The Pillars of Creation

Chapter 5

Betty, their brown goat, watched attentively from her pen, occasionally voicing her displeasure at sharing her home, as Jennsen quickly collected straw to the side for the stranger in Betty’s sanctuary. Bleating her distress, Betty finally quieted when Jennsen affectionately scratched the nervous goat’s ears, patted the wiry hair covering her round middle, and then gave her half a carrot from the stash up on a high ledge. Betty’s short upright tail wagged furiously.

Sebastian shed his cloak and pack, but kept on the belt with his new weapons. He unstrapped his bedroll from under his pack and spread it out over the mat of straw. Despite Jennsen’s urging, he wouldn’t lie down and rest while she knelt near the cave’s entrance and prepared the fire pit.

As he helped her stack dry kindling, she could see by the dim light coming from the window of the house on the other side of the clearing that sweat beaded his face. He repeatedly scraped his knife down the length of a branch, swiftly building a clump of fluffy fibers. He struck a steel to flint several times, sending sparks through the darkness into the tinder he’d made. He cupped the fluff in his hands and with gentle puffs of breath nursed the slow flames until they strengthened, then placed the burning tinder beneath the kindling, where the flames quickly grew and popped to life among the dry twigs. The branches released a pleasing fragrance of balsam as they caught flame.

Jennsen had been planning on running to the house, not far off, to get some hot coals to start the fire, but he had it going before she could even suggest it. By the way he trembled, she imagined he was impatient for heat, even though he was burning with fever. She could smell the aroma of the frying fish coming from the house, and when the wind among the pine boughs died from time to time, she could hear the sizzle.

The chickens retreated from the growing light into the deep shadows at the back of the cave. Betty’s ears stood at attention as she watched Jennsen for any signs that another carrot might be forthcoming. Her tail wagged in hopeful fits.

The opening in the mountain was simply a place where, in some distant age past, a slab of rock had tumbled out, like some giant granite tooth come loose, to plunge down the slope and leave a dry socket behind. Now, trees below grew among a collection of such fallen boulders. The cave only ran back about twenty feet, but the overhang of rock at the entrance further sheltered it and helped keep it dry. Jennsen was tall, but the ceiling of the cave was high enough that she could stand in most of it, and since Sebastian was only a little taller than she, his spikes of snow white hair, now a mellow orange in the firelight, didn’t brush the top as he went to the back to collect some of the dry wood stacked there. The chickens squawked at being bothered, but then quickly settled back down.

Jennsen squatted on the opposite side of the fire from Sebastian, with her back to the rain that had started, so she could see his face in the firelight as they both warmed their hands in the heat of the crackling flames. After a day in the frigid damp weather, the fire’s warmth felt luxurious. She knew that sooner or later winter would return with a vengeance. As cold and uncomfortable as it was now, it would get worse.

She tried not to think about having to leave their snug home, especially at this time of year. She had known from the first instant she saw the piece of paper, though, that they might.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” he said, looking as eager for the fish as Betty was for a carrot. The wonderful smells were making her stomach grumble, too.

“That’s good. My mother always says that if you’re ill, and you have an appetite, then it can’t be too serious.”

“I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“A rest will do you good.”

Jennsen drew her knife from its sheath at her belt. “We’ve never allowed anyone to stay here before. You will understand that we will be taking precautions.”

She could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he shrugged his understanding of her prudence.

Jennsen’s knife wasn’t anything like the fine weapon the soldier had been carrying. They could afford nothing like that knife. Hers had a simple handle made of antler and the blade wasn’t thick, but she kept its edge razor sharp.

Jennsen used the blade to slice a shallow cut across the inside of her forearm. With a frown, Sebastian started to rise, to voice a protest. Her challenging glare stopped him cold before he was halfway up. He sank back down and watched with growing concern as she wiped the sides of the blade through the crimson beads of blood welling up from the cut. She very deliberately looked him in the eye again before turning her back on him and moving out closer to the edge of the cave where the rain dampened the ground.

With the knife wetted in blood, Jennsen first drew a large circle. Feeling Sebastian’s eyes on her, she next pulled the tip of the bloody blade through the damp earth in straight lines to make a square, its corners just touching the inside of the circle. With hardly a pause, she drew a smaller circle that touched the insides of the square.

As she worked, she mummured prayers under her breath, asking the good spirits to guide her hand. It seemed the right thing to do. She knew that Sebastian could hear her soft singsong, but not make out the words. It occurred unexpectedly to her that it must be something like the voices she heard in her own head. Sometimes, when she drew the outer circle, she heard the whisper of that dead voice call her name.

Opening her eyes from the prayer, she drew an eight-pointed star, its rays piercing all the way through the inner circle, the square, and then the outer circle. Every other ray bisected a corner of the square.

The rays were said to represent the gift of the Creator, so as she drew the eight-pointed star, Jennsen always whispered a prayer of thanks for the gift of her mother.

When she finished and looked up, her mother was standing before her, as if she had risen from the shadows, or materialized from the edge of the drawing itself, to be lit by the leaping flames of the fire behind Jennsen. In the light of those flames, her mother was like a vision of some impossibly beautiful spirit.

“Do you know what this drawing represents, young man?” Jennsen’s mother asked in a voice hardly more than a whisper.

Sebastian stared up at her, the way people often stared when they first saw her, and shook his head.

“It’s called a Grace. They have been drawn by those with the gift of magic for thousands of years—some say since the dawn of Creation itself. The outer circle represents the beginning of the eternity of the underworld, the Keeper’s world of the dead. The inner circle is the extent of the world of life. The square represents the veil that separates both worlds—life from death. It touches both at times. The star is the light of the gift from the Creator Himself—magic—extending through life and crossing over into the world of the dead.”

The fire crackled and hissed as Jennsen’s mother, like some spectral figure, towered over the two of them. Sebastian said nothing. Her mother had spoken the truth, but it was truth used to convey a specific impression that was not true.

“My daughter has drawn this Grace as protection for you as you rest this night, and as protection for us. There is another before the door to the house.” She let the silence drag before adding, “It would be unwise to cross either without our consent.”

“I understand, Mrs. Daggett.” In the firelight, his face showed no emotion.

His blue eyes turned to Jennsen. A hint of a smile came to his lips, even though his expression remained serious. “You are a surprising woman, Jennsen Daggett. A woman of many mysteries. I will sleep safely, tonight.”

“And well,” Jennsen’s mother said. “Besides the dinner, I brought some herbs to help you sleep.”

Her mother, holding the bowl full of fried fish in one hand, collected Jennsen with a hand on her shoulder and guided her around to the back of the fire to sit beside her, on the opposite side of her from Sebastian. By the sober look on his face, their demonstration had had the desired effect.

Her mother glanced at Jennsen and gave her a smile Sebastian couldn’t see. Jennsen had done well.

Holding the bowl out, her mother offered Sebastian some fish, saying, “I would like to thank you, young man, for the help you gave Jennsen, today.”

“Sebastian, please.”

“So Jennsen has told me.”

“I was glad to help. It was helping myself, too, really. I’d not like to have D’Haran soldiers chasing me.”

She pointed. “If you would accept it, this one on top is coated with the herbs that will help you sleep.”

He used his knife to stab the darker piece of fish coated in the herbs. Jennsen took another on her own knife after first wiping the blade clean on her skirts.

“Jennsen tells me that you are from outside D’Hara.”

He glanced up as he chewed. “That’s right.”

“I find that hard to believe. D’Hara is bordered by impassable boundaries. In my lifetime no one has been able to come into, or leave, D’Hara. How is it possible, then, that you have?”

With his teeth, Sebastian pulled the chunk of herb-coated fish off his knife. He inhaled between his teeth to cool the bite. He gestured around with the blade as he chewed. “How long have you been out here alone in this great wood? Without seeing people? Without news?”

“Several years.”

“Oh. Well, then, I guess it makes sense that you wouldn’t know, but since you’ve been out here, the barriers have come down.”

Jennsen and her mother both took in this staggering, nearly incomprehensible news in silence. In that silence, they both dared to begin to imagine the heady possibilities. For the first time in Jennsen’s life, escape seemed conceivable. The impossible dream of a life of their own suddenly seemed only a journey away. They had been traveling and hiding their whole life. Now it seemed the journey might at last be near the end.

“Sebastian,” Jennsen’s mother said, “why did you help Jennsen today?”

“I like to help people. She needed help. I could tell how much that man scared her, even though he was dead.” He smiled at Jennsen. “She looked nice. I wanted to help her. Besides,” he finally admitted, “I don’t much care for D’Haran soldiers.”

When she gestured by lifting the bowl toward him, he stabbed another piece of fish. “Mrs. Daggett, I’m liable to fall asleep before long. Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?”

“We are hunted by D’Haran soldiers.”

“Why?”

“That’s a story for another night. Depending on the outcome of this night, you may yet learn it, but for now all that really matters is that we are hunted—Jennsen more so than me. If the D’Haran soldiers catch us, she will be murdered.”

Her mother made it sound simple. He would not let it be so simple. It would be much more grisly than any mere murder. Death would be a reward gained only after inconceivable agony and endless begging.

Sebastian glanced over at Jennsen. “I’d not like that.”

“Then we three are of a single mind,” her mother murmured.

“That’s why the two of you are good friends with those knives you keep at hand,” he said.

“That’s why,” her mother confirmed.

“So,” Sebastian said, “you fear the D’Haran soldiers finding you. D’Haran soldiers aren’t exactly a rarity. The one today gave you both a scare. What makes you both fear this one, today, so much?”

Jennsen added a stout stick to the fire, glad to have her mother to do the talking. Betty bleated for a carrot, or at least attention. The chickens grumbled about the noise and light.

“Jennsen,” her mother said, “show Sebastian the piece of paper you found on the D’Haran soldier.”

Taken aback, Jennsen waited until her mother’s eyes turned her way. They shared a look that told Jennsen her mother was determined to take this chance, and if she was to try, then they had to at least tell him some of it.

Jennsen drew the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it past her mother to Sebastian. “I found this in that D’Haran soldier’s pocket.” She swallowed at the ghastly memory of seeing a dead person. “Just before you showed up.”

Sebastian pulled the crumpled paper open, smoothing it between a thumb and finger as he cast them both a suspicious look. He turned the paper toward the firelight so he could see the two words.

“Jennsen Lindie,” he said, reading it from the piece of paper. “I don’t get it. Who’s Jennsen Lindie?”

“Me,” Jennsen said. “At least it was for a while.”

“For a while? I don’t understand.”

“That was my name,” Jennsen said. “The name I used, anyway, a few years back, when we lived far to the north. We move around often—to keep from being caught. We change our name each time so it will be harder to track us.”

“Then . . . Daggett is not a real name, either?”

“No.”

“Well, what is your real name, then?”

“That, too, is part of the story for another night.” Her mother’s tone said that she didn’t mean to discuss it. “What matters is that the soldier today had that name. That can only mean the worst.”

“But you said it’s a name you no longer use. You use a different name, here: Daggett. No one here knows you by that name, Lindie.”

Her mother leaned toward Sebastian. Jennsen knew her mother was giving him a look that he would find uncomfortable. Her mother had a way of making people nervous when she fixed them with that intent, penetrating gaze of hers.

“It may no longer be our name, a name we used only far to the north, but he had that name written down, and he was here, mere miles from where we are now. That means he has somehow connected that name with us—with two women somewhere up in this remote place. Somehow, he connected it, or, more precisely, the man who hunts us connected it, and sent him after us. Now, they search for us here.”

Sebastian broke her gaze and took a thoughtful breath. “I see what you mean.” He went back to eating the piece of fish skewered on the point of his knife.

“That dead soldier would have others with him,” her mother said. “By burying him, you bought us time. They won’t know what happened to him. We have that much luck. We are still a few steps ahead of them. We must use our advantage to get away before they tighten the noose. We will have to leave in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” He gestured around with his knife. “You have a life here. Your lives are remote, hidden—I would never have found you had I not seen Jennsen with that dead soldier. How could they find you? You have a house, a good place.”

“ ‘Life’ is the word that matters in all that you said. I know the man who hunts us. He has thousands of years of bloody heritage as guidance in hunting us. He will not rest. If we stay, sooner or later he will find us here. We must escape while we can.”

She pulled from her belt the exquisite knife Jennsen had brought her from the dead D’Haran soldier. Still in its sheath, she spun it in her fingers, presenting it, hilt first, to Sebastian.

“This letter ‘R’ on the hilt stands for the House of Rahl. Our hunter. He would only have presented a weapon this fine to a very special soldier. I don’t want a weapon which has been presented by that evil man.”

Sebastian glanced down at the knife tendered, but didn’t take it. He gave them both a look that unexpectedly chilled Jennsen to the bone. It was a look that burned with ruthless determination.

“Where I come from, we believe in using what is closest to an enemy, or what comes from him, as a weapon against him.”

Jennsen had never heard such a sentiment. Her mother didn’t move. The knife still lay in her hand. “I don’t.”

“Do you choose to use what he has inadvertently given you, and turn it against him? Or do you choose instead to be a victim?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you kill him?”

Jennsen’s jaw dropped. Her mother seemed less astonished. “We can’t,” she insisted. “He’s a powerful man. He is protected by countless people, from simple soldiers to soldiers of great skill at killing—like the one you buried today—to people with the gift who can call upon magic. We are but two simple women.”

Sebastian was not moved by her plea. “He won’t stop until he kills you.” He lifted the piece of paper, watching her eyes take it in. “This proves it. He will never stop. Why don’t you kill him before he kills you—kills your daughter? Or will you choose to be corpses he has yet to collect?”

Her mother’s voice heated. “And how do you propose we kill the Lord Rahl?”

Sebastian stabbed another piece of fish. “For starters, you should keep the knife. It’s a weapon superior to the one you carry. Use what is his to fight him. Your sentimental objection to taking it only serves him, not you—or Jennsen.”

Her mother sat still as stone. Jennsen had never heard anyone talk like this. His words had a way of making her see things differently than she ever had before.

“I must admit that what you say makes sense,” her mother said. Her voice came softly and laced with pain, or perhaps regret. “You have opened my eyes. A little, anyway. I don’t agree with you that we should try to kill him, for I know him all too well. Such an attempt would be simple suicide at best, or accomplish his goal, at worst. But I will keep the knife and use it to defend myself and my daughter. Thank you, Sebastian, for speaking sense when I didn’t want to hear it.”

“I’m glad you’re keeping the knife, at least.” Sebastian pulled the bite of fish off his own knife. “I hope it can help you.” With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow. “If you don’t want to try to kill him in order to save yourself, then what do you propose to do? Keep running?”

“You say the barriers are down. I propose to leave D’Hara. We will try to make it to another land, where Darken Rahl cannot hunt us.”

Sebastian looked up as he stabbed another piece of fish. “Darken Rahl? Darken Rahl is dead.”

Jennsen, having run from the man since she was little, having awakened countless times from nightmares of his blue eyes watching her from every shadow or of him leaping out to snatch her when her feet wouldn’t move fast enough, having lived every day wondering if this was the day he would finally catch her, having imagined a thousand times and then another thousand what terrible brutal torturous things he would do to her, having prayed to the good spirits every day for deliverance from her merciless hunter and his implacable minions, was thunderstruck. She realized only then that she had always thought of the man as next to immortal. As immortal as evil itself.

“Darken Rahl . . . dead? . . . It can’t be,” Jennsen said as tears of deliverance welled up and ran down her cheeks. She was filled with a wild, heart-pounding sense of expectant hope . . . and at the same time an inexplicable shadow of dark dread.

Sebastian nodded. “It’s true. About two years ago, from what I heard.”

Jennsen gave voice to the hope. “Then, he is no longer the threat we thought.” She paused. “But, if Darken Rahl is dead—”

“Darken Rahl’s son is Lord Rahl, now,” Sebastian said.

“His son?” Jennsen felt her hope being eclipsed by that dark dread.

“The Lord Rahl hunts us,” her mother said, her voice, calm and enduring, betraying no evidence of even a moment of exalted hope. “The Lord Rahl is the Lord Rahl. It is now, as it has always been. As it will always be.”

As immortal as evil itself.

“Richard Rahl,” Sebastian put in. “He’s the Lord Rahl, now.”

Richard Rahl. So, now Jennsen knew her hunter’s new name.

A terrifying thought washed over her. She had never before heard the voice say anything more than “Surrender,” and her name, and occasionally those strange foreign words she didn’t understand. Now it demanded she surrender her flesh, her very will. If it was the voice of the one who hunted her, as her mother said, then this new Lord Rahl must be even more terrifyingly powerful than his wicked father. Fleeting salvation had left behind grim despair.

“This man, Richard Rahl,” her mother said, searching for understanding amid all the startling news, “he ascended to rule as the Lord Rahl of D’Hara when his father died, then?”

Sebastian leaned forward, a cloaked rage unexpectedly surfacing in his blue eyes. “Richard Rahl became the Lord Rahl of D’Hara when he murdered his father and seized rule. And if you are next going to suggest that perhaps the son is less of a threat than his father, then let me set you straight.

“Richard Rahl is the one who brought down the barriers.”

At that, Jennsen threw up her hands in confusion. “But, that would only give those who wish to be free their opening to escape D’Hara, to escape him.”

“No. He brought those ancient protective barriers down so he could extend his tyrannical rule to the lands that were beyond the reach of even his father.” Sebastian thumped his chest once with a tight fist. “My land he wants! Lord Rahl is a madman. D’Hara is not enough for him to rule. He lusts to dominate the entire world.”

Jennsen’s mother stared off into the flames, looking dispirited. “I always thought—hoped, I guess—that if Darken Rahl were dead, then maybe we might have a chance. The piece of paper Jennsen found today with her name on it now tells me that the son is even more dangerous than his father, and that I was only deluding myself. Even Darken Rahl never got this close to us.”

Jennsen felt numb after having been rocked by a turbulent swing of emotions, only to be left more terrified and hopeless than before. But seeing such despair on her mother’s face wounded her heart.

“I will keep the knife.” Her mother’s decision said how much she feared the new Lord Rahl, and how frightful was their plight.

“Good.”

Dim light coming from the house reflected off the swollen pools of water standing beyond the cave entrance, but the droning rain churned the light into thousands of sparkles, like the tears of the good spirits themselves. In a day or two, the collection of ponds would be ice. Traveling would be easier in that cold than in cold rain.

“Sebastian,” Jennsen asked, “do you think, well, do you think we could escape D’Hara? Maybe go to your homeland . . . escape the reach of this monster?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Maybe. But, until this madman is killed, will there be anywhere beyond his ravenous reach?”

Her mother tucked the exquisite knife behind her belt and then folded her fingers together around one bent knee. “Thank you, Sebastian. You’ve helped us. Being in hiding has, regrettably, kept us in the dark. You’ve at least brought us a bit of light.”

“Sorry it wasn’t better news.”

“The truth is the truth. It helps us know what to do.” Her mother smiled at her. “Jennsen always was one who sought to know the truth of things. I’ve never kept it from her. Truth is the only means of survival; it’s as simple as that.”

“If you don’t want to try to kill him in order to eliminate the threat, maybe you can think of some way to make the new Lord Rahl lose interest in you—in Jennsen.”

Jennsen’s mother shook her head. “There are more things involved than we can tell you tonight—things you are in the dark about. Because of them, he will never rest, never stop. You don’t understand the lengths to which the Lord Rahl—any Lord Rahl—will go in order to kill Jennsen.”

“If that’s so, then perhaps you’re right. Maybe the two of you should run.”

“And would you help us—help her—to get away from D’Hara?”

He looked from one of them to the other. “If I can, I guess I could try. But I’m telling you, there is no place to hide. If you ever want to be free, you’ll have to kill him.”

“I’m no assassin,” Jennsen said, not so much out of protest as out of acceptance of her own frailty in the face of such brutal strength. “I want to live, but I just don’t have the nature to be an assassin. I will defend myself, but I don’t think I could effectively set out to kill someone. The sad fact is, I just wouldn’t be any good at it. He’s a killer by birth. I’m not.”

Sebastian met her gaze with an icy look. His white hair cast red by the firelight framed cold blue eyes. “You’d be surprised what a person can do, if they have the proper motivation.”

Her mother lifted a hand to halt such talk. She was a practical woman, not given to wasting valuable time on wild schemes. “Right now, the important thing is for us to get away. Lord Rahl’s minions are too close. That’s the simple truth of it. From the description, and this knife, the dead man you found today was probably part of a quad.”

Sebastian looked up with a frown. “A what?”

“A team of four assassins. On occasion, several quads will work together—if the target has proven particularly elusive or is of inestimable worth. Jennsen is both.”

Sebastian rested an arm over his knee. “For someone on the run and in hiding all these years, you seem to know a lot about these quads. Are you sure you’re right?”

Firelight danced in her mother’s eyes. Her voice turned more distant. “When I was young, I used to live at the People’s Palace. I used to see those men, the quads. Darken Rahl used them to hunt people. They are ruthless beyond anything you could imagine.”

Sebastian looked uneasy. “Well, I guess you would know better than I. In the morning, then, we leave.” He yawned as he stretched. “Your herbs are already working, and this fever has exhausted me. After a good night’s sleep I’ll help you both get away from here, away from D’Hara, and on your way to the Old World, if that’s your wish.”

“It is.” Her mother stood. “You two eat the rest of the fish.” As she moved past, her loving fingers trailed along the back of Jennsen’s head. “I’m going to go collect some of our things, get together what we can carry.”

“I’ll be right in,” Jennsen said. “Soon as I bank the fire.”