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“I’ll explain it all, in time,” he said, laying a kind hand on hers. “But how did you find me here? The path I followed was dense and winding.”

“I can’t tell you,” she said with a shrug, “for I hardly know myself. The sounds of the battle guided me at first, and when they died out I could only go on, for I couldn’t find my way back. I simply walked on until I nearly tripped over you. It seems a miracle.”

A sudden movement over Shallah’s shoulder caught Petyr’s attention and he noticed a pale figure in the trees. It was Liam, his tunic powdered white by the same strange dust. He leaned heavily against the trunk of a tree, almost as though it held him up, his cheek pressed into its bark.

“Liam!” Petyr called out on impulse. Shallah spun about expectantly.

The child seemed to awaken upon hearing his name, in body at least, if not in mind. He regarded them both with a cautious air, as though he didn’t recognize them. He might not have approached them at all, had Petyr not beckoned him. His step, when he came to meet them, was slow as one condemned.

As he stood before Shallah, his gaze riveted on a fir trunk over her shoulder, Petyr began to fear the worst. We’ve lost him, he thought. His mind is gone. Petyr feared the shock of it would break Shallah. He knew what it was to lose a wife. He’d never lost a child.

Shallah took the child’s hands in hers and spoke the first words in what seemed an hour. “Liam, darling,” she said, “don’t you know me?”

Petyr held his breath. The child’s reaction would say it all.

Liam lowered his eyes to Shallah’s face. At first, his expression remained blank, his eyes dull. Petyr couldn’t help but stare at those eyes. The light that played over Shallah’s face was yellowed and murky – a sickly light. But Petyr remembered how brightly it had shone when he’d first come upon the boy, bright with the strength of life. He looked away. He wouldn’t watch the light go out.

What Petyr didn’t see, what no one saw, was the change that happened next. For, as Liam gazed upon Shallah, a shadow of recognition passed across his face, and the light from his eyes began to strengthen. In moments, it had regained its former brilliance and bathed the clearing in brightness reflected by the white powder all around. Nearly blinded by the glare, Petyr turned back to his friends in astonishment. Liam had fallen to his knees. A smile graced his lips.

They seemed to become one being, so tightly did they hold each other, the child’s legs hooked about Shallah’s slim waist, her hair falling over his as she hugged him to her, kissing his cheeks.

“Is he hurt, Petyr?” Shallah managed to ask finally, her face aglow with relief. She sat the boy in her lap, unwilling to let him go. “Check him, please.”

Liam’s face regained its animation, and he kept looking up at Shallah as Petyr examined him, as though unwilling to believe she was real.

“How can it be?” Petyr asked aloud as he rolled up the boy’s sleeves, searching for bruises and cuts.

“I don’t understand it,” he said. He retrieved the boy’s shoe and tied it on, shaking his head. “I can’t see how.”

In the end, Liam hadn’t a scratch on him.

Petyr continued to puzzle over this wonder as Shallah rocked Liam in her arms. It was only when he fell quiet that he heard the words she whispered softly into the boy’s ear.

“You came back,” she said.

The trio decided to collect their packs and find some shelter for the night. Fatigue plagued them like a fog, for it had been days since any of them had rested rightly. Shallah’s foot had swollen greatly, and though on her journey to find them she’d felt little pain, it bit her cruelly now. She walked with an obvious limp, nearly falling with each step until Petyr convinced her to take his arm.

Liam clung to Shallah like a spider, his eyes wide with severe exhaustion. Still, his sight held its glow and helped to distinguish the path.

“Do you know about his eyes?” Petyr asked Shallah as they ducked under some low hanging branches.

“What of them?” she asked.

“They glow in the dark.”

“What ever do you mean?”

Liam leaned into Shallah, pressing his cheek into her hip

“His eyes give off light,” Petyr said. “I can see ten feet in front of us at this moment.”

Shallah put her arm about Liam’s shoulder. She recalled her gladness as their journey had begun that the child was unafraid of the dark.

“He’s lighting our way,” she said.

They took shelter in a small cave hidden in the side of a hill. Petyr had found the place a few days before, and had left markers in the earth so he could find his way back. Shallah marvelled to hear that Petyr had been stranded in the black wood for three days. When she asked him how he’d managed to overtake them, his answers were evasive.

“Didn’t you keep to the path as we did?” she asked as she folded a blanket over Liam. The child drifted off as soon as he laid down his head, his body curled, his thumb in his mouth.

Petyr was building a fire in the cave’s entrance. “I ignored the path,” he replied.

“So, you came directly north,” Shallah said contemplatively, stroking Liam’s hair. “Still, you ought to have been days behind us. You must have taken very little rest.”

“None at all,” he said as the kindling began to burn. He couldn’t see Shallah’s reaction, for his back was turned. He fed the flames before him with a deliberation the task didn’t deserve.

“No rest at all,” she said, “in more than four days?” The cave began to fill with the silent weight of things unsaid. Though the question was on Shallah’s lips, she couldn’t voice it. “My goodness, Petyr,” was all she said.

Let us leave it till the morning, she thought. I may have the strength to bear it in the morning.

Shallah considered her new companion. Distrust, her old friend, flared within her as she realized she knew next to nothing about him. Raulf had described him as volatile, monstrous even, but he’d shown her and Liam such kindness thus far. Might it be an act? She wished she’d had more experience with men. They’d always seemed such troublesome creatures who drank too much ale, ate too much food, and made too much mess. And just when you needed them most …

But Petyr seemed different. Could she trust him?

She’d never felt easy around men. When asked if she planned to marry, she always replied, “Why would I want to do that?” She prided herself on being able to do anything a man could, as though to prove that she didn’t need one, didn’t want one. But in truth … She’d been so young when her father had left her, her body just beginning to bloom. His departure had wounded her more than she would ever admit. Young Shallah had come to see herself as a ruined thing, a piece of fruit spoiled by the sun. She’d decided to turn her back on romance, to save herself the humiliation of wanting and being turned away. She’d washed her hands of men.

The truth of it was, she’d always felt sure no man would ever want her.

Now, faced with a man she couldn’t avoid, Shallah couldn’t help but wonder what Petyr must think of her.

He certainly can’t be much impressed with my looks, she thought gloomily.

Her hair hadn’t seen a comb in days. Her kirtle was spattered with blood and dirt it, her stocking ripped, her shift filthy. What a picture she must make! Shallah recalled that Petyr and his bride had been heralded as the best looking couple to grace the village in ages. She could remember thinking Marion beautiful when they were children together.

Suddenly she remembered the state Petyr had found her in – wild with fear, sick with self-contempt. Had he heard her wails? Her pride sank lower still.

He knows I’ve failed, she realized. He’s taken pity on me, that’s what keeps him here.

And I owe him my life, she thought.

She didn’t know how she would ever repay him.

As Petyr showed little desire to strike up a conversation, it was Shallah who broke the silence. “You’ve broken your arm,” she said.

He looked up at her, startled. “How could you possibly know that?”

“It was in the way you held yourself as you walked,” she replied simply. “You should have told me, Petyr.”

“I didn’t wish to trouble you,” he said, drawing away from the fire. He looked down at his left arm hanging limp at his side.

“I’ll fashion you a sling out of the extra blanket. It’s too thin to be of real use anyway,” she said.

“And your foot,” Petyr said, sitting next to her against the cave wall. “You can’t sleep the night without binding it. It’s terribly swollen.”

“We are a sad lot, aren’t we?” Shallah said with a weary smile as she pulled the blanket from her pack. “But it could have been much worse, if not for you.”

“Please, don’t,” he said. He bowed his head and folded and unfolded his hands.

“Petyr,” she said gently, “you won’t even let me thank you? When I owe you so much –”

“Please,” he interrupted. “There’s no need!” His words were so vehement that to go on seemed cruel. An awkward quiet fell over them.

“We will get him home,” he said finally. “You mustn’t lose faith in that.”

Shallah frowned as she tugged at a tear in the blanket. He’d said ‘we.’ They hadn’t yet discussed where they would go from here. Just the thought of the road ahead brought her spirits down in a rush. She yearned to discuss her feelings with Petyr – it had been so long since she’d had another adult to talk to – but she hesitated. She didn’t want him to think any less of her than he already did.

“It’s so difficult,” she said abruptly. Her mouth was dry.

Well, now that I’ve started I’d better keep going, she thought.

“I grow weary of this trek,” she said softly. “I find it hard to keep believing it will turn out well. When you first came upon me I was … I’d lost all hope. I couldn’t –”

“You were afraid,” Petyr said. There was such empathy in his voice.

“
Yes
,” Shallah said, almost choking on the word.

“So was I,” he said.

Somehow, Shallah found herself smiling. “Do you know what I thought about?” she said. “As I walked through the forest to find you, when all had gone silent, I had to think of something to keep myself from going mad. I thought about a dream I had a few nights ago. It was a lovely dream. Liam and I were standing by a great expanse of water, the breeze blowing our hair. Liam was laughing at something I’d said. We were both so happy. All the darkness of this wood has left us.” She paused shyly. “I imagined you there as well. You were running after your children, and you caught them up in your arms. You have two little girls, isn’t that right?”

Petyr didn’t reply.

“I could see the sky in that dream,” she said.

“Perhaps you saw what could have been,” Petyr said.

Shallah shook her head thoughtfully. “No,” she said. “I saw what is to come.”

“But how can that be?” he asked.

She tightened the knot in the sling and handed it to Petyr, then sat forward to warm her hands by the fire. “As you say,” she said, “I’m trying to keep the faith.”

“How old were you when you lost your sight?” he asked tentatively.

“I was in my eighth year,” she replied. “It seems a lifetime ago.”

“Only ten years,” he corrected her. “My word, you’re not much more than a child.”

“Oh, really?” she chided him. “And how old are you, Mr. Petyr Fleete Jr.?”

“I’m in my twentieth year,” he replied challengingly, “with two children of my own to care for, thank you.”

“Being a father doesn’t make you a man,” she said. “A boy can be a father, though he might not make a good one.”

“Are you calling me a boy, then?” Petyr flared up.

“Well, you’re quick to take offence! I said no such thing.” Shallah was bewildered. What had she said wrong? She had the feeling it would take much longer than she’d imagined to understand men. They were so moody!

“Come,” he said grudgingly as Shallah removed her shoes, “let me bind your foot.”

“With one hand?” she protested.

“At the very least allow me to wash the cuts on your hands and face. I’ve water in my pack.”

He seemed determined to occupy himself, but Shallah wouldn’t have it. “Please don’t fret over me,” she said. “You’ve cuts of your own to tend to, and you must rest.”

“I won’t find rest tonight,” he admitted. “I thought I might but …” he trailed off.

“I dread the morning,” she said.

“As do I,” he said.

Shallah sat tearing the remains of the blanket into strips for a while more, as Petyr tended the fire. Eventually, she lay back and let sleep take her to dreams of careless mirth. But Petyr could find no peace. A pain much deeper than the physical wouldn’t leave him be. He sat in the mouth of the cave, watching the shades of darkness until they began to lighten ever so slightly with the morn.

Chapter Fourteen

Petyr surprised Liam and Shallah with a small breakfast feast when they awoke. He’d laid out bread, fruit, cheese, nuts and the last of his oat cakes. He’d left the cave in the hopes of catching a small rabbit to roast over the fire but had had no luck, and when he returned he found his companions just waking. The three fell on the food and ate ravenously.

It had rained some during the night and the air in the cave was damp. Raindrops dripped in the entryway, each drop as loud as a thunderclap in Petyr’s ears. They all knew what would come next. He longed to have it done for Shallah’s sake, for he knew all to well the agony of not knowing. It was always better to know for certain than to wonder, for one always wonders the worst.

Once their bellies were full, Petyr sat back and tried to think of a beginning. For him, the story began when he’d gotten to his feet in that meeting and condemned a little boy to exile. From that day on he’d been haunted, unable to face what he’d done, yet unable to avoid it. Sitting across from that little boy now, as he caught raindrops in his palms in the cave’s entrance, Petyr wanted more than anything to beg his forgiveness. But there were more pressing tales to be told, and Shallah was waiting. So Petyr had to make his own beginning.

It was Averill Olney who made the discovery.

Her baby brother Wylf had been fretting all night long. He was red with fever and wouldn
t take his mother’s milk. Come dawn, Edid sent little Averill to fetch Sabeline Guerin, who in turn sent the girl to draw water from the well for a healing drink. The child wouldn’t have been on the green so early otherwise. She wasn’t often sent to draw water, for more often than not she spilled her bucket before she made it back to the toft.