14. Finding No Rest
14
FINDING NO REST
A haze spread as the huge, eerie red sun sank. Clouds thickened, pink deepening through maroon into violet and royal purple; the breeze sharpened, heavy with the good green scent of petrichor. Jazarl called halts more frequently, usually after a worried glance in Ari’s direction; she was doing her best to keep up, but suspected it really didn’t matter.
Inadequacy was her natural state, as Wanda Lee so often pointed out.
Had she found her son’s body and called the cops? Ari’s heart gave a terrible twinge, imagining an old woman’s grief. For all her venom and nastiness, Wanda loved her child. Maybe Earl really did deep down as well, it was hard to tell.
The first few drops pattered on the road, small puffs of dust rising as they hit. “Rain,” Darjeth muttered grimly. “Of course.”
Ari had to suppress a weary smile. It was exactly what she’d been thinking, with a side order of wondering if a storm—or even a shower—would send her back to the normal world. Was this fairyland, a different planet reached through some kind of temporary wormhole, an alternate dimension?
She decided all three pretty much amounted to the same thing. What mattered was the theory holding up; she’d really been thrown somewhere else , and having that settled was so comforting the decision turned her knees to overcooked pasta at regular intervals.
Relief could be indistinguishable from terror, given enough intensity.
The trees crowded even closer here, if that were possible. Jazarl turned aside and plunged into undergrowth; he had a genius for finding hidden thickets which could nevertheless be used to keep a watch on the wide paved strip. This time was no different, and the guys spread out, clearly glad for a rest break.
Ari stood awkwardly in the center of their ring, breathing deeply and trying not to sway. Fan-shaped leaves moved in masses overhead, and she heard a low rumble.
Thunder. If a storm popped her back home, would she wake up half-buried in landslide, or on the side of the road with the crippled Oldsmobile? Would she surface in a jail cell? A hospital bed?
“If we had equines we could already be there.” Alzarien leaned hipshot against a tree, his hat pulled low and his eyes half-closed in the brim’s shadow. Broad-shouldered and long-legged, he could have been modeling for a book cover.
“Oh, aye, and if we had wings we would never stumble.” But Darjeth smiled, the phrase clearly a proverb and sarcasm edging it in friendly instead of spiteful fashion. “Dare we risk a fire? ’Tis cheersome, and our lady looks near to foundering.”
I’m fine . But Ari couldn’t say it. When they weren’t moving she needed all her concentration for not sinking into a heap. She had to stay braced for a sudden jolt back into a world she understood, and that required carefully shepherding what little energy she had at the moment. Anticipation was almost worse than a beating.
Almost.
“Here.” Jazarl uncapped his canteen, and his smile was no doubt meant to be encouraging. “Take a little more, my lady. ’Tis not the greater drink, but still is wondrous helpful.”
Greater drink. Underdark. Bright King. She needed a thesaurus and a couple dictionaries to deal with all this; learning solely by context was exhausting. Which brought up another interesting point—were these people literate? “I’m all right,” Ari tried to say, but the words slurred.
He thrust the canteen into her hands, so she had to at least take a sip. A few mouthfuls did actually help; she hadn’t realized she was so thirsty.
“No flame so close to the Road,” Majan weighed in. “Perhaps we should build a bower for our lady, and pass a night on guard.”
Another roil of thunder walked across the sky. Ari tried to suppress a shudder, and failed miserably.
“The storm is far off.” Jazarl really was trying to be helpful. He looked more anxious by the minute. “We have no mantle for you, but the trees are thick and will keep the worst of the rain at bay.”
“I’m fine,” Ari insisted. The translator turned it into I am well enough , and she wondered what they thought of her accent. They were clearly too polite to tell her if she sounded like a backwoods hick.
“Hist.” Sarle gazed through moving branches, his shoulders stiffening. “I see a gleam in the distance, and do not think it friendly.”
Now Ari heard something else—a rolling of hooves, a different timbre than thunder. “That’s what I heard before,” she whispered, and her fingers were suddenly clumsy on the canteen’s top. Chill air brushed her flushed cheeks, stirring her hair.
“Get down,” Naithor said, urgently, and everyone crouched. Ari shivered, clenching her jaw to keep teeth from chattering; she could peer over Majan’s shoulder, through a natural tunnel in the bushes. The sound drew swiftly nearer, coming not from behind but ahead of their small group. When the cavalcade galloped into view her right hand flew up, clamping over her mouth to muffle a sound of mixed fear, surprise—and disgust.
It was the brightly armored robots, but they had changed. Their legs were shortened and arms lengthened with insectile segments, horned helmet-heads bobbing above thickened shoulders. The sound wasn’t true hoofbeats, then, but the metallic galloping of terribly distorted things, and the worst thing was that they didn’t move like horses either.
Instead, their motion was a parody, part mechanical jerks and part weirdly flowing, neither in the way her gaze expected. It was vaguely akin to the jerking, twisting motion of a mechanical bull, but without the unspoken limits engineering placed on randomness. Everything about the movements was deeply, utterly wrong, and called up images of sharp-toothed gears digging into recalcitrant flesh, pistons hammering amid cringing muscles.
Even the most fevered painter of grotesqueries would have trouble capturing the utter alienness, the cringing lopsided bizarrity. They streaked past, glittering in low bruised stormdusk, and branches toss-sighed as the wind mounted afresh. A bone-white flash followed, and after a long breathless pause thunder hurried to catch up.
“They’re horrible,” Ari whispered, barely aware of speaking.
“Aye.” Jazarl had gone pale, and his cheeks and chin bore blue-tinged stubble. They all looked a little rough, and Ari was sure she wasn’t in the best shape either. Her hair felt tangled, and she didn’t even try to finger-comb.
There was no point. If this kept up she was going to be a rat’s nest on shaking noodle-bendy legs.
A wave of rain rushed earthward, the pavers’ golden tinge dimming slightly as wet spots spread. “Faster on the Road,” Darjeth said, as if someone had asked a question. “But safer in the trees. Unless…”
“Too dangerous to halt,” Majan weighed in. “And we are still too far from Gesthel.”
Alzarien was just as pale as Jazarl. “The Fox is canny, but he has his lady to care for. He may have withdrawn to the Mere. If we strike overland…”
“There is the Breach to think of, though, and the bridge may be watched.” Sarle looked at Ari as if she should know, or maybe he was simply gauging whether it was worth getting rid of deadweight. “My lady…”
More stabs of lightning-light drenched both forest and road. Thankfully, the thunder’s lagging said the true storm was some distance away, but that could change in a heartbeat. Ari found herself shifting uneasily, rocking back and forth as if to comfort a child or anxious pet.
“The Road.” Jazarl clearly felt there were no good options. “At least until we are past the Breach. If we are attacked the close-guard will carry our lady away while the others offer what battle we may. My lady Ari, will you consent to such treatment? We have no mounts; our own legs must do.”
I could just stay here, you know . Even if everything inside her went chilly and loose at the thought of running across some of those robots again, and alone. “You could leave me and?—”
“Never.” Darjeth didn’t look abashed at nearly shouting, though a few of the others gave him clearly warning looks. “What? There is no reason to gild a truth now, no matter how unwelcome. We shall carry you to Gesthel and the Grey Lady or die in the attempt, my lady Moon.”
It was either extremely chivalrous or there was a factor her theory hadn’t taken into account. “I don’t think that’s neces—” she began, but Sarle hissed another warning.
This time her view of the road was blocked, though she heard the sound approaching—neither hoofbeats nor the mechanical roil, but a softer slap-paddling. The men crowded around her, pressing close, and each looked grim, their hands resting on rapier hilts as they crouched. Being in the middle of the huddle might have felt safe, except for the weird, chilling cries.
Whatever was upon the stone pavers now moaned as it passed. Irregular shrieks rose as well, sawing painfully through rising wind and shiver-rushing rain. Ari shuddered, clapping her hands over her ears, and Majan had gone chalky, blood draining from his dark cheeks.
The hideous groaning faded, then the wet slapping sounds. She found she was physically cold for the first time since landing in this bizarre alternate dimension, and even the living warmth of half a dozen other bodies in a small space didn’t help.
“What was that?” she whispered, unable to help herself.
“The Bright King’s other servants.” Naithor’s shoulder pressed against hers, hard enough to hurt. “Those corrupted and infected by obedience to his curst Law, finding no rest. He is searching for you, my lady—as if we needed more proof of what you are.”
Look, I’m a stranger here, and I just… There were no words. The trembling was back, and while Ari didn’t quite wish to suddenly find herself on the side of a mountain highway or under an overhang during a bad mountain storm, the prospect was far more appetizing than it had been before.
At least on her own planet she knew what horrors to expect.
“Enough.” Jazarl turned slightly. “We go now. Stay to the side of the Road until we are past the Breach.” He paused. “’Tis an honour to fight beside each of you. If the worst comes?—”
“Do not summon ill luck by speaking of it.” Darjeth rose, pale hair gleaming, and as if signaled the others did too. Majan had Ari’s elbow, pulled her firmly and irresistibly up as well. “They are upon the Road, but he may be as well. All we must do is endure.”
A few moments later they were in the rain, moving at a quick walk, Darjeth and Naithor now on either side of Ari as cool drops patted her tangled hair and bowed shoulders.
She’d never dreamed of this Bright King or his minions, and Ari was deeply grateful even if the fact called up reams upon reams of unanswered, progressively more disturbing questions. Had all her new companions been dumped here as well? From where? Were this king plus his Golden native to this awful place, mounting an immune response to expel foreign invaders?
Even if Ari had breath to ask, it certainly wasn’t the time. She simply had to keep up, and try desperately not to think about what she hadn’t seen running past on these very same rain-sluiced stones, moaning like damned souls.