By Darkness Hid (7 page)

You must do this alone
, Sir Gavin said.

Achan swung around, wondering why Sir Gavin had come back. But Sir Gavin had not returned. Where, then, had his voice come from? Had the Evenwall drifted further than Sir Gavin had thought? Was it already unraveling Achan’s mind? The air appeared clear around him, the sky cloudless, the sun bright…

He shrugged. It was probably just that he knew Sir Gavin so well now he could guess the kind of thing he would’ve said. Achan swallowed, gripped the dagger in his left fist, and stepped into the forest.

The scent of pine filled his nostrils. It was dark and cool under the thick, green canopy of poplar, allown, and pine. Low bushes grew between the trees. The forest floor was dotted with dead pine needles, pine cones, and little white flowers.

Achan walked a few paces and stopped. If he went deep into the forest, how would he find his way out? He stepped to the nearest poplar and stripped a wedge of bark off with the dagger, exposing a swatch of moist, white wood. He did the same at another poplar ten paces in. He decided he’d mark only the poplars. For some reason, cutting an allown tree seemed sacrilegious. Not that Achan was a strictly religious or overly superstitious man.

He smiled to himself. He
was
a man now. His sixteenth year had come and gone with little fanfare. Thoughts of being a man reminded him of the gifts he’d received that day, which reminded him of Gren.

Thankfully, the wedding was not scheduled until Riga’s father could build them a cottage. That gave Gren—and Achan—some time to get used to the sickening idea. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to build a cottage.

Normally a man had to build his own home. That very act proved him capable of providing for a wife and family. Riga was happy to cheat his way to manhood, letting his father pay a carpenter to build his home.

Poor Gren.

Something rustled to Achan’s left. A jackrabbit bounded down a narrow trail between some waist-high rosehip bushes. Achan followed. If a rabbit went this way, perhaps something bigger had too. His tunic snagged on the thorny bushes. Ripping it free made so much noise he decided to return to his original route.

Had Achan’s father built a cottage to win his mother? Or had his birth been a mistake? Achan didn’t know. Perhaps his father had been a soldier just passing though and never knew he had a son. But how, then, did Lord Nathak end up with Achan? He didn’t want to follow that train of thought, for it led to frightful scenarios he refused to consider, even for a moment.

Most infuriating was that Achan had no memory of his mother—or his childhood at all, for that matter. His earliest recollection was of a young noble pushing him into the mud when he was seven. Gren had come along moments later and helped him up.

Most children had some recollections of what had happened to them before they were seven. What was wrong with him? Had the tonic somehow robbed him of his earliest memories? What did Lord Nathak gain by forcing it on him? Was his head truly clearer without it, as Sir Gavin had suggested?

Achan twisted around and found he could no longer see the prairie through the trees. Pressure built in his temples and his pulse raced. On some level of his mind, he sensed an emotion from outside himself. A sound too soft to be identified reached his ears, and he wheeled around, wondering if a person was nearby. He spotted a doe munching the buds of a poplar ten paces away.

Though such a thing was impossible, the emotion seemed to be coming from the deer. Curiosity, perhaps. Achan’s eyes met the doe’s, and their minds connected somehow. The pressure grew and Achan cringed. He could taste bitter leaves and branches. It disturbed him.

Come here, girl
. He formulated the words in his mind, preparing to speak them aloud.

But before he could make a sound, the doe turned away from the tree and, as if she’d heard his thought, trotted toward him.

Achan’s lips parted in awe as the animal silently maneuvered over a fallen tree, around a briarberry bush, and came to stand in front of him. Achan held out his right hand, and the doe sniffed it, her nose cold and wet against his fingertips. Could she hear him?

Come closer.

The doe stepped nearer. Achan scratched her ear, gripped the dagger tightly in his shaking left hand, and gulped.

*          *          *

I sense you!
a male voice hummed.
Tell me your name!

Achan stopped and turned around in the tall grass of the prairie. He’d left the road for a bit, hoping to take a shortcut. The orange sun sat low and bright on the horizon, but he could see the grey plumes of smoke from the castle’s chimneys in the distance, though the manor was still barely a speck on the horizon. He shielded his brow with his free hand but could see no one. The doe’s warm body draped heavily around his neck. His head throbbed from the smell of its blood.

Hello, new one. Welcome to our ears. My, how strong your presence is. Who are you?

A woman’s voice. Kind. Again Achan twisted around in the grass, nearly dropping the doe. “Who’s there?”

Grass surged for miles around like a great green sea. He was alone. He swallowed, his heart pounding, and gripped the doe’s legs tighter. Perhaps he’d been too close to the Evenwall after all. But wouldn’t he know if he’d stepped into the mist?

He turned back toward Sitna Manor and waded through the grass. He wanted to reach the gate before they raised the drawbridge for the night.

Who are you, gifted one?
a deep male voice asked.

What are you called?
an old woman asked.

Please!
the humming voice said.
What is your name?

Achan cowered, wincing at the strain on his mind. Perhaps his headache was not from the stench of blood. “Stop it!” Achan yelled to the voices. “Don’t speak to me!”

Do not be afraid,
the kind woman said.
It is a gift.

Achan screamed to block out the voices and staggered toward home.

*          *          *

Despite his efforts, it was after dark when Achan approached Sitna Manor.

The drawbridge was up. Arrow loops glowed brightly in the dark night. Yellow flames spaced around the parapet and listed to the east, flickering in the gentle breeze. Achan still held the slain doe around his neck, gripping two legs in each hand.

He stopped and yelled up to the guard. “Lower the drawbridge!”

Are you all right?
the kind woman asked.
I sense blood.

He cringed, by now hating the painful force the voices brought. Hating how they knew things. Hating how he couldn’t silence them.

“State yer name and yer business,” a voice yelled from the gatehouse above.

“’Tis Achan Cham. I’ve returned from an errand for Sir Gavin Lukos.”

Cham? He’s a stray!

Achan! Where are you, Achan? Is Sir Gavin with you?
the deep-voiced man asked.

Achan stiffened. How did this strange voice know of Sir Gavin? He looked over his shoulder but already knew there was no one.

“Stay put,” a guard yelled down.

Achan waited. His back and shoulders were numb from the deer’s weight. The leaden stench of the doe’s blood haunted him. Its stickiness drenched his left side. His fists trembled and his head ached from the voices calling out. He’d gone mad. It was a certainty he could no longer deny. The Evenwall must have drifted lower, or maybe killing the doe had somehow—

The familiar boom of the lock and the clinking chain snapped him out of his deranged fog. The drawbridge lowered slowly, revealing a lone man standing inside the outer bailey facing him.

Sir Gavin Lukos.

When the drawbridge hit the ground, Achan dragged himself across it. His new boots made dull, hollow clunks on the thick wood. He then clacked over the flagstones of the gateway and clomped onto soft dirt. The outer bailey was dark and nearly deserted. A few guards looked down on him from the sentry walk. The forge still burned in the armory.

“What yeh got there, boy?” a voice called down from above.

Achan flinched as the compression in his head grew and voices attacked at once.

What
has
he got?
a man asked.

He’s killed something,
another said.

Killed? What have you killed, dear?
the kind woman asked, a slight edge to her voice.

Achan stopped in front of Sir Gavin.

Are you well?
Sir Gavin spoke inside Achan’s head, just like the others.

Achan perked up, ignoring the pain, and stared at Sir Gavin. Then somehow, he sent a thought of his own.
How do you do that?

Please tell me where you live, dear,
the kind woman asked.
And if you are hurt.

Where are you?
the humming voice asked.
I must find you.

Do not say,
another man responded.
He’ll only bring you trouble.

But he must have training,
the kind woman said.

If the gods will it, he will learn.

I can teach you much
, droned the humming voice.
Tell me your location, and I’ll send someone for you.

Achan dropped to his knees and moaned. He clutched his temples, and the doe’s body slid off his back and thumped onto the ground.

He’s fainted.
This voice was familiar. A guard. Achan looked up to the gatehouse.

Naw, he’s hurt.

Think he stabbed himself? Dumb stray don’t know which end of the knife is which.

You’re a stray?

Speak to me for a moment, I beg you,
the humming voice said.
Concentrate on my voice alone.

Yep. That’s the boy’s blood,
thought another guard.
He’s keeling over. He’s wounded for sure.

You’re a boy? How old?
the humming voice asked.

Achan leaned forward and set his brow against the dusty ground. They could know not only his thoughts and words but the thoughts of others around him? How could this be? His head pounded as if it might burst. He rolled onto his side, clutched his hands over his ears, and squeezed his eyes shut.
Please stop!
“Stop!”

Sir Gavin knelt beside him and massaged the base of Achan’s head, right where it hurt most.
You must shut the door, Achan. Focus on a quiet place. See yourself there. Focus on the silence.

Sir Gavin’s voice and tone seemed to cushion Achan’s pain. The sensation was somehow familiar, like this had all happened before. But it hadn’t. Achan tried to sit, but the pain surged.

Listen to the knight, Achan.

This was a new voice. Unlike the others, this one seemed to come from inside him, like a warm breeze confined to his body alone. Achan froze and blinked up at the night sky. What was that?

Focus, Achan. A quiet place.
Sir Gavin’s words flooded Achan’s mind again, blowing away the warmth of the strange voice.
Only you can ease this pain.

Listen to the knight. Focus. Achan thought of the allown tree by the river, in a summer sunset. A pleasant wind rustled the grass, and the flax fields bloomed with lavender blossoms.

The pain in his head diminished instantly.

“That’s right. Concentrate.” Sir Gavin stopped rubbing. He patted Achan’s shoulder, then stood. “Now get up. Get your deer. Let’s go.”

Achan opened his eyes. The voices had gone, and the throbbing in his head remained manageable. He got to his feet and hoisted the deer over one shoulder.

“Let it be known,” Sir Gavin called out, “that on this day, Achan Cham has killed his first animal and is worthy of the journey to knighthood.”

Few people mingled in the outer bailey at this hour to witness his achievement. A handful of guards roamed the sentry walk. Harnu’s father stared from the armory, most likely working late on armor and swords for the coming tournament.

Right now Achan didn’t feel worthy to be a knight. He wanted to get the blood washed off him, crawl into his bed, hold a wet cloth to his temples, and sleep. He trudged across the outer bailey in a daze, following Sir Gavin past the stables and barn to the tanner’s wagon, which smelled strongly of urine. A high trestle stretched along the side of the wagon. A cowhide hung on one end, the brown pelt glistening in the torchlight.

Sir Gavin helped Achan hang the deer from the trestle. “I’ll see that someone takes care of this for you.”

Achan nodded and stared at the deer’s glassy eyes. “It had a fawn. I didn’t see it at first.”

“Most have fawns in spring.”

“You don’t understand.” Achan’s hands trembled. “The fawn is a stray now…like me…because of me.”

“Aye.” Sir Gavin stroked his beard. “And that’s the reality of it, Achan. In war, people die. Every one of them is important to someone. A child, a husband, a father, a brother, a mother, a friend. War’s ugly. And being a knight, you’ll have to deal with that. You’ll kill or be killed.”

But the doe hadn’t been at war, not with him.

Achan blinked. Being a knight was his chance at freedom, his only chance to win Gren. He wanted to learn to use a sword because it was exciting and made him feel strong and in control. But he’d never thought about actually killing anyone. His naïveté stung. Why else would he be learning to use the sword, axe, and dagger if not to kill?

Sir Gavin gripped Achan’s shoulder and steered him around to the back of the kitchens. He stopped at the well and drew out a bucket of water.

“I cheated,” Achan said. “I told the doe to come to me and she did. I’m no hunter. I’m a deceiver.”

Sir Gavin’s bushy eyebrows knit together. His one blue eye lay in shadow, making them both appear dark.