The Unfinished Land

Out of the Woods

IT IS STRANGE how I remember these woods and these trees,” Widsith said as they looked for the path back to Zodiako—a narrower and more winding version, Reynard guessed, of the road traveled by the wagon and its entourage. “Think’st Cardoza is still lost around here someplace, or hath he been found and put to better use? Is he even now spilling poison into the porches of the ears of eastern queens?”

Reynard shook his head. “Maybe he is dead.”

“Oh, no,” Widsith said. “He hath not the mark, and the Eaters did not finish him—merely dined. Someone about the waste, in the krater cities that serve Crafters, wished him preserved for other uses.”

“What be these kraters?”

“They surround the chafing waste at the island’s heart,” Widsith said. “A wide circle of great cups or depressions, served by cities and staffs of special Travelers. These Travelers go there to carry my tales, and not just mine—but the tales of any who arrive. I have never seen them. I have not been invited.”

Reynard looked through the trees. Left on his own he could never have found his way through the tangles of trunks and branches and roots. What presented a path to Widsith seemed but a puzzle to Reynard.

“What about the Spanish horses?” the boy asked. “Other than Cardoza’s. Did the drakes kill them as well?”

“I doubt it,” Widsith said. “The drakes know better, are guided better, if they were blunted by Dana’s people.”

“What about the Eater who looked at me?” Reynard asked. “The glassy girl.”

Widsith made a face. “No longer a girl,” he said. “Five or more centuries old.”

“Like the Eater who gave you years? He sounded awful, doing that to you.”

“Calybo. It did not feel pleasant to me, either. But necessary.”

“Is he an Eater?”

“Yes. A high Eater. The Afrique hath been here for much longer than I have been alive.”

“Who giveth him orders?”

“Guldreth,” Widsith said, looking askance.

“She it was we almost met on the island?”

This irritated Widsith. “Enough!” he said. “It is Maeve I report to when I return. But Maeve avoids me, thus far.” He lifted his brows and sighed. “None of the island’s women will have me, it seems.”

“You call Guldreth a woman?”

Another sharp look, very like his uncle’s displeasure at a question too clever by half. “Not in simple parlance, lad. Nor is the glassy one who studied you a woman now. No sane man expects favor from such, beyond the pact.”

“And what about other high ones, the Vanir? Are they truly in command of this island?”

“Not alone. It is Crafters who mold and command all around us… and inside, methinks.”

Reynard thought of the dark figure with the white shadow, and wondered whether Crafters controlled him, as well. Or the man with the feathered cap. Or the Queen of Hell, whoever she might be. He resumed his silence until they passed the field of dead Spanish, now almost empty, cleared by some group or some force, leaving only scattered items of clothing and a few rusty weapons no one thought worth collecting.

“I am truly to blame for this,” Widsith said quietly. “Always before, I returned alone, or with simple fisherfolk. Now the outside world makes that impossible. Our land is under siege. I should be among these dead. I should be a ghost!”

Reynard considered this and found it somewhat insincere. “God’s truth?”

Widsith gritted his teeth and gave Reynard a stern glance. “I have lived centuries by this strange grace. I do not wish it to end now, truly. Nor do I wish to lose Maeve and my reason for returning.”

“So long as the powers you know supply you with more years,” Reynard said.

“Foolishness doth make thee no more pleasant,” Widsith said.

“What did you witness, out there during the great sea battle with my people? What was that battle like for you? Did you feel protected?”

“I was in as much danger as any Spaniard—any Englishman. Many died around me.”

“And after, what made you lift me from the sea? Why would these people value me, or thank you for my life?”

Again, Widsith looked aside, as if thinking of matters still best left unsaid. “I thought I saw something in thee that could bring me favor, when the Spanish would not. Here, those of us just above the mud always seek advantage and favor from those just below the stars.”

“And have I brought you favor?”

“Thou dost promise great change. The Spanish promise change, but also destruction. Since I could not arrive here alone, by bringing thee I hoped for a balance. The King of Troy seemeth to agree.”

“But I have no signs. I have no power, and nothing to tell!”

“I confess to possibly making a bad decision.” The Pilgrim stretched out his arms. “One of many. We shall see.”

Reynard flushed at this. “I would flee now and take my chances with the ocean!”

Widsith shrugged this off as well. “What chances do either of us have, or this town, or any humans on this island? Cardoza hath suffered a defeat, but it is apparent someone here favoreth his presence, even without most of his soldiers, and not just for his few horses.” He stopped and rubbed his chin. “And what about me, boy? Dost thou sense great currents aswirl?”

“The Eaters favor you,” Reynard said. “I have nought else to say of your measure.”

“Eaters favor me because of the ancient pact.”

“With Guldreth?”

“With the Travelers and the Crafters, I presume, but I have never had it explained. If the Travelers show no interest in thee, on behalf of the Crafters, I fear the island will be finished with all this coast and Zodiako… Except for Cardoza. And that I do not comprehend.”

They had found their way back to the outskirts of Zodiako, where quiet and shadows ruled as dusk fell, and arrays of candles gleamed on posts and rails at the crossings.

“Who hath command o’ the ghosts?” Reynard asked.

“Spanish ghosts seem of no interest to those just beneath the sky—and so they are free to leave, if they can find their way. I mislike such thoughts. I equally mislike condolement. Let us see if Maeve will have me now.”

Dana and Maggie invited them into the blunters’ sanctuary, which, while intact, still smelled of smoke. Of burned flesh.

“Maeve is in the temple,” Maggie said. “We will ask questions, then takest thee to her.”

The two women walked around Reynard. Maggie touched his hair. Reynard jerked back, not liking to be treated like a child. “The fold-keeper, the old man outside the barn, keeper of goats and sheep, gave us his judgment after meeting thee. He seeth things clear.”

“He doth burn tobacco and breathe it,” Reynard said with a pinched face.

“A foul habit,” Dana said. “He proclaimeth thou art followed by a gray wisedom, an old woman with ancient ways. Who might she be, boy?”

“Troy saith not,” Widsith told them. “His line is clean.”

The women ignored this and waited for the boy’s answer.

“Perhaps my grandmother,” Reynard muttered. “If she be here, she will prove a comfort.” He hoped her spirit would not find a trap.

“The fold-keeper told me thou sleep’st in peace,” Maggie said. Dana stepped back and let her mother take charge. “Around the fold, seest childers?”

“The spirit babes? Aye.”

“Aloof, or friendly?”

“They smiled and played and vanished.”

“Friendly, then,” Maggie said.

“What are they?” Reynard asked.

“Nobody knoweth, boy,” Maggie said. “But they do like to flit in the dusk and play, if their larks be play. Thou’lt know if they be not friendly. We put thee in the fold for the judgment of the old man, but also the childers. Doubtless Widsith relied upon that old faker.” She pulled up a cane chair and sat between Reynard and Widsith, then leaned forward, face in hands. “We lost thirty-seven townsfolk, five blunters, and one drake,” she said.

Sad silence.

“Maeve taketh it hard,” Maggie said. “We are all like sons and daughters to her.” She stood from the chair and walked toward the door. “Creatures and tenebria are disturbed. Visitors we have not seen in a thousand years come from the center of the island, and the Travelers seem not to know what to do with them! And now Widsith’s return bringeth thee.” She studied them critically. “What news could charge the krater lands, and our lives, after so long calm breath and gentle winds?”

Reynard wondered if he should tell them of the man with the white shadow, or the man with the tall feather. He decided he would hold such in reserve for when he felt more trusted, more a part of this group—if that could ever happen.

“We are done here,” Maggie said, grim expression showing her dissatisfaction with this conversation. “Do what thou must.”

“Maeve hath condoled with mourners at the temple,” Dana said. “She tells us to send thee there.”