The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (33 page)

A popping, snapping noise sounds like a shot and echoes around the clearing. Abbot swings around, pulling the string of his bow back so his hand is smashed against his cheek. I throw out my arms, aiming my wristbows at the sound as it travels from one side of the woods to the other. In the corner of my eye, Zink and Journer, who are out in the open, have flattened themselves to the ground. Holden has bolted to the horses, grabbing their reins and throwing a purple dome magus over all of them. Statric stands tall but very still, waiting for the popping sound to stop moving. My eyes are wide, as Abbot
’
s breathing is heavy, waiting for something to appear.

The popping and snapping continues bouncing off the trees and the stone fountain in the middle of the lake, until I think I
’
ll go mad trying to follow it. I
’
m about to scream at Abbot that I want to take cover somewhere, that it
’
s insane to stand out in the open waiting to be attacked, when the noise starts moving through the woods and away from us. A silence even more disconcerting than the snapping settles over the clearing. Statric turns slowly in her spot, looking towards the sky. I follow her gaze and my mouth drops open. The entire coal black sky is dotted with millions of tiny white lights that blink on and off subtly.

“
What are those, Abbot?
”
I whisper in awe.

“
Stars,
”
he answers just as quietly. We learn about stars in Pedagogics of course, but I have never seen them. The lights on the Chelon streets and buildings are so bright they white out the night sky and our windows are blacked out after power down. Nothing I have ever read or any picture I have seen in books compares to the enormity of the open sky overhead. I feel small and light. If I lift my feet to walk I
’
m sure I will fall upwards into the endless night.

“
It
’
s alright,
”
Statric calls to us smoothly,
“
They
’
ve moved on. Has everyone gathered their elements?
”
We nod.
“
Excellent, please mount up. We have two additional locations to reach tonight.
”

Abbot pulls me forward, and we jog back to the horses. I secure the bags of sliver wheat in the saddlebags and let Holden help me mount again. Zink throws the sparkly gray smoke magus and we are flying through the woods once more. Stopping at a small creek to scrape up strips of purple spotted moss, we encounter nothing. The gurgling of the water spilling over the rocks makes a soothing noise that travels over the night air.

When we slow to our final stop, we are a few feet from a ring of smooth trees about eight feet tall. Their trunks and branches make them look like tall dancing women that have been frozen for all time in their fluid poses. Long lines of gracefully poised branches, their leaves flowing like hair, the dancing trees sway gently. A soft humming noise comes from somewhere in their trunks. A patch of white cone-shaped clusters of meadowsweet grows in the center of their eternal dancing circle. I start to dismount when Abbot grabs my arm,
“
No, let Statric.
”

Statric hands her horse
’
s reins to Holden and dismounts in one swift movement. She walks silently to the circle of trees and holds her hands wide apart. After a pause, she steps deferentially in between two of the dancing women. She snips each flower cluster and smells it deeply before laying them carefully in a box lined with silk, as if they were alive. She makes an exaggerated effort to show visible appreciation of each cutting. When she backs out of the circle, she takes the exact path she used when she entered, and bows low once she is clear of the trees.

She remounts and we slowly walk the horses away from the tree circle. Statric makes sure it is out of sight before we break into a gallop again. We have been traveling at a breakneck speed for twenty or so minutes on the way back to Chelon when Holden is suddenly snatched upward off his mare, his boot grazing my face as he flails wildly. I scream and pull back on the reins. Abbot
’
s glowing green arrow is already in the trees searching for Holden. I trace my Demoror tattoo and cast a wide net over the area, hoping to trap whatever took Holden. Statric and Journer are climbing the tree, jumping from limb to limb, chasing him down. The horses snort and stomp at the unexpected stop. There is too much noise. I can
’
t hear what Journer is saying. Abbot sends another arrow high into the trees; it
’
s answered with a sharp, high-pitched bark and something races down the tree trunk towards us. A beast springs off the trunk with colossal haunches as Zink pulls his short sword from its sheath. He jabs it straight at the mass of matted brown fur. Just before his sword enters the horrific animal
’
s chest, it splits into three separate blades which glow blue, green and purple. Zink pulls his sword out and turns the creature over on its back.

“
Hecate,
”
he tells Abbot, then in answer to my quizzical look,
“
Climbing wolf.
”

“
Better burn it before its mate finds the corpse,
”
Abbot says. Zink drags the animal a few feet away from the horses and Abbot lights it on fire with the ink between his eyes. The body of the hecate burns to ashes instantly.

I turn my head upward, combing the branches for any sign of Holden and the others.

“
Over there,
”
Zink says, pointing to a tree about ten feet away. Journer and Statric are helping Holden negotiate the last of the branches, his neck and shoulder are spurting blood between his fingers.

“
Zink, he needs you,
”
Journer says urgently.

Zink is already at their sides, helping the convulsing Holden to lie on the ground.

“
All that blood is invitation to dinner,
”
Abbot says under his breath.
“
Statric, help me set up a wide shield.
”
Abbot hands the horse reins to me and walks in a circle around us with Statric throwing magus with both hands, building a large shelter around us.

Zink sits with the bottoms of his feet pressed together. The new pants Juwas has made for him billow out, exposing his entire leg on two sides. His hands move rapidly over his thighs and calves, his entire lower body glowing as the ink morphs from patterns into their real images. I watch the flesh on Holden
’
s neck slide back into place, the blood surging from his wound subsides and his body relaxes. Zink works over him for several tense minutes before he rubs his palms.
“
It was deep, very deep. I got the muscle back though. He shouldn
’
t scar much. You got him down just in time.
”

I am surprised to see tears in Statric
’
s eyes. She blots at them with the back of her hand and bends down over Holden.
“
Do you think you
’
re able to ride now?
”
she asks him gently.

“
With you? Always,
”
he answers, opening his eyes to look at her. Statric leans further into him and kisses him tenderly on the mouth. I look away quickly, not understanding what I just saw. Even if they were Banded, a display of affection like that in front of all of us is bordering on vulgarity.

Abbot steps around me and helps Holden to his feet. Abbot lifts Holden onto the saddle right behind Statric. Holden wraps his arms around Statric
’
s waist and rests his head on her shoulder. She takes his chestnut mare
’
s reins in one hand while holding on to her own horse
’
s with the other. The rest of us mount and Journer takes down the shield with a wave of her hand. Statric turns to look at me,
“
Was it you who threw the net?
”

“
Yes, I didn
’
t know what else to do,
”
I try to explain, knowing that my inept attempt to help must have gotten in their way as they fought through the trees.

“
It was exactly right. A second later or an inch shorter and Holden-
”
her voice fails her and she reaches out to pat my leg.
“
Thank you,
”
she mouths to me, Holden
’
s head still resting on her shoulder. I grasp her hand in mine and the horses start galloping back to Chelon.

* * *

Still riding high on nervous energy built up from the scavenge, I persuade PG3456 to go sledding with me that evening after dinner. I spent most of the morning and afternoon catching up on sleep on the sofa in my den. Abbot asked for some sketches of ideas for my hairstyle to use while he works out the details of my Bridging ceremony. Curled up in the overstuffed chairs, Zink and I went through my notebook and picked three of our favorites to present to Abbot.

The snow that has accumulated over the last two weeks is thick and soft, perfect for the blades of the sleds. In the last hours of daylight, we race down the hills until our faces are raw with cold and our lips chapped from smiling. We are, for a moment, seven years old again. The greatest tragedy we knew was going to bed without dinner.

Trudging back to the block, Frehn
’
s arm laced through mine suddenly goes rigid. I look up and see PG3453 walking towards their residence compound, Sotter trailing them by a few feet.

When they cross our path, her open pack drops off her shoulder, spilling its contents in the snow. She hurries to shove the books and papers back inside while she waves her Play Group on. She doesn
’
t look in our direction, and quickly runs to catch up with PG3453. Before we reach the spot Sotter
’
s pack fell, Frehn leans down to adjust his shoe and switches sides of the road with me. He walks firmly the rest of the way to our residence compound, pressing his boots deep into the snow. Once inside the doors, he bends down to adjust his shoe again, mumbling,
“
Six weeks old and the laces are already fraying on these boots.
”

We change our wet coats and pants for pajamas, then meet in the common room to warm our hands around the crackling fire. Wex raises an eyebrow at Frehn and they both turn to look at me.

“
There
’
s nothing here, it
’
s clean,
”
I tell them. Looking up at the painted thumbs-out-fist over my door has become instinct now. Except for last night when Loshee picked the lock on my door, the fingers have always remained dark and black. But I never leave my bedroom without looking up at it.

Frehn looks back to Wex,
“
Poy will be able to do it. She
’
s a Keeper assigned to mechanics. She
’
s willing.
”

A wide grin spreads over Wex
’
s face,
“
That
’
s one hurdle cleared then.
”