Into the Stone Land (14 page)

The woman said, “Our bargain will be held. You've my word.”

“Very well,” Deanna said. “He lives. He's close, but out of reach for now.”

“You know this for certain?” The woman asked, her voice rising at the end.

Tall eased down, reached for his pack and staff as Deanna turned to the woman. “I do,” she said.

“Then you were able to consummate the bond?”

Deanna smirked. “Indeed.”

The woman backhanded Deanna so hard she fell to the ground. “Why didn't you tell me earlier?”

Deanna looked up from her knees, a hand held to her bloody lip. “I'm telling you now, Lady Hravic. I only just became certain. We needed to be closer and you drained me earlier before I could try.”

The woman grabbed the orb from Deanna's other hand. The orb went dead, lifeless, at her touch. “And this, this told you?”

“It did,” Deanna said, snatching the orb back. Her expression said she expected to be struck for this. The woman walked away in a huff instead, muttering to herself.

Tall was about to turn and leave, when Deanna looked directly toward him again. He was certain she couldn't see him, but somehow she must have felt him. Perhaps she knew only his general direction and that he was out there somewhere. Then she did something that took the breath from his lips. She mouthed a warning.

Chapter 13: The Stone Desert

“Move,” Tall told himself. He swallowed the last of the orange root, shouldered his pack, slid out of the foliage, and into the grassy field. Lucky was to his right. The horse had quite the appetite and supplies were going fast. The Lady Hravic, Deanna, and the man were far behind, but alarms still sounded in his mind. If they were hunting him, others might be as well.

He proceeded cautiously. Meager starlight helped him pick his path to the next tree line. As he hiked along, he was certain he was getting closer to his brood. They seemed to move when he moved. Perhaps they sensed him and followed. Lucky may have sensed the closeness of his mother, Tall suspected, for the horse was unusually calm. Tall'd seen Lucky like this only once before: when the horse faced the colossus from the depths. What to make of it all? Had Deanna showed him she was an ally? He felt certain that she had.

Certainly, Lady Hravic coerced Deanna's actions. Or had she? Maybe Deanna's concern was only for the bargain they'd reached and the sister she asked after. He moved from the trees to another field. There were no more hills, as the land had leveled out about an hour back. What was ahead in the distance he couldn't tell, though the dawn light came soon enough to reveal all.

The sun rose as he trekked through a shrub forest. Lucky carried his pack and staff because it was tough going otherwise. He was closer to the north road than he liked being, but he wanted to know when travelers passed and this was the best way. Besides, the bramble patches scattered here and there would make it difficult for anyone on the road to get to him quickly. He nibbled dark root and bitter sweet, gave some to Lucky. The roots did nothing for their thirst and little enough for their hunger. It was about all they had left, though.

A berry find seemed a gift. There was no animal sign to indicate the berries were edible, however. As the day wore on, he worried more and more about finding water and less and less about those traveling the road. Even Lady Hravic with her wheeled contraption was hours behind him. He'd been on the move almost since awaking. He and Lucky rested twice, but only for a short while.

A burning sensation as he urinated was the first sign of real trouble. The Inland had plenty of water. Not all of it was drinkable, though, and there were plenty of wide spreads without drinkable water. In these places one traveled with water sacks or not at all. Why couldn't Deanna have given him a water sack? Certainly it would have fit in his pack.

By late afternoon the grasses and shrub trees were far behind, and Tall found himself in an arid land dominated by outcroppings of rocks and spiny leafless plants. His lips were dry and the need to find water was the only thing driving his feet onward. There was no jog or run left in him. He was down to a walk. It was the best he could manage.

Lucky wasn't himself. The horse plodded on, but often had to be coaxed. The connection between them was worn and thin. It was almost as if Lucky wanted to break away and retreat back the way they'd come. Tall knew they must continue north. Ray was north, and Ray was the hope of his people. Tall had the nagging sense that water was there, just ahead, and if he found it, he would find his brood.

Exhausted, his body aching, he concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. He chewed light root, tried to force it down, but there wasn't enough spittle in his dry mouth. He ended up choking and heaving, but there wasn't anything for him to spew up. Lucky didn't even bother trying to chew the root. The horse let anything Tall tried to feed him drop to the ground.

He was stumbling, nearly falling down, when night arrived. He bedded down with Lucky in a notched recess. The outcropping of rocks provided just enough cover to be protected on three sides. He used what little light was left to go through the goods in his pack one more time. He separated the edible from the inedible. In the food pile, there were a few beans with the green pod, several broken pieces of orange root, and dark root. The not-food pile contained scatter bush pods, spike bush thorns, stinging, and gritty.

Morning didn't bring the clarity he hoped for. Instead, he felt as if he'd never slept. He could barely think. He had trouble shouldering his pack and had to use his staff to help him walk. He offered the orange roots to Lucky, as he tried to choke down the beans. Lucky didn't want to move until he was struck on the flank. It was something Tall regretted immediately, but there seemed no other way. Tall told himself that he'd do the same if Lucky was a person. The difference between life and death at this moment was movement. Lucky needed to move, like Tall needed to move.

Whenever he stumbled and fell, disillusion was the thing that stirred him. Deanna had to have known that without water in this place he was as good as dead, and yet she'd not given him one drop. He hated her for doing this to him. Why had she even bothered to help him? Was it so he could die this horrible, slow death? Did she want him to suffer?

Then he realized something was terribly wrong. Lucky was stock-still, and this sudden stillness brought focus. He was an easy a target out in the open, fumbling around without care. Even Lady Hravic could finish what remained of him and she could do it with his own staff. He'd not the strength left to fend her off.

But Lucky was motionless for another reason. Tall heard that reason: a rattling almost like a slither's warning, soft and low. He had only enough time to lift his staff and bring it across in front of him. It was enough, though, and he caught the tiny slither as it struck, flinging it to the side. Another reason to hate the still land, he told himself.

His thoughts turned inward. He started to think of Ellie, but the images that came to him were of Dent and Marta, his father and mother. It's likely they've given him up for lost, unless the smoot had told them otherwise. For their sake, he hoped the smoot hadn't intervened. Ray's mother looked each morning and night for the return of her son, refusing to wear the black even when Ray's father had. That wasn't the way he wanted his mother to spend her days.

By afternoon, only pod seed kept him going. He'd taken so much of it that he walked with a foot in two worlds and was unable to separate the real from the unreal. Shadows circled round him in both worlds. One of these shadows was Lucky, only barely there now. Some were creatures of the netherworld, feeding on his warmth. Others guided him.

He saw none of this, knew not the direction he walked in, for he'd forgotten all else and remembered only that he must pick up his feet and put them down. Sometimes he forgot even that, but something would nudge him or help him up after stumbling, and he'd continue on.

Hands, unmistakably, were on him now. They were holding him, pushing him down. He heard things, voices, he realized. He saw fire. It danced before his eyes. He tried to reach out to it, but tumbled onto his side. Fears that should have flooded his mind didn't. He should've been worried that the rough hands belonged to Lady Hravic's man, instead he crawled and dragged himself toward the light.

Something pressed into his hands. His hands were raised to his lips. He choked, sputtered, and spat. His throat was on fire. He screamed, or at least tried. What came out was a squeal.

More roughly, more firmly, something pressed into his hands. His hands were raised. His lips felt the cool, slipperiness. He thought to himself how much he loved water. How he could swim and play in it. How it felt when it poured from the heavens. He wanted to gulp it down. That only made him choke and sputter, so he forced himself to sip.

Tiny sips, with help, he realized. The hands he imagined as rough weren't unkind. They were working hands; hands not unlike his father's. It was his last thought as he let his eyes close.

He'd no idea how long he'd slept when he was awoken abruptly. It was the thing in his hand again, pushed to his lips. This was okay, he thought, not so bad. He doesn't even realize this wasn't the first such awakening or that night has arrived before slumber took any other thoughts he might have had.

Slowly, easy now, he tried to sit up. His eyes saw, but didn't. Everything was out of focus. He felt pain; it was remote, almost as if another's. Then he knew this came from Lucky. He shouted, “Lucky, Lucky!” Or at least he tried. The others, he felt them too.

Something was wrong. There were hushed voices and noises all around him. He heard the unmistakable sound of drawn steel. It was a sound Inlanders learned, or died for the lack when the Outlanders came on.

He felt the trembling earth, knew many approached. His first impulse was to reach for his staff, but it was nowhere for his hands to find. Somehow his fumbling fingers found the one who knelt beside him. “No, don't,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper.

The hand that had given water was plied suddenly across his mouth. He struggled against it as he repeated his plea. The world has transformed, become a place he no longer knew. He has no control over anything, and could only grieve for what came.

The pain was horrible, but worse than the pain was the grief. He used this grief, commanded his eyes to focus, forced his mind to block the throbbing as he stirred himself to action. He found his feet, shooting pain was nothing as to what came. He called out with the yearning, received replies in the same way. Their instincts were so much sharper than his. He trusted their sense, but the danger they saw could not exist.

He pushed back, thoughts spinning out across the link despite a stinging desire. Absence as much as anything brought both searing pain and momentary clarity. Perhaps his mind deceived itself of its addiction, or perhaps his willpower was stronger than even he knew. Whatever the reason, he saw for the first time the stout, bearded people around him, knew without doubt the danger was illusory.

“No, no,” he said, his voice stronger. He spoke as much to those that approached as to those that stood around him. “This is a mistake.”

He twisted around the bearded ones until he was standing out in front, putting himself between them and what came. Discomfort turned to distress as each breath brought agony.

In a matter of moments, Tall felt as if his mouth and throat were filled with blood. The coughing and sputtering began soon after and his head began to feel as if it was about to rip open. It was the seed. The lack. The withdrawal. The refusal to surrender to need while reaching out with a power he little understood.

Tall knew he needed to succumb, to surrender, but refused. He reached and reached and reached instead. The world transformed. He saw white fire and ice blue and angry crimson. The crimson was new, frightening to behold as it spread to envelope everything and all. In this way he saw those who approached, the bearded ones, his pursuers, the wizard's guard. Just there, not too far off was a web of lights from Adalayia. Circling out and beyond, the bright clusters from villages. Far, far out in the east was a glow so bright it could only be thought of as a star or a sun—if such brightness could emanate from so tiny a point. He knew with certainty this light came from the wizard himself. That one man had such power stunned.

The warning came not from his mind but from his heart because the pain there when he beheld the star was surreal. He clutched his chest, fell to his knees. His distress froze everyone and everything around him. The smoot's voice echoed in his ears, “In your heart, you, Tall, are a caller with the mind of a seer.”

The beasts were there, coming out of the darkness. But the men, with their eyes wide, held still. While their wide-eyed gaze was on him, Tall's gaze swept up and up, until finally he saw the great shadow that moved in the night sky. That the creature had no glow surprised. But it was there, hovering above, as surely as the moon and the stars. He was certain this was the perceived source of the danger and the confusion. Not the men or anything else.