“I cannot,” replied Evon, sobbing so. “I am deep in fear of Waylen’s spirit.”
“Why?” said Mell, her voice, as always, rich with kindness. “Waylen loved you more than any man could. In turn, you gave him two strong sons, who even now go out and sow his fields. He would not harm you in life; why then in death?”
Pine turned and looked across the fields. Seeing no sons of Waylen about, she stood on tiptoe and put her eye to the gap between the window ledge and the hide that covered it. She saw Evon kneeling on a straw-dusted floor, clasping her hands in her tear-soaked lap. Mell was kneeling beside her, an arm laid loose across Evon’s shoulder. A mutt lay asleep nearby.
After a silence, Evon said, “I am not certain that Waylen’s spirit rests with the Fathers.”
Mell put a hand on her friend’s pale cheek. “You think him alive? How so?”
Evon shuddered. Her teeth were chattering so much it was enough to shake the scratchers out of their holes. “Because of this stranger who calls himself Ty. When I look at him, all I see is Waylen.”
Mell attempted a laugh, but her breath fell short and she cast her gaze to one side instead. Evon saw something in that expression, for she gripped Mell’s shoulders and said, with some vigor, “You see it too, don’t you? Your eyes speak loud. Tell me, Mell, that this is no mere folly.”
Mell fed a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I met Ty by the river on the day he arrived. I jested then that he had the eyes of someone I knew. He told me he had no kin. Evon, how can we believe aught other than that? Men are men. They share a look sometimes. If your hair had the sun like mine, we might be hailed as sisters.”
“No,” said Evon. “When you stared into the eyes of Ned, you saw more than a man made of hair and bone; you knew his nature. When I chance to look at this stranger, I see my Waylen bound inside him. I see the phantom of my husband in the eyes of a man who is wily and dark, a man who talks bold about skaler hearts and rides an enchanted whinney. How do we know he is not a demon? What if he has stolen Waylen’s spirit?”
Mell kneaded her fists together. “For a moment, by the river, I did ask myself the same.”
“Then—?”
“No, Evon. It was nought but a fleeting fancy then, and I find it so now. We have heard Ned’s story of Waylen’s end. There was no talk of Ty being present.”
But Evon would not have it. Pushing her hands through her hair, she said, “I see what I see. I tell you true, my heart does not deceive me.”
“Then the remedy is clear,” said Mell. “Tomorrow, when Cob has slept off the juice, we will bother him to go to the darkeye cave and bring poor Waylen’s body home. We will send your husband to the Fathers on our love. And should we fear there are demons watching, we will call them out with fire and—”
“What was that?” Evon looked anxiously toward the window.
Mell shook her head and shrugged.
“I thought I heard a sound.”
The mutt stretched its legs and yawned.
Mell stood up and pulled aside the flap. “Nothing,” she said. “Just the rain, making puddles.”
And a flower head, which she did not see, lying plucked on the ground.
Later, when the rain had grayed to mizzle and darkness was ready to close the day, Evon made her way alone to the river. She knelt and rested her hand in the flow, there to gather water in a pot. As she did this, a voice said, “Woman, look upon me.”
And there, floating up through the clear gray water, she saw the rippling face of her husband.
“Waylen?” she gasped.
A man’s booted foot trod soft behind her, but Evon could not take her eyes off the river.
“Reach out to me,” the face in the water said. Hands appeared beside it. Hands that had warmed her often in the night.
“Waylen?” she said a second time, her voice aquiver with sorrow and need.
The pot tumbled out of her hand.
“Come to me,” he said. “I would be with you again.”
“And I with you,” poor Evon whispered.
And she stepped into the water, deeper and deeper, until she would never step out again.
A short while later, Pine Onetooth came to the water’s edge, there to take her place beside Ty.
“You listen well, girl,” he said. He handed her a small black pouch, tied at the neck in a pretty bow.
Inside the pouch, Pine found a tooth.
She took it out and held it against her gum, trying it in different places while she admired her reflection in the river. “Master, how will I fix it?” she asked.
But Ty was gone and night had descended.
And the rain had begun to fall once more.
Evon’s sons were the ones who found her. They pulled her cold from the reedy shallows at a place where the trees bowed into the river. While the elder son wept and stroked his mother’s head upon his knees, the younger one ran to Cob Wheeler’s shelter. It was not long into the night and Cob was still weighted down with sleep, but the rumpus woke up Rolan and Mell, and they came into the clearing to hear the news. Rolan immediately woke more men, then leapt on his whinney and rode to the river. While Mell was comforting the sobbing boy, Ty approached them, carrying a fire stick.
“I heard a clamor.”
Mell felt her eyebrows pinch. Here was the man who Evon and she had spoken about this very night, who Evon had accused of being a demon. She clamped the boy tighter to hide her shudder. “Evon was found in the river, drowned. The men are heading there now.”
Ty cast his gaze at the gaggle of folk. Oleg came hopping out of his shelter, trying too hastily to put on a boot and slipping in the wet dirt because of it. “Then I must join them.”
“Aye, go swiftly,” Mell said, though the words felt shy on her tongue.
And Ty did go, but it was Rolan who in time staggered into the settlement with Evon draped across his arms. He set her down and stepped back from her body, so all might see her and wail if they would.
By now, Cob Wheeler was awake and growling. Snatching a fire stick off one of the young, he bullied his way through the stupefied crowd. “Make way! Make way!” The fire stick flared with every puff of his voice. Red embers skittered into the night. He paused, hot and giddy, over Evon’s body. When he saw her, his harsh expression softened. A heartbeat passed before he said, “What foul deed has been done to this woman?”
Rolan answered when no one else would. “She was found in the river where the trees touch the water. She has no wound or mark.”
Cob held the fire stick over her face. A water trail was running from the corner of Evon’s pretty blue mouth. Her long, dark hair lay slick to her skin, matted here and there with dying weed.
“I spoke with Evon tonight,” Mell said, still hugging the younger son. “She was confused and much distressed about Waylen.”
Some of those gathered around touched their hearts.
Rolan said, “Are you saying Waylen’s spirit called her to the river?”
“I … I do not know,” Mell stuttered, fearful of Ty. He had just walked into the clearing, the light of the fire sticks glowing in his eyes. He sat on a nearby rock and said nothing.
A mutt ranged up and sniffed at the body. It received, for its pleasure, Cob Wheeler’s boot in its shaggy brown belly. As it ran, yelping, Cob threw down his fire stick and fell to one knee. He picked up Evon’s cold, wet hand. Her fingers were as slim as feather shafts across his huge and crusted palm. “This is my burden,” he muttered. “Forgive me, woman. If I had acted sooner, your sorrow would not have lain you here.” He squeezed the hand and put it back at her side. “Men of the Kaal! On the morrow, we ride!”
“Where to?” asked Oleg, crossing himself.
Cob pushed up. He breathed through his long nose, skaler fashion. “To the cave where this woman’s husband lies. We will bring him home and lay him on a bed of fine branches beside her. Their spirits will dance together once more.” He thumped his chest and looked at Mell. She gave a tearful nod.
This was Cob’s finest moment, she thought.
“Ty?” said Rolan, to the man on the rock. “Will you and your whinney join this quest?”
Ty looked on as the girl, Pine Onetooth, laid a flower on Evon’s breast. “Aye, I would see this cave you speak of. And if a ride will settle this matter, I will join you.”
“Prepare her,” barked Cob. “Tend her kindly. Lay a wreath at her door. Take care of her kin.” He lingered a moment to say a swift prayer, then walked away.
Rolan nodded at some of the women and together they moved Evon into a shelter, there to do the work of cleaning the body and dressing her in a plain white robe, ready for her final journey to the Fathers.
The moon had moved halfway through the sky before he stepped into the night again. He found Mell Whitehair waiting for him. “Rolan, I would speak with you.” She drew him hurriedly into the shadows.
“This is a sorry business,” he said, his mind still much on Evon’s death. “I can make no easy sense of this, Mell. Evon has been laden with grief for days. Why would she give up her spirit now?”
Mell put her fingers to his lips. “Hush. What’s done with Evon is done. I come to warn you to be wary on your journey tomorrow.”
Rolan lifted his youthful shoulders. “Your worry is kindly heard, Mell, but the ride is not harsh. And it will not take us through skaler territory. Do not concern yourself. We—”
“It’s not skalers that stir my fears,” she said. She gripped his arm to prevent him from leaving. “I caution you to be wary of Ty.”
“T—?”
Again she put a hand to his mouth. “Harken close and say nought in return. Earlier this night, Evon spoke to me in dreadful terror. She feared Waylen’s spirit had been stolen by Ty.”
Rolan’s mouth tried to form a question that Mell’s hand would not allow him to ask. She said, “Do not speak to Cob about this, for he will take Ty’s head off and want no proof. I set this troubling tale on you because I see more wisdom in you than your years. If evil has been done to Waylen and Evon, I worry the source of it lies in that cave.”
Rolan thought for a moment, then nodded. “Ty did seem pleased to be going there, as if it suited his purpose well.”
Mell cupped her hands around his and warmed them. “Aye. I saw that sly look too. I confess I found Ty pleasing at first, but now I begin to see an unkind light in his devious eye. I fear his magicks. But I fear his command of the caarkers even more. They are spiteful creatures that would take a man’s finger for food if they could.”
“And lately I see more of them about,” Rolan muttered.
“Then do as I ask and be wary,” Mell said. “The Kaal need you, Rolan. Ride with care. May the Fathers bless you and bring you home safely.”
And she kissed his hands and parted from him, leaving him standing alone in the night, wondering on all she had said. When at last he turned to go back to his shelter, he found his way blocked by Pine Onetooth.
“Girl, be about your bed,” he said, striding past and giving no heed to what she might or might not have heard.
“I would ride with the men on the morrow,” she called.
“You will not,” Rolan said bluntly. He wafted her words away into the darkness.
Pine smiled and raised her arm. A large black shape quickly settled upon it. “They know,” she said.
Ark! the caarker replied. It leaned forward, making a retching sound. And out of its throat it brought up a tooth, which it dropped, along with a trail of black dribble, into Pine’s open hand.
Despite Rolan’s protest, Pine did journey with them on the morrow. As the men were assembling, Ty trotted Shade forward. Pine was sitting in front of him, singing a tune so sweet the whinney was almost dancing to it.
“Ty, what game is this?” A dark look sullied Rolan’s face. He pulled his mount around to halt their progress.
“No game,” said Ty. “If skalers are about, you may see the girl’s worth.”
“The cave is not in skaler territory,” said Oleg.
“Nor was it last time,” Ty pointed out. “Yet one of your tribesmen slew a beast there.”
A fair point, which Rolan acknowledged. “That cave is no place for a child, even so. How do we know what evil awaits us?” As he looked into Ty’s mysterious eyes, he heard his heart beating out Mell’s dire warning. The Kaal knew nothing about this stranger, yet here he was, about to ride with them to bring home the body of a man whose spirit he might have stolen? Rolan forced himself not to shudder. “I see no worth in taking Pine on this quest.”
Cob Wheeler agreed with him. “What’s the brat doing mounted?” he rumbled, striding manfully out of his shelter. A long sword hung from his belt. He jutted his chin at Pine.
“Ty wants her along,” said Rolan.
“For what? Has he not spit enough to polish his own boots?” Cob swung onto his nut-brown whinney and signaled Oleg to do the same. “We four are enough. Put the girl on the ground and let’s be on.”
But Ty would not. He waited till he had Cob’s eye and said, “Tell me something. How many times did the men of the Kaal attempt to cross the scorch line?”
Cob mused on this a moment. Leaning sideways, he spat at a scrawny mutt that was looking to raise a leg against his whinney. He lifted a bandaged hand, spreading his fingers as far as his scalds would allow. “Too many.”
Rolan said, “The beasts patrol the line. Sometimes we would steal across it, but they would always find our scent and drive us back. Cob’s burns are evidence of our endeavor. What has this to do with Pine?”
“I say she would fare better on their land than you.”
“She?” roared Cob, as if a buzzer had stung his pride.
Mell was standing close by now, a shawl around her shoulders, listening keenly.
“Men are fueled by pride and foolishness,” said Ty. “But women, especially the young of your kind, have a greater edge where skalers are concerned.”
“Our ‘kind’?” said Rolan, thinking this was an odd choice of word, but it was Mell whose voice was heard the loudest.
“Are you saying Pine can enchant the beasts?”
Ty hushed the girl. “I am saying her sweet songs might.”
“Sweet songs,” sneered Cob, tugging a rein. His whinney snorted. “The sweetest song I will hear will be the screech when I slit a skaler’s throat. Bring your songstress if you will, but lay no blame on me if she wets your whinney at the first stroke of danger.”
And he kicked his heels and the ride began.
They traveled long, in single file, at a pace considerate to their mounts. Under a sky blown clear of rain, they moved north with the mountains at their back, aiming to cross the vast swaths of moorland that would lead them to the fells where the cave was known to be. Many times Rolan looked back. Always he saw Ty trailing, though the stranger and Pine were never out of touch with the rest of the party. Pine sang all the way, though her melodies did not reach Cob’s aging ears. More disturbingly, caarkers were often in the air. Some came to Ty’s arm, bringing messages Rolan could only guess at. And only once, at a place where the sun had baked the greenness out of the erth and the yellow grass cracked like stubble under hoof, did they encounter a skaler. The beast sailed high overhead, its giant wings making the sun twice blink. “Should I sing to it?” Rolan heard Pine say. Ty replied with a quiet no. He shook the reins and let Shade walk on, paying no heed to the beast. Rolan, for all his doubts about Ty, found himself admiring the stranger’s boldness. For although the men were well clear of the scorch line, there would be nothing to stop the skaler attacking if the fancy took it. Was it patrolling the region? he wondered. Did it know that one of its kind lay dead in a cave just a day’s ride away from here? Was it looking for those who had slain its kin? Its spiked head tilted suddenly, the eyes rippling like a stone breaking water. For one terrifying moment, they seemed to focus on Rolan alone. It was like the worst chill of winter, that look. But the beast turned away and was swallowed up by cloud. Slowly, its wing
beats diminished. With it Rolan’s fear began to thaw.
At a bend in the river where the men made camp that night, there was much grim chatter around the fire. Some of it to do with the skalers, and some with the darkeye creatures that had twice appeared from nowhere to battle the beasts.
“I have been thinking on a thing,” said Rolan, stirring a pot of congealing stew that he no longer fancied he would put into his gut. “It bothers me that Ned came home from his quest, speaking his yarn of a skaler slain, but saying nought about the darkeyes he and the others planned to raise against them. Does that not seem to you strange?”
Oleg warmed his hands by the fire. “There would be no tale to tell if the darkeyes had already flown. We all saw them in the sky a second time, doing battle.”
“Aye, mebbe,” Rolan sighed. Oleg’s deduction was reasonable enough, but only half an answer, he thought. He was thinking about Mell Whitehair’s warning that some kind of evil might be present in the cave. But if that were true, why had Ned not spoken of it? He tipped the gristle from his stew pot onto the fire, preferring to chew on his musings instead.
“It seems to me,” said Ty, who was idly whittling a stick to a point, “that our quest would be thwarted by the presence of these creatures. Perhaps we should be thankful that your friend reported no sign of them.”
“Ned Whitehair was no friend to the Kaal,” muttered Cob, digging a stone from the heel of his boot. “He and his boy have brought nought but death upon the tribe. I’ll hear no talk of them.”
Rolan knocked his fists together. “And I cannot sit here and slight the dead. I will be at peace when this deed is done and we are riding away from that cave with Waylen.”
Dark Wyng Page 3