Chapter Eight #3
Another ache of longing racked him so forcefully he had to close his eyes and grip the rail.
If only he had the familiar comfort of his favorite tales with him in Ergh, the time would pass so much more quickly.
There was nothing to be done for it but soldier on.
Jem had to focus on representing his people with dignity.
He stared up at the cliffs of Rusk, people gathering atop.
He couldn’t see them well at a distance.
Soon he trudged behind Cador up the path cut into rock, a zigzagging trail too steep to ride.
His legs burned, and he could certainly see why there were no carriages on Ergh if the land was all this harsh.
Jem felt the needles of the Erghians’ curious attention.
He could handle curious—it was the hostile looks boring into him that had him tripping over his own feet.
He stumbled, and Cador hauled him up, his stride not faltering.
Jem would have thanked him, but he couldn’t spare the breath.
His heart pounded and sweat gathered on his lower back despite the chill.
The people of Rusk wore the same kind of clothing—leather skins, furs, rough material.
Some women wore thick skirts, others trousers.
There wasn’t a color in evidence brighter than a child’s dark green hat, and Jem was like a beacon in his red cloak.
He felt foolish and small, and gods, so very cold as snow fell anew.
People hugged roughly and spoke low, the villagers all seeming quite serious. There were hardly any smiles, and Jem wondered why it wasn’t a more joyous reunion with the traveling party.
The boy with the green hat seemed too old to be carried, yet a stone-faced woman held him before passing him to Bryok. Jem presumed she was his wife. Her skin was a light copper, her hair dark and knotted tightly.
She approached, and instead of calling to Cador or greeting him with a smile or wave, she stepped in his path. Although thin—her granite face bordering on gaunt—there was something bullish about her. A good match for Bryok, Jem presumed.
“Creeda,” Cador said, his smile not coming close to dimpling his cheeks. “Are you well?”
For several moments, she merely stared up at him. Ignoring his question, she said, “Come to the house for a feast. Hedrok misses you. All the children do.”
Cador’s gaze flicked to the too-old boy Bryok carried.
He waved to the child with a grin that still wasn’t true.
To Creeda, he said, “Soon. I’m not free to feast.” He looked to Jem at his shoulder with a rueful twist of his expression.
Not quite a sneer, but certainly not a smile. “Let me greet him now.”
Cador went to Bryok and the boy, presumably Hedrok, giving him a long embrace and speaking to him with what looked to Jem like false cheer. Curious, Jem moved to join them, but Creeda blocked his way.
Her eyes were narrowed with suspicion. Did the people of Ergh hate mainlanders they’d never met on principle? Had the clerics made such a bad impression? Well… That was certainly possible. Not Onan’s greatest ambassadors unless the Erghians enjoyed being lectured and bored silly.
Creeda stalked away to her husband while Cador continued to speak with her son.
Delen approached her and they hugged tightly.
Jem hung back, letting Cador have his privacy.
When he returned, Jem opened his mouth to ask what was wrong with the boy, but instead found himself scurrying to catch Cador’s long strides.
The buildings in Rusk were constructed of rough stone and timber, the main part of the village clustered in the distance.
Certainly no castles in evidence, with the largest building long and low, and none of the houses more than a single level.
No rolling fields of flowers stretched to the horizon, nor was there any evidence of the lush, green vegetation of Neuvella.
In the leaden sky, large birds of prey cawed in greedy cries instead of trilling songs that hung on the breeze.
Jem had never worked with the taloned eagles of the mainland since they were only common in the West. These birds of Ergh looked impossibly huge, more like flying beasts than the fluttering creatures Jem knew.
People stared outright at him now, hissing to each other, the news of the marriage clearly spreading through Rusk.
Jem’s cheeks burned, but he forced himself to keep his head high, his gaze on Cador’s broad back as he trailed behind him.
There was no presentation of him to the townsfolk.
No introduction to any of the people who greeted Cador as he made his way.
Evergreens like in Ebrenn grew deep and forbidding beyond the village, unlike any sun-dappled forest Jem had seen before.
As much as he loved trees, he wasn’t eager to venture near.
Naturally, toward the forest was precisely where Cador marched, Jem scurrying to keep up, the pressure of hundreds of eyes boring into him.
He breathed a sigh of relief when they neared a stable, apparently leaving the main area of Rusk and its people behind. A young man with long dark hair tied back led a truly massive stallion outside, its midnight coat gleaming.
The man stared curiously at Jem, giving him a tentative smile after handing over the reins to Cador.
But he said nothing before disappearing inside.
No introduction. Jem supposed Ergh had never had the opportunity to welcome a visitor before aside from the clerics, and the clerics would be tiresome guests.
The horse whinnied, butting Cador with its head as Cador laughed—a new, gentle sound unlike the laughter he’d shared with Jory and the others. Cador nuzzled the horse, caressing its flowing mane and murmuring to it.
The animal had clearly missed him, rubbing against Cador and nickering. If it had been able, Jem imagined the horse would stand on its back legs and envelope Cador in a hug. And Jem had no doubt this fierce barbarian would have hugged it back.
As Cador scratched the horse’s ears, Jem caught some of the low words.
“I missed you too. My special boy.”
There was no reason for the words to send a forbidden thrill shooting down Jem’s spine. He wasn’t a boy—he was a man! He didn’t want to be anyone’s boy, least of all Cador’s. And he didn’t care to be special to Cador either. Not at all.
There was no reason to be suddenly, deeply, profoundly jealous of a horse.
No reason to wonder what it would be like to have Cador whisper those words in his ear, lips close…
“Are you ready?”
Jem realized Cador was addressing him. His prick had swelled shamefully, luckily hidden beneath his cloak. What was the matter with him? The man was reuniting with his horse, and Jem was somehow aroused by innocent words.
He blurted an honest answer. “No.”
Cador laughed—another quiet rumble, not one of the loud roars he made when he was in his cups. “I suppose I can’t blame you.” He turned away, and Jem had no choice but to follow.
Although they could have ridden Massen, Cador walked him, perhaps eager to feel solid ground beneath his boots after the constant rocking of the ship. Jem’s backside was grateful. Massen carried Cador’s furs and a few sacks on its broad back.
At the edge of the forest, Jem realized they were quite alone now.
He stopped, glancing behind. Snow dusted the muddy ground, and smoke trailed lazily into the gray sky from Rusk’s chimneys.
Peering into the murky forest, Jem couldn’t even spot a path.
Alarmingly, Cador and Massen almost disappeared with only a few strides into the trees.
“Wait! Where are we going?” Jem wasn’t sure which he feared more—being left alone in the village or vanishing into the forest with Cador. The wind had died down, at least.
Cador turned, his face in shadow. “Home.” He frowned. “To my home, I mean. My cottage.”
“In there?”
“Clearly. Now come. The light will soon fade.”
Standing on the edge of impenetrable shadows on the frozen island of Ergh, Jem truly understood how fortunate he’d been his whole life long. Until that day at the Holy Place when he’d discovered he’d been betrothed. When had it been? A week? Two weeks ago? He wasn’t even sure. It felt like forever.
Until then, he’d been able to do exactly as he pleased. He’d lived in comfort and safety with wealth and his mother’s protection and indulgence. The last thing he wanted to do now was follow his barbarian husband into the impossibly dense forest as darkness threatened.
Yet Jem straightened his shoulders and did just that, sending a silent prayer to Morvoren—she was far more of a god to him than those of earth, wind, water, and fire. May she guide his steps and give him courage.
Cador led the way, and Jem realized once they were in the forest that there was a path cut through the trees, wide enough for Massen.
Here there was barely any snow on the ground, instead it hung on the boughs above.
A fresh, almost minty smell filled Jem’s nose, the needles of the trees surprisingly soft underfoot.
The desperate chirping was at once wonderfully familiar and alarming. Cador strode right past it, but Jem stopped, peering into the gloom to locate the nest. He called to Cador, “Wait, please!” before leaving the path and following the sharp cries.
There! Jem raced between trees and fell to his knees by the fallen nest, which was a bramble of twigs and needles. The hatchlings were abandoned in their broken eggs, these shells colored a dark, rusty orange-red that looked like dried blood.
The dillywigs and sparrows back home had pale blue and speckled brown shells. These hatchlings cried, their eyes not even open, no feathers yet on their gray bodies. Their mouths gaped wide.
“Shh, it’s all right.” Jem wished he could cradle them, but it was too soon. Twigs snapped as Cador approached. Jem asked him, “What birds are these?”
He loomed over them, his brow creased. “Askells.”
“Askells,” Jem repeated, rolling the word over his tongue. “We don’t have askells on the mainland.”
“You’ll see plenty here.” Then Cador raised his foot.
At the last second, Jem realized his intent and launched forward from his crouch. “No!” He grabbed onto Cador’s thigh, knocking him off balance enough to halt the motion of stomping on the nest. He wrapped his arms around Cador’s leg, which felt rather like warm iron. “Don’t kill them!”
“What? Why? Get off me!” Cador seized Jem under the arms and yanked him to his feet. “They can’t survive. Better to end it quickly.”
“They can survive! I can help them! I’ve done it before with other birds.”
Cador glanced down at the askells, frowning. “Impossible when they’re hatched too early.”
“I can do it. At least I can try.”
“But…” He seemed genuinely confused. “They suffer. You’d prolong that rather than be merciful?”
“I will ease their suffering and help them live.” Jem unclasped his cloak and knelt on the scattered needles. He folded it, gently placing the nest inside. “At least I can try.”
“It’s a waste of time.”
Jem ignored Cador, carefully lifting his precious cargo. “We must hurry. They need food quickly.”
Cador shook his head, but didn’t argue as he stomped back to the path, Jem rushing after him.
When they reached Massen, Cador unceremoniously lifted Jem onto the stallion’s back, then wrapped him in the furs with quick, harsh movements.
Jem enveloped the nest, keeping it protected in his cloak and under the furs.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t fall off!” Cador barked. He muttered, “I must be fucking mad,” as he mounted. He secured one strong arm around Jem’s waist, holding him safe.
Ignoring the twinge in his backside from being on horseback again, Jem hid his smile, murmuring to the birds as Cador urged Massen into a gallop, deeper into this strange new world.