[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (29 page)

Cara lay unconscious, inclined against the curved stern. Yim was glad that her friend was unaware of approaching doom, and she hoped that when she capsized the boat Cara wouldn’t wake. Yim planned to do that just before the men reached them. She would gather Cara in her arms and sink with her into the lake’s dark depths, the two of them entwined like loving sisters. Yim watched the oncoming boat to time her final act of defiance.

The larger boat suddenly veered to one side when it was
 only fifty paces away. The turn didn’t seem intentional, for the standing man began to curse the oarsmen. Their discipline disintegrated as the oars flayed the water to no effect. Then Yim saw that the boat wasn’t veering at all, but turning away. Nevertheless, foreboding made her take up the oars again and rower farther from the other boat.

As Yim rowed, she also watched her foes. They were no longer engaged in pursuit, but traveling in a circle. As they moved, they picked up speed. The standing man was still yelling, but his voice had taken on an edge of fear. He and the oarsmen were staring at something in the water. Yim looked at it also. There was a darker spot in the lake, and the men’s boat was revolving around it. After Yim peered at it awhile, she realized what it was.
 
A hole in the water!
 
she thought, amazed at the sight. It looked like an inverted cone, and with each successive orbit, the other boat was pulled closer to it.

Oars fell from the boat as men abandoned them. They trailed behind the doomed vessel, caught by a current that moved it ever faster in ever tighter circles. Some men jumped into the water and vanished. The standing man’s commands grew shrill, and they seemed to lose their power, for the men suddenly surged at him. He disappeared beneath their flaying fists. Yim heard screams, followed by silence. By then, the boat was within the hole and only partly visible. It was moving farther down when the whirlpool collapsed, swallowing the vessel and its remaining occupants. Only a ring of expanding ripples marked the spot. When they dissipated, the lake was still and quiet.

Yim was about to start rowing again when she realized that the boat was moving on its own. Thus, instead of working the oars, Yim pulled them into the boat and dipped her sore hands into the soothing cold water. By the force of the current, she realized that she was moving at a steady but stately pace. As Yim glided toward the gorge, she gazed at the stars reflected in the lake. They looked brighter and
 different than those in the sky, closer somehow. When the boat entered the gorge, the light grew brighter.

Though it seemed impossible, the water reflected moonlight and uncommon moonlight at that. It had the yellow tint of a full autumn moon, so that the stream Yim sailed upon was a golden mirror winding in the night. Eventually, it turned a bend to reveal the circular pool. Yim slipped off her and Cara’s sandals. Standing in the shining water were forms that looked not quite human.

Within the village, all was chaos. It seemed that it was under attack: Several buildings had been set alight. Armed men with torches roamed the fields, killing anyone who tried to flee. News of them drove the villagers to pound upon the manor’s gates. While archers watched warily from the walls, the gates were opened and the villagers poured into the safety of the courtyard. There they milled about, fearful of more attacks.

The innkeeper was among them, being too old to march off with Cronin. For a while, he feared that the general’s plan had failed and Lord Bahl was descending upon them to mete out gruesome deaths. His fears allayed somewhat when he saw that the archers continued to calmly pace the walkways high upon the walls. From what the innkeeper had heard, Bahl attacked with overwhelming force and his rabid hordes destroyed everyone and everything in their path. Whatever was going on didn’t seem like that. The innkeeper felt somewhat relieved, but no less confused.

Everyone about him seemed in the same state. As the villagers stood and anxiously waited, news and rumors spread among them. Some said that the refugees had attacked them, but a widow claimed that most had abandoned the fields and fled. “That proves they were in on it,” said the innkeeper’s wife.

“Nay,” said the widow. “They were afeared na one would shelter them, and I’m afeared they were right.”

“Then who are those men if na those beggars camping in our fields?” asked a farmer’s wife.

“Could be another clan,” said the blacksmith’s eldest daughter. “There’s been feuding. Mayhap it’s spread here.”

An archer called from a walkway above. “Who will help douse the fires? We’ll send guards to protect anyone who does.” When voices called from the crowd to volunteer, the archer told them to advance toward the gates.

After the volunteers had assembled, archers and swordsmen met them and gave them buckets. The gates were opened, and the firefighters rushed out with their protectors. Then the gates were quickly closed. The innkeeper remained in the courtyard, which had become less crowded. When the sky began to lighten, he scanned the crowd for Rangar’s face but didn’t spot it. Soon afterward, a guard limped out to open the gates, saying it was safe to return home. He also said that a chambermaid had told him the clan mother was missing. That news set tongues abuzz.

Some villagers rushed home, but others like the innkeeper remained in the dirt lane talking about the night’s strange events. There was much to talk about, and folk kept arriving with fresh news or baseless rumors. Everyone debated which was which. Those with relations serving in the hall confirmed that Lady Cara’s disappearance was no rumor. Her guest, the Bearer, was missing also. Reliable word had it that three corpses had been found in the clan mother’s chamber—two slain by weapons and a third killed by magic. There was much speculation about the Bearer’s role in the latter death. Some said it was the work of Karm, others claimed it was dark magic.

Three homes had burned down, and a dozen more had suffered damage. The folk who had doused the fires had done so unhampered. The men who had set the blazes had vanished. Some thought they had fled. Others feared they were regrouping for a second attack. A wild-eyed refugee woman claimed they had been carried off by bears and wolves that
 had descended from the mountains at the western end of the lake. No one believed her.

More news emerged from the manor house. A guardsman’s wife said the steward was nowhere to be found. That started a fresh wave of speculation. The cook’s niece said Rodric resented the clan mother and had murdered her so he might rule. The brewer’s wife called the niece a lying bitch and said the steward had rescued Cara from the clutches of the visiting sorceress.

The women were about to come to blows when someone rushed up to say two boats were missing. Both women claimed the news proved their assertion. That was when the horse master’s wife stated that Cara planned to ride off with the Bearer in the morning and it was Rodric himself who had told her of the plan. A few people rushed off to the stables and soon returned saying the clan mother’s horse was still there.

Someone found a gnawed foot in a field, which spurred others to investigate. What they discovered seemed to confirm the refugee woman’s story. They found wolf and bear tracks, discarded weapons, and blood. However, that single foot was the only sign of the men who attacked the village. There were no signs of the missing boats, including the larger one that was used for hauling timber and should have been easy to spot. Someone suggested that it might have been taken into the gorge, but the idea was ridiculed. The gorge was a fell place, and only a fool would venture there.

“Clan Mother goes,” said a child.

“Lady Cara’s special,” replied her mother. “She bears Dar’s Gift to the Old Ones.”

“But she took her friend, too.”

“Aye, but she’s a Bearer, na a common woman. So hush.”

The innkeeper eventually tired of the talk and returned to the inn. He still hadn’t spotted Rangar, and mindful of his promise to keep an eye on his goods, the innkeeper checked Rangar’s room. Rangar wasn’t there, but the room wasn’t
 empty. What appeared to be a decayed corpse lay upon the floor.

Then, to the innkeeper’s horror, the corpse moved, and proved to be a living man. A wrinkled and venous parchment of yellow skin covered a skull that possessed only a few strands of wispy white hair. The skull turned to face the innkeeper, though the eyes inside the deep sockets were filmed over and seemed incapable of sight. The decayed man feebly waved a skeletal hand and opened a toothless mouth, but the only sound that emerged was a watery hiss. Even from several paces away, his breath was nauseating and the innkeeper felt his stomach rise from the stench.

“Where’s Rangar? Why are you wearing his clothes?” Since the man seemed incapable of violence, the innkeeper assumed he had stolen the garments.

The response was a warbling hiss.

Encouraged by the intruder’s apparent helplessness and the prospect of a reward, the innkeeper decided to retrieve Rangar’s garments. “You stole those boots from a friend of mine,” he said, tugging them off.

The putrid smell of the feet he exposed nearly drove the innkeeper back, but he was a hardened man. Mastering his disgust, he began to unbutton the jerkin. When the intruder feebly clawed at him, the innkeeper slapped back, and none too gently. As his hand struck the withered face, he felt its jaw crumble like stale bread. Afterward, the man’s hisses took on a higher pitch, and his mouth hung slack and open. The innkeeper removed the jerkin without further resistance. The pants came off easily, for the waist was far too big. He declined to take the undergarment.

Having retrieved Rangar’s clothes, the innkeeper seized the intruder and hauled him to his feet. Then he marched him out from the inn and tossed him upon the unpaved street. The man lay upon the dirt as an appalled crowd gathered around him, disgusted but fascinated by what seemed a living skeleton. They drew back when the wretch managed to
 rise and stagger down the street. Dogs growled, but none dared approach the abomination that slowly made its way out of the village and down the road, a living corpse seeking a lonely grave.

The innkeeper didn’t watch it go. Returning to room of the man he knew as “Rangar,” he gathered up the missing man’s possessions. He searched through everything and was pleased to find a pouch of gold. “Best not leave that here,” he said aloud. “I’ll keep it safe.” Secreting the pouch upon his person, he arranged the clothes he had retrieved from the intruder into a neat pile on the bed, placing the saddlebags beside them. He decided to give his tenant until afternoon before he rented out his room again and stowed his possessions elsewhere. As for the gold, he was inclined to see it as fair recompense for dealing with the foul intruder. The more he considered the notion, the better he liked it.
 
After all 
, thought the innkeeper,
 
in troubled times, a wise man looks out for himself 
.

Yim awoke beneath tree roots and starlight. Before her hosts had entered the den, they raked starlight from the sky and formed it into glowing spheres. These illuminated the subterranean chamber. Yim lay upon a bed of soft, feathery leaves. Cara slept beside her. Both she and Cara were “pelt-clad,” which was the Faerie term for “nude.” The Old Ones disdained human-made things, though they made an exception for cheese.

Rupeenla sat cross-legged nearby. She was also pelt-clad, but her pelt was glossy fur similar to an otter’s. She was the size of a girl of twelve winters and her body possessed a similar shape, with breasts that were no more prominent than a cat’s. Aside from a covering of fur, her least human feature was her face. It was hairless, but the upper part sloped to a small, wide nose, giving the impression that she had a snout. A receding chin enhanced the look. Her eyes were much larger than any human’s and resembled a cat’s in their golden
 color and slit pupils. Her ears, which were placed like those of a human, were rabbitlike, although more pointed and not as long. Like a rabbit’s ears, they twitched frequently, seeming to hear sounds that Yim couldn’t. The hair on Rupeenla’s scalp was no longer than elsewhere on her body. Despite this and a lack of prominent breasts, her gender was obvious.

Yim turned her attention to Cara and was glad to see that her color had returned and her sleeping face looked peaceful. The stump of Cara’s severed arm was covered with what appeared to be spiderwebs that glistened with dewdrops. Yim was surprised to note that the webs weren’t bloodstained although they dressed a fresh wound. It made her wonder how long she and Cara had been asleep. Yet when Yim glanced at her palms, her blisters looked recent and were unhealed. Thinking about the passage of time caused Yim to recall how urgent it was to reach Honus.
 
We were supposed to ride at dawn!
 
she thought, growing alarmed.

“Fear not, Mother,” said Rupeenla. “You yet have time to do what’s necessary.”

Yim regarded her host, who smiled and bowed her head. It had been Rupeenla who had greeted Yim at the pool and directed that Cara be carried into Faerie. Yim remembered little of the journey to the den, except that she had been requested to leave her pack and her clothing on the same stone where Cara had placed Dar’s Gift. The request had been a respectful one, but it also had felt like a command.

“That was not our wish, Mother,” said Rupeenla, responding as if Yim had spoken. “In the unchanging realm, things are or they are not. Second pelts are not. Nor is that lump you carried on your back.”

Yim wondered why.

“Who made the world, Mother?” replied Rupeenla in an amused tone. “Not I.”