Foretellers (The Ydron Saga Book 3) (7 page)

The climb was behind her. It had been easier than it had appeared from the shore, as if nature had carved hand and footholds into the rock to facilitate climbing. Once she had pierced the clouds at the summit, she tried to follow the sailor’s directions, but despite her best efforts she soon became lost.

He had failed to warn that the summit was wooded and to Pandy’s untrained eye, the trees all looked the same. Were it not for sporadic visions insisting there would indeed be a tomorrow, she might have despaired altogether. More than once, she wanted to sit down and cry. Unable to locate the path he had described, she was now wandering aimlessly through a forest of falo’an trees, the girth of each trunk the size of most houses. The giants soared nearly three hundred feet above a carpet of ferns, obscuring the sky and creating a shadowy world underneath interspersed with eshed, dur and barrel stave trees. Unable to differentiate one grove of trees from the next, Pandy was forced to rely on which direction of travel yielded the most promising foresights. Even then, when glimpses of the future came, if they did at all, they did so as tantalizing flashes bearing no useful information.

While clear water freshets abounded, now, in the late afternoon, hunger began to gnaw. She tried to shut out all thoughts of food, but her young mind lacked discipline and soon she was reveling in imaginary feasts of cakes and cookies, tortes and pastries, the sorts of delights that did nothing to relieve her hunger.

In the midst of one reverie, her foot caught on a root, dumping her onto her face. Stunned, unsure what had happened, she pushed herself onto her elbows, spitting debris and wiping her tongue on her sleeve. She was preparing to stand when she thought she heard voices. She listened, but the woods quickly fell silent. If the sounds she heard had ever been real, they were gone now, so she rose and peered through the undergrowth, listening for several minutes to no avail. The dense vegetation absorbed all sounds, even the wind.

She was brushing dirt from her leggings, about to strike off, when she heard them again. They were clearer now and seemed nearer than before, sorting themselves into a distinct trio of masculine voices. She was certain they were laughing. And though she strained to foresee if they would become part of her life, no vision came. She snorted. Her new talent was anything but reliable, coming and going as it willed without preamble. Now, when she wanted it most, she was like anyone else with no eye beyond the present.

“Mastad!” she swore, then caught herself.

Her mother frowned on such language, even though she used it herself when she was angry. All at once, that simple recollection called up dozens of others and she was reveling in moments from her past when a peal of laughter cut short her musings. Her thoughts went to Harad and she panicked, glancing everywhere. She felt vulnerable. As dense and concealing as the forest seemed, she found herself exposed in the center of a clearing. Uncertain from which direction the voices had come, she listened, but again all was silent. All the same, she decided, they must be approaching. When the crack of breaking branches sounded nearer than whatever had preceded, she dove into a bracken of ferns and nestled close to the ground, trying to make herself small. When the voices came again, growing louder, she began to distinguish individual words, despite how the pulse in her ears drowned out much of what was said.

“Bedistai said that?” one man remarked. “Did you tell Tahmen?”

“Not yet,” said the second. He paused. After another moment he asked, “Dorman, do you see that disturbance in the clearing?”

“The scuffs on the ground?”

When the second one said, “Wait here while I look,” Pandy gasped. Had she done something wrong? Left some sign of her passing? Who would have noticed such a thing?

After a moment, the second one called back, this time in a much softer voice, “It’s recent.”

Although no one responded, Pandy buried her face in her arms, trying to still her breath and the pounding of her heart. Another moment passed with no sound from the men and she was beginning to relax when someone grabbed her by the hair, hurting her scalp and yanking her upright.

“Look what I found,” her captor cried.

“That won’t make much of a meal,” said another. “Not enough meat on her.”

Pandy whimpered.

“No, but her head would make a fine trophy.”

Her captor laughed.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she cried, eliciting more laughter. “Please. I didn’t do anything.”

Her captor released her and raised a hand toward his friends. When the pair fell silent, he took a step back, placed his hands on his hips and studied her. Pandy studied them as well. For the first time since they had arrived, Pandy realized they were just a few years older than she, in their late teenage years at best.

Her captor smiled. Pandy glanced from him to his companions and was about to beg for mercy when she noticed the animals they were riding. Two were mounted on two great beasts beside a third she deduced belonged to her captor. Larger by far than any creatures she had ever seen, they appeared to have sprung from the days before men walked the earth. Their dun colored bodies were supported by long slender legs. Each animal’s neck, combined with its heart-shaped head, was the length of its body, and each serpentine tail longer still than the neck and body combined.

“Endaths!” she exclaimed, pointing. “Are those endaths?” She knew in her heart they were. When she realized the men were dressed in animal pelts, she concluded, “Then you must be Haroun.”

“The girl is observant,” said one of the two still mounted.

“My mother told me about you.”

And indeed Roanna had. Among all the stories her mother had told, tales of the Haroun were among Pandy’s favorites. Until this moment, however, she had believed that these people—whom Roanna insisted were peerless hunters from a land she called No’eth—were products of her mother’s imagination.

“And who is your mother?” asked the one who had seized her. “Now that I think about it,
where
is your mother?”

The question echoed Pandy’s own. It had been tugging at the back of her mind, but because she was unable to summon forth images, she had kept the thought buried. Now her growing uncertainty welled in her throat and emerged as a sob. She began crying and, although she tried, was unable to control herself. When the young man touched her shoulder, she embraced him reflexively, clinging as her entire body quaked. When, after several long minutes, as she began to calm down, she remembered he was a stranger and shoved him away. The young man took a step back and regarded her again. He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead and peered into her eyes until she returned his gaze.

“You must come with us,” he said, in a reassuring tone. “The forest can be a dangerous place, especially after dark.” He paused, then cocked his head and asked, “Where are you going?”

Pandy shook her head. That hadn’t occurred to her. She had been fleeing from Harad and pursuing the vague image the seaman had sewn.

More to himself than to her, the young man said, “Lost. No mother.” He looked around at the forest, then asked, “How does a young girl like you end up in a place such as this?” He shook his head. “Dorman,” he said to one of his companions, “We have a guest.”

The wonder of sitting atop an endath kept Pandy occupied until fatigue overtook her and the monotony of boughs passing overhead lulled her to sleep. She awoke to the smell of wood fires and food cooking. Propping onto her elbows, she found herself on a circular bed, covered with furs in a dimly lit room. She was able to discern the log ceiling and walls but the rest lay in shadow. Across the room, traces of light outlined a doorway. When curiosity and hunger drove her to her feet, she rose and approached it. There, her hand fell upon some sort of animal skin stretched across the opening. She drew it aside and gaped until a smile crossed her lips.

Several log houses with thatched roofs ringed a circular earthen clearing and more stood in rows behind them. At the clearing’s center, smoke rose from a pit over which pots were suspended. A number of women of various ages, all clad in pelts, were tending them. On one side of the circle, racks of drying meat stood beside wood frames stretching animal hides. Directly opposite, through a break in the houses, she thought she saw what appeared to be gardens.

Releasing the skin, she stepped into the open and walked toward the pit, looking about as she came. A few women noticed, then pointed and commented. One of these, her long gray hair woven into braids, stopped stirring a pot and turned to regard her. Handing the spoon she was holding to one of the others, she wiped her hands on her apron, then rose and, with outstretched arms, strode towards Pandy.

“My child! My child! It is so good to see you awake,” the woman said, grinning as she came.

Despite her demeanor, Pandy halted and took several steps backward eyeing her carefully, unsure what to make of her. The woman halted when she did, and her expression saddened. Even though she strove to maintain a smile, Pandy could see her disappointment.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. You are in a strange place, so of course you’re afraid.” Offering her hand, she said, “If you will let me, I would like to be your friend. I am called Salmeh.”

She continued standing, hand extended, and eventually Pandy accepted it.

“Good,” the woman said. “The boys tell me you are called Mandy.”

“Pandy. My name is Pandy.”

“It is nice to meet you, Pandy,” the woman said, emphasizing the pronunciation. “Dorman, Tobar and Oram—the ones who brought you here—said you had had nothing to eat. Would you like some breakfast?”

Pandy nodded.

“I’ve been cooking porridge. Or you can have eggs and bread.”

“Porridge, please.”

Salmeh smiled. “I will bring a bowl. Wait right here. Do you like it sweet?”

“Yes, please.” Pandy nodded vigorously and attempted to smile. She could not remember ever being so hungry and porridge sounded wonderful. “Sweet, please.”

The woman nodded in response. “I’ll add some honey.”

All through breakfast, Salmeh questioned her, always gently, never prying, as Pandy did her best to relate all that had transpired to bring her to this village Salmeh called Mostoon.

“I know the man you are talking about,” Salmeh offered when Pandy’s tale concluded. The admission startled her and she must have shown it, because Salmeh placed a hand on her knee and explained, “I’ve never met this Harad, but someone living here—an outsider like you—warned us about him. Come. You should meet the man.”

… … … … …

“She is an emerging prescient,” the man was saying. “Only the second I’ve ever encountered, but her thoughts indicate her mother may be prescient as well.”

“Really?” said Salmeh.

“Quite rare.”

“As are you,” Salmeh said, and the man she called Peniff nodded, smiling in acknowledgement.

Pandy was only partially aware of the conversation as she studied the stream cascading down the hill beside them. The cataract cut off an avenue of escape and added to her unease. She bit her lip as she turned to regard the pair. Although she understood they were not like Harad, she found it hard to relax. Alone and at everyone’s mercy, her first impulse was to flee. She suspected she was overreacting among these people who acted like friends, yet she was constantly teetering on the verge of panic, wishing her mother were here.

“Daddy!” a young voice shouted.

She looked up and the sight of a boy and a girl running towards them caught her off guard. It had not occurred to her there might be children and she found herself grinning at the sight of them.

“Daddy!” the boy repeated, as he arrived beside the man. “Bedistai is up. He finally got out of bed and he is walking.”

“Really? How wonderful,” said Salmeh as the man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Yes,” the girl affirmed. She was bouncing with excitement and her tresses bounced with her. “He smiled at me.”

“Did he, now?” the man asked and the girl nodded enthusiastically.

Pandy put her age at five or six and the boy a few years older. Seeing them with the man she suspected was their father added to her longing. She was still unable to foretell when, if ever, a reunion might occur. At the time she had shoved Roanna overboard, she had foreseen her survival, but had failed to look beyond that simple assurance. Now she regretted it. Her chin dropped and Salmeh turned to her, squatted at her feet and peered into her eyes.

“Miss your mother?”

Pandy nodded.

“I understand. When something happens to someone we love, it hurts. Recently, my son, Bedistai, was injured and I’ve been worrying about him ever since. You cannot imagine how relieved I am now that Broodik and Halli have brought such good news.” When Pandy sniffled, Salmeh added, “You must miss your mother very much.”

Pandy wiped her eyes and nodded again.

“It must be terrible not to know what may have happened to her.”

“She is alive. She is alright,” said Pandy.

“It is good to think that way.”

Pandy was indignant. “I know she is. I could see it.”

Salmeh bit her lip, then looked past her shoulder at the man. Peniff nodded in what Pandy thought might be an affirmation and Salmeh turned back to study her. After a moment’s consideration, she said, “I see.” After another pause, she asked, “Do you know where she is now?”