Cat's Quill (40 page)

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Tomas pulled his cloak further around himself and Cathal, although it wasn't enough protection from the cold. The fire gave off more light than heat; it was the nature of the wood and to be expected, apparently. Nothing survived here for long, at least not in a way anyone or anything would want to, Christian had said grimly as they'd gathered the kindling they needed.

"I'm sorry, Tomas," Cathal whispered softly, snuggling in closer. He kissed Tomas, leaning into it, fingers stroking his face.

At the other side of the fire, Christian and Will lay curled together, Will's breathing finally having evened out into sleep, although he murmured something every once in a while, not loud enough to be heard clearly. Deryn's soldiers had not followed them across the river, but from the little Tomas had seen of these woods, he didn't blame them.

It had taken another five minutes' ride upstream before Christian had deemed it safe to dismount. The horses needed a break, and it was too dangerous to ride into the thick of the forest with the little amount of light available. They'd spend the night, take turns keeping watch, and ride again at first light. Hopefully, by then Will would be recovered enough to stay upright on the horse without help. Although Tomas was no doctor, the little he'd been able to ascertain seemed to suggest a mild concussion, and that at the very least, Will would have a nasty bruise on his temple for a while. The examination Doc McKenzie had done, together with the way he'd muttered over Tomas's own injuries after his initial encounter with the Falcons, echoed this current situation a little too well.

Not taking into account the nasty things lurking just beyond the clearing they were in, of course. And whatever was making that howling noise. Tomas shivered, wrapping his arms around Cathal. Ever since they'd crossed the river, he hadn't been able to rid himself of the constant sense of death and despair. It ate at him, seeped into him, and gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. He had no idea how anyone could sleep through it, feeling too on edge to attempt it himself. It was why he'd offered to take first watch, glad of Cathal's offer to keep him company and even more so the promise to answer some questions.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Cat." Tomas returned the kiss. He'd wondered if he'd ever have the opportunity to do this again, to hold Cathal and to be with him. "How's your arm?"

Cathal smiled a little ruefully. "Sore, but that is to be expected." He rubbed at his upper arm, then winced. "Whoever fired that slingshot was not very accurate. I was fortunate."

"He still hit you!" Tomas didn't agree with Cathal's assessment of "fortunate." At least the arrow that had nicked his leg hadn't done any damage; there was just a fine line of blood which had congealed quickly. No permanent damage. Not compared to the aches in his joints and lack of feeling in his backside every time he moved.

"I doubt he was aiming for my arm, love," Cathal said quietly. "Deryn does not give up that easily. If we survive the night, she will catch up with us by the time we are free of this place." He frowned. "I'm sorry that you got involved in all of this. I let my feelings for you get in the way of my better judgment."

"It was my decision to come after you, and I stand by it." Tomas shook his head firmly. He had no intention of getting into an argument, not when there was a good chance that this could still be their last chance to spend time together. "We'll get through this, find that bloody tree, and go home." He fingered the pendant Cathal had given him and then tucked it back under his shirt to keep it safe.

"Home?" Cathal sounded puzzled. "You're going back to your world, where it's safe. I don't belong there. I'm not sure I'd be welcome there any more than I am here."

Tomas scowled. "I'm not leaving you, Cat. Either you come back to my world with me, or I'm staying here." He pulled away slightly, stroking Cathal's face so that he turned and their eyes met. "I love you, and you told me you love me. I want a life with you. I thought that was what you wanted too."

"I do." Cathal sighed. He didn't look away. "As my cousin is fond of saying, I'm a romantic, Tomas. In a perfect world this wouldn't be a problem. We'd be together and take each other as one for life. But both our worlds are flawed." He kissed Tomas softly. "The pendant is a token of my love for you. Keep it safe. It's your way home if we get separated, and it marks you as under my protection once we are free of her land."

"No." Tomas shook his head. He'd taken the pendant as a token of Cathal's love, and that meant it would be used as a safe passage out of here for both of them. "I'm not leaving you. Either we make a life together here or in my world."

"If you stay here, she'll kill you." Cathal bit his lip. He shivered, avoiding Tomas's eyes. "I won't allow that."

"I won't allow her to have you, so I guess that makes us even on that score." Tomas was growing tired of this argument. Surely Cathal had to back down on it eventually? He sighed. "Look, Cat. Staying here is dangerous for both of us. It makes more sense for us to try and go somewhere she can't find either of us."

"She found me in your world before. There is nowhere safe, Tomas. As long as you're with me, you're in danger." Cathal shivered, glancing behind them apprehensively. The fire was dying down. He got up and added more fuel to it. "I want you. God, I want you, but not at the risk of losing you. Can't you see that? I was stupid to think she'd just give up on this. Maybe I should just give her what she wants and be done with it."

"Not fucking likely," Tomas snorted. He stood and began pacing. It was getting more difficult to see anything positive in this mess. What was it with Cathal's change of mind? Had he been so wrong to think they wanted the same thing? He drew his cloak around himself tightly. Cathal was crouched by the fire, just staring at it.

The bloody fire wasn't even producing any heat. It was so cold, the shadows lurking beyond the fire edging closer. The horses shifted nervously; neither of the two had settled at all once they'd got clear of the river. In the distance the dog began to whine. Why couldn't someone or something just shut it up for good?

Cathal held his hands out in front of him, turning them this way and that, trying to warm them over red embers, the flames highlighting the stained bandages. Suddenly closing his eyes, he dropped to his knees, his shoulders sagging, his breathing shallow.

"Cat!" Tomas was by Cathal's side in a moment, pulling him into his arms. "Are you okay?" How could he have let this happen? Cathal should have been resting with his injuries, not sitting up and arguing with him. They would need all their strength if they were to ride at dawn.

"I'm fine." Cathal opened his eyes, gave him a tired smile, and then, to Tomas's surprise, kissed him hard. His voice was rough, choked. "I should have realized."

"Realized? Realized what?" Tomas stared at him blankly, unsure to what he referred. The dog's whine changed to a whimper. "Bloody dog," he muttered under his breath. "Why doesn't someone put it out of its misery?"

"If only it was that simple," Christian interrupted. He sat up, stroking Will's brow, trying to soothe him from whatever nightmare he was having. "Cat wasn't the only one who should have realized." He huddled his shoulders, curling in on himself but still staying close to Will. "We should have told you what this place was and warned you before it began to affect you, affect all of us."

"This place?" Tomas kept Cathal firm in his embrace. He remembered the river, the stench, the fact that Deryn's men had refused to follow them, the words that had been spoken. "The dog...," he said slowly, wondering what had happened to it.

"That thing is not a dog," Cathal said grimly, "and as Christian says, you can't put it out of its misery. It
is
misery, or rather, that is what it does and how it feeds before it moves in for the kill."

"It's a diawl," Tomas realized slowly. Will had mentioned them before, that and something about a legend, although he had not elaborated on either, changing the subject when Tomas asked him directly.

"How do you know about those?" Christian eyed him suspiciously. "They are native to only this one area on our world, and I doubt they are known in yours."

"What are they?" Tomas demanded in return. "And don't give me that crap about it being misery. Some facts about now would be nice. I'm tired of the three of you speaking in riddles when I need answers."

"It's not deliberate." Cathal's fingers stroked Tomas's arm. They were cold, yet the action still sent tiny pinpricks of warmth through him. "There is much you do not know about our world; it is not realistic to expect to learn hundreds of years of history in a few days. We also still need to learn about your world. Too much time has passed since the year we spent there, and Christian's access to information has been very limited during his more recent visit."

"That's one way of putting it," Christian muttered, adjusting Will's cloak around the both of them, trying to keep warm. "I hate this place," he mumbled. Will opened his eyes groggily; confusion chased pain and fear across his features before he closed them again. Christian pulled him closer, murmuring soothing noises, making sure he was settled again before continuing. "I always have. It plays upon any negative feelings you might have and magnifies them. The diawl have no need to kill directly more often than not. Those who spend time here are driven to take their own lives and those of their companions. Already our tempers grow thin, and we jump at every shadow."

"They merely watch, and project, and then feast on what is left," Cathal added grimly. "This is the dark heart of Deryn's lands. Legend has it that one of her ancestors created these forests and banished those who crossed her to them. In their desperation to escape, they turned to the little magic they possessed, but it backfired to produce the first diawl. Other legends say that the diawl are those people and they interbred with the animals that lived here." He shuddered. "Neither story is one I would like proven."

"So the whole family are bitchy whackjobs then?" Tomas sighed. Of all the people to set her sights on Cathal, it had to be someone with a family history of kindness and light. It figured.

Christian grinned. "I'm beginning to suspect at last what you see in him, cousin. Well spoken, Tomas. Well spoken." He shrugged. "If the stories are to be believed, her lineage is tainted by the dark arts. But then, nothing has been proven, and naturally her family took offense at the accusations. There is a harsh penalty for those who are caught speaking of it. But still the stories continue to grow. This particular one keeps intruders from her lands, as most do not dare risk this forest at night. Those who have do not survive long, and their mad ramblings merely serve to add to what already exists."

Above them the clouds moved again, this time the moon coming into view for a few moments, the air around them tinged with an almost blue color. Whispers crept forward in the darkness of the surrounding trees, growing louder and then fading back to an aural haze, not quite a hum but enough to remind Tomas of bees hovering to protect a hive. A nearby bush shook itself as though by invisible breath before stilling.

Cathal freed himself from Tomas's embrace, adding more wood to the fire. The pile they'd collected earlier was dwindling quickly; it was doubtful it would last until morning unless the nights here were shorter than on his own world. With his drugged sleep and then the time spent in the cell, Tomas realized he had no idea how time moved here, just that it seemed to not mesh with his own, at least in the long term. If Christian and Alice had been together ninety years ago, it couldn't possibly, as he and Cat had spoken of a fraction of that time passing here, and neither looked to be more than in their mid-twenties.

"Her father is a decent man, or he was," Cathal remembered. "I spoke to him several times when I was a child. He was very kind to my sister Irene when she lost her betrothed. She was distraught at the time, blaming herself, as she had not been able to save him despite her abilities as a mage. I am not sure what Lord Bryn said to her, but it appeared to give her the strength to carry on." He shook his head and sighed. "The kingdom mourned his own passing shortly afterward. Deryn changed after that, or as I suspect, had hidden her true nature beforehand, to spare him. Her father was one person she did truly care for."

"Deryn never cared for anyone unless they could further her own needs." Christian snorted at the suggestion. "She kept her abilities hidden, lest they be used against her, while we were a little more open with ours, at least with those we trusted."

"She didn't hide them that well, cousin," Cathal informed him. He settled back down against Tomas again, resting his head on Tomas's lap. His eyes were dim, his words slurring, reflecting his weariness. "There are ways of discovering such things." He smiled up at Tomas. "I can move if this is not comfortable," he whispered when Christian returned his attention to Will for a moment. The two of them seemed close, though it was doubtful they were involved, but their body language suggested they were comfortable in each other's space and were used to taking such liberties.

"It's fine," Tomas returned in kind, stroking Cathal's hair. It was soft under his touch, though it must have been days since he'd had a chance to bathe. "You're tired, and you need your rest. Are you sure I don't need to recheck your bandages?"

"It's better if they are left until we can do so properly." Cathal leaned into Tomas's touch. He appeared to be enjoying the contact as much as Tomas was. "My wounds have stopped bleeding. I am merely tired, which is to be expected." Tomas ran his fingers lightly over the bump on Cathal's arm, reminding him that the statement was not fooling anyone. "And sore. That will pass in time. If we do not survive this, it will not matter."