Forest Born (8 page)

Chapter 9

T
hey traveled under the cover of the wood for four days. Kiltwin, a large walled town, lay just beyond the trees to the south, and Isi wanted to avoid it. She might be recognized there, slowing them when speed and stealth could be vital. So they kept moving east through the trees, Isi depending on the wind to guide them.

“The wind carries with it images of what it has touched,” Isi explained to Rin. “It’s constantly muttering, though it takes some understanding to puzzle out what it means.”

So when Isi listened to the wind, she knew of things that were out of sight. She could also send the wind any direction she chose, all from understanding its language. Rin gazed at the passing trees and wondered what else might be possible.

Isi brought them out of the wood near what had been the village of Geldis. It was just debris and embers, heaps of ash. Enna kicked blackened timber and glared at the horizon.

“Where are you? Are you here? I’m here now. Come out!”

Despite the chill icing her gut, Rin did wish those burners would come running at them, and let the fire sisters end it right then. A bird lit at her feet, then flew off; a breeze ruffled loose soil. Nothing else moved.

“Now what?” Enna asked. “The villagers of Geldis went east to Hendric,” Isi said.

“So do we.”

Hills rolled away from the wood, open farms changing to wooden homes sporting pens of pigs and donkeys. By evening buildings clustered into the town of Hendric, clapboard homes and shops clinging to a crossroads.

The inn was a large rickety structure, the rooms upstairs balanced over an enormous common room, the roof thatched with straw that wriggled and whimpered with mice.

Before leaving the wood, Rin wrapped her hair into a cloth common among Forest women so she would not stand out in her own party. Isi and Dasha felt around their foreheads and necks, anxious that no strand of yellow or orange hair escape to draw attention. Enna blackened their eyebrows with a piece of charcoal.

In the common room that night, Enna and Isi made polite conversation with travelers and locals alike, trying to steer the topic to what happened in Geldis, hoping to find a trail to follow. Rin wanted to help, but there were so many people—eating, drinking, singing, laughing, pushing, shoving, yelling, weeping. She sat in a corner, her arms around her chest.

A droopy-eyed farmer cornered Enna, droning on about how the king was to blame for Geldis. When the hearth fire surged unexpectedly, Isi pulled Enna to a table against the wall.

“We can’t draw notice.”

“He was an arrogant cow,” Enna said, tearing a piece of bread into crumbs. “You can see I showed restraint, since he still has all his hair.”

“Truly you are a diplomat,” said Dasha.

“I don’t see you talking to anyone, Ambassador.”

“Because my accent—”

“Lovely excuse. Go on. Take a risk.”

Dasha rose dramatically and moved to the next table beside a man with long black and white hair.

“Good evening, sir,” said Dasha. “I am stopping this night at the inn and was hoping to find news of the kingdom. May I sit beside you?”

He rolled his head on his neck, shifting his gaze from his ale to her face. “You . . . your voice sounds funny.”

“Oh that, well . . .” In her nervous ness, her Tiran accent became even more pronounced. “I have a cold.” She sniffed.

The man rubbed his own nose. “I’ve had a cold for years. Ale’s the only thing that helps.” He sniffed—a wet, grating sound.

Dasha winced. “It doesn’t seem to be helping very much.”

“You should see me the rest of the time.”

“I’m very sorry for that. It must be uncomfortable to be sick, and with unrest about. Sir, you have the face of one who has a deep sight.”

The man’s crumpled face transformed with a grin. “A deep sight, huh?”

“Indeed. That’s why I had hoped to speak with you of all these people. I’m concerned about what happened in Geldis.”

“Who isn’t? I talked to Geldis folk. They were attacked at night, burned right out of their houses, and no one saw the attackers. Some people say the king himself went to take a look and was killed dead. But a traveler came through last week”—he leaned closer to Dasha to speak low—“asking questions about who’d stopped here lately. My cousin said he had an accent. Tiran, maybe. You ask me, I say those stinking Tiran burned Geldis, weakening us up before they invade again.” His voice grated even lower, his eyes shifting. “Tiran might be in disguise here in this very room. You’ll smell them before you see them—they’re fouler than skunks.”

Dasha stood up quickly, humor battling solemnity on her face. “Thank you, sir. You have been so helpful.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’m here alone. I don’t suppose . . .” He looked up at her through his eyelashes and gave a short, pathetic sniff.

She shook her head and mumbled, “May your cold improve,” as she walked out of the inn. Rin and the other girls followed, and when the inn door shut behind them, Dasha threw herself against the side of the building, coughing out the laugh she’d been holding back. “I love being in disguise! This is fantastic!”

Enna sighed. “Razo’s bound to be disappointed at first, but eventually he’ll understand that you’ve found true love.”

“Yes, Sniffles and I planned a furtive meeting later by the woodpile, if his da will let him off chores.”

“It was impressive,” said Enna, “how he identified that peculiar odor all of your countrymen share, as if you’ve been stewed in vinegar. He didn’t smell it on you, but that lapse could be explained by his tragic cold . . .”

Two men and a woman, laughing loudly, came down the street toward the inn. The four girls silenced and moved to the far side of the building.

“People say the king is dead,” Isi whispered. She sat on the ground, her back against the inn. “We need to resolve this as quickly as possible.”

“Isi, this cannot be Tira’s doing,” said Dasha. “Last Razo and I were in Ingridan, all was well. The Assembly was confident that peace would continue, the general opinion toward Bayern was positive. I just can’t believe the Assembly would send groups to attack the king, let alone burn a little village like Geldis.”

Enna snorted. “No, Tira would never march into Bayern like that.”

“In the past,” Dasha said patiently, “but not anymore. I believe that.”

Rin did not know what to think. Razo now lived half the year in Tira, and he seemed to trust them. But just two years before, Tira’s army had invaded Bayern without provocation and killed thousands.

Isi looked up sharply just before the two men and a woman appeared around the side of the inn.

“You there, you girls.” The man’s words sloshed, suggesting he’d been familiar with some ale that night. His cheeks were ruddy and his long black hair clumped together. “You. One of you anyway.” He put his arm around the woman and they laughed in each other’s faces. “We want to dance! And my friend lacks a partner. So one of you . . .”

“No thank you,” said Isi.

“One of you dance with him.” The man’s gaze landed on Rin’s face. “You. Come on, one dance.”

Rin’s hands flew to her mouth, and she looked to Isi for help.

“She’s not interested in your kind offer.” Isi stood beside Rin, a warm hand on her shoulder. “But thank you and enjoy this fresh summer evening.”

“One dance.” The man reached for Rin, grabbing her arm.

Enna shoved the man’s hand away. “She said she’s not interested.”

“I didn’t hear her say anything, but you’ll do just as well.” He put his arm around Enna’s waist and hefted her up, dragging her toward the inn.

Rin felt tied up and helpless. Fire would start now, or wind or water, and everyone at that inn would know what secrets the fire sisters kept. She wished she could do something, say something, but she just kept her hands over her mouth and backed away.

Enna was kicking and hollering. The ruckus caught the attention of the inn dwellers, and the doors opened, spilling music, firelight, and people into the street.

Isi and Dasha were on the man, pulling his arm, trying to set Enna free. Isi’s expression was desperate. She was not afraid of the man, Rin could see, but of what Enna might do if the man did not back down.

“One dance,” the man kept saying. “Don’t be so shy!”

The woman laughed at the to-do and the man’s friend was so enthused he joined in, pulling Dasha and Isi back, laughing into his beard in a bewildered way. Rin rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, her hands fluttering around her chest. She’d been trying to imitate Isi’s way these past days, but Isi was so bold, shouting commands. Rin did not dare. Her hands returned to her mouth.

“Stand down!” came the shout as a new figure entered the fray. He shoved the man’s friend to the ground, pulled the man from Enna, and twisted his arm behind his back.

“Finn!” Enna shouted, surprised and angry and thrilled at once.

“You don’t push me!” The friend lurched to his feet, his belly pulling his weight forward. He yanked his sword from a leather scabbard and took steps toward Finn. “Try that again, boy.”

Finn shoved away the clumpy-haired one and drew his own sword, positioning himself between the weaponed man and Enna. “Very well.”

From the unwavering point of his weapon to his unshaking legs, there was no question Finn was a soldier, someone who knew his sword and could use it. His opponent looked him over, his sword tip wavering, dipping. He glanced behind him as if for an escape route.

“Sheath your weapons and walk away,” said Isi.

Her voice was so sure, so full of right and command, Rin was surprised no one was dropping on knees in acknowledgment of the queen. Even not knowing who it was they obeyed, the two men backed away, giving Finn a wide berth. Their woman friend had stopped laughing, and the three of them headed into town, apparently no longer in the mood for dancing.

Isi sighed, glancing at the small crowd leaning out of the inn doors. “So much for not drawing notice.”

“Do you think we should move on tonight?” Dasha whispered.

Isi shook her head. “No fires were set. Hopefully this will seem just an ale-inspired brawl. But let’s get off the street.”

With his sword sheathed, Finn lost all his menace, his shoulders slumped and face long, his eyes on Enna. She turned away.

They followed Isi through the crowded common area and up the squeaking stairs to their room. The innkeeper raised his eyebrows at Finn as he followed the four girls inside. Finn shrugged and grinned.

“Oh, Finn, don’t give them more to talk about,” Isi said.

He was last in the room, and he shut and locked the door behind him, seeming to take as long as possible. When he turned to face them, his expression was sheepish.

“I wondered when you were going to show up,” said Isi.

Enna started. “You knew?”

“I suspected. In truth, I didn’t need to hear the wind whispering about a man alone in the wood to figure out Finn would try to follow you.”

Enna put a fist on her hip, and Rin thought to be glad that hot gaze was not directed at her.

“Did you think I’d need you to protect me?” Enna asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe. You never know when you need a sword at your back.”

“You thought I couldn’t handle myself.”

“No, I—”

“I’m not talking to you, Finn,” Enna said.

They readied themselves for the night in silence. Finn faced the wall as the girls undressed into shifts and cozied into their cots, Dasha sharing with Rin, and Isi and Enna on the other. Finn took a spot on the floor, laying his body before the door, his head on a bedroll.

Enna yawned. “A tale before bed?” It had become custom their four nights in the wood. Rin had even practiced her own story till Enna had cheered with approval.

“A song would be nice,” said Isi. “And nicer still if you’d sing it.”

Enna glanced once at Finn and quickly away again, keeping her eyes on the window while she sang.

She had a high voice, higher than her speaking voice, but it slipped out of her throat soft and simple. Her song was of a carpenter’s daughter who lay in the branches of an oak tree as if cradled in a lover’s arms and would love no other. Her father discovered her hopeless passion and taking pity, he cut down the tree and carved it into the shape of a man. But to the girl it was no kindness. The tree was now dead, and she wept for the loss of her love. Rin had heard the song before. The way some sang it the story was funny, and she recalled laughing at the girl’s silliness and the father’s inept compassion. But in the dark, with Enna’s voice reaching up and around, there was no humor. Only loneliness.

Dasha rolled over and placed an arm around Rin, a gentle touch, a gesture of friendship. Rin flinched, but the touch made home seem real again, Ma beside her, her tunic wafting wood smoke and juniper, and everything safe for the night.

“Try not to wake us, Dasha,” Enna whispered, “when you leave to meet your beau by the woodpile.”

“I shall pour all my efforts into a stealthy tiptoe,” she whispered back.

Still woozy from the crowd and noise of the inn, Rin slumped into sleep so fast she felt as if she’d been hit over the head.

After a time, her sleep became light, wakefulness and dreams tugging back and forth until wakefulness won. She opened her eyes. The dark was pulsing with remembered images—Dasha daring to speak up while Rin sat in a corner; Isi and Dasha rushing to help Enna, while Rin stepped back, her hands over her mouth.

She squeezed out of bed and padded to the window and the dim view of town. Ma had said, “The longer you’re away from your family and your trees, the more you just might wither away.” Rin did feel like half a thing, like a dried-up root. But then again, she had often felt that way. Dasha’s vigor for life, Enna’s passion, Isi’s love—those girls were as full of energy and joy as the members of Rin’s own family. And then there was Rin.