He knew in his agony that a part of him had been lost, stolen.
And something else gained.
* * *
Drops of rainwater struck Tahn’s cheek. He woke and more rain fell into his eyes. The knit of branches obscured his view of the sky, and caused the rain to gather in leaves before falling. The fire had burned out, now hissing as rain plopped into the cooling embers. He wiped his face, spreading the moisture to try and refresh himself.
He lay unmoving and listened to the sizzle of the storm as it struck the upper leaves of the wilds.
Tahn wanted to lie and let the rain fall on him and lose himself to the sound. But Sutter let out a weak moan, and Tahn forced himself to sit up. Nails was a familiar dark shape in the recess of nightshadow beneath the canopy of trees overhead. Tahn tried to stand, but his legs cramped under him. So he rolled over, and dragged himself to Sutter.
His friend lay clutching his chest. No wound marred his clothing; no blood stained his hands.
“Are you all right?” The words sounded foolish as soon as they got out.
Sutter drew breath to speak, but coughed in the attempt and winced in pain, grabbing his chest with both arms. He rolled onto his side and curled into a ball until the convulsions passed. Weakly he whispered, “Cold.”
“I’ll get your blanket,” Tahn said, and tried again to stand. His legs refused, and he sat hard next to Sutter.
“Inside,” his friend added, touching his chest.
Tahn looked back to where Sevilla had disappeared into the trees. What if he returns? What if I had tried to release an empty bow? He scanned the trees around them and satisfied himself that they were alone. They couldn’t stay here, though.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Tahn said.
Sutter nodded, his eyes still shut tight. He peeled his lips back and spoke through gritted teeth. “I can’t ride.”
The rain began to fall in earnest, growing louder in the flat leaves and running to the ground like miniature waterfalls. The coals of the fire hissed and steamed more loudly, sending waves of smoke into the air. Tahn folded his knees under him again and sat up. He looked around for long branches to build a litter, and spotted a deadfall not far from the horses.
He tried a third time to stand, but his legs held him only a moment before tumbling him forward into the gnarled surface roots of the wilds’ trees. One knee cracked hard against a large, knotted root. His head pulsed with the rapid beating of his heart, blurring his vision. Each breath seemed to rush into his blood and push his heart faster. He shook his head and dragged himself through the mud and mulch to the dead wood. Lying on his side, he pulled two long limbs and one shorter piece from the tangle.
Working against the growing pain, he retrieved a length of rope from his saddle. He lashed the wood together in a slender triangle, and rigged a sling between the poles before laying his blanket across it.
He then gathered their horses’ reins, hoping to secure the litter and find the northern passage.
The wilds lit as lightning flared in the sky above. A mere second later, a powerful clap of thunder boomed around them. The air exploded with a hot smell, rushing as if propelled by the boom. Sutter’s horse bucked and tried to tear free. Tahn held on, the reins pulling him up like a puppet whose leg strings have been cut.
The horse reared again, this time tearing the leather from Tahn’s hand, and slicing his palm as it tore away. In an instant, the horse sprinted into the darkness of the wilds and was gone. Tahn’s horse rolled wide eyes and stamped about, but didn’t jerk its reins from Tahn’s hand.
When he got his mount back to Sutter, he attempted to hitch the litter to Jole’s saddle horn. But when Tahn stood, his head swam, and he fell to the ground. He beat at his legs, but could feel nothing, the numbness spreading into his fingers and back. I don’t have time for this. He buried his face in the mud and screamed his frustration, tasting the richness of the soil and the decay of last year’s leaves.
Tahn crawled back to Sutter to roll him onto the litter. As he pulled at his friend’s shoulder, Nails opened his eyes, a pained but clear look in them. “Tahn…”
He pulled Sutter’s shoulder over and laid his friend on his back. Tahn then worked himself onto his knees and heaved Sutter into the litter. He retrieved the blanket and covered him. His friend was wet, but the wool would keep him warm. Tahn looked back at his horse. How would he hitch the litter and mount his horse?
Another burst of light flickered, the thunder seeming to come before the light faded. The noise eclipsed the patter of rain and the sound of his own heart in his ears. Rainwater ran into his eyes and plastered his hair to his cheeks and neck. In his mind he tried to recall the words of the man from his dream, and touched the familiar shape on the back of his hand.
His friend began to lose coherence, babbling: “The spirit isn’t whole, Tahn. It’s not whole. It can be divided. Given out. Taken. Small portions separated…”
Then Sutter passed out.
Tahn dropped to his belly and inched his way to his horse. Clenching the other end of a rope between his teeth, he cut another length of it and tied the end to the apex of the litter. Then he took hold of the stirrup and hoisted himself up. On his feet, he couldn’t feel his legs. He hooked his arm under his knee and lifted his foot toward the stirrup. He jabbed his boot in and took hold of the horn. His hands went numb and he couldn’t feel the jut of the saddle against his chest. With one great effort he thrust himself up over his horse’s back, and shimmied around until his leg fell onto the other flank. He managed to get his second boot tucked into its stirrup, pulled the rope from his teeth, and wrapped it around the horn. With clumsy fingers, he tied it, then took a deep, searing breath.
On the ground, water now tracked in small streams, pooling in low hollows. Tahn was glad Sutter had fallen unconscious; he wouldn’t feel the jouncing of the litter across the roots.
Last, Tahn cut another piece of rope and fastened it around his own waist. He then tied the other end to the saddle horn, as well.
Clucking to his horse, he let down the reins. He would trust his old friend to take them ahead and out of the wilds. It was all he could do. Trees passed, one the same as the last. His eyes burned as if they too had fever, and moments later he could no longer feel his arms or chest. He slumped forward and tried to keep his balance, whispering encouragement to his horse until the numbness entered his face and took his ability to speak.
On they went. Tahn remained awake, but felt like little more than a scarecrow in his saddle. The rain didn’t let up, and the thunder shook the forest floor as though the lightning shot up from the ground. Flood pools accumulated in low areas. His horse trod through them, casting his head about, seeking direction in the absence of a path. The wind soughed in the trees, stirring wet leaves and dropping rain in sheets over them. Tahn hoped Sutter wouldn’t be thrown off the stretcher, because neither of them would ever know.
After what seemed like an endless number of hours, Jole emerged from the trees. Less than four strides away the northern rim rose up into the blackness. Tahn made a thick sound deep in his throat to urge the animal on. They turned right, following the cliff face. Shortly, the wall opened on the left into a narrow canyon like the Canyon of Choruses they’d come through into Stonemount. Rainwater ran in a shallow river from it and into the wilds. Tahn moaned again, and his mount turned into the canyon and took them away from Stonemount.
The sound of the rushing water reverberated up the high stone walls along the narrow road. The shadows were deep in the canyon, leaving the rushing of water to guide them. The roar of the rain and current blotted out thought, and only the constant ache that cycled in Tahn’s head remained. Each pulse of his heart reminded him he was alive, and soon that ache became a grateful prayer.
But would Sutter live?
The night stretched out.
Finally, the canyon ended. Tahn moaned again, and his horse understood to stop. The storm had softened a bit, the heaviness of
the drops lighter and their fall less pounding.
Tahn turned his head as high as he could and looked east. He imagined the sun burning away the clouds, touching the treetops with orange light and steam rising from the soil as the rain evaporated in the early-morning sun. He imagined the smell of green things and the stirring of bird wings. The familiar image might have warmed him in a time before the Bar’dyn came to the Hollows. Just now, it held no such power.
He wanted the sun to come, but not with the same earnestness as in days past. He simply cared less.
He needed to get Sutter to shelter, but had no feeling in his body. He fell from his saddle as wind began to riffle his sodden hair.
Sometime later a voice came. “Ho, there, it’s night soon. Do you intend to sleep in a ditch?”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Fever Dreams
A man claiming visions I can do nothing for, except to lock him up. But a man with nightmares, him I can help.
—Testimony of a counselor in the formulation of the Civilization Order
Tahn gasped and opened his eyes to a darkened room. In the small bedchamber, the smell of drying wool and pine floorboards filled his nose. Across from him, the window showed sun. He tried to move. Nothing. He was completely numb. He couldn’t even turn his head. The sound of boots approached. Tahn began to panic. He was helpless. Who was coming?
A set of legs strode into his field of vision. The boots were hard leather, lashed with black cords that had been tipped with silver links to prevent fraying. Rolling his eyes, Tahn looked up into a rotund face.
“Do I look like an angel, my friend?” the man said, his voice gentle but crisp. “Because you have the look of death in your cheeks still. You weren’t capable of assisting in your own rescue. So, I brought you here. No man sleeps in the mud when he has power to avoid it.”
Tahn rasped something out.
“And coherent, too,” the man replied genially. “Never mind, you’ll be wanting to know about your friend. He’s in bad shape, but no worse than you.”
The man hunkered down beside him. The gentleman’s rich, russet cloak parted as he squatted, and Tahn saw the brocade of the League clearly over the man’s left breast. The stranger put a hand to Tahn’s brow. A worried expression touched his eyes.
“I’ve no interest in alarming you, my friend. But I’ve pulled up children from the river who feel more alive than you.” He smiled, seeming to think better of verbal diagnosis. “Grunt if you understand.”
The suspicion Tahn had seen in the eyes of leaguemen wasn’t in this man’s gaze. But the thought lessened his concern only slightly. He lay powerless against the man’s any whim. He might discover the sticks in Tahn’s cloak, misuse them in any manner, turn them over to a higher League authority.
Tahn grunted.
“Good. I’m Gehone.” He took hold of Tahn’s hand and gave it a shake that Tahn couldn’t feel. “When you’re dry, warm, and able to speak, I’ll be interested to hear how you came to travel north on a road that goes through the mountains.” One eye cocked. “This will give you time to construct a lie, so craft it carefully.” He smiled wryly.
From a pouch at his belt Gehone produced a small jar. With one thick finger he took a generous portion of a green salve. “Hold this under your tongue,” he said, and deposited the goop in Tahn’s mouth. He then took another fingerful and gently applied it to Tahn’s lips.
Gehone stood and left the room. In the silence that followed, Tahn heard the thin rasp of his friend’s breathing and caught a glimpse of a second bed on the other side of the room.
Peppermint and parsley cooled his tongue, and a mellow feeling crept over him, inviting him to sleep once more. Before he succumbed to weariness, he looked around for his cloak, and saw it hanging on a peg beside the door. He couldn’t see if the sticks were still there, but he hadn’t seen Gehone rummage through his things. Satisfied for now, he fell down to sleep.
* * *
Tentatively, he opened his eyes. The same room. It hadn’t been a dream.
“It’s about time, Woodchuck.”
He tried to raise his head, and was relieved that he could do so, if just a little.
“Don’t strain yourself. Heroes always push themselves too hard,” Sutter said from across the room. “But don’t go thinking this means I owe you. Hero or not, I’m still a naked man who chafed all night beneath itchy wool blankets.”
Tahn licked his lips and attempted to speak. His voice cracked. He swallowed, beginning again more slowly. “You all right? Sevilla…”
His friend’s face lost its smile. “I feel like one of your arrow tips is lodged inside my chest. Just talking is sending little spikes of pain into my neck. But it means I’m alive and away from Stonemount.” Sutter shifted to face him. “What happened to you? Some large fellow walks in this morning and spreads some disgusting goop on my lips. Before I could ask, he put a hand over my mouth and said you needed to sleep.”
Tahn tried lifting his arm, and got it mostly up before dropping it back to the pillow. “It’s all hazy. After Sevilla left, I started going numb. Before my arms went, I built a litter and started out of there. Eventually we found the canyon. Somewhere along the way I passed out. I woke up here.”
“Where is here?” Sutter interjected.
“Don’t know.”
They fell silent. Beyond the door, the occasional sound of boots over wood reminded them that they weren’t alone.
“Did Sevilla poison you?”
Tahn considered the question. Perhaps he did at that. He might have had the opportunity while Tahn was sleeping. But it didn’t ring true. He shook his head, still happy to have some movement back. “But whatever happened, you should know we are now guests in the home of a leagueman.”
Tahn heard a quick intake of air. “Does he know about us? We’d better get out of here.” The rigging under Sutter’s bed squeaked as his friend tried to rise. Sutter took a deep breath and held it before grunting and trying again to hoist himself from his bed. Finally, Sutter flopped down and gave up. “All this way,” Sutter said, “and it ends like this.”
Tahn tried twisting his torso. Mostly worked. “It’s all a blur, but Gehone seems decent.”
“You’re delirious. Do you hear what you’re saying?” Sutter’s voice became simultaneously vehement and quiet, as he attempted not to be overheard. “I’m grateful for a warm bed, but how many stories do you remember in which the accused are nursed to health so that they may walk the gallows?”
Sutter trailed off, and quiet returned to the room. As they held a companionable silence, light ebbed and returned as clouds passed over the sun. Then down the outer hall, someone began to approach the door.
Tahn spoke quickly. “You’re right. We’ll leave as soon as we can. Don’t let Gehone know you’ve regained your strength.”
The door opened and Gehone entered, carrying a tray with two small bowls and two narrow mugs. Steam rose from all four. He put the tray down on a dresser and crossed to Sutter, propping him up with his pillow. He put a bowl and cup at the stand beside Sutter’s bed. “Don’t waste a drop,” he admonished. “The blend of herbs will give you strength and the broth will heal whatever ails you.”
Gehone came to Tahn and sat at his side. “Any movement in these arms of yours?” Tahn shook his head. “Ah, but your neck has returned. Good.” Gehone lifted Tahn easily and propped his back against the headboard. He lifted the bowl and scooped a spoonful. “Are you ready to tell me what business you had in Stonemount? And don’t deny you’ve been there. Your boots are caked with soil that belongs to that place.” Gehone put a mouthful of the broth in Tahn’s mouth. The savory potage tasted good on Tahn’s tongue.
“Adventure,” Sutter said around a mouthful of the hot broth. Gehone turned a questioning look on Sutter. Under the leagueman’s gaze, Sutter pulled back a bit. “Accident, really,” he added.
Gehone turned again toward Tahn. “That the truth of it, lad?”
Tahn simply n
odded.
“Indeed.” The man spooned another bite into Tahn’s mouth. “Well, you’re lucky to be out of it alive, then. Lore holds that the Stone belongs to the Walkers since the hour its residents abandoned it. If that’s so, you two are lucky indeed.” Gehone watched Tahn closely.
“What are Walkers?” Sutter asked, his voice tense.
Without shifting his careful gaze from Tahn, Gehone explained. “As lore goes, they were the first creatures to suffer the consequence of the Whiting of the One. Half formed. No bone or muscle to house their spirit. And so they seek to take it from other men. They’re the revenants of Stonemount because the bones of the dead there are believed to be able to give life to vagabond spirits. Silly, superstitious stuff, but creatures out of the Craven Season are creatures of appetite, so the stories go. They wouldn’t have allowed you to leave, if they exist at all.”
A careful smile crossed Gehone’s lips. “Can you speak yet, my boy? You see a Walker?”
“No,” Tahn said, slurring it a bit on purpose.
Gehone ran a hand through his beard and spied a look at the leather piece on Sutter’s hand given him by the Sedagin. “Let me be honest. I’ve seen you both without your breeches, and if you’re not melura, you’re not far from it. I know you came by way of Stonemount, so then I wonder what brought you through. Seems there’s something different about you lads, and I’m hoping it isn’t your penchant to lie. Because tomorrow my commander pays his usual visit to gather my reports and bring me orders. He’ll want to know about you, and he’ll be a good deal more insistent than I am.” Gehone turned around and began again to feed Tahn.
When Tahn was finished eating, Gehone gathered the dishes and bustled out. They sat looking at the door as the sound of the leagueman’s boots retreated down the hall.
Sutter got out of bed twice that day, quietly pacing the room to test his strength. The first time, Tahn had him check for the sticks in his cloak; they were still there. By evening, Tahn found himself capable of moving a few of his toes. Gehone came again at dinner, this time bringing thin slices of pigsteak and quartered tallah roots covered in meat drippings. With it he served a mild bitter. “Good for your circulation,” he said, and held the cup to Tahn’s lips.
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