by J. C. Hendee
It was too late to take back those words
Karras flinched and barely raised his ku’ê’bunst in time.
The wild-eyed shirvêsh struck with his studìhallû. The long, iron-ribbed war staff cracked against the haft of Karras’ own weapon. He felt the force shudder through his hands, his arms and torso, his bones and…
He began to fall into that chasm, as he had on the plain.
In that moment, when he had given up on life, he had wanted only to take his enemy with him into death. Everything darkened around him, and he barely heard Kaitlin's scream.
“Both of you, stop, please!”
His boots hit bottom, and this time his legs did not shake upon impact. Again, his feet did not shift. Again that cold, solid chill came but not in a way that he felt it. It was another type of chill.
Gän'gehtin's blow echoed back up through Karras' bones.
Some of us think that we are then stone itself.
Even as Fiáh'our's words came back, Karras did not think as he wrenched his weapon braced on the staff. He slammed it down with all of that force echoing back through his bones along with his own.
A clang and crack struck his ears.
It was as far away as Kaitlin's shouts.
Gän'gehtin stumbled back, arms spread wide as if both had been struck aside.
Shock made Karras stall. What he saw awakened him to feel that cold within him.
Gän'gehtin—Gän—stumbled another step in retreat. Slack-jawed with gaping eyes, his studìhallû was split in two. No, not split but shattered. Its halves in his separate hands, the iron ribs along its top half were ripped and bent at their bottom ends. The two pieces of the oak core were ragged with splinters at the break.
Karras began to shake. In a half-step, he looked for any terrible wound he had caused.
There was none, but there could have been.
His breaths turned to horrified gasps. He did not believe he could have stood long against the shirvêsh in any other way. But with stone…
He dropped his weapon, shrank away from it, and panted in panic over and over…
“I am sorry… sorry… am sorry…”
In the last year, he had had only Fiáh'our and Gän to depend on. One was gone to who knew where and what, and he had turned on the other in the worst way. It did not matter that the shirvêsh had not listened to him.
Karras dropped his eyes.
Any relief at causing no harm to a friend did not stop his begging for forgiveness. In Fiáh'our's warning had been a hint of something more for those who came to truly know stone and take it within themselves. And to his horror, Karras had missed it until almost too late.
…stone will not care, for it is heartless… and cold.
14. Irin's Last Night
The rush to get the villagers to Fieldhaven was uneventful. They neither saw nor heard a single sluggïn along the way, though Gän'gehtin kept looking back too often. Even this was little relief in that long day as Karras carried little Kaity on his back the whole way.
Thankfully the girl had been behind the downed pine and saw nothing of what had happened in the ravine.
Not a word passed between Karras and Gän'gehtin about that or anything else. Any necessary words from Kaitlin for either of them came with harsh looks. Karras avoided the ex-sage's eyes in shame.
Only once did he mistakenly meet those eyes and quickly looked away; in them he saw himself as the monster little Kaity had run from one frigid night.
Without stone, he knew he would have never stood long against Gän. He also realized—now—that the shirvêsh would have done no more than needed to get past him. With stone might have been another matter, another outcome. That thought sickened him for what he might have done, if Gän had not come to his senses and stopped first.
Entering Fieldhaven was not simply walking in.
It was larger than any inland settlement beyond the Numan nations. It looked like a sprawling fortress, and yet all within it huddled in a yearly winter's fright like any other on the frontier.
Bowmen and pikemen patrolled the high inner walkway of the stockade, which seemed made from full tree trunks. The double gate would have been wide enough for two cargo wagons at once, if it had been open. They were “greeted” by armed men rushing out of an access door in the gate before they were within a stone's throw of the stockade.
Four pikemen in hardened leather armor came at them as pairs of archers fanned out to either side in watching everywhere. Once everyone was inspected, and Kaitlin spoke to a tall guard with a tip-curled black beard and mustache, the refugees were quickly herded inside.
Much as it might have seemed the town was well defended, there were few other militia beyond those seen from the outside. Even Fieldhaven had dwindling residents under the yearly growing raids.
Less than a fourth of the villagers had escaped. None but Kaitlin were true adults. There would be no one who could return. And they learned that Fieldhaven's town council ordered the broken village be burned as soon as it was safe to send men to do so. Better that than leave it as a refuge or encampment for any pack that remained or returned.
That nightfall was the end of Irin's Village.
Karras felt more broken than ever. Gän'gehtin grew furious in defeat. Kaitlin made little argument, for it was pointless. And all of them along with the others spent the night in a commonhouse. At least the proprietor never asked for any coin.
Karras did not sleep much that night where he sat with his back against the far wall. He was half-awake when he heard the commonhouse's front door open and frigid air swarmed the room.
The hearth fire had waned in the dark, but dim light entered until the door slammed shut. That did not cut off the chill, and Karras woke fully and blearily looked about.
Between tables and benches, children stirred where they slept on the floor. Kaitlin sat up where she had bedded down near the hearth with the littler ones. She looked about as well.
Karras had already seen who was not there anymore. He cast off his blanket, rose quickly, and wondered if the absence meant word of Fiáh'our and the others had come. Before hurrying for the door, he paused once.
“Stay,” he whispered to Kaitlin. “I will be back.”
She nodded before he rushed outside and was struck to the bones by the cold. Dawn was close as he looked up and down the street's frozen mud.
There was Gän, tromping toward the town's eastward end with the thicker, iron-banded half of his severed studìhallû in one hand. The shirvêsh did not slow until Karras caught up.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “Did you hear something? Did someone come to—?”
“No,” Gän'gehtin answered and finally halted. “No one came.”
Karras was lost for an instant, and Gän still did not look at him.
“Then where are you going?” he asked.
“To find them.”
Karras felt dawn's chill even more, all the way to his mind.
This might be nothing but another excuse to go hunting the pack. Just the same, Fiáh'our had not returned, and now that Kaitlin, Katie and the others were safe…
“I am going with you.”
Gän'gehtin halted, though he said nothing and only blinked slowly with an even slower sigh.
“Wait here,” Karras added with emphasis. “I will take only a moment.”
He went running back to the commonhouse and burst through the door, startling many who were only now rousing. Not slowing, he scavenged what he could: a blanket, a waterskin, and half a loaf of half-dried bread.
“What are you doing?” Kaitlin demanded, rising to come at him. “Where is Gän'gehtin?'
Karras stalled in stuffing his sack. “We are going back to look for Fiáh'our and the others.”
“No!” she ordered. “If he is… lost. You two would fair even worse. Bring Gän'gehtin back here, now.”
“I cannot stop him,” Karras insisted, turning to her. “Whatever we find, I have to be there to keep him… from… going to
o far.”
As he turned away, he faltered a last time.
Little Kaity sat silent in William's lap before the hearth as Jeron fumbled at restarting the fire. The girl had still not said a word in all of the time he had known her.
“I will be back,” Karras claimed as he rushed for the door.
15. Small Mercy
Rughìr could not run for long, but no other race could go as far without pause. Among their warriors, so much the more. Karras and Gän'gehtin took turns marching in the lead while the other followed behind and “slept.”
Well, perhaps Gän slept.
Karras feared falling on his face or awakening to find his companion gone. It was a long half-day, and he was in the lead when the town appeared in the distance. When he looked over his shoulder, he did not have to awaken the shirvêsh.
The sun had burned away most clouds, but that made a clear day all the colder in winter as they slowed and crept the distance to the broken stockade. There they crouched outside a gap to peek in and listened even longer before entering.
They knew—or Karras did—that the return to Fieldhaven would end after nightfall or later, depending on how long it took Gän to be satisfied. Food or water left in the village could keep them from depleting what little they had brought, but there was little to find. Nothing but a few sacks of dried oats and wild grains, so they refilled waterskins on their way through to the northward gate.
Karras had no idea what they would find let alone how they would find whatever they did find. The more fearful part of him did not want to find anything.
No matter how awful events turned on them in the last year, mostly because of Fiáh'our charging into anything, nothing ever seemed to stop the blusterer. This time, it had been two days and nights since Fiáh'our had left and not returned.
Karras peered out the same gate they had left ajar two days ago. Nothing moved as far as he could see to the distant, forested sloped.
This did not comfort him.
“We should stay on the plain,” he said, but when Gän'gehtin glanced his way, not blinking, he added “as long as possible.”
The shirvêsh stepped out the gate, the upper half of his studìhallû still in hand. Karras followed in clenching his ku'ê'bunst with both hands.
At least Gän kept clear of the trees at first as they strode farther eastward than expected. The forested slope rose along the way to the height of a ridgeline. It had never been safe to go this far from any tiny enclave of civilization, and Karras considered it even less safe now.
They ate what little they had brought and, when finished, Karras looked back and up.
The sun had dropped another fifth or maybe fourth along its path to the west. No doubt they would not reach Fieldhaven until well after full dark, and he heard Gän sigh sharply and step onward. When he turned about, the shirvêsh was headed straight into the trees, and after a panicked stall, Karras hurried to catch up.
“It is getting late,” he said, not quite a whisper.
That was when he noticed how little there was to hear. There was no breeze, no birds flapping off in a panic at their approach, nothing else at all but their footfalls crushing wilted leaves and half-frozen tree needles.
Karras often peered upward in remembering his first foray with Fiáh'our. Sluggïn'ân could climb fast, linger above in watching, and drop on you. He tripped on something more than once but still did not lower his gaze—until he bumped into Gän'gehtin.
The shirvêsh had stopped halfway up the forested slope. Karras made out the ridge-top where it fell away to the far side, and then Gän crouched.
“What?” Karras whispered.
The shirvêsh did not answer at first and only fingered and poked the frosted mulch.
“Only them,” Gän’gehtin whispered sharply. “No tracks for the others.”
Lost at first, Karras realized others meant Fiáh'our and those with him. As to them, he saw where the mulch and soil was torn and compressed by long feet with thick toes. There were gouges from claws as well. He looked about and thought he saw other places among the trees with tracks or trails like those.
So where were the tracks of the others?
The pack had turned eastward but not Fiáh'our?
“They were moving fast,” Gän'gehtin added as he rose.
The shirvêsh looked east and west more than once, perhaps caught between finding Fiáh'our or hunting the pack. Karras did not like this at all, especially that Gän apparently thought both would not be found in the same direction. He looked only westward.
Winter suns passed low in the sky, and now it had dropped even more toward the west. Shadows grew long and dark in creeping through the forest at him. When he glanced back, Gän still faced the other way, and he elbowed the shirvêsh.
“Come.”
They headed west in backtracking the pack's path. That had to be where they would find anything left to be found. Both remained silent for a long while.
Karras slowed in spotting something ahead that looked familiar in an odd way. In only a few steps, Gän reached out and halted him.
It was the spot where Fiáh'our had slung a sack of flaming dung.
The lit oil had not burned much after the sack ruptured, but there were still char-marks here and there around a place where the earth had been more recently torn and dug up.
The pack had scavenged what it could of its kills for food.
They stood holding their breath as they listened. They peered upward as well. They both remembered the last time they had walked into a clearing they thought was abandoned by a pack.
Karras had gained his first scars that time.
He followed as Gän rounded wide and onward, still looking up more than ahead. When he lowered his eyes the last time, he froze in facing one tree trunk wider than the breath of his shoulders.
It was nearly stripped of bark higher than he could have reached. There were similar wounds on most others within sight. The pack had been feeding off nearby trees rather than its cache of kills. Why would they do that?
There was no way to learn, and with nothing more to see, they moved on with care. It was not long before they slowed again where brush, mulch, and even smaller trees were torn-up, broken, and shredded. And they spotted bodies.
Gän rushed onward.
That first body was certainly not Fiáh'our or one of the others, but hopefully it was dead, and Karras follow quickly, clenching his ku'ê'bunst.
The shirvêsh stood over the body, his half-studìhallû half-raised as if to strike. Karras stalled a few steps away.
The huge sluggïn lay on its side with one yellow eye still open above its slack jaws. The other eye was gone; only a mess of congealed blood remained from whatever had punctured it. Head to clawed toes, it was covered in wounds, but worse, Karras' roaming gaze stopped near its feet.
Its right calf had an odd wound, as if bitten, shredded, or gnawed. Bloodied as it was, there was no blood on the mulch below. Had something bitten into it after it was dead?
There were others scattered among the nearby trees, including one missing its head, which he did not look for.
Karras had seen dead bodies before since being forced into apprenticeship to Fiáh'our. He killed once or twice himself, so dead sluggïn'ân was not what bothered him. All of his back muscles quivered at once.
He back-stepped, raising his weapon, and looked everywhere. Was it just fear or did he feel he was being watched?
“They are alive somewhere… maybe.”
Karras stiffened in fright at Gän's words. “What do mean?”
The shirvêsh pointed at that first body. “Look at that eye. An arrow did this. Now look at the others and their smaller puncture wounds… and yet I see no arrows here, broken or not.”
So 'yan had been alive when this battle began, but that was all it meant.
“Think!” Gän ordered. “Sluggïn'ân do not use bows, so they have no need to gather fallen arrows. 'yan or one of the others survived to collect them
… and with ample time to do so, even to any broken ones.”
That was not enough for Karras as he looked again to the first one. Days had passed since they had fled to hide the villagers in the ravine. If Fiáh'our and the others had not followed the pack eastward, by what Gän had said, then where were they?
Again came a quiver in his back.
This time he thought he heard something and looked upslope.
“What?” Gän asked, following his gaze.
Karras saw nothing. For just a blink, it seemed he had felt something in the ground rather than truly heard it with his ears.
This place was getting inside of him, playing tricks with his mind.
“We leave, now,” he said, turning away.
“With nothing?” the shirvêsh challenged. “There has to be something to tell us where Fiáh'our has gone.”
Karras slowed and turned on Gän. “If you could not find a trail, then I can do no better. As is, we will not reach Fieldhaven until after nightfall.”
“Not a concern,” Gän'gehtin countered, “if the pack is gone.”
Why did Karras feel the latter was not true?
“We leave, now,” he insisted. As he was about to head down out of the trees, that strange tensing of his back and neck came again. He slowed rather than freeze-up and did not turn too quickly.
Karras said nothing for fear of being heard by whatever was out here with them. It would have attacked by now if it wished to or could have, so he wanted to spot it before it slipped away again. He took more slow steps but turned a little each time, until he could glance sidelong upslope for…
Gän'gehtin suddenly raced by him, headed westward.
Karras hesitated before charging after the shirvêsh. By the time he caught up, Gän stood silently looking down at a body partially covered in thrashed-up forest mulch.
It was Jackdaw.
Karras wanted to look away but could not. A dead sluggïn'ân was awful enough. It was worse to find anything left of a slaughtered villager. Neither was like looking into the pallid, clawed face of someone he knew by name.
Both of the ex-bandit’s eyes were closed, so he had not died instantly. And worse than that face, the lower half of his right arm had been torn off at the elbow. Someone, somehow, had had time to bind that ragged stump with some type of twine, though it had not saved his life. And why had he been left here?