Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) (9 page)

“No, no! That's not what I'd do. I wish to help you all, if you'll just help me! Wait, wait,” he almost sobbed, as the girl on his arm slumped unconsciously at his side and the angry mob closed in around him. “Is there anyone among you named Lauro? Help, I need to speak to Lauro!” He was desperate now, Calloway saw. A pitchfork poked him above the ear, sending a little trickle of blood down the side of his head. Calloway felt a stirring of pity once again, and he bit his lip to keep it down. This was a stranger... a Demon... someone not worthy to be trusted!

“The warrior-boy? You want the warrior-boy?” shouted Elder Donovan from amid the press of people. “He was almost as bad as the Demon Man! Took what he wanted, then left! Hurt my young grandson, he did, stealing food and threatening anyone who tried to stop him with that ugly blade of his!”

“You'll get what we couldn't give him, mark my words!” screamed Elder Margry, waving a misshapen block of wood in the unconscious face of the girl as she glared at the strangers. “You'll pay for your friends burning our village, killing our young, and stealing our things! You'll pay! You'll pay! You'll
both
pay!”

Calloway wanted to cry, though he knew how stupid and un-boy-like it would be. These strangers didn't deserve that, he knew now.
Look at them!
he wanted to shout,
they can barely stand on their feet! Have they done anything to hurt you? No! Then let them go!
But he didn't say anything; he just slunk farther back into the crowd until he could barely see the shapes of the tormented stranger and his sick companion through the tangle of bodies pressing closer for revenge.

Just as he was about to run away, to try to push the terrible images from his mind, Calloway saw Elder Donovan lurch forward on his rickety legs and seize the unconscious girl by the neck, trying to pull her off her friend and beat her with his walking-stick.

It was a stupid mistake that was just like a grown-up to make. Calloway saw the stranger lad, tired as he was, kick out at the skinny old man with his foot, throwing up a whirling mess of sand that formed a crude fist-shape, striking the Elder in the chest and throwing him back into the mob, barely missing being impaled by their weapons.

Gore!
thought Calloway, his eyes widening as the crowd uttered a collective gasp and jumped back.
The stranger's a magician! Maybe a Sand Demon! He'll kill them all, and me, too!

But the strange lad didn't kill anyone. He lifted the still-sleeping water-girl into his arms, shakily but sure, and spun around to face the way out of the village. Men stepped in front of him and Elder Margry came at his back, but he just bellowed in rage and the dusty ground reacted to his voice as if it had been waiting its whole life to obey. Sand and dirt and bits of rock leaped up yards in the air, all along the path of his yell, throwing villagers topsy-turvy out of the way. Before Elder Margry could gather her wits up again to strike him with the club in her hand, the sand magician was off at a run past the bodies of his enemies.

In seconds he was away, and none of the villagers were man enough to follow him. The crowd scattered at a few angry words from the Elders, and those who had been thrown to the ground by the magician's scream picked themselves up with curses and complaints, bellowing to everyone else that they should have helped stop the New Demon Man.

He's not a Demon Man
, Calloway thought, watching the poor lad stumble off into the distance.
He's just like us. Why couldn't they see that?

Calloway wasn't stupid, no, not when he'd lived his whole life in the South Village. But he was about to do something brave, and probably stupid too.

He was going to help the stranger, without anyone else knowing about it.

Chapter Seven: Calloway

By the time Gribly thought it safe to stop fleeing, the sun had sunk behind the crown of the world and plunged the land into darkness. But of course, he was barely
thinking
at all: his mind was a whirlwind of hate and fear, but not much else. Hate for the idiots who'd turned him away, and for the Pit Strider who'd caused it all... and for Lauro, who'd made it worse. Fear for Elia, for the water-loss sickness that was wracking her body far too early... for the time he might never have with her, selfish as it sounded even to him.

That was why, when he finally collapsed on the side of a gray hill, letting Elia slip limply to the grass beside him, he wasn't surprised to hear phantom voices in his head convincing him that he wasn't dead yet.

“I ain't stupid, and you ain't dead yet, Stranger. Get up, and I'll show you the river.” Voice, actually, not voices. He was hearing a voice out of the darkness, and a light soon followed it. It blinded him for a second, and he groaned, rolling on his side and putting a hand out to reassure himself that Elia was still there beside him, and he hadn't actually died. “Come on, capital Stranger. Pick her up. I'll show you the river.”

Small hands grabbed at him, but he was too weak to bat them away. Someone small was turning him on his back again, shining that infernal light in his face, babbling on about a river. A river... wouldn't that be the luckiest thing in the world right now? Gribly ignored it.

“You ain't dead yet, Magician. Get
up
, I say! I didn't follow you all the way out here just t' let you die! I ain't stupid, y'know.”

Blast. He was really awake, and there was really a boy in front of him, coaxing him back from death's door. Gribly sat up.

“Whu...” his lips were dry, cracked, and swollen from lack of water. He'd given his whole share to Elia to buy her a few more precious hours as a full nymph. His mouth could barely form words.

“Pick her up, Stranger. I'll show you the river you were lookin' for.”

The river... It had been important, hadn't it? Why was his mind seeping away through cracks in his skull? What had been important about the dratted river??

“Oh, by the Creator!” he blurted, suddenly remembering. “The blasted
RIVER!”

His throat rasped and hurt him horribly from the strain of his shout.

“Don't! Not so loud, Stupid!” hissed the village boy, shaking the yellow light of his lantern at Gribly. “I can take you, sure, but not if you'll bring the 'hole village down on I!”

He talks funny,
Gribly thought numbly, but his arms and legs were already moving independently of his will. Without willing it, he already had Elia in his arms and was standing up... stumbling forward... following the boy...

“Calloway,” the boy was saying. “M'name's Calloway... But you can call me Cal. I'm from the South Village. I'm not stupid- I know you're not a Demon Man. I'm going to help you. Follow me... no, not that way.
This
way. Come on, Stranger.”

On...

And on...

~

Damnation. He's still alive.

Silence, Bonedale. If he is, he could be dreaming of us at this very moment.

~

Gribly woke surprisingly refreshed, a cold trickle slipping down his throat. Cal, the village boy who'd saved him, was pouring water into his mouth, as he lay prone on the rocky bank of the river, his hand trailing in the water. Gesturing the lad off, he sat up and looked around. They were alone on the bank in a rare glow of morning sunlight. His tattered double pack was in a heap beside him, but Elia was nowhere to be seen.

The young prophet's mind was a muddle of confused memories. He had been carrying Elia... following Cal to where the boy said they would find a river... it had been dark, he had been bleeding... But there was no blood on his head now, was there? He felt the spot where his wound from the pitchfork should be, and there was nothing.

“Where's Elia?” he asked Cal, confused and unfocused.

“The water-girl?” Cal's eyes were wide, and his face had a lingering half-smile on its edges. “I didn't quite believe you about her... not at first... but look for yourself, and you'll see. Look, there she be!” he pointed his stubby finger at a spot in the wide, flowing river, just out of Gribly's field of vision. The bewildered Sand Strider turned to look, and his fears eased away instantly at the sight.

About the middle of the river, the water's surface broke in a splash of clear green as Elia shot clear of it, twisting twice before plunging below again like a frolicking water-animal. She was in her sleek Swimmer Form...
gorgeous,
Gribly would have said, had he felt safe enough. He grinned as the sea nymph broke the surface again, right by the bottom of the bank. Her hand, watery and translucent, took his out of the water and laid it by his side. She was not quite halfway out of the water, the light causing her haunting blue body to glow as she bobbed up and down in the current.

“We made it, thanks to your new friend,”
she said, her voice high and pure and musical as it always was, transformed into something magical by the Change in her form. Flashing Cal a sparkling smile that made the village boy blush, she dipped beneath the water again and went swimming away in the deeper parts of the river.

“She's...” Cal began, then fell silent.

“...Enchanting?” Gribly tried. “I can only imagine what her whole tribe must have looked like, swimming and playing and living together, able to look like that whenever they wanted.”

“You mean there's
more
of her kind?” gaped the boy, his eyes growing so wide Gribly thought they might pop out of his head.

“Of course,” he laughed, “There's a whole different race beyond the cliffs that keep this land secret... or there was.” the memory of the Treele massacre kept him from saying more.

“What's wrong?” questioned the boy, but Gribly refused to explain, standing up and moving away to watch Elia as she swam, drinking life and health and beauty from the simple grasslands river.

“Tell me, Calloway,” Gribly said finally, using the child's full name to hold his attention. The tone of his own voice surprised him- he almost seemed like the wise, sage prophet he was supposed to be. “Tell me, have your people ever been past the cliffs that ring your land?”

“I ain't stupid, stranger. 'Course not... why? No one goes past the Hammerlands... no one can!”

“Well,” said Gribly, sighing deeply, “They can now. Your people should have figured it out, after the Demon Man and the warrior-thief came.” his voice tightened as he realized he had just tagged Lauro with the title he himself had borne his whole life. Thief. Would the word ever stop following him around? Probably not, with his kind of luck.

“Did you really come looking for the thief?” Cal asked, sounding confused.

“Yes. He's my friend... or used to be. He has, well,
problems,
and he needs to be stopped before they carry him too far. Before they carry him somewhere he doesn't want to go.”

“Like stealing? Like hurting Ran, the Elder's grandson?”

“Like that. And I'm sorry about that, Cal. If there was anything I could do for your village, to make up for this misunderstanding, I would. Well, to
you
, at least. I'm not feeling very loving towards that Elder of yours right now.”