Raven's Ladder (19 page)

Her tawny tunic had frayed over her knees from scrabbling against tree trunks. Her arms were tattooed in the manner of Abascar swordbearers, with barbed and winding lines cascading to her wrists. Her hands were crisscrossed with scars from the labor of clearing paths. She had not unbraided the narrow lines of her black hair since they had moved out of Barnashum, and every day those tresses seemed more alive with bits of colored leaves, as if she had always dreamed of sleeping in the wild. Her boots, golden laced, patched, and patched again with spans of leathery rock-goat hide, left shallow prints in the dewy summer earth.

Every day of their march, he walked with her for a while, though she would not speak. During the days she patrolled a stretch alongside the parade’s western side, and occasionally she climbed a tree to look for signals. It occurred to him that she might just disappear; she had very little binding her to their company now that Bryndei was dead. In the evenings he sat nearby, hoping she would sense his respect for her solitude and yet find comfort in his companionship.

Brevolo drew a span of cloth from her belt and unwrapped a shrillow’s egg. She held it into the light to illuminate its sheen of black and yellow stripes.

“Better not let anyone see that,” he said.

She placed the striped, warm egg in his hands. “You’re carrying a king’s concerns. You should eat a king’s meal. Anyone can see you’re discouraged.”

“Me? Brev, I’m not the one who lost—”

“And don’t waste more time on me. This world’s grown dangerous for hearts that care too much. You’ll break. And then where will we be? Two ruined people. In a ruined house.” Her eyes, a crystalline blue, would not meet his. The lines around them had deepened since the departure. “If Cal-raven’s right, if there is something that watches us, then why…”

He wanted to put his arms around her, give her a safe place to crumble. Instead, he held the egg as she walked away through the golden rays.

Warney awoke and found his head on Krawg’s shoulder. Alarmed, he sat up.

Riders. I heard riders in the night
.

Krawg made a sound like a boiling pot of stew and kept on sleeping. His face was wet with sweat, and Warney breathed a sigh of relief. “Fever’s broken. Chillseed worked. You’ll be back to perfect soon.”

They rested against a bank of moss that might have been a fallen tree. The blackened remains of last night’s smokeless fire crackled and coughed. Bowlder had roasted gorrels on both nights since they left Mawrnash, and they had all become miserable on this diet of unchewable and tasteless meat.

Day seven since Barnashum
, he thought.
We’re halfway home. Well, the caves aren’t home exactly, but they’re the next best thing. It’s quiet as a dead man’s drum. Where is everybody?
He sat up.

Bowlder crouched at the foot of one of the vawns, trying to raise it so he could pluck out a thorn that had set the steed to grumbling. Refusing to budge, the animal stared, dull eyed and drowsy, at the soldier.

“Where’s Jes-hawk?” Warney asked.

The brooding soldier gestured to the vawns, of which there were only three.

“Did ya hear them riders last night?”

Bowlder nodded. He was tickling the vawn’s toes with a feather now, hoping to get a reaction.

“Is that what Jes-hawk’s gone to check out?” The soldier shrugged.

“Seven days in unfamiliar lands, and the only signs of beastmen we’ve seen are a few filthy arrows. No prey, no beastmen, I s’pose.”

Bowlder, digging his fingers into the soil beneath the vawn’s foot, stood up and strained, growling and cursing. At last the vawn bent its leg at the knee, exposing the bottom of its scaly foot. Warney dashed to Bowlder’s side, squatted down, and scowled. “A whole stickery branch is stuck deep here.” He nimbly pinched the strand between its thorns and jerked it free. As he did, the vawn kicked and sent Bowlder staggering backward, a wind gusting through his nose. When he fell, his head hit the earth with a thump. Warney tossed the thorn branch aside and ran to kneel by the unconscious, mountainous man.

The vawn lifted its foot and snuffled at the open wound, whimpering.

“Things just keep gettin’ worse,” Warney fussed. “The king’s disappeared. Krawg’s sick. Bowlder’s hurt. And now I’m the only one awake in this camp. What’ll go wrong next, I wonder?”

The vawn sighed, feeling some relief. Then, before Warney could cry out, it set its foot back down squarely on that very same bramble. Its eyes bulged, it flung its head back, and it shrieked and stamped in a fury.

That was the moment Jes-hawk came dashing through the trees to the camp. “They’re in the forest!” he shouted.

“Who?” Warney backed toward Krawg. “Beastmen?”

“No! I think it might be the…” Jes-hawk stopped, stunned at the sight of Bowlder’s sprawled body. “Is he still asleep?”

“Rather,” said Warney.

“And where’s Lynna?”

Warney blinked. “I thought she was with you.”

Jes-hawk turned as white as the ash of the firepit. “I told her to watch the camp. Riders passed right by us last night.” He ran to the animals, which grumbled nervously. “Where’s the king’s vawn?”

“Gone,” groaned Bowlder, sitting up slowly and clutching his chest. “Gone. With Lynna. And all her belongings. Gone before I woke up.”

Jes-hawk stared about as if he would run in every direction at once. “How? Were we raided?”

“You know we weren’t.” Bowlder tried to get to his feet, thought better of it, and lay down again.

“Why would she leave?” Jes-hawk hustled about the clearing, studying the leaves and grasses. “For two days we’ve been talking about Barnashum and Cal-raven, and she’s been full of questions.” He dashed a few steps into the trees, listening, his eyes scanning the ground. “She was so excited about seeing everybody again.”

Bowlder shrugged. “She’s a Bel Amican now. Of course she went back.”

Jes-hawk looked likely to attack the soldier in a fury, but Krawg surprised him by speaking while his eyes were still closed. “Will you track her?”

“I learned to track by playing Seek and Go Hiding with Lynna when we were children.” Jes-hawk began to untie his vawn. “I learned to track, but Lynna learned to hide. If she’s decided to go back, I doubt we’ll catch up with her.” All of a sudden he unsheathed his sword and swung it hard against a tree, slicing halfway through the trunk.

Warney crouched down and helped Krawg sit up. “Glad to see you’re up again. If you’d gone and died on me, I’d have given you a beating you’d never forget.”

Bowlder bound back his long black hair into a tail, strapped his sword belt back on, and draped his woodscloak around him. “So… who were the riders?”

Jes-hawk slumped to the ground. “I didn’t see anything of the riders but their wide, trampled path. I did see something else—a great company in the woods about a day’s ride between us and Barnashum.” He shook his head. “I hardly believe it myself, but it appears our return journey’s been cut in half.”

“How?” asked Warney.

Bowlder scratched his head.

“Something’s happened. And it can’t be good. Abascar’s coming to us. On foot.”

What did the Keeper look like in your dream?

It was Madi’s question, and her two sisters thought it over as they lay silently, the crowns of their heads almost touching, their toes pointing toward the brightening sky, their legs swaying like cloudgrasper trees.

It was the seventh morning of the march. The travelers were rising from their blankets and grumbling about the hard work of finding anything more than fruit for breakfast.

In my dream
, answered Luci,
the Keeper had a neck like a tree, with bark for skin and moss for hair. Its body was so big that if it stood over you, it would protect you from a storm
.

That’s not what I saw
, said Margi.
I saw something come out of the sea. Like a dragon, it pulled itself onto the shore. Its wings had scales. Its head was like a horse’s head, just like what Cal-raven sculpted
.

I’m hungry
, Madi mused.

Which of us is right, do you think?
asked Margi. She held up her hands, weaving her fingers together in contortions, trying to make the outline of the creature she had seen.
The Keeper can’t be all those things
.

Oh yes it can
, Luci thought.
It can change. Who’s to say what powers it has?

I’m not just hungry
, thought Madi.
I’m thirsty
.

Isn’t it strange?
Luci was wondering.
We all dreamed of it at the same time. That hasn’t happened since we were kids. We are kids
, thought Madi.

“Maybe it was here!” Luci got to her feet, leaf fragments clinging to her arms so they seemed like feathers to complete her owl costume. “Maybe it’s playing a game of Seek and Go Hiding. Let’s go look for it.”

“She just wants to go looking for Wynn,” muttered Margi. “She keeps hoping he’ll catch up with us. But he won’t. It’s been days.” But she got up anyway and followed her sister, her fluffy cat tail hanging from her belt and dragging along the ground. Madi stopped to put on her rabbit-ear hat, then hopped along behind.

They scampered through the grumbling crowd, singing out the Gatherers’ names as the ragged harvesters carried nets and baskets into the brush.

They tried to ignore Brevolo when they saw her, for her sadness frightened them.

And then they were out across the damp ground of the woods.

Madi noted that there were plums and pears and hard-shell applenuts all over the ground. “Fruit’s falling early,” she said, plucking a plum from the ground. “Ugh. It’s fine on one side, rotten on the other.”

“Leave the fruit,” said Margi, and her painted whiskers twitched as she wrinkled her nose.
If the Keeper’s hiding, we’ll have to look for clues
.

They followed a path that wound through an old, disordered orchard. The ground sloped downward sharply, and soon they found that the gully was thick with knee-deep grass, with the burdened fruit trees leaning out over them on both sides. They stopped and looked about.

What a very fine place to play
, thought Luci.
The light in the trees. And I think there must be a stream up ahead
.

Something isn’t right
, thought Margi.

A large stone tumbled down the slope toward them, and Madi had to jump out of its path. It crashed against the opposite slope, then rolled back to settle in the creek bed. They looked at the stone. They looked back up the hill.

Maybe it’s the Keeper
, thought Luci. Margi squealed in excitement.

My ankle hurts
. Madi grimaced as she sat down in the grass and pulled down her stocking.
I think I twisted it
.

“Maybe we’re not following the Keeper,” said Luci. “Maybe it’s following us!”

“Let’s draw it out into the open then,” whispered Margi.

Madi felt a strange sensation, like terror and delight all at once. She got up to follow her sisters on a run up the creek bed, trying to ignore the flare of pain in her foot. The path led them around a bend, guiding them into a darker place where the gully narrowed and the boughs above them reached to interweave with those of the opposite bank, as if the trees were bracing against each other to keep from falling.

“Can’t go any farther! Gotta stop!” Madi hopped on one foot, the fabric of her rabbit ears flouncing against her cheeks.

“Shh. Look.”

In the dark, dense trees up ahead, a figure like a torn strip of the sunlight beckoned to them, then moved as if carried on a silent wind into the shadows.

Did you… …see that?

Silence cloaked their fearful contemplation. And then they all spoke the word together. “Northchild.”

Where’d it go?
Luci took a few steps forward.

What’s that there?
Margi pointed up the shadowbound slope ahead, far above where they’d seen the shimmering phantom.
A lamp’s been lit in a window. Is that a Northchild cabin?

They huddled closer together, bumping knees and elbows, Madi and Margi holding Luci’s leaf-feathered sleeves to keep her from running uphill to investigate. The window’s warm light wavered like the glow through the curtains of an inn on a winter night.