Stone of Tears (51 page)

He carried the dead woman toward the next rise as he listened to the whimpers grow faint. Laying the body down again, he sat to catch his breath. He could just see the great beast in the moonlight, a dark blotch against the light colored rock, and the small form atop it. He could hear the slow sounds of anguish and confusion. Richard sat a long time, watching, listening.

“Dear spirits, what have I done?”

The spirits, as usual, had nothing to say.

From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention. Two distant silhouettes passed in front of the big, bright moon. They banked into a slow turn, and began to descend. Two gars.

Richard came to his feet. Maybe they would see the baby and help it. He found himself cheering them on, and then realized how absurd it was to hope a gar would live. But he was beginning to feel an odd sympathy for monsters.

Richard ducked down. The two gars overhead came close to him as they swept in a wide circle around the scene on the next hill. Their spiral tightened.

The little gar fell silent.

The dark shapes dove down, landing a ways apart with a flutter of wings. They moved cautiously around the dead gar and its offspring. Wings held open, they suddenly leapt toward the silent baby gar. It broke its silence with a scream. There was a flurry of wings, vicious roars, and frightened shrieks.

Richard stood. Many animals ate the young of another of its own kind. Especially males, and especially if food was scarce. They weren’t going to save it; they intended to eat it.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Richard was racing down the hill. He ran heedless of the foolishness he intended. He pulled the sword free as he charged up the hill to the little gar. Its terrified wails urged him on. The savage snarls of its attackers ignited the wrath of the sword’s magic.

Steel first, he rushed into the fur and claws and wings. The two gars were bigger than the one he had killed, confirming his suspicion that they were males. His blade caught only air as they leapt back, but one of them dropped the little gar. It skittered across the ground and clutched to its mother’s fur. The other two circled him, charging and darting and swiping claws. Richard swung and stabbed the sword. One of them snatched at the baby. Richard scooped it away with his free arm and quickly retreated a dozen paces.

They fell on the dead gar. With a cry, the baby stretched its arms toward its mother, its wings flapping against his face in an effort to free itself. In a frenzy, the two gars tore at the carcass.

Richard made a calculated decision. As long as the dead gar was there, the pup wouldn’t leave it; the pup would have a better chance at survival if it had nothing to hold it to this place. It squirmed mightily in his arm. Though fully half his size, it was at least lighter than he would have thought.

He feigned a charge to hurry the two along. They snapped at him, too hungry to be frightened off without a meal. They fought each other. Claws slashed and pulled. The body ripped asunder. Richard charged again as the little gar tore free, running ahead of him with a shriek. The two leapt into the air, each with half a prize. In a moment they were gone.

The little gar stood where its mother had been, keening as it watched the two disappear into the dark sky.

Panting and weary, Richard returned his sword to its scabbard and then slumped down on a short ledge, trying to catch his breath. His head sunk into his hands as tears welled up. He must be losing his mind. What in the world was he doing? He was risking his life for nothing. No, not for nothing.

He raised his head. The little gar was standing in the blood where its mother had been, its trembling wings held out limply, its shoulders slumped, and its tufted ears wilted. Big green eyes watched him. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he whispered.

It took a tentative step toward him. Tears ran down the gars face. Tears ran down his. It took another small, shaky step.

Richard held his arms out. It watched, and then with a miserable wail, fell into them.

It clutched its long, skinny arms to him. Warm wings wrapped around his shoulders. Richard hugged it tightly to himself.

Gently stroking its coarse fur, he hushed it with comforting whispers. Richard had rarely seen a creature in such misery, a creature so in need of comfort that it would even accept it from the one who had caused its pain. Maybe, he thought, it was only recognizing him as the one who had saved it from being eaten by two huge monsters. Maybe, given the terrible choice, it chose to see him as a savior. Maybe the last impression, of saving it from being eaten, was simply the strongest.

The little gar felt like nothing more than a furry sack of bones. It was half starved. He could hear its stomach grumbling. Its faint musky odor, while not pleasant, was not repulsive either. He cooed succor as the thing’s whimpering slowed.

When it had at last quieted with a heavy, tired sigh, Richard stood. Sharp little claws tugged at his pant leg as it looked up to his face. He wished he had some food to leave with the pup, but he hadn’t brought his pack and had nothing to offer.

He pulled the claw from his pants. “I have to go. Those two won’t come back now. Try to find yourself a rabbit or something. You’ll have to do the best you can on your own now. Go on.”

It blinked up at him, its wings and one leg slowly stretching as it yawned. Richard turned and started off. He looked over his shoulder. The little gar followed after.

Richard stamped to a halt. “You can’t come with me.” He held his arms out and shooed it away. “Go on. Be off with you.” He started walking backward. The gar followed. He stopped again and shooed it more firmly. “Go! You can’t come with me! Go on!”

The wings wilted again. It took a few shaking steps back as Richard started off again. This time it stayed put as he went on his way.

Richard had the woman to bury, and he needed to get back to camp before Sister Verna decided to use the collar to bring him back. He had no desire to give her an excuse; he knew she would find one soon enough. He glanced behind to make sure the gar hadn’t followed. He was alone.

He found the dead woman, laid on her back, where he had left her. He noted with relief that there were no blood flies about. He had to find either a patch of ground soft enough to dig a hole, or else a deep crevice of some sort to hide her body in. Sister Verna had been explicit about hiding it well.

As he was surveying the scene, there was a soft flutter of wings and the little gar thumped to the ground nearby. He gave a quiet lament as the creature folded its wings and squatted comfortably before him, peering up with big green eyes.

Richard tried to shoo it away again. It didn’t move. He put his hands on his hips.

“You can’t come with me. Go away!”

It tottered to him and clutched his legs. What was he going to do? He couldn’t have a gar tagging after him.

“Where are your flies? You don’t even have any blood flies of your own. How can you expect to catch your dinner without your own blood flies?” He gave a rueful shake of his head. “Well, its not my concern.”

The small, wrinkled face peeked around his legs. A low growl came from its throat as its lips pulled back to reveal sharp little fangs. Richard looked around. It was growling at the dead woman. He closed his eyes with a groan. The pup was hungry. If he buried the body, the gar would dig it up.

Richard watched as the gar hopped over to the dead woman, pawing at her as its growls grew louder. Richard tried to swallow back the dryness in his throat, or maybe the things he was thinking.

Sister Verna had said to get rid of the body. They mustn’t know how the woman had died, she had said. He couldn’t stand the thought of the remains being eaten. But even if he buried it, it would be eaten anyway—by worms. Why were worms better than a gar? Another ghastly thought came to him: who was he to judge—he had eaten human flesh. Why was that any different? Was he any better?

And besides, if the pup were busy eating, he could be off, and they would be gone before it had time to follow. It would be on its own then. He would be rid if it.

Richard watched as the little gar cautiously inspected the body. It experimentally tugged at an arm with its teeth. The pup wasn’t experienced enough to know what to do with a kill. It growled louder. Richard felt sick at the sight.

The teeth dropped the arm and the gar looked at him, as if to ask for help. The wings fluttered with excitement. It was hungry.

Two problems at once.

What difference did it make? She was dead. Her spirit had departed her body and wouldn’t miss it. It would solve two problems at once. Gritting his teeth at the task in mind, he drew the sword.

Pushing back the hungry gar with a leg, Richard took a mighty swing, slashing open a great rent. The little gar pounced.

Richard walked quickly away without looking back. The sounds turned his stomach. Who was he to judge? Hadn’t he done the same? Lightheaded, he broke into a trot back to the camp. Sweat soaked his shirt. The sword had never felt so heavy at his hip. He tried to put the whole incident out of his head. He thought about the Hartland woods and wished he was home. He wished he could be who he had been.

Sister Verna had just finished currying Jessup and was lifting on his saddle. She eyed him with a sidelong glance before moving to her horse’s head, speaking softly and privately to him as she scratched his chin. Richard took up the curry comb and brushed quickly at Geraldine’s back, cautioning her sharply to stand still and quit turning about. He wanted to be away quickly.

“Did you make sure they wouldn’t find the body?”

His hand with the comb froze on Geraldine’s flanks. “If they find what’s left, they won’t know what happened. I was attacked by gars. They got the body.”

She thought this over silently for a moment. “I thought I heard gars. Well, I guess that will do.” He went back to brushing as she spoke again. “Did you kill them?”

“I killed one.” He considered not telling her, but decided it didn’t matter. “There was a baby gar. I didn’t kill it.”

“Gars are murderous beasts. You should have killed it. Perhaps you should go back and finish it.”

“I can’t. It … won’t let me get close enough.”

With a little grunt she pulled the girth strap tight. “You have a bow.”

“What difference does it make? Let’s just be off. All by itself, it will probably die anyway.”

She bent, checking that the strap wasn’t pinching her horse. “Perhaps you are right. It would be best if we were away from here.”

“Sister? Why haven’t the gars bothered us before?”

“Because I shield against them with my Han. You were too far away, beyond my shields, and so they came for you.”

“So this shield will keep all gars away from us?”

“Yes.”

Well, at least there was one thing the Han was good for. “Doesn’t that take a lot of power? Gars are big beasts. Isn’t it hard.”

She gave a small smile at the question. “Yes, gars are big, and there are other beasts I must shield against, too. All this would take much power. You must always search for the way to accomplish the task using the least amount of Han.”

She stroked her horse’s neck as she went on. “I keep the gars away not by repelling the beasts themselves, but by shielding against their blood flies. It’s much easier. If the flies can’t get through the shield, the gars won’t think there is anything worthwhile and so won’t come to us either. It uses little of my strength this way, yet achieves my aim.”

“Why didn’t you use this shield against the people here? Against the woman tonight?”

“Some of the people in the wilds have charms against our power. That is why many Sisters die trying to cross. If we knew how these charms or spells worked, we might be able to counter them, but we don’t. It is a mystery to us.”

Richard finished saddling Geraldine and Bonnie in silence. The Sister waited patiently. He thought she had more to say, about their argument before he had gone to bury the woman, but she remained silent. He decided to speak first, and get it over with.

“Sister Verna, I’m sorry about Sisters Grace and Elizabeth.” He idly stroked Bonnie’s shoulder as he studied the ground. “I said a prayer over their graves. I just wanted you to know that. A prayer to the good spirits to watch over them and treat them well. I didn’t want them to die. You may think otherwise, but I don’t want anyone to die. I’m sick of death. I can’t even eat meat anymore because I can’t stand the thought of anything having to die just to feed me.”

“Thank you for the prayer, Richard, but you must learn that it is only the Creator we must pray to. It is His light that guides. Praying to spirits is heathenish.” She seemed to think better of her harsh tone, and softened it. “But you are unschooled, and would not know that. I can’t fault you for doing the best you could. I’m sure the Creator heard your prayer, and understood its benevolent intent.”

Richard didn’t like her narrow-minded attitude. He thought that perhaps he knew more about spirits than she did. He didn’t know much about this Creator of hers, but he had seen spirits before, both good and bad. He knew you ignored them at your own peril.

Her dogmas seemed as foolish to him as the superstitions of the country people he knew when he had been a guide. They had been full of stories of how people came to be. Each remote area he had visited had their own version of man created from this or that animal or plant. Richard had liked listening to the stories. They were filled with wonder and magic. But they were just stories, rooted in a need to understand how the teller fit into the world. He was not going to accept on faith the things the Sisters said.

He did not think that the creator was like some king, sitting upon a throne, listening to every petty prayer to come his way. Spirits had been alive once, and they understood the needs of mortals, understood the exigencies of living flesh and blood.

Zedd had taught him that the creator was simply another name for the force of balance in all things, and not some wise man sitting in judgment.

But what did it matter? He knew people held tightly to their doctrines and were closed-minded about it. Sister Verna believed what she did and he wasn’t going to change it. He had never faulted people for the beliefs they held; he was not about to start now. Such beliefs, true or not, could be a balm.