A Gathering Of Stones

1

On his third day out of the mountains, Simms ran into the front end of a Plains blizzard. A few snowflakes blew past, at the moment more of a promise than a threat; wet winds brittle with cold snatched at him and whipped up the mane and tail of his horse; the beast sidled uneasily, fought the bit, snorted and tried to run from the storm. “Hey Neddio, ho Neddio, slow, babe, go slow,” he sang to the horse, “soft, Neddio, steady, Neddio, it’s a long way we got to go, Neddio.”

Calling on his Talent, reading earth and air, Simms sniffed out a vague promise of shelter and rode toward it, angling across the wind. “Here we go, Neddio, just a lit-t-t-tle way, Neddio, you’ll be warm, Neddio, out of the wind, out of the storm, Neddio.” He loosened his hold on the reins, letting the horse stretch to a long easy lope.

Around noon, though it might as well have been midnight, the gloom had thickened until it was nearly impenetrable, he saw a scatter of dark shapes that turned into trees and blocky buildings as he got closer. A shoulder-high wall loomed ahead of him. Neddio the horse squealed and shied; when Simms had him steady again, he followed the wall to a gap. There should have been a gate, but he didn’t see any. He turned through the gap and felt a lessening of the wind’s pressure as the wall broke its sweep. He couldn’t see much, so he let the horse find the driveway and move along ^it toward what had to be the house.

No lights. Nothing.

“Hall000,” he yelled, raising his voice so he could ^be heard above the wind. “Hey the house! You got a visitor. Mind if I come in?”

Nothing.

“Well, Neddio, seems to me silence is good as a formal invite.” He slid from the saddle, hunted about for the tie-rail; he found it by backing into it and nearly impaling himself on the end. He secured the reins around it in a quick half-hitch and went groping for the door, expecting to find it closed and barred.

It was open a crack, but resisted when he pushed against it. He pushed harder. The leather hinges tore across and the door crashed down. He heard some quick scuttlings in the darkness as vermin fled from the noise. Nothing else. The stead was deserted; from the dilapidation he could feel and smell it’d been that way for a long time. He leaned against the wall and listened to the slow, rumbling complaints of the rammed dirt, ancient memories of blood and screaming, present groans about the years and years since the wall had a coat of sealer brushed over it. Even the dirt knew it was decaying. He didn’t listen long, it didn’t matter that much why the folk had left, all that mattered was getting shelter before the storm hit.

He left Neddio at the tie-rail and groped his way around to the barn. It was in much worse shape than the house, two of the walls had melted away, the roof was lying in pieces about stalls and bins also broken and half burnt. Its house for old Neddio, he thought, and I best get as much wood in today as I can. When that blow hits full force, we’re not going anywhere. Wonder if there’s something about I can use as a drag so I won’t have to make so many trips? Mellth’g bod, can’t see a thing. Raaht, Simmo, one step at a time. Fire first, then see what I can locate. He gathered an armload of the wood scraps and felt his way back to the front door.