The Shadowed Path (6 page)

Jonmarc finished his bite of bread and stew before he answered. “I’m more afraid of the living than the dead,” he said. “We’ll have a new mouth to feed, and the caravan’s moving on. No telling when we’ll get more customers. I’ve got to make what I can while I can. I’d rather not eat cabbage for every meal.”

Shanna reached out to touch his hand. “You have something else on your mind.” Her brown eyes seemed to see right through him, and he sighed.

“I met a buyer on the road, coming home from Linton’s,” he said. “He wants something from the caves—and he’ll pay gold.”

Shanna’s eyes narrowed. “Gold? For odd bits from old graves of people everyone’s long forgotten?” She shook her head. “There’s something wrong.”

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, setting his empty bowl aside. “But I already agreed to the deal. A couple of gold coins will feed us all for a long time—Tuck’s family, too, if need be.”

“And how will you explain where you came by gold?” Shanna challenged. “Someone will say you stole it, and get the king’s guard after you.”

The same thought had occurred to Jonmarc. “The man’s coming to pay me in three days. If Linton’s not gone yet, I’ll go to the caravan to change it to silver and coppers. Or I’ll take a load of goods to Eiderford and exchange my gold for the silver they pay me. Tuck won’t have a problem with getting his pay in gold, I wager.”

“I wish you hadn’t made the bargain,” Shanna said. “We’d get by without it.”

Jonmarc leaned over and kissed her. “I want to be a proper father, and a proper husband,” he said. “I promised Elly I’d take good care of you.”

Shanna smiled and twined her fingers with his. “You do right by mother and me, Jonmarc. I just wish times were easier.”

“Nothing lasts forever, my father used to say,” Jonmarc replied. “Bad times or good. Always a storm coming, or one just passed.” He let out a long breath. “And I wager he knew what he was talking about.”

T
HE NEXT EVENING
, once his day at the forge was through, Jonmarc ate a hurried dinner and packed his gear. He left Shanna with a kiss and assurances of a quick return.

She pressed an amulet pouch of her mother’s dried plants into his hand. “To ward off danger,” she said, folding his fingers around the pouch.

Jonmarc forced a smile and tucked the amulet into his bag. “I’ll be back before morning. You’ll see. Nothing to worry about.” He knew from the look in Shanna’s eyes that she was unconvinced.

The moon was bright, and Jonmarc crossed the lowlands with relative ease, glad he did not have to light a lantern. So far, he had eluded notice, but he had no doubt that there would be some in the village who would look askance at his forays into the caves, although the ancient dead whose skeletons lay in the cliffside were none of their own. Tuck, Jonmarc was certain, would shrug and agree that the living had more need of the trinkets than the dead. Shanna’s mother, Elly, would worry about the wardings and traps that might be set for tomb robbers, or the spirits of the restless dead. If any of them had seen the stranger, Jonmarc was quite certain they would have told him to forget the whole thing.
But there’s no going back now
. He thought as he reached the cliffs and began his climb.

As a child, back in Lunsbetter, Jonmarc and his brothers had often climbed the cliffs and poked around the caves near their village. When Jonmarc had gotten settled into his new home in Ebbetshire, the allure of the nearby cliffs had proven irresistible. Climbing gave him a way to clear his mind, and in those quiet moments, he was alone with his grief for his murdered family. Investigating the caves had begun as a lark, and he had not considered selling the trinkets he found beside the old graves until money had gotten tight.

Jonmarc swore under his breath as he reached for a difficult handhold on the rough stone. He pulled himself up onto a narrow ledge, and inched his way along until he reached an outcropping in the rock. Ducking behind the outcropping, Jonmarc struck flint to steel to light his lantern, and held it aloft, alert for trouble. The stranger’s knowledge of the caves made him wary, and Jonmarc half expected to find the man waiting for him. When nothing moved in the shadows, he let out a long breath, and started into the caves.

Shanna and her mother swore the caves were haunted, but Jonmarc rarely saw ghosts. Then again, few people without a touch of magic saw spirits except at Haunts, the Feast of the Departed. Jonmarc was just as glad to do without any special ability to see the dead. Even without magic, he saw enough ghosts in his dreams.

Jonmarc had memorized the stranger’s map. Much of the route was already familiar; only the last portion was new. Once Jonmarc got past the first chamber, more rooms opened up into a warren of dark passages leading deep into the cliff. Over the last two years, he had explored most of them, but even he had only dared to go so deep. The stranger’s map took him further down one of the remote tunnels than he had ever ventured, and Jonmarc felt a prickle of fear.

“At least the bats are gone,” he muttered to himself. A benefit of coming after dark meant that the bats that clustered in the caves were out feeding, although the floor of the cave was slick with their droppings.

The deeper he got in the cave, the more aware he became of the faint green glow of the moss that clung to the walls of the tunnel. Most of the time, Jonmarc barely paid the moss any attention, but tonight, his nerves were enough on edge that the eerie glow just added to his feeling of foreboding.

This deal was a mistake.
The thought repeated itself in his mind with every step, and Jonmarc pushed it aside.
I made a bargain. Not keeping it would be a real mistake—especially with a
vayash moru
.
It did no good to wish for his father’s counsel or his mother’s advice. They were two years dead and buried with the rest of his village.
Maybe I should have talked to Elly or Tuck, but what could they tell me? By the time I could have seen them, the deal was struck.

The passage in front of him forked, and Jonmarc knew that the stranger’s map led him to the left. Just in case, he marked the turn with a bit of coal he had brought for that purpose.
In case something down here doesn’t want the talisman brought back up to the surface
, he thought.

Jonmarc’s lantern cast a small circle of light, just enough for him to see a few steps in front of him. Darkness closed in behind him as he moved forward, and yielded temporarily to him as he advanced. But the further he went down this particular tunnel, the more the feeling grew that he was being watched. He stopped, wary of a trap. Nothing moved in the darkness, and the only sounds were the faint, distant dripping of water and his own rapid breath. Sometimes, he had surprised rats and other small creatures in the upper tunnels. All the same, he had the feeling that he was not alone, and not particularly welcome. Whispers hissed at the very edge of his hearing, and some of the shadows slipped away from his light as if they had a will of their own.

It feels like the realm of the dead
, Jonmarc thought, and made the sign of the Lady in warding.

Enough foolishness
, he berated himself.
I just need to grab the talisman and go.

Two more turns took him much deeper into the cave, and for an instant, he imagined the weight of the cliff bearing down on him, stifling his breath. His heart raced, and he fought the urge to turn and run. He mustered his courage and went on, mindful of how much the candle in his lantern had burned down.
I’ve got no desire to be stuck down here in the dark
, he thought, though he had taken the precaution to bring an extra candle, just in case.

One more short tunnel led him to the end of the stranger’s map. He had passed many old burial sites along the way, with yellowed bones wrapped in crumbling cloth. On a normal hunt, he would have looked in each one for saleable trinkets, but this night, he focused only on the stranger’s errand.
They’re not going anywhere
, he thought with a glance to the long-dead corpses.
I can always come back for them.

At the end of the tunnel Jonmarc found a room carved into the stone. Unlike the other crypts which were natural recesses in the sides of the cave, this room had an arched doorway which still showed the faded remnants of ancient paint. Beyond the archway, a raised platform held the remains of a man. Jonmarc felt a tingle as he stepped through into the room, and he wondered what magics had been set in these tunnels, and by whom.

He had expected to find a skeleton, or even a jumble of bones. But the body that lay in repose appeared to be a fresh corpse, unsullied by time or decay. Jonmarc took a closer look. By the look of the dead man’s clothing, he had been dead for a very long time, a century or more perhaps. But his outfit and personal items left no doubt about the dead man’s vocation. A wicked sword lay atop the body, its pommel still clutched in his hands. Though the sword was of a more crude design than those Jonmarc forged, it was a lethal weapon for a man of war. The corpse wore a leather cuirass covered in metal rings over a finely-woven tunic with intricate embroidery along its hem. The dead man’s boots and scabbard were of equally high quality.
A king?
Jonmarc wondered.
At the least, an important warrior.

Jonmarc took a hesitant step toward the corpse, fearing it might rise from its slumber to defend itself. When nothing happened, he carefully made his way to stand beside the dead warrior, and looked at the body with amazement.
He said this tomb was spelled against
vayash moru, Jonmarc thought.
Perhaps the mages also cast a spell to preserve the dead.

Along with the map, the stranger’s parchment contained a sketch of the item Jonmarc was to retrieve. It was a flat silver medallion on a leather strap with several runes scratched into its surface. Jonmarc looked more closely at the warrior’s corpse. Whoever he had been, the man had died wealthy. His cloak was held together by a silver clasp, and golden rings set with jewels glistened from several pale fingers. A chalice and ewer of gold lay beside him, and a large medal with a blood-red stone hung from his neck on a golden chain.

What could possibly be so valuable about a little silver disk compared to the fortune in gold he’s wearing?
Jonmarc wondered. He moved cautiously around the bier, still expecting the dead man to rise up and challenge him at any moment.
I don’t want to touch him
.
And I really don’t want to go riffling through his pockets.

Almost hidden by the leather cuirass and the gold chain of the medallion, Jonmarc spied a thin leather strap around the dead man’s neck. Gingerly, he reached out toward the body, fearing that any second the man’s eyes would open and a hand would reach up to grab him by the wrist. His fingers touched the stiff old leather and he tugged, drawing it up from beneath the clothing. The silver medallion gleamed in the lantern light, untarnished by the years, preserved, Jonmarc guessed, by the same magic that sustained the appearance of the corpse.

He cringed as he drew the thin leather strap over the warrior’s head, and sighed with relief when it was free in his grasp. Compared to the value of the dead man’s medals and other belongings, the silver talisman looked roughly made and of insignificant value.
Why would anyone ask me to steal something that looks like a child could have etched it?
he wondered.

Jonmarc closed his fist around the talisman, then dropped the leather strap over his head and tucked the silver disk beneath his shirt. All around him, the shadows had grown darker, and a growing presence was impossible to ignore. Though Jonmarc could not see the spirits, he knew they were close, watching him. And though he possessed no magic, three words pushed into his consciousness.

Beware the beasts.

Jonmarc left the crypt as quickly as he could, banging his shoulder against the rough stone side of the doorway in his hurry. His boot steps echoed in the empty tunnels, and had he dared, he would have broken into a run. He imagined that the spirits in the darkness behind him laughed at his haste. The footing was too uncertain and the tunnels too narrow for him to run without risking a turned ankle or worse. Jonmarc could hear his heartbeat reverberating in the dark tunnel, and the sound of his own shallow breaths seemed deafening.

Twice he fell, rising with bloodied palms and scraped knees, protecting his lantern at the cost of his skin. The orb of light swung crazily, sending shadows flying back and forth across the tunnel walls. Jonmarc did not slow down until the cave entrance came into sight. The sky was already growing lighter, and Jonmarc realized that it was almost dawn.

Bruised and exhausted, he made his way back home.

He tumbled into bed next to Shanna, who was fast asleep, to catch a few candlemarks of precious rest before it would be time to go to the forge. As he drifted off, he wondered again about the stranger on the road, and the warning of the ghosts in the crypt. His sleep was restless, and his dreams were dark.

J
ONMARC WOKE WITH
a start, troubled by bad dreams. He reached for the talisman on the strap around his neck, and touched the metal disk to assure himself that the night before had really happened. Although the disk lay against his skin, it was strangely cool to the touch.

He dressed quickly, chagrinned at the damage he had done to his pants and shirt getting out of the cave. One knee was out, the other pant leg was ripped, and a sleeve was nearly torn off. His boots were missing.

“Have you seen my boots?” he asked, glad he had taken a moment to wash up in the horse trough the night before.

Shanna was scooping hot gruel from a pan on the hearth. “Your boots stink. They’re out on the step. I don’t know what you trod in, but it’s worse than horse shit.”

“Sorry,” Jonmarc mumbled.

“Were you in a fight?” Shanna set the bowl down in front of him and stood back, hands on her hips. Her stance accentuated her rounded belly, and reminded Jonmarc that it would only be a few days before she would likely go into labor.

“No fight,” Jonmarc said, remembering the terror of the night before. “I was just in too much of a hurry to get out of those damned caves, and I made a mess of things.”