Amber Magic

Chapter Six

Hours later they pulled the last load across the rippling waters from the northern shore of the river to the southern tip of Stone Island where Tylag's ferry landed. Brand had discovered where Corbin's muscles had been earned. His own arms burned by now, equaled only by the burning of his hands inside the thick leather gloves that his uncle had given him. Each time he grabbed hold of the thick rope and hauled in unison with his cousins, his biceps seemed to groan aloud. This groaning, however, if it was audible, was entirely drowned out by the frightened bleating of the sheep that were roped in a cluster at the center of the ferry. The river gurgled and splashed over the timbers of the ferry, which was primarily a large platform of logs lashed together and supported with crossbeams. Gray with long exposure, the wood of the ferry was seamed and cracked and prone to giving splinters. Brand glanced back at Jak, who looked as winded as Brand felt. Jak's blond hair was matted with sweat and stuck to his forehead in dark rat-tails.

As the day wore on it grew increasingly cold, unseasonably cold. The wind blew from the west and there was the hint of snow in it. They were approaching the cliffs of Stone Island when Brand saw the shadow man again. Up atop the whale-backed ridges of the cliff stood a dark figure on a horse, his cloak a rippling black shadow of a shadow. Brand's breath was ragged. His hoarse shout of alarm was carried away by the river winds. What the others did notice was that the line had slackened. Jak tapped his shoulder, shouting something that Brand never heard. Brand simply stared until the shadow man turned his horse and slid into the shadow of the pine trees that topped the cliffs.

“What's wrong with you, boy?” demanded Tylag. His uncle's voice came close and strong in his ear, and Brand made a croaking sound in reply. Tylag had once been the chief of the Riverton Constabulary, and his old training showed in times like this.

“He's gaping like a gigged bog-yelper,” said Corbin's older brother Sam. He had massive arms, the biggest in the family. He walked with a dragging foot, and everyone knew he worked his arms all the harder to make up for it.

“Here now, off with you!” ordered Tylag, waving away his sons. “Back to your stations before we swamp the ferry with all you lot standing at one corner.”

Brand shook himself, suddenly aware that he was sitting on the cold wet logs of the ferry, his right hand still clutching the thick landline. He noticed that his face was wet too, as river water had lapped up and splashed him. His eyes focused on his uncle, and then upon Jak and Corbin, all of whom looked worried.

“Did you see him?” Brand asked.

“Who?” demanded Tylag. He helped Brand to his feet. “See who?”

Brand looked to Jak, who looked even more concerned than before. Jak turned to look at the western shore of the river, into the Deepwood. “No, no, that way,” said Brand, gesturing up at the cliffs. “Up there.”

“He was on Stone Island?” demanded Jak.

“The shadow horseman?” asked Corbin.

Tylag was looking from one to another of the boys in confusion. “What's going on here?” he demanded gruffly. “I'm not accustomed to ignorance when aboard my own ferry!”

Brand, who was feeling better, stood up unaided and quickly explained. This time, however, he added in his feelings of numbness and cold dread. When he had finished, Corbin told the story of the great owl at the window the night before.

Tylag was left rubbing his heavy growth of beard, which was even thicker and redder than Corbin's was. Corbin's brother Sam scoffed and told them they were all scared of their own shadows, literally, but Tylag halted him with a raised hand. “No, no, this might fit,” said Tylag slowly. He looked older somehow, more worried and daunted than Brand had ever seen him. Brand felt responsible for everything and suddenly wished he had kept the whole thing to himself. His Uncle Tylag had never looked weak. Even when Brand's father, Tylag's brother, had died, he had looked stronger than he did now.

“Your Aunt Suzenna saw one of the Wee Folk just a few nights ago,” said Tylag.

“One of the Wee Folk?” gasped Brand, feeling a rush of wonder and fear all at once.

“Yes, Mama-cat chased him off. He was after her kittens in the barn,” Tylag grunted and half-smiled. “She always was a good ratter. She came home with a scrap of his coattails in her claws.”

“But what has that got to do with the shadow horseman?”

Tylag didn’t answer for a moment, clearly he was thinking hard. “We must get news of these events to the Riverton council,” he muttered at last.

They pressed him for answers on the rest of the journey, but he only shook his head at them, deep in thought. “It's been a strange autumn,” was all he would say. Tylag had been the head of the Rabing clan since Brand's father had died, as he had been the second oldest child of Gram Rabing's family. Old Gram had passed the clan leadership to her children on her seventieth birthday, and now that she was nearly ninety she rarely did more than offer a word or two of sage advice. As the head of the Rabing clan, Tylag was a key member of the Riverton Council.

Brand pulled the ropes along with the rest of them, his strength had returned if not his peace of mind. He could not imagine what was going on, but felt it had to be something terrible. Could the Pact with the Faerie have been broken? Wasn't the great Offering that the folk of the Haven had spent so long gathering this hard season enough?

It took only a short while to get the ferry to the stony shores of the eastern point where a cart and oxen awaited. The men loaded the cart quickly, with many wary glances cast up at the ridge. Brand himself felt cold dread and guilt for having put so many years onto his uncle's face.

Tylag seemed to pick up on his mood. He stumped over and threw an arm around Brand. He squeezed with this one arm, giving him a crude hug. “You're getting so tall boy, I can hardly look you in the eye!” he said, some of his normal bravado returning. Brand noted that he was indeed several inches taller than his uncle was, although not nearly as wide. “I want you and your brother to come with me to meet the clan leaders. You too, Corbin,” he said over his shoulder.

The boys nodded and a few hours later-after a fine lunch where Aunt Suzenna surpassed herself once again-they all headed back to Riverton. Corbin and Jak rode behind Tator with the load of melons and berrywine casks, but this time Brand rode on Tylag’s on his ox-cart. Ahead of them, the oxen lowed. All around them, the sheep that Corbin's brothers were herding to the common bleated and rang the bells at their necks. Brand glanced back wistfully many times at Froghollow. He had the sinking feeling that he was leaving something behind forever.