Gateway to Fourline (The Fourline Trilogy Book 1) (22 page)

They ran past the bushes into the dense forest, her heart pounding with each step. A dead branch scraped her cheek. She caught flashes of the black soles of Soris’ boots running through the dry leaves. She followed his lead, wiping a bit of blood off her face. The ground became steeper and rockier. Soris slowed his pace and came to a stop next to a moss-covered tree. Nat leaned against the spongy green moss as she caught her breath. Soris doubled over.

“Put your arms above your head.” She gently straightened him and raised his arms. He winced slightly. His hand was still a little puffy. “It helps with the breathing.”

“Thanks,” he panted. “We have to work our way back round and pass over the road leading to the city.”

Nat looked up the slope. “I figured that was where we were headed. How far from where we stashed our things?” She hoped it wasn’t far. Her stomach was tight and her mouth felt like sandpaper. Too many adrenaline rushes and no food or water.

“Depending on what we run into, two, maybe three hours if we stay near the river. It leads to the road.”

She wanted to keep moving far away from Rustbrook. She closed her eyes and visualized one of Estos’ maps. If they continued southeast, she could be home in a matter of a few days. The thought seemed crazy.

“We have nothing right now—no weapons, no food,” Soris continued. He looked up into the darkening canopy. “But I’d rather take my chances with the Nala than with the soldiers searching near the roads . . .”

Nat lifted her ripped sleeve. The fabric fell away, exposing the green vines on her pale forearm.

“Use my scarf.” He unwound it from his neck. “The soldiers won’t ask questions if they see those. After today, they’ll just kill us.” He started to wrap her forearm.

She pulled her arm away. “Leave it until we get closer to the road. If we run into a Nala, I want to be ready.” A dim shaft of light fell on her face.

“Okay,” he said hesitantly, “but at least let me tie it up.” He knotted the ripped strip of fabric hanging from the sleeve. He held her wrist and looked into her eyes. “I can’t believe we did it,” he said. A wide smile spread across his face, and he leaned in to quickly kiss her lips.

“We did,” Nat responded and glanced away, trying to keep from blushing.

He turned and took off into the woods. Nat touched her lips a moment, then followed him.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

The sound of splashing water filled the air. Nat retrieved her cloak from under the exposed root of the enormous tree.
Soris must be getting a drink,
she thought. She licked her lips. Water could wait until she pulled out the rest of their things.

The tree was a monster with roots like arthritic fingers reaching up from the ground. She leaned against one root and unwrapped the cloak. She traced the shape of the crossbow, loaded an arrow, and set it close to her side. The orb rolled out onto the soft ground. She placed it in her palm. It emitted a faint light in the darkness, and warmth spread through her frigid hand. Given the events of the day, she didn’t care much about bringing Barba’s old wardrobe back in one piece. The orb was different. Only now, after seeing the Chemist’s tiny orbs, did she truly understand that the orb held a piece of Barba. She carefully slipped it into the cloak pocket and hastily changed out of her borrowed clothes back into her old tunic and leggings. The Sister’s cloak fell securely over her shoulders. She adjusted her bag, grabbed Soris’ satchel and the crossbow, and headed for the river.

“Anyone else?” a gruff voice asked. She froze and pressed herself against a tree trunk. She heard footsteps and then the rustle of brush.

“Nothing. Thought I saw something, but it wasn’t anything,” another voice answered. A Rustbrook Guard stepped out of the brush onto the riverbank. Nat slid to her belly. Soris was on his knees with his back to her. His hands were bound with a coarse rope. The guard who had spoken first held a torch that flickered weakly. He kicked Soris, knocking him to his side. Nat squeezed her eyes shut. This was not happening—not now, not when they were so close to going home. Opening her eyes, she slowly shifted the satchels off her shoulder and eased farther into the brush.

“Leave him. We’re wasting time. He doesn’t know anything about the Sisters. Just another one that took off with half the city,” the guard on the riverbank said.

“Look at his face.” The guard by Soris pointed with his boot. “No beard.”

“So what? Mudug hasn’t outlawed a naked face.”

The guard’s boot came down on Soris’ chin. Nat positioned the crossbow, securing the hilt against her forearm. She’d have little time to load the second arrow—even less if she missed.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous because your arse is hairier than his face?” The guard on the riverbank grabbed the torch sputtering on the ground near Soris. “Do what you want with the beardless boy. I’m done searching the forest. Leave him for the Nala.” Gravel crunched under his boots as he walked down the bank.

“You’re deserting the search!” cried the guard. “You’ll be in the stockades by morning.”

“I’m not deserting the search, you imbecile. The road needs to be searched, too, and I won’t have to keep looking into the blasted treetops for those blue demons,” the other guard called out as he disappeared around a bend.

“Coward,” the guard mumbled as he turned his attention to Soris. “What kind of man shaves his beard?” He kicked Soris again, pushing him onto his back. Soris groaned. Nat looked through the crosshairs. “A man with something to hide, I say.” The guard raised his sword.

A hand clamped down on Nat’s and a finger slipped between hers and the trigger. The woman’s face was blackened with dirt and bits of crumbled leaves. She pressed a finger to her lips, then turned and pointed toward a tree to her right. A shadow, perched in a crook halfway up the tree, loosed an arrow. It flew over the bushes and pierced the back of the guard. He landed with a thud facedown next to Soris. Soris twisted his head frantically, looking for the archer. The shadow dropped silently and was joined by another woman holding a curved sword low at her side.

An orb appeared in front of Nat’s face, circled her head, then whizzed down the bank after the Rustbrook Guard. The bulge of Barba’s orb pressed into her side. If Barba’s orb was in her cloak, where had the other orb come from? Nat glanced at the woman at her side. Her dirt-encrusted face broke into a tight smile as she easily wrested the crossbow from Nat and motioned for her to follow. Two cloaked figures approached Soris and the dead guard. Nat scrambled toward the bank but felt an iron fist clamp down on her thigh.

“Your friend will be fine. Come with me now,” she said to Nat. Her voice was low and barely audible.

“No, he’s coming . . .” The look on the woman’s face stopped her.

“He will be fine,” she repeated.

They walked uphill for several minutes through the dark trees until they reached a small rocky outcrop at the top of a hill. The woman pulled out an orb and jumped from rock to rock until she reached a ledge. She jumped onto the ledge and disappeared.
They must be the Sisters from Rustbrook,
Nat realized as she stared at the ledge above her. She twisted around and looked down the valley to the river. Swaying treetops obscured the riverbank. Soris was nowhere to be seen in the starlight. She lurched up the last rock and discovered the entrance to a cave. It smelled like something wet and moldy had recently died. Avoiding the sharp, jagged edges, Nat collapsed in the center, close to the entrance.

The Sister, leaning against the curved mouth of the cave, regarded Nat. “Do you have any food in there?” She gestured to the satchels.

Nat unhooked her bag and rummaged until she found a crumbling packet of biscuits. She pulled one out and held it up as her stomach growled. The Sister plucked the food from her hand. Nat turned her attention back to the satchel. Pretending to search for more food, she tucked her short dagger under her cloak sleeve and pulled out another biscuit. A corked water skin was dangling in the air in front of Nat when she looked up.

“Please, take some,” the Sister said. Nat’s lips twitched. She took a long drink and handed the skin back. The Sister gripped her wrist tightly. “Hold your arm straight.” She beckoned her orb. It hovered above Nat’s arm, emitting a bluish light. A few loose strands of mud-encrusted hair fell into her face as she traced Nat’s markings with her finger. The mask of dirt and leaves hid her features, but her cheeks were sunken and thin. Nat tried to stop the shaking in her hands as the Sister inspected her arm. After a moment, the Sister dropped her arm and looked at her with curiosity. Her eyes shone in the dark. Nat waited for the accusations of fraud, but none came. “You were in Rustbrook yesterday morning on Wesdrono Street.” It was a statement rather than a question.

“Yes,” Nat replied. She glanced at the mouth of the cave, wondering where Soris and the other two Sisters were.

“What brought you to Rustbrook on a hanging day?” Her tone was light, almost as if asking about a holiday.

“We had business there,” she answered. A feeling of uneasiness came over her.

“Business?” the Sister replied. “With Mudug?” Maybe she thought they were working for him.

“No—well, yes, but nothing to do with Sisters. I needed his help.” Nat decided a little truth would be better than a total lie.

“No one helps a Sister these days, especially not Mudug.” Her voice was cold. She turned and faced the entrance. The wind gently spun her hair around her head. She kicked a small rock and walked out of the cave. It clattered down the hill, ricocheting off the rocks below. A light wind tossed her cloak haphazardly around her legs. A storm was moving in. Thick, bumpy clouds appeared briefly with a flash of lightning, then disappeared into the darkness.

“I almost left you and your companion after the guards’ ambush,” she said as she turned around. Her voice was low, blending with the rustle of the leaves. “We’ve had more than our share of trouble today. I wasn’t keen on more.” She pulled the edge of her cloak away from her leg. An irregular, dark stain marred a strip of gray cloth wound around her thigh.

“Why did you help us, then?” Nat asked. The conversation was going downhill fast, but she tried to keep her tone relaxed.

“You pulled an orb from the tree, which makes you either a thief or a Sister. It’s my practice to punish an orb thief. I also make it a practice to help a Sister in need. It’s something we do.” She stared at Nat, her eyes hooded and black. Fat drops of rain randomly pelted the rocks near the cave entrance. The wind kicked up puffs of dirt around the Sister’s leather boots. She tilted her head toward the sky. Thin rivulets of dirty water ran down her cheeks, washing away some of the muck.

“I’m not a thief, and I was doing fine on my own,” Nat said, trying to hide the shaking in her voice. If she hit the Sister head-on, she might have enough force to push her over the ledge. Or maybe she could use her dagger. She felt its hilt under her cloak. But then what? How would she find Soris or get home?

“I am not sure what you were trying to do, but you were far from ‘doing fine.’ Do you really think you would have hit the guard and saved your friend?” The Sister wiped her cheek and flicked a clump of dirt off her finger. She stepped into the cave out of the rain.

“Yes.” Nat’s voice wavered.

The Sister raised an eyebrow. “Doubtful. Your angle was wrong. Your friend would be dead right now if we hadn’t helped.” She folded a long leg and sat on a little ledge.
So much for the head-on hit,
Nat thought. The Sister untied the dirty dressing around her injured thigh. Her orb bobbed up and down near the wound. “Sheath your blade,” she said to Nat while examining the gash.

Nat ducked her head to keep the flush in her cheeks from showing. She pulled the sheath out of the satchel, slid the dagger in place, and attached it to her belt. If she could find Soris so they could get on their way, she wouldn’t have to second-guess everyone and everything. Sighing, she pulled out Barba’s orb and whispered to it. The orb joined the Sister’s, casting a brighter light on her wound. “You’re right,” Nat said as she pulled out a rolled-up strip of linen containing herbs. “We probably would be dead.” She shivered as she looked for the silvery-white herb Ethet told her to use on open wounds. She held it up for the Sister to examine.

“I haven’t seen that in a while,” the Sister said as she carefully took the thin stalk from Nat. She rinsed the wound with water and crumbled the herb into the open gash. Little bits of silvery-green covered the wound.

“Were the other Sisters injured?” Nat asked.

“Once I got the sword to Camden, she was as safe as a Warrior Sister in a nest of Nala. Sister Pauler broke a rib jumping from a roof. She’ll mend.” The gash was long and bloody.

Nat remembered another ointment Sister Ethet had given her and pulled the small opaque glass container from her bag. “Here.” She handed it to her. “This should help with the bleeding and infection. Is Sister Camden the one they were going to hang?”

The Sister nodded, turned the lid, and sniffed the contents. Her head jerked back. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.

“From a Sister—a Healing House Sister. It’s perfectly safe. I’m not sure what she put in it, but I’m not trying to poison you. Here—see?” Nat dabbed some onto her finger and smeared it across the cut on her cheek. The Sister eyed her suspiciously, then took the balm and began applying it to her wound. She finished the application, tightened the lid, and handed it back to Nat. “Keep it.” Nat held up a hand. Maybe generosity would get her out of this mess. “Are there any Sisters from a Healing House still around who can help you with that? It’s going to need stitching.”

“They’re all gone,” she said flatly as she took the clean linen cloth Nat offered and rewrapped the wound. “Mudug rounded up Healing House Sisters first, before any of us understood what was going on. Those who are still alive are either too frightened to practice their art of healing or are too far out on the fringe to do anyone any good.” She met Nat’s gaze. “You must be from the fringe if you still have contact with a Healing House Sister.” She leaned against the stone wall and waited for Nat’s response. When none came, she shrugged and continued. “You’re an odd one.” She stood and adjusted her heavy cloak. “You command your orb by voice and not thought. Your markings are antiquated.” She reached for Nat’s forearm and ran a finger over the markings. “They’re so old, maybe as old as—”

A shrill cry like a night owl cut through the sound of the rain. The Sister dropped Nat’s arm. “Let’s go.” She stepped out into the rain. “If you want to see your friend again, that is.” She disappeared over the ledge. Nat grabbed her satchels and orb and hurried behind her. Despite her injured leg, the Sister was already halfway down the rocky slope. Nat managed to keep her in sight by ordering her orb to follow her and emit a low light. They pushed through a thicket of bushes with long, thin branches and pointed leaves.

“Put your orb out, you fool!” the Sister hissed when she realized it was following her. “Do you want the guards—or worse, a Nala—to see us?” She let go of a branch, and it whapped Nat on her uninjured cheek. Another trickle of blood streamed down her face. Feeling utterly foolish, she pocketed the orb and hastened after her. The rain barely penetrated the upper canopy, but the forest floor was slick. Nat struggled over the wet rocks that protruded through the spongy ground. The Sister ran faster despite the conditions. They reached the edge of a forest along the riverbank. Nat, now breathing heavily, thought that they must have traveled at least two miles upriver from where she and Soris had first met the Sisters. The Sister let out a shrill call similar to the one Nat had heard in the cave. A cloaked figure stepped out of the woods onto the bank ahead of them. They wound their way through the trees, keeping to the forest, as they made their way to the figure.

Soris lay unconscious by a large tree. Nat brushed past her companion and rushed to him. A large red welt the size of an egg pulsed at the base of his skull. She looked up angrily at the Sister standing over him. Her straw-colored hair was tucked into a dark hood, her cheeks were hollow, and dark, heavy circles hung below her blue eyes. “What did you do to him?” Nat yelled.

“Hush!” The Sister from the cave clapped her hand over Nat’s mouth. “You are louder than a flock of geese. Between your breaking every wet branch you stepped on—how you managed that I’ll never know—and lighting your orb in the forest, and now this outburst, it’s a wonder Mudug’s guards or the Nala haven’t shown up.” She dropped her hand. Nat futilely swatted her arm away. “Camden, before our young Sister here cries out again, tell her what happened.”