"I will be back," he said to her bravely. His voice was steady and determined, and Mirabella looked deep into his dark eyes.
"I will be waiting for you," she said.
"If I can, I will send word as we go along."
She nodded and gave Robby another hug and kiss.
"Your father and I are very proud of you and love you very much," she said into his ear.
She watched Robby get into his saddle as Frizella's arm slipped around her. Together they waved as the company passed through from the gate and out of sight. Mrs. Bosk watched Mirabella turn away toward the infirmary, taking only a couple of steps, then falling to her knees like a little girl, weeping most bitterly, clenching the dirt in her hands. Frizella hurried over and knelt beside her, pulling Mirabella's hair from the dust and hugging her, their tears mixing on the ground.
"I will never see either of my Robbys again!" Mirabella sobbed, clutching handfuls of dirt against her breast, the soil running out between her fingers as she rocked back and forth.
"No, no, no, sweet dear. Don't ye say such a thing!" said Frizella through her own tears. "Whether ye think ye will or ye won't ain't important, but how ye stand up to it is. Ye must live to see them again, for if ye do, they will need ye strong. An' if never ye do again, ye need to honor thar strength with ye own. An' others are needin' ye now, too, me heart!"
• • •
Outside the gate, people stood along the way, having heard that a party was leaving for the west to seek help, and they wished them well as they went. Many familiar faces impressed themselves upon Billy, Sheila, and Robby, people they had grown up with and had known all their lives. It made Robby proud to be doing what he was doing, yet he had a pang of guilt, too, for leaving them.
As they came to the intersection of roads, several voices called Sheila's name. Pulling on their reins, they turned and saw Mr. Broadweed hurrying along toward them with a few small children running before him, calling and waving for her to wait.
"Miss Pradkin," Mr. Broadweed said when at last he came up to her. "I was afraid I had missed you. Oh, my! Your beautiful hair is all but gone!"
Before Sheila could react, he shook his head at her to tell her no response was needed.
"I heard," he continued, "that you were going west with the others, and I thought...well, I thought you might like to have this to take along."
He reached up and handed Sheila a small leather-bound book.
"It is just a little collection of poems and songs," he told her. "Something to help you keep up with your reading, if you have the time."
"I don't know how to thank you," Sheila said awkwardly. "You shouldn't have."
"Perhaps when you return, you can tell me which poem might be your favorite," he smiled.
"Thank you."
"Be safe!" he said, taking her hand. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek.
"I will try."
The people of Passdale and Barley, and many of those from Janhaven, watched the riders recede down the road and out of sight. They lingered, quietly chatting with each other for a few moments about the travelers' prospects. Then they slowly returned to their work.
Chapter 3
Hill Town
Day 85
160 Days Remaining
They headed west, into the crisp air of autumn, bearing along the road for a few miles until they turned south and followed Makeig along a narrow track that wound up and down, but mostly up. By noon, they had traveled nearly twenty miles, and before them stood the Thunder Mountains, dark and thick-shouldered. They pressed upward into the cooler air of the heights as the afternoon wore on, going deeper and deeper into the rugged forest, through shady oaks, maples, and gum that were showing their first weariness of green, and through mighty pines and thick firs that never tired of their sage and loden coats. Makeig led them across many streams and underneath waterfalls, the rough terrain sometimes forcing them to dismount and led their horses along narrow passes or up steep inclines. Sometimes the path opened onto a ridge or hill that was sparse of trees wherefrom the expanse of the mountain range revealed itself stretching south, west, and north as far as the eye could see, with many of the nearest mountains looming high over their heads. It was mid-afternoon before they made their first stop, in a grove of oaks that surrounded a small waterfall. Makeig told them to water themselves and their horses for a few minutes.
"We're 'bout halfway to Hill Town," he told them. "Though this way we go is the shortest, it ain't without risk. There's a warlord what thinks this bit of forest belongs to him, an' ever' now an' then sends some of his ruffians along to remind folks of his claim. They ain't usually much to worry over, unless they number a dozen or more. Right poor fighters. Anyways, from this place up an' 'til the next ridge over yonder, we move fast. This stretch is easy, thank goodness, but that's why they like this pass so much, I reckon. I don't 'spect any trouble, but keep ye wits close by, if ye take me meanin'. From here on, let me do all the talkin' if there's anyone met along the way. Most likely it'll be some of me own people, but ye never know."
After a short pause, they continued on, the air now decidedly cooler and gusting over the hills, shaking loose the brownest leaves from the branches. They descended into a wide steep-sided ravine so thick with trees that they could not see any hint of the surrounding mountains. Saying little, they crossed back and forth over several small streams, negotiating shoals and pools and banks. Other trails led away to the right or left, but Makeig kept them to their own path, twisting and turning until at last they were moving upward again against the other side of the vale.
"By now, me watchmen have spotted us," Makeig said to Ashlord. "Though we won't see 'em at all. They'll have signaled our approach, an' a party'll be dispatched to make sure of us. We'll meet 'em in a couple hours."
"Do they expect us?"
"No, no. It's the ordinary way of things with us, very organized ye might say," Makeig explained. "We may not hold the pass, but we keep sharp eyes on it, day an' night. This is one of four approaches to Hill Town, an' the least used since our business seldom takes us this way. No good for wagons, as ye see, an' too close to them warlords for reg'lar supplies. Anyhow, me people don't 'spect to see me 'til on the morrow, an' though they'll recognize me hat an' coat, they'll set about markin' who's wearin' 'em. An' I guess seein' several horsemen what with pack animals, too, strangers all, they'll be double careful. But don't ye worry none! We well mark friend from foe afore lettin' fly with arrows!"
"I'm glad to hear that," muttered Ullin before Billy could say the same.
It was a steep climb, and they led the horses by the reins for the better part of the ascent. They reached the top and took a breather, looking at the vast wilderness of forest and mountains behind and before them. The sun was already slipping nearer the highest of the far mountains to the southwest, and long shadows were reaching across the view. Robby thought the scene one of bitter beauty, and a terrible loneliness surprised him as he gazed northeast where he imagined his home was.
"Gar!" said Billy coming up next to him. "I'd never find me way back out of this!"
Robby nodded in agreement. "Let's hope we don't have to."
"How far have we come from Janhaven?" Sheila asked Makeig.
"Oh, I reckon we're 'bout ten or twelve leagues, as the arrow flies. 'Bout twice that as the road winds, I reckon," he answered as he mounted his horse, "an' another five to go. But the next several should be a bit easier."
Indeed, the way was not so steep up or down, and they rode at their best speed, being careful of the footing of their animals. Following a broad ridgeline, they continued upward, and the character of the forest changed so that many of the trees, gnarled scarlet oaks, yellow birch, and red maple, were shedding their autumn colors, with leaves of red and yellow scattering in the gusts.
"Doyouever, doyouever, doyoueverseeanytrolls?" Ibin asked. He had somehow worked his way to the front of the group just behind Makeig. Though he longed to hear the answer, R
obby took the reins of the pack animals from him and fell back to take Ibin's place at the end of the line.
"No, never, not in all the years I've been here," Makeig said. "Some of me people swear they've seen 'em, way back, long afore I came along. These mountains are filled with troll houses, though, an' caves, an' all manner of leavin's. Look right up yonder, for instance."
He pointed at another ridge a few miles away, toward a line that angled across the face of the distant slopes.
"What is that?" asked Ullin.
"Why it's an old troll road," answered Makeig. "I've been over there. It's devil hard to get at. The funny thing, it just starts up, out of nowheres, like, an' after maybe a mile stretch, it just stops. Yet, it be paved with flat stones with not a crack between, smooth as ye please, an' all along it are old stone houses an' caves. I even peeked into a couple. Not much to find, 'cept some pots an' pans too big to carry, an' stone chairs an' benches an' like furnishin'. We'll pass along a piece of road like that up near Hill Town, too."
"What happened to them? To the trolls?" asked Sheila.
"Well, there's few what know, if any. But there's a feller what lives among us at Hill Town, one of them prospector-types that's older than even he knows. Well, he's got a notion or two that he don't mind jabberin' 'bout. Says they were all called away, sudden-like, on a moonless night laid with winter snow. Says they marched off southward, settin' off such a mighty thunder by their tramp that the ground shook all the way to Barley, an' made folks remember why these mountains are named as they are. An' they never came back. So says Warley Rinspoon, the ol' geezer I got the tale from. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to relate it to ye, if ye have a day or two. Kind of a slow, roundabout talker, in a way."
"I hope we won't be lingering quite so long," Ashlord said. "We need to be on our way as soon as we can. I'm counting on some advice to get past the warlords, too, or we'll have an even longer trip of it."
"Well, as I told ye back at Janhaven," Makeig shrugged, "if we can round up them Blaney brothers, what know them western parts best of any, ye'll be well supplied with directions. If it were up to me, though, I'd move way south afore crossin' through. That Damar lord, Lord Cartu, they calls him, he runs a mighty mean outfit, an' it's his territory, so he claims, just west an' south. Wants to run things all the way up to the west road near Janhaven, if he can put down the Galinots up that way. Anyhow, if any knows a way, the Blaneys can figure it out for ye."
"How many people live at Hill Town?" Robby asked.
"We reckoned one thousand nine hunnerd fifty-three, last spring," Makeig stated. "Of them, 'bout a quarter are children with less than ten years. Most of them born at Hill Town. Many more families live out an' around the town. The last time we had a real fight on our hands, 'bout three years ago—that was with some Damar—we raised nearly six hundred fighters."
"Do you have much trouble with the Damar?" asked Ullin.
"Naw, not too much any more. They send out raidin' parties, mostly after cattle an' women, just testin' us, I think. Anyways, though we ain't very many, we control the territory all 'round, an' ain't none got away alive in six years. Ever' now an' then, them Galinots from up north foray through the pass, an' we let 'em go on through, so long as they ain't too many. We treat the Damar just the same. Our rule of thumb is if there's less than two-score men an' horses, we let 'em through. Any more than that, an' we take 'em on their way back. They've learned to move in small parties an' sometimes they try an' meet up with each other. Only we keep good count an' that don't pay for 'em any more. We got lots of rules 'bout them warlord men. Another one is that we don't parley. Sometimes they send somebody up to badger us to trade with 'em, standin' on a hilltop or down in the pass callin' at us. But we never show our faces unless we mean that to be the last thing they see. That way, they can't ever reckon our strength."
"Somewhat brutal, isn't it?" Ashlord asked.
Makeig gave him a sidelong glance and snorted.
"Not as bloody unkind as what I found when I first got here!" he said. "Bloody Galinots an' Damar all over the place, rapin', lootin', killin'. I didn't lose seventy fine seamen runnin' out of Tracia only to get the others killed when we got here. So I kinda took over, like. War's war, I say. Whether it's against a highfalutin tyrant, or a lowdown bully. Pretty soon them Damar an' Galinots figured this part of the mountains was cursed an' haunted, an' we encouraged 'em. In the early days, we always spared one or two as prisoners an' staged it so as they saw or heard the wildest, vilest, most terriblest, an' spookiest things. All a big put-on. Afterwards, we let 'em escape, like, takin' the tales back. I think it worked purty well. Too well, in fact, since it got us a bad name with other folk what could've been friendly with us, traders an' such, an' folk in nearby towns an' so forth. Aye, we overdid it maybe, even if them tales we spread have helped to keep the warlords off our backs."
They traveled on along the path, moving gently up and down the ridge, which eventually flattened onto a broad rolling forest, thick with ancient trunks. Makeig's pace slowed perceptibly, and though he led them on comfortably and with no word of care, Robby sensed that he was watchful. They heard running water, and soon after they were following alongside a tumbling stream, spraying over rocks and mossy boulders, and jumping around nooks and gurgling crannies. Ahead was an arched stone bridge, and as they approached it, two men stepped out from the trees, blocking the path with notched arrows at the ready. A third man stepped between those two, holding up his hand as a signal for them to halt.
"Say the word, or stand an' deliver!" the man shouted.
"Swordplay's the word!" cried Makeig back at him.
"Right, then. So what business have ye on this road?" the challenger demanded.
"Mad Martin's business, that's what!" bellowed Makeig.
"Doff ye hat, then, an' come ahead slowly on foot."
"Best do as they say," said Makeig, dismounting. "I told ye they'd make sure of me."
The three men, dressed in similar tan and green leggings and tunics, with patchwork cloaks of likewise tan and green, stood motionless while Robby and his company dismounted and continued their approach. At last Makeig took off his hat with a grand swoop, and the men relaxed. Their leader turned to the other side of the bridge briefly and made a hand sign that produced thirty other men, all dressed and armed alike, emerging from the trees all around them and from the far side of the bridge.
"Capt'n," said the leader of the band, "we didn't expect ye back so soon, an' suspected foul play with yer clothes."
"Just so, an' right in bein' cautious, too."
"An' yer companions?"
"Trusted men of Barley, the ones I sent word about, on their way westward," Makeig replied as he gave his plumes a few strokes and crammed his hat back onto his head.
"Might one of 'em be Robby Ribbon?"
Makeig was surprised at the question, but no more than the rest.
"I am Robby Ribbon," Robby said, stepping forward.
"Well, there's a messenger for ye, just arrived at Hill Town," the man said. "He waits there as we wouldn't let him pass on. He says he's come from yer grandfather's house."
"My grandfather's house?" Robby asked, glancing at Ullin who shrugged and shook his head.
Turning to Makeig, the man went on, "He arrived just when our scouts brought news of yer approach through the pass. Not knowin' what was afoot, I thought it best he stay there. He would not say his business, but I suspect it ain't much to do with us."
"Why do ye say that?" Makeig asked.
The man looked around at the newcomers and then said softly to his captain, "He is an elfkind. Wears the livery of one of the ancient houses that is no more. Nornus, the old woman who does medicine an' knows the lore of the past, says so."
"Aye, she's one to know," Makeig said, scratching his chin and glancing over at Robby. "What say ye to this, Mr. Ribbon?"
"It is unexpected," Robby replied, shrugging and shaking his head. "I can't imagine what he might want."
"I hope ye treated the feller well," Makeig said. "I don't want no trouble with Tallin or any of his people."
"He ain't one of Tallin's folk. He only came from there. He gave no trouble, Capt'n, an' we put him up at my place to wait."
"Well, then," Makeig said, mounting his horse, "let's get on. It'll be past dark as it is, an' we don't want to keep Mr. Ribbon from his meetin' any longer than need be."
The man whistled and horses were brought out. He and several others took the lead as the rest of the Hill Town soldiers faded away into the forest. Robby noted the ease with which they moved and how suddenly he lost sight of them.
"I think these people can help our own, if ever they may join together," Robby said to Billy.
"Aye. Did ye see how they moved nearly without a sound?"
"What do you think of the news?" Ullin asked, coming up on the other side. "About the messenger waiting for you?"
"I don't know what to make of it," Robby said. "He is your grandfather, too. What do you think?"
"He has always been a secretive one," Ullin said. "And I hardly know him, though I grew up under his roof. He probably doesn't even know I am anywhere near. I haven't seen him in years."
"Do you miss him?" Robby impulsively asked and immediately regretted.
Ullin thought for a moment, then said, "He is a hard one, and is hard to miss, I must say. He keeps too much bitterness within him, having lost his wife and two sons. He is never anxious to see me, but he has always treated me fairly, even if he is cool and distant. I do miss him, though, for in my grandfather's face I see the likeness of my father."
"What became of our grandmother?"
"Ah, well, that is a sorry tale that no one fully knows," Ullin said. "I was told by my mother that her name has not been spoken in that house since she died of a broken heart."
"Can someone actually die of a broken heart?" Robby asked.
The Nature of a Curse (Volume 2 of the Year of the Red Door) Page 8