Ravenwild: Book 01 - Ravenwild (52 page)

“You
rotten
little boy,” came the yell from inside. Then he heard several whacks with what he figured must be a belt or whip or something. “Don’t you
ever
talk back to me when I tell you to do something. When I tell you to do something, I mean do it
now
, with no backtalk.
Do you understand me?”
Again the sounds of the whipping began, and Ubri could hear his friend crying out in agony and fear.

“Father!” cried Ubri. “Please come quickly. Father!”

Ubri’s cries were undoubtedly heard inside, because the sounds of the whipping stopped, and he heard Bram’s father call out, “Who’s out there? Who said that?” He appeared at the doorway just as Andar made it up onto the porch. Andar rolled his eyes as if to say, “I told you this was a bad idea.” Still, he knew it was probably best that they had stopped, from the sounds of it.

Bram’s father looked the picture of someone who has been drinking heavily all night. His clothes were filthy and disheveled. His eyes were bloodshot. His breath was disgusting. He leaned on the door in a manner that suggested he needed it to keep himself upright and croaked, “Ubri. What do you want? Go home now. Bram can’t play today. Go home.”

He slammed it hard, locked it, and walked a few steps away. Andar stepped forward, gently sweeping Ubri out of the way. “Ansten,” he said, in a loud but friendly voice, “It’s me, Andar. Andar Gall. Could you open the door please?”

Ansten started to turn back, but with nothing to support him he fell to the floor with a crash and lay quiet.

“Ansten,” called Andar. “Ansten!” Again he rolled his eyes and shook his head side-to-side. “Bramwith,” he called out. “It’s Mr. Gall. Open this door please.”

Bramwith walked to the doorway, stepping carefully over his father. He was holding his back, clearly in a great amount of pain from the vicious whipping that they had interrupted. He unlocked the door, and Andar eased it open. “Stand back, son,” he said gently. “Let’s check your father and see that he’s not seriously injured.”

Andar checked him all over from top to toe and came to the conclusion that he remained unconscious from alcohol, not from injury. “I’m sorry, Bramwith,” he said. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” he answered. He continued to hold his back, looking like he was going to break down and cry any second. “I’ve had worse. Thank you for coming though. Criminy, I thought he was never going to stop this time.”

“How long has this been going on?” asked Andar.

“What do you mean?”

“The drinking and the beatings like that.”

Bramwith sighed. “Forever, Mr. Gall. Forever … ”

Together, they moved Bram’s father to his bedroom, but the bedclothes were disgusting, covered in vomit and stained with his urine, and Andar couldn’t in good conscience leave him there, so they moved him to the sitting room where at least the couch was slightly cleaner. Ansten never woke up for any of this and continued to snore softly.

“Jeepers, Bram,” said Ubri, “I don’t know what to say. We were headed out to get some wood, and I talked Father into stopping by to see if you could go with us. I’m sure glad we did. Holy
moly,
I’m glad we did. It sounded like he was killing you.”

Bramwith appeared to not hear his friend. He was staring at his father.

“Has he ever passed out like this before?” asked Andar.

“Oh sure,” said Bramwith. “Lots of times. Lots and lots of times. But never in the morning. You think he’s going to be okay, don’t you?”

“I do,” said Andar. “To be honest, right now I’m more concerned about you. Look, son, I don’t want to pry into anybody’s personal business, but your father obviously has a problem with spirits, and it looks like it’s getting worse. I think you should come with us and spend the day, and then I think you should come home with us for a while. I’m not sure that you’re safe here.”

“Oh. Thank you, Mr. Gall, but I’ll be all right. Really I will. Besides, who will take care of him? Ever since Mother died, I have had to take care of him. Without me he would die, see? But thank you. Really. Thank you, but I have to stay here with him. Maybe I can go next time.”

“Are you sure, son?” asked Andar.

“Yes,” said Bramwith, trying to sound brave. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Andar nodded slowly, stroking his chin in deep thought. “Well, all right then,” he said. “Come Ubri. We need to be on our way.”

Later in the wagon, on the way home with a bountiful load of plain wood and Burnfast, Ubri asked, “Father, is there anything we can do to help Bramwith?”

“That is a very good question Ubri,” he replied. “And the answer is no. Nobody on Inam'Ra can help him until his father decides to help himself.”

“Then what will happen to him?”

“Either his father quits drinking, or his father will die. That’s it.

Meanwhile, Bram is going to have a very rough go of it, but there’s nothing we can do about it today. I’m going to talk it over with your mother.”

“Oh,” said Ubri.

“What will happen to him if Mr. Jebwickett dies?”

“Well, somebody would have to take him in. We could, of course, if need be. But it would probably be a relative. Doesn’t he have an uncle and aunt that live down by Soledad?”

“Uh-huh,” said Ubri.

“Well then, it would be up to them.”

“Mmmm,” said Ubri, and suddenly he felt very small.

Chapter 19

The last mile into the village of Round Lake proved too much for Norma Webb, who had to be carried by one of the Gnomes named Ettan Cooke. He carried her piggyback, stopping only to check to be sure she was breathing. Turman Pandieth had gone ahead to secure a place to stay. That left the two others, Mandel Ott and Seth Queslian. Mandel Ott stayed ahead of them, checking for danger, and Seth Queslian stayed behind to cover their trail. The Prince stayed tucked inside the blouse of Norma, and from the look of it he was still with them, but barely. His breathing was way too slow, and he had only nursed but a few times for the entire journey.

It was a taxing ordeal for Ettan Cooke as he fought to stay upright and keep moving forward, stumbling often now on rocks, branches, roots, and other irregularities of the trail, but he never once thought of giving up. Being charged with the care of the heir apparent to the throne was the most important task to which he had ever been assigned, and there was no way he would give in to the fatigue, the cold, or the lack of sleep on this harrowing journey. So he kept going, his head down, focused on the rugged pathway.

At long last they arrived at the shoreline of Round Lake. They were met by Turman Pandieth who eased out of the trees as silently as the mist moving in. No words were exchanged. He offered to relieve Ettan of his burden by gesture, but Ettan shook his head, “No.” He had come this far. He was not about to lie down on the final leg. Turman nodded and moved back towards the trees. Both Seth Queslian and Mandel Ott took up rear positions. While the journey was mostly over for the rest, it was far from the case with them, as they would now backtrack several miles to be sure that they had not been followed.

The small cabin appeared out of the fog all of a sudden, now directly in front of them. Over a half-mile from the lake, and completely enveloped by the dense tree branches, it was a place built with the intention of remaining undiscovered. No lake views here, nothing but a simple shelter from the elements and, hopefully, seclusion from those who were undoubtedly doing everything in their power to find them.

Turman entered cautiously. Ettan followed, taking note of the fact that the door opened without the slightest sound. Attention to detail, that was Turman Pandieth.

The heat from the small iron stove embraced him like a long lost love as he deposited his bundle carefully on a neat cot, fashioned from local ten-year growth and covered with many layers of soft bulrushes.

Right away they both knew there were big problems. The Prince was barely breathing, and his color was dusky. Turman checked for a pulse in his neck. “It’s there, but it’s weak,” he muttered. Ettan moved him out of the way and stripped the infant naked. “Move,” he said curtly, as Turman was still close enough to hinder his efforts. He then proceeded to give several slow breaths to the infant Prince, saying between each one, “He needs warm air.”

“Never saw that before,” said Turman, moving to the opposite side of the room to stay out of the way.

The Prince moved slightly, but did not open his eyes. Ettan persisted. He had seen this thing work another time some years before.

“You work on the girl,” he said, pointing her way.

“What do you want me to do?” he asked.

“Same as we have done with the Prince,” said Ettan, “Get her clothes off. She’ll warm up faster. Then breathe for her to get warm air into her.”

Turman crossed back over the small room and promptly removed Norma’s outer garments. Then he started to do the same forced breathing as he had watched Ettan do. The two worked on things for several minutes. The Prince suddenly opened his eyes. “Hello, young Prince,” said Ettan. “Welcome to our resort on Round Lake.”

“Take over here, would you?” asked Turman. “I want to go check on the other two and around the perimeter of the cabin.”

What he wanted to do was go and do things that were expected of a fighting Gnome. In the arena of the healers, he knew he was next to useless.

“Of course,” said Ettan. “Pass me that blanket there. I’m going to set this little guy closer to the stove.”

“Not too close,” said Turman.

“Of course.”

“Make sure you take your wrap and some of the Burnfast mix,” said Ettan. “You won’t last an hour out there without it.”

Turman grunted. “I ran out of it hours before we got here.”

Ettan looked at him in amazement as he moved to the bedside of Norma. “How did you ever manage to make it?” he asked. “That’s impossible.”

Turman slid his sword up and down slightly to be sure it was loose in its scabbard, then donned his wrap and headed out into the cold. “Later,” was all he said before he moved out into the frigid evening.

Ettan continued to work on Norma. Several more minutes went by with no response. He could see the young Prince wiggling a little in his wrap. “Come on, Norma Webb,” he said. “Come on now. Wake up. Your charge has not eaten for a long, long time, and needs to be fed. Wake up Norma. Wake up!”

Nothing.

The Prince started to cry. A good sign to be sure, but Ettan was certain the reason he was crying was that he was hungry.

“Come on Norma,” he said. “You
have
to wake up. The Prince needs to eat.”

Several more minutes went by and the Prince began to howl. The minutes turned into hours. Norma remained lifeless.

Turman Pandieth, Seth Queslian, and Mandel Ott entered the cabin with a loud rattling of their weaponry, all stamping their feet. The chill of the cold night air

caused the Prince to howl even louder.

“No luck with the girl?” asked Pandieth.

Ettan shook his head, “No,” saying, “Any suggestions would be most appreciated.”

“Try putting him on the breast anyway,” said Seth. “She’s breathing on her own, right?”

“Yes,” said Ettan, “but barely. And she’s still terribly cold. Mandel, do as he says while I continue to try and get warm air into her. I think it’s our only chance of waking her up.”

Mandel scooped up the Prince like he was a loaf of bread and crossed over to where Ettan was working on Norma. He gently pulled down the top of her under-jerkin and laid the infant beside her so that the nipple was touching his lips. He started to make sucking noises, so they pushed on the back of his head and he attached himself. Soon, he was sucking hard, and it seemed that they had triumphed at least as far as quieting him down. Whether or not he was getting any nourishment out of it was anybody’s guess.

In a short while he began howling again. Ettan inspected his mouth and gave a gentle squeeze on the nipple.

“She’s not making any milk,” he announced.

“Great,” grunted Turman. “Now what do we do? She needs to wake up. If she wakes up and drinks herself, she’ll make milk, and the Prince can feed. How do we get her to wake up? Ettan, why isn’t she waking up? That warm air thing you did with the Prince worked fine. Why won’t it work with her?”

“I’m not sure, Turman. We need some help here. If we don’t get some milk into him soon, we’re going to lose him.”

“How long?”

“Difficult to say. His crotch-cloth is bone-dry. That can’t be good. I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s going to make the night.”

Turman scratched his chin in thought. “Mandel. Seth. Cloak up. We need to go around the lake and try to find the old woman who supposedly lives there.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’ll know something. The thing is, we’ll have go through the swamp. We can’t take the chance of getting seen on the southern shore. And we won’t be able to use any light.”

Everyone in the room knew what these things meant. Going by way of the swamp in this cold meant that they might lose their feet, and going without torchlight meant that they might lose their lives to the creatures that were rumored to live there.