A Haven in Ash (A Sanctuary Series) (Ashes of Luukessia Book 1)

by Robert J. Crane

  The scourge turned to watch. All but one ceased gnawing.

  Shilara continued.

  Jasen froze. Panicked.

  Should he call out to her—or whisper, at any rate—to stop their movement?

  She’s done this before, he tried to tell himself. She has made this journey before. She knows what she’s doing.

  Then he felt a hot breath on his neck from behind, exhaled in a puff that caused another fog of death and decay to fall upon him, and all thoughts evaporated. All that remained was a hot, black sensation of purest terror.

  It’s behind me.

  It is behind me!

  Jasen braced … and as he’d feared, the scourge pressed its nose to the back of his neck.

  It was cold and dry, like before … and it felt awful. Icier than the shadows, more frigid now the sun had left them, the chill seemed to be transported directly into Jasen’s spine. It ran down like glacial waters. The gooseflesh of his arms became only more pronounced, and he gasped for a breath he could not draw.

  The scourge breathed, in and out, nostrils pressed to Jasen’s skin …

  The cart trundled gently past, separating them.

  Jasen clamped his eyes tight, waiting for it to follow.

  It did not. But Alixa breathed the slightest, softest breath, and if she had softened at all these last long minutes, she turned rigid again. Her nails dug harder into Jasen’s arm, which must have gone numb before this latest squeeze reignited his nerve endings. But the pain was good. It meant he was alive.

  It also meant the scourge had pressed its nose to Alixa, and was breathing her in too.

  Jasen tensed, waiting. For what, he was not sure. His mind told him that he waited to spring into action—but if the smell of carrion was not enough to put off this scourge, if it did indeed detect a living being it might devour, Jasen would be able to do exactly nothing. The beast would lean forward and snatch Alixa up by her head before Jasen could turn; and in the time it would take for him to grab up one of Shilara’s stowed weapons, Alixa would be dead, beheaded by the beast’s jaws and torn asunder as the pack descended—

  Stop thinking of it.

  Yet he could not rid himself of that last conjured image: Alixa’s belly split open, and a long cable of intestine stretched between two hungry scourge.

  Painful seconds grew, compounding. The cart continued moving. Alixa must be clear now. Jasen did not dare look to confirm it. He simply closed his eyes, breathing shallow breaths—that slightly sweet smell of rot nauseated him, made his stomach twist in discomfort, made him will himself over and over not to vomit—and he waited.

  The scourge shifted, shuffling. One made a noise that might’ve been a haggard breath; another responded from some distance behind.

  One began its gnawing.

  Shortly, another joined. Then another.

  If the rest resumed, Jasen could not tell. Slowly the sounds grew fainter, and in any case three gnawing scourge could easily be four or five, or even ten. Perhaps more, the farther the cart rolled.

  Eventually, they were gone, lost to the noise of the cart itself, of Milo, and of Shilara, gently easing the horse along.

  Jasen dared open an eye.

  The world seemed unnaturally bright now. He squinted against it. The sun was out again, and somehow it had managed to catch a small strip of land here along the mountainside.

  Shilara clambered aboard the cart again.

  “Remain still,” she instructed in a soft whisper.

  Jasen did not nod. Nor did Alixa, as far as he could see. No need to confirm anything; he had absolutely no intention of making a sound.

  The ride sped up after that, but not much. Shilara was intent on taking things as carefully as possible. If it would spare them from any other scourge that might be skulking these parts, then Jasen was happy for her to progress as whichever pace she saw fit—as long, of course, as she was progressing.

  The miles grew.

  Eventually, Shilara sighed. “I think we’re clear.”

  Relief settled over them. But it was weak, and Jasen did not feel much better for passing this danger. After all, another three and a half days of this lay ahead. And the route to Wayforth soon split from the mountain—which meant it would divert into even wilder parts of Luukessia, where scourge might tread en masse and unseen—until it was too late.

  20

  They continued to ride in relative quiet until midday. It was only then that the sun rose high enough to crest the mountains, dazzling them with long overdue warmth. Jasen felt a stab of envy for the people left in Terreas when finally the sun’s rays did kiss his skin; they hadn’t waited this many hours to be warmed.

  He thought again of his father, and Alixa’s family. But he stifled the thought: ruminating too long would only make him morose. And in a few days, they would be back to Terreas anyway. Their families’ worry would be short-term. The seed the three of them would return with was a long-term solution that would easily compensate for the stress of these next few days.

  Still. Perhaps they ought to have considered leaving a note.

  No, Jasen told himself. People would only try to follow then.

  The excitement provided by the sprawling vistas had deserted Jasen. Alixa too, by the looks of her; she kept her head down and her lips sealed. Little conversation had passed between any of them these past few hours.

  The longest exchange had been ten minutes ago, when Shilara said, “We’ll stop for lunch. That okay with the two of you?”

  “Yes,” said Jasen.

  Alixa nodded agreement.

  Shilara steered Milo to the edge of this trail—though it could scarcely be called that; now traversing the edge of an open field, whatever dirt track had been cut through was long overtaken by grass and weeds. Only a spindly stretch of fence remained as a ghostly reminder of a past when people had ridden through here regularly enough to kick up dust and flick stones and leave a trail of horse manure in their wake.

  “Packed bread and meats and cheese,” Shilara said. “In the sack by the waterskins. There’s not a great deal, so go easy on it.”

  They dismounted. For Jasen, it was the first time in hours; he’d clambered off once, perhaps an hour before running into the scourge, to empty his bladder. Alixa had either stayed put all night, or at least most of it, perhaps climbing down when Jasen dozed before dawn. How her bladder was not yet bursting, Jasen didn’t know.

  Then again, Alixa would likely wait until she was a hair’s breadth away from rupturing. It would not be very proper to squat out here and wet the daisies—even if only Jasen and Shilara were present, backs turned.

  The sack the food was stored in had a dusty smell, like old curtains. It had seeped into the food too, Jasen realized as he took a bite of the sandwich he put together, sitting by the cart’s edge. Still, food was food, and musty-smelling food was likely to be as good as he got these next few days.

  Alixa considered the sack with a dour expression.

  “Go on,” said Shilara. She marched around them, carrying a bag of oats for Milo. “Eat up.”

  “Can I wash my hands first, please?”

  “No,” Shilara barked. “Don’t even think about it. We’ve a bucket of innards between us to last the rest of this trip. We can’t waste it on re-covering any body parts.”

  “But—”

  “No buts,” said Shilara. “We had a narrow escape back there. I don’t intend to make our chances slimmer by chancing a scourge getting a scent of your knuckles. Now hurry it up. We haven’t got all day. This is a quick stop.” To herself more than Jasen or Alixa, she muttered, “Bloody scourge slowed us down enough back there.”

  Alixa sadly compiled a sandwich. She looked as down on her luck as she ever had.

  When she bit into the bread, tinged a subtle spot of brown, she retched.

  Shilara did not mute her smirk. Nor did she appear to try to keep her smile down as she rounded the cart again.

  “Nothing wrong with a bit of blood,”
she said, squatting to make a sandwich of her own. The bread, she handled roughly, with nary a care for the bloody fingerprints she left on it. “Never eaten black pudding?”

  “No,” said Alixa.

  “Missing a treat then, you are.” Shilara slapped another slice on top of the slab of cheese and equally thick hunk of ham she’d laid upon the first. She rose, took a great mouthful, and collected her spear into hand. “I’ll keep watch,” she said through the half-chewed mouthful, and sauntered off.

  Alixa pursed her lips tight, but said nothing. She did not finish her sandwich.

  “You’ll regret that later,” Shilara observed when she came back.

  “I won’t,” Alixa said.

  Shilara smirked. “Never felt hunger so bad you’d be willing to eat your own arm, if you could stomach the pain to take a bite out of the thing, have you?”

  “No.”

  “You will,” Shilara promised, and she climbed back onto the wagon.

  The afternoon ride began in silence. That quiet pervaded, carried through the afternoon.

  At around two o’clock—it was hard to estimate; time seemed to have lost its meaning outside of Terreas—Alixa began to fidget. It was subtle at first, but gradually her twitching grew more and more pronounced.

  Maybe she’d had finally reached the point where she could hold it in no longer. Time to give it to impropriety and just empty all this backed-up fluid—and there would be a lot—by the trail.

  She didn’t say anything though. So Jasen asked, “What?” Perhaps she would say something if he offered her the opportunity to; easier to save face that way.

  “My legs ache,” she muttered.

  “Sitting in a cart all day will do that to you,” said Shilara from up front.

  “How do I ease it?”

  “Stretch your legs. Lean forward. Touch your toes. When we’ve stopped, make the most of it.” Shilara shrugged. “It’s about the best you can do.”

  Alixa did as instructed, stretching her legs out in front of her as far as they’d go, and leaning to touch her toes. She seemed to struggle; being cooped up for some twelve hours had done wonders in making her rickety and stiff. Jasen would’ve followed suit, but then he wasn’t entirely convinced he could’ve touched his toes before anyway, so what was the point?

  “Those scourge earlier,” Alixa said. “Have you run into them like that before?”

  “Couldn’t tell you if I’ve seen those specific ones, if that’s what you’re asking,” said Shilara. “Do run into packs of them from time to time. Just have to take it slow.” A pause. “Damned things don’t usually hang around for as long as those did though.” Another pause. “Might have to take another route home, if they’ve set up shop there.” A third pause, longer, filled with the sound of Milo’s hooves and the cart’s wheels turning. “Maybe not. Might be even more scourge-filled.”

  She fell into quiet. Though Jasen could only see her back, he pictured a long frown on her face, eyebrows drawn together and her lips tight.

  “Where does the other path lead?” Alixa asked.

  “Terreas.”

  “Does it skirt the mountain?”

  “No.”

  “So how does it get back to Terreas?”

  “It’s a wider route.”

  “What sort of—”

  “Oh, would you just be quiet, girl?” Shilara said. “I need to think. And keep watch. And listen. A scourge happens upon us, I want to have warning, like the ones we ran into this morning. You talking distracts me.”

  “I was only asking,” said Alixa. Her voice became very small.

  Shilara didn’t look back. “You like to hear yourself talk too much, is what I think.”

  “Well, that’s rude.” Alixa crossed her arms. Turning to Jasen, she began, “Did you—”

  “Ssh,” Shilara ordered—and this was the same noise as earlier, a tense warning, rather than mounting frustration.

  Alixa silenced. Her frown dissolved into a wide-eyed look about the cart.

  Jasen pivoted to stare too as Shilara brought it to a stop.

  This was not the worst spot to have stopped, in terms of safety from the scourge. Jasen figured the worst was probably the field of rye—or perhaps in the mists clinging to the base of the mountains in the morning. In the rye, you had only the rustling of stalks to give the scourge away before their scent assaulted you. The mists were surely worse: grey and thick, a scourge would easily blend in, only that pair of bulbous black eyes to be seen, stalking ever closer. Jasen hoped to never add that to his growing list of experiences with the creatures.

  Nonetheless, this spot was far from ideal. Here, the cart rolled through scrubland. Green grass had given itself over to drier land, most of it dying off as hard, packed earth took over. Hardier plants had found a home here instead, bushes with small, rubbery leaves that clung to a tangled mass of branches. Much of these plants were exposed, and like the spindly trees rearing skyward amidst the carpet of brush, they looked dry enough that a spark would light the entire hillock.

  Pressed low, a scourge could stalk the cart with ease.

  A whole pack, even.

  Shilara listened, craning her neck.

  Jasen followed suit. His heart was in his throat again, thudding hard against it. He felt sick.

  The tang of death was in the air.

  Or was that simply him expecting it to be? Waiting for it?

  A breeze came. It rustled the scrub. Dry branches creaked, rubbing together. Knobbled and thin, they reminded Jasen of a frail old man’s fingers, laced together, joints bumping together over and over as he swept them back and forth, back and forth. It was a papery sort of noise, that rubbing—and it seemed to come from all directions, terribly loud. When had it gotten so noisy? How had it ratcheted up like this, on just a faint breeze, enough to mute the approach of any scourge lying in wait?

  How could Shilara know where they were coming from?

  Something rustled behind—

  Jasen twisted, a wave of panic washing over him, pumping adrenaline into his veins—

  A scourge crept out from between two scraggly bushes.

  Jasen’s heart skipped. Damn it. How many more of the things were there?

  The scourge turned in the direction of the cart. It peered through black eyes, turning its head to either side—

  It started forward.

  Alixa gasped.

  “Quiet,” Shilara whispered. “You’ll attract more of the damned things.”

  But Alixa twisted back to Jasen. Her eyes wide, she said, “I think that’s the one from before!”

  “Shut up,” Shilara hissed.

  Jasen frowned. “What?” he mouthed.

  “The scourge we met by the boundary! The one who saved us!”

  “Would you shut your damned mouth?” Shilara said. She had a wild look about her. “Do you want to draw a whole pack to us?”

  “It doesn’t go with a pack,” said Alixa, though how she could be sure of that having only seen it the one time, Jasen didn’t know. “It’s by itself.”

  And right this moment, it had joined the crew by the rear of the cart—right up against it. It reached over the back wood panel, neck extended, staring. Its mouth opened—the rotten smell about it intensified all at once, strengthened by its breath, as it leaned forward to sniff at the sacks in the back—

  “Too far, scourge,” Shilara growled. She leapt down, spear in hand. Ducking Milo’s reins, she stormed around the edge of the cart.

  “What are you—no!” Alixa shrieked. And she leapt up and over the side, landing awkwardly, then sprinting.

  “You’re bloody scum, that’s what you are,” Shilara told the scourge as she came around. She adjusted her hold on the spear, drew it back—

  “STOP!”

  Alixa threw herself in between scourge and spear, holding her arms high.

  “Move it, girl,” Shilara said. “That thing’ll tear your head from your shoulders just as soon as look at you.” And she jabbe
d out with the spear, feinting around Alixa’s side.

  Alixa jerked across—not in the opposite direction, but toward the thrust, stopping Shilara in her tracks.

  Jasen stared in open-mouthed confusion, stuck to the spot.

  “It needs to die,” said Shilara, “before it draws even more of them.”

  “It’s on its own,” said Alixa. “And it’s friendly!”

  “No such thing as a friendly scourge. If I’ve said that once to you, I’ve said it a hundred times.”

  “But this one is! Look! I’m right here—and it hasn’t touched me.” Yet Alixa did not sound entirely sure of herself, and as she spoke those last words, she dared a glance over her shoulder, just to make sure the scourge was not bearing down on her with its massive jaws.

  It hadn’t. It continued to sniff around the contents of the cart. Alixa might not be there at all.

  Jasen watched it, expression drawn. “Alixa, how’d you know this is the same one?”

  “It has a scar,” she told him.

  “Plenty of scourge have scars,” Shilara growled. “Stupid things get roughed up all their lives. Deserve it, too.”

  “I … I just know it is, okay?” said Alixa. “It looks the same. There’s something … in its eyes. Right, Jasen?”

  Jasen peered into those black orbs, looking for whatever it was Alixa had seen. Whatever it was, he couldn’t find it though: all he saw was black, and maybe, if he squinted, the faint ring of an iris almost as pitch as its pupil. Even that, he wasn’t sure about.

  “Uhm,” Jasen said.

  “It’s the same one,” Alixa said resolutely. “I know it is.”

  “Well, then it’s made the wrong choice today,” said Shilara. Gripping tight on her spear’s haft again, she told Alixa, “Move.”

  “No!”

  “That thing needs spearing before it draws more to us—or changes its mind.”

  “You can’t kill it!”