The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 8

Hulking before them stood the dead husk of a ma.s.sive tree-not one of the spindly trunked apple trees, but one of the ancient giants that towered here long before humans first entered this valley. Eight men with linked arms couldn't reach around its trunk. The top of the tree had long since fallen away, leaving only this ragged stump with a single thick branch pointing toward the sky.

"I found it while exploring," Elena said. She spoke in hushed tones, not to avoid the ears of the winged hunter but in respect for what stood before her. "I call him the Old Man."

She led the way to a long black split in its bark. "It's hollowed out inside, a natural cave. We can-"

A screeching roar of rage exploded across the valley. The hunter had realized that its prey had slipped its snare.

Without another word, Elena and Joach tumbled inside the embrace of the Old Man. Even Mist didn't balk at sliding inside with them. The hollowed chamber in the heart of the wood was roomy enough to have allowed a small herd of horses to enter with them.

The first thing that struck Elena as they sheltered within the tree was the Old Man's smell. The pervading reek of decaying apples under the boughs of the orchard never penetrated the fresh, woody scent of the tree. The air here was redolent with pine oils and a hint of chestnut. Though the tree was long dead, its scent persisted, as if the Old Man's ancient spirit still hovered within the husk of the once proud giant.

Even the choking smoke wafting now through the orchard could not push away the Old Man's presence.

Elena reached a palm to rest tenderly against the wood. Somehow she knew the Old Man would protect them this night. As her right hand touched the wood, she felt a cool calmness spread up her arm to her heart. And for just a moment, she thought she heard words whispered in her head, like a voice reaching up from a deep well.

Child... of blood and stone... a boon... seek my children...

She shook her head at her foolishness and removed her hand from the tree. Wrapping her arms about her chest, she dismissed the voice. It was just this night of terror echoing in her head.

Joach stepped beside her, and without a word, they each reached a hand toward the other. Joach squeezed her fingers tightly as they both listened to the night. Eventually the screeches faded in the distance. They had fooled the beast and confused its tracking, and it had apparently abandoned its chase-at least for now.

Joach peeked his head out of the tree's heart and surveyed the orchard. "We must leave now," he said.

"The fire is on us. We'll be trapped in it if we don't hurry."

Elena nodded, though she regretted leaving the companions.h.i.+p of the Old Man. She led Mist out andwas instantly a.s.saulted by the sting of smoke on eyes and nose. She glanced over her shoulder. The fires lit the entire horizon behind her! Its devouring howl rolled toward them from the heights.

"We must hurry," Joach said, pus.h.i.+ng through the wall of brambles. "We still have a long way to go to reach the creek."

Elena followed. Soon they cleared the hollow and raced across the orchard. Elena kept glancing behind her. They were hunted again, but this time by roaring flames.

Her last sight of the Old Man was its one outstretched branch. It was afire, like a drowning man in a sea of flames, waving for help.

With tears in her eyes, she turned away. Strange words still echoed in her head: Seek my children.

"I can't believe Bruxton's boy would do such a thing!" The wagon driver, a gnarled root of a man, pounded his buckboard with his fist. The other men gathered in the back of the wagon grumbled hot words. Several shook shovels above their heads.

Rockingham leaned over the pommel of his winded horse toward the wagon. "His father sent for the seer." He pointed a thumb to Dismarum, who rode a smaller filly tethered to his mount. The old man bent with his cowl over his face, rocking as if half asleep. "His father sent for us to try to get the boy and girl some help."

"But those children... you're saying his father actually caught the two together? He saw the abomination with his own eyes?"

Rockingham nodded. "In the barn. Like dogs, they were, not caring that they were brother and sister."

A satisfying flurry of gasps arose from the rear of the wagon. Rockingham suppressed a twinge of a smile. This was too easy, wicked words to incite the hidden fears of every family. He pulled his riding cloak tighter over his shoulders. Down the dark road ran a cool wind from the mountain heights.

Rockingham glanced to the nearby smoldering foothills. The blaze still occasionally spouted plumes of flame as it stretched through the orchards.

A squeaky voice rose from somewhere in the cart. "And when you got there, what happened?"

Rockingham righted himself in his saddle to again face the wagon. "We found the boy with an ax. His mother lay b.l.o.o.d.y at his feet; his father already long cold on the dirt."

"Sweet Mother!"

Several townsmen pressed thumbs to forehead in a warding against evil.

"And the girl child, she had already set torch to barn and house. The boy came at us with his ax as soon as we appeared. I was forced to guard the blind seer and retreat."

"How could this happen?" the wagon driver said, his eyes wide with shock. "I knew those kids-sweet, they seemed, and polite, with nary a mean streak."

Dismarum spoke for the first time, raising his cowl to face the torchlight of the wagon. "Demons. Evil spirits hold their hearts."

Now almost the entire wagon raised thumbs to foreheads. One man even leaped from the wagon and ran back toward the distant town. His footfalls faded into the night."Bring them to me unharmed," the seer continued. "Do not kill them, or the evil will flee from their dying hearts- perhaps to one of your own children. Beware." Dismarum lowered his cowl and raised a bony hand to wave Rockingham ahead.

Rockingham kicked his horse forward. Dismarum's filly followed. Rockingham called to the stunned wagon behind him. "Spread the word! Search! Bring the tainted children to the garrison!"

As soon as the wagon was hidden by a curve in the road, Rockingham slowed his horse until he rode beside Dismarum. "The trap is set," he said to the old man.

Dismarum remained silent. Suddenly the beating of leathery wings burst from over the tree line. Both ducked as it pa.s.sed overhead. It continued toward town. "Pray it's a snug trap," Dismarum mumbled as the winged horror faded into the dawning light of the east.

Elena rode behind Joach, her arms wrapped around his waist as he guided Mist across Millbend Creek.

As the horse splashed through the wide, shallow creek, an occasional spray of water jetted high enough to wash across Elena's calves. The water's frigid touch reminded her of the winter to come. But Mist nickered boisterously, the water seeming to calm the horse's fears.

"We should be safe once we're across," Joach said, his voice cracking with fatigue and smoke. "The creek is wide, and I doubt the fire will be able to leap the distance. At least, so I hope."

Elena remained silent. She hoped, too. Behind her, the fires spread like fingers of a hand through the orchard, seeking them. At one point the fire had almost trapped them in a dry gully between two foothills.

They were forced to mount Mist and race back along their trail, barely escaping the edge of the fire. But, thankfully, at least no sign of the winged beast had appeared again.

By the time they reached Millbend Creek, the moon had already set, and in the east, a pale glow warned of morning.

"Joach," she said, "how much farther to Winterfell?"

"I'm not sure. If only I could see some familiar landmarks through this cursed smoke. But I'd still say we should reach the town by daybreak."

Joach tapped Mist's flanks with his heel to encourage her up the creek's bank to the dry ground. "We'd better walk her again from here." He slid off the mare and raised a hand to help Elena off.

She climbed down and almost collapsed to her knees, her legs so bone tired. Her feet throbbed, and all her joints quaked with exhaustion. She felt raw all over, as if someone had flailed the skin from her body.

Joach supported her. "We could rest for a few breaths, El."

She wiped at her soot-stained face and nodded. Stumbling to a mossy boulder by the creek bank, she sat. Nearby, Mist nosed at some green shoots by the creek and began to pull at them with her teeth.

Joach sighed loudly and plopped on the bank's edge. He leaned back on his hands, staring at the river of smoke flowing across the stars.

She hung her head. Since last afternoon, all she had ever believed in, the very ground she walked on, had become a treacherous bog. Nothing seemed real. Even Joach and Mist, both only an arm's length away, seemed insubstantial, as if they might turn to dust and blow away, leaving her alone among the trees. She hugged her arms around her and began to rock back and forth on her stone seat and s.h.i.+ver. Her tears could not be denied.She was barely aware of Joach rising from the creek bank and crossing to her. He wrapped her in his own arms and held her, halting her rocking. She still s.h.i.+vered in his grip. He squeezed her tighter and pulled her head to his chest. He did not whisper a word, just held her tight.

Her s.h.i.+vering began to quell, and she leaned into Joach.

She knew it was not only her brother who held her this night. In his close embrace flowed the love and warmth of her mother, and in the strength of his arms were the bone and muscle of her father. No matter what had happened this night, they were still a family.

She wished to remain in his arms until the morning sun crested the mountain peaks, but Mist suddenly huffed loudly and danced away from the river, ears perked in confusion. Joach released his sister and rose to his feet, alert for what had startled the horse.

Elena stood and grabbed at Mist's reins. Joach crouched at the mossy edge of the bank and scanned the creek bed. "Do you see anything, Joach?"

"No, nothing. This night's got her spooked."

Elena could understand Mist's edginess. She crept carefully to stand by Joach's side. She peered upstream and downstream. The creek gurgled over smooth rocks between fern-shrouded banks.

Nothing seemed unusual. "Maybe you're right..." she began to say, but stopped. She blinked, afraid it was a trick of her tired eyes.

A silver glow, like reflected moonlight, bloomed in a calm eddy of water at the foot of the bank. But the moon had already set. As she stared, the glow swirled contrary to the current.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Where?"

She pointed to the light as its swirling slowed and spread like spilled milk across the water.

Joach glanced to her. "I don't see anything."

"The light in the water. You don't see it?"

Joach took a step away from the edge and tried to pull Elena back, but she stayed rooted in place. "El, there's nothing there."

She stared as the glow thinned to a wavery sheen on the water; then in a wink, it vanished. She rubbed at her eyes. "It's gone," she said quietly.

"What? Nothing was there."

"There was... there was something."

"Well, I didn't see it. But considering this night, whatever it was probably meant us harm."

"No." Elena spoke before even thinking but knew that she spoke the truth. "No, it was not a danger."

"Well, I've had enough strange occurrences for one night. Let's go. We've still a long walk to reach Winterfell." Joach peered a final time at the water, then with a shake of his head proceeded downstream.

Elena followed with Mist in tow.She again pictured the spreading glow. Maybe her eyes had been playing tricks, but for an instant, just before the light had vanished, a single image coalesced, etched in silver: a woman with stars for eyes.

Then in a whisper, nothing but dark water and rock again. She rubbed at her sore eyes. A trick of light and exhaustion, that's all it was.

But why, when the image had flashed in the water, had her stained hand suddenly burned like fire as if she had touched the sun? Then in an instant, like the image, the heat, too, had vanished.

And why didn't Joach see the woman or even the glow?

Mist nudged her with her nose. She trudged faster after Joach. There were too many questions. Maybe in Winterfell she would find answers.

Dawn came cold to the tiny room of the inn. Er'ril lay wrapped in a blanket on the floor of the room, his knapsack acting as a pillow. He had been awake to see the first rays of the morning sun stir the dust motes in the room to a slow dance. It had been a long evening. He and Nee'lahn had talked well into the night before both finally agreed that a few hours of sleep were needed to face the morning.

Nee'lahn had fallen quickly asleep on the bed, still in her clothes, the lute held to her breast like a lover.

Meanwhile, Er'ril found only islands of slumber, and even those few naps were beset with terrible dreams. Finally forsaking even the pretense of sleep, Er'ril had watched the sun dawn into morning.

As he stared at the encroaching light, his thoughts spun on a thousand pins, through old memories, questions, and fears. Why had he stayed with this daft woman? he wondered. After her eyes had closed and her breathing slowed, he could have easily stolen away. But her words kept him trapped in the room.

Was there some meaning in his encounter with this nyphai woman, as she contended? Was there some hidden portent in the blazing orchard fire? And why... why did he return to this cursed valley?

But he knew the answer to this last question. In his heart, he couldn't hide from what drew him back to this valley. Last night was the anniversary of the Book's binding-and worse yet, the loss of his brother.

Er'ril could still picture Shorkan, Greshym, and the boy-whose name he never had learned- crouched in the wax ring as drums beat in the distance. The memory, like a painting whose oil still ran wet, remained vibrant and bright.

Five hundred winters ago, he had stood in a similar inn, the Book firm in his grip, as an innocent's blood pooled at his feet. Unknown to Er'ril, the marching of years had stopped for him at that moment. It took him many turnings of the seasons before he realized the curse bestowed upon him that evening: never to grow older. He had to watch those he had grown to love age and die while he stayed forever young. He had seen in each of their eyes the occasional glimpse of ire: Why must I age and you live? Finally, the pain of witnessing this over and over again had become too great, and he took to the road, to call no place home, no one friend.

Each hundred winters he returned to this valley, hoping to find some answer. When will this end? Why must I live? But so far, no answer came to him. As the land aged, he watched the scars of that fateful night's battle heal in the valley. The people forgot; the dead lay unremembered, their graves unmarked.

He returned each century to honor those fallen to the dreadlords' march. They deserved at least one person to preserve the memory of their bravery and sacrifice.

Er'ril knew he could fall upon his own sword and end this curse; the thought had pa.s.sed through his mind many nights as he lay awake. But his heart would not let him. Who would then remember the thousands who had died this night so many winters ago? And his brother Shorkan, who had died giving the Book life-how could Er'ril abandon his own responsibility when his brother had given so much?So each hundred winters he returned.

Er'ril heard Nee'lahn stir. He watched her raise a hand and wipe the cobwebs of sleep from her face.

Er'ril cleared his throat to let her know that he, too, was awake.

She pushed up on one elbow. " 'Tis morning so soon?"

"Yes," he said, "and if we want to find a seat in the commons to break our fast, we should be about soon. I've heard men bustling in and out all night."

She slipped from the bed, shyly straightening her frock. "Perhaps we could just eat here. I... I prefer to avoid crowds."

"No. They only serve in the common room." Er'ril pushed into his boots and stood. He cracked a kink in his neck and peered out the window. To the west, the morning sky was smudged with snaking trails of soot, and a pall of smoke hung thick across the valley roof. Above the heights, thunder-heads stacked behind the mountain peaks. A storm threatened, but rain would be a blessing to the valley this day. Er'ril still saw a few spates of flame licking upward. Closer, the foothills were scarred and blackened, with only an occasional shoal of green life.

Nee' lahn stepped beside him and brushed her hair with her fingers. "A foul morning," she whispered, staring out the window.

"I've seen the valley far uglier than this." He pictured the morning after the Battle for Winter's Eyrie.

Blood had run red through the thousand creeks, screams echoed off the craggy mountains of the Teeth, and the stench of charred flesh had fouled the nose. No, this was a pleasant morning in comparison. "It will heal," he said to Nee'lahn as he turned from the sight. He shouldered his knapsack. "It always does."

She collected her bag and strapped her lute to it. She joined him by the room's door. "Not always," she said softly.

He glanced at her. Her eyes stared far from the room. He knew she was picturing the blighted grove of her home. He sighed and opened the door.

Nee'lahn slipped out the door into the hall. She led the way down the stairs toward the common room.

The voices and loud talk that echoed up from the inn's main room sounded as boisterous as when they had left late last night. Something still had the townspeople all stirred up.

As he and the bardswoman entered the commons, a scrawny man with a shock of red hair and ash-stained clothing stomped a foot on the player's stage. No pan lay at the stage's foot, so Er'ril knew this was not an early morning performer.

"Listen, people!" the thin man shouted to the crowded tables, his voice high and strident. "I heard this from the captain of the garrison himself!"