C21 Chapter 21
The moon rose, and with it came a steady pulse of crickets. The four travelers slept until the wolves began to howl.
Brenn woke first. He sat up and listened. The moon was almost full, visible above the small clearing. He took a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes. The wolves howled again, long and sad.
Brenn stood and patted the sand from his pants and shirt. He slung his pack onto his shoulder, walked behind the curved cedar log, stepping over Keren and Denzin, and picked up the sword that lay against the trunk. It was wrapped in a wolfskin sheath, heavy and sharp. He belted the sword around his waist and said, ”Everyone wake up.”
Keren rolled over. Bryden stood with all the speed of a trained animal, eyes puffy with sleep, teetering with exhaustion. Denzin snored.
”Wake up, Denzin,” said Brenn. ”Keren, someone's coming.”
Keren rose to her feet, yawned, and stretched. Denzin rolled over.
”Denzin, now.”
The wolves howled again. Bryden's sleep-swollen eyes opened wide. ”What is that?” he asked.
”Wolves,” Brenn said. ”Keren, get your things. Put on your shoes.”
”What's happening?” Keren asked, putting on her own backpack.
”Someone's coming,” Brenn said again. ”Denzin! We'll leave you behind, I swear to Odlik.”
”What are wolves?” Bryden asked.
”Those things that are howling. The Fenwood is full of them. Denzin!”
”Why are they coming for us?” Keren asked. ”That doesn't make any sense.”
”Not the wolves. Men. Angry men with weapons.”
”But why?” Keren's voice broke.
Denzin made it to his feet. His hair was mussed and stuck up everywhere except the back, which was flatly plastered to his head where he had slept on it. He smacked his lips.
”They're looking for him,” Brenn said, nodding at Bryden.
”That's what the wolves say?” Bryden asked. ”Sir? Brenn?”
”Men are coming for him?” Keren said. ”Then, this is none of our business! Let's wait for them and give him over. He isn't worth—”
”Shame on you.” Brenn glared at her, and she looked away. ”Come on, Denzin.” He grabbed Denzin by the arm and tugged him along, then looked at Bryden. ”Did you know you were being followed? Keren's right, this doesn't concern us, but if you don't want to go back with those people, you'd better come with us. And keep up. It's dark but walk with a purpose. The wolves say the men are still a ways off.”
They left the mountain pond and the yellow sand, making their way through the cedars of the Fenwood. In the dark, everything was in shades of grey. The wolves howled again, and Brenn stopped to listen. When the howling stopped, the group continued onward with Brenn leading them through the grey woods.
He took them north with sure steps and long strides. At times Bryden and Denzin fell behind, and Brenn stopped long enough for their short legs to catch up. Brenn carried the boys over creeks and fallen logs. They hiked for well over an hour, hearing wolves howl in the distance. Keren kept an eye on Bryden all the while.
”W-w-where are w-we going?” asked Denzin.
”Someplace safe to sleep,” Brenn said, not turning around to say it.
”Are w-we supposed to talk?”
”No.”
Brenn stopped when they came to a crumbling stone structure.
”Here,” he said. He slung off his pack, dropping it to the ground, and put his hand on the pommel of his sword. ”Inside.”
The building once had four walls and a roof. But now there was no roof, and one of the walls was halfway gone from the top and side. It was built from rough stone blocks, which served as good holds for the creeping vines and roots that stretched over and around it. The ruin was grey, like everything in the woods that night.
Bryden, Denzin, and Keren went inside. Denzin and Bryden sat against one wall, and Keren sat beside Denzin. Brenn sat in what was once the doorway. It had eroded over the decades until there was nothing but a small overhang of stone connecting two walls. He slid the sword from its sheath and laid it across his lap, then took a whetstone from his pack, spit on it, and sharpened the blade. Moonlight glinted from the sword as he flipped it from side to side.
”Is it okay to talk now?” Denzin whispered.
”I'd rather not make it easier for them to find us.” Brenn spit on his stone again.
”B-b-being quiet m-makes it w-w-worse.” Denzin looked at Bryden. ”M-m-makes it scarier.”
”Well,” said Brenn. He looked at the moon. ”I haven't heard the wolves for a while. Maybe it would be alright to talk for a minute. Keep your voices down, though.”
Denzin picked through the rubble of crumbled stone that lay strewn about the place. He arranged them in columns of four and rows of four. ”Tell us a story. Something.”
”What story?” The rhythm of the whetstone accompanied the song of the crickets.
”I don't think Buh-Bryden has heard about the drovak. Not if he's f-f-from Sawelas.” Denzin looked up from his rows and columns to Bryden. ”Have you?”
Bryden shook his head.
”Are you Soduqir?” Brenn asked.
”No, sir. But the warden is.”
”Who's that?”
Bryden swallowed. ”Probably who's coming.”
”Ah.” Brenn stopped his sharpening for a stroke and stared into the trees. ”Do you have a faith?”
”Lorem says the best thing to have faith in is yourself.”
”Is he your father?”
”I don't know my father.”
”What about your mother?”
”She died.”
”I'm sorry. My father went missing a while back.” The rhythm of sharpening strokes continued. A breeze blew through the building, rustling the leaves that grew on the vines. ”It's been about twelve years now.”
Denzin finished organizing his rocks, cleared them away, and started over. ”Tell him ab-bout the drovak.”
”Some other time,” Brenn said, peering into the darkness. ”Not now.”
The cedars swayed in the wind. Clouds gathered around the moon until it glowed behind them. No bird flew, no rabbit or fox ran across the fallen needles. Brenn stood in the doorway, sword tip in the ground and hands resting on the pommel. He scanned the trees, listening, not speaking, barely breathing.
”What is this place, sir?” Bryden interrupted. Keren and Denzin jumped at his voice.
”A church,” said Brenn. ”A hundred years ago. See that symbol?” He pointed above himself to the overhanging bit of door frame. Moonlight shone through a small hollow carving of a circle divided down the middle. ”The symbol of the old church. They believed in a duality of everything, much like how we do in the Valk. The Mother and Father, their gods were called. The Mother represented love, nature, that sort of thing. The Father was science, logic, things that can be counted and built. They destroyed the religion and all its churches a long time ago.”
”Who did, sir?”
”The Sawelan Soduqir.” Brenn shifted his feet and traded hand positions on the sword pommel.
”That's a big sword, sir.”
”It is. Heavy, too.”
”Can I...could I hold it?”
Denzin chuckled, and Keren cracked a smile with her eyes closed.
”This sword is as tall as you,” Brenn said. ”It probably weighs more than you. You'd drop it and cut your foot off.”
Bryden looked down at the floor and wrapped his arms around himself.
The howling of wolves filled the air.
”Everyone be quiet and stay in the shadows,” Brenn whispered. ”They're here.”
The cricket's ceased their chirping, and the air was still. The clouds grew dense over the moon, and darkness shrouded the Fenwood. The wolves' howling became a painful silence.
Brenn stood in the doorway of the ancient and crumbling church with his sword in hand. The blade stood in the old stone floor, now cracked and covered with dirt. Bryden, Denzin, and Keren huddled together in a corner, out of sight of the doorway.
Shadows passed through the trees. They moved in silence, walking on four legs. Then the two-legged footsteps approached, crunching through the brittle grass, cedar needles, and fallen twigs. More came, and soon a dozen pairs of feet stomped to the church.
Brenn's eyes widened, then narrowed. His chest extended, and his back straightened. The others saw him as eight feet tall. In the dark, black figures came through the trees, and once came closer than the others.
”That's close enough, brother,” said Brenn, his voice deep and commanding.
The man stopped. ”And who commands me?” His voice was smooth like sour milk, not yet curdled.
”Only a traveler.”
”Forgive the intrusion,” said the man in the dark, ”but we're searching for a fugitive, and we heard voices. How many are in your group?”
”Myself, two brothers, and my sister. Leave us in peace, if you don't mind. You interrupted our sleep, and we have a long day ahead of us.”
There was a rustle of footsteps behind the wall where the other three hid. A hooded man looked through a break in the wall and said, ”Imam, he is here.” His voice was full of gravel. The blood drained from Bryden's face.
Brenn stepped closer to the shadowed man. ”My brother has no quarrel with you or your men. Leave us.”
”As it happens,” said the man with the sour voice, stepping around Brenn in a half-circle, ”this one is not your brother.” The man could now see through the door at an angle, meeting Bryden's eyes. Bryden's stomach lurched.
”He is,” said Brenn.
”Not so. He escaped from my custody, and I am bringing him back.”
”And who are you to command him?” Brenn did not blink. He had not blinked since the men's arrival.
”Thamon Kufer, warden of the Yodhuinmo mines, imam to the prophet, may God bless his name.” He touched his forehead and mouth with his thumbnail. The other men did the same as they stood in the shadows.
The warden stepped forward.
”If you value your life and the life of your men,” said Brenn, ”you won't take another step.” He raised his sword, the tip mere inches from the warden's chest.
The warden paused. ”Young man, innocent as you may be, we will not hesitate to kill you. The by belongs to me, to the prophet, and to God Himself. It is written in the Bagh'ra—”
”Don't talk to me about your offensive interpretation of the Soduqir scripture.”
The warden puffed up and spat at Brenn's feet. ”Northerling, follower of the pagan path, you and your kind will burn in Hell, and God will not admit to knowing you. I would not lose a blink of sleep if I took your head and the heads of your brother and sister—”
”Your own head would roll before you could give the command.” Brenn's voice rose angrily over the treetops. Some distance away, a wolf barked.
The warden sighed and nodded, his thin lips stretching into a sort of smile. He looked at Bryden and said, ”Nebik.”
”Imam,” said the man poking his head through the wall above the other three.
”We're finished here. Take the boy.”
Nebik reached down the hole through the wall and grabbed Bryden by the hair. Bryden screamed.
Denzin lunged over the broken wall at Nebik and got hold of his hood. Keren pulled him back, and the black hood came off of Nebik's head, revealing short black hair and sunken eyes. Nebik smiled with brown teeth. A sharp arrow skidded across the stone floor near Keren's foot. The warden reloaded his crossbow. Brenn leaped at him with his sword extended. The warden's men made for Brenn, each unsheathing their own curved swords. Nebik lifted Bryden over the broken wall by the hair, and Bryden felt his scalp pull and hair rip out by the roots.
Nebik threw Bryden over his massive shoulder. He smelled like sweat and milk. The warden appeared at Nebik's side and placed a hand on Bryden's cheek. His blue eyes and brown eye bore into him.
”Don't worry,” the warden whispered. ”I will do nothing more than what God decrees just for the punishment of this sin. For it is written: A small bandage on a large wound will surely cause it to fester.”
Nebik and the warden turned south. Bryden's head swam, and the stench of Nebik made his stomach curl. He bobbed up and down on Nebik's shoulder, then puked down the man's back.
Nebik cursed and dropped Bryden to the ground. Bryden landed hard, biting his tongue. He tasted blood.
Nebik tore a piece of his cloak and wiped the vomit away as best he could. The vomit dripped down his back and onto the ground, smelling of beans.
The warden stepped toward him and lay a hand on the clean shoulder. ”Are you alright?” he asked.
”Of course, imam. It's only puke.”
”Is the boy alright?”
Nebik looked down at Bryden. ”Looks like it.”
”Good. Pick him up.”
Nebik stopped midway through wiping his cloak and stared at Bryden, who lay motionless. He threw the messy piece of cloak to the side and hefted Bryden back over his shoulder. Bryden's face rubbed into his own vomit, getting into his nostrils and hair and mouth. His stomach turned again.
”If I could carry him myself,” the warden said, ”I would kill you for your negligence.”
Nebik's mouth opened and closed. He nodded and cast his eyes downward.
”The boy is more important than you know,” said the warden. ”Important to Yodhuinmo. Important to me. Important to the prophet.”
Nebik cleared his throat. ”Forgive me. I didn't realize.”
”When we return, we will read from God's book and determine what penance is fit for your sin.”
Nebik bowed his head, holding Bryden as he moved. ”Of course.”
The warden's other men ran past them, bleeding and screaming. Some did not show at all.
”What is this?” the warden shouted.
