Forest Mage (48 page)

But Ebrooks was incredulous. “You don’t know about the bodies in the trees? I thought sure they would have told you that when you took the job.”

I shook my head. “All I know is that I’m a soldier son, I needed to enlist, and after I helped Scout Hitch, Colonel Haren said he’d have me. And he assigned me to guard the cemetery.” I knew a bit more, but I thought feigning ignorance might encourage them to talk.

Again, they shared a look. “And you said he had to be some kind of brave to take the job.” Ebrooks scoffed at Kesey. “Damn fool didn’t know a thing about what he was getting into!”

Their grins were wide but also uneasy when I said, “So why don’t you tell me, then? What about the fellows who have guarded the cemetery before me? What about the stolen bodies?”

“Well, ain’t all that much to tell,” Kesey said cheerily. “Sometimes it happens, sometimes it doesn’t. You bury somebody, and poof, the next day the grave’s dug up and the body’s gone. Then you got to go into the forest and look till you find it. And that’s damn hard, you know, cause one day the forest will be full of spooky noises and the next you’ll go in there and under the trees it’s so thick with weariness and discouragement, a man can’t hardly keep his eyes open. But anyway, you find the body, tear it free, and bring it back and bury it again. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, it stays buried. Sometimes you got to go get it again the next day. Easier the second time, because it will be in the same tree. But it will be worse for dragging it around, because the bodies go bad so fast, after a tree has been at it, you know.”

They spoke so calmly, and I found myself nodding. A long-ago memory surfaced, of words overheard in the night outside my father’s study. “The Specks do it?” I asked.

“Well, sure. Who else?”

“Why?”

“Because they’re savages, with no proper respect for the dead. They do it to mock us!” Ebrooks was adamant.

“I don’t know about that,” Kesey said. “Some folks think they do it like it’s a sacrifice to their gods.”

“No. It’s to make fun of us, to force us to go into their damned forest. That place is enough to drive a man mad. But we know we’ve got to go in there, to get our own dead back.”

“Why is it so difficult to go into the forest?” I asked. “I live right near the edge of it. It’s not like the end of the road is.”

They looked at one another again, sharing their conviction of my idiocy. I decided if they did it one more time, I might try knocking their heads together. “Don’t you talk to anyone?” Ebrooks demanded. “Don’t you know anything about the Specks?”

I fancied I knew a great deal more about the Specks than they did. Before I could phrase a more tactful thought, Kesey grinned and challenged me, “Why don’t you just try going into the forest, Nevare? Find out for yourself.”

“I probably will, but I’d like to know—” My request was cut short by a sergeant bellowing their names. They both rose hastily and followed him. The sergeant gave me a disdainful glare before he turned and led them away. I knew the man slightly. His name was Hoster, and he was the man who had helped Epiny with her cloak that windy day. He’d formed a bad opinion of me that day and had never troubled to change it. He seemed to find my fat a personal affront. Today his harassment was veiled, limited to sending away my dining companions on some trivial task.

I sat by myself, finishing my cooling stew and savoring the fresh bread. I let myself focus on the bread, how it tore between my fingers, on the difference between the brown crust and the softer interior. I felt my teeth break it down with my chewing, the satisfaction of swallowing. This, I could always rely on. Food never failed me.

I cleared my place at the table. Most of the men were dispersing. As I was leaving, Lieutenant Tiber entered. He let the door bang shut behind him and stepped to one side to unwind a long muffler from around his face and throat before taking off the heavy woolen cloak he wore.

I had not seen him since he’d left the academy to become a scout. I still could not look at him without feeling a measure of guilt. If I had spoken up sooner about what I’d seen the night he was beaten and left for dead, perhaps scandal would not have stained him. Winter aged him as it does some men: he looked bit
ter, and the lines in his face were deepened by the redness of his cheeks. The mud-spattered edge of his cloak seemed to attest to a journey just completed. He glanced at me, grimaced with distaste at my portliness, and then his eyes slid away, dismissing me as being of no consequence.

I watched him strip the gloves from his hands; despite their protection, his hands were red with chilblains. I challenged myself to approach him and ask if he could carry my gifts to Amzil on his next mission in that direction. But he was an officer, and obviously tired, cold, and in a hurry to get to hot food. I halted and he strode past me without a glance. I left the mess hall.

The ride home in the dark seemed longer than usual. The rucksack hung at my saddle, a bag full of good intentions. I idly wondered if Colonel Haren would grant me leave to deliver my gifts myself. He’d probably think I was trying to desert. Then I wondered if anyone would notice if I took half a dozen days to ride out to Dead Town and back. Would Amzil be glad to see me? Or would she think that I’d heard of her reputation and come to try my luck with gifts? I clenched my teeth. I had no time for a schoolboy’s infatuation based on a woman being civil to me.

The year was coming to an end and the night seemed darker and the stars closer. Moonlight made the road a dirty streak between the snow-mounded fields. I trusted Clove to find his way home. The thoughts I’d been avoiding all evening occupied me. Was this duty my destiny, the summit of my life’s ambition? Did my father know I was here? Did I hate him more for how he’d sought to be sure I couldn’t use his name to gain favor? I shook my head to clear it of thoughts of him. Almost immediately, Spink came to mind. How long could I avoid him and my Cousin Epiny? If Spink told Epiny he had seen me, I doubted it would be long. And then what? She’d want to know every detail of my life and I didn’t think I could stomach a long confession, let alone her misguided good intentions to help me. Better for all of us if she never knew I was in Gettys. I offered a vain prayer to the good god I had once so trusted that Spink would have the common sense to hold his tongue and say nothing to Epiny.

My spirits sank deeper when I perceived that the single win
dow of my little cabin leaked yellow light into the night. I had left the fire banked on the hearth. For light to spill out from the closed shutters meant that someone had lit the lamp. I dismounted from Clove and dropped his reins, creeping toward my dwelling cautiously. Who had intruded and what did they intend? Strangely, I did not fear robbers so much as I dreaded that Spink might have tracked me down.

Then I recognized Renegade standing outside my door. I advanced, relieved it was not Spink, but puzzled as to why would Hitch visit me. I’d called on him several times while he was recovering from his cat attack, but each time, the differences in our ranks had become more awkward. It had been some weeks since I’d last seen him. As I set my hand to the latch, I wondered how I should greet him. I was annoyed that he would so freely enter my dwelling place; on the other hand, on a night such as this, I could scarcely have expected him to wait outside for me. Curiosity finally overwhelmed all else and I opened the door.

My cabin had undergone several changes since I’d first moved in. I’d built myself an ample chair, uglier but much sturdier than the original. I’d also reinforced the table and widened and strengthened the bed. Hitch sat in the original spindly chair by the hearth. He didn’t startle when I opened the door, but merely turned his face toward me with a slow grin. The aroma of fresh coffee filled my cabin.

“Put the wood in the hole, boy. It’s cold out there.”

I shut the door as he bade me. Hitch had shed his wet outer garments in an untidy heap on the floor.

“It’s pleasant to see you, sir,” I said stiffly. The smell of the hot coffee beckoned me.

“I left my ‘sir’ on the other side of your door. Pardon me if I don’t get up to fetch it.” He nodded at my pot full of his coffee. “Hope you don’t mind that I extended your hospitality to myself. It’s a black, cold night out there, and a man has to take comfort where he can.” He looked around my small home. “So. It looks like you’ve done well for yourself.”

I wasn’t sure if he meant to be sarcastic or not. “It’s better than some places I’ve been,” I said guardedly.

He laughed at my cautious tone. “Never, come on in and get comfortable. Pull up a chair, have a cup of coffee. After all, it’s your house. Your life.”

“That’s true,” I said pointedly. “Back in a moment, after I put up my horse.”

When I returned from seeing to Clove, Hitch had poured me a mug of coffee. Several apples sat on the table next to the mug. As I hung up my cloak and muffler, I asked him, “How on earth did you get apples at this time of year?”

“I’m an officer. We have access to the better supplies.” He laughed at the expression on my face. “You’re torn between ‘It’s not fair’ and ‘I should have been an officer, too, so I could have those unfair apples more often.’”

“I think both statements are true,” I said with mangled dignity.

“True has nothing to do with what is,” he said blithely. “Sit down, Never. Drink your coffee and eat an apple. Let us discuss our lives with one another.”

“Let’s not,” I said succinctly, but I took an apple and the mug from the table and moved my chair to join him by the stove. “What really brings you to visit me?” I asked after my first sip.

“Renegade,” he said, and laughed at his own feeble joke. Then he cleared his throat. “I don’t know, Never. I just had an impulse. Do you ever get impulses like that? You suddenly feel like you ought to do a thing without knowing why?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Really?” he asked conversationally. “Let me rephrase that. Have you ever done something impulsively, and suddenly felt that your careless words or passing touch would have far greater significance than you’d intended?”

A creeping dread invaded my bones. “No, I don’t think so.”

“I see. So you never attempted to enlist at a small courier station? And as you left, you never departed with a quote from the Holy Writ? Something like, ‘As you have seen to the needs of the stranger, so may your own wants be met in your time of need?’”

I sat very still, looking at him. He smiled mirthlessly. “I range a bit. Sometimes I go a bit beyond the scouting missions I’m
sent on. Sometimes I’ve a mission of my own. Such as when I’m sent out to set something to rights after someone else has unbalanced it.”

“Do you do that often?” I managed to ask. The apple sat round, smooth-skinned, and untasted in my hand. I could smell its end-of-summer fragrance. It spoke of sweet juice and tart flesh just under the red-streaked skin.

“Not before you came along.” He shifted in his chair, stretching his stockinged feet closer to the fire. “Things are pretty strange at that courier station, Never, my lad. Think about it. I’m guessing you wanted food and they sent you away empty-handed. They remember you quite well, by the way. It was the day after you passed through that the first supply wagon arrived empty. No one had any explanation. The wagon pulled in, the troopies came out to unload, and the crates were empty.”

“Bizarre,” I managed to say. A stillness was growing inside me.

“Once would be bizarre. The second supply wagon never arrived. Nor the third. Well, let me make the tale short. In an incredible string of bad luck and odd mishaps and inexplicable events, that particular courier stop has gone unsupplied since you—or someone very like you—passed through and cursed it. At least, that’s how the tale is being told.” He paused for a moment and then added, “They’re not starving, exactly. They can go out and hunt for themselves. But it’s been very disruptive. A lot of people have heard about it and are paying attention to it. That could be bad for you, Never.”

He was no longer asking if I’d done it, and I saw no point in denying it. “The words just came out of my mouth,” I said. “I just meant to be sarcastic. Not to curse them.”

He sank a bit deeper into his chair. “Speck magic has a life of its own, Never. You might think you’re using it, but it’s always using you. Always. I warned you to be careful of it.”

“That happened before I ever met you,” I retorted, and then felt childish for needing to make the excuse. I took a bite out of the apple. The taste of it overwhelmed me for a few moments. My head reeled with sweet and sour, with the crisp texture of the flesh and the sturdy flap of apple skin that I ground between my teeth.

“There he goes again,” Hitch muttered to himself. “You don’t listen to a word I say. The more you use it, the more power it has over you. There. Is that plain enough for you? The magic isn’t yours, Nevare. You belong to it. And the more you use it, the more hold it has on you.”

“Like the ‘keep fast’ charm,” I said slowly. “Only it doesn’t seem to work anymore.”

He shot me a look. “Yes. I was coming to that. You do seem to get around, and to do a lot of damage in the process.”

Uneasiness ran over me with cold, wet little feet. “I don’t believe that you’ve gone as far as the Dancing Spindle on a scouting expedition.”

“Me personally? No. But there were witnesses. And information like that travels. If a person wants to hear about it, he only has to listen. And some people very much wanted to hear what had suddenly impacted the whole system of Plains magic. You’re fair on your way to being a legend in your own time, Never.”

“Just who do you ‘scout’ for, Hitch? The information you’re gathering doesn’t sound like something Colonel Haren sent you after.” I was beginning to feel angry, the kind of anger that comes when fear threatens and one doesn’t know the exact source.

“Damn you, Never. You sit there and I talk to you and you hear the words, but it’s like you don’t listen to what they mean. It’s Speck magic, old son. It’s got you. I told you before, it’s got me, too. It uses me. It uses you. The scary part is that you seem to be using it and I don’t think you have any concept of what you are doing. Or how heavily in debt you are to it. When it demands to be paid back, you’re going to have to give it more than just yourself. You’re going to have to give it things that don’t belong to you, things I care about. I’m here to tell you that you have to draw a line with it and fight. Be a Gernian, man, at least a little.”