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A DEEP FOREBODING PERVADED the caravan. Karst tried to fight the unease. None of the usual things from brushing the massive horses that pulled Brial’s wagon to collecting wood with Emrys had helped the night before ... or the one before that. "I can't do anything until we stop for the night." He climbed down from the wagon seat, waited a moment to catch his balance, then took quick steps to the head hauler team. Maybe if I walk a little my mind will settle.
He looked back to where Brial walked alongside a wagon further back in the line. Normally she rode the bench of the wagon that became hers when she came of age. A smile twitched his lips at the memory of the first few times Brial allowed him to control the team. She watched me closer than the caravan's dogs at a barkrippers nest waiting for the small striped rodents to scamper from within the tree roots.
It really was not that hard, he decided. At least once I learned the proper calls and earned the hauler beast's respect. The clan’s teams were so well-trained that constant handling of the reins wasn’t needed. With a good lead pair, the haulers could be guided through the usual aswy, iawn, and halt voice commands which enabled the caravan members to do other things.
However, instead of doing handcrafts or making items for trade, Brial managed the team of another clan member. Again, Karst looked from the empty spot Brial would have occupied to farther down the caravan where she walked.
The driver was inside the rolling house nursing several boys recovering from cuts and needlethorn poison after working in the thicket patch.
Although the entire caravan worried about the boys, Karst knew that Brial took their injuries personally. Not only because she had sent them into the dangerous plant tunnels, but they were not responding to the soother gel. While he could not see her face, because of their growing connection, he felt Brial's flinch every time a bump or rut jostled the wounded. He knew that the boy's moans added to the guilt she felt.
I tried to get Brial to let me take her place working the reins of Saffir’s team. But she wouldn't do it. He pictured the way her chin rose when she said Saffir was too young to do the nursing by herself. Her face darkened when she added, "Especially if the boys die."
Even though he toiled alongside the unstricken and helped with everything from mopping fevered brows to hauling water, Karst cursed the need. Anyone not sick was exhausted from caregiving tasks or doing the work normally done by several others. The assistance of the adolescent clan members helped stave off the worst of the physical fatigue, but only for a short time. Even youth had its limitations. Waning stamina required everyone to take more frequent breaks with fewer and fewer people returning to complete the chores.
Wagons could only cover five leagues a day, half the normal distance for the terrain. The reduced distance between stops meant the caravan could not reach their usual camp sites. And when they did stop for the night, instead of moving on the following morning, the traders rested an extra day. Not being able to use their regular sites not only cut them off from known water and grazing, additional need made finding suitable areas more difficult. With the fever sweeping through the wagons, each time they stopped for the night the caravan needed enough space to enable the wagons transporting the sick to form a circle off by themselves to help limit the disease’s spread.
The changes in locale offered no possibility of escape from the plumes of smoke made by burning the belongings of those who had succumbed. "Even worse," he cursed, "were the tear-filled eyes and the heavy sorrow that slumped shoulders." He had grown fond of the clanspeople and felt their losses. The humans were not the only ones feeling the disquiet. The usually stolid hauler beasts fidgeted in their harness. Clan members riding the saddle horses had trouble keeping their mounts from bolting or spinning in circles. Even Tywyll wouldn't remain still. And its activity wasn’t on the wing. The helwr kept hopping from the back of the seat to the wagon roof. Karst could hear its talons clacking with each step. After several circuits, the bird launched to its regular roost on the shoulder of one of the massive horses pulling the wagon. It rode for only a few footsteps before repeating its frantic back and forth.
Karst held up an arm, trying to coax the agitated helwr to roost. "Here, Tywyll."
The bird ignored the offering.
"Tywyll, land."
A loud squawk and in a flurry of black wings the helwr circled Karst’s head before landing on the wagon bench.
"No, Tywyll, I am not coming back there and chasing you." A breath to push out the frustration and Karst tried again. "Let this work," he prayed. His arm held up in the manner Brial taught him, he ordered, "Here, come."
The harsher tone broke through the bird's obstinance. It leaped to the hauler beast Karst walked beside and sank its talons into the leather harness. A trill and Tywyll folded its wings.
"Good boy." Karst encouraged. "Good, Tywyll." Gentle strokes calmed the helwr. Although it had ceased its frenetic activity, Karst realized the bird had a message. Now how to find out what it wants, he thought. It would be so much easier if Tywyll could speak. Mentally he went through the commands Brial had taught him. But nothing matched the situation. "What are you trying to tell me, boy?"
The helwr did not respond so Karst kept up the caresses. Unlike the earlier attempts to calm the black bird when it flew away, this time Tywyll just rocked in time to the beast’s movements.
Taking a cue from the bird, Karst tried to quiet his mind. Puffs of dust rose with every step. "Slow down," he told himself. "Tywyll will tell me what he wants." However, the logic did not quiet his excited nerves, or ease the worry for Brial. The physical activity finally pierced through his turbulent emotions and his pace slowed to that of a long-distance walker. Alone with his reflections, a desperation to uncover the secret, a need stronger than anything he had ever felt before, pulled at his soul.
THE COLDER AIR THAT came with sunset broke through Karst’s ruminations. He still hadn’t come up with an explanation for Tywyll’s behavior. Or, what the bird wanted him to do.
Keeping his voice soft so that only the helwr and the hauler beasts could hear, he ran his fingers from the bird’s head and down its back. When the helwr leaned in for more, Karst repeated the action until the bird whistled with pleasure. "Tywyll, is there something you want me to know?"
Unlike during the earlier attempts to communicate with him when the bird paced or flew away, the helwr rubbed its head against Karst’s hand. A snake of its neck and it had Karst's fingers in its beak, twisting the hand until his master was forced to face their backtrail. The bird’s orange eyes blazed with an intensity hot enough to start a fire. And, its gaze focused on one spot. The wagon that Brial walked alongside.
She staggered. Her flailing hands grabbed onto the hauler beast’s harness to stay upright. It responded to the additional weight and stopped. Before Karst could move, she had regained her footing, and although still unsteady ordered the team forward.
Fear froze Karst’s heart. Brial has the fever.
He whispered the words. Although he did not expect an answer, the helwr projected satisfaction as it bobbed its head.
Swift calculations on how long it would take to reach their campsite for the night added to Karst’s fear. I can’t do anything about Brial until we stop. Brial wouldn’t abandon her post. Could she last until the caravan circled their wagons for the night?
Only one solution to the problem came to mind. Terse commands sent the helwr to bring back Brial’s grandfather. Hopefully, Feldt can convince Brial what is best for her.
Hoofbeats announced the caravan leader’s arrival. "Tywyll said you wanted me?" Before Karst could answer the older man scanned the drivers of the following wagons. A worried expression on his face, he raised his eyebrows in question. "Brial?"
Karst forced out the words through his tight throat. "She has the fever."
"Are you sure?"
Different responses raced through Karst’s mind. He didn’t want to raise a false alarm but needed Feldt’s help. "I have not kissed her forehead like the gray-haired ones do to test the heat, but Brial has stumbled several times. She is shuffling and leans on the hauler beasts to stay upright." He paused to control his growing terror. "Tywyll and I are afraid she will fall under the hauler’s hooves or be run over by the wagons."
Feldt stayed silent so long Karst thought he had overplayed his hand. "The evening air has a chill to it. My granddaughter does seem more flushed than called for. You were right to call me, Karst. She will not leave her post unless I order her to. Wait here. I will talk to her." A kick sent his mount galloping past one slow-moving wagon after another to wheel beside Brial. The horse walked slowly, keeping pace with the wagon. The words Feldt spoke were unintelligible, but the shake of Brial’s head told of her rejection of whatever her grandfather had said.
The argument carried on for several minutes before Feldt stepped down from the saddle. No sooner had his feet touched the ground than Brial stumbled, falling to her knees. Dragged along, the force of the movement tore her hands from the harness.
"No!" Throat muscles spasmed with the force of the scream. Even though he knew he could not reach her in time, he had to try to save her. His body refused demands to race to Brial. He couldn’t move. "No.o.o" This time the sound came out as a moan.
Feldt reached out and wrapped his large hands around Brial’s waist. Only her grandfather’s strong grasp kept her from falling underneath the wagon wheels. A single tug lifted her from the ground. He stepped into the saddle and with Brial cradled in his arms returned to Karst in a trail of dust.
Karst finally let out the air from his lungs. The candlemarks since Brial's nearly fatal accident were longer than a moonless night of dead winter. She now rested beneath a blanket in the wagon. Her body not yet showing the ravages Karst knew would come all too soon.
Feldt’s hand on his shoulder pulled Karst from his vision. "You know what to do?"
Unsure of his voice, Karst merely nodded.
"Do what you can for Brial. Food will be sent over."
Karst nodded an acknowledgment. "Who drives Saffir’s wagon? It might reassure Brial when she wakes up." He left unsaid his greatest fear. If she wakes up.
"Tell her not to worry. Emrys may be young, but he is adept with the hauler beasts. He has the reins well in hand." A smile flickered in his eyes at some unshared memory. "Brial should know. She trained him."
Only the slight shift of the wagon marked the other man's leaving. Karst bowed his head. For several moments he prayed to the volcano goddess worshipped by his kin. In the tradition of the land Clan Vreis came from he added, "Ancestors preserve your descendent, Brial. Guard her in this world." His voice cracked. "And in the next."
Terror enveloped Karst. Brial could die. And it would be my fault. He chopped the thought into tiny splinters and then stomped them into dust. Brial’s features, peaceful in repose, seemed a sharp contrast to the turbulence of his thoughts. His eyes strayed to his sleeping charge, and the growing connection he felt with her. Does Brial feel the same?
He grabbed onto Feldt’s parting as a beacon of hope. "The healer should arrive by morning."
"She has to," Karst breathed.
This time when it rose the panic chilled his soul. Brial must live. The traders need her. And, he admitted, so do I.
DENEAS WOKE WITH A start. Her heart raced and her fingers clenched as if they held a sword. But her senses registered no sign of trouble in the cottage. The remaining coals from the night’s fire glowed in the hearth and provided enough light to see no intruders had entered unnoticed. Soft snores came from the corner where Trelleir lay curled up beneath a blanket on the other bench. She tried to force herself to relax. None of her or Trelleir’s enemies knew of the village and the cold season now ending would have prevented anyone from reaching the river settlement. To ensure no danger came from outside, she cast her senses beyond the wooden walls of the guest quarters provided by the leader of the village. The sun had not yet risen over the cliffs and like Trelleir, the village slept.
She remembered her and Trelleir’s first visit to the settlement. They had just rescued the village leader’s daughter from the gang of bandits who had kidnapped her. The escape on an improvised raft had been hard. Even though his dragon strength was muted by his being in human form, without Trelleir, Leri and I would have drowned. At least, Leri regained consciousness to greet her father and declare us as friends before the village men attacked. Deneas smiled at the way the burly Keyne had held the ten-year-old. No one would think such a big man could be so gentle.
With no threat detectable and unable to capture whatever dream ruined her slumber, Deneas pulled the blanket up to her neck and with a determined effort relaxed enough to fall back to sleep.
This time when she woke, there was no fear, no panic, just the chill of the early dawning. She gave a leonine stretch. Muscles not yet recovered from the previous day’s hunting expedition voiced their objection. Then, she mused, the meeting with Keyne and his mother, the healer Betrys, had lasted long into the night. And emptied several flagons of wine in celebration of the hunt’s success.
A knock at the door, loud enough to be heard, yet not intrude if the hut’s occupants were sleeping, announced someone’s request for an audience. Deneas pulled her sword from beneath the sleeping furs and moved to the door. As she had the night before, she cast her senses to the village beyond. The use of magic was still relatively new to her, and since it came from a splinter of Trelleir’s that he had put in the amulet she now wore around her neck rather than her own inherent ability, she made no move to lift the plank from the lock bars.
"Go ahead, Den," came Trelleir’s quiet words from behind her.
Comforted by the knowledge she would not be facing any potential trouble alone, Deneas opened the door. No armed men stood on the threshold, merely an old woman leaning on an intricately carved wooden staff. A woven basket lay on the ground beside her. Her light hazel eyes shone with the intelligence of a lifetime of learning.
"Good morn, Betrys," Deneas said.
"And to you."
Trelleir slipped out the door and picking up the basket in one hand, proffered an arm to the village elder. "If you would honor me?"
Laughing, Deneas moved out of the way and gestured them in. "What brings you to our door this morning?" She took a deep breath and added. "Besides the fresh bread I smell."
"Besides bringing something to break your fast, I needed to talk to you in private. Keyne’s and my plans to meet the trading caravan have changed. In addition to bartering fish for some of their goods, the forest drums carried a request for a healer." Her head bowed and her long braid of gray hair slid over one shoulder. When she lifted her head, her eyes no longer sparkled, but held the sadness of loss. "I know we had invited you to come trade with us, but you should know the risks. Several of the oldsters of Clan Vreis have succumbed to a fever. I can’t ask..."
"You don’t have to, Betrys. Of course, we will go," Deneas and Trelleir said in unison. Another reason for the healer’s hesitation came to Deneas. "You want to leave Leri behind and use us as the excuse?"
A hint of a smile flickered on the older woman’s face. "My granddaughter will be upset as this was to be her first trading visit as my assistant, but I don’t want to take her into that dangerous a situation. There will be other trading visits. At 12 years old she will have many more chances to make them."
Rumblings from Trelleir’s stomach, and her own, reminded Deneas of what her friend had brought. Setting the bread on a plate, she sliced off several pieces and handed them out. "Are there any other changes of plans we should know about?"
"So that we can get there faster, we’ll be riding the pack animals to the meeting with the caravan and pulling sleds rather than using the hauler beasts and a wagon." She tilted her head as if considering her words. "Trelleir, Deneas, I know the two of you had not planned to continue your search for his lost kin until the weather warmed a little more. If you don’t want to walk back with us to the village, I am sure Clan Vreis will provide transport if you want to journey on with them. Or they can arrange with the other trading caravans if your travels do not run the same trails."
As they ate and finalized the details of the next day’s departure, something in the healer’s manner bothered Deneas. What had Betrys left unsaid?