Whisper and Rise (15 page)

“I don’t trust him,” he said. I knew he meant Darian. “And you have reason not to.”

“He’s my only hope at redemption,” I replied. “I need Darian to find the scrolls. He’s not welcome in Aisling and I don’t feel safe there anymore. And if I ever hope to find Maeia, I need to search these mountains. I must find her.” I held my breath as the words I wanted to say reached me. “She’s the only connection to Sean that I have left.” I leaned close to Father and offered my warmth. “Don’t you see? This is where I’m supposed to be.”

A small ripple disturbed the still water, followed by another. Then a small wave lifted the glassy surface as a distant boat crossed toward Morgan.

I pulled my father toward the trees and fell to the ground. The ground was hard there, unlike the rest of the forest, and hurt my knees, but I didn’t dare move.

While the men in the boat rowed slowly, part of my mind marveled at their efficiency while the rest stirred new questions.
Who were they? Did they work for Owen? Were they the men who had captured me?
Though I didn’t believe my father’s words about Owen, doubt crept into my mind.

“Are those the men?” asked Father.

“I don’t know.” My heart pounded so loudly that I felt its noise would alert the men to our presence. I ducked lower and pressed both hands to my chest. As Father placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, I answered the question he didn’t ask. “No,” I told him, “I’m not okay. I’m still afraid.”

“Let’s leave this lake,” he whispered. “There’s nothing good here.”

We walked quieter than before, staying near the edge of the grass as we ventured toward the mountain. Nature was alive, its night whistles and chirps filled the trees and brush around us. A couple fireflies danced against a warm breeze, spinning their careless designs in the dark. Father was the first to notice the doe. He nudged me to stop and pointed. She was marvelous, almost hidden against the far trees. She stood on the hill of my meadow, backlit by the colors of the setting sun.

She looked at us, aware of our intrusion, but remained calm and motionless. I wanted to reach to her, to touch her innocence and majesty. Deer were rare in Aisling. I had only seen them a few times in my life.

I was still staring, admiring her beauty, when the wind whistled and the arrow struck her neck.

We didn’t have a chance to react. As quickly as the doe fell, her hunter pounced from the forest and finished her kill with a silent flash of a short blade. Amazed at the hunter’s efficiency, I stood and watched. I was shocked by the sudden death, but it was too late to save the animal. Father nudged me to flee into the trees, but before I could respond, the hunter spoke.

“I know you’re there,” she said. “You can help me if you wish.”

She
. The hunter was a woman. I stared at her, questioning my own understanding. The hunter was nothing more than a blur of shadows in the dark—covered in gray and black. If not for the grass around her, I never would have known she knelt there.

“Name yourself,” yelled Father, “and we’ll approach you in peace.”

“Come or go, if you want,” the woman replied. “I’ll find you.”

I gasped. No woman spoke to a man like that, especially to an Elder of Aisling. I expected my father to curse and command her, but he didn’t. Instead, he chuckled and wandered toward the hill.

“Come on, Rhiannon,” Father said to me. “I like her.”

Blood and flesh lay strewn in the grass while the hunter cut chunks of meat and stuffed it into little bags. Her hands were covered in red; they sliced and turned the gentle creature I had adored—moments earlier—into pieces and squared morsels to consume. Father stared at the woman with interest.

“I’m Neal Phillips,” he told her, “horse trader and an Elder of Aisling.”

She started to speak and, from the way she stepped backward, her response must have been a curt reply of disinterest that she decided not to reveal. “You didn’t look as large from the forest,” she said. Her voice was rough, like the shadows on her face, and the way that she looked at my father, gave me the impression she wasn’t accustomed to people looking down at her.

“Who are you?” my Father asked.

“I’m Taya Zhan,” she answered, quickly resuming her work on the animal’s flesh with motions that hinted her moments with the deer were to be only brief. “What’s wrong with the tall girl?”

Girl? I knew she meant me—I was the only one around, but I was seventeen, not a girl to be spoken of like a child needing scolding.

Father stared at me and grabbed my arm. “Are you all right, Rhiannon?”

I shook my head, though not on purpose. “I’m dizzy,” I told him.

“I’ve seen that before.” The woman stopped slicing and held out her bloody hand and short knife. She pointed at me to menace. “Not used to the forest, dear?” She twisted her last word.

“I grew up in the forest.” My voice was defensive. “I’ve seen an animal cleaned and prepared before.”

The woman’s groan revealed everything. She didn’t believe me and didn’t like me.

My father, however, seemed fascinated by the strange hunter. “That’s an odd knife,” he said. “What type of bone handle is it?”

I had settled to the ground. I saw the woman spin the blade in her hand, displaying a practiced whir of skill, before handing the knife to my father.

“Grizzly,” she told him. “Their bones are the hardest to break—and the meat is just as durable.” She smiled and revealed a mouth of crooked teeth, some of them dark and broken. The woman had almost been beautiful, until she smiled.

“You’re a long way from home,” announced Father, twisting the knife in his hand and caressing the curved blade with his fingers. “From the outer lands?”

“No,” she answered curtly. “It’s not as far as you’d think.”

I had stopped looking at the blood, but the deer’s warm smell lingered around us. I remembered the bones from my first visit to the cave and suddenly feared any animal that might come to investigate the kill. “We should go to the cave,” I said, holding my face with the palm of my hand. “It’s not safe here.”

“Who is she?” The woman’s words blasted me with spite.

“My daughter,” said Father. He nudged me away from the pile of open flesh. “Go, Rhiannon. Go to the cave and rest. I’ll arrive shortly.”

My face warmed, which didn’t help my urge to fall over. I was suddenly an outcast on my own land, on the same hill I had chosen to live forever with Sean. This was my place, I had once danced a blessing here.

“You may stay with us,” I said, courageously offering my hand toward Taya. When she didn’t take it, I drew it back, thankful that she hadn’t. “In the cave,” I continued. “We have a fire. You may cook there if you wish.”

“I know how to make a fire, girl,” the woman scolded me. “Go there and rest. I might join you when I’m finished.”

“Thank you, Rhiannon.” Father’s voice was kinder this time.

I knelt for a moment, breathing in the courage to stand, before slowly walking away. As their voices faded behind me, I caught a few words of their conversation. Nomad, hunter, and west for the season. An outburst of laughter from the woman sent me running back toward the cave.

The cave was empty when I arrived.

“Hello?” I yelled, ignoring the echo that answered.

“Back here,” answered Darian, his voice faint.

Everything was missing. All of the supplies my father had displayed by the fire were gone. The fire. It was gone. How does a fire disappear entirely? The answers met me beyond the creaking of the gate. I hadn’t been through the bars since last season, and stopped for a moment to look at a broken lock on the ground covered in dirt. I remembered breaking it with Nia to gain access when we discovered this place.

Beyond the gate and deep into the cave, Darian sat against a wall smacking happily on one of the apples I had declined. He still held a leaf against his injured arm. There was color in his face against the orange of the fire, and his voice sounded welcoming and warm. I smiled at his greeting.

“Why are you back here?” I asked. “Haven’t you had enough of prisons?” I sat next to him and lifted the container of cider to my lips; its cold sweet flavor made my neck shiver. I closed my eyes to accept the moment. When I opened them, I searched for the remnants of the bread Father brought.

“I don’t know,” said Darian, “I feel safer here. The bars work both ways. It doesn’t feel like a prison, to me.”

“In my village, we say what keeps trouble out can trap you inside.”

“Maybe so,” Darian answered. “But if anyone comes looking, they won’t find us easily. I wish the gate had a lock on it.” Before I could speak again, Darian leapt to his feet and scrambled to the corner. “There’s someone out there,” he said. “A woman.”

I shook my head in annoyance and wandered to the gate. “That’s no woman,” I told him.

As if called late for a meal, Taya entered the cave. She was only a short shadow, but her footsteps had the same confident brashness as her voice. She was laughing, along with my father, and together they carried bags full of freshly cut meat. I cringed as I realized we might sleep that night next to her kill.

“What are you doing back there,” bellowed my father, mocking me with another chuckle. “Did someone lock you in?”

“No!” My tone matched his. I covered my mouth for my rudeness. The girl I had once been would never have raised her voice to a parent. I wasn’t that girl anymore. Of course, I wasn’t as bold as Taya, either. Then I took a breath and tried to speak as politely as I dared. “It’s safer back here. Nothing can harm us behind the gate.”

Before my words stopped echoing, Taya dropped her supplies, armed the bow that had been slung over her shoulder, and shot an arrow through the bars. It wasn’t close to me, but it struck the rusted lock and knocked it against the cave wall with a sharp ring. I jumped back.

“A girl like you is never safe,” she grumbled. She snatched her bags from the ground and lumbered toward us, followed by my father’s laughter.

As much as she appeared to hate me, I despised her more. In front of my father, she hadn’t ceased to mock me and I had been unable to quell her insults. I glared at her as she pushed open the gate, but let her pass me without a word.

“She’s energetic, isn’t she?” said Father as he met me. “Go collect some wood for the fire. We’ll feast tonight!” He didn’t turn to look at me, or show kindness with a smile. Instead, he kept walking, laughing as he wandered around the corner into the cave.

It was my cave. I had found it. It belonged to me. It was on my land.
Why was I suddenly the outcast?
I wanted to yell at the woman, at Darian and at my father. They had no right after everything I had been through in less than a season.

The gate slammed shut behind me as I released my grip and stumbled into the darkness. If there was danger out, I didn’t hear it. The anger in my thoughts blared curses at my fortune. I dragged dead branches from the underbrush and tossed them into a pile at the cave’s entrance. It became an altar of my madness; I kept adding wood, ignoring the stinging cuts and scratches on my hands, until the pile reached my height.

Still hot and raging, I leaned against the cliff stones and allowed the night to cover me. I needed to cry, and there, I let my tears flow free. While I wished away my sorrow, I stared at a small space between the treetops and aimed spite at the stars. When my sobs whimpered to lonely heaves of breath, I grabbed a couple long branches to drag behind and wandered back into the cave.

“There she is.” Father was already smoking, which hinted of his comfort. “I was almost worried.”

I started to glare, but when he smiled at me I stopped my face from wrenching and dropped the branches. “I’ve made a pile,” I told him. “I’ll return with the rest.”

“No, sit down,” said Father. He groaned and placed his weight on my shoulder as he stood. “I can manage the rest. Share some of your mother’s cooking tips with Taya.” He winked at me before lumbering around the corner.

I leaned near the fire, although I didn’t need to. Large flames roasted the air, making the cave comfortable and warm. The heat of my anger had left me, and I felt cold and weak in comparison.

“I know how to cook,” said Taya absently, without looking at me. She grabbed a chunk of the fresh venison and tossed it into the flames.

“No!” I reached out to her, in an effort to warn, despite knowing I couldn’t stop the action. “Not in the flames.” I pointed to the rocks around the fire.

“How else do you think it will burn?” she asked, turning to stare.

I noticed her face in the light for the first time. She wasn’t old, like her voice hinted, but young; a hint of innocence lay buried under her heavy brow and mangled hair. If not for her hardened manners and cruel intention toward life, she could have been beautiful. When I caught myself looking longer than I should have, I answered.

“If you want to char the flesh, then fine, toss the meat into the flames.” I chose one of the strips of meat from her open pouch, cautious of a reproach, and laid it gently along the flat surface of one of the stones. “If you want to keep the flavor, then heat it indirectly and let it slowly sizzle.”

I grinned with a tiny taste of pride. With the right ingredients, her offering would make a fantastic meal. Then I sighed. I missed Mother’s cooking. “If I had some herbs and salt, we could season this perfectly. Then you would never want for anything less than its magnificence.”

Taya glared at me and tossed another strip into the flames. “It’s meat,” she retorted. “There’s nothing to marvel about it. I’m not waiting to savor anything. When it’s burnt, I’ll eat it.”

Nothing seemed to please this woman, and I scolded myself in thought for trying to make a friend.
What did Father like about her?
As if called to answer, he returned and tossed an armful of logs against the wall behind me. The wood cracked and splintered into a dozen pieces.

“You’ve quite the daughter, Neal,” said Taya. “She wants to waste the night waiting for flavor and succulence.” She tossed another chunk of venison into the center of the fire in an obvious attempt to mock me further.

Father questioned me with his eyes as he rolled to the floor. “Ah,” he offered, “but you should taste the magic of her mother’s meals.” He pointed a thick finger at Taya. “You’d melt in the flavor.” He was smiling, though his beard hid the dimples I remembered from my childhood.

Darian sat opposite the fire, holding his arm while we watched the flames dance and listened to the crackle of wood and the sizzle of our steaks. Still unseasoned, the smell from the meat made my stomach groan for nourishment. I hadn’t eaten a full meal since the celebration, which seemed a season ago already. Finally, Taya broke the moment and jabbed her long knife into the fire. With skill, she balanced the knife in front of her and plunged her teeth into her catch.

Her teeth—I understood why the woman never grinned when I saw them again. Aimed away from the next, each tooth was either broken or yellow. This woman was unkempt in every way. I couldn’t keep the question about bathing from my mind. She was dressed like a man, though different from the men I had always known. She wore loose pants, partially covered by a long leather shirt and her boots were well made, carefully stitched and padded in layers on the soles. She wore an assortment of belts and pouches around her shoulders and waist. If human fingers were inside those pouches, I would not have been surprised.

While the woman mumbled and belched at her meal, Father decided to make himself comfortable with his pipe. A long puff of smoke and an eruption of tobacco weed made him sigh with exhilaration. He leaned back on one elbow and shared his visions through the patterns in his murky breath.