Dandelion Fire (34 page)

Henrietta's mind was on Kansas and her family. Despite all the aches and pains, despite the heat and weariness and strangeness of the world around her, despite her fear, what she felt more than anything else was complete worthlessness. Why hadn't she learned? Why didn't her mind ever work well before she did something? Regret, that's what her bones ached with. And cold anger with Eli. She'd been stupid, but he'd tricked her. She might have been able to get back, but now she'd never know. Even if the cupboards were still set to FitzFaeren, no one could follow her. The pain from the key digging into her leg kept reminding her of that.

“What did Eli do?” she asked.

Caleb said nothing. The chestnut was climbing across a slope, picking a way between stones.

“Magdalene said that he gave something to my grandfather that he shouldn't have,” she added.

“I do not know the whole story,” Caleb said. “Nor do I need to. But as a matter of state, their feud was somewhat public. Eli was the elder brother, Magdalene was his sister, six years junior. In the early days, FitzFaeren was ruled by kings.”

The horse broke into a trot.

“But the kings were forever desiring expansion,” Caleb continued. “They even rode out against Hylfing and various strongholds of the faeren. They lost much,
both in trade and in lives, and after the conquesting folly of three kings, all killed in the field, a woman inherited the rod. Under her, the scattered FitzFaeren found comfort, and they built themselves into greatness. Their artists and architects, poets and musicians were the greatest for many nations around. They still rode to war, but never as the aggressors, and they found peace with their neighbors. Some of their adventurers traveled out through the shadows of the worlds and brought back talismans and relics, twelve of them, and around their strength, they built the Halls of FitzFaeren, protecting themselves against every kind of enemy. In that queen's old age, she named her daughter her successor and made her sons dukes. And so it was for three hundred years.”

“And Eli didn't like that?” Henrietta asked.

“When his queen-mother died, his sister was very young, a child really, but the landed families still desired her over him. They did not care that he was peaceful, a great sculptor himself, and a scholar. In the week of her coronation, three of the greatest talismans disappeared. And on her coronation night, FitzFaeren fell to the witch-dogs of Endor. It was Endor's final conquest. People said it was Eli's doing.”

“Was it?” Henrietta asked.

“He came to Hylfing, and we took him in, along with some remnants of the library he had saved from the ruined halls. But then he was discovered to be collecting darker volumes as well, studying at the feet of old
Endorian power, the power of demons, not men or the faeren. He said he studied only to know his enemy, but his enemy had already fallen, and some of the books went missing, given away to a man thought to be a wanderer. My brother Francis, your father, followed him and was lost.”

Raindrops spattered on Henrietta's forehead. She wiped them off on her sleeve.

“So yes,” Caleb continued, “I believe that Eli betrayed the FitzFaeren, if not with open-faced malice, at least with folly and self-lies.”

Henrietta was extremely thirsty. She stuck out her tongue, hoping for a raindrop. None came. “Magdalene says he gave the stuff to my grandfather.”

“Yes.”

“That would make my grandfather bad.”

“At the least a fool,” Caleb said. “Perhaps nothing more. Many people meddle with things beyond their strength and nature. It can begin as foolishness, but it must end soon and in wisdom, or in evil and a fall. The desire to touch what should not be touched is as old as the world itself, and is at the root of all its hardships.”

Henrietta thought for a moment. She wondered how different she was from her grandfather. If at all.

“What were the things Eli gave away?” she asked.

Caleb sighed. The horse turned beneath him. They were entering a grove of small trees. The rain quickened for a moment, and dry leaves rattled beneath it as they passed.

“A stone. A hilt. And a shaft.”

“A shaft?”

“An arrow,” Caleb said, “fletched with the feathers of a desert seraph, pointed with a tablet shard brushed by God's own breath, and shafted on the core of great Moishe's rod, first found and flown on the ancient field of Ramoth Gilead, killer of kings.”

Henrietta tried to turn around on the horse. She couldn't see his face. “You believe that?”

Caleb laughed. “I don't know. But even if I found it lying in the road, I would never touch it for fear of being struck down.”

“And Grandfather took it?” Henrietta asked, as much to herself as to Caleb.

Caleb drew the horse up, and relief poured through Henrietta's body, though she was sure it would not last long. They were in a clearing surrounded by smaller, dying trees. In the center, one towered over the rest, still green. Horses slowed down around them. After a moment, the dog appeared and threw itself down on the ground, panting.

“Ride on,” Caleb said. “We will catch you.”

The horses continued on. Caleb dropped off the side of the chestnut, told Henrietta to stay on, and began walking toward the large tree. He didn't look at all stiff to Henrietta. When he reached its trunk, he placed his hands on its bark and looked up into the branches. Henrietta could hear him, but only slightly, and it sounded as if he was singing. Then he stepped back and pulled a
knife out of his belt. It had a straight blade and a silver handle wrapped with black leather. He swung his arm suddenly and with tremendous force. Henrietta flinched onto the horse's shoulders. He had struck the tree, burying the blade deep in the wood. Leaving the knife behind, he turned and walked back to the horse and Henrietta.

“Are you going to leave your knife there?”

“Yes,” he said, swinging up behind her. “The tree was a marker established by my fathers. I did not want to see it drained by their hated one.”

“Did you do something magic?” Henrietta asked.

The horse began moving again. Henrietta's eyes stayed on the knife.

“Some would call it magic,” Caleb said. “But only because they cannot do it.”

“What did you do?”

“I told it not to be deceived, not to give its strength away.”

Henrietta wiped fat drips off her face and pushed her hair behind her ears. She needed a shower. It felt filthy. “Why'd you stick it with the knife?”

“So it would not sleep. It is awake now. As awake as a tree can be.”

The horse moved into a trot again. They were leaving the grove behind.

“Were you singing?” Henrietta asked.

“In a manner. I spoke so that it would listen.”

“How do you know how to do that?”

Caleb was distracted. There were more animals on the ground than they had seen, and bigger ones. Some kind of wildcat not far from a skunk. Farther on, she saw her first badger.

“My father taught me,” Caleb said suddenly. “He could do much more, but I learned some.”

“What could he do?”

Henrietta heard something rattle behind her. Caleb had pulled an arrow from his quiver.

“He would not be riding away from this scourge, for one. He would be leaning against it and calling the world around him to lean as well. He would walk to its center and find its source, and the greenness would follow him.”

“We can't do that?” she asked.

“We can't do that,” he said.

She looked down. Beside her, she could see Caleb's bow in his left hand, one finger holding an arrow in place, already notched.

“What's wrong?” Henrietta asked.

His voice was tentative, distracted. “Everything. Something. We'll see.”

The trees were growing thinner now, and the ground was becoming more broken. Caleb kicked the horse lightly and let it pick its own path. They could see the last of the other horses disappearing over a small rise. The dog had run ahead.

Caleb's arm was no longer around her.

Through the trees and off to one side, a horse's
scream pierced the wood. Snarling followed after, and the baying of a dog.

“Hold on,” Caleb said. “Grip with your knees. Grab his mane if you need to.” The horse broke into a gallop, as much as was possible through the trees and boulders. She wondered if he needed to steer the horse at all.

Then both of his arms came back around her. In his left was his thick black bow with the heavy-shafted arrow on the string. Fingers from his right were around the arrow's notch. Henrietta could not hear anything other than the pounding of the chestnut's hooves as she hugged the horse's neck. Something came over the rise toward them. It was a riderless horse. On its rump was a large gray wolf. Two more ran beside it, lunging at its legs and shoulders, snapping at its neck. Then from over the rise came another shape. It was Caleb's black dog. The horse spun and kicked, but the wolf's teeth were in its saddle, and the kick missed. The horse screamed again.

Caleb's chestnut lengthened its stride as it wove, pounding through the trees toward the animals. They were closing fast. Caleb's body twisted sideways behind her, and she leaned back against his chest, ducking her head as he drew back his bow. She saw the shaft fly and bend its course through the air. The arrow passed just above the empty saddle and through the wolf's body, scraping off its feathers as it went. The animal dropped limply onto the hooves of the kicking horse and spun into the dirt. The other two wolves did not break
concentration, though Caleb was bearing down on them from one side and his dog from the other. Caleb's bow bent again, and a second wolf dropped, kicking dust and writhing with the feathers pluming its shoulder. Then they were past them. Galloping up the slope and around the trees, a snarling broke out behind them.

“What about the other one?” Henrietta yelled.

“The dog can manage one wolf. Look for Eli.”

“Eli?”

“That was the horse he stole.”

As they reached the top of the rise, Henrietta frantically looked around. She saw nothing. Caleb slowed his horse to a walk, looking from side to side as they picked their way through the trees. Ahead, the other horses were returning. Caleb saw something she did not and changed their course, plowing the horse through underbrush. On the other side, beneath a tree, was Eli. The only blood visible was on his palms. Caleb slid off of the horse and put his hand on Eli's chest. Eli opened his eyes.

“Oh,” he said. “I fell out of the tree. I jumped and grabbed a branch, and the wolves chased my horse. Then I fell.”

“Are you all right?” Caleb asked.

“I believe so.” Eli blinked. “I have never been attacked by wolves. It was not the experience I expected.”

“What did you expect?” Henrietta asked.

“I expected to die. Is the horse dead?”

“It should not be.”

“The wolves?”

“Three killed if I know my dog.”

“The she-wolf?”

“I did not see one.”

“She was back a way. They were circling her and broke off when I rode right into them. I do not know how they would miss my coming.” Eli stared at his hand. “Or how I could miss them.”

“It is hard to sense anything now. We walk through the clamor of death.” Caleb put another arrow to his bow and stood up. “Which way?” he asked, and he whistled through his teeth. Henrietta heard a horse coming, and then it appeared, still bucking and kicking at the air. There was blood on its flanks and scratches on its neck and shoulders. Eli was trying to stand up and point for Caleb at the same time. Caleb followed his hand and began picking his way slowly through the underbrush. No more than thirty yards away, he stopped. Henrietta could see the top of a large rock in front of him. Then, as he crouched down, he disappeared. Henrietta followed quickly.

The wolf was large and beautiful, a dark gray, nearly unmottled. She lay on the ground with her head leaning on the rock, exhausted, tongue limp and lolling. Behind her lay three pups, all dead. One had been chewed. The wolf's yellow eyes rolled toward Caleb, but her tongue remained draped out the side of her mouth as she stared. Henrietta watched her uncle set his bow on the ground and crouch in front of the long animal. Her lip
curled, and the smallest of snarls crawled out of her throat. While Henrietta held her breath, Caleb whispered to the she-wolf, and she stopped. Then he dropped to his knees beside her.

Henrietta exhaled and bit her lip. Caleb was stroking the wolf's head. Slowly, he worked himself around behind her and placed his back to the rock. The wolf was stretched out on her side, legs extended, head in Caleb's lap. Her tongue was still out of her mouth, but her eyes were shut. She wasn't dead. Henrietta could hear her breathing. Caleb looked up at Henrietta, but his hand did not stop its motion along the wolf's neck, and he did not speak to her. Instead, he bent over as far as he could and whispered in the wolf's ear.

Henrietta was silent. She didn't think Caleb would like it if she said anything at all. Instead, she stepped closer and waited to see if Caleb would tell her not to. He did not, so she crept closer still. The wolf's eyes opened, and her body bent, spasmed, trying to stand up. Henrietta froze, and Caleb whispered again. The long charcoal body relaxed, and Caleb looked at Henrietta and nodded. She got down on her knees and reached her hand out to the wolf's shoulder. The yellow eyes opened and looked at her, but the body was motionless beyond the soft rise and fall of its ribs. She felt the animal's neck and head, gently rubbed behind her ears, and then, growing bolder, she ran her hands down the wolf's legs, stroking the lean bones, and feeling her pads.

When Caleb nodded at her to stand up, she didn't want to.

“We must go,” he said. His voice was no louder than normal, but it felt like a shout. Henrietta stood, tucked her hair behind her ears, and looked down at the pups. She moved toward them, but her uncle shook his head. Caleb slid out from beneath the wolf, lay her head down on the ground, ran his hands down the length of her body twice, and then placed one hand on her head and one on her ribs.

“Go,” he said quietly to the wolf, and Henrietta watched her ribs rise and rise in one long, deep breath and then sink. She did not breathe again. Henrietta walked in front of Caleb to the horse. She was trying not to cry.