Altered Destiny (6 page)

“Against an enemy we can’t see until they’re down our throats? I don’t know.”

“Have you received any word from the king?”

“Just that viscount.” Nathan nodded a greeting to a few of his men busy reclaiming a large garden that had grown wild but still contained rich, dark earth, surprisingly almost free of stones.

A trail of smoke snaked up from behind the fortress. The kitchen was a separate wooden structure set a few feet away from the keep, near the barns. Nathan smiled at the irony. He was sure whoever built the kitchen so close to the stables didn’t know that one day it would be a toss-up of which smelled more noxious.

“Next time you send word to the king, have him send us someone who cooks edible food.”

Nathan slapped Matias on the back. “I’m sure that’ll be his majesty’s first priority.”

“Yeah, right after baths and winsome wenches. Come on, I’m starving. Even Cook’s gruel is starting to smell appetizing.”

The two abandoned houses loomed ahead on either side of the road; the village was close. Every time Selia passed the structures, it seemed they’d shrunk, slowly giving in to the forest that would eventually claim them. Tired, hollow windows surveyed the road with something like despair. A house built so near—but not in the town—was an oddity. Two houses close together was downright strange in the Outskirts, where people prized their privacy. Some said a sect of sun worshippers lived there before forest sprites drove them out.

Whatever their history, the little houses were the sad and lonely guardians for the southern entrance to the village. When she was young, spending the night in one of the houses was a popular dare. But Oren would never allow her to, and the other children didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. They’d always given Oren, and consequently her, a wide berth.

In the distance, the village square opened up before her, though to call it a square took a leap of imagination. Of course, to call the place a village was also generous. Seven wooden buildings lined up on either side of a large gnarled oak tree, as though waiting for instructions. The oak was sacred to the villagers and the reason why the first settlers stopped their weary trek and called this place home. Supposedly, it was inhabited by a wood sprite that bestowed wisdom to those who were worthy. In Selia’s lifetime, she didn’t recall anyone having merited the oak’s gift but had seen two thieves killed against its trunk.

The official name for the area lying between the great North road and the Wastes, and stretching from the mountains in the north to the southern lands, was Calud. But those who dwelt in that land didn’t much care what Inlanders said—they called it the Outskirts. Technically, they were part of King Leisle’s kingdom of Asild, but besides the occasional traveling judge, his rulings neither helped nor hindered their lives. Those living in the Outskirts had their own code of ethics, one which didn’t ask about a person’s past and demanded the same. If you worked hard, didn’t ask for a handout, played a clean game of cards—or at least didn’t win all the time—you were generally accepted and, after a while, became part of the landscape. If you didn’t, justice was swift.

On the other side of the square, the road continued north until the forest swallowed it. Somewhere along its path lay the White Forest and farther, in the mountains that rose on the horizon, the lands the Svistra called home.

Plumes of smoke rose over the forest and into the grey sky, betraying other settlers. Only a few actually lived in town. The village was a necessity: a place to trade for anything they couldn’t grow or make themselves. If the settlers wanted company, there was always the tavern.

The smithy’s fires raged so hot, their warmth brushed her skin as she passed by. The steady ping of metal against metal told her Thom was hard at work. Normally she’d stop to talk to the smith, but today she was anxious to finish her errands and get back home.

Selia passed the miller’s closed door and waved at Jim. The weaver sat in his doorway across the street with Oberl, the tanner. The tannery was set a distance from the rest of the village, but even so, when the wind blew from the north, it brought with it a trace of the pungent tang of urine as far south as the tavern. Oberl’s son took care of the business now, leaving his father time to gossip.

The general store and trading post stood next to a large house with a garden. She waved at Dara, the storekeeper’s wife, who had a baby strapped to her back and another attached to her skirts as she hoed weeds from between long rows of something that might be corn. Selia hurried to tie Jemima to a rail and jumped up the store’s porch and out of sight before Dara cornered her. She wasn’t in the mood to listen to Dara. Abel’s wife was a nice lady but once she began speaking, nothing, save starvation or her husband, could get her to stop.

Abel looked up as she entered. “Well, hello there, Selia. Been expectin’ you for a while now.”

“I know. Been busy.”

“Soldiers?”

She nodded, handing Abel a list of supplies. He was the only other person in the village who could read.

He scanned the list. “Got most of that here, but barely. You know the traders haven’t been by since last waning moon.”

“Really?” She hadn’t noticed, and her inattention frightened her a little.

“Yup. Last batch of soldiers claimed Svistra slaughtered a caravan on its way to Eagle Rock, and now they won’t come up this far north. If’n it’s true, me and the missus are gonna have to pull up stake and leave.”

Abel always threatened to leave the village. She didn’t take him seriously this time either. “Is it really that bad?”

“Reckon I got ‘nuff vegetables and whatnot, but I can’t grow sugar and honey this close to the Wastes, well you know—it’s just not safe.”

Honey and sugar were some of the supplies the traders brought up from the south. There were plenty of honeybees around, but if you looked closely, some of them had ten legs. Plus you never knew what flowers they visited to make the honey. She’d once seen a bear clawing itself to death after feasting on a honeycomb.

“It’s been a wet spring, and Tass doesn’t know how good a harvest he’ll have. Dale needs that grain, you know.”

“So do I. Passed by the mill but didn’t see Dale.”

“Nope, he’s out at his farm. He’s scared. You know he’s got a brother up north?”

“Yup.”

“Well, the Svistra attacked the farm. All dead. They even killed the livestock.” Abel leaned closer. “Selia, you been listening to what those soldiers say?”

“You know I don’t pay much attention to Inlanders.” Selia smiled, but a stone settled in her stomach.

“They’re saying there’s gonna be a full-out war ’fore too long, and we’re in the way. Me and the missus, we might just pack up and leave anyhow.”

Abel sounded more serious than she’d ever heard him. “Go where?”

“South. As far away from the Svistra as possible.” Abel glanced at the list. “I’ll go fill this for you.” He stopped and turned. “I know you can use all those weapons and such.” He couldn’t quite keep the disapproval from his voice. “But I reckon it’s not safe for you to come into town alone anymore. Next time, bring Oren, okay?” He disappeared behind a curtained doorway without waiting for her response.

Selia recalled the scare she’d had on the way to the village. It didn’t make sense. If there had been someone or something that had meant her harm, there had been plenty of opportunity for an attack.

Selia turned her attention to the dusty shelves. The store housed an odd assortment of beads, pots and pans, herbs and pieces of cloth Abel had no doubt bought from Jim. The weaver was a perfectionist and if there was a slight irregularity in his weave, he’d refuse to finish the piece. Abel, however, was glad to have it, and so were the settlers who couldn’t afford to buy fabric directly from Jim.

The curtain swished and the door banged open at the same time. Selia looked from Abel to Tass, who stood panting in the doorway.

“What is it? Svistra?” Abel rushed in.

Tass farmed a piece of land just west of town. He shook his head, his eyes bright with tears. “They took ‘im.”

“Who took him?” Abel dropped the goods and ran forward to grasp Tass’s arms and shook him.

“My son, they took my son.”

“Damn you, who took your son?” Abel screamed.

Outside, a low rumble sounded in the distance.

“The soldiers. They’re c-c-coming,” Tass stammered.

Hoofbeats echoed the staccato of Selia’s heart as it pounded against her ribs. She ran to the porch as twenty or thirty soldiers on horseback slowed to a stop near the oak. One of the soldiers rode his horse out from the rest.

“By command of King Leisle, all men who are able to hold a sword are ordered to join us to fight the Svistra.”

Tass moaned low in his throat, staring at the group.

Selia followed his gaze. Tass’s son, Teagon, Marc and a few others sat in a cart. She blinked. Teagon had just begun to grow facial hair. He wasn’t old enough to fight. The soldiers bore no standard or insignia to prove they represented the king.

The leader pointed north and a few of his men thundered off. “Together we can defeat the Svistra threat. Alone, you will be slaughtered.”

“If you take all our men, we’ll be slaughtered anyway,” one of the women called.

“We’re going north to head them off,” the soldier replied.

“Who’s your commander, boy?” Oberl shouted.

A few more horses thundered in from the south. Her limbs went numb. Slung across one of the horses was a large familiar shape. Oren.

Selia shook off Abel’s hands and ran toward the prone form. “By the gods, if you’ve hurt him.” She reached Oren’s side and touched the blood trailing down his face.

His eyes fluttered. Relief surged through her limbs.

Strong hands grasped her arms and pulled her back. “That one had some fight, he did. Must be his woman.”

The soldiers laughed.

She struggled to free herself from the man’s grip to no avail. “Let. Him. Go.”

“I’d be a mite more concerned about yourself right now, missy,” her captor whispered in her ear.

Selia twisted hard, kneed the man in the groin, and then punched him in the jaw. “I said, let him go.”

She looked up in time to see the leader’s horse charge, a flash of steel, then darkness.

Something warm pressed against Selia’s lips. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids wouldn’t cooperate.

Pain. I’m alive.

She was lying somewhere in the dark. She wasn’t sure how she knew that, except the world outside was only slightly less black than the world behind her closed lids. Even that difference hurt.
Was I supposed to go into town today?
The pain in her head bloomed.

Selia focused on the steady rhythm of her breathing. She lay on something soft but it didn’t feel like her bed.
Why do I hurt so much?
Focusing on opening her eyes, she managed to part her eyelashes to see a dark blurry shape standing over her.
Where am I?

“Don’t try to sit up. Drink this.”

Jaden’s voice? Am I in the barn? Why?

Oren!

A firm hand pressed her back onto the bed as the world tilted. Her stomach heaved.
Jaden is in the house!
Her heart sped.

The pressure from the hand was suddenly gone. Selia blinked, but she could still see the blurry form before her. He’d come for them. She was going to die.

The thought of her imminent death didn’t affect her the way she’d thought it should. It wasn’t possible to hurt any more than she already did. Besides, Jaden was kind. He’d make it gentle. Obediently she drank the liquid he offered, already welcoming the approach of oblivion.

“Who’s Jaden?” a high reedy voice asked.

“Probably someone from one o’ her books.” A deeper voice.

Selia blinked and struggled against the darkness holding her bound. Her head throbbed with the effort.

“No use, Selia.” Abel’s voice. “That’s a nasty one. I reckon’ you’re lucky to be alive.”

Someone moaned. A cool hand brushed her forehead.

“Rest now, it’ll be okay.”

It’s me, I’m moaning.

She fought to open her eyes but when she did, the world didn’t look like it should. The colors were too bright, the angles wrong.

Her stomach heaved.

“Get her the bucket.” Another voice, firmer.
Martha.

“I’ll stay with her now. You two have things to tend.”

Selia retched into the proffered bucket. She wished her head would just explode and release her from the pain.

“Not much left. The soldiers took everything.” Abel’s voice came from everywhere.

“Thank the gods the boys are too young to—” Dara’s voice broke.

Selia hung her head and let Martha guide it back to the pillow. “Oren?” It took a great effort to speak. She didn’t recognize the croaked word as her voice.

“Go now,” Martha insisted. “You’ll only upset her. She needs to rest.”

Why wouldn’t they answer her? Something moist and cool touched her forehead. A soothing hum filled the air, a noise she’d never before associated with Martha. And then the world once again faded to black.

It was a dream. It had to be. Selia closed her eyes and reopened them, but Jaden’s face didn’t fade from view. Jaden’s face in her room? No. This wasn’t her room. Where was she? Moonlight filtered through an open window, but the curtains caught it, folding and trapping the light. She knew this place. She looked up at him, realizing she should probably be afraid but couldn’t remember why.

“Drink this.” He held her head firmly, a cup pressed to her lips.

She opened her mouth and swallowed a vile-tasting liquid. If nothing else was real, this was. “What is it?” she croaked.

“Just drink.”

She closed her eyes and finished the contents of the cup. Jaden was a Svistra; that’s why she should be afraid. He withdrew the cup. Fabric rustled, and a low buzzing noise sounded in the distance.

As she turned her head, the darkness swam.

“Don’t try to move. You’ve been badly injured.” The blurry shape moved and a smile crept into his voice. “That sound is your cook snoring in the next room.”

She might have smiled if it wouldn’t have taken so much effort. Pain pulsed behind her eyeballs. “Injured?” Her voice sounded far away.

“Sleep, Selia.” A cool hand gently brushed her eyes and blackness returned.

Jaden moved through the trees, his eyes scanning the forest ahead. Selia, whom he left fast asleep on the bed, would recover. Now he had to find out where those barbarians had taken Oren. Following a group of humans through any terrain was usually easy, even if they tried to hide their trail. These men weren’t, and their tracks converged onto the North road.

Hours later, Jaden slowed. The soldiers rode toward Eagle Rock. It made sense. He’d heard rumors that the commander of the human army had set up base at the old fortress, thinking that it was a good place to hold the Svistra off and drive them further north.

Scenting the wind, he shook his head. The humans were stupid. The Svistra had walked their old territory for many months now. They’d already found or created dens and retreats the human soldiers would never find.

Jaden ducked under a branch to avoid releasing the pearls of water clinging to its surface, anger following a feeling of helplessness. He hadn’t seen the soldiers attack Selia, but he’d been in the forest waiting for her when he smelled her among the group of humans moving toward the tavern.

The scent of fresh blood, Selia’s blood, had assailed his senses as he followed the villagers’ procession back to the tavern. Not until the night the cook fell asleep in the chair next to Selia’s bed had he risked sneaking in the window to examine her. The room smelled strongly of Oren. It had surprised Jaden that the man had not come looking for him until he overheard the humans talking about the events in the village. Stay with Selia, or go after Oren? The quandary had filled him with a surprising anger.

Ultimately, the severity of Selia’s injuries decided for him. The initial wound wasn’t severe, but after she fell, one of the horses almost crushed her skull. He searched the forest looking for herbs and roots and then waited until Selia’s caretakers slept so he could administer them. He couldn’t fault their caring for the barkeep, but their methods were nothing short of primitive.

Satisfied he knew Oren’s destination, Jaden turned back toward the tavern. Selia wouldn’t take Oren’s kidnapping lying down. As soon as she was strong enough, she’d go after him, and he would be there when she tried.

She was one of the most remarkable humans he’d ever met, they both were, and he’d been lucky to meet a few. Of course, he wasn’t sure the humans he had befriended would count themselves lucky. With the exception of Selia and Oren, they were all dead.

“Why didn’t you fight back against the thieves?”

Selia had asked him that question several days before as she turned to leave the barn, the book of poems he’d finished reading pressed against her chest. He hadn’t been able to answer her; or rather, he’d mumbled something that was neither a truth nor a lie.

A band of Svistra had found him only a day’s walk north of Selia’s tavern. Though his father was angry, based on the beating, he had no doubt the warriors were hand-selected by his brother. When he’d escaped, Jaden blindly ran south, toward the tavern, and stumbled into a band of thieves.

He still could have defeated them. Though he hated killing, he accepted it was part of life. Had he finally given up? He’d broken ties with his family, with his people and a human community would never accept him. Jaden was alone, and the thought had weighed on his mind, slowly crushing his heart along with a sense of impotency. He could do nothing to stop the coming slaughter.

Jaden stepped deftly over a patch of muddy ground. Dwelling on the past was an occupation for the old. He’d get back to the tavern and let Selia know he’d return Oren. With that thought came a sense of purpose. He’d met truly generous humans, and reuniting them was certainly something he could do, something to live for.

“Foolish to try, but you’ve got to admire her courage.”

“Courage like that’ll kill a man, or woman.” A clicking sound punctuated the words.

Selia opened her eyes then closed them as the light pierced her brain.

“We may all need courage like that ’fore this is all over.”

Abel. So the woman’s voice must be Dara, but why? Then the memories swirled and her eyes flew open again.
Oren.
She was in his room.

“Where’s Oren?”

The clicking stopped.

“Did Oren get away?” she pressed.

Abel’s face filled her vision. “No. He didn’t.”

“Don’t tell her that!” Dara hissed.

“She’s a right to know, woman. They took Oren and half the town,” Abel continued. “I only escaped because of my bum leg.”

“How long?”

Abel glanced to the ceiling. “Reckon it’s been four or five days now.”

Oren wouldn’t survive in an army. He wasn’t made to kill. He wouldn’t understand why. An aching need to comfort him, to explain what was happening, filled the hollow in her chest. He needed her.

Slowly she sat up. The room spun, and her stomach protested.

“Don’t do too much,” Abel warned.

“What happened?”

Abel made a low noise at the back of his throat. “I know why you did it, Selia. But it was damn stupid. I’ve known Oren since the day he was born. Nameless god rest Sonia’s soul, he’s no soldier, but there was no reasoning with those men.” He took a deep breath. “After you punched that soldier, the captain rode toward you with his sword drawn. Do you remember?”

She could remember the flash of a blade, but as though she was watching it happen to another person. “Think so.”

“Well, I thought the dark god had come to take you ‘cross the last mystery, but the captain hit you with the pommel, and you went down like a felled tree.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not the worst of it,” Dara interrupted. “As soon as you fell, he yelled to his men and they rode out of town. You must o’ been trampled by three or four horses. You’re lucky to be alive.”

“T’was only one that got ‘er.” Abel scowled at his wife.

“I’ll thank the Trickster next time I see one of his temples.” She breathed deep.
Jaden
. “Did…” she cleared her throat. “The barn, was there anything—”

“If’n you’re worried about Jemima, don’t be. She’s still there. She’s too old even for a packhorse. They took some tackle and all the ale, and it looked like one or two of them bunked there, but everything else is as it should be.”

So where was Jaden? He’d been in her room. She knew she hadn’t dreamed it. She reached for Abel’s hand and squeezed. “Thank you.”

Abel’s ears turned pink. “S’what neighbors are for. You know we got to stick together out here.”

The clicking sound resumed. Selia turned her head. “Thank you, Dara.”

“You’d do the same for us. I always said, neighbors need each other. Why, the other day…”

Selia closed her eyes, leaned back against the pillow and let Dara’s voice wash over her. When she opened her eyes again, it was dark. She half expected to see Jaden separate from the shadows in the corners of the room but if the Svistra was nearby, he wasn’t making his presence known. Bracing her hands against the mattress, she sat up, waited for the room to stop spinning, slid her feet to the cold floor, then slowly stood. She breathed through the dizziness until the world once again settled. Jaden had made her drink a vile liquid. Perhaps it was something to help her recover and, now that he knew she’d survive, he considered his debt paid. The thought that she would never see him again brought a brief stab of pain she quickly pushed aside. She’d liked him, but he was Svistra. Better for all of them that he go far away.

As she took a few steps, the floor seemed to tilt slightly. Selia stopped to get her bearings and continued until she could rest her head against the door. She had to get Oren back. The wood felt deliciously cool against her cheek. She glanced toward the ceiling. Her weapons were up in her room, and she didn’t know if she could navigate the stairs.

“Only one way to find out,” she mumbled to herself.

The sound of Martha’s snoring increased as she stepped into the narrow hall. She must be sleeping in her mother’s old room. Selia smiled. Martha was the only woman she knew who wouldn’t care what it had been used for. To Martha, a bed was a bed.

Selia shuffled down the hallway and slowly turned to look at the doorframe of Oren’s room behind her. It seemed like it had taken an inordinate amount of time to traverse such short a distance. She stared up the murky stairwell that led to the second floor. The stairs stretched into infinity. She was tempted to go back to the bed, lie down and forget her foolish plan, or better yet, crumple on the floor and cry herself to sleep.

“Come on. For Oren,” she whispered. Every moment she wasted was one more Oren spent with those men.

One hand on the wall, she made her way slowly up the stairs, panting as she reached the landing at the top. She would be sick, and soon. Her vision clouded. Half blind, she stumbled to her window and emptied the contents of her stomach into the bushes below. When she was done, she turned and slid down the wall.

“Yeah, I’m going to be a real help to Oren.” Tears of frustration pricked her eyes.

I’ll leave tomorrow night. That will give me one more night and a day of rest
. She regained her feet, collected her weapons and packed some necessary items into a bag. Selia paused at the picture of her mother. It suddenly felt delicate. She was afraid it would crumble in her hands. She should leave it so it would remain safe, but couldn’t bear to abandon it. Carefully, she slid it into an inner pocket of her pack.

When Selia attempted to lift the pack, it seemed heavier than its combined contents. She half carried, half dragged it to the landing in front of the stairs and looked down. They’d never before looked so steep and forbidding. She would have loved to drag the pack behind her but it would have made too much noise as it bumped down the stairs. Not even Martha could sleep through that, and then she’d have to explain. She couldn’t even put into words why she had to go. She just did. Oren needed her. She slung the pack over her shoulder where it settled on top of her sheathed sword, threw the bow over her neck and with one hand on the wall, made her way back down the narrow stairs.