The Shadow Roads

Twenty-one

Toren stared at the embroidery hoop Tuath held up to thelanternlight. For a moment he closed his eyes and felt the slight soothing thisbrought.

Tuath flipped the cloth covering back on her work of horror.

Immediately, Toren lifted his wineglass, feeling the wine,dry and slightly bitter, on his tongue. “There is no news to lift the heart,”he said, lowering the glass. “Monsters abroad and sorcerers reborn, our landabout to be overrun.” He looked around the group-Fael and men. “I feel I havefallen into a tale of old, a tale of heroes-but I don’t feel that I measure upto the heroes of stories.”

“We have not been tested, yet,” A’brgail said softly.

Lady Elise sat upon a Fael chair, pillows and rich coveringsaround her, yet she was still dressed in men’s cast-off clothing, mended andworn. Her gaze was far away, and Toren felt sympathy for her. This wascertainly a time to test her, a girl who had likely thought that life wouldconsist of little more than marriage and the vain conspiracies of her family.

One of the young men from the wildlands hovered a few pacesbehind her, and the giant, Orlem Slighthand, sat in a chair to her right, asthough that was his rightful place. A white-bearded old man named Eber wasseated next to them in the circle, and beside him three Fael elders whose nameshe had already forgotten. Gilbert A’brgail sat, with two of his gray-robedKnights standing behind his chair, two-handed swords drawn but point down onthe trampled grass.

The snow woman returned to her seat, placing her embroideryhoop beside her. Toren found it difficult not to stare at her. Her beauty wascold and otherworldly, but beguiling.

“Alaan will try to find his way to this place,” Elise said. “Thisplace where Wyrr sleeps.”

“And where is that?” Toren asked.

“I wish I knew,” Elise said.

A small boy, who had been standing on the edge of the conversation,slunk into the circle of light and crawled into the old man’s lap. He began tomove his hands strangely.

“What does he say, Eber?” one of the Fael elders whispered.

Eber nodded as the boy stopped. “Llya says that he can leadus to the waiting isle, now. That is where Hafydd will go to make his souleater.”

The Fael elder shivered visibly, and everyone present seemedcompletely distressed.

“Who is this child?” Toren asked.

“He is Eber’s son,” the vision weaver said. “Llya hears thevoice of the river.”

“Our river? The Wynnd?”

Tuath nodded. “Though I would not call it ours,” she said. “Thegreat sorcerer Wyrr joined his spirit to the river. That is the voice that Llyahears.”

Toren looked back at the small boy, who seemed almost repellentto him.

The boy began to move his hands. “The voice in the river is …murky,’” the father translated. “Its words are muddled, confused, almostriddles, but Llya says it will lead him to the waiting isle, now. There is notime to be lost. Hafydd will go there and perform his outrage. The lands willbe overrun.” The child leapt off his father’s lap, moving his hands wildly. “Boats,he says. We must have boats and leave this night.” The old man swept the boyback up into his lap, holding him close, pinning his arms. Tears streamed downhis cheeks and into his white beard-crystals upon snow.

Boats were found that night, and they were on the river atfirst light, bows parting a low mist that swirled in their wake. Toren took toa boat with A’brgail, Dease, and six men-at-arms, half the number Renne, theothers Knights of the Vow. They also brought Thea-son, for none of them wereexperienced watermen; nor did they know the hidden lands. Ahead, Toren couldsee Elise, standing in the stern of her craft, Baore and Slighthand at the oarswith another small company of men-at-arms in gray or Renne blue. The old man,Eber, sat in the bow, Llya by his side. How reluctantly the man had agreed tolet his son lead them.

The day was overcast, but windless. Along both shorespoplars and willows stood above the low fog. Toren looked over to the east,wondering if the enemy would see them and whether they would send boats tointercept.

“Too foggy on the eastern shore for us to be noticed,” A’brgailsaid. He was looking at Toren and reading his thoughts, apparently.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Toren sat down on a thwart. “Are wemad, do you think? Shouldn’t we be staying here and fighting enemies we knowexist?”

A’brgail shook his head. “You were in the Stillwater, LordToren. You know this war is not about the Renne and the Wills-not anymore.”

Toren closed his eyes at mention of the Stillwater. “Itseems like a nightmare, now,” he said, “not something that really happened-thatreally could have happened.” He had not even returned to Castle Rennethat night-there had not been time, or so he told himself. There was a part ofhim that thought perhaps he was avoiding the talk he had promised to have withLady Llyn-the talk he had promised his mother. He had sent a note to LadyBeatrice explaining briefly what he had learned and where he went, but even so,he did not expect her to understand.

Overhead a gull circled, its cry echoing over mist-ladenwaters. Men strained at their oars. Toren rose to catch sight of the otherboat. Only Elise could be seen, standing wrapped in a dark Fael cloak, the mistswirling about her waist.

“Fondor and Kel can fight a war,” A’brgail said. “You needn’tworry. You left them a good design. Put that out of your mind. We travel to thereal war, now. I only hope Alaan will find us.”

“You were cursing him before, your half brother.”

The knight nodded solemnly, his manner pensive. “I do notcondone what he did, but it is too late to concern ourselves with that now. Wemust stop Hafydd by whatever means. I will worry about Alaan then-if any of ussurvive.”

Within the hour high cliffs rose to either side of theriver, though Toren knew full well that there were no such cliffs below theWestbrook-not for many leagues at least. The mist persisted late into themorning and a light drizzle fell, making the floorboards and thwarts shiny andslick. Toren had his oarsmen keep close to the other boat, for in this fog andpoor light they could easily be separated. Without Llya to guide them he didn’tknow what might happen. They could be lost in the hidden lands forever.

The cliffs seemed to close in on them, cutting off much ofthe faint gray light. The stone was dark with rain and streaked with slickstreams. Pressed into this narrow space, the river flowed more quickly,sweeping the boats along. The oarsmen were glad of the rest, and Theason, whohad been hunching silently in the bow, scrambled aft to take the tiller withapparent confidence.

“Do you know this place, good Theason?” A’brgail asked, raisinghis voice to be heard over the river.

The little traveler shook his head. He sat straight at thehelm, his face serious, but his eyes seemed to dance, looking here and there, asthough he had just returned to a home from which he’d long been parted. Therest of the company were anxious, wondering where this unnatural child ledthem, worried that the speeding river would become dangerous. Toren foundhimself imagining rapids, towering waterfalls.

But the river did not change, though it snaked through thegorge at good speed. Toren wished they were on horseback, for he was amasterful horseman. Boats, though he had traveled in them many times, were notto his liking. Unlike many, he could swim, so he didn’t fear the water itself.It was just that the river was unpredictable, worse than the maddest horse. Itcould suck you down into its depths and never let you up.

He glanced again at Elise, who remained standing in the sternof her boat even though the river swept them along at speed. She was of thewater, now, while he was of the land. A difference much greater than thatbetween Renne and Wills.

Along the base of the cliff, low gravel beaches appeared,and the river began to broaden a little. Toren’s boat drew nearer the other,and he could make out the faces of the seated men, who all seemed to bedrowning in a mist. He gazed out ahead, where Elise watched, and there in athinning patch, thought he saw something white, almost human. A face gazingback at them, then a movement of the arm as though beckoning them on, beforeit disappeared into the swirl.

At dusk they drew the boats up on a bar of gravel and made acamp. Toren was glad to find solid ground beneath him and stood gazing at thegorge.

“I hope we don’t have to climb up there,” he said to A’brgail.

The knight was opening a bag, but stopped and stared at thecliffs. Ferns and even small trees grew on ledges and out of cracks-bits ofgreen scratched on the monolithic gray, like isolated words scattered over apage.

“Only a spider might climb that,” A’brgail said. “If we can’tpass through by boat, we’ll die here.”

“A comforting thought, Gilbert.”

The knight went back to his task, and Toren walked a fewpaces down the bar to the very tip, the gravel curving back behind him towardthe cliff. The mist, which had persisted all day, continued to swirl ever soslowly over the waters, shadow turning it dark.

Elise, still dressed in her long cloak, stood twenty pacesaway on the far side of the bar. She was staring fixedly at some point downriver,and Toren crossed over to see what it was that so fascinated her. She heard hisboots grinding through the gravel and gave her head a shake.

“What is it you see?” Toren asked.

A sad, quick smile touched her lips. “I see a river leadingI know not where. I fear there will be branches, and I will be forced tochoose-my choices will mean that some will live, while others will die.”

“It is ever so for those born to power, my lady.”

“I was not born to this power,” she said bitterly. “It wasforced upon me by Hafydd, though he did not know it.”

“Everything he touches is harmed.”

She nodded.

“Your father knows you’re alive, now,” Toren said.

“You told him-”

“Lady Beatrice told him. She thought she must.”

Elise nodded; her blond curls were gathered into a knotbehind her head, only a few managing to escape, and these bobbed with her everymovement. Something caught her eye, Toren could see, and he looked out over thewater, where something dark moved.

“A black swan,” Elise said, realizing that he’d seen. “Asymbol of the House of Tusival and his heirs.”

“But they have been gone from this land for hundreds ofyears.”

“We are no longer in your land, Lord Toren.”

“Perhaps it is an omen?”

“Of what, I wonder,” Elise mused.

Toren turned and looked at her. She was pretty, though notbeautiful, he thought. Her face was a bit too long, and thin, her noseinelegant, yet she had a presence, a calmness that touched him. The air ofsadness about her was thicker than the mist, and it was not feigned orimagined. Tragedy haunted this young woman. He almost wanted to move away, asthough it might strike any who were close, but at the same time he wanted toput his arms around her and offer comfort.

Poor Lord Carral, he thought, as if the man did not haveenough sorrows to bear.

“Do not be concerned, Lord Toren,” she said, perhaps sensinghis unease, “I am flesh and blood, as filled with feelings as any.” She turnedand met his eye. “I am just … filled with centuries of memories, of a liferich and too recklessly lived. Only vaguely do I remember the river, all thelong years she slept there. The life of Elise Wills-my life-seems hardly aflicker to me now-a life briefer than a winter morning. And yet that is thelife I long for. To have it back-my foolish cousins, my hateful aunts. I wouldchoose it all if I could.”

Toren nodded as though he understood, though he didn’t, andhe was profoundly aware of it. He felt suddenly small and very human speakingto this woman.

Another smile appeared on Elise’s face. “Do you know, I oncethought that we should marry and do away with our families’ foolish feud.”

“Perhaps we should.”

Elise shook her few escaped curls, her smile disappearing. “No.Elise Wills you might have condescended to marry to achieve peace … but thiscreature who stands before you now … She is a monster.”

“You are no monster.”

“Oh, I am. You can’t imagine the things that Sianon did. Andthese are my memories now, my past. No, Lord Toren, you are wise to be repelledby me.”

“I do not find you repellent.”

Elise smiled wickedly. “Oh, don’t you? Then perhaps weshould consider marriage.” She saw the change of his face and laughed. Her handtouched his arm. “Don’t worry, Lord Toren, you are safe from me. I don’t knowhow, but I lost what heart I have to a boy from the wildlands.”

Toren looked over at the big Valeman who was bent over thekindling fire, fanning it with a handful of green leaves.

“No, not poor Baore.” She turned her gaze on the Valeman as well.“I don’t know what I’ll do with him. Perhaps you might take him into yourservice? I fear he is in danger with me. Everyone is in danger with me.”

She turned and walked away along the very edge of thegravel, little hands of water lapping up at her feet.

Dinner was somber, the strangeness of the place affecting everyone.The men-at-arms were uneasy and kept their distance from Eber, Llya, and Elise.They must have seen the swimmer as well, Toren thought, and knew full well thisgorge wasn’t on the river below the Westbrook. Toren had warned the men beforethey set out that they might travel into strange lands by arcane means, butthey clearly hadn’t believed a word. They were honest men, but the arcanefrightened them-and for good reason, Toren thought. He was not at ease himselfin this place. Only Theason found the journey to his taste, drinking in thesights, his eyes glittering. The quiet little traveler had come alive that day,and now busied himself about the encampment like a man newly in love. Heexamined the few plants supported by the gravel as though they were treasures,and even climbed some distance up a cliff to fetch down a flower-all in neardarkness.

Two fires had been built, one for the men-at-arms, where theRenne mingled with A’brgail’s somber Knights, and another for everyone else.The Knights of the Vow kept glancing at Orlem Slighthand, who sat still andsilent across from Toren. He seemed a legend come to life, to Toren, massiveand powerful, wielding a two-handed sword as though it were made for one. Toomany things seemed to be emerging from the past, Toren thought, not all aswelcome as Slighthand.

Eber came back out of the darkness, having put his son torest a short distance away. As he settled onto a log, firelight flickered onEber’s long, pale beard, so that it looked like his face was surrounded byflame.

“Your son sleeps, good Eber?” A’brgail asked.

The old man shrugged. “I hope he will.” He glanced up intothe dark. “This place is so strange. I should never have consented to bring himon this journey. It is not for children.”

“My guards will protect him, good Eber,” Toren said soothingly.“I have sworn it.”

“Why would they protect him?” the old man snapped. “They arefrightened of him. He disturbs them …”

“He unsettles you, Eber,” Elise said, “but you would giveyour life to protect his.”

Eber was taken aback by this, but he did not gainsay it. “Iam his father. I love him above all else.” The old man then rose in agitationand disappeared into the darkness.

The river hurried by, muttering. Everyone was silent.

“Who is Eber son of Eiresit?” Toren asked softly. “You knowhim, Theason?”

The little man lifted his hands in a helpless gesture. “Imet him on the river, many years ago now, where he makes his home at Speaking Stone.He was kind to me, welcoming me into his house, sharing much of his lore ofhealing herbs. He speaks little of his past. His wife died, and memories arepainful to him. When I met him I thought he was a little … mad-living by theriver, trying to understand its secret speech. And now his son hears it, andEber wishes he had never listened, that he had never made his home by the Wyrrat all.” Theason shook his head sadly. “Eber son of Eire-sit, and Llya son ofEber, are like seers-only they hear voices from the past, echoes, words, fragmentsof sentences. The small boy who cannot speak is the tongue of the river. Youare all troubled by him, but I think him the most miraculous thing I have everencountered. I would give my life to preserve his. He gives voice to theancient river. What is more wondrous than that?”

“Eber son of Eiresit is more than he seems,” Elise saidquietly, then she rose and went into the darkness, leaving them all listeningto the babble of the river.

They set guards, not for fear of men-for who could find themin this place? — but for fear of the darkness. Toren knew that not a night wouldfall for the rest of his life without memories of the creatures that had comefor them in the Stillwater. Lying there beneath the open sky, he feltvulnerable, small. The strange river muttered, so that even Toren foundhimself listening for words. Occasionally the call of a night bird echoedeerily.

Toren rolled and sighed for several long hours beforeoblivion found him. He didn’t know how long he’d slept but he woke to a hand onhis shoulder and someone requesting quiet.

“Come,” A’brgail said, “but be silent.”

Toren rolled out of his blankets and, barefoot, followed A’brgail.The mist had cleared away, and a sliver of moon hung almost directly overhead,casting a faint light. The knight led him down to the edge of the water, wherethe small pebbles cast up by the river made less noise beneath their feet.Twenty paces on he saw a figure crouched by the water, with another standingnearby, like a sentinel. In the water, a few feet before these two, a palecreature of mist and moonlight. Toren could see its eyes, like moons. Elise-forcertainly it was no other-appeared to be speaking, but Toren could not parseher speech from that of the river.

The creature slipped beneath the surface, like the moongoing down into the sea, and Elise rose, staring down into the waters a moment.Orlem stood silently by, his large shadow still as the towering cliffs. Eliseturned and started down the beach toward A’brgail and Toren, who had not amoment to slip away.

“Wake everyone,” she said as she passed. “We have restedenough. Hafydd makes all speed.”