Forest of Ruin (11 page)

M
oria found shovels behind the house, abandoned after their gruesome task. The bandits didn't move, and her rage flared inside her thinking of the terrible trick they'd played on Gavril, ready to challenge them on it. Then Toman ordered one of his men to assist her, and she channeled Ashyn and tamped down that fury, knowing it would do no good and this was not the time. For Gavril's sake and for Kiri's, it was not the time.

How much the bandit actually helped dig that hole was debatable. It was long and exhausting work, and by the end of it, Moria was ready to collapse, every muscle quivering.

At one point Toman had offered the opinion that it was unnecessary, that he could simply take Kiri's head for her bounty, since that was exposed. But he seemed to be more taunting her than seriously suggesting it, and at a snarl from Moria, he'd chuckled and wisely wandered off without pressing the matter.

Finally, she had Kiri out. The bandit did not help with that, leaving her struggling to pull the corpse from the loosened earth. She managed it and then insisted on help to carry Kiri to the side of the house, so Gavril would not see that telltale hole or the horrible faces of the other victims.

Kiri had been bound hand and foot. Marks on her cheeks suggested she'd been gagged. Had they sedated their victims to keep them from struggling as the holes were filled? Moria did not know which was worse—to be conscious in that hole as the dirt fell around you or to wake trapped in your grave. She knew only that, once again, she wished she had not been blessed with such a vivid imagination.

The whole time she'd been digging Kiri out, her mind had plagued her with scenarios, not only of the victims but of those who'd carried out the horrible task. How could they fill in those holes? How could they rip off the gags and walk away, casually dropping their shovels behind the house, listening to the cries and the pleas of five innocent victims, knowing the unimaginable torment they faced in the days before death would come? How does one do such a thing and remain human?

Moria removed Kiri's bonds and placed her on her back, hands folded on her stomach. She shut her eyelids. She massaged her face and managed to wipe away that look of loss and disbelief and find a quiet expression of peace. She cleaned dirt from Kiri's face and brushed it from her gown, and she fixed hair ribbons that had come loose. She was fussing with one of the last when she heard a noise and looked up to see Gavril a few paces away, watching her.

“Didn't I tell you to wait for my summons?” she said.

“I brought him,” Toman said, walking up behind Gavril.
“The night is half passed, and we don't have time for you to make a corpse look pretty.”

She quickly finished tying one of the ribbons. Then she pushed to her feet and bowed her head to Gavril. “We will give you a few moments.”

“We don't have time—” Toman began.

“We will give you a few moments.”

She started to leave, but Gavril touched her arm as she passed and said, “Stay.”

Moria still remained standing, with her back to Kiri as Gavril crouched beside his mother. When he said, “I'll bury her now,” Moria walked over, bent, and clipped a beribboned curl with her dagger, then handed it to Gavril. He pulled away, that grim mask falling as he said, “I do not require—”

“Then I will.” She tucked the lock into her pocket. “Now, we must bury—”

“How will I collect my bounty without a body?” Toman said.

“You can tell the emperor where to find her.”

It was a poor solution, and Moria expected him to refuse, but he only grumbled and said, “Do it quickly.”

Moria and Gavril dug the hole while Toman watched.

“You do know this is the emperor's work,” Toman said when the hole was almost deep enough.

Neither replied, simply dug in their shovels again.

“You're educated children,” Toman continued. “Surely you recognize this for what it is?”

“Yes,” Gavril said.

“Tell me.”

When Gavril didn't respond, Moria looked at him and he nodded.

“It's the traditional execution method for the Tatsu clan,” Moria said. “From ages past. I have heard of it . . .”

But never imagined it.
Words she found herself saying and thinking so often lately. All the things she'd read in books or heard in bards' tales and never given a second thought because they'd been merely words. However vividly described, words of a thousand deaths did not begin to convey the horror of a single one witnessed.

The stories said that the Tatsu clan used to bury their enemies to the neck and leave them to perish. It was not a violent death, so it seemed merciful compared to the infamous death of a thousand cuts. Now, Moria could not say for certain that she would choose this over
any
other method.

Toman said, “You know then that this is incontrovertible proof that the emperor has taken his revenge.”

“Is it?” Moria said. “Everyone who has read a history book knows this is the Tatsu's traditional method of execution. Anyone could emulate—”

“Do not defend him,” Gavril said, his voice low, gaze fixed on the hole.

“I'm simply saying—”

“And I know well your feelings about the emperor, Keeper. As you know mine. He has allowed you to be cast as traitor, and yet you continue to defend him. My father is not the monster here. The man who did that?” He pointed to his mother's corpse. “He is the true monster.”

“No,” Toman said. “He is a true
dragon
. At rest, he slumbers
peacefully. But one does not provoke a dragon. Not if one has a grain of sense. Our emperor has acted with the brutality and the cunning I expect of a Tatsu. I was glad to call him my emperor this morning. I am proud to call him that tonight.”

Gavril threw down his shovel. “He murdered an innocent woman.”

“Your mother lost her innocence the day she wed that treacherous fox. Do you wish to blame someone for this, boy? Blame your father. He abandoned her out here with an inadequate guard. That tells the empire how much he cared for the mother of his only child.”

“My father cares—”

“Not a whit for anyone but himself, and the sooner you acknowledge that, the easier your life will be.”

“Do not taunt him,” Moria said to Toman, her voice as soft as she could make it. “Not in his time of grief.”

Gavril turned on her. “Don't defend me, Keeper.”

“I'm not. I'm showing you a moment of kindness as one who has suffered such a loss herself.”

“Your emperor—”

“I do not believe
my
emperor did this.”

“Then you are a fool.”

“No, you are the fool, if you continue to believe your father . . .” Moria sighed and stuck her shovel in the ground. “Let's not argue, Kitsune. We'll bury your mother, and I'll say the words to ease her passing.”

Moria said the rituals for the dead. Gavril did not mention the fact that they weren't hers to say. The Seeker calmed spirits
while the Keeper fought those who would not be calmed. Yet Moria knew the words, and so she said them and prayed the ancestors would understand.

They returned to the wagon and set off. Moria turned from Gavril, leaving him to his grief, sitting in the corner, his knees drawn up, arms around them, gaze lowered. They hadn't gone far before he said, “Thank you.”

She nodded, still not looking over, in case that was all, but his boots scraped the wooden floor of the wagon as he moved closer. He lowered himself to sit cross-legged near her. She held out the lock of Kiri's hair and when he hesitated, she tucked it into his pocket. He did not stop her.

“Everything you did back there was both appreciated and undeserved,” he said. “In equal measure.”

“I did what was right.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“You performed very well at the gravesite.” She turned toward him. “I presume it
was
a performance?”

“Of course. My opinions may change, Moria, but not so tempestuously. We must maintain our roles.”

“I will be more careful in our interactions as well.”

He shrugged. “We are not what the rumors accuse us of being, so perhaps it is simpler to allow them to see that the truth is . . . complicated.”

That was the word, wasn't it? Complicated.

“I am deeply sorry about your mother's passing,” Moria said after a few moments. “I ought to have said that earlier.”

“You showed it. That's enough.” A few more moments passed before he said, “Did I ever say the same to you? About
your father? I was. I am. Deeply sorry.”

Moria nodded and listened to the creaking of the wagon wheels. Wind blasted through the cracks, and she reached as if to pull her cloak tighter. Gavril handed her a blanket. She wrapped it around her shoulders.

“We'll get your cloak back,” he said. “I know it means a great deal to you.”

“Whether I get it back or not, I'm glad you found it in his shop.”

“I wish I never had to find it. I wish he could have given it—” He shook his head and lapsed back into silence, his knees pulled up again, chin resting on them.

“Can you tell me what happened in Edgewood?” she asked.

“Madness.”

She glanced over. The moon had passed behind clouds, and only darkness came through the hole in the top of the wagon. All she could see of Gavril were the whites of his eyes and the green irises, glowing as if by sorcery.

He continued. “I've told you I played no role in your father's death or your town's massacre, but that is disingenuous. Of course I played a role. The mere fact that I knew my father lived and that he planned to launch his bid for the imperial throne from there—the very place he'd been exiled—means I must share blame.”

“It was the massacre you knew nothing about.”

“I . . . I expected a military attack. Against the guards. I knew the military was still favorable to my father, so I thought he would strike but tell them the truth, how he'd been wronged, and with his eloquence, the guards would understand and
capitulate and join us and . . . And I was a fool.”

“What did you think was happening when the shadow stalkers attacked?”

“Truly?” He lifted his head to look at her. “I thought it was a mistake. My father knows powerful magics, and I feared he had accidentally unleashed them against innocents. Or that sorcerers working with him had done it. When you told me the town was gone, well, you
do
have an imagination, and you are fond of bloody and terrible stories. I thought a few people had died and you . . .”

“Saw a lizard and thought it a dragon?”

“Yes. Even when I witnessed it myself, I thought it was a tragic accident. The fact that the children were safe seemed proof of that. The magics had gone terribly awry, and my father mitigated it as best he could by rescuing the children.”

“Which was not the case.”

Gavril went silent so long that Moria thought he was finished speaking, and she began to move away. Then, he said, “I was wrong about many,
many
things, Keeper. In Edgewood, I called you a child flitting after butterflies, but that was me. Chasing a dream of a parent who never existed. My memory turned him into a father who was harsh but fair. A man struggling against fate and a traitorous friend, a man who became embittered because of it, but still good and honorable.”

“And he is not.”

Gavril's harsh laugh startled her. “I'm not even certain he's human.”

She remembered the bodies behind the house, thinking that whoever had done such a thing could not be human. She
shook off the chill. No, Alvar was capable of many things, but not that. Kiri Kitsune had been his wife. Mother to his child.

“In the compound, you called him mad,” she said. “He slapped you for it. Do you believe he is?”

“Perhaps I'm still clinging to excuses. But if it is madness, it is not the sort that pardons his actions. He knows full well what he does.” Gavril shook his head. “That's enough. You ought to get some sleep, Keeper.”

“I don't think I could.”

“Would you like me to tell you a story?”

She laughed softly, but he looked over and said, “The offer is a true one. You did much for me tonight. More than . . .” He shifted. “You did much, and it is appreciated. To save me from that horror, you had to face it yourself and . . . And I . . . cannot imagine what it was like, but I am grateful. So I offer you a story, though perhaps not one well told.”

“Do you even
know
any stories?”

“One or two, but I'll not admit it past tonight.”

She smiled. “All right then, Kitsune.” She stretched onto the floor. “Tell me a tale.”

“K
eeper.”

Moria woke to Gavril shaking her shoulder, his voice taut with urgency.

“Moria.”

When she moved, his hand shot to her mouth. That startled her enough to make her leap up, but as sleep scattered, she remembered Kiri's death and went still.

“Stay quiet,” he said, and waited for her nod before lowering his hand.

Quiet. That's what it was outside the wagon. Completely silent. Gavril's whisper had echoed through the dark wagon. They had stopped, and Moria couldn't even pick up the sound of the horses sighing or stamping.

She felt something though. Her skin prickled, as if she'd caught a smell or a sound. But she hadn't. She rubbed her eyes and gave her head a sharp shake to clear the last fog of sleep.

“It's still night,” she whispered, looking up at the stars through the hole.

Gavril nodded. She tried to calculate the time. The moon had been at its zenith when they'd left Kiri's compound. Then they'd talked and Gavril had told her a story. One about the Keeper of Edgewood, from ages past. An old and comforting tale. She'd fallen asleep as he reached the end.

“Were you awake?” she asked.

“I thought I was, but I must have drifted off. I woke to this.”

He crawled to the door flap. Moria resisted the urge to pull him back. She held herself still, ready to leap at the first sign of trouble, but he undid the flap and opened it, and the silence continued.

Moria crept up beside him and looked out. There was nothing to see. Nothing at all. They were still in the steppes, the land an endless plain of grass, dotted with distant hills. But that was all they saw. There was no sign of the bandits.

“Are they waiting for us to follow on foot again?” Gavril murmured.

“It's not the same,” Moria said, the words coming before she could consider them.

“Hmm?”

She shook her head, but he peered down at her. “What's wrong, Keeper?”

When she didn't answer, he said, “You're unsettled again, and it has nothing to do with the lack of your blade and your beast.” He drew back onto his haunches. “Nor was that it entirely the last time. You sensed something. The passing of spirits. Death.”

“I have no ability to—”

“You are attuned to the spirits. You could not hear them at my mother's house, but you sensed their anguished departure.” He considered. “A learned ability, having been in such spirit-disturbed places repeatedly. Now you sense that here.”

“Yes, and yet . . . no. It's . . .” She rubbed her arms briskly. “I'm no good at analyzing such things, Kitsune. I am unsettled, and it is not the same as earlier. That's all I can tell you.”

He nodded and carefully stepped from the wagon. Again, she had to fight not to yank him back in. She shook that off. Cowering in a wagon was not her way or his, and she was hardly going to make it so now.

She lowered herself to the ground and peered into the night.

“Do you see anyone?” she whispered.

“No.”

“Is it a trap?” She answered her own question with, “Best to presume so.”

He made a noise of agreement.

Moria walked around the wagon. Then she stopped. The harnesses were empty, the horses gone. She walked over and picked up one of the straps. It was wet and slick and she dropped it, lifting her fingers into the moonlight, knowing what she'd see there.

“Blood,” Gavril whispered, and she glanced to see him at her shoulder.

He moved to the second harness while Moria lifted the bloody strap again and examined the end. Cut, as if with a blade.

“The horses were freed, and the blade must have cut the horse as well.” She looked at the wagon. “How would we not hear that? The strap is soaked in blood, meaning it was not a shallow cut. The horse would have shrieked and bucked, and yet we felt and heard nothing. That makes no sense.”

“No,” he said grimly. “It does not.”

As they continued looking about, clouds covered the moon. At a sound in the darkness, Moria tensed, her back going to Gavril's, his to hers, both of them reaching for weapons they did not have.

He said something, and Moria looked over her shoulder to say that she could not hear him, when his fingers lit in an unearthly glow.

“This may be a trap,” he said. “But if it is, they're looking for more than proof of this.” He waved his glowing fingers. “Given all my father has done, there's little point in continuing to protest that we are not sorcerers.”

“I don't suppose you can conjure me a dagger?”

A strained smile. “Sorry, Keeper. When I said in the Wastes that I know no sorcery to protect us, I was telling the truth. I have only the simplest of magics.”

They fell quiet, backs together.

“You did hear something, did you not?” Moria said.

“Yes, but it's gone now, and I could not determine the direction.”

Moria headed back to the wagon.

“Keeper?”

She motioned for him to follow.

“But we ought to investigate—” he began.

“We will. Now come. I need your light.”

When she'd been on the road with Tyrus and Ashyn, their wagons had resembled these. Common imperial wagons, the lower half being a storage compartment, accessible from hatches in the sides. She unlatched one hatch door and crawled inside on her stomach while waving for Gavril to light her way.

When she tossed out a waterskin, he said, “This is hardly the time—”

“Drink while I look for weapons.”

“Oh.”

She glanced out at him. “Truly, Kitsune? You think I paused for a snack?”

“No, I—”

“Drink. But keep the light in here.”

He grumbled that it would be nearly impossible to do both, given that the light came from his hands, also required for drinking. She ignored him and, after some digging, found not merely weapons, but
their
weapons. They were in a small stash with others, and she quickly selected a short sword to go with her daggers, and then pushed from the compartment. She handed Gavril his dual blades. He grunted his thanks. Then, before she could close the compartment, he reached in and pulled out something else.

Her cloak.

“I don't need—”

“Take it, Keeper. That hair of yours is as much a beacon as my hands.”

She put on the dark cloak and raised the hood. When he
noticed she wore a sword, he opened his mouth to comment, but a sound cut him short.

It was the same noise they'd heard earlier. Clearer now. It sounded like the moan of the wind through eaves. Yet there was no wind here. Certainly no eaves. The sound came from somewhere ahead of the wagon.

She started forward. Gavril moved in front of her, but she tugged him back.

“At a doorway, yes,” she whispered. “Out here, you block my vision.” She motioned for him to walk behind her. He backed to her side instead. She sighed, and they continued on.

Her nerves had settled some since they'd come out of the wagon. Finding those cut harnesses had helped—it meant they were looking for something human. She could handle human.

As they neared the spot from which the noise had come, Moria saw a hand lying on the pathway. It appeared to be attached to a body, which was a relief. Again, these days, one could not guarantee such a thing.

The attached body lay in a heap, just beyond the grassy edge of the path. At another moan, they stopped short and Gavril extended his hands, lighting the scene. At first they could see only a collapsed figure, but then Moria could make out long braids with bright, colored beads, and knew it was the wagon driver.

“Extend your other hand,” Gavril called to him. “And we will come to your aid.”

The man only groaned.

“There is no one else here,” Gavril continued. “No one to
fight you nor to bind your wounds. Place your right hand where we can see it.”

The man went still and silent. Gavril extinguished his light. Then he called, “I will not hesitate to kill you. I trust you understand that.”

He proceeded toward the man with his sword at the ready.

“Do not move or I will slice off your hand,” he said. “I have retrieved my sword from the compartment under the wagon and the Keeper is poised with her daggers.”

The man gave no sign he'd heard. Gavril took another step. Then he stopped. He quickly cast the spell to relight his fingers, which meant removing one hand from his sword, and Moria scanned the grass for any sign of an ambush. When Gavril let out a curse, she hurried forward.

As Moria approached, Gavril drew his hand into a fist, all but extinguishing the magical glow, yet not before she saw the wagon driver. Or at least, saw the bloody mess that she knew was the driver only by those beaded braids. His clothing was shredded and caked in dirt and blood. His nose seemed pushed into his face, as if it had collapsed on itself. One eye was . . . unmoored.

“He's been trampled,” she whispered. “He freed the horses, and they trampled him.”

The man's good eye stared as if dead, but he exhaled, the sound wheezing through collapsed lungs. Moria dropped beside him and put her hands to his chest. It was caved in, ribs broken, one pushing through skin, blood soaking his tunic. Still she pressed her hands against his heart.

“I can't tell . . .” she said. “Blast it, I'm no healer.”

“I believe he is beyond that,” Gavril said, his voice low, as if hoping the man could not hear. Moria suspected that even if he could, he didn't understand them. His head had been bashed in on the same side, blood and gray matter oozing out. Yet he lived. Clearly, he breathed, so he must—

“Moria!”

The man's right hand rose, his fingers curved and twisted, like claws. Moria saw that and flashed back to her father—

The whistle of a blade. The
thwack
of steel cutting through flesh and bone, and the man's hand sailed free of his body. She leaped up, staggering back as the wagon driver's body bucked and flailed, the stump of his arm thrashing, bloodless. His other arm pulsed, as if trying to change itself into the claw-like thing but finding itself unable to complete the transformation, crushed and nearly severed by the horse's hooves.

Gavril's sword sailed up, ready to strike the killing blow, but Moria said, “Wait!”

“It's—” he began.

“A shadow stalker. Which means you cannot kill it with that. We're safe at a distance—it can't fully manifest when the body is ruined, and it seems trapped inside. I can banish it but . . .” Her gaze crossed the open land. “Where there's one . . .”

“Yes, of course. Conserve your powers.”

They stepped back onto the path. Gavril's gaze lingered on the wagon driver.

“His spirit has fled,” Moria said. “He is at peace.”

“I wasn't—”

“You're allowed to express concern for a fellow human
being, Gavril. No one will judge you for it.” When he opened his mouth, she said, “No one
here
will judge you for it.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Let's look around.”