The Trials of Lance Eliot (15 page)

Tsurugi's face was as empty as it had ever been.

“By Jove, I'm glad to see you,” I said. “I was beginning to worry that you had lost your way. Did you bring back anything to eat?”

“Mushrooms, roots and squirrels,” said Miles.

“I told
you we could eat roots,” exclaimed Regis.

“We need to make camp,” said Tsurugi. “We leave for Ventus early tomorrow morning.”

We found a sheltered spot between two boulders. Tsurugi stretched the largest blanket across the tops of the rocks when it began to snow again, making a sort of tent. He hardly slept that night, getting up every half hour to brush off the blanket so that the weight of the snow didn't collapse it.

The next morning, we gathered our baggage and set off along the river in single file. Only after we had walked several miles did I remember the clothes we had left out to dry on the rocks near the river. I swore with passion, but it was too late to go back and get them. We pressed on. The snow came and went.

Tsurugi seemed more distant than usual. When we halted for our noon meal, he told us, “We can't stop tonight.”

“What?!” yelled Regis and I in perfect unison.

“A blizzard is coming,” he said. “We'll die if we're caught in it. We have to keep going.”

I launched into a tirade of curses, employing a number of phrases that had lain forgotten since my childhood in California, a state renowned for its creative use of the English language.

Night fell and the ground began to rise. To our left the river cascaded into pools and rushed away into the dark; before us the black shapes of the mountains stood against the darkness of the sky. Miles began to cough around midnight. By next morning, after more than twenty hours of walking, he and Regis were fevered.

We paused for breakfast and an hour of sleep. I was jerked back to consciousness by a sound that exploded through the winter air like a string of firecrackers. It was Miles coughing.

“We have to stop,” mumbled Regis. “Miles can't travel like this, and I'm not feeling too well.”

“There's no time,” said Tsurugi. “We keep moving.”

Tsurugi passed me the brandy flask, telling me to finish it. I drank half and gave it back to him. For once he didn't argue and drank it as though it were water.

“Not to be unkind, but I'm astounded you can stomach that swill,” said Regis.

“It is
not
swill,” I objected. “It's good stuff. I'll keep a while, now I've had a drink.”

“You sound as if you mean to pickle yourself.”

“Hush,” I said. “Tsurugi, we ought to leave two of the packs. Regis and Miles can't carry any weight in their condition. You and I will have to tighten our belts and take what we can. We can resupply in Ventus.” As I said this, I hoped I wouldn't have to sacrifice my private store of valores to buy provisions.

We stumbled onward. The sun vanished around noon. Clouds stretched across the sky like a vast blanket of dirty wool. The ground became steeper and steeper. Looking back, I could see the forest far off. The mountains loomed ahead, leering at us with jagged stone teeth and shadowy clefts that looked like deep-set eyes.

We stopped for lunch on a little knoll by the river. I was disappointed with my portion: three mushrooms, a root sliced into pieces and half a squirrel.

The mushrooms were unlike any I had ever seen. Their stems tapered upward. The caps, which balanced precariously upon the cone-shaped stems, were a violent shade of mottled orange. They looked highly poisonous. The root was no better, being about as palatable as dried leather.

Then there was the squirrel. In my experience, meat had always come in the form of plastic-wrapped packages from the supermarket. My meat had never before stared at me with glassy eyes. I almost resolved to become a vegetarian. The memory of my mother's steak-and-kidney pie banished all thoughts of vegetarianism, but didn't assuage the experience of eating a squirrel. We didn't have the time or fuel for a fire, so I ate the meat raw. It was unpleasant, but it was food.

We lingered after lunch, unwilling to stand and walk on our shaking legs. Then the silence was rent by another series of explosive coughs from Miles, and we were on our way. He was pale. His eyes were bright—too bright. He began to mutter things under his breath.

“I smell smoke,” he said. “There's ashes on the wind…ashes…smoke…dark gray, burning black…coals and ashes and smoke…smoke…smoke.”

Regis gave me a fevered look that said plainly, “He's out of his head, and I think I'm beginning to lose it myself.”

Twilight descended with a shower of snow, and we quickened our pace.

“Almost there,” said Tsurugi.

We reached the top of the slope and followed the river to a valley between two peaks. There before us, clustered around the river, were houses.

“Ventus!” shouted Regis.

Then, with a blast and a scream, everything went white.

10

LANCE ELIOT HEARS SEVERAL INTERESTING STORIES

I SAT ALONE IN the middle of a blank canvas. Everything was white as far as I could see: white above me, white beneath me, white to either side of me, earth and sky and everything in between a single swirling shade of white. I could have wept. We had come through danger and darkness and cold and hunger only to die on the threshold of safety.

Then a spark of resolve flared within me. It didn't seem right to give up. Why not try to find the others? I had nothing to lose. Forcing myself to stand, I squinted into the blizzard. Where was Tsurugi, drat him? I shouted, but it was no good. I couldn't hear even my own voice. I made myself think. Where had we been standing when the blizzard hit? Tsurugi and Miles had led the group, about six feet ahead. Regis had been just a few paces behind me. I turned and blundered through the storm, arms sweeping the snow.

There is a wonderful irony about those moments of calm despair. When we have nothing to lose is often when we win.

My left hand made contact with something hard. I turned and saw the dark shape of someone standing next to me. He seemed to be holding his nose. Seizing him by the hand, I dragged him toward the spot where I had judged Tsurugi to be standing when the blizzard hit. We had taken hardly more than a few steps when we met a pair of dark shapes shuffling toward us. Joining hands, we stumbled in the direction in which we guessed the town lay.

Something took shape against the eddying snow. It was a building. I gave a shout of relief (which no one heard) as we reached it and felt solid stone beneath our hands. Feeling our way round the sides of the building, we found a door. A knocker was set in its center and a bell-pull hung to one side, swaying in the wind. I hammered the knocker as one of my companions yanked the bell-pull, his arm jerking up and down like a rusty piston.

The door opened and we tumbled inside, only dimly aware of a very small person hopping up and down and exclaiming, “Mama, Mama, look what funny men are here!”

A woman entered with a candle and cried, “Goodness, Conrad, who are these people?”

“I don't know, Mama,” said the child. “I opened the door and they fell in.”

Regis lifted his head. A stream of blood ran from his nose to his chin. “Let us stay,” he pleaded. “In Pelea's name, don't make us go out there again.”

“Off with your coats,” rapped the woman, setting the candle on a side-table. “I'll go heat some water. Put your coats in the corner there—not on the carpet, please, over there by the wall—and come into the kitchen to warm yourselves up.”

We followed her into the kitchen. Miles could hardly walk, so we half-carried him to a chair near the stove.

“Conrad,” said the woman, “get blankets from the upstairs closet.”

The boy shot out of the kitchen and returned with blankets. The stove filled the room with warmth and light. The cold became a distant dream.

“What happened to your nose?” I asked Regis as he wiped blood from his chin.

“You smacked me.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It's all right.”

“By Jove, I wish I had a hot Scotch and lemon.”

“What's a Jove?”

“Jupiter, in Roman mythology—dash it, never mind. I really wish I had a hot Scotch and lemon.”

“You look awful,” piped up a small voice. Conrad stood next to Miles, peering at him with interest. “You sick, Mister,” he said gravely. “When I'm sick, Mama gives me nasty sir-wup from the apothe—” He paused, trying to enunciate the word. “—the apothecawy.” He made a face. “It's nasty.”

“Conrad,” called the woman, who was chopping potatoes. “Stop bothering those poor men. You won't have a bath tonight. Go directly to bed, understand?”

“Wha-bout my kiss?”

The woman held the knife behind her back, leaned over and left a kiss on the little brown head. “Now go to bed, Conrad.”

“Yes, Mama,” said the child, and scampered out of the room.

The woman put the potatoes in a pan and set it on the stovetop. Although her hair was already shot with grey, I guessed her to be no older than thirty. Her smile was welcoming, yet she had a wary look about her, like a dog that's waiting to be kicked.

“My name is Adele,” she said. “Who are you?”

“We were part of a merchant caravan from Aque,” said Tsurugi.

I stared at him. He sounded almost friendly.

“My friends and I were separated from the others and got lost. My name is Tsurugi, by the way. I was commissioned to guard the caravan. That's Lance and Regis and Miles.”

I didn't know why Tsurugi wasn't telling the whole truth, but decided to play along. “I'm a scout-in-training,” I said. “My commanding officer thought I needed experience in the field.”

“I'm a gambler,” said Regis.

We all looked at Miles.

“I'm…I mean, I was…a carpenter.”

Adele put a few sausages in the pan with the potatoes. “Are you no longer a carpenter? Have you switched trades?”

Tsurugi spoke before Miles could answer. “He's a cartwright now. He repaired the merchants' carts before we were separated from the caravan.”

“Would anyone like a cup of tea?” asked Adele, filling a kettle.

“I would,” said Regis and Miles together.

“Do you have anything stronger than tea?” I asked. Regis shot me a disapproving look, and Adele's mouth tightened.

“Not in this house,” she said.

“I'll take tea, then, thank you,” I said, turning red.

“How were you separated from your caravan?” she asked.

Tsurugi's expression went blank, and I realized he couldn't think of an explanation. I would have to make up something.

“We had gone to find water when there was a terrific storm,” I lied. “It made us lose our way in the woods.”

Adele gave me a look that chilled my heart. It was the sort of look my mum gave me when I was a boy and she caught me pinching money from her purse.

“There aren't any woods between here and Aque,” said Adele, opening a tin of tea.

“We had detoured to Agnis to resupply,” said Tsurugi, coming to my rescue. He shook his head. “Have you heard the news?”

“What news?”

“The Nomen destroyed Agnis.”

Adele gave a cry and spilled tea leaves over the counter.

Tsurugi stood and helped her clean up the tea, the image of a perfect gentleman. I couldn't stop staring at him. For a man who normally looked like a stuffed fish, he was a convincing actor.

“I didn't mean to alarm you,” he said. “I apologize. It was a shock for us too. We came in sight of where the town should have been and found ashes.”

Miles sniffled and made a face like he was trying to hold back tears.

Adele moved toward him and asked, “Are you all right?”