“If this has always been home,” she said, “what happened? How did it get like this?”
Friedrich shrugged. “It happened gradually, but in a way that, looking back, it feels like it was overnight.”
He chewed his bread, his face thoughtful.
“Once, this place was like I imagine any other town. It had its problems, but for the most part, people were good and decent. The Minister, that’s what we called the headman, was fair, somewhat hard-working, and mostly honest. He used the office to enrich himself, but no more than would be expected. Made some good decisions and some bad. Like any other town.”
He stopped and took a small sip from his cup. Celia ate her bread and waited for him to continue.
“The Minister lived, well, lives still, I guess, in the large house at the end of the main street. It comes with the job, although his father was Minister before him, and his before that. I’m not sure anyone even noticed when it became hereditary. As long as they weren’t too corrupt, most of us didn’t care. Let us alone to live our lives, you know?
“Then he started being seen less and less frequently. Instead of showing up for town celebrations or events, he sent others in his place, with the excuse that he was too busy, or ill, or whatever they said. People noticed, but we didn’t put too much stock in it. He was just putting on airs, getting too good to associate with the common man, that sort of thing.”
“Then he stopped everything.” This from Greta, reemerging from the other room, her eyes still red. She took a seat at the table and reached for a slice of bread. “We never saw him again, but the proclamations started coming from the manor. No more celebrations, longer work days, more taxes. Things like that. Folk started to grumble.”
“And to make it all worse, the constables started to disappear,” Friedrich continued. “At first no one noticed. If you don’t have need, who wants to see a constable, right? Then, some people did notice, and as you would suspect, they were the type of people who were used to watching out for them. The bad elements started to get bolder, taking what they wanted, and growing more brazen all the time. Before long, no one was even trying to stop them.”
“Where was your Minister?”
“No one knows,” Greta said. “The proclamations stopped also. No word from the manor and no one has gone in our out. We woke one morning and the place was boarded up. Soon after that, they showed up.”
“The hunters,” Celia said.
“That’s as good a name as any for them,” Friedrich said. “That first night, there were only a few, but they took people right from the street, dragging them away, toward the manor. Some tried to fight them, and they were either beat down or killed. And that whistling noise they make was enough to unnerve most folk.”
“Didn’t anyone try to kill them?”
“You hit one,” he answered. “What did it feel like?”
“It was hard, like it was made of wood.”
Friedrich nodded. “They can’t be hurt. Blows bounce off them. And when it got fully dark, they went away. People hoped they were gone, but they came back with the dawn, then gone again with the light. The next evening, there were more. People thought it was those who were dragged away the night before, but no one knows for sure. Maybe they are, changed somehow, or maybe they’re something else.”
Greta reached for her husband’s cup and took a sip. “Lyssa slipped out on us. We kept her in almost all the time. She was such a pretty girl. There was a lot of danger for one like her, and not only from those hunters. But she wanted more than just these walls around her. Foolish.”
Tears stood in her eyes again as she talked about her daughter, and Celia’s heart went out to her. “Hasn’t anyone tried to get into the manor? They must be coming from there.”
Friedrich looked down at the table. “People are afraid. What if those things are in there all the time, not just at dawn and dusk? And what if that makes them come out more often?”
“And everyone just lets things go?”
“I’m afraid so. Those of us who are left,” Greta said.
“Why not leave? I understand this is home, but surely it’s time.”
“Where would we go?” Friedrich asked. “I know nothing but Dunfield. I’ve never been beyond its borders.”
“And others have tried,” Greta said. “They didn’t make it far. Their mutilated bodies were found in the fields. They didn’t die easily.”
Celia took another slice of bread, her mind racing. She was here now, and from what they just told her, she was trapped as much as they. Unless she could find that gate and go home.
She looked down at the bread in her hand. Bread that two poor people, who didn’t even know her, shared with her. It was obviously the only thing they even had to eat. And who knew how they fared compared to others? Perhaps this represented riches in this place.
She could go home, and leave them all behind, leave them to their fates.
Although, she couldn’t. Solomon wouldn’t. He’d fix things first. And she could do no less.
“Tomorrow,” she said, “I want to see that manor.”
Chapter 18
“Ah, it’s good to be home!” Orlando smiled down at her from his horse and Shireen returned it. It was good to have him back, too.
“How did it go?” she asked, holding the bridle while he dismounted.
“Good, overall. Should we talk out here?”
“No, let’s go somewhere more private. It’s no secret you were gone, but there’s no sense in blabbing about it in the open.”
Orlando smiled again, took her hand and she led him to their tree. They hadn’t been there together enough lately, even before he left. Yes, she wanted to know how his visits to the other Houses went. But that could come later.
♦ ♦ ♦
Orlando chuckled as he sat up in the bed, the covers thrown over his lap, and reached for a cup of wine on the bedside table.
“What’s so funny?” Shireen asked.
“This. I’m just now realizing how many conversations you and I have had in this bed.”
She smiled herself at that. Orlando and she had been together for years, yet there were still times they acted as if they were newly in love. It was a nice feeling.
“Well, we’re going to have another one,” she said, scooting up herself and leaning against him. She reached for the wine and took a sip. “So, tell me.”
“For the most part, it went as we expected. The other Houses, the minor ones, agree that Jamshir needs to be reprimanded for what he did.”
She snorted. “Reprimanded? For attacking another House and bringing the Soul Gaunts in?”
“That was the word I heard the most. When I pressed, I was told that the form of that reprimand could be anything from a formal censure, which I’m not even sure what that means, to outright removal as Head of House.”
“But none are willing to call for it, or to back us?”
“Exactly. The feeling seems to be wait and see. I guess they want to see what we do.”
“And they want to wait for Solomon. How many did you tell that he was away?”
“Pretty much all of them. They all wanted to know what he planned.”
“What did you tell them?”
“For most, I told them that he left the Greenweald on an important errand and was expected back shortly. I didn’t say why or what the errand was.”
She nodded. It was only to be expected. The news of his first return made the rounds of the other Houses as quickly as that of the battle. And it was assumed that he would take Jediah’s place as Head of House.
“You said, ‘for most’?”
“I told the new Head of Whispering Pines what was really going on.”
“And?”
“And she was surprised by the news that Celia was still alive, as we all were. She was glad that Solomon went after her, though. Their new Head is named Jocasta. I didn’t get out of her where she came from, but she’s a relation of Florian’s. I think you’d get a
long well with her.”
Shireen snuggled down into the bedclothes and covered a yawn with her hand.
“At least we know all the Houses aren’t siding with Jamshir,” she said.
Outside, the light was fading. She really should get up and go back to her office. No matter how much Samuel did, it seemed there was always a stack of papers waiting for her attention. Solomon really needed to find Celia and get back here. This wasn’t the life for her.
She was still thinking that when she felt Orlando slide down next to her and put his arm across her body. It was nice to have him back, she thought, as she drifted off.
♦ ♦ ♦
The room was dark when she woke, although her internal clock told her that it was only late evening. Orlando slept soundly and never stirred as she slipped out of bed, found her clothes and tiptoed from their room. Minutes later she was entering her office in the main tree of the compound.
To her shock, Samuel was still at his desk, organizing, signing, filing and who knew what else.
“Why are you still here?” she asked.
He looked up at her, his normally bright eyes bleary. “Oh, Lady Shireen. I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming.”
“Never mind that. What are you doing here?”
“There was work to catch up on, my Lady. A House as large as this one never stops, and there is so much that still needs to be put in place and repaired after the fight.”
Shireen shook her head. She admired dedication and felt a strong dose of it for her House herself, but Samuel was going to kill himself if he kept this up.
“You need to get out of here,” she said.
“My lady?”
“No, I’m serious. You’re done for tonight. And you know what? Tomorrow, too. I don’t want to see you in here until the day after.”
“But…there’s still…” The look he gave her was almost pathetic in its appeal, which only strengthened her resolve.
“That’s final. What good will you be to yourself, me, or this House if you work yourself to death? I’ll manage for a day on my own. You get some rest, come back all the stronger. Hey! Why don’t you go look at some birds or something?”
She meant it as a helpful suggestion, but his expression told her it came out differently.
“I mean that,” she tried again. “I admit, I don’t get the fascination, but it’s something you enjoy. Go do that for a day.”
Samuel sighed and put down the paper he was holding, the sides crinkled where he had been squeezing it. Absentmindedly he smoothed it out. “Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “I am quite tired. And this time of year is perfect for nesting birds of certain orders.”
“There you go! Now get out of here and have a day of fun tomorrow.”
This job really was getting to her. A day of fun? She’d never used those words in her entire life before. Not even when she was having one. Of course, those days were usually in the saddle, far from the compound, out in the untamed places with Orlando. Most people still called that work, but for her it was about as perfect as it could get.
“Good night then, Lady Shireen. And thank you.”
He gave a slight bow of his head and walked off.
Shireen shook her head as she entered her own office and let out a small groan.
It was as she feared. The stack of papers waiting for her attention had grown.
Chapter 19
The light was barely bright enough for Solomon to see as he jogged along, keeping his sight on the ground in front of him. Whatever that figure in white was, it was no spirit, as if he needed more proof of that. The signs it left of its passage were subtle, but Solomon was an excellent scout and could follow the trail. Not easily, but he could do it.
He didn’t rush, going slowly enough to stay nearly silent, in case he came upon the thing, which was exactly what he didn’t want. It was better for it to run all the way to this mysterious town, Dunfield, and leave a trail for Solomon to follow. That was better than trying to find any landmarks that Gan-Rowe would have given him.
Before he left the Mar-trollid, Yag-Morah had given him a tea that she said would help fortify him, even without the benefit of breakfast. After the first sip, Solomon had agreed, and between that and the adrenaline flowing through him at the thought of being near to Celia, he was wide awake and fully aware.
The land he travelled through now was scrub pine and tall weeds. Meadows, maybe even fields that were once tilled and now allowed to slowly return to a wild state. Birds greeted the burgeoning light with a cacophony of songs, and a deer and her fawn watched him cautiously as he passed by.
It was almost idyllic; a place Solomon would have loved to linger for a while if his quest wasn’t so urgent. But given what Gan-Rowe told him of Dunfield, and the fact that the monster he fought a short hour ago was heading in that direction, he had no time to dawdle.
Perhaps when he found Celia and she was safe they could return here. Spend a day walking among the wildflowers and listening to the birds. Visit the Mar-trollid and find out more about them.
It was a nice thought that wasn’t going to happen. He had responsibilities back home, in the Greenweald. He’d promised Shireen that he wouldn’t be long. While the idea of being Head of House wasn’t very appealing to him, he knew it was galling to her. Being the best person for the job didn’t automatically mean you wanted it, after all.
The sky gradually brightened as he ran and soon it was daylight. With the rising of the sun, the trail he was following disappeared completely. One moment he was able to track it, clear to his trained eyes, and the next it was gone like it never existed.
“What the…?” He slowed down and turned in place, searching for any sign of it.
It was useless, the trail was completely gone.
But it had run in a straight line ever since leaving the camp of the Mar-trollid. There was no reason to assume that it would suddenly veer off in another direction, unless the creature he was following intended that very thing. Which was a possibility, but it didn’t seem to have that much guile. Even when Solomon burst into the wagon, it had stuck to its seemingly single-minded purpose of taking the Mar-trollid female.
No, chances are it continued toward the city in a straight line, so that’s what Solomon would do. If he was wrong, he could always return to the Mar-trollid camp and get better directions from Gan-Rowe. A thought he didn’t relish, but at least it was a backup.
He could move faster now that he no longer needed to search for markings. His stride lengthened until it became a run that would eat up the miles, yet one he could easily maintain.
All morning, he kept in the same direction, stopping only when the sun was almost directly overhead to drink some of the water that Yag-Morah had given him. Then, he pushed on, into the afternoon, passing rabbits, birds and the occasional larger animal.
Off in the distance, he saw a dark, straight line, low on the horizon. Straight lines in nature usually meant something man-made, and Solomon thought he guessed right. It was still an hour or two off, but that must be the walls of Dunfield.
He continued, neither seeing nor hearing the signs of any other living thing. No scurrying through the tall grass to get out of his path, no birds singing in the branches of the low and twisted evergreens. It was silent everywhere except where his feet softly hit the earth.
The city grew larger as he neared, but not much clearer. There was a sort of haze around it, obscuring the view.
Solomon didn’t have a magical bone in his body. Not like Thaddeus and some others. Still, he was getting a bad feeling from the place in front of him, like it was warning him away.
Well, let it. Other things tried to do that over the course of his life, and he hadn’t listened those times either. If Celia was there, that was where he was going and woe to anyone who stood in his way.
He was preoccupied with the sight and feeling the city generated when his foot caught on something and sent him stumbling. His arms windmilled as he fought for, the
n lost, his balance and crashed to the ground.
“Ouch,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his skinned elbow. He turned to see what it was he tripped on.
A body lay in the meadow. It must have been there for quite some time. The skin was dried out and brown, pulled tight across its features. The eyes were gone, the sockets gazing emptily at him, while the mouth seemed to grin, enjoying the joke of tripping him up.
The clothes that hadn’t rotted away were simple, drab and of poor quality, and the feet, also brown and dried, were shoeless.
Most importantly to Solomon’s eye was the direction that the person was probably heading in when they died. Leaving the city. Now, the head faced backward, staring silently at him, but that was because he had kicked it, turning it over. The rest of the body was still lying with its back to the city in the near distance.
Frowning, Solomon climbed to his feet, considering giving whoever it was a decent burial, then deciding against it. He had no implement to dig into the soil with. He resolved that when he reached the town, he would let them know that this poor soul was out here, so they could be laid to rest properly. He bowed his head for a moment in respect, then turned and continued.
Only to come across another body a short distance later, and one after that. Soon, they dotted the landscape and Solomon saw that he might have been mistaken with the first one. Several of the bodies had their heads twisted the wrong way, as if they were fleeing when something caught them from behind, wringing their necks as they ran.
His mind flashed back to the large figure in white from this morning. That thing had the strength to do something like this. But why would it? Why kill and leave the bodies lying scattered about?
As he neared the city walls he noticed a change in the bodies. Several of them showed signs of further damage. Something had been at them, even though there was still no sign of wildlife anywhere that he could see.
Then, one of the bodies moved. Solomon jumped, the thought that it was going to stand up and resume walking, dead or not, flashing into his mind. His hand went to his sword, then he relaxed when he saw the long, pink, hairless tail in the grass.
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