The Prodigal Troll (12 page)

She leaned forward and whispered something into the sack. Yvon strained to hear her but could only make out the sound of the baby's name. Something about Claye.

Banya knelt, shaking the bag vigorously, then upending it and spilling the bones. Yvon stood back and stared. The divination sets he'd seen in the Imperial City were more elegant and complex. These were finger bones from a troll's hand, twice as large as a man's, with crude pictures scratched into their sides. Banya peered at them from different angles.

"Mah!" shouted Claye.

Banya frowned. "The voices of the spirits are in a tumult. It's hard for me to find guidance in their chatter. The war bone falls outside the circle when I expected it in the middle. The lesser journey bone obscures the greater journey, here at the top. Both are crossed by the unmarked bone." He poked at the mound of bones. "What did you ask them, ma'am?"

She kissed the baby's head. "What path should we follow."

"Whatever path you choose, it leads away from war and into darkness. This I see for all three of you, though you may not travel there together. Darkness can mean death, but it can also mean sleeping and waking, or change. Those who pass through darkness rather than into it emerge again into the light."

Claye leaned in Xaragitte's arms, trying to grab the bones. "But which path, for his safety?" Xaragitte whispered.

Banya shrugged. Then he pointed toward the mountain range across the river. "If you head into the mountains, you might find a place to hide. It's not good land, but you won't want for shelter-there are abandoned farms up there, left behind by our women when they fled the peasant rebellion."

"Is it safe?" Xaragitte asked.

"Are you safe now?" the wizard snapped back. "Does any creature with two legs or four roam safe upon the earth?"

From down the valley echoed a faint sound, as of mammuts or horns. Claye twisted around in Xaragitte's arm to peer at the noise. "Mahmah," he said. "Mahmah!"

"Will you take us across the river?" Yvon asked Banya. He couldn't think of any other choices.

"Yes. Best do it now, before the daylight comes full. I like it better when I see the demons that I sing to."

Yvon shuddered and touched his sword. There were three things he hated and feared. Mammuts were one and the river demons were another. "Can I lend a hand?"

"Over here," he said. A small flat-bottomed boat leaned against the back wall of the cottage. He gestured to Yvon. "You take that end and we'll carry it down to the river."

It was more awkward than heavy. Yvon's feet slid on the muddy bank, but he stayed upright until they set the boat down. The river flowed out of the mountains, swollen with meltwater, though in the summer it might be only waist-deep.

"I don't see any demons," he said hopefully.

"They sleep along the bottom," explained Banya. "This ford is as high as they swim on the river. You'll see them rise suddenly sometimes, in places where you swear there were none, to snap at the birds. Wait here, while I go fetch my pole."

Xaragitte stood high up on the bank, away from the water's edge. She was no more eager than Yvon to face any demon.

Banya returned, carrying a pole as tall as Baron Culufre's armored mammut and leading a goat by a leash. "What's that for?" Yvon asked him. "Will you feed it to the demon?"

"No, it's for you," he said. "Someone gave it to me as payment for helping with her daughter's wedding. But the damn thing keeps me awake all night. You might use the meat, once you find a spot to stay in for a while."

Yvon's mouth watered at the thought; Xaragitte said, "Oh, thank you!"

Banya hummed his song as they positioned the craft on the river's edge and loaded the goat aboard. It bleated and kicked the side of the craft, rocking it. They coaxed Xaragitte to come down and sit in the middle.

"Have you ever been in a boat before?" Yvon asked her quietly, not daring to interrupt the wizard's song.

She shook her head. Her face had blanched white, pale as the moon; her hair framed it, the color of dawn on the clouds.

"Sit very still then and you'll be fine. There's nothing to worry about with a wizard along." He smiled, and hoped his grin wasn't too ghastly. Then he took his spot in the small boat's bow. "We're ready," he told Banya.

Singing aloud now in an eerie rhythmic chant, the wizard shoved the craft offshore, wading knee-deep before he climbed aboard. The current pushed the boat downstream, so that even while Banya thrust his pole quickly and expertly they did not go straight across.

Halfway to the other side, the goat stamped its feet in complaint. "Maaaa! "

An incandescent glow, as long as the boat, surfaced nearby. Xaragitte gasped as it slithered across the watertop.

"Don't look directly at it," Yvon hissed. "They can bewitch you in a fingersnap."

She squeezed her eyes shut and cowered protectively around the baby. Which showed she had more sense than Yvon, because he couldn't take his eyes off the monster. His hand drifted to his sword. You could kill a demon with a sword-or any other weapon-if your will stayed free long enough to use it. And if you dared the wrath of the gods.

Two more luminous serpentine trails curled toward them. Then the morning sun bloomed suddenly over the ridge, transforming the surface of the water from polished black to liquid light in a blink. Yvon lost all sight of the demons and started scanning the river frantically to find them.

Far away, he heard Banya chanting round in circles; Yvon's thoughts spun in circles too, his hand gripped convulsively on the hilt of his weapon.

Something tapped him on the back.

He found himself staring transfixed over the edge of the boat into the scaly face of a demon. Its hooded head swayed on a thick-muscled neck that protruded well out of the water. The sawtoothed mouth gaped and closed, slit eyes piercing Yvon's soul. As he drew back in revulsion, the flat nostrils flared on either side of the axe-shaped head. Yvon's own nose choked on the demon's sickly sweet scent.

Something hit him hard between the shoulder blades.

He looked up. Banya, still singing, had smacked him with the pole. They had reached the far bank, and the wizard wanted him to leap out and pull the boat ashore. Yvon yanked his gaze away from the demon, crabbed his way around Xaragitte, and splashed ankle-deep into the icy water. Grasping the prow of the boat, he heaved it in close to the shore.

Banya's song wavered for a split second as he lost his balance. But he steadied himself with the staff and continued to sing. His voice was strained.

Yvon noticed the two other demons, heads thrust out of the water like branches from some submerged tree. "Come, come quickly," he called to Xaragitte.

She stood, her face still huddled against the covered baby. Yvon helped her out of the boat and up the steep embankment. She didn't say a word about his hand upon her arm. He was too shaky to feel any reward. The goat tried to butt him as he hefted it onto the bank and handed the leash to Xaragitte. When Banya finally climbed out, Yvon towed the boat completely free of the water.

The song faltered and ceased. The demon shook itself, twisting its head around until it spied them.

"Begone!" Banya shouted. He thrust the butt-end of the pole at the demon, who reared back and barked. Then it sprayed a mist from its hood, snapped at the pole, and disappeared into the river with a splash.

Yvon searched the water, but the other two demons were already gone. He and Banya hid the boat under some brush atop the bank.

Claye sat upright in Xaragitte's arms, a look of intense concentration upon his chubby-cheeked face. "He couldn't stop listening to your song," she told the wizard.

"Well, that's the whole, unblemished purpose now, isn't it?" Banya said, sitting down hard on the grassy slope and rubbing his neck. He leaned backward, closed his eyes, sighed. "May the crows squabble over your meatless bones, Yvon. You let the demon make you dream."

Yvon grunted acknowledgment.

"Nearly fell into the water, where you would have been killed. I had to hit you three times with the pole before you felt it once."

"I've never had good luck with the demons," he admitted.

"Maybe it's your destiny. No man can run away from his destiny. Have you ever seen a rabbit run when it's startled?" He made an arc in the air with his hand. "Runs in a circle, comes right back where it began. Wait there and you can always catch it. The gods do that to men too."

Xaragitte shifted Claye to her other hip, then sat down. The goat grazed at the end of its tether.

Yvon plopped down beside Xaragitte. He could've fallen asleep in an instant, and not just from the lingering effects of the demon. Just as he was letting his eyes drift closed, trumpeting echoed up the valley walls again. A sound like that could carry for miles, but Yvon shook off his torpor and stood.

Banya sat up too. "You need to go."

Xaragitte got to her feet, smoothing her skirt.

"Which way?" Yvon asked.

Banya pointed to some low hills at a right angle to the river. "Head easterly and north along the ridge, around the hollows tucked back in the hills. More than a few old farmhouses you could live in. But the farther you go, the more likely you are to run into cats and dogs, all kinds. Keep that in mind if you sleep outside overnight."

Yvon knew all that. "How dangerous are the peasants?"

Banya looked away from him. "There's more than a few old warriors who took part in the rebellion, but I don't think they'll recognize you without your braid. Most of us westerners look the same to them." He jerked his chin toward the canyon. "I'm going to find someplace to lay low. You two need to go."

"Thank you," said Xaragitte. "Three times I bid you comfort in your home. May it shelter you and bring you comfort."

"Fare you well," Banya said. "Whatever path you choose, fare well." He went back down to the riverbank, humming.

Yvon turned toward the mountains, opening his water bottle for a sip and passing it to Xaragitte. "We should press on until we find some shelter," he said. "By midmorning, if no one's following us, we'll be able to take a short break."

"How will we know that no one's following us?" she asked, pausing to shorten the goat's leash.

"Maaaa!" Claye looked at the goat and grinned.

"We won't unless we see them first," Yvon said, "and if we can see them, it'll be too late."

It hadn't looked like a canyon at all from the riverside, but just over the hill it broadened out into meadows that rose almost above the mountains themselves. Dawn flooded over the dead and winter-trampled grasses, warming Yvon. Xaragitte unwrapped the blanket from her shoulders, and he stuffed it into their bag. They followed deer trails easterly and north, as Banya suggested. Although they saw no peasants, they saw signs of them: distant spirals of smoke, trees blazoned with messages, the foundations of a house destroyed during the rebellion. Halfway to noon, they came upon an abandoned orchard of plum trees. Even the bare branches made Yvon hungry. Eating Sebius's food with the Baron's army had reminded him how good it was to eat.

"Can we stop for a while?" Xaragitte begged.

"I was thinking we should," Yvon admitted. His body screamed for rest. He tied the goat to one of the trees. "You nap first. I'll sit guard in case anyone comes."

Xaragitte sat down and fed the child while Yvon went to refill their water flasks at a brook a hundred feet away. When he returned, she was curled on her side, arms stretched out protectively around Claye. He too slept, a little trail of milk dripping from the corner of his open mouth. Yvon propped himself against a tree beside them and remembered the dream he'd had of her the night before. It would be good if it could be like that between them.

The next thing he noticed was Xaragitte's shriek.

He leapt up, drawing his sword as he awoke. Spinning in a circle, his heart pounding, looking for the soldiers or for peasant warriors and not seeing them, he shouted, "We're fine, we're fine-there's no enemy! We're fine!"

"We don't matter," she screamed at him. "Where's Claye?"

He was nowhere around. Sword in hand, Yvon rushed frantically through the grove, shouting the child's name. Xaragitte's voice rose from the other direction, and in between their combined cries, Yvon thought he heard a click. Following the sound, he spotted the baby near the brook, pounding two stones, then making a splash in the water.

A little dark-haired, dark-eyed peasant boy crouched beside him.

"Here!" Yvon shouted. "He's over here! Hey!"

The last was directed at the little peasant boy, who'd picked up a stick and raised it over his head. But the sound startled Claye, who flopped over backward and began to wail.

As Yvon leapt forward to grab him before he could roll into the stream, another voice sounded.

"Sinnglas!"

A peasant woman, hugely pregnant, wobbled along the stream's bank. She wore a deerskin dress, decorated with glass beads, silver, and pieces of fabric, her lustrous black hair held up with a comb of carved bone. A second boy a few years older ran along beside her. Yvon stopped, lifting his eyes to scan the landscape for any men.

Xaragitte arrived, running to snatch up Claye, crooning soothing words that calmed no one.

The peasant woman frowned at Yvon, and asked Xaragitte something in a sharp tone.

"What's she saying?" Xaragitte asked, rocking Claye.

"I don't know," Yvon said, dropping his sword's point. He saw no one else nearby.

The two little boys were maybe three and five years old. The older one directed the younger one around. The little one still held onto his stick. He looked over at his mother, then hit his brother. The bigger child grabbed the stick away and tried to break it over his knee, but without any luck.

The peasant woman said something else to Xaragitte, then, with both hands resting on her belly, called to her boys again. "Damaqua, Sinnglas!"

She toddled off without another glance at either Yvon or Xaragitte, her boys running after her.

Xaragitte jogged Claye in her arms, still trying to cheer him. Yvon paced beside her. He saw no sign of any other peasants. Overhead, black slashes spiralled in slow arcs. Vultures. Seven, eight. "Nothing happened," he said firmly. "We're all fine."