On the Meldon Plain (The Fourline Trilogy Book 2) (18 page)

She met his gaze, and his open expression reminded her of the first time she saw him in the tent in Gennes’ camp. “Not great,” she admitted. Soris didn’t say anything. He grasped two other satchels from the grass and waited for her to continue. “Annin and Benedict probably hate each other more because of me. Now they’re both angry with me as well. So much for keeping the peace.”

She let out a breath and watched the horses whirl and rear on top of the hill. Their nervous whinnies carried through the air.
What’s with the horses?
she wondered. They were already far from Annin and Soris, but maybe they still sensed them.

“Annin doesn’t hate you, Natalie. She lashed out because Benedict’s got her—well, both of us—wound so tight, it’s hard to think straight about him sometimes.”

She accepted a satchel from Soris and their hands met. She let her touch linger on his fused fingers.

“You’re the one who should be upset. After what you managed in the Nala den, Annin never should have questioned your place with the Warrior Sisters.”

She let her hand fall away, realizing he’d hit the core of what was eating her. “Thanks, but if all I’m doing is making them dislike each other more, I’m not helping anyone.” The Warrior Sister tenet of understanding the world around her was taking on a new meaning. She knew awareness of how humans would and could interact with one another was as important as understanding the unique natural world of Fourline.

“Some rifts never mend, Natalie, regardless of what you do or how you try to fix them.” He placed his hand on her shoulder and looked her in the eye. She felt the sharp edge of her doubt ebb when she met his gaze. A quiet moment settled over them, and Nat realized how comforting his hand felt resting on her shoulder.

“Haruu!” A voice rose from the direction of the river. Soris dropped his hand and turned toward the trees and bushes. He squinted as if he were trying to see something in the thick foliage choking the bank.

“Sounds like Andris.” Nat’s hand brushed her empty belt, and she realized she was missing her sword. “Will you find Annin? I’ll make sure Benedict gets in the boat.” He nodded, and she barely registered the odd expression passing over his face. She was already retracing her steps to the thicket where she’d left the Hermit and her weapon.

By the time she pushed the thorny branches aside, Benedict was already in the long boat resting on the bank. She could hear Andris muttering about Benedict’s injury and knew she was in for a tongue-lashing. She searched under the low branches.
I know I put it here.
She heard a splash. Soris had walked into the river and tossed the satchels into the skiff.

“Where are the other two?” Andris barked. “We don’t have all day.”

Nat glanced through the branches. Soris stood ankle-deep in water, looking down the bank. He didn’t answer.

“I’m here, Andris!” Nat called out. “I’ll be there in a second.”
Why does Soris look so dazed?
she wondered. She caught sight of her sword leaning against a rotted stump and grasped the hilt.

“Hurry up, Sister. I
will
leave you behind,” Andris warned. He extended a hand toward his brother to help him into the boat. Water lapped around Soris’ ankles. He ignored Andris’ hand and turned around to focus on the bushes obscuring Nat.

“I’m coming!” she called and pushed the branches aside. A thick white thorn scraped across her right arm.

“Natalie!” Soris cried in warning. He crashed through the water toward her.

The thorn curved and wrapped around Nat’s wrist like a snake. A sickly white Nala head with reflective eyes lowered itself between the branches. Twigs snapped under the pale Nala’s weight as it dropped to the ground while holding on to Nat with a crushing grip.

Nat felt cold fear. She’d never seen a Nala like the one in front of her. Its mouth opened before her like a black pit. A circular ridge bulged from its heaving chest. The smell of brackish water rolled over her as it dug into her arm.

“Sister,” it hissed. More branches broke as Nat jerked her arm in the direction of the ground, pulling frantically to free herself. The creature only tightened its hold.

Nat balled her fist around her dagger hilt and swung her free arm against the creature’s cheek. It stumbled to the side, its mouth hanging open from the force of the impact. Venom streamed from its pointed teeth. Nat heard the branches rustle and braced herself for another attack, but the sound was from Soris storming through the bushes.

He landed on the Nala’s back, driving his dagger into its spine. The creature’s hand uncurled from Nat’s wrist the moment Soris stabbed it. Annin ran into the thicket behind Nat in time to see the Nala crumple to the ground. Soris pulled the creature’s head back and sliced through its neck. He scooped the slack-faced head into his hands and yanked it away from Nat.

“What’s going on?” Benedict called out, peering nervously over the side of the boat. Andris hurdled the wooden edge of the skiff just as Soris lobbed the Nala head into the river. It sailed over Benedict and splashed into the water. Benedict shrank back and disappeared from sight.

Andris ran through the bushes and stopped short. “Where in the Rim did that come from?” He rubbed his temple as he stared at the headless Nala’s body.

“Does it matter?” Annin said, a little breathless. She wrapped her arms around its legs and dragged it toward the sandbar. “Nat, empty your satchel and fill it with rocks,” she ordered, taking control of the situation. Andris grasped the headless creature under one arm and carried it with Annin toward the water. “Get rid of our trail!” she yelled to Soris, and they threw the body into the boat. Soris scrubbed the mud with his boots, covering their prints and the Nala blood.

“You’re not putting that thing in here?” Benedict crawled to the stern, away from the corpse. Shaking, Nat tossed her rock-laden satchel into the boat, then leaned against the stern. Soris joined her. The mud made a sucking sound as they eased the boat into the water. She grasped the side and flung a leg over the worn wood. Soris kicked mud into the trough made by the boat, then plunged into the water. He grabbed the stern and hauled himself inside just as the current caught the boat and sent it coursing downstream.

“Hand me that rope.” Annin ripped it from Benedict’s hand when he lifted it with a trembling arm. Andris dropped Nat’s satchel on the Nala’s abdomen and grabbed the rope from Annin. He wrapped it tightly around the creature, binding the satchel in place. Annin grabbed the legs, and Nat scurried out of the way as Annin and Andris tossed the body overboard. Bubbles erupted on the surface of the water, then disappeared just as quickly in the fast-moving current.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A pungent odor, like old tennis shoes and spoiled milk, filled the air. Nat breathed quickly through her mouth, trying to calm her nerves. She scanned the boat for the source of the unpleasant smell as Annin worked her fingers up and down her forearm.

“I’m fine, no bites. It scraped me but Soris beheaded it,” she said, brushing Annin’s hands away.

Annin glanced up, rolled her deep-blue eye, then settled her gaze back on Nat’s arm. “I’d rather be certain.” She raised Nat’s arm and ran her fingers over the scrape and the tips of the Warrior House markings.

“Ouch!” Nat yanked her arm away. “I told you I’m fine,” she lied. Her heart still slammed against her chest, and she felt like she was sitting on a million needles. She thought of how strange the Nala had looked when it’d grabbed her arm. A chill settled over Nat. She started to shiver.

Soris saw her quaking and stepped over a burlap bag sitting in the center of the boat. He clasped the edge of the boat by Nat’s head, and the boat rocked slightly as he slid down next to her. He eased his arm around her shoulder and pressed her close to him. Dampness seeped into her tunic from his wet clothing. She nestled closer to him, wanting nothing more than to press her face into his chest and cry.

“I didn’t sense it fully until right before the attack.” Soris’ arm tightened around her as he spoke softly to Annin.

“I only felt a flicker of a presence right as I stepped onto the sandbar.” A puzzled look crossed Annin’s face.

“Did you get a look at the body?” Nat lifted her head. “It looked emaciated, like it hadn’t eaten for weeks, and it wasn’t blue,” she said, remembering its sickly pallor. She stared out over the rim of the boat. Scraggly bushes and slender trees lined the bank. “It had a ridge sticking out of its chest, too.”

Annin slid onto a small bench built low into the side of the boat. She stared at Nat and Soris a moment, then nodded. “Even for a Nala, it didn’t look normal,” she agreed.

“I’ve never heard of Nala this far north. There’s too much open space and not enough trees until you reach the mountains.” Soris shifted, creating a pocket of cold air between them.

“Maybe it was lost?” Nat suggested.

“Nala don’t get lost, Natalie. It was here for a reason.” Soris pulled her cloak closer around her.

“Is she . . . undamaged?” Benedict crouched on the bench in front of Andris, who stood at the tiller.

“Don’t worry, Hermit, you’re not outnumbered yet. No bites, no wounds, just a small scrape. Nothing to worry about. Soris cut off its head.” Annin shot Nat a poignant look. “Since you almost got your head ripped off back there, I suppose I should apologize for what I said earlier.”

Soris gently squeezed Nat’s shoulder, urging her to respond.

“Um, it’s okay.” Nat hugged her knees, thinking that only Annin would pick a time like this to apologize.

Annin stood and turned around on the boat with her hands on her hips. “What is that smell?” She scrunched her nose.

“Rounds of rudit cheese. Stroke of luck.” A wicked smile crossed Andris’ face. “The bags were already in the boat when I arrived at the dock. The owner of this leaky tub was put out that Mudug’s man was taking his boat all the way to Rustbrook, so he threw in this delivery.” Andris gestured to the burlap bags with his free hand. “I cursed him up and down the dock. Made him think I was angrier than a cornered cat. It stinks, but it’ll work to our advantage.”

“How? It’s like being in a refuse pit in the middle of the summer. I can’t breathe this stench all the way to Rustbrook,” Benedict whined and clutched his nose. His face was the same pale color as the bandage wrapped around his head.

“You don’t have to. We’ll abandon the boat at dusk. Make the owner think I sabotaged it and dumped the delivery out of spite.”

“What good does that do us?” Annin pushed one of the coarse bags away with her foot.

“Hopefully he’ll report that I requisitioned the boat in Mudug’s name. If you remember, I was wearing the guard’s uniform. I flashed the leather pouch of riven in front of the owner and claimed I had an important delivery for Mudug. When he reports his boat and cargo are missing, he’ll claim one of Mudug’s guards took his boat for a delivery. Mudug will think his riven courier made it this far. It may make our entry into the castle a little easier if some of his guards are off searching for this leather pouch.” He tossed the black bag into the air, then snatched it with his other hand.

The plan sounded sketchy to Nat. Why would Mudug send his inner guard and not regular soldiers to search for the missing courier? She breathed in and the smell curled into her nostrils, making her gag.

“What is rudit cheese?” She coughed, trying to clear the smell from the back of her throat.

Soris leaned over Nat, pressing his chest into her side, and extracted a fat disc from the top of a burlap bag. Thin braided twigs bound the outside of the disc. Soris pried his finger between the twigs and poked a hole in the thin casing. A horrid smell wafted up from the cheese.

“Cheese created in containers made from goats’ stomachs. My mother used to make it.” He held a curdled blob on the end of his finger and inhaled. “Reminds me of home. Andris, catch!” He flung the round toward his brother, who snatched it out of the air with one hand and lifted it to his nose.

“Remember when you sabotaged Gordon’s room with rudit?” A light shone in Soris’ face. Andris lifted his chin and smiled. “Andris was put out that Gordon was leaving for Rustbrook to train with the soldiers after harvest,” Soris explained to her. Andris smirked and leaned against the tiller. “He smeared a round of rudit under Gordon’s bed before we left for the fields. When we returned, everything in Gordon’s room smelled like a rotten barrel of fish. Our mother moved Andris straight into that room the morning Gordon left as punishment.”

Nat laughed, wishing she’d had the opportunity to meet the woman who’d raised such different boys.

“Did you know I stuck a round in his kit before Emilia’s coronation as regent?” Andris asked his brother.

“Now that you mention it, I do remember his smelling like a dead fish.” Soris laughed. “He had to hate you.”

“He was riled, but Emilia was furious. If she hadn’t been so preoccupied with outmaneuvering Mudug, I would’ve been relegated to stable duty for life.”

“If she’d sent you to fling manure, we wouldn’t be on our way back to Rustbrook looking for her now.” Benedict’s high voice broke through the brothers’ laughter. A grim look descended over Andris’ face. Soris’ laughter died. Annin let out a low whistle.

“Hermit, you’d do well to remember your own failures that day,” Andris said, his voice cold. He stared downriver. Benedict muttered to himself. Soris released Nat and leaned over the side of the skiff. His fingers trailed through the water.

Nat looked at Annin, hoping for some explanation. She shrugged and plopped down between two smelly bags near the bow.

The boat cut quietly through the water. The thorny silver-tipped trees along the riverbank grew denser. Their slender branches dipped into the river. Swirls of water spun around their submerged ends. A log spun past the boat only to disappear under the shadowy curtain of the graceful branches.

Nat’s eyes grew heavy. She turned and pressed her knees against the side of the boat. Her elbows rested on the rim next to Soris. They looked beyond the trees and foliage lining the bank to the green meadows spreading outward from the river like velvet blankets.

“It’s beautiful,” she said quietly. Black-throated birds with iridescent wings settled gracefully in the tops of the arched trees.

“Kimis.” He pointed to the birds. One stretched its wings in the setting sun, the light playing off its colors.

“They’re amazing.” Nat marveled at the flashes of green.

“They only live along this stretch of the river,” he said, turning to her and watching her face.

“They don’t migrate?”

“They can’t, or I guess they could, but they’d die. They eat the green scum that grows along the riverbank. It turns their feathers that emerald color.” One of the birds flew off a branch and gracefully curved over the trees with a few beats of its wings. “In the fall, they build mud nests in the hollows of the trees and disappear during the winter. When they emerge in the spring, their feathers are dull and gray. The color slowly changes, growing more and more beautiful.” He paused. “Sometimes I forget how little you know about Fourline.”

“I learn more and more each day.” She paused and looked over her shoulder. Andris stood straight with the tiller clasped in his hand. He gave her a hard look. She shook him off and focused on Benedict, who gazed out over the water with a troubled look on his face. “What was that exchange back there between Andris and Benedict?”

Soris glanced at his brother, then turned his attention to the water swirling around the boat. “Do you remember when you and I spent the night in the ruins of the Warrior House?” His voice was low.

She nodded, thinking how long ago that seemed.

“I told you about how I was supposed to watch Emilia for Andris so he could go look for Gordon.”

“I remember,” she said.

Soris gestured to Benedict. “Benedict was charged with watching Rusrel. But he fell asleep in the Sister tunnel where he was spying on Rusrel and—”

“Rusrel murdered Emilia. At least that’s what we thought,” Andris said. He dumped a heavy tarp near them. “How deep was your guilt then, Hermit? You’d been Emilia’s childhood guide before she even started her schooling with the Sisters.” He gave Benedict a withering look. The Hermit’s chin quivered and he said nothing. Andris sighed, looking suddenly remorseful for what he’d said. He clapped Benedict on the shoulder. “Maybe the Sister is right about the queen, and all our failures can be forgotten.” He turned back to Soris and Nat. “Tie the tarp over the front. The four of you need to be out of sight before we reach the next town.” He retreated to the tiller. The boat rocked back and forth.

Nat flexed her ankles, wanting desperately to stretch her legs. Four bags of rudit crammed near the lip of the tarp penned her in on one side. Benedict leaned against her on the other side. Annin and Soris sat across from them with their knees drawn close to their chests. Between the stench of the cheese and the motion of the boat, Nat fought to keep the contents of her stomach down. The last thing she wanted to do was throw up.

Benedict’s thin hand clutched her shoulder. His face was the color of chalk.

“No, no, no, don’t . . . ,” she whispered as his vomit hit her feet and mixed in with the dirty river water coating the bottom of the boat.

“Ugh.” Annin turned away, pressing her nose into Soris’ shoulder.

Something scraped sharply against the side of the boat. Nat heard a splash as she wiped her boots against the wooden planks, trying to remove the vomit covering the worn leather. The boat shuddered to a stop, sending Nat plowing into Benedict. He groaned, holding his head and stomach. The rope securing the tarp in place zipped through the fabric rings. A shadowy light fell upon the four occupants.

“What—” Andris shied away. “It smells like someone died in here.”

Soris and Annin vaulted over the side and splashed into the water near the bank. Benedict swayed uneasily on the bench.

“Put your arm around me.” Nat sighed as the other three pulled the boat farther up the bank underneath the cover of twisting branches.

Soris splashed around to the opposite side of the boat and grasped Benedict’s arms as Nat guided him over the edge. She jumped into the water, and her boots sank into the soft mud. She gulped in the fresh sweet smell of the air.

“Grab the side, Sister!” Andris called out.

They pulled the boat up the bank through the mud. Her arms strained against the wood as they pushed it farther into the thicket of trees lining the bank until finally the boat was out of the water. Soris led Benedict to a nearby tree. He clutched Soris’ arm as he slid against the trunk. The rasping sound of a blade against wood filled the air. Andris cut branch after branch from the surrounding trees and tossed them into a pile near the bank.

“Retrieve two of the bags of cheese,” he ordered.

Annin returned to the boat. She skirted around the curdled puddle and tossed a bag to Nat. Another bag landed on the ground, followed by their satchels. Andris wove the cut limbs across the boat. After a few minutes, the vessel disappeared, camouflaged by the leafy branches. Soris raked a twisted branch across the mud, obscuring their footprints.

“We have a ways to walk,” Andris said as he sheathed his dagger and draped the frayed strap of his satchel over his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you here, Hermit. Can you walk or do I need to get one of them to carry you?”

“I can care for myself.” Benedict waved him off.

A look of impatience flickered across Andris’ face. “Suit yourself, but if you slow us down, I’m strapping you to someone’s back and it won’t be mine.”

Benedict stood with a sour look on his face and limped after him.

“Grab the bags, they’re coming with us.” Andris cut through the thin line of trees toward the meadow growing dim in the setting sun.

“Is he kidding?” Nat looked at the lumpy rudit bag near her feet.