Rising From the Ashes: The Chronicles of Caymin (17 page)

“This is as far as we go.”

Ronan set the basket of food down as they stopped. Caymin felt a subtle shift in the energy of the forest, though it looked as if it went on and on.

“This is our boundary,” Ronan said, looking down at her.

“But we cannot see anything.”

He pointed. “We can up there.”

They spread out, climbing trees that gave them glimpses of the world beyond the forest. Caymin, being smaller and more agile, climbed higher into the canopy of her tree than Ronan could. She felt as if she were atop the world, looking down on a sea of leafy trees that gradually thinned, interspersed with bits of cleared land in the distance. She saw tiny people in the fields, and small clusters of dwellings, thin plumes of smoke rising from them, but no large fires or smoke, nothing that looked to be disturbed.

She spoke to the birds who shared her lofty vantage point, asking them if they had seen anything in their travels beyond the forest, but they had not.

She stayed there until her bum began to go numb sitting on a branch. Restlessly, she looked toward Ronan’s tree, though she couldn’t see him. To her relief, she heard him call her and began the long climb down.

They met on the forest floor and broke out some dried venison and cheese.

“Nothing,” he said, passing her the water skin. “We’ll rest a bit and climb back up later. If they’re coming, they won’t move fast. They’ll burn and pillage as they go.”

“Why do they do that?”

Ronan shrugged. “Some have run out of room in their land, and so need to find new land to occupy. Others are looking for prisoners or wealth to take back to their land. Fat chance they’ll find any of that here. The folk around here are simple farmers and herders. I suppose they could steal the cattle and sheep, but that’s about all.”

Caymin gnawed on a strip of venison, wondering not for the first time what had led the pillagers to her village. She supposed she would never know.

They rested a bit after eating and then climbed again, staying until late in the day. Still nothing. They climbed back down before it got fully dark, just as a cold rain began to fall.

“I don’t fancy spending the night in this,” Ronan grumbled.

“There is a small cave over there.” Caymin pointed from where she huddled under her cloak. “I found it earlier.”

Ronan reached for the food basket. “Lead the way.”

He followed her to the low mouth of a cave. “I never would’ve seen this.”

“Wait,” she said, holding a hand out. “There is someone in there already.”

She probed. “I cannot fully speak to… whatever it is, but I sense it.”

“Is it dangerous?”

“I do not think so. It is afraid.”

“Tell it we won’t hurt it, we only want out of the wet.”

She reassured whatever was inside that they meant no harm, and led the way, crawling on hands and knees. Ronan had to get almost on his belly to get through the opening in the rocks.

Inside was dry. There was a rustling from the rear of the cave.

Caymin produced a ball of flame, holding her hand out to illuminate the dark recesses of the cavern. There, recoiling from the light, was a… a…

“What is it?” Ronan asked, his mouth twisted in disgust.

“I do not know.” Caymin had never seen anything like the white worm-like creature writhing against the rocks.

It had a long snout and short legs that didn’t look as if they could hold up its long body. Its eyes were large and milky, as if it was blind or accustomed to being in dark places.

“We need a fire,” Ronan said. “I’m going to get some wood.” He pointed at the worm-like creature. “Is it safe to leave you?”

“Yes,” Caymin answered.

Ronan crawled back outside, and Caymin examined the creature more closely, noting strange dark marks on its white skin.

“We will not harm you,”
she said to it. She crept nearer.
“Are you injured?”

It didn’t respond in words or thoughts as she was accustomed to when speaking with animals, but she could sense what it was feeling. The injuries were old and, though they still caused pain, they were no longer serious. She reached a tentative hand out. The creature shrank from her touch, but didn’t respond aggressively. The moment her hand came in contact with it, she felt a tingle. Gasping, she saw an explosion of images – flashes of light, the creature writhing in pain, escape to the welcome dark of an underground tunnel. So powerful were the images that Caymin felt her own side, expecting to feel blood and pain, but there was nothing.

By the time Ronan returned with a large armful of wet wood, pushing it ahead of him as he crawled back into the cave, Caymin had ignited a small pile of twigs that had blown into the cave, and she was running one hand over the worm-creature while still holding a handful of flame in the other.

“What is it?” he asked.

“His name is Péist,” Caymin said. “He is injured.”

“He told you his name?”

“No.” Caymin frowned. “I just know.” She started to lay her hands on the creature.

“Hold on,” Ronan said. “The last time you healed something, it nearly killed you. Is it – is he gravely injured?”

Caymin shook her head. “He says no.”

“Then it’s staying warm we need to worry about. We’ll have to feed this fire to ignite the wet wood and keep it burning. Save your energy for this.”

Caymin agreed, her teeth chattering. They gathered some of the wood Ronan had collected and added it to her twig fire. She and Ronan together fed the flames, forcing the wet wood to dry enough to catch fire and burn.

She took off her wet cloak and held it up to dry.

“Here.” Ronan whispered an incantation and moved his hand over the cloak, drying and warming it.

“I must learn that,” Caymin muttered, wrapping it back around her shoulders.

They were startled by a rustling sound behind them as Péist crawled nearer the fire, his milky-white eyes shielded from the light by semi-transparent inner lids.

“He likes the heat,” Caymin said.

Ronan shrugged, though he still looked with some disgust at the wriggling creature. “He’s welcome.”

The cave quickly warmed and Caymin stopped shivering. Her eyelids drooped and her head bobbed as she sat.

“Sorry,” she said, her head snapping up.

“Not to worry.” Ronan fed a few more branches to the fire. “Lie down and sleep. I’m going to sleep as well. We’ll keep an eye on the fire.” He glanced toward the white worm. “You’re sure?”

Caymin smiled. “I am sure. He is harmless.”

When they woke, the rain had stopped and Péist was gone. Caymin looked around the cave, but there was no sign of him other than undulating tracks in the dirt. Strangely, she could still sense him from a distance.

She and Ronan spent most of that day up in different trees, spreading out to observe a wider vista for any signs of danger. The birds all told her they had seen no disturbances.

“Nothing,” Ronan said that night when he got back to the cave. Caymin already had a large pile of firewood gathered and was roasting a few turnips in the coals.

“What I wouldn’t give for some stew,” Ronan said.

“This is better than earthworms,” Caymin said.

At Ronan’s puzzled expression, she said, “It is what the badgers tried to feed me when they first rescued me. They did not know what two-leg cubs ate.”

He chuckled. “And you just always knew how to talk to them?”

Caymin nodded. “Broc said I called to her.” She looked at him. “You said the invaders sometimes take prisoners. So that means they do not kill everyone?”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Some of them take captives and haul them back on their boats to wherever they came from.” He paused. “You’re wondering if your ma and da might still be alive?”

She shrugged and didn’t reply.

Ronan used a stick to prod the turnips out of the coals. “Here,” he said, tossing one to Caymin. They both had to hold the turnips in their cloaks for a moment until they cooled enough to eat.

“Do you know who attacked your village?”

Caymin shook her head. “No. I cannot remember.”

“Too bad. If you did, you might have a chance to find out if they’re still living.” He looked at her sympathetically. “’Tis not likely though.” He pulled out a knife to split his turnip and then handed the knife to Caymin.

“I know.” Caymin cut her turnip.

“We’ll stay one more day,” Ronan said. “If there’s nothing tomorrow, we’ll head back.”

When Caymin lay down to sleep, she could still feel Péist. She had never had a connection like this to another. Usually, the animals she could talk to were like talking to other people, and the connection ended when it ended. This connection, though, didn’t use words and felt almost as strong as it had when he had been in the cave with them. He was hunting, feeding hungrily on grubs and mice, as he hadn’t eaten the night before when they had entered his cave.

When at last she slept, she saw again her mother and father as they had appeared in her spiritwalk.

CHAPTER 11

The Invaders

W
hen they were still some distance from the village, Ronan and Caymin felt something and paused. They listened, but there was absolute silence in the forest. Not a bird or animal moved or spoke. They placed their hands on an ancient tree and waited.

“I don’t hear anything,” Ronan said.

“Nor do I.”

They approached the village cautiously, the nearly empty food basket slung over Ronan’s shoulders and his spear held at the ready while Caymin had her bow strung, an arrow nocked. They were startled by Beanna, who came cawing and flapping toward them. She landed on Caymin’s shoulder.

“Did you see anything?”
the crow asked.

“No. Nothing.”

“Two of the others did. They have all left for that part of the forest. Enat left instructions for you.”

Ronan understood and broke into a run, Caymin following on his heels while Beanna took to the air at the sudden jostling.

A piece of parchment was nailed to the door of the meetinghouse with a map of which direction the invaders had been spotted nearing the forest.

“Let’s go,” Ronan said.

“Enat said you are to pack more food,”
Beanna told them.
“And bring more weapons.”

“She is right,” Caymin said, pulling the basket off his shoulders. “You go get the weapons you want, and I will pack more food.”

He soon returned with a sword buckled at his side and a bow slung over his shoulder. He had a second sword, which he held out to Caymin. She shook her head.

“You know I cannot defeat anyone with that.”

He looked at her darkly. “If they make it into the forest, a bow may not be enough.”

Reluctantly, she strapped the sheath to her side.

She had stuffed two baskets with bread, cheese, turnips, carrots, more dried meat, “and oatcakes,” said Ronan gratefully as he crammed one into his mouth before shouldering one of the baskets.

“Ready?”

Caymin nodded, the other basket slung over her shoulders.

“I will come with you,”
Beanna said, flying circles around them.

They settled into an easy lope, Ronan taking care not to outpace Caymin as she trotted along with her lopsided gait. The slap of the sword and sheath against her leg was bothersome, but she kept up with him.