The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (2 page)

THREE

G
entle movement was
the first thing Raef became aware of. For a time, his whole world was that movement, side to side, up and down, uneven, unpredictable, but familiar. As Raef’s mind emerged from darkness, he latched onto that, clinging to it until he had drawn himself far enough from the depths to know that he had truly awoken. His eyes refused to open, but his other senses began to return to him.

First he felt the wood grain beneath his fingertips. It was smooth and well-worked, not the rough wood that has just been chopped from a tree. His fingers moved against the grain, stretching, reaching, trying to place himself somewhere other than the void of his mind.

It was warmth that Raef knew next, not the warmth of a hot fire on a winter night, but the warmth of the sun. It caressed the backs of his hands and then at last he became aware of its full embrace along the length of his body. This embrace fulfilled him and for a time Raef was content to soak it in and felt no need to know more.

After a time, though, it was no longer enough to just be warmed by the sun and at last Raef’s small world of wood and sunlight grew to include the sound of water. It was not the sound a waterfall makes, nor the sound of a coursing river, and at length Raef came to understand that the gentle movement he had first known was tied to the sound of the water. This revelation seemed important to Raef, but he could not quite fathom why. There was no fear in this understanding, only peace.

The world cracked open around Raef when the cry of a bird came to him and light and sound and smell came rushing back to him on the wings of a gull, for he knew beyond a doubt that it was a gull he had heard. He was at sea.

The movement, familiar and peaceful, was a boat riding the gentle swell of a calm sea. The wood beneath him was the well-worn deck of a ship. The smell of the salt water flooded his nostrils as he took his first lung-stretching breath. And if he opened his eyes he knew he would see a brilliant sun overhead.

When at last he did open his eyes, the fierce light of the sun forced them closed again. He drew two deep breaths before trying once more, this time squinting until his eyes began to adjust and he was able to open them fully. The blue of the sky was overwhelming, conquering all of Raef’s vision but for the corner of white sail that rose up behind Raef. Moving slowly, Raef sat up, his ribs aching with even that little movement. He tested his legs, drawing his knees up and back, and then felt his neck for injury, remembering the rope that had choked him into unconsciousness. The skin was raw to the touch but otherwise intact. Other than the broken bones in his chest, his body functioned as it should. Whoever had attacked him had done no lasting damage but Raef knew he was weak from lack of food and water. His clothes were his own, dried in the sea air, but his belt held no weapons.

Turning his head, Raef ascertained what he had already known. The ship was empty. The prow caught his gaze for the dragonhead was familiar. This was one of his father’s ships, a small one rowed by only six men and holding a crew of no more than ten. A rover, sent ahead of the fleet to feel out the enemy, or to slip into a cove in the dead of night to kill a man and steal his gold. Now it drifted on a sunlit ocean and Raef was the only crew.

Struggling to his feet, Raef’s head spun and he gripped the mast for support. His mouth was dry and his lips stuck together. There was no barrel of water, no sign of food. Raef knelt by the mast and pulled up on the iron ring attached to the planking there to reveal the ballast chamber and the small, dark belly of the boat, but it was empty. Rising, Raef tried to wet his lips. The sun was high above, making it difficult to determine east and west, but land was in sight beyond the prow of the ship. The shore was not far off and Raef scanned it for a landmark he might recognize. But among the green hills and rough cliffs, there was nothing familiar. Wherever he was, it was not the coast of Vannheim.

Turning, Raef grew dizzy and the mast seemed to sway out of his grip. He slipped to the deck, cradling his damaged ribs, and dropped back into the darkness.

When he awoke a second time, the ship was still and the sky was growing dark. Raising himself to his elbows, Raef saw the small vessel had run up on a sandy shore. The warmth of the sun had faded, leaving Raef in twilight and at the whims of a night breeze. But this was no winter night. The shore was free of snow and the air, while cool to Raef’s skin, was the air of a summer’s eve. There was no time to contemplate the season, or where he was, or even who had attacked him. He needed food, shelter, and a fire. Above all, he needed fresh water.

Raef found his feet and stumbled to the ship’s rail. Even this effort increased his heartbeat and he felt his legs shake beneath him as he clutched the side to stabilize himself. He was weaker than he had realized. Steeling himself, he slid a leg over the edge, then the other, but his arms would not hold him and he fell to the sand below. The impact jarred every inch of him but most of all his ribs, which exploded with fresh pain. Gasping for breath, Raef lay still, fixing his eyes on the stars above and listening to the water lap against the sand until the pain subsided to a glowing ember that would not burn out.

Summoning his meager strength, Raef forced himself to rise. The sand stretched far into the distance, pale in the moonlight. Beyond the shore, the land was green and covered in thick ferns, larger than any Raef had ever seen, until it rose up in a range of hills. Even in the gathering dark, Raef could see the hills were lush with green trees. He did not have the strength to reach the trees, he knew, but he had to search for water in the flat lands off the shore. Taking one tentative step and then another, Raef made his way to the ferns and examined the large leaves for water. Even a mouthful would bring relief. The ferns were dry, but the ground beneath them was damp to Raef’s touch and he continued through the ferns, looking for any sign of a stream or pool.

His progress was slow but Raef did not let himself rest, for he feared he would not rise again if he succumbed to the desire to sit. Twice he almost fell and it seemed will alone kept him on his feet. He touched the hammer amulet at his neck and asked Thor for strength.

When at last Raef heard the sound of water trickling over rocks, he thought it imagined by his desperate mind. But as it grew louder there was no denying it. Raef stumbled ahead until the stream was at his feet. Falling to his knees, Raef put his whole head under the water, then gulped in three deep, eager swallows. Though he longed for more, Raef knew better. Too much at once could make him ill. He allowed himself several small sips, then lay back on the damp earth, his energy spent. The stars shone above and Raef marveled in their bright joy. But as he felt sleep, true sleep, the sleep of a man who knows he will wake, rise up to consume him, he knew a tinge of fear. Nowhere among those vivid orbs was there a star known to him.

Dawn brought a delicate rain on Raef’s skin and a violent hunger in his belly. As he eased the stiffness from his limbs and drank his fill from the cool stream, he racked his memory for a sense of what had happened to him. But beyond the rope that had choked the breath from him, there was only darkness. His hunger told him it had been at least two days since he had chased Eira through the trees. His thirst and the weakness in his limbs told him it had been much more. But from the border between Axsellund and Vannheim it would take a minimum of four days on horseback to reach the sea, five if the winter snows were deep. Add to that the time it would take an unmanned boat to drift far enough to place him in unfamiliar territory, and Raef judged at least seven days had passed since he had been attacked under the sliver of moon. He chose not to think of the strange stars and what that could mean. How he had remained unconscious for so long, Raef did not know, but he had become aware of a strange burnt sensation in his nostrils and knew that certain herbs could induce long bouts of sleep.

They would have searched for him. And they would not have moved on until all hope of finding him was lost. Vakre would have made sure of that. After being certain he was not lying dead at the bottom of a ravine, they would have searched for a trail, but Raef felt in his heart that there was none to find. At best, they might have found his knife, the one he had drawn to defend himself, if the attacker had not retrieved it from the snow. Blame would fall on Brandulf Hammerling, for he above all would wish Raef harm, and Eira would swear bloody vengeance against the lord of Finngale and would-be king. Vakre would maintain an outward calm and counsel patience while an inner fury burned bright. Siv might think of Fengar and wonder if the other king had a hand in Raef’s disappearance. But all this would avail them little. Raef knew if the Hammerling or Fengar had captured him in the night, his blood would be staining the snow on that hill in Axsellund and his head would sit atop a spike. His attacker had left him alive and taken great pains to put him on a ship.

Weary of these thoughts, Raef turned his attention to his stomach. Across the stream, a bush heavy with red berries caught his eye. It was unfamiliar to him but the lush berries, gleaming in the morning rain, promised sweet satisfaction. Raef waded through the knee-deep water, plucked one from the bush, and held it close to his nose. The scent of it was rich and heady. Raef’s stomach rumbled and he ached to crush a handful with his tongue. But he did not intend to die on this strange shore and a red berry was just as likely to bring death as relief. The ferns would have to do.

The young fronds, curled still against their larger siblings, were bitter but safe. Raef ate slowly, chewing well to avoid upsetting his stomach. The raw greens made a poor meal, but until Raef could find meat, they would provide vital energy. Though his stomach demanded more, he ate only four. After a brief rest, Raef felt strong enough to explore his surroundings.

The morning rain had ceased and the sun emerged from behind thin clouds to shatter the grey light. The raindrops on the ferns sparkled like gems and with the new brilliance came the sounds of forest life. Birds chattered, hidden away in the foliage, and a rabbit, startled by Raef’s intruding feet, bounded away, passing within a spear’s length. Even had he been prepared with an arrow, Raef could not have made the kill. But the sight of birds and small game was encouraging.

Raef pushed inland. The ground began to slope upward and the trees grew taller and thicker there. Raef kept to the flattest ground he could find to preserve his strength, but a fallen tree, its dead trunk resting against its neighbor, provided an opportunity to reach a vantage point without a long uphill trek. Scrambling up the trunk until he reached the limbs of the living tree, Raef sagged against a thick, sturdy branch and waited for the dizziness to abate. The pain in his ribs stirred, flaming to life and making it difficult to breath, but Raef pushed it away and climbed higher until the branches would no longer support him.

It was not a great height, but it was enough to show where he had come from and what lay ahead. The sun had risen above the forest, not the beach, so Raef knew he had made landfall from the west. The stretch of sand was visible behind him, but ahead the trees grew too close together to see much of the land. And yet, from that height the sound of a waterfall came to him.

For a giddy moment Raef thought of the waterfall in Axsellund and if he just hurried down from his perch, he would find Vakre and the rest gathered around its pool. So strong was the feeling that Raef, leaning out in a mad attempt to hear the voices of his friends, nearly slipped down the rough trunk. He caught himself in time, grabbing a nearby branch to steady himself. Still the feeling lingered and Raef had to close his eyes to shut it out, or he knew he would tumble to the ground.

When he opened them, the madness had passed and Raef, after surveying the scene one last time, descended from the tree. On the ground, the sound of water was faint but knowing it was there allowed Raef to follow it. Again, a rabbit crossed his path and Raef reached for the knife that wasn’t there. His stomach rumbled and he plucked another curled frond from the closest fern to appease it.

Not long after, the waterfall came into view. Narrow like a knife, it tumbled down into a shallow pool surrounded on three sides by rocky cliffs twice the height of a man. On one side, a recess in the rocks offered respite from sun and rain. Raef examined it closer and found it dry and larger than expected. With fresh water so close and abundant, it would make a fine shelter.

The sun had warmed the forest and Raef removed his boots and the thick layers of wool and leather he had worn to protect against the snow and winter winds and tucked them into a corner of his small cave. Inspired by the sunlight and perhaps with a faint thought of Eira in his mind, Raef continued to strip from his linen shirt and wool pants until he stood naked at the edge of the pool. He waded in and then submerged himself, lingering just beneath the surface for a moment before rising and floating, arms and legs spread wide. His silver arm rings, one on each wrist, glittered. He closed his eyes, feeling peace for the first time since arriving on this strange shore. The sun warmed him from above and the water revived him from below.