Watcher of the Dead (7 page)

Later he sat on the edge of the water
and whittled hardwood. It was almost warm so he took off his
cloak—also Sull—and rolled up his shirtsleeves. Scars
from his many fights made his arms look like maps. They were healing,
the skin dry, the edges paling to white. Looking at them, he knew he
would never speak of the fight circle to anyone. He hoped it would
pass into the area of his mind where memories floated away.

Finished with shaping the oak sucker
into a spear shaft, he went to find some twine. Earlier he’d
spotted a basswood by the oak. Now he retraced his steps downstream.
The inner bark of basswood made good cordage and he needed something
to bind the arrowhead to the pole.

He would never understand how the girl
slipped into the camp while he was away. He had thought himself
vigilant. He was wrong. He had thought himself prepared to deal with
anything that happened to him.

He was wrong about that too.

The work of removing the outer bark was
hard but not unpleasant. Some bit of a song came to him and he hummed
as he cut and stripped the tree. Deciding it was a good policy to
have extra cordage on hand, he took more than was needed to bind the
spear. Arms full of basswood bark, he returned to the camp.

The girl was standing waist-deep in the
water, washing her hair and face. She turned her head at his
approach, acknowledging him with a single look, then returned to her
task. Her long dark hair glinted with oil in the sunlight. The fine
linen shift she was wearing was soaked and pressed against her skin.

As Watcher walked through the camp he
noted the sturdy little pony pulling dandelions from the shore. He
saw the boots, dress and wool stockings the girl had discarded to
enter the water. He spied two saddlebags in a nearby sumac bush and
decided that they, and he, shared something in common. All three had
been inexpertly hidden.

Because there was nothing else to do,
Watcher set down the load of bark. Although he had not planned on a
fire, he set about building one from unusable pieces of bark,
stripped cedar branches and discarded oak suckers. He tried,
unsuccessfully, not to watch the girl as he worked.

She seemed in no hurry to leave the
water. Arms stretched out, she walked deeper into the pond. Her hair
floated behind her, fanning out on the surface. Watcher was dimly
aware of the calm, strong beats of her heart.

He shredded inner bark for kindling.
Using the Sull queen’s shortbow and one of her arrows with the
head removed, he drilled into a piece of oak. The oak was damp and he
had to work the bow hard to generate heat. He raised some smoke, but
when he threw kindling on the hot spot it didn’t catch. As he
repositioned the bow and arrow for a second attempt at firelighting,
the girl spoke up from the water.

“There’s a flint and
striker in one of my packs. They’re in the bushes.â€