Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (16 page)

“Why?”

Khile looked off toward the ocean. “The way
the high king’s men pursued us on Aberdour, it’s not likely they’ll
give up the chase so easily. That wasn’t a conquest back there. It
was annihilation. And if they’re dead set on finishing the job then
they will come with ships of their own. We need to stay away from
populated—” he winced as pain stabbed his leg, “—areas.”

Lia looked him over and noticed for the
first time how pale and weak he looked. His lips were chapped and
his long blond hair lay strewn about his head like the tangled
brambles of a tree after a storm.

“You need help,” she said. “I can’t move you
anywhere on my own.”

“Just stay away from the road. If anything
happens to you—”

“I know how to be careful. I’m not
stupid.”

“Like you were careful when that brood came
to the cottage?”

Lia’s mind ignited with memories of Thomas
and Abigail’s murder, how she had ran out of the barn to their
sides and tried to defend them to no avail. The memories made her
face flush with anger and she jumped to her feet.

“I was trying to help them,” she
snapped.

“Some good it did. You’d be dead right
beside them if it wasn’t for me.”

She glared at him, lips taut, wishing for
something sharp to say. She came up with nothing, and kicked him in
the splint. Khile bellowed and grabbed his leg, falling over onto
his side as she stormed away. He called after her, but she ignored
him, not wanting him to see the tears streaming down her reddened
cheeks.

She wove her way east through the tall grass
of the hillsides once again, wondering what someone like him could
possibly understand about friendship.

“He’s the one with the shackles on his
feet,” she blurted to no one in particular.

She walked until she saw the moon on the
horizon, yellow and bulbous. The first stars were pricking through
the darkening turquoise vault while the west was draining of its
brilliant sunset colors.

Lia stopped, feeling bereft. She wondered
how the sunset looked in Aberdour right now, if the sky was as
beautiful as it was here. She wondered if her sisters were still
there, or if they had been captured. Were they even still alive?
Was anyone?

The gentle breeze that had been rustling the
grass all day quieted for a moment, just long enough for the sound
of trickling water to reach her ears. Newly distracted, Lia worked
her way down a small gully of rock until she found a deep rill
cutting its way through the hills. She filled the leather canteen
and climbed back out.

By the time Lia returned to the shade tree,
Khile had a small fire started. She moved toward it, welcoming the
warmth that staved off the chill of the oncoming night.

She handed the water pouch to Khile, who
slurped gratefully.

Lia sat down across from him. Taking the
ripped shirt she had found on the beach, she began tearing it into
long, thin strips of fabric with the aid of the dead sailor’s
dagger.

Khile set the canteen down and watched her
for a moment. “I apologize for what I said. I was insensitive.
You’ve been through a lot these last couple days, but you’re strong
despite all you’ve lost.”

She didn’t look at him at first, but she
couldn’t deny that his words had brought some measure of comfort.
When she did look at him, she was struck by how closely he
resembled her father. It wasn’t so much a physical quality, though
he did carry the same rugged handsomeness that her father did, but
something in the way he looked at her. Respect, perhaps.

“I’m sorry I kicked you in the leg,” she
said.

He wagged his head. “I deserved it, I
suppose.”

“How does it feel?” she asked.

“Like hellfire in a bucket.”

“What can I do?”

He reclined on his elbows, his breathing
heavy. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth in pain. “I don’t
know. Talk or something.”

“Talk?”

“Yeah, just keep me from thinking about
this.” He winced again, baring his teeth. “But, please, no more
about how many hacks it takes to behead a man.”

Lia thought for a moment, wondering what
there was left that she could talk about.

After a moment, he said, “Tell me about your
home. It’s not every day that I get to talk with a princess.”

“What’s there to say? My home was a big
piece of rock. Some people called it a castle. To me it was a place
where I had to learn a bunch of stuff I didn’t care about and act
like someone I didn’t want to be.” She went back to tearing the
fabric.

“That’s a strange attitude to have toward a
privileged life,” he said.

“You sound like my mother.”

Khile smiled. “I bet there was at least one
thing you liked about living in Aberdour’s castle.”

Her mind drifted away as picture memories of
Aberdour filled her thoughts—silver tapestries alongside a warm
hearth; the smells of supper cooking in the kitchen; her mother’s
humming drifting down stone corridors.

“The waterfalls,” she said at last. “I loved
the waterfalls.”

Khile sat up a bit, an obvious interest
rising in his expression. “Ah, the Falls of Edhen? One of the most
marvelous natural wonders in the realm.”

“They towered over the castle. You could see
them for leagues and leagues. I used to climb the rocks and go
behind them.”

“Caves?”

Lia’s eyes lit up. “Lots of caves! And
tunnels, filled with big bats and lizards.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

Lia began weaving some of the fabric pieces
together.

Khile pointed to her neck. “What’s that?” he
asked.

Lia looked down and noticed that the lapel
of her tunic had been torn. The fabric of her collar had pulled
away, revealing a pinkish-brown smear along the left side of her
collarbone. Reflexively, Lia covered it up. She’d always thought
the mark was ugly.

“It’s nothing,” she said. “Just a–a birth
mark.” Hoping he wouldn’t detect her evasiveness, she changed the
subject. “So what are we going to do?”

Khile reclined onto his back and rubbed his
eyes. “Let’s figure that out tomorrow.”

Lia continued tearing the shirt into long
strips. “If I can get to the road, I can—”

“No,” Khile said. He sat back up and gave
her a quelling frown. “Listen, you are still a princess of
Aberdour. Your life is worth more than you know. We’ll get out of
here, I know we will, but please stay away from the road. We’ll
figure it out in the morning.”

He lay down and closed his eyes.

Inside, Lia fumed. Khile might have reminded
her of her father, but, ultimately, her father he was not. He had
no right to tell her what to do. She saved his life in the storm,
paddled them to shore, set his leg, and found herbs to help with
his injuries. She knew how to take care of herself, and, in fact,
she had already done so, saving the life of another in the
process.

As she finished tearing up the shirt, she
became more and more determined to prove him wrong. She decided
that she would wake before dawn and go and find help before he
could protest. Then he’d have nothing to say about it.

Lia took one of the long strips of fabric
and used it to secure a few of the thick leaves she’d discovered to
the sole of her right foot. She added another strip, and then tied
it off around her ankle. The shoe looked ridiculous, but Lia had to
admit it was quite the invention. Birch bark worked better, she
knew, but her leafy adaptation would have to suffice. Abigail
would’ve been proud.

When Lia awoke at the crack of dawn, she
winced from the root that had dug into her ribs during the night.
Her hair felt matted and gross, and she could still taste salt on
her lips. She stood quietly, added some small branches to the
campfire, and pocketed some of the alfalfa and remaining strips of
fabric.

She took one step away from the campsite to
leave when Khile’s voice broke the morning stillness, startling
her, “Don’t forget this.”

When she looked at him, she saw his
outstretched arm handing her the leather canteen. She took it,
noticing that his face looked even whiter.

“Be careful,” he said. “Look for wagons with
families, women and children, but stay away from men traveling
alone, and any soldiers, be they Efferousians or not.”

Lia assured him she would be careful.

And like a gust of wind she took off,
bounding through the grass, delighted to find that her makeshift
shoes of fabric and leaves held up quiet well. She snaked her way
down hillsides and up through shallow ravines, noticing that the
terrain became more difficult the further away from the ocean she
got.

Around midday she came across a stream
running clear and chill. She followed its outward curve until it
widened into a calm pool. There she waded out into its shallow
depths and rinsed her glistening face. Above, a light brown morning
dove gave a soft, drawn-out lament.

Lia caught her reflection in the water and
noticed the torn lapel of her tunic that exposed the birthmark
along her left collarbone. She took a strip of fabric out of her
pocket and tied it around her neck like a scarf. She couldn’t say
the tattered brown strip looked any more attractive than her
hideous birthmark, but it seemed to her to be the lesser of two
evils.

She forged ahead through the woods,
navigating like her father had taught her—pick a landmark straight
ahead and walk toward it. Pick another and walk toward it. And so
on. Eventually the forest emptied out into an emerald green field
cut in half by a dusty dirt trail.

She thought little of encountering trolls or
dragons or giant snakes and spiders. At least, she tried to.

For a while Lia stuck close to the perimeter
of the forest as she followed the road south. Once the trees
thinned and the earthy terrain gave way to steep rocks and sand,
she was forced to stop. The road, however, continued south through
a rocky pass.

Across the road, beyond a copse of squat,
brambly trees, she noticed a trickle of smoke rising into the air.
After checking to make sure no other travelers were near she
sprinted across.

Lia wove her way through a narrow wood of
thick trunked trees and crossed a rocky ford. On the other side,
she hunkered herself down low and peered up over a mossy
embankment. Stretching out before her was a flat valley of tilled
fields occupied by a ramshackle barn. A solid stone farmhouse sat
to the left, situated at the lip of a plateau that overlooked a
wooded valley.

The trail of smoke she had seen lifted from
a pig roasting on a spit. The sight of it suddenly made Lia aware
of how painfully hungry she was.

She climbed up over the bank and hurried
toward the dilapidated barn where she could smell the pig cooking,
an aroma that made her stomach clench and her taste buds salivate.
She worked her way toward the roasting meat, keeping a sharp eye on
her surroundings. Apart from the crackling of the fire and a few
distant birds, she heard nothing.

Lia withdrew the knife she’d taken from the
dead sailor and ran up to the pig. She sliced off a handful of meat
from a well-cooked portion of thigh and hurried back behind the
barn to indulge herself. The pork was thick and juicy, a little
overcooked on the outside, but she didn’t care. She downed it in a
few gulps, smiling with satisfaction.

It occurred to her just then that she had
never stolen food before. She’d swiped a few pastries from the
castle’s kitchen once or twice, but never had she taken food that
belonged to someone else. It probably would have bothered her more
had she not been so desperate.

Lia figured she should slice off a hunk of
meat for Khile. Unsheathing the knife, she peaked out around the
corner of the barn.

Staring back at her was a crossbow held in
the steady grip of an old man with short white hair. He eyed her
with the certainty of a marksman and the steady hands of an avid
hunter.

He spoke, but his language was that of
Efferous, which Lia had never heard before.

He repeated his words, but this time made a
motion with his crossbow for her to come out from behind the barn.
She stepped forward, making no effort to hide her fear. She lifted
her hands and dropped the knife.

The man looked her up and down, appearing
puzzled. He relaxed a little, and then said something else while
gesturing toward his pig. She gathered that he knew she had stolen
some meat. His words, she figured, were a verbal scolding.

Behind him an elderly farmwife appeared from
behind the cottage in a long brown dress and a funny white hat that
fit snugly over her ears. She said something to the man to which he
responded with a word that sounded like, “Bah!” They began to
argue.

“I’m sorry,” Lia finally said. “I didn’t
want to steal, but I–I was so…” Her voice trailed off when she
noticed them staring at her like she had seaweed slipping out of
her nose.

The man strode up to her, his expression now
one of confusion and anger. “You Edhen?” he asked.

“Yes. I’m from Edhen.”

“Edhen?” the woman repeated. She then burst
into a rambling tattle of words that made no sense and appeared to
have no end. She pointed at Lia, gestured with her arms to the
rocky western hills, and grew redder in the face.

The old man looked to the old woman and
lifted his hand, pleading with her in a different tongue to be
quiet. Once she had calmed, he said to Lia, “You must go.”

Lia shook her head. “Please, sir, I need
your help. My friend is hurt. He is—”

“I said go!” the old man said again, but his
voice had little conviction. “Edhen is trouble here. We cannot have
you.”

“But he’ll die!” Lia said, and in an instant
her story rushed out of her. Whether he understood all of her words
or not, she didn’t care. She unloaded everything on the old man,
the attack on Aberdour, the shipwreck, and Khile’s broken leg.
Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, which embarrassed her, but
she ignored them and told the old man about Sir Komor Raven who had
killed two people that she loved very much and how her life goal
now was to find this man and kill him even if it takes her the rest
of her life.