The Wild Road (29 page)

His belly, however, was unimpressed.

Chapter 26

I
LONA FELT SWEAT
break out on her body as she found memory in a callused hand. The fabric beneath her arms was soaked. Droplets rolled down her temples, into her eyes. For a moment she was pulled toward the present, but a centering phrase sent her flying again, literally flying, as the draka lifted her in the girl's place and flew away from the sun.

Tight pressure against her body, enough to steal her breath; the clamp of claws around her torso, cutting flesh. Blood spilled, poured from body into sky. She opened her mouth but could not scream.

A low hill. A tumbled outcropping of stone piled one upon another. The draka flew closer, then backed air with huge wings shining red-gold in the sun. As it prepared to settle, Ilona knew she had no more time. She printed the outcropping in her mind, burned it there, and just as the claws around her torso began to loosen she reached for reality: her wagon with high, yellow wheels and new steps Rhuan had fashioned; the tea kettle sitting next to the fire ring; the elder grove, leafy canopies raised high against the sky. She wrenched herself out of the draka's claws and fell.

Ilona jerked her hands away, releasing Herta's. She trembled violently, wiping her palms against her skirt repeatedly, used a sleeve to blot her face. She heard her own breathing coming in gasps, in gulps. Vision returned before hearing did. She saw the woman's pallor, the size of staring eyes, the mouth as it moved. Then hearing was regained, and she heard Herta asking again and again if she were all right.

No. She was not.

Ilona drew in a breath. “I have the place. I saw it.” She pushed upward to her feet, stumbled three steps to wagon. She clung to one big wheel, clamping hands around the rim. “I'm sorry—you must go. I saw the place. Your daughter will be brought back for rites. But now . . . now you must go.” Without the wheel as stability, Ilona knew she would collapse. “Please.”

The woman rose, moved close. “Can I help you? Is there anything I might do?”

“I need . . . I need to be alone . . .” She knew it might sound rude even as she said it. But very few words were left in her mind. “I need to rest. Please, just go.”

And so the woman did. Alone, Ilona hung onto the wheel and made herself move, hand over hand, step by step, to the back of the wagon. She nearly fell over the steps, but caught herself. Still trembling, she managed to turn, to sit, to plant feet and brace her legs, elbows on thighs. Ilona leaned forward and lifted her hands so she might rest her head in them. Her belly cramped. She gulped air then exhaled very hard through pursed lips. As saliva filled her mouth, she swallowed it back down.

I will not be sick
 . . .
will not
.

She pressed both hands against her mouth, sealing it. She could not stop herself from the slight rocking of her body. A childish thing, that. But she could not help it.

What she had seen . . . oh, what she had seen. A moment only, inside the draka's mind.

Maelstrom
. Just as she had seen in Rhuan's hand, once. But worse. Far worse.

Nausea slowly receded without the results Ilona feared. Some small amount of strength seeped back into her body as she sat upon the wagon steps. She had best move now, she knew. She stood, turned, managed the last two steps into the wagon. Mattress and blankets remained on the floor, reminders of the intimacy she and Rhuan had shared. But this time she didn't smile in recollection. This time she knelt briefly, then followed the wishes of her body and rocked forward, letting outstretched arms take her weight. Then elbows. And finally she lay face down upon mattress and blankets, head turned so she might breathe.

Still, Ilona shivered. She wished herself warm but nothing came of it; that was not her gift. A searching hand found a loose blanket and pulled it over her body. She turned onto her side, drew bent legs close, tucked her jutting shoulder under the blanket. A hand pressed briefly against her brow found skin cold to the touch, abnormally cold. She dragged more blankets over herself and tucked her head down beneath a corner.

Memory swooped in, ignoring her mental effort to banish it. She lost herself again, saw the earth far beneath her feet, felt the bite of claws into flesh.

Maelstrom
. Just as she had seen in Rhuan's hand, once. But worse. Far worse.

Then Ilona realized memory was repeating itself. Memories of flying, of draka. Of the outcropping upon a hill. Of a woman's hand, burned. And of the other hand, scored from finger to the heel. And of what she saw, so briefly, in Rhuan's hand, the night they met.

Of Herta. Of Herta's daughter, stolen by the draka.

For a suspended moment of time, Ilona had been that daughter.

“Stop,” she whispered. “Mother, please.”

The Mother did not please.

RHUAN PLANTED THE
last branch marker for cairns and straightened, rolling tight shoulders, stretching his neck. He pressed thumbs into his spine, twisted his torso in two directions, all of which resulted in the desired and satisfying pops. He winced nonetheless; sore spots left by the beating had stiffened. Possibly by tonight he might feel considerably better, but for the moment he ached the way any human would. And leaning over each time he planted a tree limb made his head feel heavy, about to burst. Which did his broken nose no good.

“Heal faster,” he muttered. He looked down the long line of cairns and saw that his helpers had lost enthusiasm and speed. The smallest children now dragged their buckets, and the adults stacked stones more slowly than before. Rhuan could not blame any of them. It was not work anyone would seek out or find particular pride in. But there were plenty more cairns to build, and he would need all his helpers. And others, if they were willing to come.

The day turned gloomy. Clouds had come in from the east, smothering sunlight. Rhuan eyed them critically, then lifted both hands to his mouth to make a funnel. “Done for the day! Rain's coming!”

A familiar voice from behind sounded annoyed. “Trust me to arrive just as everyone else departs.”

He turned, smiling. But the smile faded, replaced with alarm. “What's wrong? Are you ill? You look ill.”

Ilona wore a deep indigo wrap pulled tightly around her torso, arms crossed and shoulders drawn up against cold. Her mouth sketched brief irony. “Such flattery. No, I'm not ill. I had a very difficult reading earlier. And I'm cold.” She shrugged. “A good night's sleep is all I need.”

He frowned. The day was warm, not cold, not even cool. The steamy oppression of monsoon humidity was rising. The air was heavy with it. “Why are you cold?”

“I don't know. I just am.” As had he, she studied the clouds. “Looks like the rain will last through dinner.” She shivered. “Oh, I hate this time of the year. Everything is always so
muddy
. I'm tired of dragging my skirts through mud, tired of knocking it off my boots, tired of having boots sucked off my feet by mudholes. I'm tired of any number of other things.”

It was not characteristic of Ilona to be querulous. Rhuan waggled his brows, hoping to replace her annoyance with laughter. “Tired of me?”

“Hah.” She said it with muted irony that faded almost instantly. “There's something I must ask of you. But let's go to my wagon first. I've built a nice big fire beneath the awning. Tea will be quite hot when we return . . . perhaps it will thaw me out. I had considered a bath in the river, but not now. Maybe I should just stand outside and let the rain wash me clean.” She tugged one of his sleeves. “Let's go, shall we?”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the grove. “There are means other than tea for thawing out.”

“Of course there are, and I expect we'll get to that later this evening. Tea first, and there's also something we need to speak about.”

“What is it?”

Ilona shivered. “There's too much to be said, to say it in the rain.”

A large raindrop struck Rhuan's head. And another. He glanced up. “Well, we'd best hurry. Or you'll be colder yet.” He slipped his arm from around her shoulder, took her left hand in his, and pulled her into a run toward the grove.

AUDRUN COULD NOT
count the days. She lived in the haze of fever. She had a vague recollection of being lifted off the cot so bedding could be changed. She was given fresh nightclothes, and someone both fed her and bathed her forehead with a cool, wetted cloth. Her world had become limited to the sleeping chamber, shadowed by day, black by night. In the day, she heard voices. At night she dreamed.

She dreamed of Karadath's nightmare.

Of the infant taken from her.

ILONA FEARED SHE
might fall down and be dragged through dampening grass. “Wait!” she cried, trying to keep up. “Rhuan, I can't run as fast as you . . . and besides, I'm wearing
skirts
!” Skirts that were weighted with moisture along the hems. Already the folds of fabric slapped through and around her legs. She tried to dig in her heels to halt them both, but her boot soles slid forward. She nearly sat down in wet grass and soil. “Rhuan—slow down!”

He slowed to a jog and, grinning, turned his head toward her. “It's raining.”

“I know that. I suspect everyone in the near vicinity knows that. But it does me no good at all if I fall down, does it? I'll be wet one way or the other.”

“Here.” He stopped altogether, pulled her close, and flashed his dimples at her—something he used with devastating success. “This may help.”

He leaned close to kiss her, but she placed the flat of her hand against his chest. “I'm wet, I'm cold, and I wish to have tea. I long for tea. If we stand out here in the rain I'll become even wetter and colder, and the tea will be delayed even longer.”

“It was your idea to stop.”

She brushed a raindrop from her cheek. “I didn't mean we should stop. I meant we should slow down. There is a marked difference between the two.” The rain began to fall more heavily. She screwed up her face against it. “Let's go, then. It will be worse before it's better.” Then she realized he was no longer looking at her. He was looking beyond her, beyond his row of stick markers. Toward the deepwood. She swung around to look as well. “What is it? I don't see anything.” And she didn't, not out of the ordinary, just the crowded, towering line of the edge of Alisanos.