The Wild Road (15 page)

Chapter 12

K
ARADATH WAS HIS
name, Audrun recalled. Brother to the man who was Rhuan's father;
sire
, he would call him. They were all of a piece, the primaries. So very similar in appearance. One could not tell that either Rhuan or his cousin, Brodhi, were half human. It was as if the primaries' blood was prepotent. It simply overwhelmed any other influence.

Karadath stood before her, blocking her children from view, save for Ellica. He had a fistful of her hair in his left hand, and Ellica pulled very close against his body. Audrun could not help but notice that his posture was one of ownership, of total domination.

But now, abruptly, he released Ellica's hair and with a hand across her back shoved her forward, toward her mother. Audrun half caught Ellica, feeling the infant tree between them. “You'll be all right,” Audrun murmured, steadying her daughter with hands on her shoulders. “You will, Ellica. You're strong.” Then she once again met Karadath's eyes. It was easier, she thought, to withstand a man with impunity when what he wanted required her to live. She used that knowledge to her advantage, did not even now, after the horrific image he had put in her head, shy away from him or show submission.

“If you want me,” she said, “you will see to it my children are not harmed. Not in any way, by you or your brethren.”

He smiled. “Is that your price?”

“We humans don't assign prices to people. We are all worth the same.”

“
She's
not.” Karadath's gaze settled on Ellica, who stood next to her mother. “She's isn't worth anything until she can bear a child.”

It nearly took her breath, such a threat to her daughter. “If you want me,” Audrun repeated, squeezing the words through a constricted throat, “you will do nothing to harm my children. Do you understand?
Inviolate
.”

Karadath inclined his head in agreement, though his tone was ironic. “For now.”

“
And
,” she said firmly, “you will find my baby.”

His brows rose. “Will I?”

“If you want me, yes.”

Karadath smiled. “Anything else?”

Audrun drew in a careful breath. Saying what she intended might prove terrifying to the youngest children, but it was required. “You will see to it that we are not changed. That we remain human.”

His expression froze. She didn't know whether to feel triumphant that she had learned primaries had limitations, or more frightened than ever of the deepwood's power and what might happen to them all.

“You claim to be gods,” she said. “Gods can do anything.”

Karadath stared at her. She saw the red in his eyes, saw the predator who lived behind the flesh.

“Can't they?” she asked.

He did not answer. He stepped aside so that she had a clear view of the remaining three children. Gillan, as she'd hoped, held Meggie in his arms; Torvic was standing very close to Gillan but trying to appear brave. She saw the awkward stiffness in his face that betokened great effort to hold back tears. She opened her arms and knelt on one knee, dismissing the presence of the primary. Torvic, tears now allowed and falling, went to her at once, folding himself into her arms. Gillan brought Meggie close, bending to set her down, but the girl turned her face into his shoulder, clutched at his arms, and shrieked piercingly.

It drove a stab of pain so deeply into Audrun's chest that she thought she might die of it. “Meggie . . . Meggie.” She stood, keeping a hand as a cap on Torvic's head. The other she stretched out toward the youngest of her brood. “Meggie, let me hold you.”

Meggie screamed.

Audrun's tears prickled and spilled. She knew. She understood.
Oh, Blessed Mother—she saw it, too, that vision
. “Meggie, Meggie, I swear, all will be well. It was a bad dream, nothing more.” But she did not move to touch her daughter; to force the issue would upset Meggie even more. On the inside, Audrun felt like ice. Her thoughts were a litany of commingling hope and forced conviction.
She'll be fine, she'll be fine, give her time, it will take time; just let her be. She'll be fine.
And to Gillan, she gave her thanks. He nodded, shifting Meggie in his arms. His own face, beneath the grime, was taut with strain.
My poor children. Mother of Moons, keep them well. They need your strength. All of them do.

“She's old for the creche,” Karadath said of Megritte, somewhat distastefully, “but her behavior marks her younger than her age. She would do better there.”

“No,” Audrun said sharply. “She remains with me. We remain together.”

He lifted one brow. “Another price?”

“There is no price! No price! It's been impressed upon me that we go nowhere until the road is built, but you do
not
have dominion over my family. Is that understood?” Karadath grinned. And she saw, with a twitch of shock, a shadow of Rhuan's dimples. “Is that understood?” she repeated with as much strength in her voice as she could wield. She was so tired, so very, very tired.

And the primary saw it. He smiled again. “This unworthy one will escort you to your quarters.”

Unworthy one? What unworthy one? And then she looked past Karadath and saw a man very similar in height and coloring, but there was something . . .
faded
about him. His spirit did not burn so brightly as Karadath's.

Karadath turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Audrun standing in the middle of the stone walkway, surrounded by her children, but no wiser about what might become of them all.

She looked at the other man, the faded man. His eyes were downcast; his posture one of submission, not independence. “Come,” he said. His eyes briefly met Audrun's, then hid behind lowered lids once more. Karadath had called him unworthy. The one so designated appeared to believe it. “Come,” he repeated. “It is a place where you can escape the suns.”

And that more than anything prompted Audrun to move. The top of her head was burning. “We'll go,” she said to her children. “But cover your heads in the meantime.”

Tree fronds again were balanced atop skulls, hands holding them in place. Audrun followed the man, Torvic's hand clasped in her own. His nose was already quite red.
Hats. We must make hats
. Ellica was beside her, still hugging her tree. Gillan fell behind them, and she heard him speaking very softly to Megritte.

Tears prickled once again in Audrun's eyes. She blinked them away hastily, wanting her children to see none of them, to see no weakness. She was exhausted and close to collapsing, but refused to give in. Her children needed her.
Please, Mother, please
 . . .
let Meggie be well
.

JORDA'S BROWS JUMPED
,
then knit tightly. His body stiffened. He studied Rhuan with honed concentration, weighing this confession against the other, the first. The one considerably less stunning than this.

As Rhuan waited for further reaction, he heard the rain bouncing off stretched canvas. His hearing, more acute than humans', told him the storm was letting up.

But not the burgeoning storm in Jorda's wagon.

“Not fully human,” the karavan-master echoed.

“Half. My mother was human.”

Jorda was incredulous. “Is this a jest? If so, it's ill-timed! Rhuan—?”

Rhuan shook his head decisively. “No portion of what I've just told you, and what I
will
tell you, is a jest.” He glanced up at the string of charms hanging from the Mother Rib over his head, swaying slightly. “I'll swear it on whatever means the most to you.”

The skin of Jorda's face tightened again at the corners of his eyes where crows-feet had taken dominion. As a redhead, he could not tan as other folk did, could not escape the sun's damage. It left him with a reddish tint to his face and forearms, and a seasoning of golden freckles. “Waste no more time in telling me all, then!”

Rhuan drew in a deep breath. “I was born in Alisanos to a human mother and a father who isn't.”

Because of the beard, it was often difficult to see an expression on the karavan-master's face. One needed to learn to look into his eyes, to note the movement of his brows, his eyelids, to read what his body said. Just now, he was completely still. He had briefly gone into himself, Rhuan saw, as if sorting through the words, but that moment passed. Now Jorda's intense green eyes were fixed on his face. “And Brodhi?”

Rhuan nodded. “The same.”

“The storm,” Jorda said. “When you were missing.” He said nothing more, but his eyes asked the question.

“Yes,” Rhuan told him. “The storm took me. I'm not immune to Alisanos. My people come from there, but we're no more able to control the deepwood than you.”

“But you came back out after the storm. And I don't see any change upon you.” Jorda paused. “Yet.”

“And you won't.”

Jorda's frown was deeper than ever. “What
are
your people?”

“We're not demons, any of us. There
are
demons in Alisanos, but we are not counted among them.”

Jorda was tense as he worked through the information. Finally he asked, “And Darmuth?”

“Ah.” Rhuan said. “Well.”

“Well?”

“Darmuth
is
a demon. I'm sorry—I didn't intend to mislead you.”

“Blessed Mother of Moons.” Jorda closed one big hand over the string of charms at his neck. I've been harboring a demon?” He was so angry now, Rhuan feared he might drop over dead. “I'm responsible for the lives of hundreds of people every season, and one of my guides is a
demon?”

“He isn't here to harm humans,” Rhuan told him hastily. “Darmuth isn't here for humans at all. He's here for me.”

Jorda's color deepened. “What do you mean, he's here for you?”

So Rhuan told him about Darmuth, Ferize, and the journey, with as much brevity and clarity as possible.

Afterward, Jorda sat in silence, staring at him, marking everything about him that he had once believed was Shoia and now knew was not.

Jorda's eyes darkened. “Does Ilona know what you are?”

“Yes.”

“And she just accepts it?”

“Yes. Which means, very likely, that you can accept it, too.” Rhuan paused, seeing the disbelief in Jorda's eyes. “Some day.”

Jorda's tone was deceptively light. “Ilona rose from the dead.”

Rhuan knew what he was asking. “She is not one of my people. She is everything she has ever been.”

“She rose from the dead.”

Rhuan nodded. “I assume she must be Shoia. There truly is no way of knowing how many are left, Jorda. But we know they aren't myth. It's why Brodhi and I let everyone believe we are—were—Shoia, because we can't be killed in this world. It was easy to accept. People know about Shoia having multiple lives.”

Jorda was silent for long moments. Then he lifted the plank next to him and placed it on his lap, finding his lead as well.

“Is it enough?” Rhuan asked. “Do you understand?”

“I'm not sure it will ever be enough.” Jorda read over the marks on creased paper pinned to the plank. “I'm not sure I
care
to know more. Not at this moment, in any case. I may have additional questions for you later. For now, go and tend your duty.”

Rhuan, knowing dismissal when he heard it, rose. He ducked his head to keep it from brushing rib and canvas. But one more thing must be said, to ease the mind of a man he respected very much. “Jorda, we're not here to harm anyone, Brodhi and I. Truly. Neither are Darmuth and Ferize.”

“Rhuan, I have work to do preparing a list of supplies for the trip to Cardatha. I'd advise,
again
, that you take yourself off to wherever this border between the deepwood and this settlement is, and begin to build your marker cairns.” Jorda glanced up. “Now.”