The Thirteenth Scroll (30 page)

Perhaps
he thought,
if Talog is the first to say it, if he’s
guiding
us, he won’t find the idea so frightening
. It was not much of a plan, but he could think of no better way to help ease Talog into the first night’s journey overland.
The river was still a connection with the Realm of the Cryf, though a tenuous one at this distance. By leaving the river behind,
Talog would truly be traveling “Up-world.”

Once Talog had confirmed their location on this new map, Renan unfolded it further still and smoothed it across his knees.
He wished, briefly, that he had a lantern or a
torch, or even some of the Cryf’s glowing stones to add some light to the thickening twilight. But Talog could see much better
in this semidarkness than he could—and it gave Renan a reason to need the young Cryf’s help.

“I should have checked this before the sun set completely,” he said, using his best excuse, “but I slept too long. Will you
help me check tonight’s course, Talog?”

The Cryf, never one for unnecessary words, gave a sharp nod. Now, Renan knew, he must choose his words carefully.

“Eiddig-Sant showed me where he believes the Holy Words of the Cryf—and the words of our ancient Guide, Tambryn—are leading
us. He has marked the map, but I can’t see it. Can you?”

Talog had been studying the map. Renan held very still, hoping his ploy would work. To stay on the river any farther would
take them
away
from their direction; Renan hoped Talog would see this clearly and make the choice of the way they should go.

The Cryf put a finger on the map, studying it. Then, finally, he looked at Renan.

“Eiddig-Sant hath marked this place,” he said of where his finger rested. “Our path now leaves the Great River, which giveth
Life unto the Cryf. We go now where our travels shall know no peace.” He stood. “I shall empty the boats.”

Renan thought he detected a slight waver in Talog’s voice, but rather than embarrass the young Cryf Renan said nothing. He
gave Talog a small nod and turned his attention to folding the map. Then he rose to help Talog—and perhaps offer some words
of encouragement.

But Lysandra stopped him. “Don’t,” she said softly. “He needs to be alone. He knew this day was coming,
and he needs a few minutes to make peace with it. He will—he’s stronger and braver than he thinks.”

“How do you know all this?” Renan asked.

“Because we are all stronger and braver than we think, if the need is great enough,” she said. “It is life’s demand of us—and
its gift to us. Without it, few of us would survive past childhood.”

She’s right
, Renan acknowledged silently. Life was full of unseen moments and possible dangers, threats from within and without, that
each person’s heart was continually called upon to face and conquer. To be
alive
was the bravest act of all—everything else was just circumstance.

“Tell me about today’s tea,” he said, settling back down and turning the subject to something pleasant while they waited for
Talog. “What was it you gave us?”

“Lemon balm and betony,” she said, smiling, “with mint and honey. Both lemon balm and betony calm anxiety. Betony also strengthens
the heart and promotes courage. Lemon balm clears the head and encourages insight while banishing fear and tension from both
the mind and body. The mint helps regulate breathing and digestion—and it tastes good, as does the honey. It’s a highly beneficial
combination.”

“How did you know we’d need it today?” Renan asked.

“This morning when we put in to shore, you were nervous about something. I could hear it in your voice and in the way you
moved. I decided then that if you were affected by whatever was coming, the rest of us would need calming, too. Although,
I have to admit that while riding in a boat is not as terrifying as I anticipated at first, I’ll enjoy having solid land beneath
me. I think Cloud-Dancer will, too. Won’t you, boy?” she said as she ran a hand down his fur.

The animal looked up at her with adoring eyes. Renan wished, briefly, that he had the freedom to do the same. Then he pushed
the thought away, burying his feelings again before they became too strong.

Lysandra, done petting Cloud-Dancer, was busy again. “Talog has had his time now,” she said. “Will you bring him back to the
fire? It’s time we all had something to eat before we start walking.”

Food consumed and provisions unloaded, Renan and Talog hid the boats deep within a nearby thicket, hoping they would not be
found before they could return and claim them. Their supplies were redistributed into three packs, with the lightest one given
to Lysandra. As they began the final long stage of their journey to find the one whom prophecy named the Font of Wisdom, Lysandra
could feel the young Cryf’s fear—and the lessening of his tension as hour by hour passed without encountering another soul.

Rathreagh was a wild and desolate place, not at all like the forest in which Lysandra was used to walking. Had it not been
that both the scroll and the Holy Words insisted the Font of Wisdom “resideth within the Ninth House, yet unto a place where
men’s eyes gaze not,” this province would have been the last place Lysandra would have chosen to go. Here, the poor, rocky
soil and the stunted, gnarled trees frequently gave way to sudden and treacherous bogs. The hard stones were tiring to walk
across, making Lysandra’s legs ache as they had not during all her long trek to Ballinrigh. She found herself actually missing
the gentle rocking of the boats and wished, like Talog, that they were still safe upon the river.

She kept a tight hold on Cloud-Dancer for she feared he might go dashing after a rabbit or some other creature
and get trapped in one of the bogs. She borrowed his vision often, until that, too, became tiring. Most of the time she walked
with neither vision nor
Sight
, guided by her wolf or by her human companions. While she walked, however, she tried to remember the clues Renan had read
her from the scrolls. It was an exercise to keep her mind off her discomfort as much as to find new insight about their destination.

Without the maps of the Cryf marking their path, Lysandra doubted any of them would have made it through the first night’s
travels without disaster.
Surely all of Rathreagh can’t be like this
, she thought, as they circled yet another unsafe area. When at last they stopped to rest and eat, Lysandra posed that question
to Renan.

“There are bogs all through this region,” he said, consulting his maps, “and this isn’t the only one we’ll have to cross.
The scroll did give a warning when it said ‘
beware the earth of the Ninth House that beareth not footsteps’
and that only
‘in the memory of the forgotten will safe passage be found.’
Of course,” Renan added with a little half smile, “like so many of Tambryn’s words, the warning only makes sense now that
we’re here. The good news is that we’re almost through. Another… three miles I think, and we’ll be on the other side.”

“And the bad news?” Lysandra asked, knowing that there usually was some. But Renan said nothing… and his lack of answer told
her that ahead was something he did not want to reveal.

A town
, Lysandra thought.
Maybe several—and that means people. Up-worlders
.

She understood Renan’s silence. It was better to wait and see if they could skirt the town than to upset Talog. Lysandra held
out little hope that they could cross an entire
province, even by night, without some contact with other people. But she refused to borrow trouble.

No need
, she thought, as rest and mealtime ended. She stood and shouldered her pack.
if trouble is coming, it will find us easily enough
.

They safely crossed the first of the boglands that night, but Renan knew from the map that there were others coming that would
not be so easy. On the other side of the bog, the land grew soft and fertile and the traveling became easier. The trees grew
straighter, and while they were not thick enough to be called a forest, they would provide welcome cover.

Rathreagh was the largest of all the provinces and, except for the bogs, it looked to hold few obstacles to travel. There
were no high mountains or unfordable rivers to stop them; towns were well spaced, rather isolated, and connected by a well-developed
road system that carefully avoided the boglands.

It would make their travels easier if they could stay to the roadways, but there would be no way to avoid the towns and all
the questions that might well arise were they seen. Had he been traveling alone, Renan could have gone anywhere without arousing
suspicion—a priest could be traveling for any number of reasons, from a personal retreat to carrying a message from the Primus,
visiting friends or taking on a new parish. But a priest traveling with a woman—and a wolf—was sure to be remembered, even
if Talog could manage to avoid notice. Maintaining their pace, Renan was fairly certain that in another three or four days
they could reach the northernmost tip of the province that he believed was their destination.

But what if he was wrong? This question remained ever present in Renan’s mind as they searched for a place
to take their day’s rest. Eiddig had seemed very certain that the Holy Words of Dewi-Sant agreed with the Scroll of Tambryn
and that both pointed to the little fishing village of Caerryck, built where a little crook of land curved out to meet the
sea.

But Renan still feared failure—and at some point during this journey, the bigger question of the future of Aghamore had become
less important to him than not being a failure in Lysandra’s eyes. That meant the one they were seeking
had
to be in Caerryck—and that Renan must get them all there and back in safety.

They finally found a dense thicket, a natural shelter. Although he was as tired as the others, Renan could not sleep. Turning
over on his pallet, trying again to find a comfortable position, he finally sighed and accepted that no amount of tossing
or turning was going to help. He had too much on his mind.

He sat up and looked at the prone figures next to him. Talog had the hood of his cape once more pulled up over his head. His
deep, untroubled sleep was a testament to the trust the young Cryf had placed in Renan—and while he valued the gift, it made
him feel all the more afraid of failure.

Lysandra lay on the other side of Talog. She slept curled on her side, one hand tucked under her cheek. Renan found himself
filled with such tenderness as he looked at her, and such a need to be certain she was always safe, always protected, that
it shook him down to his bones.

Cloud-Dancer, curled against Lysandra’s back, raised his head to look at Renan. Beast though he might be and only one step
away from the wild, Renan knew that at that moment he and Cloud-Dancer shared an instant of perfect understanding. Then the
wolf closed his eyes, the same blue as Lysandra’s, and lowered his head back to
watchful sleep. By his simple, silent action, he had let Renan know that not even slumber would keep him from protecting his
human companion.

Renan decided to give up on sleep. He would scout the land in daylight, thinking that it might make this night’s travels easier
if he knew what lay ahead. Moving slowly and carefully, he eased himself off his bedroll and crawled from the thicket, not
standing until he was well away from the sheltering undergrowth.

Once out in the relative open, he finally stood and stretched. It felt good to be awake and active during the daylight again,
to hear the sounds of the birds, the way the woods moved in the daytime breeze that was so different from the sound of night…

To hear voices, men’s voices
…

Renan dropped down into a crouch, praying he had not already been seen as he quickly moved behind a tree. He stood very still,
trying to catch what the voices said. Though there was an occasional bark of laughter, the voices sounded rough—and not like
the shouts of farmers going about their day’s business. They held an edge that sent a shiver up Renan’s back. But at least
they were not coming closer. Silently, he sent a prayer of gratitude for the thickness of the trees and undergrowth here—and
for his good ears that had heard the voices quickly.

He was in a quandary. Should he stay where he was until the men went away? Their voices did not sound as if they were on the
move. Should he wake the others so that they could find another place to hide, even if it was daylight and Talog would have
to brave the pain the brightness might cause him? Or should he try to get closer, to find out who these men were and what
they were doing?

Renan decided on this latter course. To awaken and
move his companions might put them in far greater danger than letting them sleep on unawares.

Renan crept toward the voices, keeping behind tree trunks and moving carefully enough not to break twigs or rustle bushes.
He only needed to get close enough to hear what was being said, he decided. He was wearing one of his clerical shirts, and
he was fairly certain that his collar would protect him. Even so, he did not want to draw attention.

Without buildings and city noises to block or disguise it, sound can carry quite a distance; the men were farther away than
Renan had thought. He was glad, for the farther away he was from his companions the safer they would be.

Finally, Renan drew close enough to glimpse the men between the trees. There were several of them, maybe even a dozen. As
he feared, these were not farmers.

The trunk behind which he was crouching belonged to a towering yew tree, and was big enough for Renan to feel quite safe.
He leaned against the solid wood for support while he eavesdropped.

“’Ow long do we have to wait in this God-forsaken place?” one of the men barked, his voice making it plain that he had no
patience, whatever the answer.

“We wait as long as it takes,” another voice answered in tones that were both quieter and full of command.

“Then why here? There be a town not more than a couple of miles distant,” said the first man. “It’s not much of a town, true
enough, but it’s better than ‘ere. I’ve a hunger for a meal I’ve not cooked m’self, if nothin’ else.”