Tarah Woodblade (36 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Djeri stayed off the main road, heading north along the riverbank. He knew where he was going. There was an academy outpost several miles to the north. He had been stationed there once when he first graduated from the academy. But thoughts of his destination were far from the forefront of his mind.

He weighed the events of the night over and over, wondering what he could have done differently. If he had just noticed what Mel was planning, the whole thing wouldn’t have happened. Then again, if they had stayed back with Shade, they would still be captives and Mel would have tried something another time.

He would have talked to Tarah about it, but she was still paralyzed, so Djeri kept walking, beating himself up until the sky began to lighten. Tarah didn’t break free of the spell until just as the sun broke the horizon. When she did so, it was with vigor.

“Down! Down! Let me down, Djeri!”

He hurried over and untied her from the back of the mule, easing her to the ground. “I’m sorry, Tarah there was no other way I could get you out of there I-!”

Tarah’s fist connected with his nose. “What are you doing? Why are we going this way, you jerk!”

Djeri looked back at her in surprise, his hand held to his nose. “What?”

“My staff! Blast it, we have to go find my staff!”

“It was lost in the river,” he said.

“I know that! I was there,” she said. “But it won’t stay in the water forever. It floats, so it’ll wash ashore. We can find it.”

“You’ve been wanting to say this for awhile, haven’t you?” he said.

“The whole friggin’ time you had me strapped to that mule while you walked in the wrong direction!”

Djeri frowned. “I’m sorry. I had no way of knowing, but even if I had, the river’s wild right now. Your staff could be anywhere. It could be miles downstream or it could get hung up on an island or trapped in a piece of ice. That staff could end up in the swamps of Malaroo, for all we know.”

“Or it could be hung up on the shoreline just outside of town,” she insisted.

Djeri held out his hands defensively. “I know it’s important to you, but going after that staff is the worst possible thing we could do right now. The town is riled up and I’m pretty sure the gnome left some of the smugglers alive.”

“I have to have it!” Tarah declared.

“No you don’t,” he laughed, throwing up his arms. “Look at us arguing here. We’re free! For the first time in a month, we aren’t prisoners. We completed our mission. The rogue horse is safe and we’re arguing about . . .” He sighed in understanding. “An heirloom. Yes, I know it’s important to you and that’s a legitimate thing to be upset about. But look! We’re free!”

She smiled back briefly, but the smile faded. “You don’t understand. Without that staff I’m . . . I’m not me.”

“What do you mean?” he said.

“I didn’t tell you everything.” Tarah bit her lip. “I’ve been thinking about this too and I think you should know. My . . . those powers aren’t really mine. Back at my house I told you they were, but the tracking abilities I have come from the staff. Without it, I don’t see any memories.”

Djeri nodded slowly. He had suspected as much. At least in the beginning. But that had stopped mattering to him long ago.

“Hey. Hey, come on,” Djeri said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “That magic is just one small aspect of who you are. Power or not, you’re still Tarah Woodblade. You’re calm. Tough. Never flustered.”

“No! I’m not!” she said, jerking out of his grasp. Tarah turned from him and took a couple steps away, putting her face into her hands. “Tarah Woodblade isn’t real. She doesn’t exist.”

“What do you mean?” he said, confused.

“I’m a fraud! That’s what I mean. My name is Tarah Beraldi,” she said. “This armor . . . my abilities, all of it is something made up by my grampa and me.”

Djeri stood there for a moment, flummoxed. “How can that be true?”

She sighed, dropping her hands from her face, but still refusing to look him in the eye. “Grampa Rolf was a . . . traveling merchant of a sort. He was always looking for some new big thing or other that he could sell and make it rich.

“He was big for awhile up in Five Hills. But he made a few bad business deals and lost it all. After that, he went from town to town, peddling things like potions, tinctures, and cure-alls. Problem is, most of it didn’t work or at least enough of it didn’t that he got a bad name for himself. Every time some town booted him out, he’d reinvent himself with a new name and go somewhere else.”

“A swindler,” Djeri said, shaking his head in surprise. 

“He didn’t mean to be,” Tarah said, her eyes catching his firmly. Then her shoulders slumped and she looked away again. “Leastwise, Grampa Rolf said he never sold stuff that didn’t work on purpose. Papa didn’t believe him, but I always did. I guess I’m not that sure what to think anymore.

“Anyways, when I turned twelve, grampa came to the house to see us. Papa didn’t like it, but Rolf said he had a present for me. He gave me the staff. He told papa he’d tried to sell it at the Mage School, but the wizards just told him it was painted fancy. There was just a couple of runes making it strong. Nothing worth their time.

“But then when papa wasn’t looking, Rolf took me aside and told me that he’d just told papa a story so he’d let me have it. He told me that the staff was really high magic. It was ancient, made of a wood that don’t exist no more. Then he made me promise to keep it secret.”

“And you think he was right?” Djeri said.

“I felt the first memory from a track only two days after grampa left. I practiced and found that it only happened when I held the staff. Once I knew how to make it work, I could track better than anyone. Papa thought I was a tracking genius but I never told him the truth.

“I didn’t see Grampa Rolf again until I was sixteen. It was the day after papa died. Rolf showed up and told me that papa had sent for him, asking him to take care of me. Grampa Rolf was getting old and he wanted to teach me everything he knew before he died. It was his dying mission in life to make sure I knew how to make a living.

“First he taught me how to fight with my staff. Grampa Rolf was real good. Said a good salesperson had to learn to fight so he could to protect himself when business deals went bad. His staff and his wits were what kept him alive through the hard times.”

“Well, he did a good job teaching you,” Djeri said.

Tarah shook her head sadly. “He said I was a natural. He saw how good I was with the bow and the staff and he came up with an idea. He said he had a sure way to help me survive. He’d make me a legend.

“That’s when he came up with the name, Woodblade. He said that Beraldi meant wood sword in Khalpany. Tarah Wood Sword sounded silly, so he changed it to Woodblade. I didn’t feel right at first, calling myself something I wasn’t. Papa said a name was earned. Grampa Rolf disagreed. He said a name was something you claimed. He said if I called myself Tarah Woodblade long enough, people would start believing it.”

“I see,” Djeri said, feeling a little disappointed. It wasn’t the honorable way, but then again she wasn’t the first warrior to declare their own name.

“Grampa came up with a set of rules for Tarah Woodblade and he made me recite them back to him every morning. Tarah Woodblade is wise. Tarah Woodblade is strong. Tarah Woodblade never cries . . .” She swallowed. “I guess he figured if I said ‘em enough they’d come true.

“Problem was no one would believe it. First few times he sent me out to get tracking work, I got laughed at. Womenfolk wanted a strong man to hire. Men didn’t want to pay no ‘ugly girl.’”

Djeri winced at the pain in her voice. Her story was starting to make him feel ill. “You’re not ugly, Tarah. You’re beautiful”

She growled as if he had bit her. “Don’t even try to cheer me, Djeri the Looker! I know the truth. I’ve heard it all my life, ever since I busted my nose. Grampa Rolf said that my looks could work in my favor. He said that I was a growing to be a big girl and if we enhanced that, folks would hire me anyway.

“That’s when he got the idea for my moonrat armor. He had me go out and hunt a mess of moonrats and bring ‘em back home. He had this special armor recipe, you see. It was his last big find. His ‘grand achievement,’ he called it. His special resin could make any cheap leather as strong as heavy armor.”

“That’s the recipe I found back at your house,” Djeri said.

“That’s right. Rolf said this armor would show the world that Tarah Woodblade was brave and tough. Who else would face down the scariest creatures in the woods and spit in their eye like that? No one, woman or man. That’s how I’d show ‘em.”

She was right, Djeri thought. No one else was crazy enough to send their teenaged granddaughter out in the world dressed in armor like that.

“It worked too. I started getting jobs. Then he made me recite new phrases. ‘Tarah Woodblade is tough.’ ‘Tarah Woodblade is meaner than a herd of bears.’ ‘Tarah Woodblade could out track the prophet hisself.’” She laughed softly to herself. “Folks started believing me. Everyone except the folks in Pinewood. They knew who I was. Tarah Beraldi, the ugly little daughter of that ex-berserker. Even after the Sampo Guidesmen Guild let me in, Pinewood didn’t accept Tarah Woodblade. They knew I was a fraud.”

Djeri was staggered. His heart told him that this wasn’t right. He knew Tarah. Whatever she thought of herself, he knew that wasn’t true. Or did he? “But the people of Pinewood are proud of you. They bragged about Tarah Woodblade all summer long during the siege.”

“I guess I fooled ‘em in the end then, didn’t I?” she said, her voice harsh.

“You saved them. All fifty of the survivors had stories,” he said.

“So I saved fifty!” She laughed bitterly. “Tarah Woodblade could have saved them all! You don’t know me Djeri. Not the true me. Tarah Woodblade is brave, but I’m scared spitless most of the time. That night in Pinewood, the magic of my staff was on fire. My tracking senses were doing things they didn’t normally do. Tarah Woodblade knew where the rats were coming from. Tarah Woodblade could see the trolls from a mile away.

“I snatched the folk as they ran from town and took ‘em to escape trails. I went back for more and more. Then she caught me.” Tarah’s face went white as she fell into the memory. “An orange-eyed rat looked me in the eye and that witch saw my soul. She told me I was marked for death and I knew she meant it. She intended to hunt me down.”

“That would have scared anyone,” Djeri said.

“Not Tarah Woodblade. Tarah Woodblade would have gone back into the town and kept saving folks until there was none left to be saved. She could have done it! That night, she could have guided the whole forest out from under the moonrat mother’s nose!”

“Then why didn’t you go back?” Djeri asked.

“Because Tarah Woodblade doesn’t exist! There’s just me, Tarah Beraldi. And Tarah Beraldi ran!” Her voice was shaking and tears poured from her eyes. “I ran as far and as fast as I could. I left those folks I saved up in the mountains to die for all I knew. I ran for the border. I crossed the river and hid in Razbeck, ignoring the voices of my papa and grampa saying I should be brave. All I could hear was the witch’s threat.

“I stayed in Razbeck like a coward with my fingers in my ears until Shade found me and told me the war was over.”

“Tarah, of course you were scared. Everyone was scared during that war,” Djeri said, but the words sounded hollow in his ears. The person she was describing didn’t sound like the Tarah he knew.

“But not everyone ran,” Tarah said. “I did. I could have been an asset in the war. As Tarah Woodblade, I could have saved lots of lives. But I’m a coward.” She turned and looked him straight in the eyes, her hands balled into fists. Her voice quivered as she said, “So now you know me. You know the ugly truth. What do you think of me now?”

Djeri looked at her, his jaw dropped open and his brow furrowed. For one brief moment, she convinced him. In that moment he saw her as she saw herself. A regular human girl, small and frightened. She searched his eyes and, though he immediately regretted it, Djeri looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” she said and moved to Neddy’s side. Tarah took the quiver and bow and slung them over her shoulder. Then she grabbed her father’s sword and started back south down the riverbank.

“Wait, Tarah. Don’t go down there yet,” Djeri said weakly. He needed time to think about what she’d told him. “Come with me to the outpost. We’ll find out how everything turned out back at the dock and once we know it’s safe, we’ll go back and look for your staff together.”

She paused. “No, Djeri. I think it’s best we part ways here. I’ll go down the bank and hunt ‘till I find my staff and then I’ll go back to pretending to be Tarah Woodblade. You can . . . tell folks what you want. You’ve every right to.”

“But Tarah,” he said numbly. “The smugglers could find you.”

“I may not have my magic anymore, but I can hide my tracks well enough to fool those idiots,” she said and continued walking.

“Wait,” Djeri said, his voice trembling. His mind was blank. He couldn’t think, but he was sure of something. “I can’t let you go like that. I . . . I care for you.”

Tarah turned on him, anger in her eyes.

“Don’t make me sick,” she said and strode away.

Chapter Nineteen

Tarah kept walking, her back stiff, until Djeri was out of sight. Then she stumbled. Overcome by weakness, she sat down and planted her face between her knees.

Don’t make me sick
.

Had she really said that to Djeri? That was terrible. Those were Donjon’s words, not hers. Why had they come out of her mouth?

She hadn’t meant it that way, of course. Djeri didn’t make her sick. If anything she felt . . . well whatever she felt about him, that wasn’t why she’d said it. What made her sick was the thought of the dwarf taking pity on her. She had seen the look of shame in his eyes. The thought that Djeri would stay around her out of some sense of duty, all the while knowing how terrible she was . . .