Riven (The Arinthian Line Book 2) (35 page)

They traded daring looks.

“Really up for this?” Bridget asked.

“Definitely.”

“Yes.”

“Let’s do it then.”

He had never stayed up all night before. He put the map away and passed around a few chunks of biscuit beef.

They were going to need all the energy they could get.

Blackwood

By the time they entered Blackwood, the sun had set, leaving a reddish line on the horizon. The forest was eerily similar to its depiction on the map—gnarled and dreary, consisting mostly of rotting white birches. Branches were bare but for snaking caps of snow. The silence amplified every sound.

Be wary of a quiet forest, Sir Westwood used to say. Well, there certainly was something not quite right about this particular wood. Even the smell was off, reminding Augum of the crypt in Castle Arinthian. He made sure to keep an eye on the snow for tracks, especially really thin ones.

“This isn’t a forest, it’s a tomb,” Leera whispered. “If there was a place I’d peg as the spawning ground for walkers …”

“Gives me the creeps,” Bridget murmured.

They wound their way along at a cautious gait, Bridget holding Leera with one hand and Blackbite with the other. Augum, meanwhile, entertained second thoughts about the whole plan. Travelling through a forest like this during the day was bad enough. At night, it just seemed crazy.

Clouds soon obscured the twinkling stars. Exhausted, nerves strained from the constant vigilance, he had a difficult time lighting up his palm.

“Shyneo,” he said for the third time. It sputtered to life at last, distorting the forest with bony fingers of moving shadow. They bundled in their blankets, Leera resting her head on Bridget’s shoulder, trying to sneak some rest. The girls traded places every hour, taking the reins and keeping watch, with Augum volunteering to lead. They also took turns lighting Shine, hoping it didn’t draw anything to them.

“What’s that smell?” Bridget asked.

Augum took a whiff. “Stinks like something really rotten.”

“Death,” Leera said. “That’s the stink of death.”

They stopped the horses, listening to the night’s stillness.

“You sure?” Bridget whispered, covering her nose.

Leera watched the trees as she spoke. “Back in Blackhaven, Mum and I went to bring a very old neighbor carrot cake. When mum opened the door, it smelled exactly like that. She told me to fetch dad and wouldn’t let me come in. I only found out later she had died. No one had come visit her for so long …”

“That’s sad …”

Augum pointed at a black birch to their left. “Is that tree burned over there?”

“I don’t know if I want to investigate,” Bridget said. “Maybe we should just keep going.”

They glanced at each other.

“Why don’t I take a quick look?” he said.

“Oh no, you’re not leaving us behind in this place,” Leera said, tightening the reins.

He nudged the gray forward, suddenly fully aware of the darkness. His horse nickered and stopped. “Come on, boy, forward,” yet the palfrey refused.

“Spirit won’t go either,” Leera said.

“Let’s forget this and keep going,” Bridget whispered.

He studied the dark forest ahead. “There’s something on the ground there.”

Bridget made a quiet squeak. “I can’t look. Is it … is it moving?”

“No. It’s a black area.” He smelled burnt wood, too, and suddenly recalled seeing Willowbrook burn. The hair on his neck stood on end. “The Legion …”

He dismounted.

Bridget’s voice was full of panic. “Aug, please don’t—”

“I have to see what happened.” What if there was someone who needed help? He handed Leera the reins.

“Aug, I don’t know about this—” she said.

“I’ll be quick.” He waded through the waist-high snow, sweeping slow arcs with his lit palm. Every bone in his body screamed to turn back.

He froze as out of the darkness loomed black sticks with hanging sinewy strips.

Sticks in the sand, sticks in the snow, reveal a man, dead long ago …

He calmed his breathing, realizing they were burnt tent poles, the strips merely torched canvas. A note hung from the tallest one, gently dancing in the breeze. He swallowed hard and plodded forward, determined to read it.

It was written in blood, long dried, with a shaky hand.

I returned from the hunt to find my wife and three young daughters dead. We thought we’d be safe here, so far from Blackhaven. We were so very wrong. The Legion found us. They slaughtered everyone
—
the entire village
—
and burnt their bodies. All that I loved is gone. May the Unnameables have mercy on my soul, for madness awaits.

He left the note be and turned back, only to step on something squishy in the snow. He hurried back to the horses, telling himself it was probably nothing …

“You all right, Aug?” Leera asked. “You look awful.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, feeling sweat prickle his neck. He mounted his palfrey, gripping the reins with white-knuckled hands. “Let’s get out of here.”

“What did you see?” Bridget asked in a small voice as they resumed the journey.

“The Legion, they …” He gave them a certain look.

Bridget put a hand over her mouth and glanced in the direction of the razed encampment. Nothing more was said. He was glad they didn’t ask him for details. They knew firsthand anyway of the horrors the Legion brought.

The palfreys steadily plowed through the snow, piled so high in these parts the trio had to keep their feet raised or risk frostbite on their toes. The cold deepened with the late hour and it became increasingly difficult to remain alert. It went on this way, league after league, hour after hour, until the night passed.

Dawn came harsh and frozen, the eastern sun lighting up a crisp blue sky. Even the morning was dead quiet in Blackwood. Not an animal stirred, nor a bird chirped—a winter silence that seemed to amplify the cold, quickly freezing exposed skin and fogging breath into a hoary frost.

Exhausted, they finally stopped to eat and feed the horses.

“Here.” Bridget handed Augum some nuts, raisins, sunflower seeds, and a chunk of biscuit beef. He accepted it, barely feeling hungry, dreaming of a warm bed.

Leera rubbed darkly circled eyes. “The waterskins are frozen.”

That’s a problem, he thought, too tired to voice it aloud.

“Think the Legion slept or rode through the night?” she asked.

“Slept,” Bridget said. “I hope …”

The weariness that came with staying up kept the trio quietly huddled together between the horses, bundled in all nine blankets. Teeth chattered between bites.

“We’re almost clear of the forest,” he said. “Maybe we should take turns sleeping on the horses.” He tightened his hood around his head, exposing only his mouth. Like the girls, he’d long forsaken awareness for warmth, doing anything to avoid exposure to the brutal cold.

“Fine,” Bridget replied from within her blanket castle. “Lee, you held the reins longer than I, you sleep first …”

Leera’s blanket mountain gave a stiff nod.

“Why don’t the both of you try to sleep?” he said. “Just tie Spirit to me.”

“You sure? You haven’t slept a wink yet.”

“Yeah, it’s fine.” Despite his utter exhaustion, he wanted to push his boundaries. His former master used to say people were capable of far more than they gave themselves credit for, and always urged him to explore the outer reaches of potential.

“All right, but you have to promise to wake me up if you get tired,” Bridget said.

He nodded, determined to stay awake as long as possible.

They set out after eating. The palfreys had noticeably slowed and he wondered how much longer they could be pushed.

He checked the map. They had over a days’ journey ahead crossing the Tallows. He recalled almost dying trying to cross those plains. On the other side of the Tallows sat Mt. Barrow and the ruins of Sparrow’s Perch. The question was would it be wise to go through there …

He tied Spirit’s reins to the back of his saddle and gently prodded his horse forward, plowing steadily through the snow. Soon the girls were asleep, nestled in a large blanket bundle, Bridget leaning forward in the saddle, Leera propped against her back.

A warm sun greeted them upon leaving Blackwood. He raised his hood a little, allowing his face to absorb the kind rays. Lack of sleep, having dulled his senses before, now heightened them. He took note of the rugged yellow grass of the Tallows poking through sparkling snow; the crisp feel of a fresh morning breeze on his cheek; the snort and whicker of his palfrey.

He could just make out the hazy outline of Mt. Barrow in the far distance. Hopes raised, he smiled to himself, remembering the many fond memories of Mrs. Stone’s cave. He ignored the fact she had collapsed it. He ignored the fact Sparrow’s perch had been razed, its citizens murdered. Instead, he chose to remember the cave in its former splendor—a warm fire crackling in the hearth; shelves filled with books, scrolls, and odd artifacts. He remembered the delicious food, the training, meeting Bridget and Leera for the first time, the naming ceremony … His thoughts drifted to the night he fought off the claw in the tent, sliding down Hangman’s Rock, the snowball fight …

Lids heavy, he found himself cheating by closing his eyes for short lengths of time, and thus didn’t notice crossing the subtle boundary to the world of dreams.

One Eye

Augum was jolted awake by the sensation of falling and crashing into snow. Shocked by the sudden cold, he jumped up, coughing. He had fallen asleep, he realized, brushing himself off.

The palfrey glanced at him with sunken eyes.

“I know, boy, you must be tired. I’m sorry.”

It was silent and windless. The sun was past the midway point in the cloudless sky, gently warming his face. The vast ocean of snow sparkled from horizon to horizon. Cursing himself for his lack of discipline, he turned to Leera and Bridget to apologize for dozing off—

Except the girls and Spirit were not there.

His heart skipped a beat. He spun around searching the horizon, but the plain only stretched on. All he saw was the dim outline of Mt. Barrow in one direction and the dark line of Blackwood in the other.

“Bridget! Leera!” He shouted in every direction.

But there was only the brilliant stillness of snow.

Cursing himself anew, he jumped back on his horse and doubled-back on his tracks, frantically searching the ground for any signs, heart hammering in his chest. The tie holding the horses had to come undone, he reasoned, and the girls, blithely sleeping, were left behind. Terrible visions of what could have happened flashed across his mind—captured by the Legion, or attacked by walkers, or lost and freezing …

This was all his fault. If he hadn’t been so bullheaded about challenging himself …

At last he came upon a diverging set of tracks meandering westward. He immediately gave chase, as fast as the tired horse would go, which was just a canter.

The land began to gently roll. He scanned the horizon from every crest, but there was still no sign of them. He rode on, following the trail, until spotting a thin line of smoke a few hills over.

Strange, but they did have the rucksack and the flint and steel. Maybe they started a fire …

He dismounted just before the last crest and peeked over the hill. He spotted a throng of people milling about a colorful caravan of wagons, horses, supplies, and even cows, trailing in the rear. The caravan was led by a team of gigantic oxen, attended to by a group of men. Some wore armor, swords by their sides.

The caravan looked to be headed south and probably just stopped to refresh the animals. He squinted, trying to see through the snow glare, until at last he spotted Spirit, tied at the very back of the caravan to a blue, yellow and orange wagon resembling a small house. A bedraggled man in a thick woolen coat stood by feeding the palfrey.

They had to have taken Bridget and Leera captive. The girls probably sat tied up in that last wagon, which might be some kind of prison on wheels. He was trying to come up with a daring rescue plan when the side door of the wagon opened and Leera popped out, quickly followed by Bridget. The two giggled and nodded to the interior, before pointing in Augum’s direction. Next, a frail old man with a very long beard and a cane came to the door, bidding the man by the horse to come closer. He then gave instructions as the girls stood by, almost giddy with excitement.

Augum couldn’t make sense of what was going on. Were they under some kind of spell? Who were they with? What was happening? The man in the thick coat mounted a dark horse and began riding in his direction. Meanwhile, Bridget and Leera turned to go back inside with the old man.

Augum, now very curious as to what was happening, threw aside caution and stood up, calling out, “Bridget! Leera! Over here!”

The girls turned and started waving, beckoning him to come over. The man on the black horse stopped in his tracks, looked between them, shrugged, and turned back to the caravan. Augum hopped on his palfrey and rode down to them, full of questions, ready to bolt should anyone make a move for him. The people were dressed in furs, leather tunics and winter coats. Many looked to be servants of some kind, others laborers. There was even a family with small dirty children running around in the snow. Some people glanced his way but most didn’t seem to care, going on about their business.

“Aug—!” Bridget called, grabbing hold of the gray horse. “Thank all that is good that you’re all right! We were just sending someone to find you—”

“What’s going on?” he asked, dismounting. “Who are these people?”

“Oh, it’s amazing, come see.” Leera grabbed him by the arm and pulled him along while Bridget tied his horse up next to Spirit.

“What is this?” he asked as she led him to the colorful wagon. Bells tinkled as she opened the door. “Wait a moment, just explain—” but he stopped mid-sentence when he saw the interior of the wagon. It was some kind of overstuffed general goods shop, but impossibly larger than the exterior. Trifles, ornaments and wares hung from every surface. There must have been thousands and thousands of shiny things clinking about. Trinkets of all sorts spilled from cracks and crammed every surface. Overcrowded shelves towered all the way to the fifteen-foot ceiling. Some leaned precariously, threatening to collapse. Others twisted and wound in odd shapes. Wooden ladders ascended here and there, various oddities hanging from the rungs.