“I hope so. But in any case, I think we should go this way.” I pointed at an angle to the left of our path.
“Why?”
“I saw the castle. When I was, um, up in the tree.” In truth, after Ash had killed the boarman and before turning back into myself, sparrow-me had flown up high enough to view the fortress. I knew when I landed which way we needed to go, though admittedly I wasn’t certain if we were still following the same course.
“That was a while ago,” Ash said. “I really think we should stay on the path.”
I stopped to look at him. Maybe he thought, because he was a boy, he should get to make all the decisions. But that wasn’t my opinion. “I do feel strongly about this,” I said. “And it is my quest, after all. It was nice of you to come… why did you come, by the way?” I paused, but when he didn’t reply, I barreled on. “Whatever the reason, as last-chosen, you can’t expect to be the leader.”
“I suppose you would have rather had Ryland.” Ash’s voice was thick with resentment.
“He is the better swordsman.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth, especially knowing they were false.
“The better…? If he were here instead of me… well he wouldn’t be here, he’d be back there dead on the ground, and you’d be helpless with no one to protect you.”
“Protect me? I seem to recall you would’ve lost that battle if not for the lucky arrival of a little bird.”
“If Ryland were here, I’d prove in an instant who the better swordsman is. But he isn’t here, is he?”
“Only because his father forbade him to come,” I said, suddenly finding virtue in what I’d viewed as cowardice just a few hours earlier. “We’d all be better off if w
e listened to our fathers.” I smothered the realization that it was the height of hypocrisy for me—whose Papa was dead because I’d failed to obey him—to be lecturing anyone on this subject.
“My father forbade me too,” Ash said quietly.
His words took me by surprise. Why did I even start this argument? I didn’t feel like myself in this place. It drained me of all happy feeling, leaving only the negative emotions of anger, fear, and suspicion. Unlike Ryland, Ash had defied his father to join my quest. He deserved my respect and gratitude, even if he couldn’t slay a mouse with that sword of Papa’s.
Ash blurted, “It’s because of Ratcher.”
“What?”
“You asked why I came. It’s because of her. Fellstone’s apprentice. It was something that happened three years ago, when Lance and I were—”
“Lance was your twin? I heard he died. I’m sorry.” Without brothers or sisters myself, it was hard to know what that would feel like. But if Ash and Lance were anything like the widow Hawley’s twin daughters, Margaret and Anna… well, those two were inseparable. I couldn’t imagine one of them without the other.
“One day we were working, digging a grave,” Ash said. “At least I was digging. Lance usually got distracted. I called him to take over for a bit so I could rest. The sun broke through a cloud, and then he saw it in the soil I’d loosened up.”
“Saw what?”
“A huge ring… an emerald with gold coils wrapped around it.”
I looked at my finger, trying to imagine such a thing. “Was it a woman’s ring or a man’s?”
Ash snorted. “What difference does it make? We weren’t planning to wear it.”
Dreadmarrow Thief (The Conjurer Fellstone Book 1) Page 7