by Dana Marton
Soon we reached the end of the woods and, guided by the smell of smoke, came upon some overgrown fields and the ruins of a small village.
The handful of wattle-and-daub huts were scorched, and we saw the remains of many others that had been burned to the ground. Weeds grew tall around the huts, and I knew they had no grazing animals or enough people to trample down the grass. The forest was slowly reclaiming the village.
Foreboding settled on me heavily. Would this be the fate of my people once our lands had been conquered by the Kerghi?
We walked into the dying community, hoping for food and shelter, the warmth of their fires. But they seemed in worse shape than we were. No men, only women and children—little girls, not a boy among them. They looked at us with such hunger in their eyes, had we any lenil leaves we would have given it to them, but we had eaten them all.
They spoke a language I barely understood, similar to Tinfa, and some time passed before I could explain we were looking for the way to Mernor.
“We do not know, mistress,” said one, her gaze roaming my gown. She wore thin strips of animal hide, her ribs visible under her bruised skin. “But there is one among us who might. She is hunting. You must wait for her return.”
Behind her stood two little girls, thin and dirty, their eyes fearful and wild at the same time, almost like small forest animals. None of the children talked or ran around—as we would have seen had we walked into a Shahala village—they hid behind their mothers.
The air was silent, missing the voices of little ones at play and the noises of household beasts, the sounds of work—clanging of metal, and axe falling onto wood—sounds that made up the music of other villages.
The huts must have been empty, all the people outside to greet us. I looked at their wounds, bones that had been broken and had not healed well, some infected cuts on the arms and legs, some other small injuries that even though they did not threaten a person’s life, gave pain enough to make it miserable.
We could wait awhile for the one who knew the way. I could do some healing in the meanwhile.
Before I could offer my help, another woman stepped forward, her lips covered in festering sores so I could barely understand her when she said, “Come rest in our hut, mistress. The fire burns warmer inside.”
I looked at the low flames of the cooking fire between two huts. Nothing cooked today, but they had food at one time, for I saw blackened bones stick out from the ashes.
Most had been cracked for their marrow and were hard to recognize, but some smaller ones stuck together still, held by charred sinew. A narrow paw of some sort drew my eyes. It had five fingers, half of one missing.
No, not missing, just shorter than the rest. And when I looked closer, my stomach rolled. A human hand.
“Thank you,” I said to the women, who watched sharply as they moved into a half circle around us. “We will share your hut, but let us go into the woods and gather some food first. I am a healer and know many plants that would help your wounds and others that are good to eat.”
I stepped back, and Leena followed, although I could tell she did not understand why we were leaving when we were cold and we had not seen anything edible for a long time before reaching the village.
The women hesitated.
“I will come with you,” said the one with the sore-infested lips. “So after you leave, we might find those plants ourselves.”
And for the first time, I noticed the blade hanging from her rope belt, half-hidden among the animal skins that covered her. I could do nothing else but nod.
I led the way in the opposite direction Leena and I had come from but found all edible plants already harvested. I collected a few healing herbs along the way, explaining their use to the woman. She kept looking back as we went.
Were others following us at a distance?
They probably were, although she could have killed the both of us alone, for she had the sinuous strength of those who worked hard to keep on living. Leena was old and tired from our journey, and although I was younger, I had no knowledge of fighting. And too the woman had a knife.
The spirits stayed with us, for they led us to a garon tree.
I rolled up my dress and tied it with a piece of vine, then began to climb until I reached the spot from where the branches spread. In that bend, in a handful of dirt blown there by the winds, I found what I was looking for, the woodsy stalks of the caringo, full of yellow berries. I tugged the whole plant away from the tree and climbed down.
“We should take this back to share with the others. Not much, but it tastes sweet.” I handed the berry-filled branches to the woman.
I knew the caringo from my mother, for she had given tea steeped from the berries for pain of certain illnesses. One or two berries worked wonders; any more than that put a person to sleep. I hoped the woman was hungry enough that she could not resist, but dared not offer it to her myself as I feared it might raise her suspicion, and she would demand that Leena and I eat of the berries.
We walked on, and I did not look back at her once, not wanting her to think I was watching for something. But soon her footsteps faded behind us, and then I could no longer hear them at all.
“Let us keep on walking,” I said to Leena, and we did not go back to see what had become of the woman. I did not heal her lips as I could have, for it seemed they might have been cursed by the spirits for her feasting on human flesh, and I dared not interfere with their judgment.
I did not condemn her, though, not her or her people. They lived in a stark despair I had never known. Would Dahru fall, my own people could find themselves devastated. I shuddered as an image of sacked Shahala villages flashed into my mind. I prayed to the spirits to keep us from such a fate, and doubled my resolve to do what I could to defeat the Kerghi.
We walked without stopping to rest as I told Leena about the bones in the cooking fire and my suspicions about what the women were planning to do with us. She shuddered at my words and praised me for my wisdom. We crossed through the forest as fast as we could, careful not to leave tracks behind.
As the day wore on, the woods became denser, giant trees blocking out most of the light. Leafy vines wove intricate patterns on the tree trunks as they snaked upward, spreading out to connect tree to tree. We kept west by the sun, what little we could see of it, not because we knew that to be the right direction but because we thought going straight whichever way would at least keep us from wandering around in circles.
We had not had any water since we had left the river, save what dew we had been able to lick off leaves here and there, so when we heard a creek beckon from the distance, we hastened our steps.
Not much later, we came upon a faint path. We followed it carefully, not knowing whether it had been made by animals or humans, not knowing, indeed, which to fear more. But we reached the water without coming to harm and slaked our thirst. Water had never tasted as sweet.
And the creek held another blessing. In the wet mud of its banks grew many plants I recognized. Soon we were on our knees digging for bulbs and rhizomes to sate our hunger. We dug up all we could find before we left, carrying our treasure tied into a small bundle I made from a piece of my dress.
We took off our shoes and lifted our dresses to cross the creek, following the path that continued on the other side.
Leena, having gained some strength from the food and drink, walked ahead of me, while I lagged a few steps behind as I scanned every green thing. More food to carry with us would have been most welcome and any healing herbs too, for we’d both lost some strength since our arrival.
I saw the patch of leaves on the path in front of us, not much different than the rest that littered the ground, and yet my gaze snapped back to the spot.
I slowed. Unmindful, Leena walked on, almost at the edge of the patch now. In that one spot, the leaves seemed not as faded, not as trampled as the rest. The skin prickled at the back of my neck.
“Leena, stop!”
Too late. With
a shrill cry like a bird taking to the sky, she flew high up into the air to swing among the branches.
For the briefest of moments, I thought it the magic of the ancient days or the trickery of bad spirits, but then I could see the net that kept her above my reach.
“Run, my lady,” she implored. “They who caught me will catch you as well if you stay.”
A length of twisted vine held the net, and I traced the vine to a tree half-covered by the dense brush. I tore at the knots with my fingers to no avail. I wished for a blade, my gaze falling on the moss-covered stones at my feet. They had no sharp edges, but I crouched and smashed two together until a chunk broke off. Then I attacked the vine rope with my makeshift weapon.
Even with the sharp edge of the stone, the sawing required time, and my knuckles bloodied from scraping against the rough bark of the tree. But finally I thinned the vine to its last fibers and yanked it hard while holding on tight. I did not want to drop Leena from such a height.
“Brace,” I called up, keeping my voice as low as I could, for we did not know how close the hunters who set the trap waited.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
(Mernor)
I lowered Leena to the ground and freed her, then we hurried off the path and into the woods. We moved silently and did not stop until Leena seemed ready to collapse.
“My foot tangled in the net as it pulled me up,” she told me at last, sliding to the ground.
I sat next to her to look at her ankle. The woods were quiet around us and peaceful. I thought we might be safe for the moment.
I probed the swollen purple flesh but could feel nothing broken. “Bruised.” I put my hand upon the injury, but Leena pulled back.
“No,” she said. “You will weaken yourself.”
“I can help.” I reached again.
“The High Lord forbade it.” She grabbed my hand, her gaze determined. “I forbid it,” she said, issuing an order for the first time since I had known her.
She was the High Lord’s mother. She would have had a seat at the high table at the feasts and a powerful position in the palace if she had revealed her identity. Her station was equal to that of the favorite concubine.
“As you wish, Lady Leena.” The Shahala did not heal against a person’s will. The choice, even between life and death, stayed always with the sick.
“Your herbs?” She eyed my belt.
I glanced at the few stalks that hung from the rough belt I had braided from some soft tall grasses as we had walked. “We need kukuyu pulp bound around your ankle with cold wet cloth. We have neither. Shall we stay awhile?”
She shook her head as she struggled to stand. “If I slow you down, you must leave me. You have to reach him in time.”
I helped her to her feet, determined not to leave her behind in this dark place, neither her nor Batumar.
She limped forward. “Night will fall soon. We should not stay this close to the trap. We could be still in the hunters’ territory.”
I nodded. Whoever had set that net might decide to track his escaped prey. We moved on, not as silent as before but grateful for still being able to move.
“A large and strong net,” Leena said after a while as she limped alongside me.
“Probably for deer.”
“Or else,” she said, “it could have been set by the same kind we met before.”
I cringed at the thought of the women we had escaped earlier that day, and offered a silent prayer to the spirits asking them to deliver us safely from the woods.
As the night darkened around us, we found a suitable tree—one with branches that started low to the ground and a good cross-branch higher up—and I made a shelter of twigs and leaves for the night. Leena needed much help to climb, but she would not give up easily and reached our nest. We ate half of the bitter rhizomes we had, not nearly enough, and saved the rest.
Despite our exhaustion, we slept little, for at night, the forest came alive. Strange, unseen birds cried out, startling us from time to time; footsteps on the dried leaves below us made us cringe. Growls we heard, first nearing, then moving away, while eyes glowed green and narrow in the darkness.
We barely dared breathe for fear of drawing the attention of the invisible beasts that roamed the night. I must have dozed toward dawn at last, as I woke to Leena’s strong grip on my arm. She spoke only with her eyes, wide and alarmed. A small noise came from below us. I turned my head slowly, then let out a sigh of relief. The doe looked up at me, then went back to licking dew from the moss-covered trunk.
I sat up so Leena could also see. I had blocked her view when I was sleeping, and she had not dared to move to look around me.
“Can you climb down?” I checked her ankle, still bruised but less swollen. The night’s rest had been most beneficial.
She nodded with a thin smile. “If I manage to fall instead, I will arrive at the same place.” Then her expression turned sober. “Is it safe?”
I looked but saw nothing other than trees and bushes. The deer, perhaps startled by our voices, had fled. “The spirits will keep us.” The night predators, I hoped, had already returned to their lairs.
We decided to forgo our morning meal and save our meager provisions for later in the day.
Not long after we started out, we reached another path, wider than the one we had found the day before and, by the looks of it, more frequently used. As Leena could barely walk on the uneven forest floor, tripping over gnarled roots with every other step, we took the path and prayed to the spirits and the goddesses to keep us safe.
We kept our eyes open for anything strange, the slightest thing out of order so that we might escape another trap. We did not talk but listened for any noise of people coming up from behind or lying in wait in the distance ahead.
And so we heard long before we saw the small family of a man, woman, and child coming up the path behind us. The man carried his daughter in his arms, the mother bowed under a heavy bundle.
They did not look like they belonged to the tribe of starving women—different clothes, diffent features—nor did they look like hunters. They seemed as tired and as wary of the woods as we were, for I saw the man’s gaze search the forest from time to time.
The child he carried was no longer a babe but still too young to keep up with the adults on her own. A badly infected cut disfigured her face where her flesh had been split from forehead to chin by something sharp. A sword, I thought.
We halted to wait for them, but they stopped at a fair distance from us. The father shifted the child to his hip and drew a dagger from the folds of his long tunic.
“I am a healer,” I said in the merchant tongue that was spoken, in one form or the other, in most of the world. “We are looking for the road to Mernor.”
The mother grabbed for the child to free both of the man’s hands for fight. He inspected us at length, his gaze hesitating on the herbs that hung from my belt. He did not lower his weapon. Silence stretched between us, tense and full of mistrust.
“Can you help my daughter?” he asked at last.
The woman said something, too fast for me to understand, her face twisted with fear and worry. He motioned her forward, but she would not budge. He said something then in a low voice, and she took one hesitant step. I moved toward them too, even though he had probably just promised her to gut me at the first sign of trouble.
Leena threw me a look of disapproval but held her silence. I glanced at my herbs, though I already knew I had nothing suitable. But I could not pass the girl by. The infection would kill her before long. Already, she glowed with fever.
I reached for the child, and the mother shook her head.
The father shoved her forward gently. “Please, mistress, help her if you can.”
I placed one hand, palm down, onto the child’s forehead where the scar began, the other to the top of her chin where it ended. The best of healers did not need to touch the sick to heal them, but I was far from the best, and weak from lack of food and insufficie
nt sleep.
I closed my eyes and thought of nothing but the raised edges of the wound, the sticky wet feel of pus that oozed from my gentle pressure, and the heat that burned against my skin. I could feel her pain, but she neither cried nor squirmed under my touch.
I drew the pain then and gained a better sense of the injury. The infection had gone deep. Slowly, I moved my hands toward each other, focusing my spirit on closing the wound. When my thumbs touched, I sent up a silent prayer before I removed my hands.
She was whole. My arms were trembling.
The mother cried and would not look at anything but her child. The father thanked us and told us the way to the road we sought. To reach it, we had to cut through the forest.
“But there are none there to heal who are worth the healing,” he said. “Khan Woldrom put many to the sword the day the Khergi broke through the city gate. The last who defended Mernor fled to the tower, but the Kerghi caught up with them. To the last man, their throats were cut, their bodies hurled from the height.”
I shuddered, the picture of the black tower I had seen in my vision still clear in my mind, the blood of its defenders staining the stone walls. My empty stomach rose, but I fought it back.
“We have not much, but I would pay you, mistress, for you have done us a great favor.” The man reached into the bundle on his wife’s back and offered us some bread.
This we refused as we still had a few roots, and their supply seemed hardly enough for the three of them. Then he held out a flask of water, and that we accepted with gratitude.
We went our separate ways, they on the path, Leena and I back to the forest, the shortest way to the road that led to Mernor, according to the man. No longer did I have to hold back to match Leena’s slow limp. I barely had the strength to keep up with her.
We found the road by midday, wide and well trampled by wagons, beasts, and men.
We stayed behind a clump of dense bushes and ate what little food we had left, then drank the rest of our water while we watched mercenaries and warriors pass. Going among them did not seem wise, so we walked in the woods some distance from the road, far enough not to be heard or seen.