After burying the stained snow in a fresh mound of white, he paused to survey the area. Once satisfied he had not left any evidence of his kill, he made the slow trek back to the cabin. Although his legs had gone numb from the cold, and the effort of wading through heavy snow had made him tired, he did not relax until he stood on the porch once more, protected by the sapphire glow of the crystals.
He would need to process the cat after lunch. Until then, it would keep best outside, so he draped the hide over a railing to dry, and then hung the bag from a hook in the porch ceiling.
Satisfied with the results of his hunt, he opened the cabin door, ready to thaw out his clothes by the fire, but did not get the chance before a solid force shoved him backward into the snow.
CHAPTER NINE
NICK SAW the flash of skin above his head. Clothing flew by, hinting at denim and the deep blue of a thick sweater. Sun glinted off an allestone sword. Then all signs of the person disappeared. He jumped to his feet and tore across the field, forcing his way through the snow with as much speed as he could muster.
They were halfway to the edge of the forest when he caught up with Meaghan. She spun around to face him, and he tackled her, barely missing the edge of her sword as she swung it through the air. They tumbled, rolling in the deep drifts as she bucked against him. White blurred his vision. Ice bit his skin. Snow burrowed under his collar and inside his sleeves. Finally, he came to rest on top of her. She cried out in pain, and then went limp.
She had tried this ploy once before. He remembered it and anticipated what came next. She pushed once more against him, trying to throw him off with her knees. He tightened his hold, pinning her arms at her sides with his legs, her shoulders to the snow with his hands. Then he dropped his head next to hers, hoping somehow his voice would get through to her. Her eyes appeared blank and uncomprehending.
“Meg, you're safe,” he said. “You're safe. I have you.”
This time when she stopped struggling, it was not an act. Tears streamed down her face. Climbing to his feet, he looked for her sword, but found no hint of it along the compacted snow where they had fought. His eyes fell on a trail of red etched into the white and his throat constricted. The sword would have to wait. He scooped Meaghan into his arms and carried her into the cabin.
He set her down on her cot. Her eyes remained closed. Shivers rattled her body, chattering her teeth. She tightened her fingers at her sides, clenching them into fists. They had turned blue from the short time she had been in the cold, as had her feet.
“Meg,” he said, stroking a hand across her forehead. “Open your eyes for me, please.”
She did not respond and it took him another moment to understand why. She slept. Not just now, but when she had run into the field. Dreams had driven her, nightmares that roused her consciousness to the point of movement, but not to the point of reality.
Fortunately, he had arrived when he did. If he had not, she could be in the woods by now. It would not have taken her long to freeze. Or worse, she could have found the Mardróch her dreams had spurred her to fight.
It seemed it would be best not to leave her alone until the impact of Vaska's death had eased from her memory. She shivered again, curling her arms against her chest, and then winced in her sleep. He remembered the bloodstained snow and pushed up her sweater to check her wound. As he had suspected, she had popped a few stitches, though her bleeding had not seeped through. The old injury had not been the source of the blood in the snow. He cleaned and bandaged the wound, then pulled off her sweater and tossed it into the corner so he could examine her skin.
He found no injuries on her stomach or sides. Checking her back, he found nothing there either. She stirred, still asleep, and raised her hands to his neck. Her fingers still held the chill of outdoors, but the rest of her body had warmed. When she pressed her lips against his shoulder, he brought his arms around her in turn. Her body yielded to his touch, then conformed to his caress. He drew his hands up her spine, relishing in the shudder the movement produced and in the sigh that escaped her throat.
Then his fingers reached the nape of her neck where her skin yielded to sticky warmth. He pulled his hand away. Red coated his palm, and he released her to look at the blood staining the pillow where she had laid. When he glanced back at her face, she stared at him, her eyes wide in wakefulness.
“What...?” she started to ask, but fell silent when he took her chin in his hand and turned her head. Just below her hairline, he found the wound. She must have hit a rock when they rolled over the ground. The blow had broken her skin. He pressed his fingers to a lump the size of a walnut and she hissed.
He stood, picked up a bucket, and then went outside to collect snow. When he returned, she drew her knees up to her chest and circled her arms around them. Her eyes locked with his and her cheeks flushed red. From embarrassment, he realized, and retrieved a sweater and a small cloth bag from one of the boxes under the cot where they stored their clothes. He handed the sweater to her.
“Your other sweater was ruined yesterday,” he told her.
She accepted the explanation with a nod. She started to lift the garment over her head, but stopped when he placed a hand on her wrist.
“I need to clean the blood from your hair,” he told her. “You can put it on after that.”
She nodded once more, and then leaned forward so he could sit behind her. Using the fresh snow, he washed the blood from her hair and from the wound so he could see it better. Her bleeding appeared to have stopped. Relieved, he finished cleaning the wound, and then helped her draw the sweater over her head and down her body.
“I was fighting with someone,” she said. “I dreamed there were Mardróch and when I woke, you were gone. I thought they had you, so I ran after them.” She shifted, and then winced, lifting her hand to rest it against the wound in her side. “It wasn't a dream, was it?”
“Some of it was,” Nick responded. He fixed a compress from the bag and more snow, and then pressed it to the lump on her head. “The Mardróch aren't around today. I went hunting this morning.”
“And the person I fought?”
“Me. Only it wasn't much of a fight. I tackled you to keep you from running into the forest.”
She sighed. “I don't know what I was thinking.”
“You weren't. You were reacting. Watching someone die like you did with Dell isn't the same as seeing someone killed. We all react to it differently.” She did not respond, so he pulled her against his chest and wrapped his free arm around her waist. “I couldn't sleep for days after my first battle.”
“I didn't kill him,” she whispered.
“But you had a hand in his death.”
Meaghan turned to stare at him, her eyes wide with hurt. Nick rested a hand on her shoulder.
“I didn't say that to be cruel,” he told her. “It's something you have to face, because you're reacting to it. The fear and grief you feel are normal. And if you actually have to kill someone, you'll react to that differently, too. Although I hope that never happens.”
“I thought you wanted me to,” she responded. “That's the purpose of the final field test, isn't it?”
“No, it isn't.” He lifted the compress to the back of her neck again. “The purpose is for you to defend yourself. You accomplished that in the woods yesterday, so I think it's safe to say you've passed the test. Hold this,” he said, and let go of the compress when she did as he asked. He stood and walked to the fireplace. The fire had dwindled to embers, so he rebuilt it and then checked on the soup. It had overcooked, turning the vegetables into mush, but it would be edible. He stirred it, and then glanced at Meaghan. She looked tired, and he wondered if she had slept as well last night as he had initially thought.
“I made something for you,” he said and crossed the room to retrieve her gift from a bookshelf. He tucked it behind his back and returned to her. “You've mastered the physical training. Now it's just a matter of mastering your empath power. Once you do, we
can return to the protection of the Elders.”
The shadows on her face darkened. “We've tried everything,” she reminded him. “I can't get it right.”
“I have another idea. Hold out your hands.”
Meaghan knit her brows in confusion, but extended her hands anyway. He placed the gift on top of her palms. The doll did not look like much, but he had done his best with the supplies he had been able to muster. Corn husk and leaves formed cylindrical arms and a body, as well as a ball for a head. Shredded yellow husk fashioned a skirt. Brown thread mimicked hair underneath a husk hat. Berry juice from the dried fruit in the date cake stained black eyes and red lips, and two hands clutched a bouquet of tiny, white wildflowers that Meaghan had dried in the fall. The doll only extended from the top of Meaghan's hands to just past her wrists, but she still spent several minutes studying it.
She touched the tip of her index finger to its pearl button nose and smiled. “It's beautiful, but I don't see how this will help me control my power.”
“I'll explain when you're feeling better,” Nick said. “For now, think of it as a gift. I wanted you to have something special from me.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded and then returned to the fire to dish out two bowls of soup.
In the early afternoon, Meaghan slept while Nick prepared the ambercat to roast. Although he could not cook it all at once, the meat would keep on the snowy porch for some time, so he cut the animal into segments. The hind pieces would make sweet, tender roasts, and the rest would work well in soups. He had been fortunate enough to have ambercat twice before. The first time, Cal had trapped one for Nick's birthday, the last birthday they had spent together before Cal went into hiding. The second time, a friend of Nick's mother had been generous enough to share it with them. He had also taught Nick how to prepare a fresh kill.
Once the roast hung on a spit over the fire, Nick sat at the table to read the Writer's book again. He turned the page to chapter two, but found only blank paper. He flipped another page, and then a third. When those also appeared blank, he closed the book and reopened it. Nothing. Frustrated, he set the book aside, and then looked up to find Meaghan propped on her elbows, watching him.
“It happened to you, too?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“The book. A story appeared for you. Now it's gone.”
“How did you know?”
“It happened to me a few weeks ago. What was your story about?”
He told her in as much detail as he could remember, and then frowned. “I'm not sure why it's gone.”
“Maybe because there was something in it you needed to read,” she said. “And I didn't.”
“Or the book is compromised in some way. I think it's time to contact Mom.”
Meaghan nodded, and then turned to stack a couple of pillows behind her. Nick took the opportunity to remove a long, smoke-colored crystal from his medical kit. Pressing it between his palms, he held it until it glowed, then set it next to Meaghan on the cot.
“You should have called me earlier,” a voice broadcast through the room. “I've already heard the news from Cal.”
“What news?” Nick asked.
“That Meaghan was attacked. Should I assume her injury wasn't bad?”
“She's still healing. I'm sure Cal told you we had a snowstorm, which is why he isn't able to provide a better update. I stitched Meaghan's wound, but it'll be at least a week before I can get her to the village.”
“A week? With the number of Healers floating around this kingdom that seems almost barbaric.” May's voice grew faint, then muffled. Nick recognized she spoke to someone else and waited. She returned a moment later. “I've asked someone to send a message to Cal. Until you can get Meaghan to Neiszhe's village, make her a poultice out of the green powder in your medical kit. It'll work best if you mix it with snow. Apply a thin layer to the injury over the stitches. If you want to do that now, I'll wait.”
Nick raised an eyebrow at Meaghan and she shook her head in response. “She's fine at the moment,” Nick told his mother. “We actually needed to talk to you about something else.”
“Oh?” May's tone broadcast she felt nothing could be more important than the Queen's health, but she refrained from saying anything more about it.
“Yes,” Nick said. “What can you tell us about the Writer's book?”
“Not much. Adelina's family had similar books created for important events. Most of them were destroyed with the castle, but this one hadn't been finished yet.”
“It was Adelina's idea?” Nick asked.
“It was mine. When Meaghan was born, I thought it would be nice to have a record of Ed and Adelina's wedding, so I talked to Ed about it. He had somebody in mind he wanted to use instead of the royal family Writer, so he took care of it himself.”
“Did you know the Writer?” Meaghan asked. “Was it a woman with green eyes and brown hair?”
“I don't know. Ed never told me. In fact, when he died, the book still hadn't been completed, so I thought it was lost. About two years after we moved into the new Guardian village, it showed up on my doorstep.”
Nick frowned. “I'm not sure I understand.”
“I woke up and found it at my front door, wrapped in a white cloth.”
“I see.” Nick stood and went to the table to retrieve the book. He returned to his seat on the cot, opened the book to the first blank page and stared down at it. “Where did your story appear?” he asked Meaghan.
“Toward the end,” she said, flipping the pages until she arrived at one and smoothed her finger over a creased corner. “I earmarked it. It was short, only a few pages long.”
“Mine was here,” he told her, turning back to the place his chapter had appeared. “It said 'Chapter Two'.”
“The one I saw said 'Afterward A'.”
“It may be going in order then. If it was finished after your parents died—”
“If what was finished?” May's voice interrupted from the commcrystal. “Do you want to tell me what you're talking about?”
“The book,” Nick responded. “Stories have been appearing. I'm worried it might be a ploy to mislead us.”
“What do you mean by 'appearing'?” May asked. “There's only one story.”
“And a lot of blank pages,” Nick said. “The stories are appearing on the blank pages, and then disappearing. Meaghan and I have each seen one.”
“So you think Garon is planting stories to confuse you or to get you to do something?”
“I wouldn't put it past him. I'm just not sure how he could have gotten the book to you in the village when he didn't know where you were.”
“He wouldn't have had to know,” May responded. “He would only have had to convince another Guardian to deliver it. That person may not have realized he was doing something wrong.”
“True,” Nick decided. “So how do we know for certain what this is?”
“Start by telling me what you read.”
Nick told her the story that had appeared to him. His mother interrupted several times to ask specific questions about trivial items, such as which side of the bed Ed lay on, and what type of stone comprised the spearhead, but fell silent when the story ended. After a few minutes, she spoke again.
“It's true,” she said. “All of it. Adelina and Ed never told Garon anything more than what he heard and saw during the healing. Only the four of us knew everything.”
“They told you what happened after you left?” Nick asked in surprise.
“Everything,” May repeated. “Ed and Adelina both felt strongly that Meaghan was the reason for their wedding. They told Cal and me because they wanted us to understand the importance of protecting her. It was,” May's voice cracked, “an emotional day for us when we found out about Adelina's pregnancy. They told us the whole story that day.”
“So this can't be Garon's doing,” Nick realized. “He couldn't have known those details.”
“I doubt it
,” May responded. “But we can't rule anything out. What story appeared for you, Meaghan?”
“It wasn't a story,” Meaghan answered. “Not really. It was my father sitting beside a woman with brown hair and green eyes. They talked about the wedding while she took notes. I assumed she was the Writer.”
“That's as good a theory as any,” May said. “Did either of you do anything unusual to trigger the stories? Maybe ask the book for more?”
“Not that I recall,” Nick said.
“Me neither,” Meaghan answered, and then frowned as she picked up the book. She flipped to the creased page and ran her fingers over it. “I was thinking something though. I've probably read the first story twenty times since you gave me the book. I have every detail memorized. After I read it the last time, I thought it would be nice if I had something more to read, something about my parents. The story appeared then. It stayed for a few days, but as soon as I decided to show it to Nick, it disappeared again.”
May grunted. “Well, it's odd for certain, but I don't think the book poses any threat. Just be wary of new stories, and report anything suspicious to me.”
“All right,” Nick agreed and picked up the crystal to shut it off, but paused when his mother spoke again.
“It's too bad we don't have any Seers or Dreamers around. They'd be able to tell us something about this, but no one has showed either of those powers since Abbott. I wish he hadn't succumbed to the potion again. He could have been invaluable to us. Instead, his betrayal cost so much.”
Meaghan's head snapped up. “Betrayal?” she mouthed at Nick.
Nick kept his eyes glued on the crystal.
“Anyway,” May said, “let Meaghan rest. Don't forget the poultice.”
“I won't,” Nick promised and cupped his hands around the commcrystal.
It turned dark again, but the dense gray clouding the crystal did not come close to the blackness shadowing Meaghan's face.
Aerenden: The Gildonae Alliance (Ærenden Book 2) Page 7