Karavans (53 page)

“Nearly!” She twisted wet skirts to force the worst of the water out.

Davyn squatted to inspect the wheel. When he rose, his expression had become grim. “It’s split lengthwise.” He ran both hands through fair hair in a gesture of frustration. “Well, there’s no help for it. We’ll need to unload the heavy things, then prop up the wagon so I can mount a new axle.” Like all karavaners, they carried extra wheels and a spare axle lashed to the sideboards. But Davyn did not immediately return his attention to repairs. He rubbed his arms and frowned, glancing into the sky. “The light has changed. Do you see it? And all the hair on my skin is standing on end. I think we’ve got a storm on the way.”

Even as he spoke, the ground beneath their feet shuddered.

RHUAN, RIDING AT a gallop the third day out of the settlement, felt the tremors in the earth, felt the wind come up. It began as a breeze, moved into a series of flirtatious gusts, then settled in for an unceasing hard howling, the kind of wind that stripped tree limbs, knocked down and shredded tents, hurled birds to their deaths, drove humans to despair. He knew it as a killing wind, the kind that, unabated, did much more than cursory damage. It came from his left side, slamming his mount broadside with enough force that the horse stumbled and nearly went down. Rhuan yanked the horse’s head up, let him regain his balance, and went on once more at a gallop.

His scalp prickled. The hair on his arms, though shielded by a long-sleeved tunic, stood up. A cold frisson ran down his spine, stronger now than when he had dug into the earth near the tent settlement. His body was answering the wind, responding to its song. There was power in that wind, a crackling, sizzling power that touched him, knew him, tempted him. Though squinted against the flying dust and debris, his eyes grew red as a membrane slid over them. The world colored around him, the horizon bathed in a ruddy halo of fractured light.

But Rhuan had no time for himself. A family he had sworn to protect was on the same road, accosted by the same terrible wind, but lacked any kind of power to withstand the storm. Rhuan was stubborn enough to put it out of his mind, to focus only on going forward, on reaching the wagon, on doing what was necessary to save the children and parents.

The sky now took on a faint greenish light. Tree branches and debris spun through the air. Rhuan could feel the effort it took his horse to continue onward without faltering as the ground quivered beneath him; his gait was uneven, lacking the smooth consistency of motion that made
him Rhuan’s favorite of all the karavan remuda. He leaned down and patted the spotted neck, promising the horse he would be rewarded in good time.

Peering through flying dirt and debris, he came upon the family in the midst of disarray. The wagon canted in the unmistakable angle of a broken wheel or axle. Even in the screaming wind, the father and his eldest son labored to prop up the wagon so repairs could be made; the wife, head and face screened by a shawl, stood by. The eldest daughter and the two youngest children, wrapped in blankets, huddled on the other side of the wagon, using its bulk to shield them from the worst of the wind. Chests and heavier belongings had been set out upon the road to lighten the wagon, putting Rhuan in mind of a sad, untended burial ground.

Until he reined his horse to an abrupt sliding stop next to the wagon, no one knew he was there. He saw surprise on the father’s face, and the flaring of profound relief in the mother’s eyes.

Rhuan wasted no time. He pitched his voice to carry over the wailing of the wind. “You can’t remain here! You have to leave!” He gestured. “Give me the two youngest. Put the smallest girl here, in front of me, and the boy behind. The rest of you will have to run as best you can. As far and as fast as you can.”

“Run?” the husband shouted, incredulous. “You want us to leave the wagon, the only shelter we have?”

Beneath their feet, the ground shuddered. Grasslands undulated. The wife went to her knees even as her husband grabbed the wagon to steady himself. “This is only the beginning!” Rhuan shouted as his horse snorted and danced. “Put the youngest ones up on my horse. Now. Waste no time.” There was startlement and doubt in the father’s eyes, even as another tremor rattled pots and pans. “It’s Alisanos,” Rhuan explained in curt impatience. He smelled the unmistakable sharpness of lightning in the air. “I have land-sense. Do as I say. Or do you wish to be taken by the deepwood?”

The wife, skirts flapping in the wind as she climbed to
her feet, said something to her husband and then made her way to the other side of the wagon where her children waited. She lost her grip on her shawl, which was ripped out of her hands and carried away; now her hair was whipped free of its braid. Rhuan rode close, steadying the horse as best he could in the midst of the storm. He was unsurprised when the wagon’s battered oilcloth tore, then shredded. Within moments it was ripped from the curving ribs of the wagon, spun away through the air. The end of one flapping portion slapped his horse across the face.

Cursing, Rhuan barely managed to remain in the saddle as the horse spooked in a scrambling, panicked retreat. He regained tenuous control and urged the horse beside the wagon once again, though it took effort to convince the horse to do so in the wake of torn oilcloth. “Give me the little girl!”

By now the father and eldest son had joined the rest of the family. With the oilcloth gone from the wagon, there was less to shield them from the storm’s fury. “Do it!” the wife shouted. “Davyn, we must! The rest of us can manage, but Torvic and Megritte can’t!”

Rhuan saw grim acquiescence in the father’s face. Then he scooped up the youngest girl and lifted her.

She was frightened and crying, wanting nothing to do with Rhuan. He caught her around her slender, fragile rib cage and tucked her between himself and the pommel of the saddle, a shield against the wind. “Now the boy!” He reached down again as the boy was guided to him by the father. He closed his hand on the boy’s wrist and swung him up and back so that he landed on the horse’s rump. “Hold onto me! Don’t let go!” He bent over the girl in front of him so he could speak without shouting. “We’re going to gallop. This horse loves to gallop. And I’ll wrap one arm around you. Are you ready?” He heard no reply, but felt the rubbing of the girl’s head against his chest as if she nodded. “Good.”

Crimson lightning streaked across the sky, leaving a too-brilliant white in its place. Thunder greater than anything heard before nearly deafened them. Leaves, debris, and
tree limbs wheeled through the air. He blamed no one for their fear, for their hesitation.

“The rest of you, run!” Rhuan told them, pointing. “That way, as hard and as fast as you can.” He saw fear in the eyes of the older children, but there was nothing he could do for anyone else. Even the two smallest would slow his horse. “
Run
.” He wrapped his left arm around the youngest girl. He turned his head so the boy behind him could hear. “Hold on. Grab my tunic and don’t let go.” Hands worked themselves into his tunic. “We’re going to race the wind,” Rhuan told his two human burdens. As red lighting split the air yet again, he looked down at the parents, at the older children. “Run. For your lives,
run
.” And with a final admonition to “hold on” to the girl in front of him and the boy behind, he urged his mount once again into a gallop.

THE FEAR IN the faces of her two youngest as they were taken up onto the guide’s horse nearly broke Audrun’s heart. But she had no time to permit worry to govern every action; incredibly, the wind intensified. In the wake of deafening thunder she turned to Gillan and Ellica, urging them with shouts even though she knew they couldn’t hear her above the wind and in the aftermath of the thunder. She made sweeping motions with her arms, directing them to go after the guide. Gillan grabbed his sister’s hand and ran.

Davyn moved close to Audrun as she attempted to control her hair so it wouldn’t blind her, gesturing for her to follow the oldest children. She knew he intended to gather needful things from the wagon. She shook her head, grabbed a handful of his tunic and yanked, trying to guide him toward the direction the guide had indicated.

She saw refusal in his eyes. She didn’t blame him for it; all they had left in the world was in the wagon. “Davyn!” She nearly tore her throat with the force of her shout, but couldn’t hear herself in the wind. “Davyn,
we all go
!” She
caught her breath, spitting out grit. “
We can come back when the storm is over
!”

He hesitated a moment longer, then nodded resignation. Audrun grabbed up a handful of her skirts, let him take her hand in his, and ran after the children she could no longer see.

I
LONA WENT TO JANQERIL, the horse-master. She told him her idea for aiding the karavaners; at his nod of understanding, she hurried to the nearest wagon. The four women she recognized as something quite different from the farmstead wives; they were the Sisters of the Road.

“Listen to me,” Ilona said. “There is no time—I must tell as many as possible. We are to go east. All of us. Immediately.”

The women had laid and lighted a cookfire, and a tea kettle whistled. They wore clothing of a finer cut than the other women, and their tunic belts were of fine leather studded with silver. Four pairs of startled eyes fixed upon her. “Go east?” one of the Sisters repeated. “Why should we go east?”

“Alisanos,” Ilona answered succinctly. “The karavan guide, Rhuan—the Shoia, with all the braids—has land-sense. He swears Alisanos is on the verge of moving, and that it’s coming this way. If we go east, we may escape it.” She raised a silencing hand as all four women began to speak at once. “Waste no time. Believe in me, as I believe in Rhuan. Take your horses, but leave the wagon; there is no time to hitch up.” She nodded at the two draft horses picketed near the wagon. “They are large enough to carry two each. Just mount and go.
Now
.”

Ilona left them still asking questions and went on to the next wagon, repeating the warning. She knew that somewhere in the grove Jorda was doing the same. But the wagons had been scattered any which way; in the wake of cancellation, drivers were no longer required to follow directions as to how they should arrange themselves.

“If you lack for horses,” she told a family of five, “go to Janqeril, the horse-master. He will give you a mount. But hurry!”

She heard the echo of Jorda’s voice in the grove, bellowing orders. Mount and ride east, mount and ride east. She said it. He said it. But the people were slow, too slow. Urgency filled Ilona’s chest near to bursting.

Mount and ride east, she said over and over again.
Go east, go east, go east
.

As she reached another wagon, a sudden rising wind hissed amid the trees. Ilona felt a prickling in her scalp. The palms of both hands began to itch.

She was aware of eyes fixed upon her. Had she spoken? Had she told this family what she had told the others?

“Go east,” she said. The wind keened through branches. “Waste no time!”

Her palms now burned. Some unknown instinct told her to kneel, to spread her hands against the earth. She did so, and felt the thrumming power rising up through leaf mold and soil.

Was this Rhuan’s land-sense? Or Alisanos awakening? Did Branca and Melior feel the same thing?

Ilona pulled her hands from the earth and displayed them to the family. The still-rising wind blew her hair out of its confining rods so that the wild, dark curls fell down her back. “I say—
I
say, as a hand-reader—that we must all go. Now!”

Then Jorda was with her, helping her to her feet. He settled a large, calloused hand on each of her shoulders. “You as well,” he said. “Go, Ilona.”

Leaves were torn from limbs, wheeling away on the wind. Ilona felt the tug against her scalp as her hair was whipped into tangles. “I can’t, Jorda. There are children in the settlement.”

“That task is for Mikal to do, and Bethid. We’ve done what we can for our people.” He squinted as dirt and debris were thrown into his bearded face. “It’s time for you to go.”

Her skirts flapped in the wind. Ilona caught handfuls of blowing hair and tamed it by winding one hand in it. “You as well.” It took effort, now, to be heard above the wind. “You also, Jorda!”