Into the Narrowdark, page 47
And without waiting to hear his reply, she scrambled along the length of the branch like a squirrel—or a Chikri, Morgan could not help thinking—and then leaped to another good-sized branch on an oak whose boughs almost reached the yew tree’s. Morgan took a deep breath, made the sign of the Tree, and then jumped after her. It was not far, but only his months of climbing allowed him to reach it without an embarrassing and perhaps dangerous fall; he had to cling to the branch with both arms until he could get a leg up onto it.
“You climb like a bear cub,” she said, then began to make her way through the spreading oak. Morgan sighed and followed her.
* * *
* * *
They continued moving from tree to tree through the middle hours of the night. When a weary Morgan sometimes grew careless, Nezeru let him know it without ever raising her voice, goading him on until they had put at least half a league between themselves and the ruins of Reaching Hand Tower. When she decided they were finally safe from Sacrifice patrols, she waited for Morgan to catch up, then pointed down to a rocky outcrop that reminded him of the place he had first encountered ReeRee.
“There is a hole in it,” she whispered. “Perhaps big enough for us to take shelter.”
“Big enough for snakes,” he said, though it was too dark for him to make out anything much. “Or leopards.”
“There are no leopards in this forest,” she said. “Nor anywhere north of the great southern desert. I have never been here before, but I know that. What do they teach you in your mortal cities?”
“What makes you think I was listening to my tutors?” he said, but his irritation was eased by the idea that they might finally get to rest. He followed her, but one of his feet slipped several times on the way down. When he reached the ground he sat on a bulging root and quickly discovered the reason.
“I’ve lost one of my climbing irons!” He stood. “I have to go back and find it.”
“You would be a fool,” she said. “Unless you know where it fell.”
He shook his head. “No. I only just noticed.”
“Enough, then. Forget it. Let us have a look at this hole—or cave. I am very hungry.”
Morgan allowed her to lead him through to the outcrop. Nezeru, who he knew had better eyes than he, got down on hands and knees and peered in. “Something was here once,” she said. “But not for some time, I think.” She crawled in.
Morgan was relieved to discover that the crevice was larger than it had seemed from the outside, high enough that he could sit up if he bent a bit. He could see nothing except a patch of dark blue night sky at the top of the opening. He spread his cloak out on the ground, preparing to lie down and sleep. Then he felt a cool hand on his neck.
“You are thoughtful,” she said. “I would not have believed it of a mortal.”
“Huh?” It was not one of his wittier responses, but he had left his wits far behind, somewhere near the outskirts of Da’ai Chikiza. “Thoughtful?”
“I would have laid myself down on the ground without a thought. We are trained that way. But if we are to feed my hunger, this is better.”
He was still trying to catch up. He wanted to eat something, but at this moment he wanted to sleep more. If she wanted to share the blanket, he would not object, but he hoped she would sleep without too much thrashing. It had been a confusing day and he could barely think. He was about to explain this to her when he felt her hand slide down the side of his chest until she reached the laces of his breeks and began untying them.
“What are you doing?” he asked, although even in his weariness that seemed fairly clear.
“I told you—I am hungry. Your kissing and your rubbing have given me a fierce, fierce appetite.” He heard her shucking off her clothes, the dull clack as she tossed aside her armor. A moment later she was finishing with the ties of his breeks.
Traveling with a mortal enemy was turning out to be more complicated and unpredictable than Morgan would have ever guessed, but as Nezeru pushed herself against him and he felt the smooth coolness of her flesh against his side, he began to feel less tired.
“Ah,” she said. “So not all mortals flee from the touch of a Hikeda’ya woman.”
“Don’t handle me so roughly,” he said, wincing. “You have already convinced me.”
She went about it at first with a military stiffness that might have been learned from a master-of-arms instead of a lover—and perhaps it had been, he thought—but soon began to find her own way, accommodating herself to him with what seemed like genuine enjoyment. She was only a pale, moving shape, sometimes below him, sometimes above him, and he found it easy to forget who she was and who he was.
After their coupling was completed and they both lay gasping, damp with perspiration in the close confines of their hiding place, she insisted on trying it again—two more times. At the end, when they lay tangled together in such a muddle of naked limbs that an exhausted Morgan could barely tell in the dark where he left off and Nezeru began, she kissed him one last time, a soft and lengthy exploration that she ended with what seemed like reluctance.
“It has been,” she said—very quietly, perhaps because she spoke to herself or because she feared that Sacrifice troops might still be somewhere nearby—“a very interesting day.”
Morgan would have agreed if he had the strength. Instead, he fell asleep a scant few moments later with his head upon her breast and the soft murmur of her heart against his ear.
* * *
Qina made them stop so Tipalak could graze on the sparse grasses. The most recent snowfall had all but melted, and the ram happily picked among the few remaining white patches. Falku, Snenneq’s larger mount, never missed an opportunity to fill his stomach, and was ripping yellow grass from the ground before he had even dismounted.
He made his way to where Qina still sat on Tipalak’s back. She let him approach, struggling with an anger that she knew was not really her betrothed’s fault.
“Why do you give me those dark, unhappy eyes?” he asked with more than a touch of complaint. “They are like pissholes in the snow.”
“As usual, you know how to use flattery to reach a woman’s heart.”
His smile was cursory. “I did not mean it, dear one—not quite—but you look at me as though you wish you could set me on fire.”
“We have searched for days, Snenneq! We have walked far around the outskirts of this old Sithi city, hiding from Norn sentries and almost caught more times than I can count. When do we admit that we will not find Morgan here? If he is in the ruined city itself, we cannot reach him—not with so many enemies there. And we have been through the woods from one end to another without seeing any more trace of him.”
“But you were the one who said we must search for him!”
“No, I was the one who said we should take the news of what happened here south. You were the one who said we could not leave poor Prince Morgan alone.”
“But how can we? He has no one else to care for him, no one else to help him.”
Qina took a deep breath. “You are clever and strong, my dear Snenneq. No one could think more of you than me—not even yourself, and that is saying something. But you are as stubborn as a sledge-ram with scald in its hoof. When you set your mind to something you will not be pushed or pulled away from it, even when it is clear it will not work. You think that you and Morgan are destined to be companions, like my father and his friend King Simon. That is well and good, but you cannot ignore all else.”
Little Snenneq tossed aside the stick and appeared ready to say something truly unpleasant. Qina felt her eyes well with tears, though she felt more anger than sadness. A moment later, though, Snenneq’s round face turned sorrowful.
“I am stubborn. You are right, as you often are,” he said.
“As I always am,” she replied, but softened her voice to make it more of a jest. It was a rare man, she thought, among her own people or any other, who would ever admit his own mistakes. “You know many things I do not, beloved, but you live on the mountain of Might-Be, as my father likes to say. I am down here in the valley of Must-Be.”
He helped her off Tipalak’s broad back and they sat down on the ground, facing each other. “What do you propose?” he asked.
“I wish I had something to propose. I only know we cannot go on this way, hiding from our enemies but staying near them, all in the very thin hope of discovering Morgan. And we saw the great Norn army heading south—where my mother and father went.”
“So you wish to go south, to Erchester and the castle?”
“I wish to go home.” She held up her hand before he could protest. “I know that we cannot—not yet. We have made promises, some spoken, some only understood. But, in truth, what is all this to us? We were on our nuptial journey, but somehow instead found ourselves in the middle of a war. Yes, I wish with everything in me that we could turn our heads back toward Yiqanuc, that we could ride our rams home to beautiful, tall Mintahoq and have the life I wanted.” She shook her head. “But that would be a betrayal of what we set out to do here. Also, I cannot go home without knowing that my mother and father are safe.”
“Of course.” Snenneq’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Very well. I will offer you a proposal.”
“You already did that. That is why I am in such a situation. I do not think Yutu, the jacket-maker’s son, would have led me so far from home.”
He winced. “Ugly Yutu. He did not deserve you, and your parents never liked him. But if you wish to wound me, I will be forced to remind you that there were many others beside you who would have been proud to call Little Snenneq their ‘nukapik.’ ”
She laughed, genuinely amused. “Skinny Merewa? The one who looks like a bundle of sticks? Good luck staying warm at night with her sharing your cave.”
Snenneq swallowed another retort. “Let us declare a truce. And let me make a proposal—no, a suggestion.”
“Go on.”
“We have not gone all the length of the city. Most of the ruins at this northern end are gone, lost in a flood—you have seen the great stones in the river—but we may still go a little farther before we have looked at all ways in and out of the city. Let us ride a little farther north, past the last gates of the city, and if we still find no trace of Morgan there, then we will follow your parents south.”
It was what she wanted, but it still felt like defeat—like giving up. “What else can we do?” she said at last.
“Hope,” he said. “So join me for a little while, my love, on the mountain of Might-Be.”
* * *
* * *
Later that day they covered much of the area Snenneq had suggested without learning anything new. In the cool, wintry air, both rams and riders were growing thirsty.
“Let us take them down to the river,” Qina suggested. “We should be far enough beyond any sentries for it to be safe.”
They had gone scarcely a hundred ells down the slope toward the river when Snenneq’s huge ram balked, shaking his head, his nostrils huffing air. Qina’s own mount would not pass him.
“He is frightened of something,” she said.
“Nothing frightens Falku!” But Snenneq looked concerned. They tied the rams to a tree in a deep thicket and crept down the slope in cautious silence. Near the bottom, Snenneq put his hand on Qina’s back. “Down,” he whispered.
“Do you see something?”
“Hush.” When they were both on their hands and knees they crawled forward down the slope until they could see the bend of T’si Suhyasei gleaming like old silver. They moved to a great oak with roots knee-high above the ground—knee-high for trolls, at least—and peered carefully over them.
Below them, something was digging at the mire close to the river’s edge. They could see bits of mud being flung into the air. But nothing visible was doing the digging.
“What is it?” Qina whispered.
“I am not sure,” Snenneq said. “We watch.”
Within moments something appeared from the hole. At first Qina thought it was a rat or vole or some other burrowing creature, small and covered with mud. Then the thing turned back toward the hole and moments later several other small, soiled shapes followed it out onto the riverbank. Most of them crouched, but some actually stood upright, and what she saw made Qina gape. Some of the little creatures were wearing what looked like bits of ragged clothing.
“Qinkipa of the snows, are those boghanik?” she said in a small, shocked voice. “Do I truly see them?”
Snenneq covered his mouth with his hand, suggesting silence. Qina, who had never encountered boghaniki before, realized he was right to be cautious, because it soon became clear that there were more than a few. The tiny, manlike creatures that the mortals called bukken or sometimes “dirt goblins” were swarming out of the hole now. The hollow in the soft riverside mud became a little wider each time another group emerged, until it was as wide as the mouth of a large cooking-pot. The manlike creatures swarmed along the riverbank, and to judge by the chittering sounds they made, which were almost too high-pitched for Qina to hear, they were having a fierce argument.
As she watched she felt a wave of revulsion pass through her. It was not that they were small, ugly, and dirty that disturbed her so, although they were all those things. It was not even their history of swarming to attack and kill human travelers. Rather it was how much like people they were, with hands, feet, and even bits of tattered clothing visible beneath the muck. A few held weapons, crude spears made of sticks and stone chips. Some were so much smaller than the others that she could not doubt they were females or perhaps even children.
As she watched, one of the boghaniki turned to look up the hill toward the place where she and Snenneq hid. She could see the glitter of eyes in the grimy, tangled mat of hair and beard, and unlike the other goblins, this creature held a long metal blade clutched in its arms, something that looked like the corroded remains of a dagger.
Snenneq tapped her on the arm, then made a motion to indicate they should retreat. They did, crawling slowly back up the slope. Every moment Qina thought to hear the skitter of tiny feet behind her, or a shrill squeak as one of them spotted the trolls and raised the alarm, but she heard neither. After long, fearful moments they were back in the thicket with Falku and Tipalak.
“What are they doing here?” she demanded quietly as they untethered the rams. “They never leave the north.” She knew that the boghaniki had been driven away from the borders of their own land, Yiqanuc, many centuries earlier, in a famous struggle the trolls called “The Battle of the Hollows.” They were now remembered mainly in cautionary tales that Qanuc parents told to straying youngsters.
Snenneq nodded but did not reply until they were back on their rams and had traveled some distance up from the riverside. “Kuyu-kun, the Voice of the Dreaming Sea, spoke to us of dreams that had troubled all his changeling people, remember? That they had been called here for the end of everything.”
“Yes, but his people are Tinukeda’ya.”
“I am beginning to wonder how many creatures are not Tinukeda’ya,” he said. “Remember the ghant? And we saw kilpa in the river too, headed north like Kuyu-kun and his delvers. Kilpa are utterly unknown in this area—but now they are here. All drawn, it seems, by the same thing.
“So you think that the dreams Kuyu-kun spoke of have called these goblins, too? But that would mean . . .”
“That they, too, are Tinukeda’ya.” He shook his head. “It is all more than I can understand. How I wish your father were here!”
“No more than I do.” She guided her ram toward a line of tall old trees that crowned the top of the gentle slope. “I am wondering whether we should turn back now and get as far from this place as possible. From the old tales, those nasty things can appear anywhere, especially if they hear footsteps on the ground above them.”
“More even than your father’s presence,” Snenneq said, “I am wishing we had his wolf Vaqana with us. My Falku is brave and loyal, but he would not be much use against boghaniki, except perhaps to fall on some and crush them. But Vaqana would make short work of that entire troop, I think, and enjoy it greatly.”
“Perhaps,” she said, “but that is . . .”
He waited for her to finish, but she remained silent as their mounts made their way upslope toward the line of tall trees. “Qina?” he asked at last.
“I see something.” She slipped down from her ram’s woolly back, then went forward on foot. When she reached the nearest trees, she bent and plucked something out of the underbrush before turning to hurry back toward Snenneq. “I saw it shine,” she said, handing it to him.
Snenneq lifted the bits of metal tied with leather thongs and held it up to catch the fading daylight. “Daughter of the Mountains!” he breathed. “Qina, you have the eyes of a snow-owl! You are a prize beyond measure!”
“Your flattery is improving,” she said drily, but in truth she was flushed with pleasure. “It is Morgan’s, is it not? The ice-shoe you made for him?”
“It is, so it is!” He turned to her with a wide grin. “He has been here!”
“Yes—but going which direction? Toward the old city, or away from it?”
“We will know that only when we have climbed some trees,” he said. “He was not wearing it for walking on ice, that is plain. It could be he has been climbing trees, as we saw before. We need only find which trees and follow the marks—the likelihood is that he approached them always from the same direction, so the marks of these blades should show us his direction.” He rubbed the mud off the ice-shoe, then dropped it into his bag. “Will he not be surprised when I hand it back to him?”
Qina thought this was perhaps looking a little too far ahead, but she could not help feeling relieved. They still knew little about where Morgan was or what he might be doing, but at least they had something now besides questions. “I do not have the strength to climb any trees now,” she said. “Let us find a place to rest. I do not want to be stumbling around these woods in the dark with Norns and goblins and only all-seeing Sedda-knows-what-else roaming around.”
