Where Serpents Strike (Children of the Falls Vol. 1) (17 page)

Having exhausted her words, Lia fell
silent.

The old woman shook her head in continuing
refusal, threw up her hands and stormed off, muttering to the old
man in their strange language.

The old man put his hands in the pockets of
his brown vest and sighed long and loud. His expression had grown
sympathetic, but he still seemed resistant to the idea of helping
her.

At last he said to her, “You go now.”

Like a rock, her hope fell from her chest.
Lia stood there gaping at him as he strolled away, wondering how
anyone could be so cold. She guessed the old man would’ve been more
sympathetic to her situation had it not been for his wife. Her
disdain for the people of Edhen was evident.

Lia kicked at the ground as she walked away
in defeat.

“Wait,” came the voice of the old man.

Lia spun around, her eyes darting to him
like hot coals.

He sauntered over to her, chewing his cud.
“Your friend. How far?”

Lia’s eyes softened a trifle, and she
motioned northwest. “About a half day’s walk that way.”

The old man drew in a slow, pensive breath.
When he spoke again, he said, “Follow me.”

“Dana!”
Brayden called. “He’s back.”

Sliding out from under the shady covering of
evergreen branches that he had woven together, Brayden crossed to
the other side of the sun-dappled glade. The tall grass tugged at
the fraying pant legs of his slacks, the hems of which were filthy
and torn.

Seven days had passed since he had watched
with horror as the ocean storm ripped Lia’s ship apart, and four
days since Khalous had sent Pick to search for survivors who may
have washed ashore.

Pick plopped himself down on the grass. His
face was sunburned and peeling, his cream colored tunic mottled
with sweat stains and new smears of dirt.

“Water!” Khalous said.

Brayden came alongside Pick at the same time
as Dana, Ariella, and a gregarious Efferousian priest named
Placidous. He and Sister Ariella had helped several dozen children
from Aberdour’s orphanages escape during the high king’s
attack.

Stoneman brought some nearby stream water in
a leather-drinking pouch. After Pick had downed several sizeable
gulps he offered his short and disheartening report. “Nothing.
There were pieces of the ship strewn up and down the sand, broken
barrels and empty crates, but that was all.”

And like a gust of wind his words
extinguished the fire of hope Brayden had harbored in his heart.
For days he had prayed to the Allgod that Pick might find Lia
washed ashore on a piece of driftwood, or maybe see her footprints
leading to a secluded cave where she had taken shelter. She was
clever like that, tough, a practical thinker.

“How far did you travel?” Khalous asked.

“Two days fast walk south,” Pick answered,
unfastening his dingy green cloak to allow his damp tunic a chance
to dry. “I came to a hilltop overlooking West Galori. I could see
the harbor, but it was another day’s walk to get there. Most of the
wreckage I found was further north anyway, and I didn’t want to
risk going into the city.”

“That was wise,” Khalous said. “The Black
King will be dispatching his soldiers to Efferous soon. They’ll be
searching the cities and towns for survivors.” He gestured to Dana.
“Our fearless princess here sent out broadwings before she left
Aberdour declaring to the realm that the Falls’ children were alive
and would return.”

Pick grinned. “I bet that will piss off His
Royal Blackness.”

“I’m sorry,” Dana said. “I feared that with
the fall of Aberdour the rebellion would grow discouraged. I wanted
to give them hope.”

“No need for apologies, my lady,” Khalous
said. “You did well. You kindled the flames of the rebellion, but
you also stoked the ire of the high king. We all need to stay clear
of places where his vipers might search.”

“We can’ stay ’ere neither,” said Stoneman
in his usual slurry drawl. “Vipers goin’ be searchin’ all up and
down dem shores. They come ’ere. You wait and see.”

Khalous agreed. “We need to move further
inland.”

“We have too many injured,” said Ariella.
“At least give them a few more days to heal and rest.”

The captain’s brows drew in and he scratched
his iron colored beard. “Three days, but no more.” He put a hand on
Pick’s shoulder. “Get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brayden turned to look at Dana, but she had
already peeled herself away from the discussion. He saw her walking
back toward her lean-to dabbing her cheeks with her fingers. Her
green dress patterned with raised leaves and gold thread, once one
of her favorites, hung in shambles off her pale shoulders. One
sleeve bore several long tears, exposing her delicate arm, while
there was little left of the once tightly braided hem.

He caught up to her under the shade of a
giant sugar maple. “Khalous isn’t mad at you about the broadwings,
Dana. I hope you know that.”

He caught her just as she fell into him in
an explosion of quiet sobs.

Surprised, Brayden wrapped his arms her and
held her for several moments.

“How much more can we lose, Brayden?” she
said. “Bryn, Scarlett, now Lia, too.”

Brayden couldn’t recall ever seeing his
older sister so distraught. Dana was strong, logical, a lover of
fine details with a mind as sharp as the best investigator. For as
long as he could remember she had been there to take care of him.
It felt strange taking care of her.

“If any of us could’ve found a way to
survive a shipwreck like that, it would’ve been Lia,” he said. “She
may yet be alive.”

To his right Brayden noticed Stoneman
approaching Placidous. The muscled soldier tapped the small priest
on back. “Do I know you from somewheres,” he said, his voice deep
and somewhat ominous.

Brayden thought he saw a look of nervousness
flash across the priest’s face.

“Oh? Well, I have been a member of the
church for—”

“Ever been in front of the magistrate?”
Stoneman asked.

Brayden saw the priest’s throat force down a
large lump. “I think you have me confused with someone else.” He
pushed past Stoneman and wandered over toward Ariella who was
making rope out of willow bark. He sat down and began to help
her.

“That was odd,” Brayden whispered.

Dana picked her head up off his shoulder.
“What?”

“Nothing.”

With no survivors found from the wreckage of
the second ship, the number of refugees stood at twenty-six, a
pathetic figure, Brayden thought, when considering almost three
times that many had fled Aberdour. There would have been
twenty-eight, but two more had died in the storm. One, a
six-year-old girl, had been washed out to sea, and the other, a
young man, had split his head open against the forward mast.

A man named Alec Craigson had captained
their ship. At the first sign of the incoming storm he veered south
away from the rocks and into deeper waters, though he had been
unable to avoid all of the storm’s rage. Once they had reached the
western shores of Efferous, Khalous ordered Captain Alec and his
crew to take the ship south to keep it from being seen by black
vipers.

In the days after hiking inland, Khalous
dolled out tasks to everyone, sending some to search for fresh
water, others to gather wood for shelters and fire, others to hunt
for food. He had placed the orphaned and injured children in the
care of Ariella and Placidous.

The survivors of Aberdour now occupied a
small camp that had been constructed deep in a forest in northern
Advala, the westernmost province in the empire of Efferous. The
camp had been built in haste and was exceptionally unsophisticated.
They had made a few coverings of forest branches to provide shelter
from the sun and rain, and some sleeping mats of leaves for those
with minor injuries.

“Make it tight, boy,” said Stoneman as he
grabbed Brayden’s cluster of evergreens and crushed them together.
“Now rope it off.”

Using a strand of the willow bark rope that
Ariella had made, Brayden tied a quick knot around the ends. The
sleeping matt was almost complete. It just needed to be wider.

“You knot ’em tight. That’s good,” Stoneman
said. Brayden took it as a sincere compliment, especially from a
man whose massive fingers fashioned knots so strong they were
immune to even the fiercest storms.

“My grandfather spent lots of time on a ship
when he was a boy,” Brayden said. He lashed a few more branches
together. “He taught Broderick and I how to tie many knots.”

“You ever think abou’ sailin’?” Stoneman
asked, pushing a lock of stringy black hair behind his ear.

Brayden shook his head. “Not really.”

“What do yeh think ’bout?”

“My sisters, mostly. Lia, Brynlee, and
Scarlett. I worry about her the most. She’s only seen five winters,
and she can’t speak. Brynlee will be all right. She just needs a
history book to read and she’ll get by.” He pictured his
seven-year-old sister huddled by the fire pouring over the boring
old books she loved so much. “As for Lia,” Brayden started to say,
but his throat locked. He didn’t want to think about what had
happened to her.

A little girl walked up to him. She was a
tiny thing, around the age of ten, he guessed. She wore a dirty
brown and cream-colored dress. He saw the points of maroon boots
peeking out from under the hem.

“Lord Brayden,” she began in a sweet
sounding voice, “can I help you with your work?”

He looked down at the fir branch bedroll he
was making. Roping together the branches required strong hands,
hands even stronger than his. After a quick glance at the girl’s
tiny fingers, he knew she wasn’t up for the task.

Finally, he said, “Umm, no.” He paused, and
then added, “But thank you.”

The girl stood in front of him for an
awkward moment, her hands clasped behind her back. “I’m sorry about
your papa and your mama.”

He looked up and was struck by how blue her
eyes appeared. They were like lakes of sparkling water, piercingly
blue, shinning out from a dirty face framed by thick locks of brown
hair. When he realized he was staring, he blinked and looked
away.

“Oh. Thank you.”

She stood there for another moment or two,
twisting at her hips. Finally she dipped her head to him and
trotted away.

“Ain’t tha’ all sweet,” Stoneman muttered
with an amused grin on his chiseled face.

“What?” Brayden asked.

He heard a hushed giggle behind him.
Turning, he saw Dana hanging some soiled clothes on a tree branch
to dry.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“Someone
likes
you,” she said.

“Who is she?”

“Her name is Nairnah Kholoch,” Dana
answered. “Her father builds…” but she caught herself. “Her father
used to build wagons in the east corner of Aberdour. Her mother was
a dressmaker. Nairnah said when her father saw Ariella and
Placidous heading toward the tunnels with the other orphans he made
her go with them.”

Brayden tried to make it seem as though such
information meant nothing to him, when, in actuality, he had
already committed to memory everything Dana had told him. In all
his twelve years of life he had never paid much attention to girls,
but, for some reason, he suddenly found Nairnah Kholoch very
interesting.

Stoneman sprang up from his seat. His heavy
boots pounded along the ground as he charged toward Brother
Placidous who was standing with Sister Ariella, his hand on her
back. When their bodies connected the mountain of muscle sent the
priest twisting through the air.

“What in all the hells?” Khalous shouted
from across the camp.

Stoneman stood over the terrified priest,
who lifted his nimble hands in surrender. “Please! Please don’t
hurt me.”

“Keep ’em paws to yerself, priest,” Stoneman
growled.

“I–I don’t know what you’re talking
about.”

Khalous came between them, warding off the
giant soldier who stood a good head above the captain, if not
more.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Khalous
asked.

Stoneman thrust a finger at Placidous whose
sprawled position on the ground amidst his brown robes made him
look like a puddle of mud. “Keep ’im ’way from’a girls.” Without
another word he walked off.

“What was that all about?” Dana asked.

“I wish I knew,” Brayden said.

He had little time to think about it because
in the days ahead Khalous kept him and the older boys busy with a
number of duties that afforded him little free time. They hunted
for boar and quail. They sought fish in the river to the north and
set traps for rabbits and other small forest critters. They lugged
water from the river in buckets they had acquired from Alec’s ship.
They mended garments, built lean-tos, picked healing herbs, and
scouted the surrounding hills for signs of civilization.

If Brayden had any time to miss home, his
horse Arrow, or his soft bed, it was at night just before numb
exhaustion whisked him off to a much-needed sleep. When he dreamed,
he dreamed of Aberdour, of the wheat fields newly plowed, of forest
streams running clear with spring runoff from the distant
heights.

Dana’s hand on his shoulder broke up the
vision, which ran away like water through his hands. His heart
begged to have the dream back.

“I can’t find Broderick,” Dana said. The
worried tone in her voice brought Brayden’s attention into a sharp
and sudden focus.

He sat up, his squinting lids casting blobs
of color before his gaze. Above him, leafy tree branches laced the
paling blue of a new dawn.

“Clint’s gone, too,” Dana added.

Brayden’s mind ticked through a dozen
different excuses for his half-brother’s absence—hunting, fishing,
scavenging, exploring—but the fact that Clint was missing too
worried him. His cousin was the spoiled child of a woman who had
smothered him since birth and a self-absorbed father who went crazy
in his last few years of life. Clint was, as Lilyanna had said, “a
mischievous imp.”