Age of Myth (37 page)

“Tura wasn't my mother.”

“Oh? But I thought…” Maeve looked puzzled.

Suri shrugged. “Our best guess is that I was stolen out of my cradle by crimbals who wanted to take me to Nog. But something happened on the way, and either they dropped me in the forest where Tura found me or I somehow escaped. Tura thought I was a little strange, so she figured the latter was more likely.”

“How horrible,” Maeve said with genuine sympathy. “How old were you when Tura took you in?”

“Don't know; young, though. Tura said I was tiny. Said I was so small that she would've missed me in that pile of leaves if I hadn't been crying. Apparently, I had nearly buried myself in them. Anyway, I cried so loud she said she could hear me over the roar of the cascades. We figure maybe that was why the crimbals dropped me; I could wail like the North Wind.”

“Tura…” Maeve narrowed her eyes. “Tura found you in a pile of leaves…near a cascading stream?”

Suri nodded. “She showed me the place. I used to go there and sit, sit and think. Wondering, you know? I thought maybe I'd catch one of the crimbals and they might tell me how I came to be there. They might know who my parents were and why they didn't come looking for me. But crimbals are impossible to catch, hard to see even. You only get a glimpse of them out of the corner of your eye. When I was young, I imagined the crimbals hadn't stolen me at all, that maybe they had saved me. My parents could have been monsters, or maybe they'd been killed. Maybe I was carried away for my own good. It's possible my dying mother called to Wogan for help, and he sent the crimbals. I can still picture her handing me over to their keeping. Wogan might have told them to bring me to Tura rather than Nog, knowing she would take care of me.”

“And now? Now that you're older? What do you believe?”

Maeve was looking at her intently. Normally, the old woman struck Suri as flighty. She was the sort who didn't listen when a person talked, or at least she didn't look at people. At that moment, Maeve focused on Suri to the exclusion of all else, and she found the intensity of that attention disturbing.

“I recently learned that parents of unwanted children leave their babies in the forest. I hope I wasn't one of those.” Suri disliked the way Maeve was peering. That sort of thing would cause a moose to charge, but she guessed the old woman didn't know any better. “I've been thinking…that…well…if Tura hadn't found me, I could have suffered the same fate as your daughter. I suppose that's part of why I'm here. Aside from the whole stopping-the-demon-from-killing-everyone thing, of course.”

“How old are you, Suri?” Maeve asked, her voice trembling, her eyes tearing.

“Not certain about that, either. Depends on how old I was when Tura found me. Fourteen, maybe?”

Maeve reached out and took hold of Suri's hands. The old woman was shaking.

“Are you cold?” Suri asked.

Maeve pulled Suri up. “We have to get out of this cave. We have to get out, right now!”

As Maeve grabbed hold of Suri's hand and started to pull, the light changed.

The moonlight coming in the cave's mouth was blotted out, leaving them in darkness. A heartbeat later the great bear's outline was obvious and nearly filled the entire opening. It took one step inside, hesitated, and then roared. The sound was deafening.

Grin knew they were there. Knew before she entered, most likely, and Suri was certain the bear didn't like unexpected guests. The great padded paws thumped on the dirt, her nails clicking on the rock. She advanced slowly, then roared again. Maeve screamed and threw her arms around Suri, squeezing her and crying, “No!”

“Remember to call your daughter's name when Grin reaches the salt,” Suri whispered. She'd already told Maeve this twice but felt it was important to remind the old woman, since her former courage seemed to have fled at the sight of the bear. Such a thing was easy to excuse. Even Suri was having second thoughts.

Grin bounded forward in a charge and stopped right on the nest—directly on the spray of salt Suri had laid down.

“Now!” Suri told her. “Do it now.”

“Suri!” Maeve cried.

“No, not me! Call your daughter's name. Call for Shayla.”

Grin roared and reared up. The beast's head brushed the cave's ceiling, and its body blocked the exit.

Maeve ripped Tura's staff from Suri's grasp and shouted at the mystic, “Run!” Then the old woman raised the stick high above her head. “Back! Back, you vile beast! You can't have my daughter!”

Suri was both bewildered and amazed as the old woman advanced on the bear that towered over her, rolling its head as it growled. Maeve got in one good swing. Tura's staff struck Grin on the side. Then the bear brought a forepaw around and caught the old woman. Maeve shattered like an egg struck by a hammer. Long white hair and a dress fell to the stone.

The bear rose up again and roared at Suri—the last intruder.

It didn't work. The salt failed. Maeve went crazy and forgot her daughter's name. What a disaster.

The mystic retreated as far as she could, pressing against the rear wall. No escape, no place to go, no shelter, nowhere to hide.

You're always right, Tura.

The bear sniffed at the silent, still body of Maeve, then began its charge. The lumbering force of rippling fur and muscle drove forward, propelled by rock-gouging claws. Suri held her breath, bumping the back of her head against the rear wall as she tried to flee through stone.

I looked often for that famous place. I wanted to see it for myself, to peer into the brink and test myself. I never found it. That forest has a way of keeping secrets, the good and the bad.

—
T
HE
B
OOK OF
B
RIN

“Malcolm, Persephone,” Raithe called. “Like before, with the wolves.”

They both knew what he meant and put their backs together. Persephone pulled the shield off her back and hooked her left arm through the straps. The enarmes were made for bigger men, and she couldn't properly reach the leather grip, catching it with only the tips of her fingers. In her other hand, she held the legendary spear, which also felt too big, too heavy.

“I don't know how to fight,” she whispered over her shoulder.

“Neither do I,” Malcolm admitted.

“Doesn't matter,” Raithe replied. “There's too many of them. We're going to die.”

Some of the men heard, and smiled. In the moonlight, they looked like grinning ghouls. Persephone hoped Raithe had said it to make them overconfident, a ploy of some sort, but they didn't look like they needed any reassurance. The brutes were in no hurry. They took more swigs from their waterskins, then slowly began spreading out, circling them, putting shields on, laughing with one another as they did. Most of the faces she didn't know, and she didn't want to. They were men from Nadak, and madness was in their eyes, the same sort of madness she'd seen in people during the famine. The Nadak men were starving, but what they hungered for was revenge—against her, against anyone.

She looked at Devon, the son of Derick, a gifted woodsman. She'd awarded the lad first prize for his calf in the autumn fair eight years earlier. He had been about twelve then. She still remembered placing the token over his head and how he'd smiled. He hardly showed his teeth because they weren't straight and had a terrible gap, but that day he couldn't help himself. Rosy cheeks, unabashed teeth, and one arm around his cow's neck—that was how she remembered him. Devon was grinning at her again, showing the same crooked whites, but there was no happiness in his eyes—just anger.

“This is close to where the wolves attacked,” Raithe said. “The waterfall is to your left, Seph. Remember?”

“Yes.”

Konniger circled them, shifting until he was in front of Persephone. Hegner's blood dripped down the length of his spear.

Going for the easy kill?
she thought.
Such a brave chieftain!

“This isn't personal, Persephone,” he told her. “I considered marrying you, but I already have a wife, and Tressa…well, you know Tressa.”

Off to the southeast, they heard a bear's distant roar. The sound was chilling in the dark wood. Three times it thundered.

Konniger glanced in the direction of the sound and chuckled. “I think you're too late.” Then he stopped and focused on Raithe. “Thurgin, get on his left; Devon, on his right. These other two can wait; he's the problem. Remember, he's fast. We all need to attack at the same time. Just as if he were a bear.”

“Not exactly fair of you,” Malcolm said, holding Reglan's shield up and clutching his spear awkwardly.

Persephone didn't know where he found the courage to speak. She was terrified. Glancing at the dead body of Hegner, she wondered what it would feel like when Konniger pushed the sharpened stone point into her.

“Fair?” Konniger replied, and pointed to the collar around Malcolm's neck. “Being a slave, I would've thought you'd be past such stupid notions as
fair.
Would you consider it fair for the bear when the three of you surround it? That's all this is, killing a dangerous bear, a bear and her two cubs.”

“Don't hesitate, Seph,” Raithe said as the men spread out. Remember to
whoop
like Suri would.”

She knew what he meant and also what the attempt would cost. “I won't do it.”

“They want you, not us,” Raithe said.

“He's right,” Malcolm told her.

Konniger closed in, clutching his spear tightly. The others took their lead from him and closed the circle around Raithe.

“Now!” Raithe shouted.

His outburst made everyone flinch except Malcolm, who despite his admission of martial ignorance stabbed with what Persephone thought was a skillful thrust. Malcolm's spear tip cut the exposed shoulder of a man who screamed and dropped back. Malcolm followed this by running full tilt into Konniger, bowling him over with Reglan's big shield.

The hole was opened before her. Dropping both shield and spear, she ran. The weapons would only slow her down. Maybe if she got away, they would leave Raithe and Malcolm alone. It was a hope, anyway.

Behind her, men cried out in effort and pain. She heard the crack of wood and another scream. It might have been Raithe, possibly Malcolm, but she couldn't tell and didn't dare look back, didn't dare slow down. Following the moonlit trail, it led to the familiar hollow of fiddlehead ferns and the babbling stream. She splashed through it, praying she wouldn't slip in the muck or catch a loose rock. Water sprayed, splashing her face and blurring her sight. She made it across, found firm footing again, and ran hard.

Only a few strides beyond the stream she heard someone crash through the water. “Can't get away from
me,
bitch!” Konniger shouted.

Feet slapped the dirt just behind her.

She ran as fast as she could, but even with a shield and spear, Konniger was faster. The rapid beat of his strides closed on her. She could hear his breathing, great puffs of air. She expected to feel the tip of his spear in her back. Instead, she heard him curse and his feet slide.

Perhaps he fell.

He hadn't fallen, but Konniger had stopped. They had reached the waterfall.

Persephone completely forgot to whoop as she ran off the edge.

Trapped against the wall of the cave, Suri panicked. She couldn't think; she couldn't move. The only thing in her head was the apology running over and over,
I'm sorry, Tura. You were right.
With her brain locked up, she watched as the huge brown bear lumbered forward. She saw it in perfect detail. Grin ran at her, lunging up and down, forepaws followed by rear. Thick fur undulated. Muscles on her shoulders rolled in waves as her claws reached out and scratched grooves into the dirt floor. Her head, which appeared small for her body, was nevertheless massive with its long snout. The bear roared, displaying four fangs, two long ones on top and two smaller ones on the bottom. All four resided in a mouth wide enough to envelop Suri's entire head.

She held her breath and pressed against the stone of the cave's rear wall, wondering if the bear would claw, bite, or crush her. Grin must have decided she had no desire to slam into the rocky wall and slowed.

That was when a flash of white slammed into the bear.

“Minna!” Suri shouted in shock.

The wolf launched herself onto the hindquarters of Grin and managed to hang on with a mouthful of fur. The bear pivoted sharply, and the wolf lost her tenuous hold. Minna flew across the cave, landed on her side with a cry, but scrambled up again. She lowered her head, raised her fur, planted her paws, and growled at the giant.

Grin roared back.

Suri came off the wall. “Run, Minna! Run!”

She knew Minna wouldn't. If the wolf had broken down the door in the lodge and busted through the front gate of the dahl to get there, Minna was definitely going to die before abandoning her.

At that moment, as the wolf hunched and snarled, Suri knew that her only friend in the world would die. What hadn't occurred to her in the prelude to her own bloody end revealed itself in her desperation to save Minna.

“How'd you do that?” Tura had asked. The old woman stared as the firelight bathed her features, flickering and dancing with the shadows that played all around their little home.

Suri had shrugged. “I asked the fire spirit to come; isn't that right?”

Tura had nodded, but the old woman who knew everything had looked confused, apprehensive, even frightened. She hadn't been scared of the fire. The mystic was frightened of Suri. The truth was in the old woman's eyes as they shifted back and forth between Suri and the fire.

Why?

That singular question had lingered with Suri for many years.

If Tura couldn't call the fire spirit without the use of sticks and string, what difference did that make? What was so frightening about making a campfire or lighting a lamp?

It had taken years; it had taken seeing Arion attacked by a goblin; it had taken the look of death in the eyes of Grin as she advanced on Minna, but Suri finally understood.

She focused on the bear, briskly rubbed her hands together, and spoke the words of the gods. She clapped as hard as she could. The impact of one palm slapping the other caused Suri to wince. The effect on Grin was far more dramatic.

The bear burst into flames.

The fire started at her feet, orange and yellow tongues rapidly licking their way up the bear's thick furry body. Suri heard it, a sound like the single downstroke of a giant bird's wings. She felt it, too. Air sucked from the back of the cave brushed by her as the fire took a breath, grew, and enveloped the beast in a massive plume of brilliant light and blazing heat.

Minna jerked away as Grin became a torch.

“Minna!” Suri cried. “Over here!”

The wolf darted around the flaming bear, which rolled around on the dirt floor. Minna barely cleared the distance. With most of the flames extinguished, Grin let loose a horrible wail. She jerked and raced out of the cave in desperation.

Suri caught Minna and hugged the wolf around her furry neck. “Thank you, Minna! Thank you for saving me!”

Minna pressed her weight against Suri and looked up at her with an I-am-so-glad-you-are-all-right-but-we-are-definitely-going-to-talk-about-this-later expression. The wolf wore a belt around its neck, the rest of which trailed on the ground. “Since when do you wear leather?”

Then Suri remembered Maeve.

All Raithe knew was that Persephone had gotten past the men and into the trees. He and Malcolm had given her the best chance they could. He felt good about that—surprisingly good—as if the accomplishment was the first truly worthwhile thing he'd done in his life. His father would have scowled at his stupidity, but he imagined his mother and sister would have been proud.

Having recovered from his bash with Konniger, Malcolm had miraculously returned and pressed his back against Raithe's once more. The former slave and current storyteller extraordinaire was doing well.

Raithe had picked up Persephone's dropped spear and thrown it, dropping one man. Then he severed the points off three spears with Shegon's sword and split a shield, scaring the man holding it so badly that he fell and tripped the person behind him. Two spears were thrown. One went over his and Malcolm's heads; the other glanced off his fancy shield from the Dherg rol.

Raithe howled as loudly as he could and scared the lot of them into jumping back. He counted six remaining men. And even though he and Malcolm were just two, the group of men was terrified—terrified of the God Killer and his strange friend who dressed like a god.

“Where's Konniger?” one of them called out. “Is he dead?”

The ring of men paused and regrouped. Two went in search of the spears they'd thrown, leaving only four to watch them, none of whom looked happy.

“How you doing?” Raithe asked Malcolm.

“Splendid!” the man gasped. “Is bear hunting always this much fun? If so, let's never do it again.”

“They'll probably gang up on you this time.”

“Lovely! Any advice?”

“Pray.”

“Which god?”

“All of them.”

Raithe tightened his grip on the Dherg shield and Shegon's sword, then looked around for Konniger, but he couldn't see him. “Did you kill Konniger?”

“Just knocked him down,” Malcolm replied. “I think he ran away.”

The men surrounding them were hesitating longer than Raithe had expected. Several were looking over their shoulders into the trees, probably wondering why Konniger had abandoned them to fight the God Killer alone.

“Giving us a good long rest,” Malcolm whispered. “I like that, but is this normal?”

Off in the darkness, near where one who'd overthrown his spear had gone, someone screamed.

“Palton?” another man called out, and ran in the direction of the noise. A moment later the snapping of tree branches erupted as the same man came back—sailing through the air as if thrown. He struck a tree to Raithe's left, bounced, and fell to the ground.

The thinning circle imprisoning Raithe and Malcolm broke apart as the men lost all interest in them. One man, only a pace away from Raithe, screamed and fell. After that, the rest scattered. In the darkness of the trees around them, Raithe saw nothing. He and Malcolm waited, listening. Snapping branches were followed by screams.

“It's like the forest is eating them,” Raithe whispered over his shoulder, pushing harder against Malcolm. He peered out into the moon-dappled darkness, unsure what he'd see next.

Monstrous trees with gaping mouths? Ravenous beasts?

They waited, eyes darting with every crack or snap. Within minutes the sounds faded and then vanished. Only the breeze rustling leaves remained. Even the crickets were silent.

Raithe and Malcolm remained back-to-back, holding their weapons up, waiting. Raithe could feel Malcolm breathing and felt him shifting his head left and right.

“You scared?” Malcolm whispered.

“Little bit.”

“Me, too—little bit.”

Without sound, ghostly figures emerged from the black. The first thing that came to Raithe's mind was ghosts—ghosts, ghouls, wraiths, or—