by D A Godwin
“She looked to need it more.”
“You’re getting good at healing people.”
“Eluria sees fit to answer my prayers.”
“And…?”
“And… it makes me feel good,” she replied.
“I’d say your choice of gods was a good one.”
He looked up and down the road. Seeing it empty except for themselves, he waved her into the woods. “Shall we find our way to your uncle now?”
They found the narrows Quinten had spoken of a mile downstream, though the river was not nearly as narrow as Tormjere had hoped. Water flowed fast over and around a collection of massive boulders, but it looked as if they could make most of the crossing without getting wet. It would have been perfect if not for what lay on the opposite bank.
Along the far side of the river, a portage had been built, with greased wooden skids where a boat could be pulled by teams of mules over the rocks instead of against the current. Several wooden shacks and a small fenced pasture had been constructed nearby.
“We cannot cross here, can we?” she asked.
“Not without being seen. It would be easiest to go back across the bridge and find our way out of town without being spotted.”
“I do not want to go back through the town. What if we wait until night to cross?”
“I thought you didn’t want to swim.”
“I would rather take our chances with the water than the town.”
“The town can’t be more dangerous than that crossing. The water’s moving fast.”
“You said we were being watched.”
“I thought we were being watched. By two people, in a city of thousands.”
“I do not wish to go back!”
They stared at each other in silence.
“Please.”
He turned away. “Fine. We should be able to sneak across once the sun’s down. It shouldn’t be long.”
She could tell he did not approve of the decision, but the risk was too great if they returned. There were too many people who might recognize her, and she couldn’t hide from everyone. More than any other town they had passed through, this would be the worst one to be discovered in.
They found a sheltered place, out of sight of the portage, and began to wait. The evening was pleasant, they had food, and the constant noise of the river’s roar put them at ease.
As darkness fell, the men at the portage lit torches along the skids. The workers returned to the shacks, and Tormjere led the way down the steep embankment and onto the rocks. The air cooled above the water, enough that Kataria shivered despite the warmth of the evening.
Tormjere led the way down the river bank and onto the rocks. Half the width of the river was covered with rounded boulders, most of them larger than a house. Water rushed swiftly through the open channel near the middle, barely wide enough for two of the flat-bottomed river barges to pass side by side.
Tormjere used a branch to test the depth and found it was little more than knee deep. He stepped cautiously off the rock, then held out both hands to her. She clasped his wrists firmly and eased her way into the water. It was nearly as cold as the creeks in the mountains, but she couldn’t turn back now. Even holding his arms, she was almost swept away, and she struggled to stay upright as they inched their way slowly across the channel.
Her foot slipped over a loose stone, causing her to stumble, then slip again. As if it had been waiting for her mistake, the river surged, sweeping her legs from beneath her.
One hand lost its grip on Tormjere as water rushed over her. She struggled to keep her head above water as he tried fruitlessly to pull her back to her feet, but she was sucked under the surface, plunging her into inky blackness. The rocks beneath her feet transformed to a soft bog that seemed to pull her ever deeper into darkness. She opened her mouth to yell, but it filled with water and no sound pierced the mists that enveloped her.
Her head popped above surface. There were torches and rocks and water. Was she still in the river? Blackness dragged her under once more. Dark tendrils tugged at her from every direction while jagged black peaks surged upwards, but this time there was no light above her, only darkness and… pain, on her wrist. Two hands held her.
Tormjere!
She pulled herself towards him. The blackness disappeared as her head rose above the surface once more and took a gasping breath. He was behind her, a dark shape standing firm against the torrent of frothing white water that shot over and around him.
Her foot found a rock, and she pushed towards him, her face barely above the surface.
Something bumped against her leg, and suddenly they were both flying downriver, bouncing into and over the rocks.
Tormjere dragged his feet along the bottom until they struck against something solid. Planting his feet firmly, he wedged himself against a boulder. She gripped his shoulder and managed to climb up and onto the rock.
Never letting go of his hand, she lay flat against the rough stone, acting as an anchor that allowed him to pull himself free of the water.
They both lay there, gasping for air. Kataria was so drained she could have stayed there all night, but forced herself into motion as he rose to a crouch beside her.
“Stay low,” he almost shouted to be heard over the rushing water. “We need to move upriver.”
A breeze turned her wet clothes into a cloak of ice, setting her teeth chattering, but she clambered over the slippery stones after him as he led her close to where they had first attempted to cross.
From there they circled as far upriver from the lights of the portage as possible, stopping when they reached the skids.
“Crawl under there,” he said, pointing to where the skids traversed a gap between two boulders. “They look too wide to jump, and I don’t want to leave footprints in the grease.”
She nodded her understanding.
With a final check for anyone who might be watching, they scrambled on their stomachs under the skids, hurried up the steep embankment, and were in the woods once more.
The effort of crossing the river had left them exhausted and chilled, even in the warm night air. Since making a fire so close to the portage was out of the question, they pressed forward through the forest and didn’t stop until daybreak, when they found a small clearing next to a stream.
Tormjere built a small fire, then unrolled his cloak and checked the bag he kept wrapped inside. The breads and cheeses they’d purchased had turned to a soggy, gooey mess that was now spread through every nook and cranny.
“No food, then?” she asked, seeing his look of disgust.
“I could scrape some cheese together, but otherwise it’s lost.”
Kataria almost laughed at the injustice.
Tormjere pulled everything from the bag before turning it inside out and scraping it clean. He anxiously undid an oilskin that contained a small, leather-bound tome.
“What is that?” she asked.
“A spellbook.”
“That sounds mysterious.”
“Not really. It’s just words.”
“Did your wizard friend give it to you? I did not think that they shared.”
“Most of them don’t. This one did.” He set the book aside. “It might be best if we stayed here for the day. We’ve clean water, and I can set snares.”
She stifled a yawn.
“And we can rest,” he added.
“I will not object to that.”
Her body offered no protest either, as she was asleep in the grass before he even responded. She awoke near midday to find Tormjere settled back against a tree reading the book, with everything else laid out in the sun to dry. After flipping through several pages, he stood and concentrated while flicking his wrist.
Nothing happened.
He repeated the process several times as she looked on.
“Just what, exactly, are you trying to accomplish?” she asked.
“Small darts or arrows made of fire,” he said, still trying. “It’s s
omething I never—”
A flash erupted at the end of his fingers, accompanied by a sharp popping noise. Tormjere grabbed his hand and hopped around the clearing, his face contorted in pain.
“I take it,” she asked dryly, “that was not the result you were hoping for?”
Tormjere plunged his hand into the cold stream.
She sighed. “Come here and let me see it.”
With his pride more than slightly wounded, Tormjere walked over and held out his hand. She took it gently and inspected the damage.
“You are fortunate that you did not lose a finger. I am not certain that I could replace it.”
She looked into his eyes and murmured a gentle, if somewhat sarcastic, prayer to Eluria. The familiar silver glow slid over his hand, and he relaxed as the pain washed away.
“At least I got something to happen that time,” he grinned, flexing his fingers. “It’s progress.”
“I would expect a Ranger to just use a bow.”
“I keep losing them for some reason. Plus, there are times this would be more useful… if I can ever get it to work.” He rewrapped the book tightly and returned it to his bag.
Watching him ready his kit made her suddenly eager to get moving.
“How far are we from Bexville?” she asked.
“Probably three or four days. We’ll head north until we rejoin the road from Sandenmill and follow it in. There should be somewhere along the way where we can find more food.”
“And I suppose we will have to walk.” Her enthusiasm for continuing disappeared with that thought. She was still tired despite the rest, and her stomach was rumbling again. If they could just find some way to speed their journey…
“I still have no horse to offer, sorry.”
She turned back to the stream and threw a rock in frustration. I am tired of walking.
“I realize that,” Tormjere said as he checked the fire, “but we can barely afford to eat, so even if we found a horse we couldn’t buy it.”
Kataria rubbed at her temples. I have already walked across half the Kingdom…
“We were in a boat for part of it,” he helpfully corrected.
“I do not care that… wait…” She spun towards him. “You can hear what I am thinking?”
Tormjere blinked. “Can I?”
“I did not say anything—you keep answering my thoughts.”
You’re just tired and imagining things.
“I am not imagining things!”
He looked at her in surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“It is not interesting!”
“I wonder how it’s happening.”
“How? Yes, we must figure out how, so we can put a stop to it.” She pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You are doing some wizard trick, admit it.”
Tormjere held up his hands. “I promise, I’m not. I can’t do more than light a fire.”
She knew he was telling her the truth as surely as if the words had come from her own mouth, but that bothered her even more. If he could hear what she was thinking, what else could he do? Could he see what she was seeing?
“Why would you think that?”
This was getting annoying. “You have shared my dreams on more than one occasion.”
“What if they weren’t dreams?”
“I want to know.”
“Ok, try looking at something I can’t see.”
She turned her back on him and picked up one of the items laid out in the sun. “What is this?”
His eyes went unfocused, like he was peering into the distance. “Spice kit?”
She tossed it aside and grabbed something else, hunching over to make sure he couldn’t see.
“Spare knife.”
She scowled and threw it aside as well, then snatched up another item.
“I’m going to need that.”
She whirled to face him. “Get out of my head!”
“I’m not entirely sure how I got in it to begin with, but if you’re right about the dreams it’s been happening for a while now.”
She made a frustrated noise and stomped to the other side of the glade. I do not want you in my head.
“Are you sure you’re not the one doing it?”
That brought her to a stop. “I do not know. Why would I be able to do such a thing? What possible use could it be?”
“We can make a killing at cards and solve our money problem.”
“I am confident that this is not happening for such a purpose.”
He looked at her skeptically, clearly thinking that such would be a sufficiently valid reason.
She went to retrieve the items she had scattered and discovered her hand shaking. Unbidden, tears welled in her eyes.
He felt her confused jumble of emotions come flooding into his consciousness as easily as if they were his own.
“Tormjere? I do not…”
“…understand. I know.” He took the spices from her hand and placed them back in the bag. “I don’t understand either. Maybe this is a gift you possess and were simply unaware of. Maybe it’s some side-effect of healing me so many times. I’m certainly no expert on such matters, and the two people I would think of asking about it are probably half the Kingdom away. Perhaps you should…”
“…ask Eluria,” she finished, giving him a brave little smile.
“See, you’re in my head too.”
Kataria looked at their surroundings, as if seeing them for the first time.
“What has happened to me? Why am I here in the woods, hearing your thoughts? What are we running from? Why is there a war? None of this makes sense.”
“I can answer the first two, but it’s a long story.”
It was a jest meant to cheer her, but she heard the undercurrent of concern in his voice. “I just wanted to be a simple follower of Eluria. To be free of… What use could I have been to anyone?”
“A hostage, perhaps? Something to gain leverage over your father? Whatever the reason, it seems they still want you.”
Her hands clenched in her lap. “I doubt that my safety would sway my father from any path he has set himself to.”
“If not that, perhaps to force you to do something others can’t? What did you do, as a princess?”
“Nothing. My older brother will inherit the throne, and if not him then my younger brother. I will be married off to secure some alliance.”
She was certain he heard the catch in her voice, but, thankfully, he chose to ignore it.
“I won’t try to read your mind all the time. Besides, it could be worse. You could have gained an ability to talk to squirrels. Think of how boring that would be.”
He was trying, but his attempts at levity did little to change her mood. Sitting here wouldn’t help either. All they could do now was find her uncle and hope that he could bring sanity to her increasingly unstable world.
* * *
It took a day and a half of forging through the thick forest to reach the road that would eventually lead them to Halisford. Though the woods were within her father’s domain, or at least one of his vassal’s, she doubted that parts of it had ever seen a man’s footprint. It was so isolated that the sight of people on the road gave her unexpected comfort.
Once upon the thoroughfare, they encountered a broken stream of people going west, back towards Sandenmill. Many looked to be carrying everything they owned on their backs. One family pulled a cart full of pigs while another led a cow by a rope around its neck. None of them looked happy.
“These people all look to be fleeing something,” Tormjere said.
“Perhaps the fighting has drawn west.”
He was trying his best to not hear her thoughts, or at least ignore them, but he could tell she was worried about people she knew.
He started to ask the next person they passed for news, but was distracted by a flash of red. One of the red-robed monks of Toush, the only cleric of any denomination they could see, was a short distance ahead. He was helping a woman cajole an ov
erloaded mule into continuing its journey. The monk gave Tormjere a quizzical look as they passed. They hadn’t gone more than ten paces when a voice stopped them from behind.
“Excuse me.”
They turned to see that the mule was again moving down the road, while the monk was now walking towards them. He was older than both of them, though his almost-shaved hair showed no signs of grey. Thin and tanned, he appeared to have been walking his path for some time now.
“I’m Hammett, and you seem to be in need of assistance.”
“We’ll be alright, but thank you,” Tormjere said.
Hammett’s eyes twinkled as he laughed. “You sound like a child who protests that they are not tired even as they are falling asleep. I shall aid you along your path.”
“Really, we are fine,” Kataria said.
“Oh? Good, then you can help me.” He fell into step beside them. “I was going this way anyway, and I can’t stand walking alone.”
Kataria looked at Tormjere, who shrugged.
“I thought you were going the other way,” Tormjere said.
“Who knows The Way but Toush? The rest of us must find it where we may, and one direction is as good as the next.”
“What of those other people?” Kataria asked. “Were you not helping them?”
“They flee the fighting, but they’ll be safe enough until their destination, wherever that may be. You, on the other hand, already know where you’re going. Here, have some bread.”
“Shouldn’t we be the ones giving you food?” Tormjere asked, though he did not refuse it.
“Toush helps as he may.”
Kataria felt a twinge of guilt as he broke a piece and handed it to her, but she devoured the bread anyway.
“You’re bound for Bexville?” Hammett asked.
“Why would you think that?” Tormjere responded.
“This road will pass through two small villages before arriving there, and the villages are not very interesting. As you are interesting people, I shall deduce that neither village is your destination. We have a monastery in the woods southwest of the city. You should stay there. Get out of the rain, eat some food.”
“But it is not raining,” Kataria said. “And, if I may, why would you not build it in town like the other temples?”
“Too noisy. Hard to think. A path walked without thinking is a path that should never have been walked.”