Tree singer, p.8
Tree Singer, page 8
Adven had already tied a rope around his waist. He let out four feet of rope and tied it around Tray. Mayten’s hands were stiff with cold. She wondered how he could even tie the rope. He did the same with Cather, then Mayten, roping Hunter last. Without saying a word, Adven turned and lead the way forward, Anatolian bounding ahead of him.
Mayten was surprised at how slippery the trail had become. The trail dirt was the consistency of mud that was both clingy and slippery. She focused on staying on her feet, rubbing her hands and tucking them under her arms in an attempt to stay warm. Conversation was impossible.
They rounded the bend and the trail began to narrow as Hunter had warned. They were single file now, four feet apart on the narrow cliff trail. The mountain rose steeply on one side of the trail and dropped just as abruptly off the far side. Rivulets washed down the hillside and swept across the trail, disappearing over the cliff.
This is why trained questers are needed. Questers were trained to handle these kinds of situations. Despite his grumpy attitude, Mayten felt a grudging respect for Adven. He’d kept them safe—so far.
The trail angled upward as the wind roared through the tops of the trees, sending pinecones crashing to the ground and driving needles and rain into their faces. Mayten found herself flinching when pinecones thudded nearby and walked with her arms over her head. This would not be an easy spot to try and heal someone.
She dared a quick look over the edge, spotting a stream far below that quickly turned into a rushing river.
Shouldn’t they be finding some sort of cover from the storm instead of slogging on through it? Even Anatolian looked miserable, walking with his head down, rain dripping from his sodden fur.
Mayten tightened her jaw. Maybe Adven wasn’t as knowledgeable as he acted. Why wouldn’t he let them stop? Why keep on moving when simply walking was becoming more and more dangerous?
She opened her mouth to call out to Adven. She would insist they stop—
Her body jerked forward just as Cather disappeared.
Chapter Thirteen
The rope jerked Mayten off her feet onto her rear and dragged her toward a gaping gash where the trail had once been. She kicked and dug with her hands and feet, trying to find something to brace against or grab hold of. Anatolian barked frantically, running back and forth on the narrow path. The dog had been trotting ahead of the group and was unable to get to her, looking as helpless as she felt.
She saw Tray clinging to the root of a tree that jutted out from the hillside across the gap from her, Adven’s arms tight around his waist. Then she felt Hunter grab her pack from behind and her slide forward stopped two feet from the gap. Cather’s weight pulled at Mayten, stealing her breath and hurting her ribs.
“Get Cather!” Mayten demanded. The rope was cutting her in two, but she didn’t dare move. Cather was the weight on that rope. She didn’t know how Hunter was still holding her, but she was grateful.
They had to get to Cather. Images of her friend—scared and possibly hurt—dangling over the chasm caused her heart to pound wildly. Not many people knew it, but Cather was afraid of heights. She must be petrified.
Slowly, Adven inched around Tray, who seemed to have a good grip on the tree root above him. Adven bent down to look over the rim of the collapsed path.
“Mayten, stand up,” he ordered. “Hunter, help her.”
Fear clenched at Mayten’s stomach. What if Hunter let go? Would she slide right over the edge after Cather, pulling everyone after her?
But she had to move. Had to help get Cather safe.
She felt Hunter’s hands move around her stomach. He gripped the rope around her waist and helped her get her legs under her. Slowly, she strained against the rope, forcing her knees to straighten until she was standing.
“Cather, give me your hand,” Adven shouted over the sound of the rain. He reached down as Hunter helped Mayten creep backward, tightening the rope. Rain pounded her head, her shoulders. Her boots slipped, then held, then slipped again.
Just when she thought they’d never get Cather back, a wool hat rose through the gap. Relief washed over Mayten. Cather’s hand waved in the air, then clutched at Adven’s wrist. Slow as a snail in winter, Cather’s shoulders rose into sight. The rope that had been around her waist had slipped up under her arms.
It almost slid right off! Mayten shivered. Adven beckoned to Mayten who took a careful step forward, then another. Adven pulled on the rope and Cather at the same time, dragging her the rest of the way onto solid ground and then moving around Tray to the front of the line.
Tray stepped forward and wrapped Cather’s shaking body in a tight hug. Mayten could hear Cather sobbing over the driving rain.
Along with a nearly overwhelming sense of relief came boiling anger.
If Adven hadn’t been in such a hurry, her friend would not have fallen off a cliff and almost died. There was a difference between moving fast and being foolhardy.
Their grand leader beckoned to Mayten and Hunter. Did he expect them to jump over that gap?
“It’s not as wide as it seems,” Hunter murmured in her ear. “And I’ll be right here behind you.”
She took a deep breath, tried to calm her wild heart. What if she jumped and the rest of the trail gave way?
Anatolian whined and Hunter urged her on. She took a few steps back and then two running steps forward and jumped, releasing her breath as her feet landed on solid ground, Hunter hopping easily after her.
Adven gave a quick nod, then continued along the trail, the rope pulling Tray away from Cather and forcing them onward. The trail sloped downward, leading them toward the other side of the canyon.
Mayten kept her eyes glued to the path ahead, paranoid she might slip again. The path widened and became rockier as they went down into a valley filled with oaks and maples. Anatolian dropped back beside her, pressing against her leg as they walked.
Mayten’s anger simmered as they half-walked and half-slid down the stony trail. She couldn’t seem to get Adven’s snide looks and nasty remarks out of her head.
And she couldn’t get over the way he pushed them relentlessly forward, disregarding their safety and almost getting her best friend killed.
Eventually, they reached the valley floor and Adven led them under a large stand of oaks out of the wind and rain. The nearby river raged and rushed, tumbling an occasional rock downstream.
Adven untied his end of the rope and told them to set up camp. Calm and unfeeling as though no one had almost died.
Mayten’s fingers trembled as she untied the rope around her waist. Her head had stopped hurting but anger was building up inside like a thunderstorm. She stalked up to Adven, hands on her hips.
“I thought you were supposed to be the best quester around,” she snarled. “Even I could see it was getting dangerous to keep walking. We should have stopped hours ago.”
Adven glared down at her, arms crossed over his chest. His face was like stone but his one good eye radiated hatred.
Cather took her arm while Tray stepped up to her other side. Together, they turned her away from Adven, walking her in the opposite direction. Hunter muttered something to Adven but was shrugged off.
“I’m okay,” Cather said in a soothing voice. “I’m okay.”
She put her arm around Mayten’s shoulders. Tray gave her an awkward pat as they scanned the forest for firewood. Not that they’d find any wood dry enough to burn in all this rain.
“Adven knows what he’s doing, Mayten,” Cather said. “If we hadn’t been roped, I’d be gone right now.”
“We shouldn’t have been on that cliff in the rain.” Mayten stared at her friend in disbelief. How could she defend that—
“It was a hard call,” Tray said. “If we’d waited, the whole trail could have washed out. It might have taken days to find a way around. Can’t you see how bad he feels about it?”
“No, I can’t,” said Mayten. She tucked her hands under her arms, trying to stop their trembling. “As far as I can see, the man has no feelings at all.”
Tray turned and walked away, shaking his head. Cather started to follow.
“Are you really okay?” Mayten stopped Cather with a hand on her arm.
“I’m really okay.” Cather rubbed at her ribs. “Just a little sore from the rope, that’s all.”
A twinge pierced Mayten’s side where the rope had cut into her as she pulled Cather into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I know how scared you must have been.” She reluctantly let her friend go, feeling a little of her tension ease. “I just wish I could heal you like you did me.”
“Hey,” Cather said with a grin. “You got bonked on the head and I got rope burns. If that’s the worst that happens, then I imagine we’re having a pretty good quest! “
Chapter Fourteen
The storm passed as night wore on and they were up and moving before first light. Everything was soaked and no one had slept well. Adven ignored Mayten and she did her best to ignore him. According to Hunter, they’d lost a half day struggling through the storm and Adven was bent on pushing them to make up for it.
The part of the forest they found themselves in was almost abnormally quiet, with dappled sunlight filtering through the leafy oaks, casting a magical feel to the air. She’d loved reading about fairies when she was young and this seemed a perfect place for a fairytale. A light mist filled the air.
Feels more like we’re walking through a painting rather than on a well-traveled trail, she mused.
A noise to her right caught her attention. A ray of sunlight fell on a small herd of deer standing in the trees. The deer startled, some of them bolting just as a small doe dropped to the ground, an arrow through its eye.
Hunter walked up to the downed doe and retrieved his arrow. Mayten watched in shock as he and Adven strung a rope and hung the doe by her heels. She turned away when Hunter brought out his long hunting knife.
She hadn’t even seen him shoot.
Her heart squeezed as she watched the last of the herd crashing through the brush and trees. She enjoyed eating the meals that the woodsman cooked, but she had never witnessed a kill. Her family traded what they grew for already dressed meat.
Anatolian ran over, sniffing noisily while Hunter worked. Bile burned Mayten’s throat as she watched the woodsman gutting the deer and throwing the innards to the dog. Much as she loved Anatolian, sometimes his eating habits were downright disgusting.
She imagined Adven would have no trouble slitting her throat if she got badly hurt. He would likely enjoy that task.
Adven’s gravelly voice broke into her thoughts.
“Tray, take the girls on ahead. I’ll stay and help Hunter. We’ll catch up with you. We need to keep moving as long as we have daylight.”
Cather walked up, looking as green as Mayten felt. They walked in silence as Tray led them away from the grizzly scene. Humidity from the previous night’s storm made her damp clothes feel clammy against her skin. She whistled for her dog to join them.
They’d been walking about ten minutes when a scream echoed off the trees, sending fear down Mayten’s spine. Anatolian took off at a run, heading back along the trail.
“Anatolian, come back!” Mayten shouted.
The girls turned to Tray, whose face had gone white as fresh-washed linen.
“Maybe they’re just pranking you again,” Mayten said.
Tray shook his head. “That wasn’t a human scream. That was a mountain lion.”
He pulled the hunting knife strapped to his leg, checked the blade, and slid the knife back in its sheath, then dashed after Anatolian.
Mayten’s heart leaped to her throat. She grabbed Cather’s hand and followed Tray, breaking into a run after a few steps. Shouting and barking filled the air, pierced now and again by that awful, blood-freezing scream.
“Do you think this is real?” Mayten gasped as they approached the last bend. “I wouldn’t put it past Adven to pull another joke.”
Cather shrugged. “We won’t know unless we look.”
The first thing Mayten saw when they rounded the bend was Hunter crumpled unmoving on the ground. Anatolian’s teeth were fastened on the throat of the biggest cat she had ever seen. The enormous cat thrashed about, flinging Anatolian left and right like a child’s doll as it tried to get free.
Tray and Adven stabbed at the cat with knives—knives!—and iron tang of blood filled the air. They missed more than they hit, dodging out of the way as the cat flung Anatolian one way, then the other. Blood was everywhere. Mayten couldn’t tell whether the blood came from the cat, her dog, or Hunter, who still hadn’t moved.
Anatolian—somehow—managed to pin the flailing cat on its back. Adven darted in, sinking his long hunting knife into the cat’s stomach and yanking it downward, spilling entrails across the ground. The cat screamed as Adven lifted his knife and drove it home once again.
The cat went still.
The stench of death filled Mayten’s nose and throat. She stumbled to the bushes and fell to her knees, ridding her stomach of breakfast. The cat’s final moments played over and over again in her mind, prompting another round of heaving. She shook from head to toe, wanting nothing more than to roll into a ball and hide.
When she could finally stand, Mayten turned, intending to ask what she could do to help. But her knees went weak and wobbly at the sight before her. The deer carcass lay in pieces and a few feet away lay the mutilated mountain lion, its paws the size of a man’s spread hand.
A few feet from the cat, Tray kneeled next to Adven, who sat—alive but pale and exhausted—propped against a tree.
Hunter hadn’t moved. Anatolian lay against the woodsman’s side, blood-splattered and weary, watching as Cather leaned over the woodsman. Her pack lay open beside her. With swift efficiency, Cather looked in Hunter’s eyes and felt his pulse. Then she closed her eyes and rested her hands on Hunter’s chest.
She hadn’t raced for the bushes and puked up her guts. She’d gotten to work.
This is her calling, Mayten reminded herself.
But that didn’t take away Mayten’s feeling of helplessness. The ability to communicate with trees was no help at all in a situation like this.
Was that why Adven resented her?
She took a step toward Anatolian and Hunter, grateful her legs didn’t wobble. She’d check Anatolian out. Make sure he wasn’t hurt—
“But he’s a woodsman,” Tray said, his voice tight with pain. “He would have felt the cat’s presence.”
“He was distracted,” Adven said.
Mayten glanced their way, startled by the venom in Adven’s voice. His good eye glared at her as he shoved Tray aside and struggled to his feet. He seemed to be in one piece, though she didn’t know if the blood on his clothing was his, Hunter’s, or the mountain lion’s.
“The cat took us by surprise,” he said to no one in particular. He moved around the clearing, picking up the contents of a scattered pack. “Jumped right on Hunter, grabbed hold of his neck. He wanted our kill—likely been stalking the deer himself—and we interrupted him. Might have gotten us all if it weren’t for that dog. Never seen such a fierce fight, I’ll give you that. Gave me time to get my knife into the beast—”
He glanced at Hunter and went silent, his jaw tight.
Mayten bent over Anatolian, turning her gaze from Adven’s pain. She ran her hands over the dog’s head, searching for any wounds, relieved when she found nothing but a few minor scratches among his matted fur.
“You’re such a brave dog,” she murmured. “Taking down that big cat.”
Anatolian whined and licked her hand.
Cather finally stood and went to Adven. She reached for his shirt and he batted her hand away.
“Don’t worry about me. Take care of my brother!”
“I’ve done what I can,” Cather said in a voice so low Mayten could barely hear, “but I’m afraid Hunter’s wounds are beyond my reach. He’s lost too much blood and his neck is broken. He’s not in pain; he cannot feel anything below his neck.”
Silence filled the clearing, an unnatural quiet that made the hair on Mayten’s arms stand up.
Cather must be wrong, she decided. She stared at Hunter, willing him to get up. To move.
To prove Cather wrong.
He couldn’t be . . . Not kind, gentle Hunter, teller of stories with a smile that could light anyone’s day . . .
A howl broke the silence and, for a moment, Mayten thought the cat had somehow come alive. Then she saw Adven’s stiff back. Their leader stood at the edge of the clearing, staring at something she couldn’t see.
The sound had come from him.
Cather started toward him, but Tray moved forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her to a stop.
“How long has he got?” Tray asked. His eyes pleaded, as if hoping for a different answer, but his jaw was set in a firm line.
Cather shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. He comes in and out of consciousness. With the loss of blood . . . and his neck—” She swallowed, the sound loud in the almost obscene quiet. “He’d never walk again even if he could survive the blood loss. I saw this same kind of injury when we were visiting the Ocean Clan. One of the ship masons fell from a mast and landed on his head, snapping his neck. He lived two weeks and we did all we could, but he died.”
Tray closed his eyes and nodded. He looked like a mirror image of his uncle, his entire body clenched in grief.
This was it, Mayten realized. The scenario Tray had explained what seemed a lifetime ago had come to pass. One of them would have to stay with Hunter and “ease his passing.”
Did Cather know?
Mayten studied her friend’s face, searching for words to explain what she knew had to happen. Cather gave her a sad smile, then took her arm, guiding her over to Hunter.
“Help me get some water into him.”
Mayten watched in shocked silence as Cather gently removed her sweater, folded it, and pushed the bundle under the woodsman’s head. She pulled a cloth from her backpack and took it to the nearby stream to wet it. Returning to Hunter’s side, she gently moistened his lips with the cloth. His pale, waxy skin glistened with damp.
