Instant uproar ensued.
*
Many, many hands reached for the Returned Boy. Hands that in the past would have been fond, would have been gentle, would have cradled him, and washed his wounds, now sought to hold him, to rip him to pieces, to tear his denouncement out of the village's midst. Great shouts of anger, worry, and indignation filled the room as Jalon and many others surged toward the dooropening, intent on capturing the ignorant, rebellious, and spiteful child. Pushing others bodily out of their way, they managed to reach the opening just after Cethel had fled its vicinity. The enraged and unified mob that had come after Roach intent on her immediate destruction surged anew after the weakened boy.
*
A boy who knew very well how to run and did so. Clad in the garb of the forest, armed with his Grand Pa's knife, Cethel high-tailed it out of the village center, with froth-mouthed, burly men charging after him and the screams of outraged women echoing in his ears.
Whipping past weeds and bushes so quickly that their parting left streaks of thin, white marks up and down his legs, ripping his pants slightly, Cethel knew the only safe place he could find was right ahead of him. Without looking back to see the closeness of his pursuit, knowing that any misstep would be very, very bad for him, Cethel ran straight back into the cover of the looming forest and the darkness of its foliage-filled canopy.
Knowing that hidden strangers were probably close by, and that the angry mob of riled neighbors would only travel so close to the center of their fears, the cunning youth ran straight for his secret, hidden hole. Using very little subterfuge other than running in and out of bushes and clumps of moss, he only stopped once before achieving his goal.
Safe. Safe in the quiet, sun-dappled, treacherous forest. Wrapped in his spare hunting cloak, Cethel rested his head on the softness of Laylada's apron, and lay still, listening for any sound of pursuit, surrounded by deadly enemies and apparently even deadlier friends.
Chapter Twenty-Two
To Do What Must Be Done
The first sight that greeted Alizarin's half-opened eyes as the sun's rays began to enlighten the land was a huge thatch of unkempt hair. Some time during the nightfall's swift duration, they had ended up laying right next to each other. Every pore on Ilion's nose was distinct. One eye was partially hidden, smashed by the weight of his skin against his hairy forearm. The resulting distortion slightly unbalanced the rest of his features.
An awkward and unruly face, all in all. Nonetheless, Alizarin found that she was growing fond of its peculiarities as the days and nightfalls of constant travel passed. Her mother had been the only other person with whom she had ever shared so much of her self or spent so much time.
The baker liked who she was when she was with him. Ilion made her feel powerful when nothing else made sense, powerful even if she didn't understand why the gemstones worked or what the problem with the cloak was. Unlike Alizarin and Ilion, it seemed like neither worked well in the presence of the other. If she was holding the gemstones, their light would extinguish with the donning of the cloak.
It makes no sense. The cloak was from her mother and Trellista knew more about Alizarin's purpose and destiny than anyone else. Her mother had brought it to her. Why won’t the stones work with it? She kept going round in her head about it, certain there was an obvious answer that she was not able to comprehend. She could only hope that they would not suffer for the lack of knowledge.
As she watched the rise and fall of Ilion’s blanket-covered shoulders, Alizarin could only marvel at how much of her life had been altered by her mother's unexplained disappearance. There she was, lying under a few blankets next to a man who under any other circumstances would have never noticed her. Our paths would never have crossed. She fell to musing as she watched his hair sway slightly with each breath.
It seemed fated that he had walked into her bakery the day he was injured, instead of the myriad of other shops that lined the main road in Dressarna. And that he too could use the gemstones? Can others? They couldn't chance trying to find out, not until they knew whom to trust, at least.
The monetary value of the stones alone was large. If they somehow gave any holder extraordinary abilities they would of course be priceless. And, what of the other three Staves of Thenta that had been stolen from Ilion's possession? Did they also make people invisible? Were others out there using the staves to seek out Alizarin and Ilion's location? Were the staves somehow drawn to each other?
Ilion snorted unconsciously, interrupting her rambling thoughts. One eye opened, barely. Blinking at the new light of sun's rising, he looked at Alizarin, who self-consciously turned away. Stretching his body, he rose and went through a few poses easing his body out of the funk of sleeping. He woke to a new day.
“We’ll be nearing the foothills soon. It won't be long now,” he said conversationally.
“I noticed that, too,” she replied. “How will we find any trace of the worshippers of Bira once we get there? It's not like there is going to be a road that ends directly in a mountain and contains a hidden temple wall again, right?”
“Yeah, well, all temples are different. But they are sisters. I am hoping to find a decent clue somewhere up ahead and then I will try the various phrases I have been given in the language of Bira-keng.”
“You know that one too?” Alizarin was impressed. “How do you know them all?”
“Just bits and pieces of the holy languages really. Not much.” Ilion's voice was low and soothing as he rumbled on. “I was mostly taught the languages of the world around us. Let me tell you, that came in very handy when dealing with some of my clients and their tastes in Dressarna.”
“Well, I am going to need new shoes before we travel much farther.” She looked down at her feet with reluctance.
He looked too. “Goodness! Woman, those shoes are completely finished!”
She could only nod her agreement. The soles were so worn that the originally strong support structure cushioning her steps flopped onto the dirt surface of the road as they walked, creating a secondary stepping sound. “I am afraid pretty soon I will need a bell and a drum for accompaniment to the traveling band I have begun.” She had such a forlorn look on her face that Ilion burst out laughing.
“Ah, lass. It's such a minor thing and easily taken care of. I promise. We will find a suitable replacement pair for you. Hopefully this very morning by the way your step is sounding.”
Still chuckling, they both folded the blankets and packed their few belongings. After traveling together only a few days they had developed a rhythm to their settling and packing each day. It had grown familiar. The only thing truly lacking was some decent hot food, but neither wished to draw attention to their location with smoke and the smell of tasty vittles.
Alizarin found she missed her mother's cookies. She had the recipe imprinted from her earliest toddlerhood in her mind, never to be lost. But without a safe source of heat, she had no way to cook them. There was something about the sweetness of the lightly burnt sugar and the caramel mellowness of the milk cream blending together that spoke of comfort and richness. With all the walking she was doing now, the baker often wished she had a few tucked in her pocket to nibble on as they journeyed.
Packs full, they joined hands and walked on, deeper into the rolling grass that grew tall on the wavy land, rustling with the push of the gentle winds. Alizarin tore four strips of fabric from her oldest dress and wrapped them repeatedly around her broken shoes to keep them quiet and lend a few more steps before their final, inevitable expiration.
Ilion walked ahead, staff in hand. She knew if he clenched her hand that something was approaching or immediately dangerous, without her having to register what the threat was. She wore her mother's cloak as a secondary precaution in case of their separation. They had agreed earlier that if they should have to separate they would meet in the nearest village or small settlement, at the farthest home, closest to the sun's rise.
Each time they approached a g
roup of buildings, Ilion would point and say, “There.” Then both travelers knew that was the established meeting point. It seemed the safest way, considering the sheer power of the devastating beasts they had already fought. They both knew they were only alive at the present because of a great amount of fortuitous coincidence. Something dark and angry hunted them.
They walked around the bend of road, winding in and out, skirting the edges of foothills and shallow cups of mostly deserted land. The lolling of the land was so calm, the sky so clear! Alizarin started watching the different kinds of colored birds that swooped and darted through the knee-high and waist-high grasses. Sometimes, just a glimpse of a beak was all she caught before it vanished. Other times, a hen would poke her curious head out of the ground nest, and with some insistence, lead a line of fuzzy chicks away from the noise of their approach.
It was a noisy land, a full land. Life moved on slowly, wending its way through patches of pastures and fields, with dilapidated wooden fence rails, and rotting, half-collapsed, abandoned barns. It was not unlike the pattern of life in Dressarna, and yet completely of its own song, its own rhythm. Alizarin couldn't help but react with a joy at the bustle of it all, a mellow happiness that soothed some of the troublesome pain of Baby's disappearance.
Then quite suddenly, she fell down hard. Alizarin's torn and disastrous shoes had caught on a simple bit of shrubbery. She tasted dirt on her tongue and lips. Stunned, it felt as if she had been punched in the chest. All of her breath left her in a huge, forced exhalation, and her mind spun a bit.
Through the pounding pulse of blood that screamed in her ears, she could vaguely make out the details around her. She saw the blue sky above, the grass in her face, nearly poking into the tearduct of her eye, the startled grasshoppers that fled the area; all were viewed in vivid, minute detail. There was no image of Ilion. Obviously, it was because of the staff.
“Did you hear that, Pa?” she heard a young voice say, in the distance.
“What? What you hear, Karch?”
“Over there, just past the end fencepost. Some animal just fell. Sounded big.”
“Well, I got my slings and the arrows. Let's bring home a dinner for Ma and Landi? Won't they be surprised to have something other than rabbit? I can't wait to see their faces. Where did the beast fall, son?”
Strange footsteps approached.
Well intentioned or not, how am I to know? In the midst of the grass, Alizarin was certain her body made a noticeable imprint on the vegetation of the land. Like a palm print in drying mud, she would be plainly visible. And now, as if inhaling a large bite of stalks and dirt wasn't awful enough, two experienced hunters were coming to investigate a free meal. At least there aren't cannibals in the mountains, she couldn't help thinking.
Very cautiously, Alizarin pushed herself up from the broken grasses, wiping her mouth a bit. No hand reached out to grab and whisk her safely back in to the oblivion of invisibility. Where is Ilion? Finally, as she could almost hear their steps walking directly to her location, she decided on her best chance. Standing in the middle of the field, she waved her hands, shouting, “Hello? Hello? Anyone there? Hello?” Acting the damsel-in-distress is probably my best option.
“What? Well, well. Look Pa, there is a wee beast in the fields,” the boy said with a laugh.
His father was a bit more suspicious.“Eh? Miss … ? What you doin' in the dad-gummed fields anyway?”
With a wink and a nudge, the boy said,“Pa, it's plain to see that she just fell out of the air. Or we would have seen her coming.” Turning to Alizarin, the boy continued, “You fly here, girl?”
“Oh, no. No. Not me,” was all the reply that came to mind. “I am afraid of heights.”
The boy looked at her with his head tilted a bit, and then burst out laughing. It took him a little while to regain his composure. Something of what she said was intensely funny, although Alizarin didn't see it.
“Well, if you can fly you best fly away from here now. We will let you go with no harm. This isn't the best place to be wandering alone though.” Turning to Karch, the man beckoned with his head. “Come on, no need to stay here. Let's get some food and get home to supper.”
The two began to walk away from her. No confrontation. No violence. Refreshing, Alizarin thought. Real people. Real people are so nice. The advantage of the cloak was obvious. She would not get fooled by the skin-cloaked monsters again.
She thought for a moment, and then called out to the vanishing men. “Excuse me, excuse me! Have either of you ever heard of Bira or a temple of hers in these mountains?”
Both men stopped up short.
“What was that?” they asked, squinting at her. “What you lookin' for?”
A little uncertain of their reactions, Alizarin said again,“B-Bira or a temple of hers in these mountains?”
In tandem, both strangers pulled their hunting bows from behind their backs and notched arrows to the strings before she could even breathe another word. They aimed right at her. They loosed the missiles with every intent to pin her to the ground, most likely dead. The air screamed as the arrows flew, well-centered on Alizarin's torso.
One arrow flew all the way across the field before it fell to the dirt, broken. Each piece of the arrow landed near her but did not touch her. The other stuck in mid-air a few hand lengths from Alizarin's panicked face.
The two men squinted again and whispered. They stared at her, and whispered something to each other. The two men did not ask questions anymore, just sighted down their shafts, pulled the arrows back, and let fly. In less than a heartbeat, two more arrows lay broken on the ground surrounding her feet.
She hadn't moved. Hadn't they just had a lovely conversation? Why are they shooting at me? She should have moved but shock paralyzed her.
They fired again, to no avail. Two more arrows shattered down their shafts. The cracked and broken parts littered the ground.
Anger and panic bloomed in their hearts, rising to their faces. They spoke a few words briefly. One gestured to the cluster of trees on the other side of the valley.
The moment they both took their eyes from her, an unseen hand grabbed hers and pulled her into a run—a short run. Then, without notice, Alizarin was pushed down onto the ground. Breathing heavily, Ilion lay next to her grinning, with half of his weight on top of her, clutching the staff. They could hear the voices that rose from behind them quite clearly.
“Where?” called one.
“Where did she go?” said the other voice, standing within arms reach of their hiding place.
“She was right here. I swear she was right here.”
“Did you see what she did to our arrows? Did you, Pa? All broken and split, every one.”
“Who does that? You are a damn good shot, son. Whoever she was, we best not be chasing her. Maybe you were right, Karch. Maybe she flew here and then flew away.”
“Thank goodness we knew what she was. That Falcon Priest sure sees the whole lay of the land. How else would he know the witch was coming and the questions she would ask?”
“Who knows? Who knows …” The older man's voice sounded querulous and concerned. Then he said in the practical manner of self-sufficient folk, “Still, there is no food in our pouches and supper time is passing. Whatever she was, she is long gone now. Try to get some rabbits for Landi. I am going to go tell the priest.” With that agreement, the voices ceased.
Alizarin could hear some breaking of hardened grass stalks as the hunters moved on. She could hear the birds chittering in the trees, calling to each other. Mostly though, the baker heard her own heart's beating, grateful to be alive. As it pounded its fragile rhythm against Ilion’s encompassing arms, she had never felt so close to death and so aware of the preciousness of life. It was one thing to fight mythical monsters and have glowing stones rescue you from destruction, and quite another when a friend saves your life with intervening courage. Quite another!
Without hesitation, she kissed him.
Ilion ki
ssed her back, although he was a bit distracted.
Alizarin kissed him again.
Looking in her eyes, Ilion turned his whole attention to her upturned face.
*
The land lay still and quiet. No creature moved, no wind stirred the leaves. Pushed by dynamic gales clashing above the distant ocean, heavy, water-filled ether swung through the high valley. Hitting the resistance of the rolling foothills and inclining mountains, the water dropped.
First, there was a light mist. Then a drumming of falling water, pouring down, filled the earth with the sprinkling and then soaking deluge of rain. Drenching the dry vegetation and porous earth in the release of seawater carried for days across the land, the clouds grew smaller and gently rose, free of the drag. As they floated skyward, the sun's light finally peeked through the passages in between the drifting formations. Pillars of pure sunshine fell along the land, spotlights on a bright green carpet.
Ilion and Alizarin had finally found shelter a full day's walk into the mountains from their unpleasant encounter with Karch and Pa. Neither wanted to walk that much farther on without stopping, but after the violence of that peculiar exchange they didn't feel certain that they could be safe anywhere that seemed to be obviously sheltering.
Ilion explained the situation to Alizarin as they had rested for a few brief moments. He said, “Probably some priest has riled up a village or two. Normally those things happen rarely, mostly caused by the power hungry or the mad. But for the local Divine Man to specifically seek out followers of Bira, or pilgrims in search of temples seems very, very bad for our purposes.”
Alizarin could only agree. It was not the welcome they had hoped for. He concluded, “These mountains have always been dedicated to Bira. That this has changed means only trouble ahead.”
Alizarin had always pictured the mountain peoples to be happy, short, and industrious, crawling in and out of the tunnels they had dug in the land, searching for precious metals and stones. Fierce and loyal, her mother had always said of them, and Alizarin had never thought to ask her how she knew that little fact. Still, a life high above others, away from the lies and dealings with traders and merchants, traitors, and murderers, had always sounded romantic to her. The baker had always felt a pang of envy cross her heart's strings when she thought of living a pure existence in the highest hills far above all the pettiness and baseness of Dressarna's harbor life.
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