Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec) (27 page)

There was a sigh, and he pulled his head from the pack. “You did the bond seeking, did you not?” At my silence, he fumed. “How is it they send
fledglings
to face the most difficult of challenges?”

“Twig …!”

He tsked at me, and reached now for my empty pack, turning it inside out to inspect the seams. While he scrutinized the rough stitching, he said, “The bond seeking is the awakening of a Guardian, and the purest proof in determining she is a true Guardian. As well, it has secured your connection with the Keepers, for the one who awakens the Guardian becomes the Complement.” He looked up at me, still squinting. “Balance, of course. Pairs are good.”

I kneeled next to him. “The touch of marks.”

He nodded. “The
first
touch of marks. That is a bond seeking. It does not have to be a formal ritual; a seeking can happen sometimes by accident. But the connection is made.”

“Are there only four who can be Complements, the way there are only four Guardians?”

“One for one?” He snorted. “That would hardly offer choice, would it? Nay, many Keepers bear special marks. So do”—Twig’s voice dropped for this—“many Breeders.” He brightened. “Good thing the Riders found you first! Though the king’s choice is an interesting one.”

“That he made Gharain do the bond seeking, be my Complement?” Forced him, rather. I remembered the terrible resignation on Gharain’s face. The
king’s
choice; what choice was that? I looked at the gnome. “Does Gharain know this? Does a Complement
want
to be a Complement?”

“No more than a Guardian necessarily wants to be a Guardian. And yes, Lark, your Rider knows what he is. Do not look so distraught. Perhaps the king was wise to choose this, fates being intertwined and all that.”

“What do you mean fates intertwined?” Gharain had said that too.

“Oh, a complex business it is, how one person’s twist of fate can send so many others’ into wholly different directions. Everyone’s story is changed.”

“Twig!” I stamped my foot. “Speak plainly.”

“The Breeder, Erema, read Gharain’s fate. She looked into his future, adapted herself to fit his yearnings, and so stole the
amulets. Now look where we are! And, no, Lady Lark, she will not read your future; your book is safely held at Tarnec.”

“What
book
?”

“The one of your fate. You saw it in the king’s hands. The verse the king read, the one used to find you—that is the opening of your tale. What, did you not know that the story of one’s destiny is held between the covers of a book? You are woefully ignorant! We all have tales told of us; each of us has a book—a fate. The Guardians’ books are held at Tarnec now. So, not to fear, they are safe from any meddling.”

“My fate is held in Tarnec? This is what the king would not show me?” I spluttered in surprise and impatience—not that such a book existed, but rather that it languished in Tarnec’s possession. “Why do we stand here, then, ready to plunge blindly into Dark Wood? Why did we not read this
book
, find out where the orb lies and how to retrieve it?”

Twig looked at me as if I’d stabbed him. “If you turn so quickly to learn the ending, what happens to choice along the way? I shall tell you: ’twould be manipulated, changed, the way Gharain’s fate was changed by the Breeder and so all of ours as well. No, you must not tamper with books of fate!”

“But the
king
is allowed to hold my book? Why?”

“It does not belong to the king! Loaned, only! Oh, the
ignorance
!” Twig stamped around a bit to control his temper. Then he came back to me and said more calmly, “That is old Harker’s tale to tell, not mine. What is important is that the Guardians’ fates are safe in Tarnec now. It is one small relief in this grave business of retrieving amulets.”

Harker and his books—I remembered my dream. But Twig had effectively ended this argument. The odd little seer was long gone; I could hardly ask him anything. Still, I muttered, unwilling to concede, “I don’t see what possible relief it is if the answers lie within a book we cannot use!”

And at that Twig smiled happily as if I’d handed him a better answer. I think it was a smile anyway; it was hard to see it beneath his impressive beard. “Oh, Lady Lark! You have the Sight; you know already how to find the orb.
Trust
yourself.”

I was silent, furious. How many more would tell me I should simply trust myself? Twig, unperturbed, took out a little white-handled knife from his waistpack. From the selvage of the pack’s bottom seam, where Grandmama’s hands had so carefully guided mine, he began cutting a little strip of fabric, removing a rectangular piece and placing it and his knife back into his waistpack. He shook my pack right side out and put it next to Gharain’s with a little pat, announcing, “Yours is a good family. Strong in your bond.”

Then he looked at me. “You remain distressed, Lady Lark. The Breeders will enjoy that. Ah, the young man is returning, and high time it is.”

Gharain was approaching—my
Complement
was approaching—calling out to us, “The rift goes on. It splits Dark Wood from the marshes and the Cullan foothills as far as I can see—”

“We waste the hour, Rider,” Twig interrupted.

Gharain glared at him, but Twig glared back and said,
“Have you not looked at the sky? A storm approaches from the east. That is never a good sign.”

I broke in, also glaring at Gharain. “And neither is it a good sign that a Complement does not introduce himself to his Guardian.”

Gharain turned slowly to me, a flush appearing along his cheek. “Would it have changed your rejection?”

“Why? You were loath to make the connection.”

“Rider, Lady—” Twig attempted, but we ignored him.

“Loath?” Gharain snorted. “I share my feelings, you reject them, and
I
am loath? Does a
title
change anything?”

“It would have helped me understand
my
feelings!” Frustrated, I waved him away. “Oh, there is no point in this! You do not understand!”

“I suppose, then, you’ve an
official
reason now to be connected!”

Twig shouted something in gnome language so wretchedly screeching that Gharain and I clapped hands to our ears, cringing. “Now!” he commanded as we went silent. “Are we done with silly arguments? Dark Wood is a treacherous enough place to breach. Let us not do it as enemies.”

“Hardly enemies” was Gharain’s responding mutter. He gave me a stern look and sighed. “Dark Wood is it, then?”

I swallowed and nodded, and Gharain made a low whistle as he surveyed the barrier of tangled growth. “Is it not better to attempt crossing the rift? If the Breeders wanted Lark separated—”

Twig interrupted, emphatic. “The Breeders wanted Lark with the Riders.”

But Gharain turned again to me. “Are you sure?”

I said a little crossly, “At least we’ll find no swifts in Dark Wood.”

“At
least
.” But I suppose Gharain was satisfied, for he added, “So be it.”

“So be it,” I echoed.
Complement
. The word, the idea, would not stop rolling around my head. Complement: bound, but not by choice. And the king himself had chosen wrong; it was Evie Gharain should complement. What did my book say about this?

Together we reached for our packs. Twig walked ahead, announcing, “I will find an entry.”

I sighed. “Don’t you mean to be in the pack?”

He was insulted. “I should think not, my lady.
I
am a forest gnome.” Then he added, peering into Dark Wood, “But you two will have to take hands.”

How funny that sounded! I giggled, suddenly shy again, but Gharain reached his hand out and took mine willingly enough. The charge thrilled up my arm and through my body.

Twig moved on, calling back to us, “You would do well to remember to stay within touch of each other.”

And Gharain murmured, “It’s only my hand, Lark.”

Only.

“YOU GO TOO fast!” Gharain shouted to Twig, who sprang over the gnarled hurls of roots and stems while we staggered our way behind him.

Twig’s returning shout was faint: “You do not wish to be exposed to this storm! We must hurry.”

“Hurry to where?” Gharain muttered.

I said nothing, intent on staying upright, on hanging on to Gharain’s hand. We’d been traveling for what seemed hours in Dark Wood, though no clue could be drawn from the sky of our whereabouts. It was all simply dark.

Twig had found an opening in the matted boundary of the Wood some lengths from where we’d begun. It was a very narrow gap; Gharain had to use the flat of his sword to push it wider so he could slip through. And it seemed that once we stepped in, the vines simply closed behind us. I think the last
thing I said aloud was, “Where do we go from here?” And maybe Gharain said it too; we were both in awe.

A knotted tangle of growth confronted us. Trees, vines, bushes, weeds, distorted to what seemed enormous proportions. Even if there had been no storm brewing, I do not think the sunlight would have penetrated through the thick veil of leaves that blotted out the sky. It was densely moist within, and the air smelled of rotting wood. I spotted a ghisane bush immediately, growing wildly huge, wrapping itself around several trees together—not to choke them, but to use them like a ladder, to climb up and watch things from high above. The trees I could not identify—they were old and gnarled beyond any recognition.

Gharain held my hand firmly, and I was glad of that. The energies in the Wood crept toward me, hovered around me, but could not seem to enter me; I felt the strength to repel this turmoil. He pulled me behind him gently enough, his sword in his other hand outstretched, but Twig had warned him not to slice anything; he was only to use it to widen a passage.

And we needed it. We ducked, we clambered over, we snaked between—an incessant winding of motion that made me dizzy. The earth squished beneath us with no sense of solidity—too many centuries of fallen leaves; who knew how deep the ground cover? We sank to our ankles before we pulled for another step. Gharain shouted to Twig again to slow down, but he called back to be quick, that time was short.

At last, Gharain’s sword tip poked through a curtain of twining and we stepped onto firmer ground so suddenly that
we both tumbled onto the dirt, landing before Twig, who’d finally stopped.

“Now we may pause,” the little man said.

We got to our knees to brush away the decay and reclaim our breath. Gharain said the obvious: “A path.”

Twig nodded. “Now ’twill be easier. Safer.”

“This is what you were looking for?” I panted.

“ ’Tis the beginning,” the gnome responded. “You cannot traverse Dark Wood without a path.”

“That is clear,” muttered Gharain, rising to his feet. I stayed on my knees, but Gharain did not stray from my side.

“ ’Twas rough for you, I know it,” Twig acknowledged. “Stay on the path from here on. It is protection. Without it, none would last very long.”

“Protection?” I managed to ask, courage sinking. If he spoke of safety, this could not be it.

Twig continued without answering me. “Still, we cannot linger. The storm breaks; we need true cover for this.”

In reply, a tremendous crack of thunder roared through the Wood. We all jumped in shock, but I swear that the surrounding undergrowth actually danced a little to the noise.

Twig followed my gaze. “You will soon see things you will wish you hadn’t, my lady.”

“Then let us go.” I said this rising quickly. My skin was already crawling.

“Keep your eyes to the path,” warned Twig.

I looked at the length of bare dirt disappearing into the
darkness and swallowed hard. Was it on this path that Ruber Minwl met his fate?

Twig shook his head. “Many paths cross Dark Wood. It was not here, Lady Lark. It was not here.”

I stared at him. “How do you know what I am thinking?”

Twig shrugged with a little grin. “You are easy to hear.”

“Easy?”

Twig did not answer. He took a few steps forward and turned back. “Come now,” he said.

I started, then stumbled. Foolish; I’d only moved a few steps from Gharain, but the force of the Wood hit me hard.

Gharain moved to stop my fall. “I have you,” he said under his breath. Then he called to Twig, “Lark needs to sit. She’s neither rested nor eaten in many hours.”

The gnome shook his head. “We cannot afford a longer pause.”

“I’ll be fine, truly. The energy here shakes me. It—it’s stopped now.”

Gharain followed my gaze to his grip and then looked again at me. “We go, then.”

Twig nodded and turned. “Try to keep up,” he advised, and took off running down the path.

I’d never seen how fast gnomes could run in their own element, but if it was true that garden gnomes were quick as rabbits among the lettuces, here the forest gnome could nearly fly. We tore after him, hand in hand, with Gharain ever tugging me forward, barely keeping the little brown figure in sight. At
least the path was flat and free of roots, for the dark was nearly all-consuming.

“Stay with me!” Gharain shouted.

Another burst of thunder shuddered through. I saw the woods shimmering from the sound again; a rustle of leaves, maybe, but I thought it was more.