Jarka Ruus (22 page)

Then he saw her. She appeared all at once, beckoning to him, knowing somehow that he was there. He took a chance, his throat tightening with anticipation. He stepped into the light, crossed the dock to the mooring slip, and stopped just below where she stood.

“Cinnaminson,” he said.

Her blind gaze shifted and her hair shimmered in the moonlight. “Wait,” she whispered. She moved at once to the ladder and dropped it over the side. “Come up. They're all in town at the ale houses and won't be back before dawn. We're alone.”

He did as she said, climbing the ladder and hauling himself aboard. He stood on the decking in front of her, and she reached to take his hands. “I knew you would come,” she said.

“I couldn't stay away.”

She released his hands and pulled the ladder back aboard. “Sit with me over here, out of the light. If they come, they need me to lower the ladder to let them aboard. By then, you can be over the side.”

She led him to the far side of the pilot box, where the shadows were deepest, and they sat down with their shoulders touching and their backs to the low wall. Her milky eyes turned to find him. “Let's not tell each other any lies tonight,” she whispered. “Let's tell each other only truths.”

He nodded. “All right. Who goes first?”

“I do. It was my idea.” She leaned close. “Papa knows who you are, Penderrin Ohmsford. He knew Ahren Elessedil was a Druid after what happened during the flit attack, and he found out the rest from asking around the docks. He didn't give you away, or let on that you were passengers on the
Skatelow
, but he knows.”

Her smooth features were tight with trepidation and uncertainty, her chin lifted as if to take a blow. Pen touched her cheek. “Ahren told us this might happen. It isn't unexpected. But he had to reveal himself if he was to save us.”

“Papa knows this, and he doesn't forget such favors. I don't think he intends you harm. But I don't always understand how he thinks, either.” She took his hands again. “Will you tell me where you are staying? So that if I discover you are in danger, I can warn you?”

He hesitated. It was the one thing he had been ordered not to reveal, no matter what. He had promised to keep it a secret. And now Cinnaminson was asking him to violate his trust. It was a terrible moment, and his decision was made impulsively.

“We are lodged at Fisherman's Lie, about half a mile into the city.” He squeezed her fingers. “But how will you find us, even if you need to? You'll have to ask for help, and that's too dangerous.”

She smiled. “Let me tell you another truth, Penderrin. I can find you anytime I want, because even though I am blind, I can see with my mind. I have always been able to do so. It is the way I was born—with a different kind of sight. I travel with Papa because I can see better than he can in darkness and in mist and fog, bad weather, storms of all sorts. I can navigate by seeing with my mind what is hidden to his eyes. That's why he can go into places others cannot—across the Lazareen, into the Slags, places cloaked by weather and gloom. It's like a picture that appears behind my eyes of everything around me. It doesn't work so well in daylight, although I can see well enough to find my way about. But at night, it is clear and sharp. Papa didn't know I could do this, at first. When Mama died, he began taking me to sea rather than leaving me with her relatives. He never liked them or they him. Having me travel with him was less trouble than finding someone he trusted to raise me at home. I was still very young. I thought I was being given a chance to prove I was worth keeping. I wanted him to love me so that he wouldn't give me up. So I showed him how I could read the sky when no one else could. He understood my gift, and he began using me to navigate. I let him do so because it made me feel secure. I was useful, and so I believed he would keep me.”

She paused. “Papa doesn't want anyone to know this. Only the two men who serve as crew know, and they are his cousins. Both are sworn to secrecy. He is protective of me; I am his daughter and helpmeet. But I am also his good-luck charm. Sometimes, he isn't clear on the difference. I think he loves me, but he doesn't know what loving someone really means.”

She reached out and cupped his face in her hands. “There. I've given you a gift—a truth no one else has ever heard.”

He took her hands in his own and squeezed them gently. “You've kept this to yourself a long time. Why are you telling someone now, after so long? Why disobey your father's wishes like that? I wouldn't have minded if you had kept it secret.”

She freed her hands, and her fingers brushed at her hair and face like tiny wings. “I am tired of not being able to talk about it with anyone. Not talking about it is like pretending I am someone other than who I really am. I have been looking for someone to tell this to. I chose you because I think we are the same. We are both keeping secrets.”

“I guess that's so,” he said. He sat back against the pilot box wall. “Now it's my turn to tell you a secret. I hardly know where to begin, I have so many. You know who I am, but you don't know what I am doing here.”

“I can guess,” she said. “The Ard Rhys is your aunt. You are here because of her. But the Druids say you are in danger. They say that what happened to her might happen to you if you are not found and brought to them. Is that true?”

He shook his head. “I'm in danger, but mostly from them. Some of them are responsible for what's happened to her. If they find me, I might end up the same way. I escaped them when they came looking for me in Patch Run. So now I'm running away.”

“Are you looking for your parents?”

“I'm looking for my aunt. It's complicated.” He paused. “We promised to tell each other truths tonight, so let me tell you one. You have a kind of magic that no one else has. So do I. Like you, I was born with it. It is probably a part of the magic my father inherited, something that's been passed down through the Ohmsford bloodline for generations. Only, mine is different.”

He exhaled softly, searching for a way to explain. “I can tell what plants and animals are feeling and sometimes thinking. They don't talk to me exactly, but they communicate anyway. They tell me things with their sounds and movements. For instance, I know if they're afraid or angry and what causes them to be so.”

“Your gift is not so different from my own,” she said. “You can see things that are hidden from other people and you can see them without using your eyes. We are alike, aren't we?”

He leaned forward. “Except that I am free and you are not. Why is that, Cinnaminson? Could you leave your father if you wanted? Could you go somewhere else and have a different life?”

It was such an impulsive question that he surprised himself by asking it. Worse, he had nothing beyond encouragement to offer if she answered yes. What could he do to help her in his present circumstances? He couldn't take her with him, not where he was going. He couldn't offer to aid her while Ahren was so determined not to aggravate Gar Hatch.

She laughed softly. “Such a bold question, Penderrin. What should I do? Leave my Papa and run away with you? A blind girl and a fugitive boy?”

“I guess it sounds silly,” he admitted. “I shouldn't have asked.”

“Why not?” she pressed, surprising him. “Do you care for me?”

“You don't have to ask that.”

“Then you must care
about
me, too. So it seems right to want an answer. I like it that you do. Yes, I want a different life. I have looked for it. But you are the first to whom I have talked about it. You are the first to ask.”

He stared at her face, at her smooth features, at the smile that curved her lips, at her strange blank eyes. What he felt for her in that instant transcended love. He might say that he loved her, but he didn't know all that much about love, so saying it wouldn't mean anything. It was only a word to him; he was still only a boy. But this other feeling, the one that was more than love, encompassed whole worlds. It whispered of connection and sharing, of confidences and truths like the ones they had told each other tonight. It promised small moments that would never be forgotten and larger ones that could change lives.

What could he give her that would tell her this? He struggled to find an answer, lost in a sea of confusing emotions. Her hands were holding his again, her fingers making small circles against his skin. She wasn't saying anything. She was waiting for him to speak first.

“If you were to decide you wanted to leave your father, I would help you,” he said finally. “If you wanted to come away with me, I would let you. I don't know how that could happen. I only know that I would find a way.”

She lowered her head just enough that the shadows grazed her face and hid her expression. “Would you come for me wherever I was, Pen? It is a bold thing to ask, but I am asking it anyway. Would you come for me?”

“Wherever you are, whenever you have need,” he whispered.

She smiled, her face lifting back into the light. “That is all I need to know.” She sat back and turned her face to the starlit sky. “Enough of making promises and telling truths. Let's just sit together for a little while and listen to the night.”

They did so, side by side, not saying anything, their hands in their laps, their shoulders and hips touching. The sounds of the waterfront rolled over them in small bursts and slow meanderings, brief intrusions from a place that seemed far away. The night turned colder, and Pen wrapped them both in his cloak, putting his arm around her to lend his warmth, feeling her small form melt against him.

After a time, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “You must leave now. It grows late. They will return. Go back to your room and sleep.” She kissed him again. “Come again tomorrow, if you can. I will be waiting.”

He rose and walked with her to the ladder, scanning the dock for signs of approaching Rovers. The docks were empty now. She lowered the ladder for him, and he climbed down. He stood looking up at her as she pulled it away again, then he turned and went down the waterfront.

Cinnaminson.

Nothing in his life, he knew, would ever be the same again.

Twenty

Grianne Ohmsford woke to a morning so dismal and gray that it might have drifted out of the marshy depths of the Malg Swamp, an apparition come in search of the unfortunate Jarka Ruus. It felt alive and hungry. It had a shape and feel. The air it breathed smelled of fetid water and brushed at the skin with greasy, insistent fingers. The clouds that formed its hair were so low in the sky as to be indistinguishable from the misty beard that curled about its ragged face. Everything about it whispered of hidden danger and lost souls. In its presence, heartbeats quickened with the uneasy and certain knowledge that death, when it appeared, would be quick and unexpected.

The Ard Rhys was cramped from sleeping in the cradle of tree limbs, her body aching and stiff. She had slept, though she did not pretend to understand how, and she had kept her perch and not fallen as she had feared she would. Climbing down through brume that would have discouraged even the most intrepid seabird, she caught sight of the tracks that crisscrossed the earth directly below, and decided she had been lucky to have survived the night with no more than her sore muscles. Weka Dart had been right to warn her against trying to make her bed on the ground.

She glanced around, scanning the mist and gloom for some sign of the devious little Ulk Bog, thinking he might have come back during the night, even as mad at her as he had been when he left. After all, he had gone to a lot of trouble to persuade her to allow him to accompany her, and she found it hard to believe that he would toss it all away because of a perceived slight. He didn't seem the type who would allow insults to get in the way of ambitions. She still wasn't sure what he was after, only that he was after something. But there was no sign of him, so she accepted that he had gone his own way after all.

Just as well, she told herself.

Except that she didn't know the country, and that put her at a disadvantage. She knew in general how she should go, given that the Forbidding mirrored the Four Lands. She could estimate the location of the Hadeshorn from what she knew of its location in her own world. But the mist was confusing, and her sense of direction skewed by the different land formations. Worse, she would have to risk encountering the monsters that inhabited the Forbidding, without knowing who and what they were. At least Weka Dart had knowledge of the things she needed to avoid.

But there was no help for it. Nor help for her lack of food and water. She would have to forage for both as she traveled, hoping that she would recognize the former when she saw it. Water should be less of a problem, although just then she didn't want to assume anything.

She stretched her aching limbs and looked down at herself. Ragged and dirty, she was a mess. Her clothes were almost in shreds, her pale skin showing through the gaps in ways that didn't please her. She wrapped her tattered nightdress closer and told herself she would have to find something else to wear soon or she would be naked as well as starving and lost. She couldn't travel much farther without boots, either. Her feet were already scraped and bleeding, and she hadn't even gotten to the rocky climb to the Hadeshorn.

When I find out who did this to me . . .

She was about to set out when there was movement in the trees to one side and Weka Dart, bristle-haired and spindly-limbed, emerged carrying a cloth-wrapped package in both arms. He caught sight of her and stopped, his sharp teeth showing as he smiled broadly.

“Ah, Grianne of the trees. Sleep well, did you? You don't look so bad for having spent the night aboveground. See all the tracks?” He gestured. “Now you understand what I was telling you.”

She stared at him without answering, undecided if she was happy about having him back.

His cunning features scrunched with disappointment. “Don't look at me like that! You should be pleased to see me. How far would you get without me? You don't know anything about this part of the world, anyone can tell that. You need me to guide you.”

“I thought you were finished with me,” she said.

He shrugged. “I changed my mind. I decided to forgive you. After all, you have a right to know about me, so you did what Strakens do and used your magic to find out. It isn't any different than what any creature of habit would do. Here, I brought you some clothes.”

He came forward and dumped the bundle at her feet. She bent down and picked through it, finding leather boots, a loose-fitting cotton shirt, pants, a belt and knife, and the great cloak in which he had wrapped them. All were in good condition and close enough in size to fit her comfortably. She had no idea where he had found them and didn't think she should ask.

“Put them on,” he urged.

“Turn your back,” she replied.

It was silly, given that an Ulk Bog would not be interested about her that way, but she wanted to assert her authority before he got the wrong idea about who was in charge. If he was going to accompany her on the rest of her journey, as it appeared he was determined to do, she had better set him straight on the nature of their relationship immediately.

She removed the nightdress and put on the clothes, watching him fidget as he stared off into the trees. “I want to know why you insist on coming with me,” she told him. “And don't tell me it's because you want to help a stranger find her way.”

He threw up his hands. “Can't anyone do a good turn for you without being questioned about it?”

“In your case, no. You don't seem the type to do good turns unless there is something in it for you. So let's be honest about it. What is it that you want from me? Maybe it isn't anything I'll mind giving up, if it means you can get me to where I want to go.” She finished buttoning the tunic. “You can turn around now.”

He did so, looking sour-faced and ill-used. “I thought Strakens could tell what normal people are thinking. Why don't you just use your magic to find out what I want?”

She didn't bother with an answer, waiting patiently on him. He pouted. “You already know the reason. You just weren't paying attention when I told you. Too self-absorbed, I suspect.”

“Tell me again.”

He pouted harder. “I got in some trouble with my tribe. I had to flee for my life. They might still be chasing me. Alone, I'm not much good against a lot of the things that are Jarka Ruus. I know how to find my way and mostly how to avoid them, though. So I thought we could help each other.” He folded his arms defiantly. “There, are you satisfied, Grianne of the curious mind and endless questions?”

He was being insolent, but she let it go. “I am. For now. But in the future, you will tell me the truth about your motives and your plans, little rodent, or I will feed you to the bigger things you seek to avoid. I don't like surprises. I want to know what you are thinking about. No secret plans, or our bargain is off.”

“Then you agree that we should travel together?” he asked. He was positively gleeful. “That you will watch out for me?” He caught himself. “Well, that we will watch out for each other?”

“Let's just start walking,” she said, and turned away.

         

They walked all that day, traveling east below the Dragon Line and across the grasslands and foothills of the Pashanon. The weather stayed gray and misty, the sun never more than a faint brightness high above them, the world they journeyed through composed of brume and shadows. The air was damp and chilly, a discomforting presence that made Grianne grateful for the clothes and boots that Weka Dart had brought her. The grasslands and hills were coated with moisture that never quite evaporated, yet the land remained barren and lifeless. The absence of small birds and little animals was unnerving, and even the insects tended to be of the buzzing, biting variety. Grasses grew thick and hardy, sawtooth and razorblade spears that were a washed-out green and mottled gray. Trees were stunted and gnarled below the Dragon Line, and many were little more than skeletons. The waters of the ponds and streams were stagnant and algae-laced. Everywhere they traveled and everywhere she looked, the world seemed to be sick and dying.

Yet the Jarka Ruus had existed for thousands of years. She tried to imagine a lifetime in such a world and failed. It frightened her to think of being trapped there for long. If she had not believed that she would find a way out, she would have been devastated. But she never wavered in her certainty that she would. Those who had sent her there had made a mistake in letting her live. They might think themselves rid of her, but she would prove them wrong.

Her thoughts drifted frequently to the cause of her predicament. It was impossible for her to know exactly who had transported her, but she could make an educated guess or two. What baffled her was why they hadn't simply killed her and been done with it. It was what she would have done to them when she was the Ilse Witch. Leaving a dangerous enemy alive to come looking for you later, no matter how difficult the task, was always risky. So why had they let her live? It would have been no more difficult for them to kill her than to send her into the Forbidding. It made her think something else was happening, a reason for her enemies to keep her alive and imprisoned. It also made her ponder anew the source of the power it had taken to put her here. It was more than even the most powerful of the Druids possessed. It was beyond anything that existed in her world.

It was a power, she was beginning to think, that might have come from the Forbidding itself.

Her ruminations kept her occupied for much of her journey. Weka Dart continued to skitter about, dodging sideways and occasionally climbing up and down trees and rock formations, but always moving. He did not talk much, for which she was grateful; absorbed, apparently, in keeping an eye out for the things they should avoid.

There were a great number of those, and they encountered many of them on their way. Ogres and giants stomped through the grasslands, mindless behemoths, dim-sighted and single-minded, with great shoulders hunched and massive arms dragging. Harpies flew overhead, winged shrews that screamed and spit venom at each other and anything below. A scattering of dragons came and went, smaller for the most part and different from the Drachas. Various forms of Faerie creatures were glimpsed, as well, particularly kobolds, which seemed to live in large numbers in that region.

Once, they saw a village of Gormies, far in the distance, a mud and grass huddle of shelters cut like caves into a hillside. Walls fronted the village and spikes jutted out of the earth in pointed warning. The Gormies themselves, ferret-eyed and wiry, crept about their enclosure like shades.

“What would frighten an entire village of those little terrors?” she asked Weka Dart.

He laughed and growled deep in his throat. “Wait and see.”

She did so, and a few hours later she had her answer. They had just crested a small rise, catching sight of a valley that stretched away to the east when Weka Dart wheeled around suddenly, hissing,
“Down, down!”
She dropped at once, flattening herself against the earth, pressing into tufts of the spiky grass that grew everywhere, her breathing turned sharp and quick. The Ulk Bog, stretched out beside her, wormed forward just far enough that he could see something that was still hidden from her.

“Watch,” he whispered over his shoulder.

She did so, peering into the valley, waiting. The minutes passed and nothing happened. Then an ogre of monstrous size lumbered into view, hunched over and shouldering a massive club. It was young, Grianne guessed, coarse hair black along its spine and across its shoulders, and its thick skin leathery and smooth. It was shaking its head from side to side and brushing at the air as if to ward off gnats or flies. But she saw neither.

“What is it doing?” she whispered.

Weka Dart's eyes were bright. “Listen.”

She did, and then she heard it, too—a high-pitched, keening sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was clearly bothering the ogre, who was grunting with annoyance, lifting its head every so often in a futile effort to search out the source. The sound intensified steadily, turning to a wail that cut right to the bone, raw and harsh and filled with pain.

Finally, the ogre stopped walking altogether, turning this way and that, blunt features twisted into an ugly knot. Grianne flattened herself further. The ogre was looking for something on which to vent its irritation, and she had no desire to provide it with a target. Weka Dart lay motionless, as well, but she saw the knowing smile at the corners of his mouth. There was anticipation in that smile, and she did not care for the look of it.

Suddenly, small, four-legged creatures began to appear, coming out of the grasses and from behind the rocks, a handful at first and then dozens. Their sharp-featured cat faces and sleek, sinuous shapes were unmistakable; she recognized them at once, even though she had never seen one before. Furies. She had read about them in the Druid Histories. Only once since their imprisonment had they broken through the Forbidding, doing battle with Allanon and nearly killing him. They were creatures of madness and mindless destruction, the worst of the many bad things imprisoned in this world. They attacked in swarms and were drawn to their victims by a hunger for blood. In the world of the Jarka Ruus, everything avoided them.

They closed now on the ogre, coming at it from all directions, so many that she could no longer count them. The ogre waited on them, its small, piggish eyes already anticipating the damage it would inflict on the creatures. Perhaps because it was young, it did not realize the danger it was in.

When they attacked, leaping blindly at the ogre, it smashed them like flies, wielding club and fists with equal effect. The Furies were smaller and their bodies unprotected, and those it found could not save themselves. But there were too many for the ogre to stop, and soon they had broken through its defenses, biting and tearing at its massive body with teeth and claws. Bits of flesh and patches of hair came away, and in moments the ogre was slashed and bleeding from head to foot. It fought on, killing Furies as long as it could, struggling to stay upright.