Angelslayer: The Winnowing War (7 page)

“Those are just stories.”

“What about Binnith? They rode in and took her—a cohort of them. Daathan riders, everyone saw. Are you going to argue that?”

“Binnith had been seeing one of them in secret, something you did not know. The Daath do not steal village girls. I believe Binnith merely wanted it to appear that way. Do you know whom her father planned to give her to? That toad, that meat merchant, Ragthart.”

Still, Adrea knew that no one in Lucania trusted the Daath. Yet, instead of being wary of them, she was curiously drawn to them. They were striking. The few times she had seen them, she had been fascinated. They were tall, always handsome, and their hair—the way it was long and night-black, she could not help being curious. Those who passed through Lucania were mostly warriors, headed for the passages of Hericlon, a mountain stronghold to the north. They were all young men, but in their armor and shimmering cloaks they looked formidable, and by reputation, they were. Not even the Etlantians challenged the Daath. They were feared and respected.

Riding through the streets of her village in formation, their faces were stern, their demeanor austere. But once, Adrea had hidden behind sea meadow grass to spy on a group of them as they stopped to water their horses. They shed their stoicism and became boys, joking, laughing, even wrestling in the grass. There was no doubt that they were capable and adept as warriors, which left her a bit uncomfortable, but to be honest, the Daath attracted her far more than any of the boys of her village. It left a taint of guilt in her, as if she were betraying some unwritten code, but it was something she could not dismiss.

“I could smuggle you out of Lucania before the marriage,” Aeson said.

“Smuggle me out?”

“I have a plan and I have saved up some bread cakes and cheese.” “And where will we go?”

“In Ishmia, there is no shortage of trader galleys leaving for the western seas, and all of them have need of able-bodied workers.” “I am a girl, Aeson.” “We could disguise that.” “You think so?”

He glanced at her, his look betraying that it might be difficult. “Yes. We are clever enough.”

“So you believe we would be better off as seamen?”

“Maybe on some island or even onboard a ship, you might meet someone, someone worthy of you, instead of an aged captain of the gathering wars, older than Lamachus.”

“On the other hand, my gender might be discovered, and I could end up in a brothel in some unsavory trading port. Things can be a lot worse than marrying a horse breeder.”

“It is just that—you are gifted, Adrea, and Lamachus should know. He has no idea who you really are.”

She didn't argue with that. Lamachus was truly thickheaded. They rode a time in silence, the tall grass brushing the horses' bellies. To Aeson's credit, Adrea had been trying to forget about last night, though it lingered like a bad dream. Marcian Antiope, the son of Ventnor of Galaglea, had a solemn, narrow face and a large nose. And he stuttered, which was something she would never have guessed of a veteran captain of Quietus, the Galaglean king.

Aeson suddenly pulled up on the reins. He searched the ground nervously. “Adrea, look here! What is this?”

Adrea glanced down. The tall grass had been scattered with red blossoms that were still tumbling in the light breeze. Oddly, they smelled like rosemary, though that could hardly be possible, not in this part of the woods. She glanced up. They were at the edge of the forest called the East of the Land. She came here often. The ancient trees never failed to stir something deep inside her, as if they were able to awaken a part of her that too often slept. It was said that long ago, beyond these trees to the west, the fiery sword of Uriel, the archangel of the seventh star, waited, always turning, always guarding the eastern edge of the place where Elyon first touched His finger to the Earth.

“That is the forbidden forest,” Aeson muttered, suddenly realizing where they had ridden. “How did we get so close to the forest?”

“We rode up to it.”

“We should not go any closer,” he warned.

“Why?”

The East of the Land was mostly oak. There must have been thousands of oak in there, ancient guardians, heavy and solemn. And along the borders were other noble trees, like the tall aspen that reached for the sky, and quicksilver with its white bark. They were as old as the Earth, as old as life was old. Within them, shadows curled, and strangely, today the shadows were littered with red blossoms, stirring in the light wind. There was something about them, something unnatural; Adrea could sense it. She sensed many things, though she kept such thoughts her own. She knew one thing for certain: the blossoms were not of this forest, and though there was no explanation, she felt there was also no threat; rather, they seemed mischievous, leaving them all the more intriguing.

“We should leave, Adrea. Ride back before something happens.”

“What could happen here? These are the ancient trees of legend. The oaks are protectors. We could be no safer.”

“You think so? Well, do you see the shadows in there? Those shadows harbor Uttuku.”

“Nonsense.”

“Uttuku, hunting for flesh to inhabit. I have heard it said by more than a few.”

“I come here often, and I assure you, little brother, not once have I been possessed of Uttuku. I look in those trees, and suddenly there seems so much more to life. Think of it, Aeson; this forest has witnessed it all, the ancient garden when it was still sacred. It has seen the coming of the angels and the first man to ever breathe life. Do you not feel the light still burning in these ancient trees?”

“No, and I am telling you we need to leave. Now.”

“Sometimes—I do not know how to put it exactly—but sometimes I come here, and I feel as if life were so much more than marriages to horsemen or even Lamachus and his cattle. I feel something turning, as if the entire world is being drawn into its reason for being and that soon, not far from now, in a single star-fire moment, the limitless light will make itself known.”

“Listen to me, Adrea. There is no sense in thinking like that, speaking deep things like that. You spend too much time listening to those wandering seers, the Followers of Enoch, and you know what Father thinks of them. Besides, what kind of name is the East of the Land? It makes no sense. The only thing special about these trees is that they are easy to get lost in.”

“How would you know?”

“I have been lost in them; that is how I know.”

“You have ridden in there? Alone?”

“Alone but for the heifer I had to chase down. She got in there, and it took nearly the whole day getting her out.”

“You did not feel anything magical? It is said that within the East of the Land there still exists the sacred ladder, the passageway to the castle of Arianrod in the sky.”

“No ladders. No castles. But there were plenty of snarled, thick roots that can catch horse hooves, plenty of sharp rocks, and lots of shadows that get so thick you can even lose the sunlight. If I felt anything unnatural, it was the Uttuku watching; those shadows offer them a good place to hide. You should trust me. I know these things. And what is more, we should leave here before the sun gets any lower in the sky. We will barely make it back before sundown as it is.”

She nodded, still staring at the trees. “We can leave,” she said. She started to turn the reins when something caught her eye. She quickly searched the shadows, knowing what to look for, and there he was. A tingle flew down her back. He was carefully hidden, but it was clear he was letting himself be seen. Aeson had no clue, but this was the reason she had ridden up here every day for more than a week—to find the rider who kept always to the shadow, but watched her from the trees. She had never seen him clearly, but she sensed his eyes, something about him, something strange and fascinating.

“What is it?” asked Aeson.

The figure was so still the shadows almost swallowed him, but this time, unlike the others, she saw the flank of his horse, a glistening, silvered white. That was no shadow.

“What?” Aeson said again, this time pressing forward, searching. He must have seen the rider, as well, for he jerked back so suddenly his horse reared. Aeson was a good rider, but he was so startled he dropped the reins. He did manage an ungraceful dismount, only to stumble and fall on his back.

The look on Aeson's face made Adrea chuckle. “Are you all right?”

He scrambled to his feet. “Of course, I am all right.”

Adrea leaned forward to catch the reins of Aeson's horse before it bolted, but he quickly snatched them back and nimbly leapt onto the horse's back. He composed himself, smoothing his hair into place.

“Stupid horse,” he muttered.

“It was your horse's fault?”

“Must have gotten his foot stuck.”

“In the grass?”

“Maybe it was a rat hole or something.” “So, you did not see anything in the trees?”

“Of course not.” He hesitantly searched the forest's edge. “No,” he affirmed with relief. “There is nothing in those trees at all.”

Adrea looked back. The rider was gone, as though he had been no more than a trick of light.

“We must start back,” Aeson insisted.

“Yes … of course.”

“Even if we ride hard, we might not make it before sundown, and as you know that would leave Lamachus very anxious.” “Well, we would not want that, would we?” “No, we would not.”

A moment longer she searched the trees, but Aeson pulled up in front of her, blocking her view, watching her suspiciously. “Is there something here I should know about, Adrea?”

Adrea calmly smiled back. “No, Aeson; nothing here to worry about.”

He cocked his head to the side and lowered one brow—mimicking the serious look he had so often seen on Lamachus's face.

Adrea laughed.

“What! What is funny?”

“Sometimes you are rather cute, Aeson.”

“I am not cute. Girls are cute. I am …”

“Yes?”

“Agile. I am agile.”

“As long as you manage to avoid rat holes.”

“Adrea, we cannot wait any longer. We have to leave now!”

“Lead the way, agile Aeson, and I promise to follow.”

Aeson galloped away, brown hair tossing, not looking back. Before she followed, she glanced once more to the forest, marveling at how the sun split through the shadows in streamers. She held her hand up, spreading her fingers in the sign of the word, the sign of greeting, then turned the reins and set the stallion at an easy lope.

Aeson was right about one thing; it was late when they made it back to the cabin, and Lamachus was there to watch them enter, his eyes narrowing on Adrea. He spoke to their mother, Camilla. “Could use a bit of warmed ale before bed, woman.”

Camilla turned from the fire, giving Adrea and Aeson a warning glance of their father's mood as she poured ale in a clay goblet.

“And I did say bed,” Lamachus emphasized, “which means you two are late.”

“I was giving the stallion one last run, Father,” said Adrea.

“And where were you running him? To the blessed Parminion Mountains?”

“We were out along the west road,” answered Aeson.

“Believe I was talking to the girl.”

“Well, I was with her, Father.”

Lamachus grunted. “And that's supposed to offer me comfort?” His eyes remained on Adrea. “You have been letting that horse run a lot lately.” “I have had a lot to think about.”

Lamachus sipped his ale. “Should keep in mind while you are ‘thinking a lot' that people have gone to some considerable effort arranging things on your behalf.”

“Not to worry, Father, I can scarce forget what is being arranged.”

She stepped past him into her and Aeson's room, letting the woolskin coverlet fall into place behind her.

Lamachus ended up staring at Aeson. He was quick to notice Aeson's eyes dart away.

“What have you two been up to?”

“Got that fence mended in the north pasture,” Aeson muttered. “Ah? You say something?” “Said I got that fence mended.” “What fence?”

“The one in the north pasture.”

“Do not recall sending you to the north pasture today.”

“You just told me to tend to things, so I did.” “Up north?”

“Yes.”

“By way of the trees?”

“Trees? What trees? Oh, you mean the oaks?” Lamachus glanced at Camilla, but she only shook her head. “You ask me, she is scared of them,” Aeson said. “Scared of them, is she?” Lamachus responded. “Yes. Seems that way to me.” “Explain this to me, boy.”

“She thinks there are spirits and such in there—castles. The castle of Irum Rod.”

Camilla chucked softly. “Arianrod, dear.”

Lamachus grunted. “No more castles in those trees than there are between my middle toes. Boy, do you see my toes where they come out of my sandals here?”