She glanced over at Aervern who watched her with an expectant expression. The vibration had stretched away from the circle and curious footsteps led her from the ruined cottage towards the other side of the clearing. The small path leading from the clearing was hard to see in the darkness but somehow she knew it was there. The faint echoes of the Wyrde led her on.
“Good,” Aervern said, standing at her shoulder, though Miriam hadn’t heard her take a step. “This is the path the Weavers took. Follow the trail and you shall find them.”
“Aervern, it’s not that simple,” Miriam protested. The fae couldn’t be that oblivious to her needs, surely? “What about supplies? I have no food, no tent or anything to shelter in at night…” She broke off and looked as the fae took a step back, glancing down at her swollen belly before looking at her, perplexed. “Are you creatures truly so frail?” She shook her head as Miriam started to speak. “It is no matter. I shall provide for you. I shall leave your supplies upon the path you travel.”
Miriam gave a resigned nod but the fae still watched her with an expectant look. “Surely you don’t mean for me to start now?”
Aervern looked at her in silence and smiled.
Chapter Sixteen
The air felt wet. The downpour had been finished for hours but the air was still filled with the smell that follows rain. The sun was doing little more warm the rain-soaked robe she wore and Miriam trudged along the road, feeling more like she was wading through a humid soup than anything else.
It had been three days since she’d left Aervern and she was lucid enough to know she wasn’t doing well. The simple fact of being back in her own world, and free to do as she wished, was almost overwhelming. She found it hard to stay on task. Several times she’d caught herself simply standing in the road, awed by the way the sun stayed in the sky for so long. Another time it had been the birdsong that had caught her attention and she’d stood for long moments before bursting into tears that grew to deep wracking sobs that hurt her chest and throat.
Her mind was flitting, drifting from place to place with nothing to hold it for long. She’d wondered for a time if it was being away from the fae that caused it or if she were simply going mad. Had Aervern’s mind had still held her under some pressure, in spite of her efforts not to dominate her as Ileriel had?
Despite everything she had managed to keep moving, to take note of where she was and where she should be going. The that fact she hadn’t passed a single person, or even caught sight of anyone, hadn’t escaped her notice and the isolation was beginning to take its own toll. She talked to herself for a while but found herself drifting from Anlish, to Islik, to Fae, and the sound of her own words stilled her to silence.
She reached for the small wineskin hanging at her belt and took a sip, grimacing at temperature and taste. Aervern had been leaving supplies for her. They were hidden in small caches just off the road, marked by small piles of pebbles like miniature cairns. How the fae knew how far she’d travel each day, was beyond her but she hadn’t failed Miriam yet.
In a way it made a lot more sense for her to travel without carrying a full pack on her back. She was struggling enough as it was, and a heavy pack would only slow her further. She carried the wineskin though, and a few blankets rolled into the travel-pack. Aervern had left water for her with the supplies each night but still she worried that if she left the skin the next day would be the day there wasn’t one there. Besides, it let her drink during the day without having to search for streams and that alone was worth the extra weight.
The nights were the worst. Aervern’s caches were always next to a place for her to sleep. A bivouac formed of living saplings and bushes with the branches woven so tightly together that not a drop of rain had made it through. Despite the comfort Miriam had found it hard to sleep. She lay awake for hours in the darkness, listening to the sounds of animals in the undergrowth and staring at the moon as it shone through the clouds. The tears came then, too, slow and gentle. Not the panicked sobs of a mind broken and fearing to make itself whole but tears of anguish and pain for a lifetime that had stolen from her.
Miriam caught herself. She was staring into space again, eyes locked on a shaft of sunlight slanting down between the leaves in the trees to her left. She shook her head and set off once more. Her foot slipped in the slick mud of the road and she staggered forward, catching herself on the stick she’d gathered up, wrenching her shoulder in the process.
She pulled herself up with a grunt, fighting back harsh words for half a second at the pain in her hand. A glance revealed the raw and torn skin on the webbing of her thumb, and she let loose with a string of curses that would have made a sailor blush. The nubs left behind by the twigs she’d stripped away had bitten into the flesh of her palm. It wasn’t a serious wound by any means but Lords and Ladies it smarted.
A snap pulled her attention away from picking the splinters from her hand and she looked up to see a man emerging from the trees beside the road, some distance ahead of her. He looked more ragged than she did in some ways. His clothing was in a better state, but ill-cared for, and his hair and beard were unkempt. He met her gaze with a smile that sat awkwardly on his face as his spear dragged, unnoticed, in the mud behind him.
“Well then, Mother. What are you doing out here like this?”
She forced her own smile. “Just travelling the road, sir.”
He laughed at that. “You don’t have to ‘sir’ me, Mother. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and they shifted over her in a way that made her pull her cloak tighter around herself. She’d seen eyes like that before, years past when she’d worked the taverns of Kavtrin, and they never led to anything good.
“I’ll just be on my way then.” She nodded a farewell at him.
He moved to block her path before she’d taken two steps, though he still stood some distance from her, and she stopped. Her hands grew tight around the walking staff as he came closer. “What are you doing all alone out here, Mother? The roads aren’t safe to travel alone.”
“I could ask you the same thing.” She laughed, though the sound was forced and held no humour.
He shrugged. “I live here, my brothers and me. It’s a cold life in the woods but there’s ways to get by, if you know what I mean.”
She nodded, not really listening.
He cocked his head to one side as he stared at her for a moment, and then nodded twice. “That’s about enough of this,” he muttered, more to himself than her it seemed. “Let’s have a look at your stuff.”
“What?” she drew back, clutching her cloak to herself.
“Your pack, Mother,” he said, reaching for her.
She skittered back away from his hand. “What do you mean? I don’t have anything.”
He looked at her again, his eyes suddenly seeming oily and unfocused. “Don’t be daft, Woman. No one walks the roads with no food or anything on their backs. Did you hear me coming and stash it?”
He moved forward, a sinuous movement that seemed almost fae-like for its sudden speed, and caught her robe as she shuffled away from him. “Are you holding out on me, Mother?”
Now that he was closer she caught the smell of him. The stink of stale sweat was overpowering and her nose wrinkled before she thought better of it.
“Where is it?” he demanded, oblivious to her expression. The mud-caked spear had appeared and his hand shook as he breathed ragged breaths into her face as he glared down at her.
“I don’t have anything, I swear. Just this water, some blankets, and these.” She held out a handful of crumbled oatcake she’d pulled from a pocket.
He flickered a look at her hand, dashing the food away with a sneer. “Well then let’s see what else you’ve got.” His eyes flicked to meet her gaze and darted away again as his hand slid from her wrist, making its way to her chest in a rough grope.
Miriam froze, locked in place as his hands ran over her body. His breath shuddered out of him in a staccato hiss of excitement, all nervous e
nergy as he licked at his lips.
The anger seemed to come all at once. Fear giving way to indignation, which stepped aside for white hot anger all in the space of a heartbeat. A shove with one hand pushed him back half a step, just far enough for her to bring up the staff with the other, smashing it under his chin.
It wasn’t a strong blow but it caught him unprepared and already off balance and sent him reeling backwards until he sprawled in the mud. An image lanced into her, of an unkempt spear-wielder, a bandit who in many ways had been the cause of everything that had gone wrong since Kavtrin. The man in front of her didn’t look that similar but it was close enough. She screamed as she swept the staff up and drove it down into the man’s head. It was a lucky strike and the tip of the staff smashed into the side of his face beside his eye. She barely noticed the shock of the impact running down the length of wood and she drew back for another blow, and then another.
Something dripped from her face and she reached for it absently as she panted, kneeling down over the dirt of the road. Blood coated her fingertip where she’d wiped at her face and she forced herself to turn her head to the figure laying in the corner of her vision.
“Lord preserve us, Woman. What have you done?” The voice was accusatory and she flinched away from the harsh words even as she looked for the speaker. The man stood at the edge of the trees, close to the road, and he flinched back as she locked eyes with him. In an instant she realised what she must look like. Hunched down low in the road beside the body, back cloak and robes ragged and torn, her white hair and face flecked with the man’s blood. She was the witch from half a dozen children’s tales.
She stood slowly, letting the fear show on her face as she stepped back away from the crumpled form of the man in the road, trying to control the trembling that was shaking her hands and legs.
His face softened immediately and he moved to check on the fallen man. “Frast, you poor stupid bastard.” He looked back up at her. “You didn’t have to kill him.” The accusation was still there but softer now, only half-hearted.
“I didn’t mean to,” she began. “It all happened so fast, and he was grabbing at me…” She trailed off into silence, looking down at her robes and picking at something stuck to the material.
“He din’t deserve this,” he muttered, and then looked at her, taking her appearance in. “Then again, maybe he did. He weren’t right in the head. A dead-fall cracked his head a few years back, must’ve softened his brains or something ‘cause he ain’t been right since.”
She nodded, not sure what to say.
“Any of that yours?” he nodded at her.
Miriam frowned at him.
“The blood,” he explained, pointing. “Are you hurt?”
“Oh,” she said, getting his meaning. “No, I don’t think so.”
He moved towards her, looking her over. It was amazing how two sets of eyes could be so different. Where Frast’s eyes had been nervous and cold these held nothing but genuine concern.
“We’d best get you back to camp anyways,” he told her. “A body needs something hot inside it after something like this. It’s the least we can do.”
She shook her head before he finished speaking. “No, really. I’m fine.”
He grimaced. “You might just be at that but it’s not as simple as all that. Frast was the boss’s brother. I just let you go an it’ll go bad for me.”
She glanced up at the sky for a second. “I don’t want any trouble, sir. I just want to be on my way.”
“It’ll be fine,” he said. “Look, what’s your name?”
“Miriam.”
“I’m Redan,” he told her. “There’ll not be any trouble for you. Denn should never have let his brother wander like this anyhow. Come an’ get a hot cup of somethin’ inside you, get warm, get cleaned up. It looks like rain again later anyway.”
He took her hesitation for agreement and moved to take her arm gently, leading her into the trees. He led her at an easy pace, supporting her as they climbed down ditches and over a small stream. The path was concealed where it approached the edge of the trees but soon became more obvious and easy to travel. It took no more than half an hour to reach the camp, long enough for the trembling to subside and for her to realise that this was probably a mistake.
The camp bordered on being a hamlet. A circle of shelters that had clearly once been little more than lean-tos had been built upon and worked until they were almost houses. A fire stood in the centre of the ragged circle, with a large boar roasting on a spit beside the crackling flames. Men sat idly beside the fire, tossing bones by the looks of things. Still others worked at various chores around the camp. It seemed a well-ordered place but the lack of women or children didn’t escape her. Women would have made this place a home. Without them it was just a camp and she was in no doubt as to its purpose.
Redan held a hand high and waved at a man she hadn’t seen, perched high in a tree with a bow resting on his knees. He caught her expression. “Can’t be too careful, times bein’ what they are.”
“What’s this? I know it’s been a while for you, Redan, but you’re not that desperate are you?”
Redan smiled weakly at the man who’d stood from his position beside the fire. “That’s Denn,” he managed to tell her in a low voice as the man approached.
“What have we here then?” Denn spoke down at them. He was a giant of a man. Big in height as well as in muscle, and his voice rumbled its way out of a chest it would have taken two women to encircle with their arms.
“It’s awkward, Denn,” Redan told him, keeping his voice low. “Frast found her on the road.” His tone must have told the larger man something as his eyes flicked to Miriam with a guilty wince.
Denn nodded. “Not here then,” he said and waved them into the trees, leading them a short way from the camp.
He looked Miriam over slowly, taking in the blood still staining her hair and flaking from her clothing. “What happened?”
“I found her by the road,” Redan explained. “Looked like Frast had taken a liking to ‘er. You know how he got sometimes?”
The past tense wasn’t lost on Denn and he raised an eyebrow. “What’d she do?”
“Took a stick to him. I din’t see much of it. He was in the mud by the time I got there.”
“This little thing?” Denn didn’t take his eyes from her. “He was my brother you understand?” he said, speaking directly to her for the first time.
Miriam nodded. “I’m sorry he’s dead,” she told him. “Not sorry I did what I did though.”
Denn nodded again, narrowing his eyes as he thought. “I can’t blame you for what you did, Mother. I don’t have to like it though.” He sighed then. “It’s probably for the best. He was good to me when we were young, looked out for me when I needed him. He ain’t been right though,” he said, talking more to Redan than to her. “Not since the tree caught him, an’ it’s gotten worse these last years.” He glanced over her again. “Did he hurt you?”
“Nothing that won’t heal,” Miriam replied, not quite meeting his eyes.
“We can get her cleaned up though,” Redan said, giving Denn a serious look. “A hot meal wouldn’t hurt either.”
The dark haired man nodded. “That we can. Where did you leave Frast?”
Redan nodded back to the road. “I thought Miriam was more important.”
Denn grunted. “We'll see her right. I'll send some men back to the road to take care of my brother.”
They led her back into the camp. Redan pointed her towards a hut. “That one’s mine. Go and get out of those clothes and I’ll set some water outside the door for you when it’s hot.”
Miriam moved without thinking. The need to find the Wyrdeweavers paled in comparison to her need to get the blood out of her hair and off her skin. The hut was cleaner than she would have expected and she stripped out of the bloody robes, tossing them into a corner by the door.
A tap at the door was followed by Redan’s muffled
voice announcing the hot water. She eased the door open just wide enough to pull the bucket in, laughing at herself. “Is it still modesty if nobody would want to see you anyway?” she wondered in a whisper.
The water was steaming, fresh from the pot over the fire, but she wasted no time. A cloth, that was well on its way to being a rag, hung over the side of the bucket and she scrubbed at her skin until the water was pink with Frast’s blood.
The camp was quiet as she eased the door open and stepped out of the hut, wrapped in the blankets she’d pulled from the straw-stuffed sacks Redan used as a bed. The reason for the silence became obvious as she glanced at the fire and saw it surrounded by men eating from wooden platters piled high with meat.
“Miriam!” Redan waved her over. “Come, eat.”
She sat awkwardly on a section of log and took the offered plate as Redan took her wet clothes and hung them over a branch to dry. The conversation around the fire was quiet, with small groups of two and three. Miriam ate in silence, wishing she hadn’t bothered washing the robe.
“So where were you heading to, Mother?” Redan asked her, his voice over-loud in the quiet.
She thought quickly. “Towards Druel,” she said. “My brother has an inn over that way.”
“That’s a damned long way to go by foot,” Denn said from the other side of Redan, speaking around a mouthful of meat.
Miriam picked at the boar on her plate, taking a small bite quickly to give herself time to think. She hadn’t been prepared for questions and she felt exposed and off guard. Her eyes widened at the taste of the boar. Whoever had prepared the meat knew what they were about.
The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set Page 102