Heavy footsteps were pounding from upriver. Ishe barely had the energy left to turn her head to see Hawk running toward them, spear in hand.
Ishe gave the warrior a smile, then tried to stand.
She abruptly found Sparrow’s head where the sun had been.
“Tea?” he asked.
“Wha?” Ishe instinctively reached for the offered flask and hissed as prickling heat seared through the muscles of her shoulders and back.
“Drink this; it will help.” He helped her swallow down the bitter brew. After a few sips, she was able to push him away. He retreated once she held the skin in her hand. With Sparrow out of the way, she found herself sitting in front of a crackling cook fire beneath a green sea of leaves in a circle of oaks.
Drosa sat near the fire as Stag spoke earnestly with her in their tribal language. Drosa kept her eyes on the flames, lips pressed tightly together. Clearly, whatever he said didn’t impress Drosa much.
Hawk had her back to an oak and her eyes closed, apparently sleeping. Catter and Gull lay down on the ground, appearing to do the same, although Gull clutched at her wounded arm. Veins of black ran up from under the bandage to her shoulder.
Birdsong drifted through the branches, but the babble of the river told Ishe that they hadn’t dragged her very far.
“We decided that everyone deserved a nap,” Sparrow said. “I doubt any of the Two Herds tribe are willing to brave that river, so we should be a day ahead of any pur—” A coughing fit seized him, and as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, Ishe noticed a bandage had been tied around his ankle. Blackness crept out from under it.
“Your leg!” Ishe exclaimed.
He shrugged. “Your hands.”
Heart suddenly in her throat, Ishe looked down at her hands. The skin of her hands was night-black, the nails white as bone. The darkness reached up to her shoulder and faded out.
In a panic, she pinched her skin, expecting to feel the odd rubber texture of Grief flesh surrounding the bones of her hand, but it still felt like human skin. “Snapped masts, Sparrow! How long do we have?!”
“Relax; Grief poisoning is not as potent as the stories say. It looks worse than it is.” He dropped his voice to a low whisper. “It’s not in our bloodstream.” Ishe couldn’t help but glance at Gull. He gave a small nod.
“And she’s…” Ishe swallowed.
Sparrow wore a calming smile. “We will all face the voice of Grief tonight; afterward, Daylight will burn the contamination from our bodies. So long as we stay in his gaze for a day or two and don’t hole up in a cave, we will all be fine.”
Ishe returned his smile with a grimace; there were multiple qualifications in that statement.
He took her hand and squeezed. “Simply stay focused on what you must do in this world.”
“You’ve been poisoned by the Grief before?” Ishe asked.
“No, but I have cared for victims before. My brother participated in a Grief purge and got his eyes kissed. We had to beg a thunderbird to carry him around the world so the sun did not set on him.” Sparrow chuckled. “Then we walked a pilgrimage in White Buffalo’s name to restore his sight. That’s how I first spoke to Swooping Hawk.” His kind smile drifted into a grin as his eyes focused on memories.
Behind him, one of Hawk’s eyes popped open. “You did well.”
The unexpected praise left Ishe momentarily stunned.
“Two rafts was a mistake. Perhaps the entire river idea is a mistake.” Her eyes shifted to Sparrow, and for a brief movement, Ishe saw worry lines appeared in her usually impassive face.
“If the trackers do not catch us, we do not have to kill them,” Sparrow said in Low River, and Hawk turned her gaze to the trees.
“You killed nine Grief!” Stag burst out. “A solid wave of them came for us.” His breath came out shallow, as if the awe in his voice took up physical space in his lungs.
“You exaggerate.” Hawk climbed to her feet.
“Not by much,” Catter said as Gull groaned groggily and opened her eyes.
Hawk scowled. “Since we are all awake, everyone pack up. We must move away from the river tonight.”
“Bringing rafts?” Drosa pointed behind Ishe, where Ishe found the bundles of logs that had borne them this far down the river. “River claimed paddles and axes.”
Hawk’s scowl grew. “We only have one ax left and two paddles. We will need to combine the rafts. If we walk the rest of the way, we will likely be overtaken; there are villages on both sides of the river. We will be on the river for at least another day once we pass by the Grief’s nest. Pray to whatever gods listen that the dragons tire of flying circles around the valley.” Hawk threw a stony glance in Ishe’s direction. “Otherwise, we will be spotted we approach the Maw.”
Stag brightened at that. “If they spot us, you will shatter them.”
Hawk ignored Stag as if he had not spoken. “As soon as we see one, ditch the rafts and we make the rest of the journey through the forest. Hope that the dragons don’t burn it down around us.”
“I would rather run all the way to this Maw than get back on that river.” Gull has sat up and hugged herself as if the air around her were freezing. “Water is dangerous, with or without Grief.”
“Two Herds knows this forest and they number in at least a thousand on both sides of the river. The river is dead; it will not tell anyone where we are.” Sparrow said.
“And if that big black dragon comes swooping down on us while we’re floating in the river?” Gull asked.
“Dive into the water and swim downriver.” Hawk smirked. “Or hide behind Ishe. He wants her alive.”
“Or you kill him,” Stag said.
“Nonsense!” Hawk’s patience broke and she snatched up her spear. “What am I going to kill a dragon with? This?” She shook the blade an inch from Stag’s wide eyes; the spear tip was inlaid with a stylized dragon snaking back and forth over the blade. “This might not even pierce his eye, let alone his armor. I am not your dragonslayer. Do not look at me to save you. Once we reach the Golden Hills, they can deal with the dragon with cannons.”
“Hawk.” Ishe’s mouth went dry. “He’s wounded.”
“What?” Hawk’s head slowly rotated toward Ishe, the rest of her going as still as stone.
“Yesterday”—could it really just have been yesterday?—“a minion brought him a crystal from Valhalla but it was a trap. Rigged to explode. He threw himself on it. It blew a hole in his belly.” As Ishe, spoke, a strange expression slowly crept over Hawk’s face. “It was still bleeding when he left to fight the Odin Sphere. I don’t know how soft the insides of a dragon are, but there’s no armor there.”
Ishe finally recognized the expression on Hawk’s face, the paling skin, the slightly parted lips, the widening eyes. Fear.
“No,” Hawk said. With the abruptness of a snapping line, the giant shot to her feet. “I am not your chosen one. I am nobody’s chosen one.” She stalked into the forest.
Chapter Eleven
Drowned Otter keeps everything we have lost. The miracles of the Ancients, the casualties of war, and even the innocence of our childhood. All this he tends in his underwater garden, where the Grief cannot reach and no living human has trod. He consoles us; whatever is lost can be found.
Seek Fire, Chief of the Turtle Clan of the Low Rivers Tribe, Lorekeeper
Hawk’s head filled with whispers that spoke of useless things such as glory and honor. This was the price of the All singing in her blood, of being there among vibrant life.
The dark one is wounded. His wound is not yet healed. You could save them. Be our One Who Shatters Iron, the trees urged, offering her memories of smoke and human screams.
Next, you’ll want me to march into the Golden Hills and shatter it, too, she told the trees, and the whispering breezes stopped, confused. The noble impulse that had driven her up that mountain now seemed to be driving her back toward the black dragon’s toothy maw. She and Sparrow could have hiked over t
he mountains without stirring up the blasted dragon’s nest. It had been a miraculous thing that they hadn’t been spotted on the river today.
Now they could lose someone to the Grief tonight. She’d overestimated Ishe and Gull. Neither of them were particularly fierce without hand cannons. And Drosa, the girl had a literal sun spirit in her heart and still had difficulty striking the demons of the old world down. For all she had done for Ishe, the least the girl could have done was protect her husband from the oozing monsters.
She pondered giving Ishe back to the Dragon. It would be easy: just tie her to a tree and leave. She and Sparrow would slip over the mountain, taking Gull and Catter with them. Drosa and Stag could go back to their lives. Otherwise…otherwise, they were going to be spotted on the next leg of the journey, and then Hawk really would have to decide if her life would be a fair exchange for the daughter of a captain who had trusted the Destroyer.
The sunlight flickered and Hawk did not need to peer through the canopy to see what caused it. So close. Hawk gripped her spear and scoffed at herself. Spear against a dragon.
A cough sounded behind her, a distinct sound that always made her heart wince.
“Sparrow, I need to be alone,” Hawk said, not turning around.
“No. That’s the opposite of what you need,” Sparrow said.
“You almost died today.” Hawk’s breath hitched as her guts twisted. “I should have put you on my raft.”
A small hand pressed her back. “And put complete novices on a raft? Drowning them all?”
Hawk did not turn around, fearful he would plumb her cowardly thoughts from the depths of her eyes. “I am sorry. I should have never allowed them to capture us.”
“We did not know they’d put us in a mountain.” He gave a great cough into his hand. As he pulled it away from his mouth, his mustache gave a little twitch.
“We were only a day or two’s walk from Lyndon. Found work there.”
“Hah! This is Lyndon we’re talking about. They don’t hire Low River people.” He swung around her body, his head barely reaching her breasts. Hawk looked down. In a grid around his blue eyes, the stars marked his story. He’d been adopted into the tribe late in life, after his thirteenth summer. His fair skin marked him with Lyndon stock, but the red of his hair spoke to Valhallan blood. A series of small marks had branded him as man who couldn’t withstand pain. Hawk wished she could rub out those lies.
Silence fell between them. Hawk reached around his shoulders and pulled him close. She knew what he would say next. Sparrow had always been the only one who could pierce the rocky face she gave the world.
“You’re getting ahead yourself, dear.”
“I fear this is more Blazing Root’s last stand than the battle of Glory Ridge, Sparrow.” Hawk said.
“Glory Ridge could not have happened without Blazing Root’s martyrdom,” Sparrow said before grinning. “And don’t decide the story before it happens, Hawk! Has the All spelled it out for you?”
Hawk grimaced. “I don’t need the All to see how this ends, Sparrow. A wounded dragon, a noble sacrifice. I trade my life for a time, perhaps you make it to the Maw, but he’ll be there on the other side waiting for you.”
Sparrow squeezed her hand. “You bested seven trained warriors with a stick a week ago. You toyed with them like a lion cub with a rat. On Fox Fire, you were good, but you were never that good. This is a land hungry for a hero. This dragon might not stand a chance.”
“It’s a dragon, Sparrow, an elder dragon. They are flying stones. I will need far more than a stick.”
Anger stole across his features, but his words were consumed by a violent cough; he blinked once and then exploded into a full-blown attack of hacking. He peeled away from her, waiting for it pass, and then spat. The spittle landed, a dark gob on a fallen leaf.
“Then find a bigger weapon.” He gasped. He breathed and his voice was a mere whisper. “We decided on this path, Hawk. Madria’s girls are caught in the midst of something important.” He leaned back against her.
“Destinies and prophecies can rot. You’re the only one who matters to me.” Hawk pulled him back to her. He didn’t resist; he never did.
“Ten years now…” He sighed before stifling another cough.
“I would slay this dragon ten times over if it would fix your lungs.” Hawk kissed him on the middle of the small bald spot on the back his head.
“We don’t have to kill him, Hawk, and you don’t have to die. Look at this valley; he’s hidden here for a reason. He won’t want to cross those mountains. If we are where I think we are, then High Tree isn’t far.”
Hawk gave a slow blink. High Tree’s main village was directly south of the Golden Hills. Word would travel, by foot if it had to. If Sparrow was right, and she had never known him to be wrong about the lay of the land, then following them over the mountains would be a dinner bell for nations hungry for glory. She looked down at her spear; the wide point was as big as the blade of a shovel. Hawk could see a path now; perhaps breaking the iron didn’t mean killing it.
Hawk took a breath and reached out to the forest surrounding them, tasting the hope that had settled among the roots of the tree. Strength that the world would lend to its champion. She nodded to herself. “We will see who survives this night. Provided Ishe has the strength to face the Grief, I will see through. I will see everyone through.”
“You’re not worried about me, then?” Sparrow tapped at his tainted skin.
Hawk gave that comment the barest snort it deserved and hugged him.
Chapter Twelve
While Drowned Otter weeps for the loss of the rivers, it is Daylight who hunts the Grief, and they fear his gaze. Any who burn their blackness from the lands will have his favor.
Seek Fire, Chief of the Turtle Clan of the Low Rivers Tribe, Lorekeeper
She’s scared of dying. Ishe’s mouth hung open as she stared at Hawk and Sparrow from behind a tree not ten feet away. Although they spoke in whispers, the sound had carried to her ears as if delivered on the breeze.
Mentally, Ishe hurled a curse at Coyote. His snicker had drawn her into the wood. There was no doubt about it. She felt the paw of her mother’s idol firmly on her shoulder.
Ducking back around the tree, Ishe remembered the way Yaz’noth casually cleaved escaping crew members in half with his plasma lance–like breath. Ishe shuddered. That would be exactly what would happen if the warrior tried to take Yaz’noth on directly.
Find not only what your enemy plans to do but what it would never occur to them to do. Madria’s voice rose in the back of Ishe’s mind. “I know, Mother,” Ishe whispered under her breath. Coyote had probably led her to eavesdrop on Hawk and Sparrow’s conversation to shake her faith in the warrior. Yet, thinking on it, an inkling of an idea began to form. If a confrontation with Yaz’noth had to happen, then she might be able to change the terms.
One thing at a time, though. Ishe looked down at her blackened hands. As the sun began to wane, the skin grew cold.
“Kiss the Seven and b-b-bleed into the winds.” Gull’s teeth chattered as she clutched at her wrist, the black in her skin had spread to swallow the limb up to her shoulder. The rest of her body shook as if she stood naked in a snowstorm as she staggered forward after Drosa.
“Keep moving,” Ishe urged Gull, as she clenched and unclenched her fists. The texture of her hands had shifted and now shone in the sputtering light. The hands moved in response to her thoughts but sent nothing back; no sensation, no pain when she twisted the flesh, only a persistent chill pulling at the warmth of her arms as if her hands were embedded in ice.
They had started walking shortly after Ishe had sneaked out of the forest moments ahead of Hawk and Sparrow. Ishe assumed that Sparrow had convinced Hawk not to throw him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes and run over the mountain. That had been over two hours before; now mere minutes of daylight remained.
They walked in single file, Stag and Drosa at the front, Catter and Ha
wk at the back and the three of them sporting Grief-infected flesh in the middle. Of them, only Sparrow seemed unburdened, the small spot of black on his wrist still looked more gray than black.
“It’s time,” Sparrow said. The party halted.
Ishe cast a glance behind her to see Catter, his wide mouth pressed into a hard line. He held the remaining ax in two hands as if ready to swing it.
Hawk loomed behind him, the spider-silk harness she dragged the disassembled rafts with cutting into her chest. Blinky followed at her heels, intermittently sucking on a white ball of silk that probably contained an unfortunate bird.
Sparrow coughed and Ishe turned toward him. “Now, here is the important thing,” he said. “The Grief will ask to be invited into the forest. Do not give them that permission. If you do, you are part of the Grief.” Sparrow’s gaze turned to Catter, whose grip on his axe grew so tight, the wooden handle groaned.
“It will be like fighting a solid wind, this close to the nest,” Hawk said, holding her spear, eyes flicking between Ishe and Gull.
“Can’t imagine those black b-b-bastards are a-n-ny easier to fight in the d-d-dark,” Gull said, forcing a smile.
It hit Ishe like an icicle to the temple. Catter had been instructed to kill Sparrow if he turned; Hawk would take care the others. If Hawk had any anxiety in her expression, the deep shadows hid it.
“They are definitely not,” Sparrow said. “It’s starting.”
Ishe hadn’t noticed it at first. A babble, like water rushing over rocks, simply adding to the melody of crickets and birds. Yet it grew and Ishe heard snatches of words rise out of the noise. Want— Need. Shouldn’t. Give. They were all snatches of thought, of desire, of hunger. Sparrow squeezed her hand, and she was surprised that the moment the light disappeared, sensation returned to her hand. Her flesh in Sparrow’s fingers had more give to it than it should. Ishe found herself swallowing back bile as she remembered how the skin of the Grief had given beneath her fingers.
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