The Pillars of Creation

Chapter 12

Well, wasn’t this just something. Stranger and stranger. This night was full of new things, one right after another.

From his hiding place just around the corner of the house, Oba had been able to hear much of the conversation between the two. At first, he had been sure they would run off to get help. Oba didn’t think the fire could be extinguished, but for a time he had been concerned, fearing that the man and woman might pull Lathea out of the house—rescue her from the blaze so that people could have a look. It would be just like the troublesome sorceress to find a way to come back to torment him, and after all his work.

But both the man and the woman wanted to leave Lathea to the fire. They, too, hoped the fire would cover the evidence of the sorceress’s true end. They almost sounded like thieves, the woman talking about taking money from her mother and him taking money from men. That sounded suspicious.

If they had found gold and silver there, they might have taken it. Had they worked and slaved their whole lives, as he had, to finally recover money that was their due? Or had they been forced to suffer the abuse of swallowing Lathea’s cursed cures their whole life? Oba didn’t think so. It had been different for him. He had simply recovered money that was rightfully his all along. He felt a little indignant to be almost in the company of common thieves.

This night was just one startling thing after another. It seemed amazing to him how his life had gone along, day after day, month after month, year after year, always the same, same chores, same work, same everything. Now, in one night, all that seemed to have changed.

First, he had become invincible and in so doing unleashed his righteous inner self, only to discover that Rahl blood coursed through his veins, and now this odd pair showed up to help him conceal Lathea’s true end. Stranger and stranger.

The startling news that he was in fact the son of Darken Rahl still had him in a state of astonished shock. He, Oba Schalk, as it turned out, was someone quite important, someone of noble blood, someone of noble birth.

He wondered whether or not he should now properly think of himself as Oba Rahl. He wondered if he was, in fact, a prince.

That was an intriguing notion. Unfortunately, his mother had raised him simply, so he didn’t know much about such matters, what station or title was rightfully his.

He also realized that his mother was a liar. She had hidden his true identity from her own son, her flesh and blood. Darken Rahl’s flesh and blood. She was probably resentful and envious and didn’t want Oba to know of his greatness. That would be just like her. She was always trying to beat him down. The bitch.

The smoke coming through the open door no longer smelled of lamp oil. It now carried the aroma of roasting meat. Oba grinned as he peeked through the doorway to see Lathea’s hand sticking above the cabinet, blackening in the flames, waving to him from the world of the dead.

Sneaking across the snow to hide behind the fat trunk of an oak, Oba watched as the couple hurried down the path, through the trees, toward the road. When they had passed out of sight, he followed in their tracks, staying hidden. He was a pretty big man to hide behind a tree, but in the darkness it wasn’t difficult.

He was puzzled, and troubled, by certain aspects of the encounter. He had been surprised that the couple wouldn’t want to call for help, and instead ran away. The woman, especially, was eager to escape, thinking that because of Lathea’s death, someone was after them. A quad, she had said. That was part of what troubled him.

Oba had vaguely heard of quads before. Assassins of some sort. Assassins sent by the Lord Rahl himself. Assassins sent after important people. Or people who were especially dangerous. Maybe that was it, they were dangerous people and not common thieves, after all.

Oba had heard her name—Jennsen.

But the thing that had really perked up his ears was that Lathea had a sister named Althea—yet another cursed sorceress—and Althea was the only one who could see the holes in the world. That was most troubling of all, because that was the very same thing that Lathea had said to him. At the time, he had thought the old sorceress was already conversing with the spirits in the world of the dead, or maybe with the Keeper of the underworld himself, but as it turned out, she was speaking the truth.

Somehow, this Jennsen woman and Oba were both what Lathea called holes in the world. That sounded important. This Jennsen was somehow like him. They were somehow connected. That fascinated him.

He wished he had gotten a better look at her. The first meeting had been in darkness. The second time he saw her, just now, the fire had provided only enough light for a dim and shadowed view. As she had turned away, he only had time for a quick glimpse. From that fleeting look, he’d seen that she was a remarkably beautiful young woman.

He paused behind a tree before making his way across the open snow toward the concealment of a more distant tree. These people, like Jennsen, like Oba, who were holes in the world, were important. Quads were sent after important people—people who were especially dangerous to the Lord Rahl. Lathea had said that if he knew of Oba, the Lord Rahl would want to exterminate him.

Oba didn’t know if he believed Lathea. She would be jealous of anyone more important than herself. Still, he might be in some kind of danger without even knowing it—hunted because he was an important man. That seemed pretty far-fetched, but in view of all the other new things he had learned this night, he didn’t think it was entirely out of the question. An important man, a man interested in leaming new things, didn’t just dismiss such new information without giving it due consideration.

Oba was still trying to connect together all the things he had learned. It was all very complicated—that much he did know. He had to take everything into account if he was to put it all together.

As he scurried to the next tree, he decided that it might be best if he went to the inn and got a better look at Jennsen and Sebastian, the man with her. His eyes tracked them as they reached the road that headed back into town.

Even though the couple kept looking around, it wasn’t difficult in such darkness for Oba to follow them without being seen. Once they were back among the buildings, it was even easier. From around the corner of one building, Oba saw the light spill out into the road when they opened the door below a metal mug swinging in the wind. Laughter and music spilled out, too—like a celebration of the sorceress’s demise. Too bad everyone didn’t know that Oba was the hero who had done away with the bane of all their lives. If people knew what he had managed to accomplish, he would probably have all the free drinks he could want. He watched as Jennsen and Sebastian were swallowed inside. The door thudded shut. The stillness of the winter night returned.

Oba never got a chance to go to an inn for a drink. He never had any money. He had money, now. He had had a hard night, but he had emerged a new man. A rich man. Wiping his nose on his jacket sleeve, he made for the door. It was time for him to go to a cozy inn and have a drink. If anyone deserved one, it was Oba Rahl.

Jennsen suspiciously scanned the faces at the inn, looking for any that might betray murderous design. She still felt sick from the sight of what had been done to Lathea. This night, there were monsters about. Men looked her way, but the twinkle in their eyes seemed merry, not murderous. But how would she know, before it was too late?

She ached to take the stairs two at a time.

“Easy,” Sebastian whispered, apparently believing she was on the verge of panicked flight. Maybe she was. His grip on her arm tightened. “Let’s not make people suspicious.” They took the stairs one at a time, moving at a measured pace, just a couple going to their room.

In their room, Jennsen burst into motion, gathering the few items they had removed from their packs, replacing them, securing the straps and buckles. Even Sebastian, checking his weapons beneath his cloak, seemed unnerved by what had happened to Lathea. Jennsen made sure that her knife was free in its scabbard.

“You sure you wouldn’t like to get some sleep? Lathea couldn’t have told them anything—she didn’t know we were staying here at the inn. It might be better to start fresh at dawn.”

She shot him a look as she shouldered her pack.

“Right,” he said. He caught her arm. “Jennsen, slow down. If you run, people will want to know why you’re running.”

He was in enemy territory. He would know how to go about the business of not raising suspicion. Jennsen nodded.

“What should I do?”

“Just act like we’re going down for a drink, or to listen to the music. If you insist on going directly out, walk. Don’t call attention to us by running. Maybe we’re just going to visit a friend or relative—who’s to say? But we don’t want people to wonder if there’s something wrong. People forget normal. They remember when things look wrong.”

Abashed, she nodded again. “I guess I’m not very good at this. Closeup running, I mean. I’ve been running and hiding my whole life, but not like this, when they’re so close I can almost feel their breath on my neck.”

He smiled that warm smile of his, the one that looked so good on him. “You aren’t trained in this kind of thing. I wouldn’t expect you to know how to act. Even so, I don’t think I’ve ever met another woman who was as good as you are under such pressure. You’re doing fine—you really are.”

Jennsen felt a little better to know that she wasn’t acting like a complete fool. He had a way about him that gave her confidence, put her at ease, made her able to do things she didn’t think she could. He let her decide on her own what it was she wanted to do, and then he backed up her decision. Not many men would do that for a woman.

Down the steps once again, for the last time, she could feel the door on the other side of the room, as if she were drowning and it was the only air. People so close, brushing against her, still made her uneasy, made her feel the desperate need for that air.

She had learned earlier, though, that the men weren’t the threat she had thought. She was somewhat humbled by how wrong she had been about them. Where before she had seen thieves and cutthroats, she now saw farmers, craftsmen, laborers, joining together for company, companionship, and some harmless recreation.

Still, there were killers somewhere close this night. After seeing Lathea, there could be no doubt of that. Jennsen could never have imagined that anyone could be that perverted. She knew that if they caught her, they would eventually do those kinds of things to her, too, before she was allowed to die.

She felt her stomach roil with nausea at the vivid memory of what she had seen. She held back her tears, but she needed the air of outdoors and the solitude of the night.

As she and Sebastian wound their way through the crowd and toward that air, she bumped into a big man as they crossed paths. Stopped by the human wall, she looked up into the handsome face. She remembered him. He was the man they had seen on the road to Lathea’s place, earlier.

He lifted his cap in greeting. “Evening.” He grinned at her.

“Good evening,” she said. She told herself to smile, and make it believable, normal. She wasn’t sure if she was doing a good job of it, but he seemed to find it convincing.

He didn’t act as shy as she thought he had seemed before. Even the way he carried himself, his movements, were more sure. Maybe it was just that her smile was working as she had hoped.

“You two look like you could use a drink.” When Jennsen frowned, not knowing what the man meant, he gestured at her face, and then at Sebastian. “Your noses are red with the cold. May I buy you an ale on this chill night?”

Before Sebastian could accept, which she feared he might, she said, “Thank you, no. We have to go . . . to check on some business. But it was very kind of you to offer.” She made herself smile again. “Thank you.”

The way the man stared at her made her nervous. The thing was, she found herself staring back into his blue eyes just as intently, and she didn’t know why. Finally, she broke the gaze and, after a bow of her head to bid the big man a good night, made her way toward the door.

“Something about him look familiar?” she whispered to Sebastian.

“Yes. We saw him earlier, out on the streets, when we were on our way to Lathea’s house.”

She looked back over her shoulder, peering between the milling throng. “I guess maybe that’s all it is, then.”

Before she went out the door, the man, as if he sensed her looking at him, turned. When their eyes met, and he smiled, it was as if no one else existed for either of them. His smile was polite, no more, but it made her go cold and tingly all over, the way the dead voice in her head sometimes did. There was something frightening familiar about the feeling she got looking at him, and the way he looked at her. Something about the look in his eyes reminded her of the voice.

It was as if she remembered him from a deep dream she had completely forgotten until that very instant. The sight of him, in her awake life, left her . . . shaken.

She was relieved to make it out into the empty night and be on their way. She bundled her cloak’s hood close around her face, against the bitter wind, as they hurried across the snow and down the street. Her thighs stung with the cold. She was glad the stable was not far, but she knew that would be only a brief respite. It was going to be a long cold night, but there was no choice. Lord Rahl’s men were too close. They had to run.

While Sebastian went to rouse the stableman, Jennsen squeezed through the barn door. A lantern hanging from a beam provided enough light for her to make her way to the pen where Betty was tied up for the night. The shelter from the wind, along with the warm bodies of the horses and the sweet smell of hay and dusty wood, made the stable a cozy haven.

Betty bleated plaintively when she saw Jennsen, as if she feared she had been abandoned for all time. Betty’s upright tail was a happy blur as Jennsen sank to one knee and hugged the goat’s neck. Jennsen stood and stroked her hand along the silken ears, a touch Betty mooned over. As the horse in the next stall put her head over the rail to watch her stablemate, Betty stood on her hind legs, joyful to be reunited with her lifelong friend and eager to be closer.

Jennsen patted the wiry hair on Betty’s fat middle. “There’s a good girl.” She urged the lovable goat down. “Glad to see you, too, Betty.”

Jennsen, at ten, had been there for Betty’s birth, and had named her. Betty had been Jennsen’s only childhood friend, and had listened patiently to any number of worries and fears. When her short horns first began to come in, Betty had in turn rubbed and comforted her head against her faithful friend. Other than her worry of being abandoned by her lifelong companion, Betty’s fears in life were few.

Jennsen groped through her pack until her fingers located a carrot for the ever-hungry goat. Betty danced about as she watched, then with her tail wagging in excitement accepted the treat. For reassurance, after the torment of an unusual separation, she rubbed the top of her head against Jennsen’s thigh while chewing the carrot.

The horse in the next stall, her bright intelligent eyes watching, neighed softly and tossed her head. Jennsen smiled and gave the horse a carrot along with a rub on her white blaze.

Jennsen heard the jangle of tack as Sebastian returned, along with the stableman, both carrying saddles. Each man, in turn, laid his load over the rail of Betty’s stall. Betty, still wary of Sebastian, backed a few steps.

“Sorry to lose the company of your friend, there,” the man said, indicating the goat, as he came up beside Sebastian.

Jennsen scratched Betty’s ears. “I appreciate her care.”

“Not much care. The night isn’t over.” The man’s gaze shifted from Sebastian to Jennsen. “Why do you two want to leave in the night, anyway? And why do you want to buy horses? Especially at this hour?”

Jennsen froze in panic. She hadn’t expected to have anyone question her and so she had no answer prepared.

“It’s my mother,” Sebastian said in a confidential tone. He let out a convincing sigh. “We just got word that she’s taken ill. They don’t know if she’ll last until we can get there. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t . . . Well, we’ll just have to make it in time, that’s all.”

The man’s suspicious expression softened with sympathy. Jennsen was surprised at how credible Sebastian sounded. She tried to imitate his look of concern.

“I understand, son. I’m sorry—I didn’t realize. What can I do to help?”

“Which two horses can you sell us?” Sebastian asked.

The man scratched his whiskered chin. “You going to leave the goat?”

Sebastian said “Yes” at the same time Jennsen said “No.”

The man’s big dark eyes looked from one to the other.

“Betty won’t slow us down,” Jennsen said. “She can keep up. We’ll make it to your mother just the same.”

Sebastian leaned a hip against the rail. “I guess the goat will be leaving with us.”

With a sigh of disappointment, the man gestured to the horse Jennsen was scratching behind the ear. “Rusty, here, gets on well with that goat of yours. I guess she’d be as good to sell as any of the others. You’re a tall girl, so she would fit you well.”

Jennsen nodded her agreement. Betty, as if she had understood every word, bleated hers.

“I have a strong chestnut gelding that would better carry your weight,” he said to Sebastian. “Pete’s down the way, there, on the right. I’d be willing to let you have him along with Rusty, here.”

“Why’s she called Rusty?” Jennsen asked.

“Dark as it is in here, you can’t see so well, but she’s a red roan, about as red as they come, all except that white blaze on her forehead.”

Rusty sniffed Betty. Betty licked Rusty’s muzzle. The horse snorted softly in response.

“Rusty it is,” Sebastian said. “And the other, then.”

The stableman scratched his stubble again and nodded to seal the agreement. “I’ll go get Pete.”

When they returned, Jennsen was pleased to see Pete nuzzle a greeting against Rusty’s shoulder. With danger close on their heels, the last thing she wanted to have to worry about was handling bickering horses, but these two were friendly enough. The two men hurried at their work. A mother lay dying, after all.

Riding with a blanket on her lap promised to be a welcome relief from traveling on foot. A horse would help keep her warm and make the night ahead more tolerable. They had a long rope for Betty, who tended to get distracted by things along the way—edible things, especially.

Jennsen didn’t know what Sebastian had to pay for the horses and tack, nor did she care. It was money that had come from her mother’s killers, and would get them away. Getting away was all that mattered.

With a wave to the stableman as he held the big door open for them, they rode out into the frigid night. Both horses, apparently pleased at the prospect of activity, despite the hour, stepped briskly along the street. Rusty turned her head back, making sure that Betty, at their left, was keeping up.

It wasn’t long before they passed the last building on their way out of town. Thin clouds raced before the rising moon, but left enough light to turn the snow-covered road to a silk ribbon between the thick darkness of the woods along each side.

Betty’s rope suddenly jerked tight. Jennsen looked over her shoulder, expecting to see the goat trying to nibble at a young branch. Instead, Betty, her legs stiff, had her hooves dug in, resisting any progress.

“Betty,” Jennsen whispered harshly, “come on! What’s wrong with you? Come on.” The goat’s weight was no match for the horse, so she was dragged down the snowy road against her will.

When Sebastian’s horse stepped over, jostling Rusty, Jennsen saw the trouble. They were overtaking a man walking down the road. In his dark clothing, they hadn’t seen him at the right side, against the dark of the trees. Knowing that horses didn’t like surprises, Jennsen patted Rusty’s neck to assure her that the man wasn’t anything to be frightened of. Betty, though, remained unconvinced, and used all the rope available to swing a wide arc.

Jennsen saw then that it was the big blond man from the inn, the man who had offered to buy them a drink—the man she thought, for some reason, should dwell only in her dream life rather than in her waking life.

Jennsen kept an eye on the man as they passed him. As cold as she was, it felt as if a door opened into the infinitely colder eternal night of the underworld.

Sebastian and the stranger exchanged a brief greeting in passing. Once beyond the man, Betty scampered ahead, pulling at her rope, eager to put distance between her and the man.

Grushdeva du kalt misht.

Jennsen, her breath caught fast at the end of a gasp, turned to stare wide-eyed at the man walking down the road behind. It sounded like it had been he who’d spoken the words. That was impossible; those were the strange words from inside her head.

Sebastian made no notice of it, so she didn’t say anything lest he think her crazy.

With Betty’s agreement, Jennsen urged her horse to pick up the pace.

Just before they rounded a bend and were away, Jennsen looked back one last time. In the moonlight she saw the man grinning at her.