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Authors: Nicholas Anderson

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BOOK: The Silent Isle
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Then, still
watching the cave, he did what had been the furthest thing from his mind a
minute ago.  He laughed.  He leaned forward and put both hands on his
knees and he laughed.  But his laughter had a strained feel to it, as
though it might crack if he asked too much more of it.  He straightened up
and turned away from the cave. 
What now, Eddie?  Are you afraid
of the dark?  Caught your leg on a branch and thought somebody’d grabbed
you?  At any rate, you lasted longer in there than Frankie.  He must
have skipped out to join Markis.
 

Then Edric
realized what he had already seen without seeing it. 

While he was
running for the cave mouth, the rock on which Markis had been sitting had been
in plain view.  But it was deserted.  He turned to the rock
now.  He walked a full circle around it, though he could see from the back
of it no one was there.  Markis’s pack and crossbow sat at the base of the
stone. 
Must have gone to take a leak.
 
And I guess he was too scared to piss unless Frankie went with him.
 

Edric wiped a
damp sleeve across his brow and sighed.  It was then his eyes strayed back
to Markis’s crossbow and he noticed the strangest thing about it.  It was
loaded.  It wasn’t leaning against the pack or rock either but lying in
the grass. 
As though Markis had dropped it suddenly.
 
But why had he loaded it?
   Edric stooped and retrieved the
weapon.  He felt no compulsion to unload it.

Edric glanced
around.  That's when he noticed the man standing between the trees not
twenty paces away.  The figure wore a dark cloak with the hood pulled over
his head and had his back turned to Edric and the mouth of the cave.  At
first the cloak startled Edric, but then he remembered how Markis had been
pulling his out of his pack as Edric had stepped into the cave. 

All at once the
figure began to move; shuffling slowly off in the other direction. 

"Markis?"
Edric called and started after
him.  "Markis," he said, "Wait up."

The man in front
of him continued to move away.  "Markis, I'm sorry about what I
said." 

Still the figure
did not turn towards him. 

Edric halted and
looked back.  The mist had swallowed the cave and the rock on which they
had laid their gear.  He was in an anonymous, unknown part of the woods;
his vision a little shrinking island in the gloom, being slowly devoured by the
gathering dark and mist.  But that was not the only thing which troubled
him.  He looked back at the figure.  It moved with a lethargic, lurching
pace. 
Was he hurt?  But why did he not answer?  Was he in
shock?
 

Edric was no
stranger to the horrors of war.  He had seen men staggering off the
battlefield, their hands pressed against their bellies to keep their insides
from pressing through the horrid wounds there. 
Their
faces death-pale.
 
Eyes open but unseeing.
 
Walking wounded.  Walking dead was more like it.  He was no longer
sure he wanted Markis to turn around. 
If this thing
before him really was Markis.
  The figure stopped walking.  Edric
leveled the crossbow in one hand and stepped forward.  He stopped a few
paces behind the man.  Edric did not know if he wanted to know what
was the matter with him
, but he knew knowing, seeing even,
was better than guessing.  "Markis," he whispered. 

The thing turned
around. 

It turned on him
with a speed he could not have guessed it possessed after its slow shamble
through the trees.  He looked right into its face, if only for a second.
 But that was all he needed to see to know he'd been wrong.  He'd
been better off not knowing. 

Death; that is
what he thought he was looking at.  Not just a dead man, but Death
itself.  The face and body were indeed of a man but the face wore a
death-mask like he had seen on so many faces.  But then again, those faces
had all been lying still on blood-soaked grass or in caskets.  Not
standing before him.  The features were pale and stiff.  The eyes
were open. 
Far too wide open.
  The mouth
was open too, but at such a lopsided angle he knew the jaw must be broken, hanging
like a door on a ruined hinge.  And from the open mouth came a terrible,
bloodless scream. 

Edric started
back, gripping the crossbow now with both hands.  The thing came on, the
same shambling walk, but this time its steps were much quicker.  Edric
realized the corpse-thing was not screaming.  He was. 

His heel struck
a root and he pitched backward.  Whether it was only a reflex caused by
the fall or whether he knew in this moment it was his last chance, his hand
tightened on the trigger and the bolt slammed forward into the thing's chest
and he saw it fall back even as he came down hard on his back. 

Edric bounced
back to his feet.  The figure lay on its back, the bolt half-buried in its
chest.  Seeing it lying there, Edric was gripped with sudden
remorse.  What had he done?  His nerves had gotten the best of
him.  The face had been an expression of agony, but to think he had just
seen a walking corpse was absurd.  The gloom accounted for the ashen
appearance of the skin.  He stepped towards the figure and then
froze.  Something was happening.  The thing was moving again. 

It was getting
up. 

As Edric stood
there, frozen in terror and disbelief, the thing got to its feet.  But it
did not rise as a man would, first sitting up and then pushing itself up with
its hands.  It rose up straight as a board, pivoting on its heels. 

Edric turned and
ran.  He ran heedlessly.  He did not know where he was going. 
Nor did he care.  So long as it was away from that thing.  A branch
struck his face, the needles stinging his skin.  Through watering eyes, he
looked over his shoulder.  The thing had already disappeared in the
fog.  Edric’s foot caught on a root and he stumbled, rolling
down
a steep bank into a little, treeless dell.  He lay
there for a moment in the cool grass, panting.  Then he rose to his
feet. 

He could just
make out the form of his crossbow laying a few feet from him.  He picked
it up, checked it had not been damaged, and straightened up.  A scream
caught in his throat. 

All along the
rim of the dell, silent as stones, stood the figures of men and women and
children.  They were all cloaked like the first man.  And they were
all watching him.  And he found in that moment, when his terror pushed him
over the sheer edge of sanity, when he opened his mouth to scream, no scream
would come. 

All that came
was a sort of whimpering exhalation. 

And then the end.

IX
Valley
of the Shadows

Owen insisted on trying to walk,
but found he couldn't put even minimal pressure on his foot.  The amount
of pain surprised him and troubled Dane.  The wound seemed to bother him
more than it should have.  Also, Dane worried about time.  By the
time they had made a stretcher with his cloak and the branches, he guessed
they'd lost an hour at least.  It was well past noon now and they would
take much longer getting down than they had coming up.  "Let's get
moving," he said. 

Dane and Bax
took the first turn on the stretcher and they started out.  Right away
they ran into trouble.  The first problem was how to traverse the ravine
above the falls.  The stream was too deep here to wade and they could not
carry the stretcher and make their way along the cutbank.  Dane sent
Joseph and Rem ahead, one on each side of the stream, to find a way down. 

Rem returned
first from the east side and said he thought they could make it around the
ravine and down the falls on that side of the hill.  Joseph returned a few
minutes later to say there was nothing to the west but a long rim of rocky
cliffs for as far as he had scouted. 

The men moved
east and found themselves moving down an open slope covered with leaf
litter.  Dane and Bax crouched, shuffling their feet or using their boots
like skis to descend the hill, holding the stretcher as still as they could.
 Occasionally Owen groaned.  Dane looked back at him
frequently.  His face was pale and sweaty and most of the time his eyes
were closed.  As they went on, his groans increased in frequency and
intensity, but what bothered Dane the most was they didn't seem linked to the jostles
and jolts of the stretcher as the men worked their way over the rough
terrain.  Once Dane stumbled and fell to his knees, almost dropping the
stretcher and jerking it violently.  He glanced back at Owen but Owen
seemed not even to have noticed.  He lay there breathing shallowly with
his eyes half closed.  Other times, when they were traveling smoothly over
level ground, Owen would grit his teeth and groan or almost scream with
pain. 

"Something's
wrong," Dane said to no one in particular. 

"Oh, really?"
Bax said.  "What was your
first clue, your highness?" 

Dane didn't
respond.  He wondered how quickly a wound could become infected beyond the
point of healing.  He worried about the foot.  He worried about the
trap. 
Who had it been set for?  Who had it been set by?
 

Rem and Joseph
took a turn with the stretcher.  By now the sun had gone behind the higher
hills further west of them.  Every time Owen groaned Dane told them to be
more gentle and careful. 

"We're
doing the best we can," Rem snapped. 

"I
know," Dane said.  "I'm sorry."  But still he kept up
the "Be careful"s. 

In the back of
his mind he understood himself.  He didn't like thinking Owen's increasing
pain was something apart from what they were doing with the stretcher, that it
was something beyond their control.  "I just hope Leech can help
him," Dane kept saying to himself.  "God, let Leech know what to
do." 

Dane ran ahead
to find the stream again.  He wanted to at least stay within hearing of
it, to use it as a guide.  Then he noticed the smoke, rising out of an
inland valley to the northeast of him.  He watched it for a moment,
wondering what it could mean.  When he got back to the others, they were
sitting resting.  They had also spotted the smoke. 

"No way to
do anything about it now," Dane said.  "But all of you take a
good look at where it's coming from.  We'll try to get there
tomorrow." 

Dane and Bax
took the stretcher again.  They forged through the gathering dark and
swirling eddies of mist.  It was full dark when Joseph called out from
ahead, "Stop there." 

Joseph came
trotting back with Wink at his side. 
"Cliffs
ahead.
  No way down there.  I'll check right, you check
left," he told Rem. 

"No,"
Dane said, "It's too dark.  Go together.  We'll wait
here." 

The two men
disappeared into the gloom.  Dane sat down by the head of the stretcher
and felt Owen's brow with the back of his hand.  The man was burning
up.  Dane took another strip of his shirt and soaked it with water from
his canteen and began to pat Owen's forehead with it.  Bax leaned back
against a boulder only a few feet away but it was hard to see him for the
dark.  Dane sipped from his canteen while he continued to pat Owen's face
with the cloth.  Wink nuzzled and licked his master’s face and whined
incessantly.

"This job your
old man sent us on is a real doozy," Bax said.  

Dane did not
look at his face, but he could tell by the sound of his voice he was talking
into the dark away from him. 

"I've got
to hand it to him; you two sure knew what you were doing bringing us out
here.  Why, if I wanted to blunder around like a blind fool in the woods
and step on nails I could have stayed at home and done that.  Trees I had
at home.  Nails I had at home.  But you know, what we were lacking
was some nice sheer cliffs. 
Like these here; straight
down with nothing but more rocks below to break your fall.
 
Or your neck.
  Yes, sir; if you want to walk right off
a cliff in the pitch dark, we've come to the perfect place.”  Bax turned
towards him.  “You'll think she'll cry for me if I buy it out
here?" 

Dane did not say
anything.  He placed the folded cloth on Owen's brow and leaned back
against a rock.  Long moments of silence passed.  The only sound was
their breathing and the babbling of the stream.  The waiting was always
the worst part of a mission like this. 
Made worse by
Owen's groans.
  Made worse still by the fact Dane had to pass the
waiting with Bax.  There were moments, rare moments, like when Owen was
first hurt, which took Bax and Dane out of themselves, which focused them on
someone else.  Moments where they could work together, if not really get
along.  But now the waiting and nothing to do but sit here and think about
themselves and act like themselves. 

"Sell her
to me," Dane said suddenly. 

He heard Bax
shift his weight against the rock.  "What's that, you
highness?" 

He knew Bax had
heard him.  He only wanted him to repeat it.  He spoke clearly,
succinctly, slowly, and a little too loudly:  "Sell Mara to
me." 

Bax was silent
for a moment.  This annoyed Dane more than any response he could have
given.  "What are you offering?" he finally said. 

"Anything
you ask." 

Bax whistled,
but the sound was more derisive than exclamatory.  "Don't offend my
sensibilities," Bax said.  "She's a person, not a piece of
property." 

Was mocking
him the only way Bax had of talking to him?  Bax would know how much using
this vocabulary, this talking of selling, would bother him with any
slave.  But did he know how much more it bothered him when speaking of
Mara?
 

"No, your
highness, she's not for sale." 

"And what's
your real reason?"  

"Your
highness, all your life you've had everything you could ever want.
 Everything I could ever want.  I’m sure you could offer me ten times
what she's worth.  But I wouldn't take it; because it feels so good to
have something you want and to hold it over your head." 

"She's a
person, not
an
it
," Dane said. 

"Oh, don't
be upset.  I'm not unreasonable.  I can't stand to deny you
everything, little princeling.  I'd be happy to rent her to
you." 

"Rent her
to me?" 

"That's
right.  How long would it take you to take what you wanted from her? 
A night?
 
An hour?
 
Five minutes?" 

"And why do
you really keep her around, Bax?" Dane said.  "Do you think she
can replace Lam?  Do you keep her around to pay for what happened to your
brother?  Do you think her suffering will fix what came of your own
stupidity?" 

"And what
do you know about fixing such things?  Was what you did at Loshōn
your idea of fixing things?  Where was the justice in that?" 

Is this why I
hate Bax?
Dane thought. 
Why he hates me?  Is it because we're
so different, or because, deep down inside, we're really just the same?

These were the
lowest words these two men could have said to each other and things might have
gotten even uglier if something had not happened at that moment to draw them
both out of themselves once more.  From somewhere out of the valley below
them came the most terrible, savage, rage- and pain-filled scream they had ever
heard.  Dane started and Bax jumped to his feet.  The scream rang on
and on and then ended on a wail. 

"What the
devil was that?" Bax said. 

"How should
I know," said Dane shortly, but his heart was hammering in his
chest.  He reached for his bow. 

Wink whined
louder,
then
barked.

The scream came
again, closer this time.  Dane wondered if it was in answer to the first
scream or if the creature who had uttered the first shriek could move extremely
fast. 

Wink bolted into
the underbrush.  Dane could hear the dog barreling through the bush, but
the sound faded quickly.

Bax swore and
hurled a stone after the animal, as though he thought this might somehow induce
it to return.

And then,
floating up through the mist from the valley below them
came
a new sound.  It seemed to come from the same area in which Dane had seen
the smoke, although with the echoes and darkness it was impossible to be
sure.  But the sound itself was unmistakable.  It was
drumbeats. 

"Where are
those two idiots?" Bax said. 

Where Rem and
Joseph were was in the middle of an argument.  They had scouted westward
first.  They had found nothing but a ridge of sheer cliffs.  They had
followed the cliffs, moving carefully along the brow in the dark, until they
butted up against the stream.  But here the water was a choked and churning
rapid.  Even in the darkness they could see the white foam and the roar of
the water alone made it clear passing here would be impossible. 

They doubled
back, swinging out eastward of where they thought Dane and the others were
waiting; although, in this dark, unfamiliar forest it was impossible to know
exactly how far they'd gone or where they were.  Finally, they found a way
down, a kind of zigzag switchback between the cliffs.  It was hard enough
for them to traverse it themselves. 

At the foot of the
cliffs, the path opened on gently sloping hillsides.  Rem continued
downhill.  "Wait.  We should go back now," Joseph
said.  “They'll be worried about us." 

"If they're
even still alive," Rem said, pausing but not turning around. 

"What do
you mean?" Joseph said. 

"Think
about it.  That trap Owen stepped in.  Somebody had to have set
it. 
Somebody who obviously doesn't want us here."
 

"And you'd
just leave Dane and the others to them?" 

"They
probably already have them.  Anyway, at the rate they're moving it's only
a matter of time." 

"Then we
should hurry back." 

"Look,
kid.  I'm trying to do you a favor here.  This is our chance to get
away.  I feel bad for Owen but there's no sense in letting his misfortune
determine all our fates as well." 

"And Dane?"
Joseph said dryly. 

"Dane's a
good enough man; maybe that's his problem.  He probably wouldn't see the
sense in leaving Owen to save the rest of us even if he was here for me to
explain it to him." 

"You
coward," Joseph said. 

"You can
think of me what you want, but I'm trying to help you.  But I won't wait
forever."

"You can't
leave; it'll take the two of us just to find our way back."

 At that
moment, the first scream shattered the stillness of the night.  Both men
started.  Joseph shuddered.  Rem crouched down as if trying to
hide.  Rem glanced toward the valley whence the sound had come. 
"I'm sorry, son, but there's no argument you can use to get me to stick
around here." 

"How about this argument?"
Joseph said. 

Rem turned back
to him to see that, in the time he had looked away, Joseph had loaded his bow
and trained it on him. 

Rem
laughed.  It was only a nervous reaction but it had some of the effect on
Joseph he might have hoped for.  "You wouldn't shoot a man in cold
blood," he said, taking a step back. 

"
My blood's
hot enough," Joseph said. 

Rem took another
step back.  The scream came again. 

"How much
good do you think your bow will do against that?" Rem said, nodding
towards the valley as he took another step back.  "Whatever it is,
it's not between us and the settlement.  Not yet, at least.  Now is
our chance."  With every third word he took a step back.  He was
just a dim black shape in the fog now. 

Joseph watched
him take a final step and disappear.  Then he heard footsteps hurrying
away.  The sound quickly faded.  Joseph sank down on a rock with a
sob.  His hands were trembling.  He gripped his bow to stop them from
shaking.  From the valley below, the first drumbeats came rolling up to him. 
He was not sure he could find his way back to Dane and the others.  And
even if he could, he was not sure he would like what he found.  Rem may
have been a coward, but his fears were not unfounded.  Joseph knew there
was something very bad on the island with them.  Hadn't he known it since
the day the ship arrived with a dying Ben Cross?  He was on the verge of
tears when the sound of something crashing towards him snapped him out of his
self-pity.  Whatever it was, it was moving with far more speed than
humanly possible.  He brought up his bow.

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