A Trail of Embers

by C A Kinnee

  “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t. The water makes my shell run cold. It makes my senses tingle.”

  “There’s a path.” Meara fought back a shiver as she moved her light, searching the ground at her feet. She lifted it higher and studied the trail she had discovered.

  The path ran along a narrow ledge that hung from the wall of the cave like a pouting lip. The familiar symbol was etched in the stone at the start of the path.

  Her legs turned rubbery and she slumped to the ground.

  “I can’t do it.”

  “You must.”

  “No egg, not this time. No one could cross such a narrow path. The ancients must have had some sort of railing to help their people cross. There is nothing there now. Nothing to hold on to.”

  She couldn’t bring herself to take another step forward. Slowly, she sank to the ground and let the biting cold gnaw at her bones.

  Chapter 34

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Silence followed Meara’s words. The weight of that silence grew heavier with the egg’s lack of response.

  Finally, he whispered, “We have to try.”

  “I can’t. I’m as weak as the Crone after Guaian kicked her out of the garden.”

  “Who?” the egg’s voice sharpened in curiosity.

  “You don’t know the story of the Crone?” Meara was surprised. The egg was a walking encyclopedia of stories and he hadn’t hatched yet. “You know everything. You must know the tale.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded.

  Meara considered the request and shrugged her shoulders. Why not? The egg loved stories; besides, it gave them the chance to think of something other than the caves and the long dark. Telling him about the Crone would let them rest for a while. Maybe her missing courage would catch up with them.

  She curled her legs beneath her and stared out at the gloom. It felt good to sit. She was still rattled from the attack of the water lights. As she moved, her foot brushed a rock. It tumbled off the ledge, spiraling into the unknown below. The sound of its fall was lost in the clamor of the unseen river. She pulled the egg closer and rushed into telling the story of the Crone.

  “Slowly, slowly,” the egg cautioned. “I want to hear it all.”

  Meara started again, this time picking her words carefully. The egg liked hearing every detail, maybe because he couldn’t see things for himself.

  “It was during the closing days of the wars,” she began, “at a time when the world boiled with turmoil—nations fell and mankind wept. The people of Vendonne thought the Crone harmless. She lived just beyond the great walls—maybe somewhere in the flat lands outside the gate. She kept to herself, never bothering the good people of the town. Few saw her, no one cared if they did. Why would they? Everyone had worries enough of their own. War was pressing closer. The forces of Vendonne were retreating, hoping to make a last stand behind the walls.”

  “Did she have no one to bond to? I thought people always lived with other people,” the egg interrupted.

  “Do you with to hear the story?”

  The egg didn’t answer.

  Meara continued, “The Crone built her cottage in a tiny glen, and its beautiful garden became a place of peace and refuge for wearied travelers. The Crone took no side in the fight. She was an old woman who’d lived a long life. She wished only to be left alone to offer shelter to the exhausted people fleeing the chaos of war. No one noticed that she was slowly growing younger and more beautiful. They looked no further than the peace of her garden and the rest she granted.”

  “Dragons fill their lairs with beauty. It’s natural.” The egg was disappointed.

  “Ah, but how do you think she kept such beauty while everywhere else the ugliness of war colored the land?”

  The egg waited.

  “She was using the peace of her garden to lure young soldiers to their deaths. They came seeking rest, and she gave them the syrup of the sleep flower.”

  “And?”

  “As the Crone stole the life force of the young men, she grew younger and more beautiful, sucking the life from her victims while fertilizing her gardens with their bones.”

  “That’s terrible!” The egg was shocked.

  Meara smiled, and then rolled her eyes when he continued.

  “How wasteful,” he said.

  Meara shook her head at his callousness.

  “Guaian, one of Vendonne’s mightiest soldiers discovered her secret. He slipped the syrup of the sleeping flower into her water and threw her out of her gardens. Then he built a great fire and burned her house to the ground. Without the beauty of her garden, she had no way of luring people to her house. She couldn’t rebuild her strength. She languished and weakened, slowly dissolving into the ground she had cultivated so lovingly. And that’s what it means when you say, ‘As weak as the Crone.’”

  She straightened her legs. They were no longer shaking. That was good. The egg stayed quiet—committing her story to memory, or letting her work through her fear? His shell warmed her fingers with a comforting heat.

  She was ready now. The ancients had crossed this way, so could she. She stood and placed the light globe on the ground beside her. She’d have to leave it. She needed her hands free to cross the narrow shelf. When she reached the other side, she would make a new one.

  The thin sill of rock was a foot’s length wide—deep enough that if she kept her back to the wall, she could shuffle across. How far was the drop below?

  “Far,” the egg said. “Best not find out.”

  “Best be still and let me start,” Meara answered.

  Carefully she shuffled sideways, inching her way along the stone shelf—step, slide, step, slide. The smooth rock at her back dripped with water. It splashed over her feet adding to the slipperiness of each step. She caught herself holding her breath as she focused on the ground beneath her. Was she half-way—a quarter? She stumbled over a broken stone and her foot slid. Desperate to recover her balance, she scrabbled to find an anchor on the smooth wall. Safe, she stayed frozen in place, panting for breath. She leaned her head back against the rock. If she had fallen—no, don’t think about it. Her shoes—she’d take them off. The sandals with their polished leather soles were slippery.

  Carefully she sagged into the curve of the wall and lifted her right foot. Her weight shifted. Her planted foot slipped. She slammed her foot down and fell heavily against the rock. In the distance, the globe winked out. Sweat trickled down her face. The egg glowed with a soft orange light—a beacon of warmth in the blackness. Calm. The word floated in her head and bathed her in serenity. Her heart rate slowed. She drew in a fresh breath. Calm. Yes, she could do this. She didn’t need a light to cross. There was nothing to see, but she would leave her sandals on. The egg squeaked in agreement.

  Tentatively she stretched her hand over the wall, extending her fingers flat on the glass-like surface. Any handholds the ancients had carved were long gone. Turtle-like, Meara shuffled over the broken ground. She wished she was a turtle. If she was, she would pull her head into the shell and shut out the sound of rocks rolling into the void. She blinked the sweat from her eyes and took another step. Her hand rounded a corner and plunged into empty space. The loss of support tipped her off balance. She fell to the side. The egg squeaked as she landed on solid ground.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she soothed. “It’s okay. We’re safe. We did it. We’re across. It’s a good thing you have such a tough shell. If you didn’t, you would now be truly scrambled. Wait, I’ll make a light.”

  “Amea,” she said confidently. A light bloomed in the darkness. The narrow ledge had ended in a rock fall that climbed steeply to the sky.

  “No,” she said in disbelief. “It can’t be. I followed every symbol.”

  She picked up her new globe of light. Bigger and brighter than he
r last light, it clearly illuminated the loose pile of rock and gravel.

  “What?” the egg said impatiently.

  “We’re at the end of the trail. There is a rock fall blocking the way. Do we go around, or climb up?” Doubtfully, she eyed the long high pile of gravel.

  “Up,” the egg answered. “To go around we have to cross the ledge again.”

  Meara nodded slowly, but the thought of scaling the pile of debris was daunting. Climbing down though—climbing down meant facing the hidden river. Going back . . . The egg was right. Back risked losing their way, or worse, ending up taking an unwanted swim. Up—it was their only choice. She stood and brushed her sweating palms on her cloak. They would go up.

  Chapter 35

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  The swirling clouds were a kettle of darkness stirred by lightning. The storm hadn’t yet arrived in full force, but the slashing rain and howling wind carried a savagery that matched Kieran’s mood. He was tired—so tired he could barely put one foot in front of the other. Black dots danced in front of his eyes. He forced himself to work harder, dig deeper, push onward. The Mage’s men wouldn’t rest—neither could he. Meara’s face hung before him, a constant reminder that he had abandoned her. Even knowing that the choice wasn’t his couldn’t quench his self-hatred.

  The fury of the storm meant he had to stop often to search for trail markers in the flattened foliage. It wouldn’t help if he lost his way. The constant stops and endless back tracking wore at his nerves and made him doubt himself. It was small comfort to know that the swarm would be having an equally hard time finding their way.

  Thinking of Meara, he ran faster. Low-lying branches lashed his face. The slaps brought tears to his eyes. They mingled with the raindrops. The rocky bluffs meant he had to travel slower than in the deep glades he’d grown up in. Crossing the cliffs exposed him to the full force of the wind. At one point, he’d thought the gusts would lift him off the trail and toss him out over the canyon. With no camouflage, he passed over the rocks quickly, trusting that the dull gray of his cloak would hide his passing.

  Blue lightning stabbed the sky spinning a web of indigo light over the flat land. He slowed down. He had to stay alert. The Mage was close. Protecting the egg was too important a task to risk the horde catching him. By now, the Mage knew what Rahdon had done on the plains of the ancient city. Had the release of evil added to the Mage’s magic?

  The trail broke apart. Kieran slid down the stony incline, tumbling over the rocks, dodging the rough brush catching at his cloak. At the bottom of the slope, he sat up and gingerly stretched his arms and legs. He hadn’t realized he was so close to the gully; if he had, he would have been more careful. The First should be waiting over the next bluff.

  “Well,” a voice called from the shadows. “You’ve led us quite a race.”

  Kieran’s head snapped towards the sound. Two men stepped from the cover of the trees. Both held their bows at the ready, arrows fetched, strings taut. Cautiously they moved towards him ready to send an arrow his way if he moved to defend himself.

  “Look, he is alone,” the closest man called to the other.

  “Easier to kill,” the far one answered. “Helligon, bah.” He spat at the ground.

  “Where is the egg?” the leading man demanded, gesturing with his bow. His gravelly whisper twisted his words making them run together.

  Miandrogas, Kieran thought dispassionately. One of the men carried a short sword with an intricate filigreed hilt—likely looted from a fallen caravan. They stepped towards him, eying him like twin cats watching a field mouse. The look in the nearest man’s close-set eyes made Kieran change his mind about reaching for his boot knife. The man was looking for any excuse to carve his name on Kieran’s hide.

  “Up.”

  The terse command brought Kieran to his feet. Balanced lightly on his toes, he sized up his odds of escape. He’d have one chance. If he failed . . . A hard hand landed on his shoulder, shoving him to the side. Falling, he rolled to the left as the thwack of arrows launched from a crossbow found two targets. The men dropped without a sound.

  Kieran sat up and gawked at the man towering over him.

  “You’re dead!” he said, stunned at the sight of a living, breathing Metreo.

  “No. I be very much alive, young master, though my hair be curly from the jolt of that lightning ball.” Metreo raked a big hand through his tangled hair. Bits of leaves and twigs were buried in the long wooly locks. “The Mage’s magic does not work as expected when handled by fools.”

  He reached down and extending a hand, yanked Kieran to his feet.

  “Where is the girl?”

  Kieran tensed. Metreo looked at him impatiently.

  “When you be getting as old as I am, you will be realizing that sometimes a man has to choose right over money. Since the Mage failed to pay me, I’ve decided a little pro gratis work is in order.” Humor lurked in the darkness of the black eyes fixed on Kieran.

  “We split up,” Kieran said.

  “And you be causing a diversion?”

  “I’d hoped.”

  Metreo nodded. “It be a good plan. I tracked you to the base of the mountain and lost your trail.” He looked disgusted with himself.

  “Maybe I am more of a woodsman than you thought.” Kieran smirked.

  “That cut, did it?” Metreo’s bushy black brows lifted. “Enough chatter. We must be moving. The Mage has more than fools for followers. He now leads the swarm, and I have never seen such rage. He killed ten of his scouts for failing to find your trail. These two stumbled on you by accident. Myself, I be watching since your slide down the gully.” He reached out a hand and delivered a good-natured cuff to Kieran’s shoulder. “It be hard to stay quiet when rolling down a cliff like a stone.”

  “Come!” Metreo took the lead.

  He moved fast like a ghost shifting and blending with the shadows. They kept to the tree line, avoiding open spaces, staying far away from any evidence of the swarm.

  Finally, Metreo called a halt. He dropped to his heels and held up two fingers, pointing. Kieran peered in the direction indicated.

  He had missed the scouts at the edge of the trees. Metreo not only saw them but led the way around them.

  The shadows made it hard for Kieran to see the white side of Metreo’s face. He had rubbed it with soot, dulling its pallor. Kieran’s respect intensified.

  “The Mage be knowing your route through the mountain. He encircles your people even as he hunts the exit from the caves. The girl walks into a trap.”

  The words turned Kieran’s blood cold.

  “No one knows the true exit, but—”

  “The First, yes,” Metreo interrupted. “But he did tell his lady wife.”

  “She’s dead though.”

  “Do you think the small matter of a blood relation stopped the Mage from getting the information he wanted? The Mage arranged the raid on the caravan. He brought about the death of his sister and her child. Her choice of husbands offended him.”

  “But Miandrogas killed them. Our scouts tracked them,” Kieran protested. The thought the Mage would cold-bloodedly arrange the death of his sister turned his stomach.

  “Sometimes, young master, you must look beyond the nose on your face. The Mage did murder, but first he recovered the information he wanted. How do you think Rahdon and I found our way so deeply into the forest?”

  Kieran’s stomach churned. The Mage had killed his own sister and her child. He swallowed.

  “You must warn your First, boy.” Metreo’s black eyes stared into his. There was no humor lurking in them now. “Protect the girl at all costs. The egg be important, but it’s the girl who holds the key.” He straightened. His crossbow spoke twice. The scouts fell. “That way will find your people.”

  “Wait.” Kieran grabbed Metreo’s arm. The m
uscle beneath his fingers was hard like the wood of a tree trunk. “Where are you going?”

  “I, young master? I have a score to settle with my old friend Rahdon. He hides in the skirts of the Mage.” The giant raised a hand in a gesture of farewell and faded into the storm.

  Kieran put an arrow to his bow and set off on his own path.

  Chapter 36

  Danger—be wary.

  Wait—watch!

  In the darkness

  pay heed.

  Translated from the Chronicles of the Egg

  Meara crawled up and over the last smooth boulder blocking her way. At last, she was looking down not up. Panting for breath she pulled herself up and rolled over the top of the rock. She was rewarded by the touch of a breeze wafting across her sweaty face, cooling her cheeks. Gratefully, she tilted her head and breathed deeply. The fresh air was a gift after the ancient air of the cave.

  Perched on top of the scree, she took stock of her new surroundings. The climb had been easier than she’d expected. The tall wall of gravel hadn’t fully blocked the tunnel, instead the long-ago slide had formed the loose gravel into a ramp. Though steep and demanding, the ascent was a bit like climbing a hill of sand . . . going down . . . She shook her head—going down would be quicker.

  The gravel—a combination of flaky sand and tiny stones—was already sliding under her weight, tiny avalanches breaking free and rolling the length of the slope. Strangely, the sight of this new challenge didn’t worry her. Maybe it was the freshness of the air and the faint stirring of wind. They had to be close to the end of the caves. Like the egg sensed magic, she could feel the lure of open spaces. Her energy leapt.

  The egg yawned, sighing softly. Meara smiled. It was the most reaction he’d shown in the last few hours.

  She returned to her study of the slope. She could climb down one of two ways. She could heft her light high and pick her way down the hill, or, she grinned humorlessly, she could sit down and let the shifting gravel carry her to the bottom.