Forest Born (10 page)

Well away from the house, they paused to pull clothes from their packs and dress. Isi sat on a fallen log, Dasha and Enna on either side. Finn positioned himself behind Enna. Dasha made room on the log for Rin, but she leaned against a tree, tucking herself in between its thin branches. There was a hollow comfort standing like that, and while the others spoke, Rin thought of the crossbow bolt. Of the whoosh and sting of wind and fire heat and the man who would have killed her. Of pushing in front of Enna. Of almost dying. Of home and Ma and being farther away than the lands in tales, and maybe never going home. Of standing by a strange tree in a faraway wood with girls who spoke the language of fire. Of a queen of Kel who wanted them dead.

The girls talked. Rin listened and thought about the crossbow bolt.

“I think my tactics worked rather well,” Enna was saying.

“Diplomacy might have been more efficient,” said Dasha. “And spared us some of the spitting. People appreciate it when you take the trouble to flatter and understand—”

“People like clumpy-head back there appreciate exactly two things—their own smell and the fear of an immediate and uncomfortable death.”

“Perhaps next time we could try my way. Is that all right, Isi? We might take turns with our various approaches and so perhaps avoid having to wash our boots after each encounter?”

“My questioning got at who’s behind all this, at least.”

“Actually, we still don’t know much,” said Dasha. “You see—”

“There is no queen of Kel,” Isi finished.

“I knew that. I was just . . .” Enna sighed. “Never mind, I didn’t know that.”

“Rin says he believed what he claimed,” said Isi, “so either he was lied to or things in Kel have changed quickly. It’s only been a few months since our ambassador was dismissed from Bressal. I wonder what is happening there, what King Scandlan is doing . . .”

Enna picked up a stick and began to dig at a root. “I couldn’t care less for Kel or her queen. But someone who
claims
to be the Kelish queen is sending fire-speakers out in the night to burn Bayern villages, and that makes me grumpy. So I’m all for tracking down this ‘she’ and telling her, very politely, that in Bayern, burning down inns just isn’t good manners. And then char every hair from her body.”

Finn smiled behind Enna’s back, enjoying every word.

“So you think that the burnings were caused by cultural impoliteness?” said Dasha. “Interesting. You will notice that there are several buildings in this quaint little hamlet, and the one we happened to be sleeping in was the only one marred by fire.”

“You noticed that too, did you, Ambassador? Well, Isi, I guess I’m going to have to take back some of the things I said about Tiran lack of observation.”

“Wonderful. My real concern right now, not an hour after someone tried to murder us in our sleep, is what you think about the perception skills of my countrymen.”

“Thank you, girls,” said Isi. “That will do. What do you think, Rin?”

Rin startled. She’d been feeling invisible all night, a stranger lurking on the edge of big events. Isi’s attention pulled her from the shadows and surprised her thoughts out of her.

“I think that Enna and Dasha don’t really dislike each other as much as they pretend.”

Enna and Dasha both made surprised noises in their throats, something like, “naw” and “yee.”

Isi smirked. “Indeed. What I meant to say is, do you think we’re being targeted?”

Rin had thought about this too. “First a village was burned. That brought the king. He was burned, though not killed. That brought the queen. Then the inn was burned, though again, you weren’t killed. Either they’re trying to kill Bayern royalty and they’re failing, or the point of the attacks is to provoke you. To do something. Maybe to go somewhere?”

“The Tiran,” said Enna. “They’re trying to restart the war.”

“Enna,” Isi said with warning.

Enna rolled her eyes. “Or I guess it could be Kel. Maybe they’re using the tension between Tira and Bayern as an excuse to spark a conflict with us. See, I don’t always jump to the Tira-is-evil conclusion.”

“Kel doesn’t usually tend toward belligerence,” Finn said.

Isi nodded. “Their navy is formidable, protecting them from a Tiran sea invasion. Their most serious threat would be a Bayern ground attack, but the rough terrain isn’t hospitable to an invading force—bogs, woods, crags. And they’ve always been eager to make treaties and be a valuable trade partner. Why would they suddenly stir up trouble? It doesn’t make sense.”

Dasha made a noise of annoyance.

“I was kidding, I was kidding!” Enna said, then she added in an undertone, “Mostly. Anyway, we don’t know if Isi was the target in the inn. I’m the one who burned a tenth of Tira’s army. If anyone’s looking for vengeance—”

“If we are coming up with reasons people might want us dead,” said Dasha, “I think I can play that game. I am the ambassador of Tira, responsible for thousands of deaths and injuries during the war.”

Enna looked at her blankly. “You killed and injured thousands of people?”

“I meant,” Dasha said through gritted teeth, “that my country’s army caused the damage.”

“Oh, because that’s not what it sounded like. I would’ve thought that, being a well-versed diplomat, you’d know how to speak straight.”

Dasha threw up her hands at the sky.

Enna sat down and started to laugh so hard her body shook. “I’m sorry, it’s just that we were almost burned alive tonight, and someone’s hunting one of us down and is not afraid to kill anyone who gets too close . . . and I haven’t slept well in a week, and I’m supposed to be married by now and . . . and . . .” Her voice squeaked as she tried to suck in more breath through the laughter. “And Dasha said she killed thousands of people . . . and . . .” She took two deep stuttered breaths, wiped her eyes, and looked up at Finn, who stood behind her, touching her hair. She flexed her shoulders as if about to shrug him off, but then just sighed. “And I forgot what was funny. I wish something was funny. Nothing’s funny.” She looked at the queen. “Sorry, Isi.”

Isi shrugged. “I have an unreasonable hope that things will be funny again soon.”

“Promise?” Enna’s voice was soft and pleading, a tone Rin had never heard from her before, making her sound like a small child in need of comfort. Finn squeezed her shoulder.

“We’ll figure this out and get you and Finn married in a few days,” said Isi. “And then we’ll laugh for hours.”

Enna put her hand on top of Finn’s and looked at the huge darkness before them. “All right. All right. That’s all right. A few days.”

“Finn?” said Isi. “What do you think we should do?”

“Go to Kel,” he answered without hesitation. “Cross the border by Saxmer, like clumpy-head said.”

“That could be this so-called queen’s intention all along,” said Dasha. “To herd us into Kel.”

“I worry about that,” said Isi, “but it’s our only indication where to find these burners. I don’t want to see another village razed like Geldis, another victim like Brynn or Geric. And sadly I think that will be our last inn on this journey. If we’re attacked again, I don’t want to be around others who could get hurt too.”

Finn was looking over Isi’s small map. “If we cut through this wood, head north by northeast, we should get to Saxmer in . . . maybe four days? We’ll have to go on foot. This isn’t a path for horses.”

“And so we lose ourselves in the wild,” said Dasha.

Dasha hooked Rin’s arm. “So what do you say, Rinna-girl? Think you and Finn can keep two city-bred noble ladies and a home-fond Forest girl alive in all these trees?”

Rin’s eyes went wide. She whistled a note that plunged from high to low, and she said as Razo might, “City-bred is half-dead.”

Finn snorted.

Since they would be going on foot, someone needed to return to town and arrange for their horses to be sent back to the capital. Enna’s gray Merry was virtually her pet, and the queen was very attached to her black stallion Avlado.

Finn volunteered. He’d been carrying the packs Rin salvaged from the inn, and he set them now at Enna’s feet. She did not acknowledge him, though he waited for a few moments before turning toward town.

“Wait, Finn.” Isi’s hands clutched together, suddenly nervous. “I . . . I didn’t want to do this, but Geric should know. He needs to know where we’re going, that there’s a rumor of a queen in Kel, that she wants us dead. He should know soon.”

“Send a message with someone in town, Isi.” Enna stood up, a touch of panic in her voice. “Write a note and send it.”

Isi shook her head. “I don’t trust a message to be kept safe, or fly with the speed we need. Finn, I’m sorry, I’ve got to send you back.”

He stepped forward as if he would argue, but checked himself, nodding.

“Rin,” said Isi.

“Please, no.” The thought of being sent away created eddies of panic inside Rin.

Isi considered, then nodded. “Rin, you stay with us, but be careful, no more rushing ahead of everyone.” She gave Finn some coins. “Give three to the innkeeper to help with repairs, the rest are to get you back. I doubt you’ll be able to buy supplies in Hendric tonight, but it’s not far to Keltwin, and there is a little food and water in our saddlebags. Don’t kill yourself or the horses, Finn, but go quickly.”

He nodded again, then his eyes went to Enna. She moaned sadly, came forward, and melted into his arms. He lifted her up and squeezed her hard, sighing as he did, his face relaxing. He pulled back to kiss her, three long farewell kisses, then left without another word.

Enna watched him go till he was out of sight. Then she sighed, and the look on her face left no doubt in Rin’s mind that Enna loved Finn more than the moon and the night.

She whispered, “I’m going to have to have a little chat with the queen of Kel.”

Chapter 11

N
o one felt sleepy, and the night was chilly enough that the thought of sprawling on hard earth made walking on preferable. Near sunup, they snuggled into cloaks and rested for a few hours, waking to glare at the late-morning sun as it slanted into their eyes.

“I hate them,” Enna said. “Whoever is responsible for making me sleep outside without pillows, I hate them.”

“Mmm-hmmm . . . ,” Dasha said. Rin had noticed that the Tiran girl often had trouble remembering how to speak in the morning.

“If Finn were here,” Enna continued to mumble as she rewrapped her head cloth, “he’d let me rest my head on his chest at night. Or leg. Or arm. And then he’d find whoever was responsible for the whole sleeping outside with no pillows situation and hold him while I kicked him in the shins.”

“Hmm . . . ,” said Dasha.

“In the shins. Hard.”

“Just don’t you let go of that lofty dream, Enna,” said Isi. “Four or five days to Kel, where we just might have time for some shin kicking.”

They set off in silence, Isi in the lead, and Rin could see the worry in Isi’s face, thick as a rainy sky.

“Something troubling you?”

“What isn’t?” Isi rubbed her head as if to get at an ache. “I can’t shake the coincidence that we’re dealing with fire-speakers again.”

“I’ve been musing that over too,” said Enna. “Before me, there were only those fire worshippers in Yasid, and they kept to themselves. Then I learn it and suddenly . . .”

“Fire-speakers in Tira,” said Dasha. “And now in Bayern, leading us to Kel.”

“Fire wants to spread,” said Enna.

“You have a point,” Isi said. “It seems to be the easiest of all the speaking gifts to learn.”

“But not to master.”

“No, you’re right—easiest gift to learn, hardest to master. Except maybe people-speaking.”

“Blegh,” Enna said, as if trying to rid her mouth of a sour taste. “Don’t call it a gift. Curse, maybe.”

Isi nodded. “All the people-speakers I’ve known were—”

“Evil,” said Enna. “Dark-souled, likely to chew their own grandmother’s eyeballs—”

“I was going to say, corrupted by their gift.” Isi blew hair out of her eyes, her gaze rising from the deer track they walked to the shifting trees. “It’s sad really. You’d think people-speaking would bring the speaker closer to people, as wind-speaking does with wind. But instead it dooms people-speakers to separation and self-destruction. I think people-speaking is the most dangerous gift to have alone, with nothing to balance it.”

“Even more than fire?” asked Dasha.

“I think so anyway. I’ve known three people-speakers, and two died young. I wonder if a person can exist long with such a burden. My mother—she must have something else balancing her, maybe without knowing it. Because she was difficult, but not as bad as some.”

“Sileph,” said Enna. “Selia.”

“People-speakers?” asked Dasha.

“Yes,” Isi said. “They’re both dead.”

There was a smile in Enna’s voice. “Nice to have something out there more dangerous than fire. Makes me feel like a tame kitten.”

“Watch out!” Rin said.

The three girls stopped short as a snake startled across their path. Rin was carrying a forked stick for just such an event, and she jammed it against the neck, pinning the creature. Dasha gasped.

All three girls were staring at her in horror. Rin winced, and her face flushed.

“It’s . . . for dinner, you know. Snake meat. So we don’t run out of food.”

Still, she did not move to pick it up, staying as far away as the stick would allow. Isi and Dasha took several steps back, gaping at the green squirmy body in pale silence before Enna sighed.

“Fine, I’ll skin it.” She grabbed it by the neck and with a quick twist the squirming ceased. Dasha emitted a trembling little moan, which made Enna grin.

They roasted the meat that evening, along with a rabbit Rin had downed with her sling. Rin had eaten snake before—she’d also eaten boiled ants, roasted slugs, snails baked in their shells, and grasshoppers relieved of their spiny legs and warmed on a stick over a fire. Often in the thin of winter, she’d munched pine bark, and one memorable spring, a handful of maggots. But she did not think it necessary to turn over logs for dinner just yet. It was late summer, so fallen nuts and bright berries were tangled in the brush. She showed the girls how to spot edible mushrooms and stew a broth of grass and pine needles, chewing on the tangy needles to boost their spirits between meals.

Rin had been sure that a few days without silver flatware and servants would turn Dasha into a blubbering baby. But Dasha sang as she tromped through thickets and bragged about the collection of burrs she sported on her leggings.

Enna was staring. “What did you think?”

“Well, I know you said it was, but who knew that food can just grow from the ground like that outside a crop field?”

Enna was still staring. “You make it really easy, Dasha. I don’t even have to say anything.”

Enna leaned to Isi and whispered loudly, “I know I promised you I’d be better, but I just have to—”

“No,” said Isi.

“But she’s practically begging me to mock her, and I just thought of—”

“Shush, Enna.”

“But—”

“Eat your root, fire girl.”

“Fine. But it was going to be funny.”

Rin never got tired of hearing Enna talk, and Dasha too—marveling at how they spoke without thinking first, seeming so relaxed, untroubled. Isi was different. Perhaps that was part of being queen? Rin guessed Isi was constantly aware that everything she said and did might affect not just herself but all of Bayern. No wonder she often seemed weary with caution.

Sometimes they traveled through grass-tangled meadows and streams with wide sandy banks. But whenever they were deep in trees again and could not see the sun, Isi would ask Rin the direction, and Rin could point and say, “Northeast.”

“How do you know?” Dasha asked with an awed smile.

“Moss grows on the north side of the trees and rocks.”

“But that rock has spots of moss all over it.”

Rin did her best not to laugh. “That’s lichen.”

“Oh. But what if there’s no moss and it’s high noon?”

“Most trees lean south.”

Dasha squinted. “I don’t see them leaning anywhere. Huh. You are so smart, Rin.”

It felt odd to hear that from Dasha—the ambassador of Tira, a noblewoman, a girl who could read books and do numbers. Rin was finding it difficult to keep resenting her. Pretending Dasha was a friend of Isi’s who had nothing to do with Razo made walking beside her and sharing her blanket at night much less trying.

With the grudge in abeyance, Rin noticed just how spectacular Dasha was with the water-speaking—leading them to drinking water, encouraging stream fish into a trap, and even keeping them all dry in a rainstorm.

One evening lightning flashed, for a dazzling moment revealing the white skeleton of the world. The image stayed in Rin’s eyes after it all went dark again. She shivered. In the buzz of hot light, everything had seemed made of bone—pale and hard, standing on shadows. She thought of crossbow bolts and queens who burn crowded inns.

“Rain,” Dasha warned.

The four girls clustered together, and when the clouds sighed and released the torrent, the rain bent away as if an invisible roof peaked above their heads, sending the drops out and down on either side. Dasha laughed, as pleased with herself as a child learning a new trick.

Dasha’s water-speaking had proved essential, Isi’s wind-speaking brought word of game to hunt or people to avoid, and the fire-speaking lit their fires at night. Watching the fire sisters work their own talents, Rin felt even sharper regret for losing her communion with trees.

This wood was different than her own Forest of creaking pines and crackling aspens, where the thick canopy kept the ground tidy. This wood was wild, slashes of sunlight lancing the air, a disarray of brambles and ferns and bushes. And it felt so alive it seemed to be crawling outward, expanding its roots, lifting into saplings. The trees were constantly pulling themselves down and sprouting anew, keeping the whole wood young, throbbing, hissing with life.

New trees, vibrant trees. How would she feel inside their thoughts? At home, succumbing to a tree’s green sounds had lifted her anxiety momentarily. Was it possible that these trees could change her, make her a new Rin? The desire was like the constant itch of a bug bite, and she feared scratching would only make it worse.

The third evening after Hendric, while the fire sisters prepared dinner, Rin crept just out of sight. She approached a slender tree rich with glossy leaves and imagined closing her eyes and falling into that half-sleep where the ground seems to lift and then sink, where Rin became not herself, not the thinker, but a figure seen from a distance, a character in a story someone else was telling. No real thoughts, no worries, just the steady, nearly silent hum of water and sap moving out through the branches, twigs, into the veins of each leaf, the feel of that pulse making her calm and sleepy as a well-fed baby wrapped in blankets.

Rin’s forehead touched bark, she closed her eyes and opened herself inside to sense, to hear, to feel . . .

And was blasted with a sensation of loathing, filling her like maggots bursting from an animal corpse.

She recoiled, her whole body shaking, and hurried away from the tree.

The decision felt as final as death.

Isi glanced up as Rin stumbled into camp. “You all right, Rin?”

“I’m fine.”

A lie. Maybe a harmless one, but it stuck in her mouth, tasting bitter, and she could not shake a feeling that she’d forgotten something important.

Rin shuddered. It was a thought she’d been fleeing from, and she refused to think it now. Running into the world had not changed her, as it had Razo. She’d stayed close to Isi and tried to be like her, but she was still just Rin—lying, broken Rin. And these fire sisters knew her no more than her family back home. They were only fooled by her, charmed by her seeming sense, when all she did was try to reflect them back to themselves.

But she seemed to have no choice—she had to keep moving. Was it the tree-speaking that made her feel so wrong? Or perhaps the peace that had once come with tree-speaking had temporarily numbed the truth—that Rin herself was rotten at the core, bug-eaten and damaged, a diseased tree with shallow roots, a hollowed trunk with yellowing leaves.

Rin kept listening to the girls, her eyes on Isi, studying how to be wise, noble, unafraid. How to be less like Rin. She watched, but the lump of hopelessness hardened inside her. On they walked. And Rin felt farther and farther away from herself.