Deepwood: Karavans # 2 (31 page)

He nodded, loosing a long breath. “Well, either the creek changed locations, or the path you marked did. We’ll have to look elsewhere for water.”

She pushed hair out of her face and stared at him. “You take it very calmly.”

“Audrun, I told you Alisanos changes itself, often overnight. Even with route markers, you can end up lost. We were fortunate the creek remained in that place as long as it did.”

“Then what do we do? We need water, Rhuan.”

“Tomorrow,” he said. “You’ve brought blackfruit; the meat is moist and will get us through the night. Come morning, we need to start for the Kiba anyway. We should find a stream somewhere along the way.”

She looked at the pile of melon, then nodded absent acknowledgment. When she met his eyes again, he saw a weary sorrow. “Can your people at the Kiba recover my baby?”

“We shall ask,” he said quietly. “We shall ask if they can give us leave to find all of your children.”

Audrun nodded again. She walked shakily to the melon cairn and sat down, taking up the rock she’d employed as a hammer.

He said, as she seemed to be searching for something, “Break the melon open with the rock. You don’t need my knife as a chisel, trust me.”

She smiled slightly, though it was more of a grimace, then commenced smashing stone into rind.

ILONA, DELIVERED ON horseback to her wagon, ignored Jorda’s suggestion that she sleep and instead sat in her open doorway, slippered feet set two steps down. Repeatedly she made a fist of her left hand and rotated it back and forth, up and down, testing her forearm. There was no pain. There was no stiffness. She could have sworn no injury had ever occured.

So, if it were true, as Bethid had suggested, that the broken arm had prevented her from reading hands, her gift should have returned. But she wouldn’t know until someone allowed her to try. Jorda was too busy. The Sister had returned to her wagon. Bethid was exploring the land near the deepwood. And Ilona didn’t feel strong enough to walk over to Mikal’s tent.

She took up the mug of tea Naiya had left her. Breathing in the spiced, herbal scent, she tried to recall exactly what had happened when she left the river to walk to the fringes of Alisanos. She had
known
what it was; how not, when prior to the storm no such forest had existed? Why would she purposely go so close? She had no death wish. She wanted nothing to do with Alisanos. And yet she had walked away from the river, walked across the grasslands, and had stood upon the very verge of the deepwood.

Something had happened, there at the transition between the human world and Alisanos. But she could not say what. When she attempted to search her memories, she found nothing. Everything that had occured between putting on fresh clothing at the river and Bethid coming upon her was a blank.

She sipped her tea, framed by the doorjamb. Jorda had promised a replacement for her wagon canopy come morning. Beneath her feet, wooden steps provided entry to her wagon. Two of the plank steps were clearly new, as yet not worn and weathered by time and weather. They had been replaced by Rhuan—no, not by Rhuan. By Darmuth. That, she remembered.

Ilona frowned. Something teased at her mind, feathering across memories.

She had left the river. Walked away and across the grasslands. Approached the deepwood. And there, something,
something
had occured. Her arm was healed.

Eyes closed, with elbows braced against her thighs and her brow resting against the mug she held in two hands, Ilona tried to remember what had taken place. She could not have gone into Alisanos; she would not be here, and whole, had that been the case. She thought it through, considering what she might have done there at the border. Alisanos was completely unpredictable, as if sentient. It was not impossible to believe that someone might have come to her, that someone had healed her arm, was it?

If so, she would have asked about Rhuan.

Memory flickered like a candle in a draft, then burned more brightly.

She
had
asked about Rhuan. She had asked where he was, if he might be in Alisanos.

But
who
did I ask?
No memory of an answer rose at her question. Her mind remained a blank. Whether Rhuan was in the deepwood or elsewhere, she did not know.

Ilona drew in a deep breath, admitted to herself that she was very tired, and rose. Her cot called her. Slightly dizzy, she set the tea mug aside, got into bed, pulled the bright coverlet over her body. Sleep came up like a friendly dog licking at her hand. She began to drift into it, until something kindled in her mind and jerked her to wakefulness. Something she had thought about, but not fully accepted. The knowledge hit unexpectedly hard.

Rhuan was gone. Possibly forever.

Sleep was banished.

Tears were not.

C
OME SUNSET, BETHID tracked down Jorda at Mikal’s ale tent. She had tended Churri for the night and he was picketed over by the somewhat fragile common tent Alorn and Timmon had raised. Dinner had consisted of fresh fish taken from the river and water. Now she wanted something with a bit more life to it, and to tell Jorda what she’d found.

She sat down at the table the karavan-master had appropriated. Already a jug of ale sat at his elbow; Mikal tossed a tankard from the bar. Jorda caught it, poured, then slid the tankard across to Bethid, who gulped down two hasty swallows, then set the tankard down as she cleaned her upper lip.

“Ilona’s footprints led to a swath of charred ground approximately ten feet wide,” she said. “It appears to run alongside the deepwood in both directions for quite some distance, rather like a skirt hem. I did not ride into it, just alongside, but I did find footprints. Ilona walked out into that charred
area; her footprints, coming out of the grass, were easy to see. She went no farther than perhaps six feet, then stopped. At some point she turned around again; footprints matching hers go back in the other direction, sometimes beside her original track, sometimes overlapping it.”

Jorda was frowning. “Then as far as you can tell she just stopped and turned around?”

Bethid shook her head. “I think not. There was another set of footprints. They came out of the deepwood, walked straight to Ilona, and circled her.”

“Circled
her!”

“As if she stood still, and whoever this was walked around her two or three times. The prints are scuffed and some overlay others, but I could make out that much. Both sets of prints were fresh. They appear to have been made at the same time.”

“In other words, she met someone.”

“Or some
thing,”
Bethid said, “since it came out of Alisanos.”

Jorda stirred on his stool. “You’re certain of that? That it came out of Alisanos?”

“I see no other place it might have come from. The prints were from boots the size of a man’s, and with the charred ground it’s a simple matter to see footprints. But, Jorda—whoever he was turned around at some point and walked back into the forest. I saw no prints other than in that specific area. Whether Ilona went on her own for some reason and by coincidence met someone coming out of the deepwood, or someone
from Alisanos walked out and found her there, I can’t say. I can only tell you that she went there, went into that charred border, and eventually turned around and headed back, which is when I found her. Certainly when I rode on toward the forest, I saw no one. Just the bootprints.”

Jorda’s forehead wrinkled with deep thought. “Do you think it might be possible that it was Rhuan she met?”

“Rhuan?” Bethid found that startling. “Why might it have been Rhuan?”

“Because there’s every chance he was swallowed when Alisanos moved. That farmsteader you brought back said he hadn’t seen Rhuan anywhere since the storm.”

“But why would Rhuan
remain
in the deepwood?” Bethid asked. “I mean, if he could walk free of Alisanos and meet Ilona, why would he return? It makes no sense. And why would she not remember? First of all, we don’t know that Rhuan
can
make anyone lose their memory, but if so, why would he want to?”

“Her arm was healed,” Jorda said evenly.

“But has Rhuan ever shown any ability to do such a thing?” Bethid shrugged as Jorda shook his head. “I think the only answer we can hope for is from Ilona, if she ever remembers.”

Jorda growled, then sat forward and leaned heavy elbows on the table. “I am without both my guides when I most need them. We may never know if Rhuan and Darmuth were taken by Alisanos, just that they
disappeared during the storm. What else is one to believe?” He tapped thick fingertips on the wooden table. “Well, if nothing else, we now know that from the river to that burned buffer area there is no obvious threat. That land can be used for planting. It’s more than we knew this morning.”

“Even if someone can walk out of Alisanos, right there?”

“We must begin,” Jorda said heavily, and then broke off any additional comment. He half rose from his stool, arms braced against the table, eyes fixed on the entrance. “No,” he said. “She shouldn’t be here.”

Bethid turned to look. Coming through the entrance flap, wrapped in a green shawl, was Ilona. She had wound her hair against the back of her skull and, as was her habit, anchored it there with ornamented hair sticks. As earlier, her arm bore no splint, and in no wise appeared to be weak or painful.

That the hand-reader was tired was obvious. It affected her movements, set shadows beneath her eyes, lent her face a drawn look. She glanced over the tent, and her eyes lighted on Jorda. Immediately she quickened her pace. Jorda was shaking his head repeatedly as she arrived. “No, Ilona. You should be in bed.”

“I was.” She found another stool and sat down upon it, even as Jorda lowered his body. “But there is something we must discuss.” She looked at Bethid, then sighed. “As I said, I have no memory of what happened when I nearly walked straight into Alisanos. But I have a memory of
a memory
, if that makes sense.”
Her smile was slight and fleeting. “I do wish Lerin were alive to read my dreams, but it’s left to me to try to sort out the images in my mind. I will tell you what I dreamed while fevered, and I ask you to give it full weight, to not dismiss it as utterly irrelevant. Because odd as it will sound, I feel very strongly that it is related to my experience earlier today.”

Bethid raised her hands and displayed palms in a gesture of deference. “Anything a diviner has to say should not be dismissed.”

Jorda nodded. “Go on.”

Ilona resettled her shawl, drew a breath, then told them. “Some while back, I dreamed of a man I at first believed was Rhuan. He’s very like Rhuan. But he’s someone else entirely … and I don’t know who. I might say he was simply a dream construct, but now when I recall the dream, I feel there is more to the story. That I should know more about him. That in some way, he’s real. And that, to some extent, I know him.” Ilona shook her head. “I feel as though the memory of this dream is what led me away from the river and to the deepwood, almost as if I were somehow
summoned.
Trust me, I have no wish to explore Alisanos! I have no curiosity that goads me to go so close. But I did go. And at some point, as we know, my arm was healed. Is that not a convincing argument that I met someone there?”

“Oh, the tracks are convincing enough,” Bethid murmured, then explained when she saw Ilona’s blank look. “Someone did meet you. There are two sets of tracks in the burned area that skirts the deepwood.
Yours, and bootprints that look as though they could belong to a man.”

Ilona frowned, shaking her head. “I just can’t remember.”

Bethid exchanged a glance with Jorda. “Ilona, is it possible you met Rhuan there?”

Ilona’s head snapped up. “Rhuan? No. No. In fact, I
asked
about Rhuan! That, I remember.” Again she shook her head. “But I don’t know what the answer was. I don’t even know of whom I asked the question.” She made a growling sound of frustration and clamped splayed hands to her head. “Why can’t I remember?”

“Perhaps,” Jorda said very quietly, “because this man doesn’t wish you to remember.”