Chapter Fourteen Odessa #2
The river cut from one coast of Ozarth to the other. There was no going around.
His gaze drifted over my shoulder to the hilt of my sword. “I’ll take that from you.”
“No.” Not a chance I was giving up my only weapon and a gift from Ransom. Besides, it was worth well more than two darrics.
“Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “Back away.”
“Here.” Wells took two other coins from his pocket. “Let them cross.”
The ferryman walked over and took them from Wells. He bit one, making sure it was real, then he waved us onto his ferry.
“Thank you, Wells.” I swung off Freya, helping Evie out of the saddle as the ferryman untied the boat. “I will repay you.”
“Keep that sword. Keep that girl alive. Payment enough.” The old man walked to the edge of the boat, taking a seat on the floorboards as he pulled off his boots and rolled up his pants.
As the ferryman hauled in the planks and pushed away from the shore, Wells dropped his feet into the river.
The Harrow was so wide I could barely see the other shore in the fading light. But the water was calm, lapping against the boat’s sides.
We flowed downstream for a bit until the boat caught the current. Then the ferryman steered us with a large oar off the stern.
“How does he get back upstream to the other side?” I asked Wells.
“The ferrymen float from side to side, dropping passengers along the way. He’ll pick up others and cross back tomorrow, always working downstream.
Usually they go about ten landings. Then they’ll dismantle the boat, load it into wagons, and come back to the top.
This is the farthest landing from Skanshon. ”
“Are there boats that go straight to Skanshon?”
“Yes. But they aren’t cheap. And there are too many men on this river who’d let you keep that sword to take payment in other ways, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes.” It wasn’t only monsters I had to fear on this journey. Men could be just as cruel.
“Don’t stay long in the camps,” Wells said, his voice low. “When we get there, whatever way the ferryman walks, you go the opposite.”
“Understood.” I glanced over my shoulder, finding the ferryman’s eyes waiting.
The hungry look in his gaze made me shiver. I pulled Evie closer, keeping a hand around her waist as she skimmed her fingers on the water’s surface.
It was nearly dark when we made it to the opposite shore.
Fires burned in barrels, lighting the landing. Like the other side of the river, tan canvas tents were clustered in the grass, most with their own campfire burning, too.
“May Daria grant you luck on your journey.” Wells gave me a single nod farewell, then climbed on his cart and drove through the camp.
The ferryman was still busy with his boat, so while he was distracted, I put Evie in the saddle with Faze, leading them as I walked through the tents, keeping my head down as I passed.
Ahead, Wells’s cart rolled past a small wooden cabin. He twisted back and pointed to the building, and then he was gone, swallowed up by the tents.
I quickened my steps, walking straight for the house.
The sound of children’s laughter erupted as the door blew open and five kids streamed outside. A round woman with olive skin and long, brown hair shooed them away, lingering in the door’s frame to smile at the brood.
She was about to turn back inside when she spotted me. Her eyes narrowed as she wiped her hands on a threadbare apron.
“Um, hi.” I offered a kind smile, hoping she’d take pity on us tonight. “My name is Odessa. This is Evie. We’re just passing through, and I was wondering if you have a safe place where we could sleep tonight. We traveled this way with Wells. From Norcrest.”
Shades, I hoped she knew Wells, because I’d forgotten to ask if that was his first or last name.
The woman’s gaze was inscrutable as she gave me a once-over, then Evie. Only then did her expression soften. Maybe it was the blue starburst in Evie’s eyes that matched the woman’s own. Or maybe she simply had a gentle heart for children.
“You can sleep in the lean-to off the side of the house. It’s not much, but it’ll keep the rain off.”
“Thank you.” I sighed. “I don’t have any coin.”
She waved a dismissive hand, then led us to the lean-to.
It wasn’t more than a wooden roof and a few piles of straw. But there was a post to tie up Freya and a trough of clear water. An oil lantern hung from a hook on the wall.
“Water pump is around back to wash up before dinner.”
“Oh, you don’t need—”
“Wash up before dinner,” she ordered.
“Of course.” I dropped my chin, feeling like I’d just been chided by my stepmother.
If only Margot could see me now. She’d be aghast at the state of my clothes and hair. Who knew what we’d look like by the time we made it to Quentis.
The mental image of her horror-struck face when we walked into her pristine, gleaming castle almost made me laugh.
Evie and I unloaded our things and left Freya to graze while we washed our faces and hands at the water pump. Then we went inside the cabin, where the woman handed us each a loaf of warm bread and a bowl of stew.
I opened my mouth to say thanks and ask her name, but she pointed to the small table.
“Eat.” Then she was gone, marching out the door.
So we ate.
As soon as our bowls were empty, I washed them in a tub of soapy water, set them aside to dry, and took Evie back to the lean-to.
We saved the bread for a hungrier day.
Not once in my life had I feared for food. If I was hungry, all I’d ever had to do was ask. A meal was not something I’d take for granted again.
I lit the lantern and hung it to illuminate the space, then spread out our blanket over the straw, tucking Evie beside me as the prattle of the children returning home carried inside.
Shouts and singing drifted from the tents, a few peals of feminine laughter mingling with the voices of men.
The mood was jovial and light. No one seemed panicked or worried about the migration. Maybe word of the scout hadn’t reached this part of Ozarth yet?
Tomorrow, I’d mention it to the woman so she could take her children somewhere safe.
Evie yawned as Faze explored the lean-to, sniffing and marking his new territory.
The fangs on his lower jaw were beginning to protrude above his lip. His stripes seemed more pronounced each day. And I’d felt another row of scales growing in along his spine when I pet him earlier.
There were more tarkin in Ozarth than there were in any other of the five kingdoms. Maybe this would be the safest place to let him go. Let him find his way back to being more wild than tame.
But I couldn’t imagine leaving him behind. Not just for Evie’s sake, but mine, too. Besides, he was too young. It was too dangerous.
“Dess?” Evie said, snuggling into my side. “Will you read me another story?”
“Sure.” I reached for my satchel, taking out the journal in the old language. I flipped to one of the entries I’d already translated and knew was safe for her small ears.
It was an entry I’d been pondering ever since Brother Skore’s mysterious instructions yesterday.
There is a warrior in Calandra. A warrior who will save this realm. Find her.
“‘A woman sits atop a brown horse,’” I read, squinting in the dim light.
…
Her body is covered in gray leather and metal armor, the silver pieces reflecting the afternoon sun. Her braided hair is as pale as the clouds.
Her cheek is inked with a row of four-pointed stars, their thin black points as sharp as needles. They stretch from the side of her nose, beneath her eye, to the largest that covers her temple.
She is surrounded by sand and dunes. Her eyes are lined with kohl and are as bright as flames as she searches the sky. She hears the caw before she sees the falcon, and as the bird soars over her head, she extends her arm, wrapped in leather from wrist to elbow.
The falcon lands on her arm, adjusting his perch as she unfastens a ribbon tied to his leg. She sighs at the message written on a small scroll, then crumples it into her fist and tosses it at her horse’s feet.
She strokes the bird’s wing, then releases him back into the wind.
With a fluid swing, she is off her horse and walking through the sand, shedding her weapons and armor piece by piece.
By the time she sheds the last of her uniform, a heavy breastplate laced at her ribs, the other pieces are being swallowed by the sand.
She stops and looks to the sky. She lifts both arms, stretching them wide like wings. And the smile on her face says she’s finally free.
…
Evie touched the corner of the page as I finished reading. “Who do you think she is?”
“A warrior.” Was she the person Brother Skore intended for me to find?
“Cathlin has white hair.”
“She does.” I smiled down at Evie.
“I miss Cathlin.”
“So do I.”
A throat cleared from the dark, making us both jump.
“Sorry.” A man in a long overcoat with a hood pulled over his head stepped warily into the light, both hands raised in peace. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What do you want?” I reached for the sword on the ground at my side.
“Wells is a friend. My name is Sryker. You met my wife.” He pointed to the cabin. “Edda.”
“Oh.” The breath I’d been holding came out in a rush as I set down my sword. “Thank you for letting us stay here tonight.”
He nodded, about to turn away, but stopped. Slowly, like he didn’t want to scare us, he lifted off his hood. And when he stepped farther into the light, Evie’s body went rigid.
So did mine.
Three large scars marred his face. A black patch covered a missing eye. And the coat I hadn’t seen clearly until just now was made of a fabric I’d never seen before. A fabric of lime-green scutes.
This was the man from the journal. The man who’d killed an alligask and used its hide for his clothes.
“Wells told me you’re going south. To Quentis,” Sryker said.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll need a guide through the bogs. We’ll leave at first light.”
“Thank you.” A part of me wanted to ask why he was offering his help. But the other part was simply grateful to accept it. “We’ll be ready.”
He walked away, toward the house.
“Wait here,” I told Evie, hurrying to stand and chase after him. If he was in the journal, maybe he knew this warrior, too. “Excuse me, Sryker?”
“Yes?” He turned.
“I’m searching for a warrior. A woman.”
“The only warriors around here are the Mavins. I don’t know if there are any women, though.”
“Mavins? Who are they?”
“Mercenaries, mostly. For the right price, you won’t find a better lot of fighters.” He chuckled. “They’re almost as famous as the Guardian. Have you heard of him?”
I traced the scar on my palm. “Once or twice.”