Whispering Woods

CHAPTER 8

Kem, the scarred bodyguard. Staging a sneak attack.

He must have grabbed for Gull's hair, not knowing Lily was alongside him.

Too bad he guessed wrong, thought Gull.

Dragged half-out, Lily kept screaming. Gull reached past her, clamped Kern's hairy wrist, braced his free hand against a wheel -and yanked with all his might.

A curse and thud told Kern's face had struck the side of the wagon. He let Lily go. A veteran of drunken brawls, she melted away under the back axles.

Still cursing, pinned by one wrist, Kem ducked and swiped with his free hand. Probably it held a knife, Gull figured. He tossed the wrist, and Kem swore as he missed slicing Gull's arm.

Kicking, the woodcutter rolled out from under the wagon toward the firepit. He wore only his leather kilt. Firelight glistened on his sweaty, scarred body. He cast around for nonlethal weaponry: cordwood, dirt, iron cookware, tack hung on the wagon. Plenty.

Kem sailed around the end of the wagon, shuffled to a fighting stance, that long dagger gleaming in his fist. "This is where we part company, Gullshit!"

Gull crooked his fingers. "You have to get close to hurt me, Lop-ear. Afraid?"

With a growl, the bodyguard lunged. Gull hopped to the side, snaked a full feed bag off its hook on the wagon, swung it at his enemy's head. Kem dodged the heavy bag, but lost his chance to thrust with the blade. Gull chucked the bag in the man's face, jumped in close, and smashed his fist on the the thug's wrist, numbing it. The dagger stabbed dirt.

Yet Kem knew how to fight, while Gull had only his brute strength. Kem let the weapon lie, slapped at Gull's crotch. The woodcutter swerved his hips, swerved back to mash the hand against the wagon. In too close, he snapped his right forearm up, clopped Kem under the chin. Locked, they breathed each other's sweat, ground hair off each other's bodies.

Kem struck like a snake, bit two of Gull's fingers like a bulldog.

Gull hissed, jabbed at Kem's eyes with his two left fingers. The bodyguard spit out Gull's hand to avoid being blinded. He punched Gull in the chest, the belly, the throat. Gull stopped that assault by whapping Kem's swollen ear. The bodyguard gurgled with pain.

Then Kem lowered his head and rammed Gull hard in the belly, shoving with both feet. Gull fetched up against a wheel. He'd been caught with his own trick, using the wagon as a wall. Kem swiped at Gull's balls, and Gull tried to knee him back, but they were too tangled to do much harm.

Then a noose floated over Gull's head and tightened on his windpipe.

Breathless, Gull's hands flew to his throat. He clawed for the noose, skinned his own throat, but already the cord had sunk deep. He panicked, kicked, thrashed, slammed his butt against the wagon wheel to get free. But he was held fast.

The bully had a partner, his foggy brain screamed.

Now that Gull had stopped fighting, Kem knew he had a partner, too. The scarred man took advantage. Hauling back a fist, he slammed Gull full in the belly. It rocked him, jarred his throat, but there was no way for his air to escape. Gull tried to kick Kem away, but was so close-pressed he couldn't raise his knee or foot.

The firelight dimmed, as if someone had smothered it.

That's my vision, Gull thought. Blacking out. Forever.

He let go his aching throat and lashed backward with his elbow, skinned it on rough wood, grazed the assassin's arm. He heard a guffaw. His next flail was feebler. Kem smashed his jaw, blacked his eye. But Gull had so much pain from his throat and lungs, he barely felt it.

All my troubles will end in a moment, he thought. Who'll look after Greensleeves?

Above the roaring in his ears, he heard a dull thunk. As if bursting from under deep water, he could breathe. The cord had gone slack.

Gull ripped the strangling noose from his neck. He retched, wheezed, gagged. Kem guessed what had happened. He hopped back to get clear.

Not fast enough.

Still retching, Gull lowered his head and charged.

His skull collided with Kem's jaw. A satisfying clack sounded. He butted the man again, grappled his shoulders by his sturdy leather armholes. Grunting, he spun the man.

Kem tumbled into the firepit. The cookware had been moved to one side, so there was only a stone-lined trough full of dying embers. Dying, but still hot. Trying to brace his fall, Kem drove his hands deep into ashes and red coals. He screamed.

Gull hopped up and crashed both knees onto the man's back, driving his hands deeper, buckling his knees. With both fists, Gull clouted the back of his bony skull-once, twice, again.

But when he raised them a fourth time, they proved too heavy. The black night went blacker, and he pitched over backward, thoroughly spent.

A sandaled toe prodded his ribs.

Gull opened one swollen eye. A craggy salt-and-pepper face grinned at him. Morven the sailor. "Enough playtime, children. Time for bed."

Groaning, Gull rolled over, found his feet. Kem was gone from the firepit. But a pair of feet projected from under a wheel. Gull crawled over, recognized another bodyguard, a handsome dark man the cook called Pretty Boy.

"Chad," said Morven. "A friend to Kem. Probably his only one. Quick with a garrotte, a strangling noose."

"What-" Gull coughed, swallowed fire. "What- happened?"

Chuckling, Morven hefted a crossbow. "I was cruising the perimeter, heard a noise by the chuck wagon. Figured some sneak thief was out to hook Felda's pies. Gaffed him with this. Wouldn't you know-one of our own. My blunder." He plucked sticky hairs from the crossbow grip.

Gull rubbed his throat. "Does Towser-approve of assassination-amongst his own people?"

Morven fixed his eye on a distant star. "Towser's got too many worries to bother with ours. We work out our little tiffs."

"They're-working out. I'll kill both-and then they'll be good."

"He'd just hire more bullies. Live with what you got. They'll sheer off from now on." Morven propped the crossbow on the water butt, grabbed Chad and hoisted him like a child, dumped him in the back of the men's wagon. Inside, someone protested, "Hey!"

"Sorry." Morven retrieved his crossbow and returned to guard duty.

Lily drifted out of the shadows to brush dirt off Gull's back. "You're hard to kill."

"As long as-Morven's behind me."

She knelt to brush off his legs, straighten his kilt. "More will stand behind you now. No one likes Kem or Chad."

"I'd like-to get some sleep-for a change."

Lily took his hand, led him under the chuck wagon, knelt and straightened his bedroll. "No, you'd like company. Mine."

Gull started to protest, but she tucked him into his blankets and wriggled alongside. "I know, I know. No loving. Just hugging. And maybe some kissing." She mashed her red lips on his bruised ones, slid her tongue into his mouth.

This time, Gull was too weak to fend her off.

The days that followed were all alike. Break camp, travel, eat, travel, set up camp, sleep. Every seventh day they stayed put to rest, but that meant a full day of repairs. Gull had lived all his life in a sedate farming village, with time for naps and gossip and games. He found the rush unsettling. He wondered why the wizard moved so fast, pushed so hard. What secrets or treasures beckoned that wouldn't wait another day or two?

Gull drove, tended stock, worried about wagons, ate, slept, did it all again in his dreams. Occasionally his father or mother would loom from the mists and replay some old joke or story, and Gull awoke with an aching heart, missing them. But by then he was busy again.

As they neared hill country in the north, the forest floor grew rougher. Gentle dips turned into ravines too steep to cross, so had to be circled. Granite ledges came thicker, not just flat spans, but stepped shelves half the height of the wagons. Sometimes the wagoners had to cut saplings and lever the wagons up breaks. Rocks and rough country meant smaller twisted trees, and occasionally Gull had to lop branches, or squat and saw at ankle height so the wagons could pass over the stump. Their pace slowed to a few miles a day.

The scouts still found passage, but it took longer. Often the wagons waited for them to return, then had to backtrack and try somewhere else. They boxed the compass some days, traveling miles in a circle to make one mile northwest.

Lily rode with Gull when she could. As long as she answered Towser's beck and call, and did her camp chores, no one cared. Greensleeves wandered into the woods and back out, finding flowers and lizards and birds' eggs, yet always staying within eyeshot, as if she knew Gull would worry.

Kem drove the horses with bandaged hands, and Chad suffered dizzy spells. Both stayed clear of the muleskinner. Conversely, others became friendly, including some of dancing girls, the cook Felda and her choreboy Stiggur, the clerk Knoton, and the nurse Haley. They wished each other a hearty good morning, excluding Kem and Chad with silence. Others remained wrapped in their own worlds, including the silent bodyguard, Oles; the bard, Ranon Spiritsinger; the astrologer, old Kakulina.

And of course, Towser.

"What does he do in that wagon all day and night?" asked Gull. "It must be damned rank and cramped. What keeps him busy?"

Lily arched an eyebrow. "Well, I could tell you what he does with us dancing girls, but you wouldn't learn much. His other interests are a secret. I know he has a scrying crystal. He's often so mesmerized by it, he doesn't see me enter."

"What does he see inside that?"

"I don't know. I peeked once but saw nothing."

Gull pondered that. "But what else? A man can't stare at bubbles in a glass all day, can he?"

Lily yawned, scooted sideways, pillowed her head on Gull's thigh. "You talk of men. He's a wizard. Not like us. He toys with things, or studies them. A box of stinkpots, books, little clockwork engines. He's even got a box of seashells such as a child gathers on the beach. And charms and leaves and fairy dust and such. Yet I don't think much is valuable. He doesn't keep it neat, just pokes things back in holes-they fall off the shelves and crash on his table. It wouldn't disturb him to lose the whole wagon, I don't think…" She was nodding off, but suddenly opened a mascaraed eye. "No, there is one precious thing. His grimoire."

"Grim-what?"

"Grimoire. His book of magic. Chained to his belt."

"Oh, that. It's full of magic spells? Does that mean if I read some-if I could read-I could do magic?"

She shook her head on his leathered thigh. "No. From the little I've seen, it's just sketches he's made. I think they remind him of spells he already knows. The way Cook has pictures on her drawer of spices."

"Ah. Oh, well, I don't want to perform magic anyway. I'd feel foolish in a striped gown."

She giggled and patted his knee. "No, your talents lie elsewhere."

"How would you know?" Gull shifted the reins and mussed her hair, making her squeal. "So far you've only suffered my kisses."

Tsking, she sat up to primp with hairpins. "A woman knows."

"Woman!" Gull teased. "You barely put curves in your clothing!"

"I'm eighteen, grandfather! And I've seen and done more than you have!"

"I imagine." Gull clucked at his mules. "They'll make good stories thirty years from now, when you're a fat grandmother."

"I hope so." She sighed suddenly. "But what decent man will wed a whore?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Would you marry a whore?"

Gull looked at her sidelong, thinking she teased again, but she was serious. "No, she'd have to give up whoring. And know how to cook. Mine's terrible."

Lily closed her hand around his on the reins. "The other dancing girls are jealous, you know, because I get you to myself."

"Well, tell them they're not missing much." He was suddenly angry with himself. Lily was so sweet, so considerate, yet he couldn't give her his full attention while his mind was still an emotional turmoil. Changing the subject, he asked, "So, we travel just so Towser can scribble in a book?"

Lily frowned at him, unsure what he thought, then shook her head. "No, we travel so he can gather mana. From what I understand, all lands have magic, some more than others. By crossing the country, Towser gathers its energy. He uses it to learn things, and to battle other wizards."

Gull tsked, "Why not to help people?"

A shrug. The girl peered at the sky. "It'll rain soon. Few men are like you, Gull. There's a city in the west called Estark, one of the places of power, I've heard, where the wizards have their own strange way of making magic. Once a year they joust in a tournament, sometimes to the death. The winner goes off with a supreme sorcerer, a Walker who descends like a god. The whole city exists to conjure magic, and make bets on who'll win the tournaments. Scouts canvass the countryside and find any potential magic users. As if the Domains were just a farm, with the wizards in control and the rest of us cattle."

Gull snorted. "This is one bull who won't go gently to slaughter."

Lily fixed him with aged eyes. "But you work for a wizard. As I do."

"True," sighed the woodcutter. The wagon jolted over a rock and he slapped the reins. "Easy, there! My father used to say the gods love nothing more than to make a man violate an oath."

"Oath? You swore an oath?"

"Aye. To kill any wizard I met. And look at me now."

Angry again, with himself and everything else, he said no more.

Later on, Oles, the quiet one on scout, waved him to walk ahead. Gull handed Lily the reins and hopped down.

The bodyguard stood at line with hemlocks. Through their lacy branches, Gull saw the forest floor turned to cedars and bog. He groaned.

"Like this all across the northwest," muttered Oles. He had shaggy hair and a brushy mustache, a sheepskin vest and baggy pants. He swatted a fly from his ear. "I'd say impassable. Towser won't agree. He'll stay buttoned in his wagon while we get ate."

Gull swatted flies and midges that buzzed hungry from the bog. "What about due west?"

"Boggier. Sank to my knees." He pointed where mud had dried on his pants.

"North?" Talking to Oles shortened his speech too.

"Uphill. Dry, but you couldn't squeeze through. Big trees."

Gull swatted and swore. "What the hell-Oh. Greensleeves."

His sister materialized from the hemlocks, making no more rustle than a deer. She carried something long and saggy and gray. Another badger. Oles stared at the small girl clutching a wild animal to her bosom.

Gull caressed his sister's head. "You're lucky, you can't get lost. You're always lost. Or else never so."

Greensleeves burbled in her questioning tone. She looked at the wagons and the tree-choked bog, cooed like a dove.

" 'Fraid so." Gull was just thinking aloud. "We'll be days dropping trees for a corduroy road-eh?"

Tugging at his hand, Greensleeves pointed north.

Her brother said, "No, hon. The trees are too big."

Dangling by its fat belly, the badger kicked. The girl scooched and it slunk into the brush. But before it disappeared, Gull noticed its ear was notched, as if gnawed.

He jerked to a halt, almost pulling his sister over. "Hey! That badger-"

Wait now, thought Gull. She'd found a badger days ago, with a notched ear, but had let it go. Was this the same beast? Miles farther on? Badgers didn't walk miles: they stayed within their territory. Could it have followed them? For leagues? Nonsense. Then… had Greensleeves carried it all this way? No. Hidden it in the chuck wagon? Not possible. How then…?

But Greensleeves tugged, and he had to follow. He was curious, too. She was rarely this insistent, unless there was a wounded animal she couldn't lift. She dragged him into the brush. A trail, only a foot wide, meandered through less-dense patches: a deer trail. Tufts of white belly hair, winter coats shedding, showed on snags. Greensleeves walked upright, but Gull had to hunch.

"Whatever it is, let's not go far, Greenie. I need to cut trees…"

Stepping between two forked oaks, they were suddenly in the clear.

They stood in a ravine like many they'd already passed, the sides lined with the scrub oak and bracken. But a sandy floor, rain-washed smooth, sloped gently upward. The only obstacles were rocks they could lever up. Gull pushed past his sister and climbed the slope, bad knee aching. Topping the ravine, he found big trees with open space between. He could see at least a half mile.

Rocks scrunched behind. Oles had followed, cradling his crossbow. "Hunh. Missed this gap. She should scout."

"Aye," said Gull. He stared at his sister, who'd pried up a rock to tickle a red salamander. "Perhaps she should."

Using Greensleeves's shortcut, they widened the deer trail and traversed the ravine in two days. On solid ground again, they made good progress for a half dozen days.

Though the others had no clue, Gull guessed they neared their goal. One day he was sure.

He smelled it.

A tang floated on the northern breeze, a wet reek like an old campfire. Only greater, and bitter, as if the earth had burned too.

As it had.

They saw the first marks far to their right. The scout, Chad, who hated to talk to Gull, simply pointed and walked away.

Gull only nodded. He'd been right.

A long dark triangle had marred the forest. The ground was blackened, the tree trunks scorched, the leaves withered and brown. The bottom of the triangle pointed northwest, whence the wind had lifted and tossed some fire. They trekked through more greenery, found another burned slash.

And finally came to where the forest fire had raged.

Even the fat cook got out of the wagon to look. Even Towser. The charred stink was strong in their nostrils, clung to their clothing and skin.

As if standing on a green shore, a black tide lapped away from their feet, stretching northwest out of eyeshot. The rolling country was scorched to black loam, though the fire had jumped some hollows and ledges. Big trees had survived, green high on their crowns, but smaller ones had perished like sagging candles. With a clear sky and weeks of spring, the earth sprang back, and green fingers infiltrated the black wastes. After days of marching through the shadowed forest, hot sunshine made the travelers squint.

Gull tested his theory on Towser. In his striped gown, the wizard glowed tike a firework in the sunshine. "We saw a shooting star two moons ago. Could it have started a forest fire?"

"It might have…" said Towser absently, and Gull knew he'd guessed their destination. "Let's move on."

"Still northwest?" persisted Gull.

"Aye." Towser turned toward his wagon.

Felda objected. "We can't camp here. There'll be no water."

Towser waved the objection away. "There'll be mana. Get rolling. We'll figure how to camp once we find-" He stopped.

"Find what?" asked a dozen.

But the wizard climbed into his wagon and drew the curtain.

Wondering, the entourage climbed onto wagon seats and clucked to the stock.

The next day, they found it.

In the blackest, bleakest center of the burned area, devoid of trees or even rocks, the earth suddenly banked, a vast hollow circle. Again, the entire entourage came to peer over this earthen lip.

Perfectly circular, deep as a lake, but dry, was a hole two hundred feet across. Layers of earth showed black loam, yellow sand, gray clay, gray sand.

At the very bottom of the crater was a smaller hole they couldn't see into.

No one spoke. No birds sang, no butterflies fluttered. The soil was sterile, without even anthills. The forest held its breath, as if the shocking violence of the calamity still lingered.

"This is it!" Towser's gleeful chortle startled them. He pointed. "A star fell from the heavens and crashed right there! Fetch the tools!"

"What for?" asked Kem.

"To dig up the star!"