Wolfsbane Winter (23 page)

“It’s just silly make-believe.”

Somebody who ought to know better had obviously been telling ghost stories to the halfwit. Deryn sighed and marched toward the trees. Either Ross would follow, or he would stay put. She was not prepared to humor him any more.

The edge of the forest presented an unbroken barrier. No obvious paths led in, not even the short incursions of people collecting wood for the fire or picking berries. For all Deryn could see, nobody ever set foot in the forest. Was Ross not the only one who preferred to avoid the mountain? Was that why Nyla wanted someone else to find the sheep for her?

Deryn paced along the line of the trees, looking for signs of sheep. At last she found a faint trail, leading between the moss-coated trunks. The ground was damp and soft, and clearly held the small marks of sheep’s hooves, leading in and out, as well as the broader paw prints of dogs, but the farthest any human tracks went was a scant two steps.

Deryn grinned. Nyla had sent the dogs in to bring back those sheep they could, but she was too frightened to go in herself. Who would have thought it? The surly farmer was scared of ghosts.

The track was clearly the work of deer, or some other animal. Deryn slipped along the trail, ducking under the low-hanging branches. She had gone a dozen paces when she heard heavy breathing and the sound of snapping branches behind her. Ross had summoned his courage and was following. His face was pale, but determined.

“Can’t let you fight the thieves on your own.”

“Good man.”

Fifty yards into the forest, the trail reached a small opening on the hillside, caused by the fall of an ancient fir. Grass sprouted in the sunlight. From reading the tracks, Deryn could tell that this was where most of the sheep had stopped, and where the sheepdogs had found them. Several deer trails converged on the spot. Deryn examined each one in turn.

Not all the sheep had arrived by the path she and Ross had followed. A couple had made their way to the fallen tree via another faint trail, and clear in the mud beneath the hoof marks was a set of human footprints. Deryn frowned, examining the marks in more detail. Was it possible that Nyla was right? Had someone taken her sheep? The hoof marks overlay the human prints and both sets were less than a day old. That might mean the person had been dragging the sheep along behind, or the two sets might be completely unrelated. Deryn could not make an accurate enough estimate of timing to say.

She looked around, thoughtfully. Maybe one of her neighbors was not as superstitious or nervous as Nyla. If most folk avoided the forest, the glade would be a good rendezvous for anyone who was keen not to be caught out, perfect for a illicit lover’s tryst. Deryn grimaced. She wished the idea had not occurred to her while she had the image of Nyla in her head.

Guessing was a waste of time. The answers could wait until after she found the sheep. Deryn carried on with her search. The ground on the uphill side of the opening was dry, stony, and devoid of prints, but a tuft of wool caught on a thorn showed where the two lost sheep had gone.

Deryn led the way farther into the forest, climbing higher. This new trail was wider than the first one they had taken, and caused by something bigger than deer. Deryn had no trouble slipping along it in total silence. However, Ross was a large man, and anyway, stealth was not his style. Luckily, it was not required. The bleating of sheep in Nyla’s farm faded into the distance, drowned out by the sounds of Ross, wheezing as he crashed through the vegetation. The trail was going to be wider still by the time he finished with it. Then, faintly from up ahead, Deryn caught the bleat of a sheep.

“Ross. Stop.”

“What is it?” He sounded frightened.

“Shush. Listen.”

“To what?”

“I heard a sheep.” Or Deryn thought she had. Ross had been making too much noise to be sure, and the sound did not repeat.

Deryn set off again. For a while, the track scrambled along the bottom of a narrow ravine, between sheer faces of broken rock. Even though there were no more branches to snap, Ross was still making enough noise for a small army. His boots set off cascades of pebbles and his labored breathing was reminiscent of his nightly snoring. He fell farther behind.

His wheezing and clattering were distant enough that, when the next bleat came, Deryn was able to be certain. She stopped and looked up. The sound had echoed around the ravine, but it appeared to come from directly overhead.

The walls of the ravine had been dropping as the trail climbed, but they were still a good thirty feet high. Trees and shrubs overhung the top. The upper branches swayed gently in the breeze. The lower bushes were also moving, but to a different tempo. Something was moving around up there, pushing through the undergrowth.

Deryn was about to press on when a louder cracking came from above. She looked up again. The rim of the ravine was shifting, disintegrating. Irregular black shapes were silhouetted against the gray sky, getting bigger quickly—very quickly. Deryn was already diving back, out of the way, even before her mind had recognized the shapes as falling stones.

Deryn rolled tight against the rock face, shielding her head with her arms. The ground shook as boulders landed, fortunately missing her completely, but fist-sized rocks punched her sides and another, more painful blow pounded her knee. Despite the protection of her arms, one stone clipped the top of her head, hard enough to daze. A hail of chippings stung the backs of her hands and exposed neck, and then everything went quiet.

“Deryn.” The clatter of Ross’s feet came close.

“I’m okay.”

Deryn could hear that her voice was weak enough to cast doubt on her words. She rolled onto her back, readying herself to stand, but stopped, hissing with pain. Her knee joint felt as if it had been replaced with red-hot coals. Stars swam in her vision, either from the pain or the knock to the head. The liquid trickling through her hair had to be blood.

Ross’s anxious face hovered over her. Far above him, at the top of the ravine, another head appeared over the edge, peering down—a sheep’s head—and then it was gone.

“What happened?”

“Rocks fell on me.”

“I saw.” Ross paused, clearly trying to think of another question. “Can you stand up?”

“I don’t think so. My knee isn’t good.”

Ross face cleared. “Do you want me to carry you?”

Not really.
Except Deryn was short on options. “Do you think you’re up to it?”

“Oh yes. I’m pretty strong. I’ll try not to drop you.”

“Try hard.”

“I’ll do my best.” Ross smiled. He meant well.

*

Deryn lay on her bunk. The fire in her knee was not getting any better. Every time she moved, the damaged joint sent daggers up her leg. She had hardly slept the night before, and now tiredness was adding to her general discomfort. Thankfully, the other two station residents were both gone for a while, so she did not have to be quite so stoical about it. Whimpering like a whipped child did nothing for the pain, but it made her feel better.

In truth, Ross had been surprisingly supportive, fetching food and helping her to the latrine and back whenever she asked. While Nevin had done nothing but gloat, while continuing to bitch about his sister’s lost sheep. As far as Deryn was concerned, those sheep had better stay lost, because if she ever caught the one that had knocked the stones down, it was going to end up as stew.

The station door started to open. Deryn gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Was it too much to get just five minutes alone? There was a limit to how much she could put up with. If Nevin made one more snide remark, she was going to demonstrate that her throwing arm was still working perfectly.

“I heard you were in an accident.” The voice was Alana’s.

Deryn’s heart leapt. The accompanying surge of joy was infantile, and Deryn knew she would be annoyed with herself when she looked back at it, but for the moment she did not care. She opened her eyes and attempted to sit up. This was a mistake. Her squeak of pain was equally infantile and regrettable.

Alana dropped the bag she had been carrying and hurried to her side. “Stay still.”

“Ah, yeah. Good idea.” Deryn gasped the words. She sank back onto the bunk and took a deep breath. Why did Alana always have to see her when she was at her weakest? The truly worrying thing was it did not bother her as much as it should. She was simply happy to have Alana there. What was going on with her?
Cry on a woman’s shoulder once and you’re lost.

“What happened to you?”

“A sheep kicked rocks at me, yesterday.”

Alana laughed. “That’s not the story going around.”

“People are talking about it?”

“One of the marshal’s men getting attacked by evil spirits on Voodoo Mountain? Come on. That’s the most exciting thing that’s happened in Neupor all year.”

“It’s also not true.”

“I suspected as much.” Alana paused. “You should have sent for me.”

“It’s not that serious.”

Alana’s expression showed she was not convinced. “Was it really a sheep that did it?”

“Yes. I was searching for some strays.”

“Honestly? I thought that was what shepherds were for. I didn’t think it would be part of your job with the marshal’s men.”

“It is when the sheep belong to the sergeant’s sister.”

“Right.”

“We were getting close when one started a small avalanche. Unfortunately, I was standing under it.”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“I’ll live. But one fair-sized rock clipped my knee.”

“How about your head?”

“A bit of a knock, but nothing serious.”

“Look at me.” Alana sat on the side of the bunk and held up her hand. “Now keep your head still and follow my finger.”

Deryn felt her heart start to thud and her mouth go dry. She tried to concentrate on the moving finger, but it was not easy. Alana’s expression was calm but intense, staring into her eyes. Alana’s lips were slightly parted and just as kissable as the first time Deryn had seen them. Her own lips tingled in desire. If she groaned, could she pass it off as being due to pain in her leg?

“I think you’re okay.”

Deryn fixed her eyes on the ceiling, fighting to get herself back under control. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“I was referring to your head injury.” Alana sounded amused.

I wasn’t.
“As I said, the only real damage is to my knee.”

“Let me see.”

Deryn tugged the blanket back, bracing herself for the touch of Alana’s hand on her skin. She was wearing a loose shirt that came down to mid thigh, but with the way she was feeling, she might as well have been naked under Alana’s gaze. She felt her nipples harden. If Alana noticed, maybe she would put it down to the cold.

Alana sucked in her breath. “That’s a quite wonderful bruise you have.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And some swelling.”

“Yup.”

“Can you bend your leg?”

“A little.”

Alana pressed down gently on her kneecap. Despite all her preparation, Deryn gasped.

“I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“Not really. Carry on.” To be honest, Deryn did not have the first idea whether it hurt at all. She ground her teeth together.

Alana finished her examination. “The good news is that nothing’s broken, including the skin, so I can give you this.” She retrieved the bag from where she had dropped it.

“What?”

“A compress. Among other things, it’s got wolfsbane in it, which is good for numbing pain. It will help get rid of fluid around the joint as well. It’s potent. So much so it can be dangerous on an open wound.”

Wolfsbane. The way winter is shaping up, you’ll be the bane of this Wolf.
“How dangerous?”

“As in fatal. Don’t worry. As long as your skin is intact, it’ll be quite safe. Just don’t start chewing it.” Alana smiled and pulled out a small bottle. “But this you can drink. It will help you sleep.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. And maybe I will take you up on the offer to chop logs.” Alana met her eyes, steadily and deliberately.

Deryn’s stomach contracted in a throb that set fingers of ice wriggling in her nipples and groin—a sensation that ought to have been unpleasant, but most definitely was not. “You’ll have to wait a while.”

“I know.”

“Any idea when I’ll be up and about?”

Alana considered her knee again. “You’ll be able to put your weight on it in a few days. By next week, you ought to be walking.”

“Just in time for the Night of the Lost.”

“Yes, but don’t expect to dance too much.”

“Not even a slow dance with someone to hold on to?”

“Only if it’s very slow.”

“Will you be there?”

Alana hesitated, looking uncertain. Her hand rose to the silver pendant at her throat. “I don’t normally.”

“Why not?”

“Maybe this year, I might.”

“Then maybe I’ll see you there.”