Trinity Rising: Book Two of the Wild Hunt (Wild Hunt Trilogy 2) (56 page)

Show me
.

Darkness.

Show me
.

Darkness so absolute the basin in her hands became a hole in the world. Daylight did not pierce it, nor the breeze ruffle its surface. She closed her eyes and concentrated, throwing herself as wide open to the vision as she knew how. There had to be more to her future than this.

Show me!

But the darkness remained, flat and fathomless. Frustrated, Teia flung the water out of the bowl and it fell sparkling over the rocks at her feet. If only she could have learned more about her gift for scrying from Ytha. The last two attempts had been the same – only the familiar images and then blackness. Did it mean death? Loss of her Talent? Or did it simply mean Maegern and the Hunt would triumph?

The empty bowl tumbled from her hands onto the rock, ringing as it bounced, and Teia pressed trembling fingers to her mouth. Oh, Macha, was she leading them all to their doom on the Haunted Mountain?

‘Banfaíth?’ Baer’s voice sounded amongst the trees behind her, the snow creaking as he trudged through it.

Quickly she straightened up, fumbled for her scrying bowl and made a show of shaking out the last drops of water as if she was done. The chief could not see the Banfaíth at a loss – or worse, weeping. Not when he had placed his trust, and that of the entire band, in her.

‘Are you well?’ he asked when he reached her. Were her eyes red?

‘I am well, Baer.’ She sounded calmer than she felt. ‘Is Isaak done with his catch?’

‘Aye. We’ll eat well tonight, I think.’ He peered up at the sky. ‘There’s no more’n an hour or two of daylight left. We should make camp early, here, and take some rest whilst we can.’

‘I agree. I’m sure the ponies will appreciate it, too. The last few miles have been hard on everyone.’ More time lost, but rest and hot food now would make them all stronger to face the demands of the days to come.

Forcing herself to appear confident, Teia tucked the bowl back in her pouch. ‘In the morning we press on.’

Dark eyes studied her face. ‘Our course holds true?’

She nodded firmly. ‘Our course holds true.’

It was all they could do.

A hot supper was good for everyone’s mood. Fresh meat, tender and rich, improved it further, and the atmosphere around the fire became relaxed, almost jovial. One or two folk glanced up uneasily at the fishtailed mountain, but with little to see on such a cloudy night they soon found the contents of their bowls more interesting. Even Gerna ceased complaining, stuffing venison into her mouth until her chin shone with grease.

After the meal, Baer doubled the lookouts. Watching him with half an eye whilst Lenna brewed tea, Teia noted that each man was well armed. The band had collected the javelins the other Maenardh left behind when their leader fell, and those men with bows had used their rest time that afternoon to replenish their quivers with new arrows. After Lenna had gone to her own supper, Teia waited until Baer passed close by.

‘Won’t you join me for some tea, Baer?’ she called. He hesitated, then walked towards her. As he hunkered down to take the bowl she asked quietly, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘No, Banfaíth. Naught’s amiss,’ he said, but she knew him well enough by now to recognise the forced tone.

‘You’ve doubled the watch and sent them well back down the trail, away from the fire. My father is a warrior, Baer – I know about night sight and how a lamp or torch spoils it.’ He looked uncomfortable, like a child caught shirking his chores. ‘What are they watching for?’

‘Maybe something, maybe nothing,’ he admitted at last, scratching at the root of his braid. ‘Down in the last valley, the lookout thought he saw a fire. Far off, a day or more behind us. He told Varn when he relieved him and Varn told me.’

‘So you’ve seen it, too?’

‘Aye.’ He blew on his tea whilst Teia considered.

‘How many people, do you think?’

He shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure. Can’t even be sure how far away they might be. Distance is hard to judge here, when your eyes are accustomed to the plains.’

Pursuit, then? But who would follow them? They’d long left clan lands behind, and even if Drwyn still believed she carried his heir, his thoughts were turned towards the Scattering now and being raised Chief of Chiefs. He’d have his pick of girls then. Prettier, more obedient girls. Every clan would want to provide a wife to the Chief of Chiefs; even his prodigious appetite would be sated.

She gnawed at her lip, bowl forgotten in her hands. If not Drwyn’s warriors, who would be following them through the mountains? Then she knew.

‘Lost Ones.’

Baer blinked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure.’ And she was, sure to her bones, though she couldn’t have told him why. ‘They’re people like us, Baer, I know it.’

‘And women know,’ he muttered, and shook his head. ‘Aedon save me. Can you scry them out?’

‘No. For a viewing I need a hook to catch on to at the start – someone I know, or a familiar place to guide me.’ Self-conscious, she ducked her head and sipped at her tea. ‘I don’t know as much about working the Talent as you seem to think.’

‘Then I’ll have to send a man back down there to see what they’re about.’ Baer finished his tea in two quick, deep swallows. ‘Perhaps they want to join us,’ he said sourly.

‘Maybe they do.’ Teia could see how little he liked that idea. ‘It may not mean trouble, Baer.’

‘More’n likely does, though,’ he grunted. ‘That last band outnumbered us two to one. If you hadn’t put the fear into ’em, we’d not have survived.’ He shook his head again, braid swinging. ‘If it’s them and they close on us, we’ll lose everything.’

‘If they joined us, we’d have more spears to defend ourselves,’ Teia countered. The further she thought about it, the more right it seemed.

‘Extra mouths to feed,’ he replied. ‘We’ve scarce enough for ourselves as it is.’

‘Additional hunters to catch game. We’ll be out above the trees in a day or two – game might be hard to find until we’ve crossed the next ridge.’

His jaw stuck out pugnaciously. ‘We’ll manage.’

‘We might manage better with greater numbers.’

He fixed her with a flat stare, eyes like polished stones in the firelight. ‘I don’t like it.’

‘I won’t leave people behind, Baer, not even Maenardh. Not as prey for the Wild Hunt.’ She swallowed, remembering her last look into the waters. ‘Every day, I feel Her drawing closer.’

The chief-who-was-not-a-chief continued to stare, then finally dipped his head, lips twisting in a way that said he was still unhappy, but knew better than to continue to argue.

‘As you wish, Banfaíth.’ He sighed, breath steaming on the night air. ‘I’ll send a scout on one of the ponies. He can catch up with the rest of us on the far side of the ridge.’

Then he set down his bowl and strode off into the night.

In the morning, when Isaak appeared at her fireside instead of the man who was chief in all but name, it appeared the scout Baer had sent back along their trail was himself, and she would have to lead his people on alone.

34

WILDWOOD

Tanith sat with her back against the bole of a lightning-struck oak tree, keeping one eye on the simmering pot over the fire, and waited for a guide to appear. She had built the fire carefully, on bare earth, well ringed with stones, and had used only fallen wood. In the forests of Bregorin, it was unwise to be careless with a naked flame if she expected the forestals to grant her their aid.

Ancient woods surrounded her. Beeches broad as bridge-piers, chestnuts whose massive boughs stooped so far under their own weight that they almost touched the ground, all draped in thick moss like swathes of tattered velvet. Even the air beneath the leafy canopy overhead felt dense and heavy with time.

With its cloven crown and froth of bright new leaves, the oak tree marked the furthest point to which Tanith had been able to penetrate the forest. Not that the going was difficult; quite the opposite, in fact: the trees were widely spaced and easily tall enough to ride beneath, but whichever direction she travelled, no matter how carefully she kept to a straight line, she found herself back at the oak tree within a few minutes. The forest simply did not wish her to go any further. She must wait here for her guide.

So all day she had waited. Baked bread, read her book. Sat with her back against the oak and watched deer ghosting through the trees, listening to the forest breathe around her, and waiting for her guide to show himself. She suspected he already knew she was there.

She stirred her pot of rabbit stew then covered it again, setting the spoon on her plate. Even the chink of metal on metal was muted, deadened by the thick air. In the distance a woodpecker drummed, a fusillade of sharp raps, then fell silent.

As soon as she’d arrived at the edge of the forest, after a five-day ride from her house on the edge of the Mere, she’d sensed a presence in the woods. At first she hadn’t been sure whether it wasn’t simply the patient stillness that always gathered underneath such venerable trees, but then yesterday she’d felt someone watching her. Awareness had brushed her colours like a strand of gossamer over her face, so subtle she barely registered it at all and when she reached for it she’d found nothing. Not with her eyes, not with the Song. All she’d sensed around her was life. Slow and slumberous in the trees, acid-sharp in the ferns unfurling amongst the mossy rocks, bright and scuttling in the unseen birds. The forest teemed with it: beetles and centipedes, voles, lichen-patterned moths. A thousand eyes, but none of them belonged to her watcher.

Tanith made herself more comfortable against the furrowed trunk of the oak and closed her own eyes. She must be patient; he would reveal himself at a time of his choosing. If she tried to seek him out or hasten their meeting, it was very likely he would never appear at all and she would have to ride the long leagues to Mesarild. The Bregorinnen were slow to share their secrets with outsiders, even with Astolans whose race was as old as their own.

Overhead, a wren trilled, his song purling down through the branches above her, then he whirred away to the other side of the clearing and began again. Between the end of one phrase and the start of the next, something in the wood changed. She opened her eyes.

The forestal stood on the far side of the clearing, half-hidden by a tree. Soft, shapeless clothing in browns and greens blurred his outline, rendering him all but indistinguishable from leaf and bark and rock. Then he pushed back his hood, revealing mahogany hair and quick dark eyes in a face as brown as bogwood.

‘Well met,’ she said, standing to greet him with a half-bow, as was proper. Just as well – she would have felt foolish attempting a curtsey in riding leathers.

‘Lady.’ He dipped his head. His voice was deep and somewhat sonorous. A braided leather band across his brow kept his unruly mane off his face. ‘What brings a daughter of Astolar into the forest?’

‘I have a long journey to make in haste. I hoped to shorten it, with your help.’

‘You wish to travel the wildwood.’ His tone was flat.

‘If you will be my guide.’

He leaned on what she had at first thought was a staff, but now saw for what it was: a longbow, sturdy and almost as tall as the man who wielded it. Arrows peeped from a quiver on his shoulder. ‘Few ask, these days. Fewer still are granted the gift.’

‘Please.’ She spread her hands. ‘I would not ask if the need was not great. I have to reach Mesarild as soon as possible. The Veil between worlds may depend on it.’

Dark eyes searched her face, assessing. ‘There is danger at hand?’

‘Great danger. The Veil is weakening and there is one with both the will and, I fear, the means to bring it down – a reiver. I must warn the Empire to prepare for war.’

‘War means men need timber. Ill tidings for the woods.’

‘Ill tidings for everyone, if the reiver has his way.’ Briefly, she described the weakening of the Veil Masen had observed, and the demons Savin had sent against Chapterhouse in pursuit of the tools to rend it completely.

‘If what you say is true . . .’ The forestal looked uneasy. ‘The King must be warned.’

‘Take me to him and I will explain, as I have to you.’