Storm runner, p.18
Storm Runner, page 18
The arriving refugees had been swept off the dnu, bundled in more blankets, and led off to huddle around the fire and eat, or stagger into the drowsy warmth of the cave and sleep. By the time Aranur and Dion rode in on their slower-paced dnu, most of the refugees were already settled, and it was only the Ariyens who were still corralling their mounts and carting gear around.
Not bothering to speak softly, Dion directed Tomi and his younger charge toward the corral. The smaller child had not awakened from the lurching of the dnu; if the pounding of the hooves and noise of the camp did not open the child’s eyes, Dion doubted that mere words would do it now. She nodded toward the corral that had been grown between three of the trees. Cleverly, the branching canopy had been bent and guided into a fence. Only the gate was man-made. “It is a permanent camp,” she explained to Tomi, “used every fall during the sap run.”
He looked around curiously. “We don’t have sap runs. We have sap farms,” he said.
“I know,” she returned cheerfully. In her own county, she had once had the task of tending the sap trees. It was not a job she wanted to repeat. “Sap trees do not grow so well on this side of the Phye. The ground is different. Too rocky.” She shrugged. “We have enough to harvest for the supply of the village, but not enough to farm.”
“Aranur,” a man called from the other side of the firepit. “Can we see you a moment?”
Aranur, swinging off the dnu, gave Dion a grimace. “Not even unsaddled, and already at work.” He loosed the cinch and caught the saddle as it slipped off. The dnu’s skin rippled in delight as it was relieved of the weight. No matter how comfortable the saddle was, the creature preferred its fur free for scratching. It bent its head around, nipping daintily at its hide until Aranur took the bridle as well, leaving it free to sidestep into the corral and join the rest of the herd. “Won’t be a moment,” he promised.
Dion regarded his back wryly. No, it would not be a moment, she agreed silently. It would be at least an hour—maybe two, if she knew Aranur. She swung to the ground, motioning for the boy to wait a minute, and took her dnu to the corral. A moment to relieve it of its saddle and bridle, and another to carry her own gear to the saddle log, and then she turned to the boy.
“Hold onto her,” she said, gesturing at the little girl loosely clinging to the boy. She tapped the dnu behind its forelegs, and it knelt obediently, its middle legs tucking under as it dropped closer to the ground. When the children were within reach, Dion took the little girl gently. Moons, but she weighed nothing, even to Dion’s tired arms. She frowned at the feel of bone under her hands. Tomi, sliding down from the saddle, looked at her uncertainly. She smoothed her face. “Can you get the gear?” she asked, keeping one hand on the dnu’s head to hold it in place. “I’ll wait.”
He nodded. The saddle was heavy for him, but he managed, staggering under its weight as he hauled it to the saddle log. He could not sling it all the way over, and it took him several minutes to straighten out the cinch and other straps. When he returned and took the bridle off, Dion let the dnu rise. It needed little urging to join the herd in the corral. As she shut the gate, the dnu was already making its way toward the feeding bin, reminding Dion yet again that even though she had emptied Aranur’s pack of his own lunch—and Gamon’s, too—she was still hungry enough to eat a badgerbear. And that reminded her of the refugees. She glanced toward the fire, catching the eye of one of the men who hovered over the newcomers. He nodded warmly, striding to greet her.
“Hi, Dion, another couple of feet for the fire, eh?”
She grinned. “This one,” she said, indicating the lolling head of the small girl in her arms, “is more interested in sleep, I think. But Tomi could probably be convinced to sit by the blaze.”
The burly man cocked his head at the boy’s scrawny frame. “And to take a few more meals, I should think.” He took the little girl gently from Dion’s arms, his thick muscles hefting the tiny child with surprise as he, too, realized how little she weighed. He gave Dion a sober look. Jerking his head at the fire, he indicated that the boy should follow him. “Come, Tomi. Before you know it, we’ll have you warm as a winter coat in the summer.”
Tomi stared at the man’s muscles, then at the worn sword hanging from his shoulder strap. He balked. The thickset man paused. “Huh. What is it, boy?”
Tomi glanced uncertainly at Dion.
“It’s all right,” she said gently. “Some of your elders are there, see? And I will join you in a little while.”
He nodded reluctantly.
Dion looked after them, a frown creasing her brow. The pack-song that echoed deep in her mind caught her attention now that she could think again, and she reached for it. Strange notes… The bony images of the boy and the others made a disturbing picture in the memories of the wolves. But when she would have stretched further to read the echoes, she was interrupted. From her right, inside the cave, a woman had come to the entrance and called her twice already.
“Dion,” the woman called again, finally catching her attention. “Can we see you for a moment?” Her body, silhouetted by the light inside the cave, turned for a moment, as if she were listening over her shoulder, then glanced back toward the wolfwalker. Dion sighed. This was one of the intern healers. One of the less-confident interns, she reminded herself. No doubt, she thought uncharitably, the woman wanted to discuss everything she had done since she had visited the peetrees that morning. Dion grinned sourly. She could guess where the other healer was. Probably, as soon as he heard Dion was returning, he had ridden back to the village—anything to escape this woman’s run-on tongue.
Dion waved her acknowledgment, making her way slowly toward the cave. If she was lucky, someone would have set up bedding enough for her to sleep, too. Several people stopped her on the way to the cavern, greeting her and gripping her arms—painfully—as they traded comments on the rescue. So she had been the one to bring in the refugees? And early, too? What had happened to cause this? How had it been, going through the falls—it was like her not to wait until it was set up and tested. Or had it been Aranur who insisted on being first? That was one way to get a shower—clever of her to do it this morning instead of waiting till now, when she would be sharing the stalls with a dozen others. Good to see her back, yes it was… Before she got through to the cave entrance, and back to the warm corner where the few wounded refugees huddled, she felt as though her weary smile was frozen on her face. She had no energy to change it for each person. She had little energy for this intern, either, she realized, as the woman ran on at length about the condition of the children she had tucked into the bedding in the cave. It was not until Dion yawned mightily that the woman faltered.
“Oh, Dion, I’m sorry. I thought—I just wanted you to know—”
“It’s all right,” Dion cut in. She started to speak, but yawned again, opening her eyes afterward reluctantly. The burning that closing them had relieved so briefly was hedonistic agony. “You’re doing fine,” she reassured. “Their wounds are minor. And, as you already realized, they are just very hungry and very run down.”
“I only wanted you to see—”
Dion cut her off gently. “You are doing very well with them,” she repeated. “You do not need me here, so I think, if there is an extra space where I can throw my blankets, that I will just lie down with the rest of them and sleep awhile.”
“Oh, gods.” The woman was instantly contrite. “I’m really sorry. Moonworms, I don’t know why I did not think. Going through the falls yourself after days of scouting—you must be exhausted. Here—” She grabbed Dion’s arm and pulled her toward a quiet corner. “We have more than enough beds set up—we are sleeping in shifts anyway, what with the work behind the falls going on at night. Leave your pack there—no, don’t bother to bring out your blankets—the beds are much more comfortable. Take my bed. No, I insist. You can sleep as long as you like here.”
Dion smiled faintly. “Thanks. But, Cheya?” she added. “Don’t wake me until dinner.”
The other woman turned and hurried back to her charges, and Dion sank down on the soft bedding. She was too tired to strip. She would drag her own sleeping bag from her gear bag later. This bed was good enough for now.
Her damp clothes were warm with her body heat, but turned clammy when she stopped moving, so she got up to grab a dry shirt and pair of pants from the bag at the back wall that had her design on it. Wearily, she set her sword and other gear between the head of the mattress and the wall of the cave. It was another matter, however, to fight the knots in the wet leather laces of her jerkin, and she almost gave up, her fingers trembling with weariness over the task. By the time she leaned back on the sleeping bag, she was already half-asleep. She did not even cover her shoulders before she slept.
Dreams of gray threads. A spiderweb of bonds in her head… The song of the wolves was distant, but it pounded like a group of dancers, running, leaping, as they raced from meadow to log to rocky path. She twisted restlessly. In her ears, the distant snorting came softly as the wolves dug in the ground for rodents. In her nose, the sweet, thick scent of damp earth where their black claws tore out the burrows. On her lips, the sweet, hot taste of blood and meat still pulsing from the last bit of life… And then the taste changed. Bitter threads were caught in the blood. Red, now purple, the ichor seeped from the meat she had killed. And then the prey began to twitch and rise, and it was no rabbit, no rodent of the fields. Gods, it was a worlag. She tried to scream, searching her body for her knife and finding none to hand. “My knife—throw me my knife!” The worlag raked its claw across her face…
She tossed restlessly, her arm flung out of the covers, and her loose, fuzzy braid trailing across her shoulder. Her fist clenched, twitching. Aranur, looking down, knelt and touched her face, calming her from her dreams. Still sleeping, she made an inarticulate sound, brushing at her cheek and catching his hand. He lay down then, easing into the sleeping bag beside her and pillowing his head on his arms until he, too, slept.
In Bilocctar, still in the late winter months…
The afternoon was dark with clouds, and Namina huddled in her saddle as the rain rushed suddenly upon them. Conin wrapped her in a poncho, but she was miserable, and he cursed himself for not realizing that the weather might turn. If he had not been so damned anxious to get out of those polite towns, they could have been under a dry roof, having hot soup for lunch and waiting for the rains to stop before they rode out again. But no, he cursed himself, he had had to push. And Longear was probably laughing her head off at Namina’s misery.
Ten minutes later, the downpour drizzled out, blowing on to the north. The forest glistened around them, the roottree roads hard and shiny with the rain. The sky was still overcast, so that neither sun nor moons shone upon them, and Conin shivered. Beneath him, the wet warmth of the dnu streamed like a demon’s breath.
But then, Longear brought them to a halt and stared expectantly at Conin.
“What is it?” he snapped. “You said twenty kilometers. We have gone barely five.”
“We have,” she acknowledged. “But this is as far as you go.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know.” She chuckled, and the sound grated on his nerves until he wanted to scream. “But look at your mate. She knows what I mean.”
Conin glanced at Namina. She was staring at Longear, the fear stark in her pale face. Her blue eyes were huge, like a nightbird caught in the light, and her hands trembled as they held the reins.
“No games, Longear,” he said sharply. “What do you want now? Another agreement? You already control the county. What more can you take from me?”
“Why, Conin,” she said softly, leaning forward in the saddle, “you still have so much to give.”
Two of the raiders bunched up beside him, cutting him off from his wife. “Wha—” It was the only sound he got out. They slugged him, clubbed him across the neck and head when his raingear tangled their hands, and dragged him from the saddle. Something was flung in his face, and he screamed, digging at his eyes, clawing them while they burned yellow, then red, then black, until his hands were clamped in iron grips. Somewhere in the background, Namina was shrieking. He struggled blindly. The screaming—gods, would it never stop? He beat his head against the ground as the screams rose to an insane pitch and then were choked to a mindless animal whimper. Someone laughed. Namina’s voice strangled, cutting off her sudden shriek. Why couldn’t they just kill her and let her be? He would tear them limb from limb. He would rip their souls out through their lungs when he got free. He shouted and cried and writhed against the hands that held him, choking on the gag that was stuffed in his mouth. It tasted sickly sweet. It was soaked in blood. Namina… He retched. Someone grabbed his hair, and then he felt a woman’s fingers digging into his scalp. Namina…
Longear looked on her handiwork with a slight smile. “There, now,” she said soothingly. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” She leered at Namina. The woman’s hands were tied into Conin’s hair, her mouth and lower body soaked in blood. Three siker barbs were still stuck in her cheek where she had accidentally butted one of Longear’s men in her panic, and Longear leaned over and pulled them out distastefully. Namina stared at her, cowering and whimpering away from those small, delicate hands. Longear gestured. Conin’s arms were tied around Namina’s waist.
“Say you love each other,” she suggested.
Namina’s whimpers rose into a scream as the raider approached. He swung. Conin’s head was severed from behind. The body dropped without a spasm. Blood spurted into Namina’s face, then her chest, then her thighs, as his body slid down hers, locked around her by his bound arms. His head hung from her hands, staring at her sightlessly, her fingers still tangled into his hair. The bloody cloth torn from her own trousers was still crammed in his mouth. The rain puddle at her feet filled with blood. The surface turned from brown to red. The ripples from his futile pulse spread to her toes, and she hyperventilated.
Longear laughed. As she rode away, she looked back only once. Namina was still screaming, but her voice was going. Longear laughed again. And rode on.
Chapter 10
When your children die,
When your county burns,
When your tears are thin with grief;
When you can see no further, and
When there is nothing left.
There is one thing still:
The gift of death.
The noise of the dinner crew was not enough to wake Dion or Aranur. It was not until a stern hand shook their shoulders that they opened their eyes.
“Come on, wake up, you two. Dinner’s getting cold, and there is much to talk about.” It was Aranur’s uncle, Gamon, his gray hair gleaming like a pale halo in the dim light of the cave.
Dion roused groggily. Aranur’s warmth curled around her body, and she felt lethargic, unwilling to move. The dark images of her dreams still caught her, and it took Aranur’s sitting up to waken her completely, the sudden rush of cool air shocking where it stripped the sleep heat away. She growled.
Aranur, looking down, grinned. “Hungry?”
She growled again, nodding emphatically. “Enough to eat two dnu all by myself.”
“In that case…” He tossed back the covers, rolling free and extending his arm to help her up.
Dion winced as she rose, glaring at Gamon’s chuckle. Now that Aranur’s uncle was old enough to have a weatherwise ache in one of his own legs, he found too much humor in the stiffness of younger folks. Her glare turned to a snort when he chucked her under her chin. Shoving his hand away, she reached out to slap his face playfully, grinning when he withdrew like lightning, blocking her move and giving her his own wrinkled grin. He was a gnarled figure, his face seamed and lined with scars and age. His gray hair was half-silvered, half dull gray, and it gave him a grizzled look. He had been like a father to her this last year. Dion, glancing from Aranur to Gamon, rubbed the sleepsand from her eyes and leaned down to pick up her sword and buckle it back on. Her stomach cramped, growling noisily, and both men looked at her and laughed. “Hush,” she said haughtily. “My stomach is merely making a statement about the time of day. Dinner time.” She glared at their stifled chuckles. Why did not other womens’ guts growl at embarrassing moments? She yanked at her braid and tugged her tunic into some sense of respectability. Her own jerkin was still damp, so she left it where it lay, scrounging in one of the clothing piles near the back of the cave for an extra. Catching a glimpse of herself in one of the mirrors that had been hung, she made a face. Aranur and Gamon glanced back.
Gamon knew instantly what peeved her. “We set up a shower a couple days ago,” he said soothingly. “You should use it tonight if you want your turn. Tomorrow, you will be riding back to town.”
“Tomorrow?” She frowned, but let Aranur pull her forward to the food tables. She took the plate she was offered, accepting the pile of meat and steamed vegetables eagerly, sneaking a piece of blackroot with her fingers and popping it in her mouth. She sighed with the flavor as Gamon answered, “You, Aranur, some of the elders you brought in today—you will all need to go back and speak to the Lloroi.”
She frowned. “Why include me in that group?” She popped another bite in her mouth, unable to wait till they seated themselves near the fire. The heat reached out like a toasty blanket as they walked up, though the fire to the fore made her back feel cold in comparison.
