Dark Currents (16 page)

Maldynado and Books wrestled with poles and a tarp, fashioning a tent beside the lorry. Inside the cab, Akstyr read his book in the fading daylight. Sicarius had disappeared as soon as they arrived “to scout.”

“Boss,” Maldynado said, “how come some of us are working hard and
some
of us are reading books?”

Amaranthe set down her load of logs and arranged them in a tidy pile while she debated the merit of the complaint. Akstyr
did
have a predilection for reading his books instead of helping out; in fact, those tomes seemed to get especially interesting when physical labor needed to be done. He was a tricky one to manage, whining and shirking duties when assigned them. Since he bristled at receiving orders, she always felt she had to find creative ways to coerce him. Maybe guilt today?

“Because,” Amaranthe said, “some of you like me more than others and go out of your way to make my day easier.”

“Sicarius isn’t helping,” Akstyr said without looking up.

She opened her mouth to point out Sicarius did his share to make her day easier, but Books spoke first.

“Is he truly someone you want to emulate? Maybe it’s time you grew up and shared group responsibilities without being asked.”

Akstyr glared over his shoulder. “You think you’re my father? I didn’t ask for your advice.”

Books blanched, and Amaranthe grimaced, sure the words made him think of the days when he
had
been a father and how all that was lost. She was going to have a hard time keeping him in the group if all the interactions with the men were unpleasant ones.

“Can you even understand any of the words in that book?” Maldynado asked. “Or do you just carry it around, pretending to be useful, so you can get out of chores?”

“I understand plenty. I’m learning about healing. Don’t you think that could be useful out here?”

Maldynado staked down a tent corner. “You don’t actually believe you’d be able to do anything in an emergency, do you? Learning magic from a book? Come now, let’s be serious.”

Akstyr scowled. “I can do things.”

“We don’t ever
see
you do things.”

“Because it’s the empire, Stupid. You get hanged for practicing the Science.”

Amaranthe strode to the lorry and draped her arms across the side of the bed, trying to nonchalantly end the bickering before it escalated. “Looks like Basilard’s preparing a nice dinner, gentlemen. The sooner we have the camp set up and the firewood gathered, the sooner we can eat.”

Amidst grumbling, Books and Maldynado returned to work. Akstyr sighed dramatically and climbed out of the lorry, though he kept the book tucked under his arm.

“Anything interesting in there?” Amaranthe nodded toward the tome.

“What?” He stared at her, as if surprised she had asked. “Oh. Sure. There are some exercises I found. I need someone to practice on though.”

“Someone injured?”

Akstyr nodded. “So I can try to heal them.”

Basilard banged a wooden spoon against his pot, and the three men hustled over. Amaranthe perched on a stump near Basilard, and he handed her a bowl.

“Wasn’t it Sicarius’s turn to cook?” Amaranthe asked. “I thought you switched with him yesterday.”

Basilard lifted a dismissive hand, even as Maldynado and Akstyr shook their heads vigorously.

“We’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Books said. “We feel that Sicarius already takes on so much responsibility in regard to our training that it’s not fair to force him to engage in meal-preparation duties. His own training is, of course, paramount to him as well, so we would not wish to burden him with this additional responsibility.”

“I see.” Amaranthe held back a smile. She wondered if Sicarius was close enough to hear. “Just to be clear, are you afraid to ask him to perform the duty when it’s his turn, or do you just not want to eat what he prepares?”

“Afraid?” Maldynado scoffed.

Akstyr snorted. Basilard flicked his hand in dismissal.

Books lowered his voice and leaned toward Amaranthe. “The man doesn’t believe in seasonings. Not even salt!”

With a morose head shake, Basilard stirred his beans and sausage and took a bite.

A howl echoed from the woods.

Amaranthe flinched, almost dropping her bowl. Answering yips and yowls stirred the hair on the back of her neck. The frogs fell silent. Basilard squinted into the gloom, head cocked.

“Just coyotes,” Maldynado told Amaranthe. “You really haven’t been out in the forest much, have you?”

“No,” she admitted, chagrinned her concern was so transparent.

“Well, then, I reckon it’s my job to educate you on what we’ll likely encounter up here.”

“Excuse me?” Books lifted a finger. “How much time have
you
, a dandy from the warrior caste, spent in the mountains? Weren’t your formative years spent in salons with tutors instructing you in the ways of arrogance and pomposity?”

“Sure.” Maldynado winked. “But we went hunting on family vacations.”

“Go ahead,” Amaranthe told Maldynado. “Keep in mind that I
have
read books, and I’m not going to be fooled if you try to convince me about made-up monsters that live up here.”

Maldynado touched his chest, eyes wide. “I wouldn’t consider such a thing.”

“Uh huh.”

While Maldynado explained the local fauna, everyone else ate. Akstyr balanced his book in his lap while he spooned food into his mouth. The old tome was hand-written in a painstakingly clean script. Amaranthe wondered how the scribe who had penned it would feel about someone slopping beans onto the pages.

“Are you listening?” Maldynado asked at one point, prodding Akstyr with his foot. “I’m divulging wisdom here.”

“Huh?” Akstyr lifted his head.

“You think your magic is going to help when a bear or ignak lizard tries to eat you?”

“If I learn these healing techniques,” Akstyr said, “I can help if something tries to eat
you
.”

“As if the forest creatures would be so rude.” Maldynado removed his hat, fluffed the peacock feather, swiped moisture off the brim, and replaced it at a rakish angle. “We’re still waiting for a demonstration of this great magic you’re learning.”

“Science,” Akstyr said.

“Either way, we haven’t seen you do anything except that trick where you made a flame. And you probably just had a match secreted in your hand for that.”

“Did not.”

“Prove it. Heal my hangnail.” Maldynado managed to display said nail while making a rude gesture.

Akstyr put aside his book and food and lunged to his feet, fists clenched.

“What’s the matter?” Maldynado also stood. He prodded Akstyr in the chest with a finger. “Afraid we’ll find out you’re a fraud?”

Amaranthe set her meal down, not sure what Maldynado was trying to do or if she should stop it. Despite his size and his dueling skills, he was a laid-back sort, and she had never seen him pick a fight.

Akstyr slapped the finger away and glowered at Maldynado, a challenge in his eyes. Though slender by comparison and inches shorter, he did not back down.

When Maldynado lunged at him, Akstyr was ready. He jumped to the side, escaping a bear hug designed to force him to the ground. Maldynado reacted quickly, though, and hooked an arm around Akstyr’s waist. Akstyr pulled back, but tripped over a root. He went down, landing on his rump with a cry of pain, or maybe rage. Maldynado scrambled on top of him. Though usually an agile man, he launched a sloppy punch at Akstyr. The bout of fisticuffs resembled a drunken barroom brawl more than a serious scrap, judging by Maldynado anyway. Akstyr appeared confused, hurt, and angry.

Books wore a bewildered are-their-brains-malfunctioning look. Basilard lifted his skillet, pointed at Maldynado, and raised his eyebrows.

“No, don’t hit him on the head yet,” Amaranthe said, though if the scuffle went on much longer, she might do it herself.

“Get off me, you—” Akstyr yelped.

“Problem?” Sicarius asked from behind Amaranthe’s shoulder.

His silent appearance caught her by surprise, as usual, and she jumped.

“I think we’re about to find out if Akstyr truly has magic skills,” she said.

“Science practitioners require concentration, which is not a state easily achieved when—”

Akstyr cried out when a fist connected with his nose. Blood spattered his baggy shirt.

More coyote yips and howls echoed through the forest, loud enough to drown out the grunts and thumps of the men’s fight. Maybe because she was an inexperienced city girl, the yowls sounded eerie to Amaranthe. It was spring. Shouldn’t those coyotes be off finding alluring opposite-sex coyotes to mate with instead of serenading the trees with those agitated shrieks?

Maldynado rolled away and jumped to his feet, landing in a balanced ready stance. He held a hand out. “We’re done.”

On his knees, hands balled into fists and chest heaving, Akstyr snarled at him. “We’re
done
? What addled ancestor jumped into your head and made you start that?” Blood streamed from his nose. He dashed it away with a sleeve.

“A capricious one.” Maldynado grinned. Though mud smeared his fine clothing and smudged his jaw, he appeared unwounded. “I thought you’d appreciate the opportunity to practice healing.”

Akstyr stared for a long moment before unclenching his fists. “You pummeled me into the ground because you wanted to
help
me?”

“Yup. You’re a mess now,” Maldynado said. “Can you practice on yourself? Magic, I mean.” His lip quirked.

“It’s easier on other people.” Akstyr sniffed and dabbed at his nose.

“Oh.” Maldynado pushed up a sleeve. “Well, I scraped my elbow on that stump. Want to help it?”

“Right now, I wouldn’t help you if you staggered up to me with a spear sticking out of your chest. I’m going to study. Don’t talk to me again tonight. Any of you.” Akstyr snatched his book and his blanket and stalked to the lorry.

“How long before he realizes he won’t get much studying done without a light?” Books murmured.

Amaranthe dug a lantern out of their gear, lit it, and took it to the lorry. Without a word, she set it down beside Akstyr, who was propped in the back, scowling at his book. She returned to the campfire.

After a moment of sullen silence, Akstyr said, “Thanks.”

“Interesting tactics,” Amaranthe told Maldynado.

“Yes, I’m creative. Like a brilliant general inspiring his army to acts of greatness.”

“Or acts of mutiny,” Books muttered.

“Hush, or I’ll thump you up for Akstyr to practice on.”

Sicarius crouched next to Amaranthe. “Something is off out there.”

“What do you mean?”

He flicked his gaze toward the pond, where the frogs remained silent. Mist gathered amongst the ferns overreaching the filmy water.

Amaranthe strapped on her short sword and a pistol, then followed him to the water’s edge to talk privately.

“What is it?” She turned her back to the pond, preferring the view of the fire—and their lorry full of weapons. The coyotes and the mists had her thinking of stories her father had told her as a girl: tales of dark nights when people were haunted by deranged ancestor spirits resentful of their living kin.

A twig snapped in the distance. Amaranthe’s hand brushed her pistol before she caught herself. Just some nocturnal animal hunting for grub. Besides, Sicarius stood an arm’s length away. He could probably kill anything in the forest barehanded. Though the way something in the woods arrested his attention stole some of the comfort his presence usually offered.

“Sicarius?” she prompted.

“I’m as much a city-dweller as you,” he said, “but I had complete wilderness-lore training, and I’ve spent many nights in forests.”

“I don’t doubt it.” She shifted her weight. It was not like him to verbally defend his skills—there was no need.

“The coyotes sound…off,” he said. “Those aren’t their usual cries.”

“Off, how?”

“Fearful, distressed. I’ve been scouting, and many animals are displaying signs of agitation.”

“Maybe our presence is disturbing them,” Amaranthe said.

The coyotes picked up their cries again, closer now. This time, she did let her hand come to rest on the butt of the pistol.

“You stand first watch,” Sicarius said. “Let me sleep for a couple hours, then I’ll take the rest of the night.”

“We do have six people here,” Amaranthe said.

“Not that I trust to stay awake and alert.”

He strode back into camp before she could respond. She understood doubting Akstyr or Maldynado, but she had faith Books and especially Basilard, who seemed more comfortable in the forest than any of them, would stand a responsible watch. She had more faith in them than herself. In the city, she knew what to expect. Out here, how did a novice tell the difference between the innocent activity of nocturnal creatures and more sinister sounds?

Amaranthe poked around, looking for a good spot to stand watch. Meanwhile, Sicarius unloaded her repeating crossbow and handed rifles to the men.

“Sleep with your boots on and your weapons close,” he told them.

They accepted the rifles grimly. Sicarius applied poison to Amaranthe’s crossbow quarrels and headed over to where she had found her lookout position—a broad tree leaning over the pond. She could put her back against it and see in all directions except the water.

“One of my school friends said you can tell a man likes you when he starts doing you little favors,” Amaranthe said. “I wonder if she would have counted the application of poison to one’s weapons.”

Sicarius handed her the crossbow and pointed at her pistol. “You have powder and balls?”

“Yes. No comment on favors, eh?”

Sicarius handed her a cloak, threw a second around himself, and headed into the darkness. He skimmed up a tree with low branches and settled into a crook ten feet up.

“You are an eccentric and unique individual, Sicarius,” she said under her breath.

She tried to imagine him married and living in a house in the countryside with a passel of toddlers running around. The vision did not evolve far. If he ever married, it’d have to be to someone who would follow him into the woods and up a tree.