It stood in the doorway for a moment, its mouth stretched into a wicked, toothy grin. Its armor hung loosely over its torso, and as Sinnie remembered, there was a tear under the left collarbone. Shreds of cloth bandaging hung from the neckline and sleeves. Its legs were wrapped in the same dull mail, and its ankles had remains of bandages clinging to them over its bare feet, which looked unnaturally long and angular. Its head twitched to look from Carl to Finn, then swiveled toward Sinnie, the glow of the lantern reflecting in its wide, black eyes. It let out a quiet hiss, and Sinnie felt her body stiffen and her heart slow. She tensed all her muscles to shake off the effects of the creature’s gaze, steadied her bow, and fired.
The Ka-lar’s arm rose up with incredible speed and knocked the arrow out of the way, and it leaped forward toward Carl, who bashed it with his shield and took a step back. The creature grabbed ahold of his shield with its clawed, bony fingers and pulled it down, and as it did so, Carl brought down the ancient sword on its shoulder, cutting through the mail and sinking into its leathery flesh with a blow that would have felled any man in an instant. The Ka-lar let out another hiss, letting go of the shield for a moment, and Finn stepped toward it, his left leg stretched back and his right knee bent, held his staff sideways, and let out a shout. As he did so, the creature flew backward, smashing against the corner of the tomb. It steadied itself quickly and opened its mouth into a silent scream. Sinnie loosed another arrow, which plunged into the darkness of the creature’s mouth.
The Ka-lar shook its head wildly, broke the arrow off, and charged toward Sinnie. Carl stepped in the way, blocking it with his shield and taking a wild swing, which chinked against the side of the creature’s armor without any obvious effect. The Ka-lar backhanded Carl, who went flying into the woodpile, scattering the logs and sending his sword clattering to the floor. Sinnie fumbled with another arrow as the Ka-lar hesitated for an instant, glancing at the sword, then leaped toward Sinnie. She tumbled sideways out of the way, holding onto her bow but dropping the arrow. The creature leaped up and charged at her as she scrambled to her feet, abandoning her attempt to pull out another arrow as she backpedaled away from it into a corner. The creature lunged at her with both claws flailing but was tackled by Finn, both of them tumbling to the ground. The Ka-lar raked Finn with both claws, then leaned in toward Finn’s face with its fearsome jaws open as Finn pushed and squirmed to get away.
“Carl!” Sinnie called as she nocked another arrow, which she sank into the creature’s neck, the point sticking out from the other side. It reared up, clawing at the arrow and turning to Sinnie, who tried to run to the side but got trapped between the stone door and the Ka-lar, which bore down on her again. It turned its head at the last second as Carl came charging across the room, and Sinnie was able to dive under its attack as Carl skewered the creature right through the stomach with his sword. The Ka-lar hissed wildly, arching its head back for a moment before reaching out and grabbing ahold of Carl’s shield again and pulling him in. Carl shrieked as the creature’s teeth bit into his neck, piercing the mail and sending a shower of blood into the air. Carl’s arms went limp, his body gave a great shudder and he dropped to the ground, his face ashen, his eyes wide with shock. The Ka-lar stood grinning, its mouth and chin dripping with blood. The ancient sword was sunk hilt-deep into its torso and the remains of two arrows protruded from its face and neck, but it advanced toward Sinnie, more slowly now. She scrambled backward, nearly tripping over the ancient chandelier on the floor as she backed toward the exit.
The Ka-lar stopped in the middle of the room and stooped to pick up the chain, the sword point sticking out of its back at an odd angle. It swung the chain toward Sinnie like a whip, but she was able to dodge it as she fitted another arrow onto her bowstring. The creature took a step toward her, raising the chain over its head and swinging it around. The chain whistled through the air just over her head, taking out a chunk of rock from the door frame as she ducked out of its way. Every swing of the chain made her dodge, and she couldn’t get set enough for a clear shot as the creature took one step closer with each swing. She ducked back into the narrow entry passage as the chain lashed the doorway, then the chain went limp as Finn leaped up from behind the creature, pinning its arms to its sides while managing to avoid being impaled by the sword sticking out of its back. The creature bucked wildly, but Finn somehow held tight, his eyes half-closed in concentration. Sinnie stepped back into the room, took aim, and fired when the Ka-lar was still for a half-second.
Her arrow struck the hole in the Ka-lar’s armor, and its body stiffened into a backward arch, its mouth opened wide toward the ceiling, then it slumped out of Finn’s grasp and tumbled to the floor, its body twisted awkwardly to the side because of the sword sticking out of its back. Sinnie rushed over, nocking an arrow as she approached, stood above the prone creature, and sank the arrow through its eye, pinning it to the floor. It gave a long, slow hiss as its body twitched once, then fell still.
“Quick! The medic’s balm!” Sinnie shouted at Finn as she knelt over Carl and pressed her hands over the wound in his neck, from which blood flowed freely. His eyes were wide and unseeing, his body trembled and his teeth were chattering. Finn wrestled the bag out of his vest, opened the jar and scooped a large dollop onto his fingers.
“Wait, tear off a piece of cloth, your shirt, anything, and put the balm on that. Quickly!” Sinnie cried, her voice wavering. Finn tore the cuff off his sleeve with his teeth, bloodying his lip in the process, smeared the balm onto it, and handed it to Sinnie. She pressed it onto the wound and held it tight with both hands, putting as much of her weight on it as she could. Carl’s breath was ragged and shallow, his pupils wide, his eyes fluttering open and closed.
“Don’t just stand there! Go get my father!” Sinnie screamed at Finn, who gave a start, his eyes dazed for a moment, then turned and stumbled into the passage and out of sight, leaving Sinnie alone with Carl in the empty tomb.
Sinnie pressed into Carl’s shoulder, the stony chill of the tomb sinking into her bones. Carl’s face was pale gray like a November sky, and his eyes closed and stayed that way. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into his. Carl’s face was damp, rubbery, and cold. The bleeding in his wound had slowed to a trickle, though whether that was a good or a bad thing was hard to say, since the pool of blood on the floor beneath him was so wide she couldn’t imagine he had much left in him. She kept one hand on the makeshift bandage, which was wet and sticky with blood, and grasped his face with her other hand, saying any meaningless words that came into her head. Nothing she said or did got any response, and the only way she could tell he was alive was the occasional faint wheeze of his breathing. She waited with him in the stony silence, the orange-gray light from the lantern casting ominous shadows on the battle-wrecked chamber.
Chapter Eighteen
Finn noticed Rolf was slowing as they struggled to carry Carl up the game trail out of the valley, so he stopped for a breather, knowing Rolf didn’t want Sinnie to see his weakness. Rolf gave him a look of silent thanks as they set down the makeshift stretcher they had devised with Rolf’s cloak and some stout saplings, using the battered saw and hatchet they had found in the Ka-lar’s tomb to cut the trees. The tools were of familiar make, and they figured the Maer had scavenged them from the mine, along with the shovel and pick they had on them at the rockslide. The way up the glen was tricky, with roots and rocks hiding among the ferns and mosses to trip them whenever they thought they were making steady progress. Though his chest and neck throbbed from the bruises, Finn’s force shell had kept the Ka-lar’s claws from breaking through and dealing him real damage. Carl was still breathing, though they stopped and checked every couple of minutes to be sure. After a couple of hours of backbreaking labor, they were finally able to lay Carl down on the greenery beside the road, and they all collapsed next to him. Finn’s head felt thick, his mind fuzzy, and he doubted he would be able to manipulate his energy at this point. It was as if he were drunk, and
he wondered if Gummache’s potion had something stronger in it than alcohol and a few herbs.
After resting for a few minutes, Sinnie stood up and stretched her legs. “I’ll run to the village and have a horse and cart brought.” Finn gave a thumb’s up, amazed that Sinnie had the strength in her to walk that far, let alone run.
“Have your mother start some bone broth,” Rolf said. “Carl’s going to need everything he can get if he’s to come out of this state.” Sinnie nodded, turned, and set off at a brisk jog, seeming no worse for their encounter or Gummache’s concoction.
“She’s a force of nature, that girl,” Finn said.
Rolf nodded his agreement. “Always has been. The three of you, to be honest, are the best thing our little village has produced, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Finn looked down, trying to accept the thanks graciously, though he didn’t feel very special at the moment.
Finn knelt down next to Carl and put his head on Carl’s chest, listening to his heart’s slow and slightly unsteady pumping. Rolf watched but said nothing. Finn slid his hands under Carl’s mail, trying to get in tune with his heart. He had learned in study that it was possible to extend the body’s energy to affect another, and he hoped to somehow transfer some of his vitality into his friend. Though he had no idea how that would work, he had to try, as there was no guarantee Carl would survive long enough to get back to the village. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but he could not get through the fog. He sat back down, exhausted from the effort, and took a sip from his waterskin, then poured a couple of drops on Carl’s lips, which did not move as the water trickled inside his mouth. Finn shook his head at Rolf, whose grim face showed he understood. There was nothing to do but wait for the cart and hope Carl did not slip away before they could get him back to the village. And even there, Finn was not sure what could be done for him, but if anyone would know, it would be Elder Gummache. And so they waited, neither of them saying so much as a word, for several hours, until they heard the cart approach.
A SMALL CROWD OF SOMBER faces met them as they returned to Brocland. All eyes were upon Carl, who was so swaddled as to be nearly invisible.
“He’s resting,” Finn said to no one in particular. Everyone stopped and looked at him, their faces expectant, but he had no idea what to say. “He fell saving Brocland from the Barrow Lord,” he said, his voice tremulous. “He may yet live, but we must make haste to the chapel, to see Elder Gummache.” The crowd seemed satisfied, though Finn was not quite sure why. It hadn’t felt very satisfying to say it out loud.
“He’s waiting for you,” said Massey, stepping forth. “Everything that can be done to make ready, has been done. Let him through, people!” he called, though no one was standing in the road. Nicolas urged the horse forward, and the cart rumbled along the cobbled road to the chapel.
Sinnie dashed out of the chapel at the cart’s approach, hugging first her father, then Finn, for a long, long time, before moving to the edge of the cart to see Carl’s wan face hiding among the blankets.
“He hasn’t—”
Finn shook his head, and Sinnie nodded, casting her eyes down.
“Little help,” said Rolf, preparing to heft one end of the stretcher. Sinnie pushed past Finn to take hold of the other end and help Rolf walk it off the cart and into the chapel, which had been fitted with a bed in the center, next to a table with bowls of various sizes containing water, oils, powders, dried herbs, and unguents. Candles burned on tables at either end of the bed, and four chairs were lined up, two on either side. They laid Carl on the bed, and as they did so his right hand stirred just a bit, grasping at the covers for a moment before falling limp again.
“That’s a good sign, right? It has to be,” Sinnie whispered to Finn, who could only nod.
Moments later, Elder Gummache emerged from the hidden door beneath the Great Wheel, drying his hands on a towel and squinting to distinguish the faces of those present. He handed the towel to his acolyte without looking at him, then moved to stand next to Carl, watching his face for what seemed like a very long time. He then gently lifted the bandage, wincing as he saw the wound, which was gray around the edges.
“Have you any more of the medic’s balm?” Gummache asked. Finn pulled out the jar and handed it to Gummache, who opened it, sniffed it, and nodded. “Without this balm, he would be dead already. How did you come by it? It’s exceedingly rare, not to mention impossibly expensive.”
Finn shrugged. “Carl had it. I think he said it was given to him by Mr. Leavitt.”
Gummache grunted. “I shall ask Carl about that when he awakes.” He dipped a towel into a bowl of water and dabbed the wound clean, then used the other end of the towel in the same fashion to dry it. He put a small amount of the balm on his fingers and spread it around the gray edges of the wound. Finn swallowed, realizing he had used more than half of the balm in his initial application, and he briefly wondered how much of the precious concoction he had used up. “My concern is the unnatural coloring of the wound,” said Gummache, his face grim. “He will recover from the blood loss, but the Barrow Lord’s bite seems to have a necrotic effect. The balm may help, and there are some other things we may try, but...” He shook his head. “I have never seen anything like it, and it may be beyond my science to heal.” He gave Finn an inscrutable look, something between knowing and pleading. “We will talk more later. You two go get some rest.” He eyed Sinnie and Finn. “You’re of no use to anyone if you drop dead from exhaustion.”
FINN’S MOTHER SMILED through tears as she opened the door and wrapped him in her arms, holding him for a long time.
“How is Carl?” she inquired timidly.
Finn shook his head. “He’s alive, but just barely. The...” He hesitated, but decided at last to name it. “The Barrow Lord, or the Ka-lar, as the Maer call it, is dead. Carl and Sinnie fought bravely, and now Carl is paying the price. Elder Gummache is doing everything he can.”
“But what is this?” She pulled aside his torn collar to better see his bruises. Finn pulled back.
“It’s nothing, mother. I was fortunate enough to avoid serious injury.” He tried to chase away the image of the creature perched on top of him, raking him with his terrible claws and leaning in to deliver a bite like the one that had felled Carl. He wasn’t sure if his force shell would have protected him against such an attack.
“And Sinnie? Is she...”
“She’s fine, mother. She’s tougher than anyone I know.”
“She is at that. You know I always thought...” She shook her head, smiling wistfully. Finn’s mother must have known on some level that he had no taste for women, and that Sinnie had no interest in men or women, but they had never spoken of it, and she was usually wise enough not to ask. “But never mind me. You must be starving. I still have a bit of the lamb’s heart stew warming on the stove. Sit, your father will be back soon. He went out after some turtles this morning, poor thing. He didn’t know what to do with himself and he kept getting in my way, so I told him to go out and catch something for supper.” Finn smiled; his father had always been restless, often leaving the house before first light, ostensibly to catch silvers during their dawn feeding. He could never sit around the house for long, and not because he wanted to be away from his family. Life in the village could be claustrophobic, as Finn knew all too well.
Finn inhaled the stew, which tasted even better than it had the day before, and crawled into bed, his fatigue dragging him swiftly down into the dark waters of sleep.
WHEN FINN ARRIVED AT the chapel, Gummache sent his acolyte out to fetch water from the well and boil it. As soon as the boy had left the chapel, Gummache led Finn to Carl’s bedside. Carl’s breathing remained shallow, and his face retained its ashen coloring, his lips cracked, his cheeks sunken.
“I am putting together a draught, which I will give him if he awakes, but until then there is little I can do other than tend to his wound, which has improved but little. My fear is that he will not awaken on his o
wn.” He set his deep, rheumy eyes on Finn, who looked down for a moment, nodding slightly.
“I had a thought.” Finn looked back up. “Something I learned about in study, but I’ve never tried it. I don’t know if I have the strength or skill, but...” He shook his head. He doubted he could pull it off, but if he did nothing, Carl would surely die. “It may just be possible, if I can figure out how, for me to pour some of my...my energy into him, if you think that would help.”
Gummache put his hand on Finn’s arm, nodding. “I have read of such skills, and you would be young to possess them, and yet, as I have gathered, you have acquitted yourself rather well in the recent encounters with the Maer and, it would seem, with the Barrow Lord.” He gestured toward Finn’s bruises, which had already begun to fade. “How is it that you escaped with only bruises, with no armor? Did the creature not strike you with its claws?”
Finn reddened, ever ashamed of his gift, though if there were one person in the village who would understand, it would be Gummache. “In study, I learned how to control my body’s energy, to create what they call a force shell, which acts a bit like armor, protecting my skin against attacks.” He touched his bruises, which were still painful, but much less so than before. “It turns out I still get bruised, but not cut. And I have learned to use my energy to speed healing,”
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