The Blight of Muirwood (12 page)

Another gust of sharp wind brought several stinging pricks into their faces. The Tor rose ahead of them like a subtle bulge in the earth, a dome that was bald and looked as if it did not belong with the terrain. That was still the direction the prints were going. It was unmistakable.

“You can see the trampled grass clearly,” Lia said. “He is not far ahead of us. We need to catch him before the storm catches us. When we fled into the Bearden Muir, I wish I knew then what I know now. I have slept many nights out of doors since then. I am sorry I was so useless.”

“You handled yourself well considering the circumstances. Regretting the past serves no purpose.”

The light was beginning to fade as they started up the slope. It would not take long to reach the summit of the Tor. One face of it was far steeper than the other. A bright flash of lightning came from the northern sky followed by thick crackles of thunder.

“It is going to be a beautiful storm,” Lia said, admiring the tremors.

“Only you would call a cold, wet, miserable day a thing of beauty,” he muttered, digging deeper into himself as the rain began pelting them in continuous sheets. It came in a rush, surprising them with its intensity.

“It is why I wear a cloak, Colvin,” she said. “See if you can keep up.”

The two marched up the hillside, following the trail as the rain began turning the slopes muddy and treacherous. Before long, her curly hair was wet and clumped, which kept the wind from blowing it around so viciously. Part-way up the hill, she lost her footing on some wet grass and stumbled, planting her elbows in the mud and jarring her knee. She wanted to curse, but Colvin grabbed her arm and helped her to her feet. His touch warmed her. He tried to conceal a smirk at her stumble but failed.

Up they went as the surge of rain thickened around them. She held up the orb, watching in fascination as the rain dribbled down its surface, but the pointers continued to direct towards the summit. Writing appeared in the lower half of the orb. She wiped water from her eyes, staring at the words greedily, unable to understand them.

“It says something,” Lia said, stopping. The summit was just ahead but there was no sign of Scarseth. Lightning lit up the twilight, streaking between the scudding clouds. Booming thunder shuddered in the heavens.

“I cannot read Pry-rian,” Colvin said, hands on his hips. He scowled with frustation. “Is it a warning?”

The hunter is patient. The prey is careless.

Martin’s words came back to her in a whisper. She stared down at the orb, then back at the summit.

“Why would he not bother to disguise his trail?” Lia asked.

“Maybe he thought the rain would hide his tracks during the storm. How could he know when we would follow him?”

“True, but why come to the Tor?” Lia wiped her face, staring again. A feeling rose from the pit in her stomach. “It is not a good place to find shelter, especially during a storm. There are no trees on the summit, you can see for leagues in every direction. There really is not any place you can hide…up…there…”

She stopped and stared at Colvin. He stared back at her.

“We are outside the Abbey’s protection,” Colvin whispered.

Lia stared down at Muirwood, seeing small pinpricks of light coming from it as night shrouded the valley. Deception – Scarseth’s greatest talent.

“A trap,” she said, realizing it might already be too late.

* * *

They charged back down the hill, struggling to keep from slipping, and Lia wondered if they were being fools. The slick footing, the squish of the mud, all threatened to send them both tumbling to the foot of the Tor with broken ankles or worse. Was their mad run justified? The only sounds were their gasps, fresh thunder, and the hammering of her heartbeat in her ears. The storm only muffled, but did not hide, the sudden thudding of hooves from the hilltop behind them.

“The Abbey is too far!” Colvin said angrily.

“To the woods,” she answered. Holding the orb in her hand, she thought,
Guide us to the nearest tunnel!
The orb flashed brilliantly, the spindles turning and pointing to the right.

“Put that away, Lia! They will see it!”

“I need it to find our way! There is a tunnel entrance in the woods over there. An old oak and a Leering guard it. We can cross back to the Abbey underground if we can get there. The woods will throw off the horses too. If we can…”

The hill dipped suddenly and her foot met open air before she started to fall, gasping with shock.

Colvin caught her beneath her arms and brought her back up before she twisted her leg. “Careful, Lia!”

She wanted to snap at him, but did not. What she needed was time to pull her longbow out of the sleeve and string it. Every moment in their escape was precious. With the storm clouds smothering the dusk, the darkness would help thwart their pursuers in the woods. They reached the bottom of the hill and started towards the woods at a dead run. Lia glanced back at the Tor and saw half a dozen horses coming down at a gallop. The riders were crazed to attempt it, but that fact only acted as spurs to her and Colvin.

“Hurry!” she called, chuffing. Her heart battered inside her chest, her breathing came in gulps of fire.

A horrible animal scream sounded from the hillside. She had no time to look back, but imagined one of the horses had stumbled and went down. The weeds and tall grass slapped against them as they ran, the rain coming in a torrent. Lightning danced across the sky, revealing Colvin’s clenched jaw, his locked expression. The wall of oaks stood in the distance, offering the false promise of shelter. Neither spoke, for it was all they could do to keep their legs moving.

The sound of the galloping closed in behind them. There were no words spoken – no calls or threats. Only the thick thudding of the hooves, the snorts and frothing of the steeds. The silence of the men riding them made her tremble. They were being hunted. No mistaking the intent.

Lia’s mind raced with ideas. They were close to the woods. Right now, every lightning flash made them stand out against the grain. Dropping to the ground would hide them for a while, possibly confuse their pursuers, but the woods would cloak their movements better. Earlier the wind had made her shiver with cold. Now she was sweating and hot, pressing as fast as she could. Colvin barely kept up with her. His face was haggard.

One of the horses screamed again, close enough that she thought it was over. With a final surge, they reached the edge of the woods and darted inside. Lia grabbed a fistful of Colvin’s drenched shirt and pulled him after her to dodge between the trees. She led in a twisting pattern to disguise their trail. Beneath the crown of massive oak branches, dripping from the storm, they found shelter from the howling wind. The darkness made running too treacherous, so they slowed. She let go of his arm and pulled the bow sleeve off her shoulder, untied the end and then stopped.

“Thank you,” he whispered, hanging his head and bending over, gulping air.

Lia’s breath was harsh in her ears as she hurried. She fished the bowstring out and fitted it around one tip, then pressed the bow into a tree root to flex it and fit the another end. After tying the empty sleeve to her girdle, she tested the string and was satisfied with the strength of the pull.

“Keep going, and try to be quiet,” she whispered back, walking this time and listening for sounds from those hunting them. Thoughts came quickly. If the pursuers separated to find them, it would increase the odds of being discovered, but reduce the numbers to their favor – two against one. If the pursuers were wise, they would comb the woods like a net, keeping within sight or whispering distance from each other.

A crackle from the woods on their left, caused her to slip an arrow from the quiver and swing the bow around, changing their course again. Were they seen, or was it an animal instead? The darkness made it difficult to see beyond much of the trees, the shadows smothering all movement. She could hear the soft crunch of Colvin’s boots and bit her lip. Hopefully the sound would not carry far and reveal them.

With the tangle of woods and their deliberate evasions, Lia quickly lost her sense of direction. She had never tried to find a particular tree in the dark. She could hear the sounds of pursuers in the distance. No one called to each other, just the steady, oppressive crunching and snorting of hooves as they dragged the horses into the woods to search.

“I need to use the orb again,” Lia whispered. “Help me shield the light.” She pulled her cloak tightly around and crouched down in the earth, setting down the bow. Colvin knelt in front of her, so close she could feel the heat coming off his face as it bent near hers. Cupping the orb in her hands, she willed it to guide them. The orb lit up, spindles turning slightly, and she saw it.

In the sprawl of oak trees surrounding Muirwood, a single tree dwarfed the rest. The oak was so massive that its lower limbs, each the size of a tree itself, bent low and rested on the ground, as if it were some multi-limbed giant so weary with age that it could only droop. The base of the trunk could be encircled by five or six people, linking hands all the way around it. And the upper branches were so twisted and long and vast that no other tree could grow within its shadow. When Martin had showed her the tree, he had said he had named it Sentinel, after the creature created in the dawn of the First Parents that guarded a sacred tree whose fruit granted immortality. The Sentinel oak was over a thousand years old, Martin said. It was part of the grounds of Muirwood. A part that few other than the Abbey hunters knew existed.

“This way,” Lia said, slipping the orb back into the pouch and took up the bow and nocked arrow. She knew the path now and went towards Sentinel, keeping within the woods surrounding it.

Lightning flashed in the sky, revealing movement in the trees, men in black tabards with swords drawn, skulking through the grove. Lia bit her lip, wondering if they had been seen. Myriad Ones began sniffing around them, drawn by their thoughts. A subtle whining sound filled Lia’s ears – she did not know if it was the keening of the wind or the smoke shapes shifting through the forest. Lia tugged at Colvin’s arm and kept moving.

On the far side of the Sentinel, she found the mark she was looking for. A shattered stump, long since razed by lightning and fire. From it, she marked the steps to a small gully, choking with scrub and swollen with churning water .

“Down there,” she whispered, putting the arrow back and kneeling by the edge. She handed him her bow to keep her hands free and slipped down into the chilly waters in the gully. The waters were icy and deeper this time. Normally the trickle would barely cover her feet. She reached up and motioned for the bow, which he handed to her and then slipped down into the water, gasping with the shock of cold. Carefully, she waded against the current a short distance and found the outcropping of a hunched tunnel, covered with brush.

She could feel the Leering inside it, emanating a feeling of warning. Even though she was used to it, even though she knew it was there, she could feel it throbbing against her mind, whispering of dangers and evil lurking inside the shadows. Parting the scrub, she poked inside with her bow, feeling nothing. The feelings only intensified. It was dangerous. It was a place of death. Gritting her teeth, she crouched and stepped inside, plunging into pure darkness. Her breath rattled in her mouth as she started shivering again. The tunnel Leering was tolerable during the daylight, but at night, it made her afraid, even though she knew it was controlling her emotions.

Reaching out, she crept forward into the small cave until her hand was stopped by the cool, rough stone of the Leering to quell its warning.

“Here,” she whispered, turning back and noticing that Colvin had not followed her in.

* * *

“I do not need a friend who changes when I change and who nods when I nod; my shadow does that much better. Know how to listen, and you will profit even from those who talk badly. Sometimes silence, at the proper season, is wisdom and better than any speech.”

- Gideon Penman of Muirwood Abbey

* * *

“Colvin?” she whispered.

Silence.

The Leering tangled her feelings, so she quelled it with a thought. A pair of deep-set eyes, with the expression of torture, winked once with blue light. She went to the edge of the opening and felt the prowling swarm of Myriad Ones thickly about. Colvin leaned against the gully wall, sword out, staring up at the woods.

“I hear them,” he whispered.

“The door is right here,” she said. “They do not know the words, so they cannot pass. Follow me quickly.”

His breath was ragged. “I cannot.”

“What?”

He was trembling. “I…I cannot go in there.”

“It is just a Leering. I silenced it. The fear is not real but warns away others. Come – it will be all right.”

He closed his eyes, shuddering. “It is not the Leering.”

He was afraid. She could feel it bubbling out of him like a seething stew. Something about the dark, crouched hole terrified him. From the woods above, she heard the snapping of branches, the crunch of dried leaves. Several sets of boots, heading toward them. Stepping out into the gully water, she grabbed his arm, felt the knots of muscles quivering.