Karavans (52 page)

“Ten steps. How many have you taken?”

“Four.” Meggie still sounded frightened, but she no longer cried and clearly believed she was safe now that her mother was present.

“Six more.” Megritte was now past her, and Audrun released her hold. “Torvic, I want you—”

But something moved, and Meggie shrieked, and Torvic ran even as Audrun brought up the spade as a shield.

It was brown. Brown and blunt-nosed. In shock, Audrun watched it stand up on its hind legs, balanced on a long, whippy tail. Down its spine ran a line of flat, serrated spikes. The belly it now displayed was yellow-green, blending into a scarlet throat.

Audrun’s mind registered details even as she stared at the thing. It was, her mind decided, a snake with legs. It simply could not grasp anything else. Part snake, part lizard.

It stood up before her, blood-red eyes staring, and hissed at her.

“Get in the wagon,” she said. “All of you.”

The thing before her began weaving from side to side in an odd, unearthly dance. She saw a pouch at its exposed throat pulse, skin folds moving, and then it abruptly expanded the pouch and screamed at her.

It was reflex, no more. The scream startled her badly; she blocked the thing’s leap with the flat of the spade with-
out conscious effort. The snake-lizard fell back, still hissing. A sideways scuttle through the grass put it clear of the fire ring. Audrun turned as it moved, keeping it in front of her. She was aware of Megritte’s shriek but could not spare a glance for her children; she prayed to the Mother that they had obeyed her and climbed up into the wagon.

The thing rose up again onto its hind legs, balancing on its tail. Audrun focused sharply, recognizing its preparation prior to striking. The dance began, the throat-pouch filled, the scream was emitted even as it leaped.

Once again she blocked the strike with the spade. But this time, as the thing fell back, Audrun followed up with two more blows. She had done damage, she knew, and the tail whipped frantically. Three more blows with the flat of the spade stilled it, and then she raised the spade into the air and brought the edge down on it, cutting into and through the scaly neck. It took three tries to completely sever the head from the body.

She was aware then that Davyn was there, and Gillan. They were speaking at once, and Torvic and Megritte piled out of the wagon. “Don’t touch it!” she cried as the youngest ran up. She caught at Torvic’s arm even as Davyn grabbed Megritte. “We don’t know what it is … don’t touch it.”

Davyn took the spade from her. “Here,” he said, “we’ll bury it. That way no one can mistake where it is as we prepare to go on. Gillan, why don’t you fetch the oxen and hitch them?” He planted the spade in soil and grass and brought up both. “Torvic, Meggie, why don’t you help him? It’s time you learned how. Ellica, can you see to things inside the wagon?” And quietly, as the children disappeared, he asked, “Are you all right?”

Audrun couldn’t help herself: She was shaking. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” And she was, though her trembling continued. It exasperated her, that she could not control it.

Several more spadefuls built a mound over the thing. Davyn patted the soil down, then draped an arm around Audrun’s shoulders, turning her toward the wagon. “We’re
ready to leave anyway. And no meat, I’m afraid; the snares were empty.”

Mostly meaningless talk. But by the time Davyn had returned the spade to its rope loops along the side of the wagon, her trembling had abated. She looked at her children waiting at the back of the wagon. Audrun forced a smile. “I think for a while we’ll all of us ride. We can walk later.” And she shooed all of them up into the wagon as Davyn nodded approval.

IT WAS AS Rhuan packed the spotted horse—little enough to take: bedroll, beaded bag, a packet of flat-bread and a few hanks of meat dried and seasoned for preservation along the road—that he felt the shiver down his spine. Hair stood up on his arms. The horse, as clearly sensing something, sidled against the rope reins, tautening them. But Rhuan stood perfectly still, making no effort to curb the horse.

It came up from the earth beneath the soles of his boots. No sound accompanied it, merely a rippling vibration, an almost tentative probe of what lay above the surface. Like the rootling sent out from the elderling tree, something quested. There was no disturbance in the soil, no movement in the tall grass, nothing at all that he could see. But he
knew
it.

He knew it.

For a moment Rhuan stood very still. Every portion of his body clamored alarm. Like the horse, his first instinct was to run, to run until he dropped, until he was well beyond the reach of the thing that quested after him.

Then, as the horse’s ears speared forward and his nostrils expanded in a concussive snort, Rhuan knelt upon the earth. One hand remained clamped on the reins, the other dug down through the grass and into the rich, black soil below. He brought up a handful, shut it within his hand, and let it speak to him.

Swearing, Rhuan surged to his feet and threw the clods
of dirt aside. In one smoothly interconnected series of motions he turned, took a long stride to the uneasy horse, grabbed a double handful of mane and reins, and swung up into the saddle. He gave the horse neither time nor rein to protest, merely wheeled it toward the tent settlement. He longed to gallop, but there were always children and adults clogging the footpaths between tents, and now, still not far removed from the Hecari culling, survivors continued to sort through the remains of charred belongings. The best he could do was a long-trot, but it was better at least than a walk. With so many of the tents destroyed by flames he could thread his way through swiftly enough, and reined in at Mikal’s big tent. Dismounting, he quickly looped the reins around one of the anchoring ropes and yanked aside the drooping door flap.

He saw faces he knew, and faces he didn’t, all startled by the abruptness of his entrance. Mikal was present, of course; but also Jorda, Bethid, and Ilona. Mikal had joined them at their table.

Rhuan strode over to the table hosting those he called friends and knelt on one knee, speaking quietly but urgently. “I don’t have time for questions …go through the tents and tell everyone to leave. Now. They need to get as far from here as they can.
Now.
” He drew breath and continued. “It’s Alisanos …” He was conscious of the stunned and incredulous expressions, and how improbable his words sounded. “I don’t know exactly where it will appear again, but I’m sensing the settlement may be in danger. Jorda and Ilona, gather up your karavaners and send them east. Mikal and Bethid, you can sort out those of the settlement. Gather everyone and go east. I can’t tell you how I know, but trust me. Tell everyone to get out of here.”

“But—the Hecari.” Mikal’s brows met as he frowned. “These folk have lost loved ones and shelter, all of their possessions—and now you expect them to leave everything else?”

“I have no time,” Rhuan said bluntly. “Tell as many as you can. Go east.
East
.” He looked straight at Ilona. “Trust me.” He looked at Jorda. “Trust me.”

They asked, of course. Humans always asked. All he could do, as he rose and strode swiftly out of the tent to his horse, was to hope Ilona and Jorda, who knew him best, would understand his urgency, his plea for trust, and act.

He unlooped the reins from the tent rope and mounted. Part of him wanted to remain, to help with convincing the inhabitants to depart, but there was no time.

Rhuan set the spotted horse upon the track leading away from the karavan, away from the tent settlement, and asked of it a gallop. The horse was more than willing to provide the gait; he wanted free of the unsettling questing as much as Rhuan did. He wanted away from Alisanos.

Except that Rhuan now rode
toward
the deepwood, not away. Not to escape. Not to safety.

To a family upon a road leading directly into danger.

“
H
E CAN’T BE serious,” Mikal protested as the Shoia exited the tent. “Rhuan is known for his jests.”

Ilona rose from her stool, scraping wooden legs across hard-packed earth. “He doesn’t jest about people’s lives. If he says there’s danger, there is.” She nodded in Jorda’s direction to include him in her reference. “We both know to trust Rhuan in something like this. There’s no time to waste.”

Bethid rose, too, but her thin face was worried. “But Mikal has a point. I don’t think anyone will want to leave when they’ve lost so much already.”

Ilona hung onto patience with supreme effort. “Will mothers risk their children? Will men risk their wives?” She drew in a steadying breath. “I dreamed this, Bethid. What’s coming. A killing wind, rain … everyone needs to
go
.”

Jorda was standing as well. “I have a karavan to protect. I indeed trust Rhuan in this kind of warning, and I intend to tell my people so. And if Ilona has seen this in her dreams …” He rubbed at his scalp. “This settlement is yours, Mikal, if it can be said to belong to anyone; tell your people to go. Tell them to
run
.” He closed a hand on Ilona’s elbow and escorted her swiftly out of the big tent. “Now it’s time for you to run, ’Lona. Go east, he said.”

She shook her head and gently disengaged her elbow. “I have a task as much as you do: I will urge the women to gather their children while you talk to the men. With both of us insisting they go—and I am a diviner, after all—they may heed the message better.” She was outpacing Jorda with her long-legged stride. The karavan-master was a large, bulky man and she could always outrun him. “Forgive me,” she said, then hiked up her skirts as she broke into a run toward the grove that was temporary housing for the karavan wagons.

But even running, she was aware of a terrible fear chilling her bones. Go east, he had said; run. But how far, and for how long, had not been part of his warning. Too slow, she fretted as she ran toward the grove.
Mother of Moons, let me be in time … O Mother, let them run far enough, let them run fast enough
!

In the midst of a bright, cloudless sky, lightning split the air.

BY MID-AFTERNOON THEY found the turnoff and set the oxen upon it. Audrun and the children ventured out of the wagon and onto the track, which gradually transformed from an obvious roadway into overgrown, rock-strewn ruts nearly invisible to the eye. Davyn guided the oxen as carefully as he could, but the jarring of the wagon was constant. Wheels creaked a protest; floorboards loosened into chatters and squeaks. Audrun, walking next to the wagon, winced every time the wheels struck a particularly large rock. Davyn attempted to miss them, but oxen were not as responsive as horses or mules, and the overgrowth hid many of the rocks until it was too late to avoid them.

The children walked immediately ahead of the wagon. Initially Audrun carried the long-handled spade in case any other strange creatures appeared, but it grew awkward after a while and she returned it to its loops on the side-
board. Pots hanging from the floorboards clanked as the wagon rolled onward, and the bunghole in the big water barrel began to leak. Audrun did her best to tighten the spigot, but it simply worked its way loose within another revolution of the wheels. She tied a rag around the spigot in hopes of stemming the leak, but once the rag was soaked it began to drip. There was no help for it. They left a trail of splashes along the narrow ruts.

Just as she gave up on the leak, the wagon lurched over a pile of rocks, then slammed down. Audrun heard an ominous creaking, the noisy clatter of pots crashing together, and then a popping crack. The left rear wheel canted at an odd angle for one haphazard revolution, and then the axle gave way, dropping the corner of the wagon to the ground even as she shouted to Davyn. The collapse was so abrupt that the lid to the water barrel came loose and a wave of water slopped over the edge, drenching the front of Audrun’s skirts. Stunned, all she could do was stand there in the middle of the track as water dripped from sodden fabric.

“Gillan!” Davyn called. “Come unhitch the oxen. Ellica, watch the others.” He went to the rear of the wagon to inspect the damage. When he saw Audrun’s state he missed a step, then worked hard to contain a smile. “Are you drowned?”