Mystic (5 page)

Outside, she whispered a farewell to her garden, silently hoping somebody would harvest the vegetables and water the rest. Not looking back, she found the road leading south, and set out. Grandmhathir always said a traveler needed a tune, so Pomella recalled the one she'd come up with earlier and sang the final stanza of the
Toweren
. It wasn't a very good melody yet, but it would suit the road well enough.

“Come fall with me

My Brigid free

Her heart now cold

And all foretold

Of accomplished quest

And purpose begotten

A scorned master crossed

Mother and child forgotten

In death's dark Tower, lost”

Pomella strode away from Oakspring, and her old life. She stretched her legs and let the wind catch Bethy's cloak. The road rose before Pomella, and she met it with an eagerness as fresh as the promise of the new day. It wasn't until the sun's first rays touched the eastern horizon that she recalled with sudden guilt that she'd forgotten to meet with Sim.

 

THREE

THE MYSTWOOD

The first day on the southern road proved to be more challenging than Pomella had expected. Her feet ached after the first sprinkling of miles. The waterskin dangling from her belt and the canvas pack across her chest became bulky annoyances.

The sun hung high above the eastern horizon by the time her nerves finally settled from the night's urgent rush. Pomella found herself frequently glancing back, worrying that her fathir would catch up and drag her home. She wondered how he had reacted when he'd discovered she'd left. A part of her knew she shouldn't care what he thought, but she couldn't help it.

But despite her worries and sore feet, the gentle spring morning soothed her. She breathed in the beautiful green countryside. Fir and oak lined both sides of the road, slowly growing in density as she approached the edge of the Mystwood. She spied the Ironlow Mountains to the south, with MagBreckan rising at their westernmost edge, its peak covered in cloud and snow.

By highsun she passed the AnGrey farm where Goodman Danni and Goodness Jhanni were bringing the sheep in for shearing. A pang of apprehension chilled through Pomella. This was the farthest she'd ever been from home, and she worried they might try to stop her from leaving the baron's land. She detoured on a wide path around them, hoping to remain out of sight.

Past the AnGrey farm, she fished in her pocket for the smooth stone that the Green Man had given her. She examined it up close. It looked like a simple rock that could be found on the village green. Feeling a bit foolish, Pomella tossed it in front of her.

The little stone tumbled to the ground.

But just as it was about to land on the road, an echoing sound like a twirling bird popped from the stone. Pomella jumped in surprise as it rolled upward, lifted through the air, and hovered before her. A soft, green light emanated from it, pulsing as if breathing.

This had to be the Myst!

She reached out a trembling hand. The stone skittered away, just out of reach.

She swallowed. “I-I need to find the ranger who's waiting for me north of Sentry, please.”

The stone spun like a toy top and zoomed away, heading toward the Mystwood. A grin spread across her face, and she hurried after it.

*   *   *

Her happiness didn't last. In the late afternoon, heavy clouds pushed up from the south. Rain began to fall, and quick as a luck'n, a heavy torrent turned the road to mud. The wind drove the rain straight at her like a hail of arrows. She thanked the Saints for Bethy's hooded cloak, and trudged on.

A heavy jangling sounded on the road behind Pomella. She glanced back, and pulled her hood aside to give her a clear view. A handful of mounted soldiers rode toward her. Cold terror gripped Pomella. Each man wore the Baron AnBroke's gold and green atop his mail armor. The lead soldier carried a spear topped with the baron's standard, depicting a laurel-crowned harp over emerald treetops.

Without thinking, Pomella sprinted off the road for the cover of the trees. The little guiding stone remained where it was, hovering in place above the road, waiting for her to return. As Pomella crossed the tree line, she looked back at the soldiers. They marched forward, gritting their teeth through the rain. None of them called out or chased after her. Perhaps she'd hidden before they saw her.

Pomella spied a broad oak tree nearby, its leaves fully in bloom, tucked away from the road. Its thick branches reached out like arms offering embrace. She scrambled over and pressed her back to the trunk.

“Lookit this,” said one of the soldiers. “Jagged floating rock.”

“Aye, looks like the Myst to me,” said a second.

Pomella stifled a curse.

“She's got to be around here. Spread out. Eban, you stay here.”

One of the soldier's horses whinnied and another clomped its hoof. Heavy boots thumped onto the muddy road. Pomella's breath came in heavy gasps. Her fathir had been right; they were going to kill her. She was going to be murdered and left to rot in the forest.

Footsteps padded behind her, getting closer. Pomella squeezed her eyes shut. He was going to find her. She prayed silently to Saint Brigid that he'd pass her by. She considered running, but the man was too close now. He'd see her for sure. She wished she didn't feel so powerless.

She took a trembling step forward, ready to sprint.

“Hey! The rock just dropped!” called the soldier still on the road.

Pomella stiffened back up against the tree again, her heart storming in her chest. The soldier who had been approaching her turned around.

“She can't be far,” said one of the others.

“Sure she can. She abandoned the spiking rock! She's probably long gone. C'mon.”

Pomella stood like a statue for several minutes after the soldiers rode away and into the rain. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped to the ground and huddled into her cloak, teeth chattering. She drank from her waterskin and ate some vegetables and dried meat before slumping against the oak. She picked at the cloak, trying to think what to do. She didn't dare go back to the road, even to see if she could find the guiding stone.

She took out Grandmhathir's
Book of Songs,
hoping it would soothe her. Her
Book of Songs
now, she supposed. She opened it to the first page, looking for nothing in particular.

On the inside of the cover was a stylized sketch of a fox, partially concealed by tall grass. Its eyes were rendered so cleanly on the page that Pomella felt they were staring at her. When her gaze slipped away, she thought she glimpsed its tail swish.

Thunder shook the forest. The wind whipped the pages of the book. “Ah, buggerish!” she snapped, closing the book.

Glancing around, she became aware that it wasn't just raining; it was
storming
like a shaken honeyhive. The oak tree had sheltered her well, but now the rain slanted in, soaking her.

Something splashed behind her.

Panic gripped her. She stood, spinning around so fast she lost her balance and collapsed. Her heart thundered as she scrambled to her feet again. Her dark hair whipped in front of her eyes, obscuring her vision. She brushed it away.

“Who's there?” she called.

“Pomella? Relax. It's me.”

The person in front of her blinked into view.

“
Sim
? What are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” said the tall boy. “To make sure you were safe.” His soaking blond hair dripped onto a plain traveling cloak, the same one he'd had for years. He gripped an iron sword in his right hand.

“
Clearly
you followed me! Sweet Brigid, you scared the buzzards out of me!” Her face warmed. “But as you can see, I'm perfectly safe.”

“Yah, I suppose you are,” he said, looking at her book. “What were you doing?”

“I was just … reading.”

“You shouldn't be reading about—” He stopped when he saw Pomella's eyes narrow. “Isn't it a little … wet to read?” he said instead.

With a frustrated grunt, Pomella snatched
The
Book of Songs
from the soggy grass and brushed it off before the pages could be ruined.

“All right, I'm sorry,” Sim said. “I know reading is important to you. I just don't understand why you feel you need to read noble runes when you could get in trouble for it. But I'm willing to try.”

Pomella puffed out a strand of wet hair that had fallen across her face. Sim's presence complicated matters. In a way, she was glad to have him here. She hadn't expected the road to be so lonely. Or dangerous. And she had to admit there was something comforting about his scruffy face and hair dripping rain. But he was part of her old life.
Needed
to be. She wasn't sure if she could begin her time as a Mystic with him around.

“I don't think you should be here,” Pomella said. “There are soldiers on the road.”

“You left without saying good-bye,” he said, ignoring her warning. “We never got that chance to talk. I have a lot things to say, and—”

Lightning and thunder tore through the sky, right on top of each other. Pomella nearly jumped out of her dress, and even Sim seemed skivered.

Sim scratched his head. “Besides, it's not right for anybody to travel alone.”

“Then why are
you
traveling alone?”

He grinned that winning smile of his. “I knew I'd catch up to you soon enough.”

Pomella bit her lip. “I'm not going home. You'll become Unclaimed if you leave the barony, so don't try to—”

“I'm not trying anything,” he said, stepping forward. “And I won't leave the barony. I'll only escort you to Sentry.”

“I
had
an escort. Can you put that sword away?” Pomella asked, uneasy with it pointing in her general direction. “Where'd you get it, anyway?”

“Fathir forged it for Bethilla. For the play last night. It's supposed to be Dauntless, Saint Brigid's sword. I think it was going to be a gift for the baron.”

Pomella raised an eyebrow. “But?”

“But I … borrowed it.”

“Do they know you ‘borrowed' it?”

Sim replied, but Pomella didn't hear it. Twenty feet away, just over Sim's shoulder, a silver fox sat in the underbrush. It appeared semi-translucent, with fine silver dust smoking off of it. It swished its tail and yawned.

“Sim, look.”

“Look at what?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I'm going to follow it.”

“Follow
what
?”

She brushed past him. The fox looked exactly like the one she'd seen on the inside cover of her book.

Seeing her, the animal quirked its head and stood, then scampered into the forest. She ran after it, not waiting for Sim to snatch up the rest of her gear and follow.

“What are we doing?” he asked when he caught up to her, out of breath.

“Don't you see it? The silver fox?”

“I don't see anything.”

The fox burst from a bush and darted away. Pomella ran after it.

“Wait, Pomella! Come back!” Sim cried, hurrying after her.

She raced through the trees. Sim followed somewhere behind her. “Is this a Mystic thing?” he called.

The fox scurried around a tree just as another silver animal jumped from a nearby bush. A rabbit tore across the water, leaving wispy smoking light in its path. The surface of the puddle didn't ripple.

Sim caught up to her, panting. “What's the matter with you?”

“I saw a silver rabbit! It was wispy and like vapor. It just …
ugh
!”

He looked at her like she was saying it rained cows. “Are these animals like the ones you used to see?”

“Yes. I mean, maybe. Shite! I don't know. I lost the jagged fox and—”

The forest spun as a force of green and gold crashed into Pomella. She thought she heard Sim scream, but if he had, it was drowned out by the pounding in her ears. A heavy figure with sharp metal bits of armor pinned her to the ground.

“Get the other one!” the man on top of her screamed.

The baron's soldiers.

Pomella flailed as panic took her. The man who'd knocked her down held her hard by the wrists. She snarled at him, and heaved her whole body, trying to throw him off. But the soldier just glared at her behind a long, red mustache.

“Pomella!” Sim called.

Pomella whipped her head in his direction and saw him staggering to his feet, sword in hand. Another soldier knelt beside Sim on the ground, screaming and clutching his face with two hands. Blood oozed out from between his fingers. By the Saints, had Sim stabbed the man?

“Jagged Eban!” the soldier holding Pomella said. Screaming, Sim threw a punch at the man with his free hand. The soldier lifted himself off Pomella and dove for Sim's legs before the blow could land.