Heartseeker Read online

  We both jumped when the spindly form of Master Iordan suddenly appeared in the doorway, glowering like a spring thundercloud.

  “The company is saddled and ready to ride. What foolishness is delaying us?”

  The steward ducked his head. “Apologies, master.”

  Iordan’s long arm swept toward the empty hall.

  “The captain awaits her riding companion.”

  * * *

  RIDING A WARHORSE like Westdolph weren’t nothing like riding a placid farmyard gelding like Waymer. The muscles of my thighs stretched in protest around the destrier’s wide back and saddle as I leaned into Bethan behind me. I was thankful for the coarse, heavy breeches that not only kept out the worst of the cold, but kept the horse’s rough coat from chafing the inside of my legs.

  We rode in the middle of the left flank along the paved kingsroad with two of Bethan’s company, Lovel Sweets and Raff Loosley. Sweets was a cheerful young man with a mop of honey-colored curls who took a great deal of delight in teasing the silver-headed Loosley for riding a few paces behind us.

  “What’s the matter, Loosley? You afeared of something?” he joked, winking at me.

  “Shut your face, Sweets. You want to ride next to the augurer, be my guest,” the other soldier growled.

  But Sweets wasn’t deterred. “Go on, Mayquin, do something scary. If you’re truly an augurer, give Loosley the face of an ass.” He gasped, looking back at his companion. “Great All! She is an augurer. Astonishing work, Mayquin!”

  Loosley’s face turned the color of a ripe apple. The captain’s voice rose above Sweets’s braying laughter. “That’s enough, both of you. You know very well she can’t do anything of the sort. I’ll fall back, the two of you ride front. No bickering. Keep your eyes open.”

  Loosley spurred his mount, Bethan reined in Westdolph, and the two soldiers fell into a trot ahead of us, the older man shooting murderous glances at the younger.

  I tapped Bethan on the leg. “Beg your pardon, ma’am,” I began shyly. “Why are they afraid of me?”

  The captain snorted. “Don’t pay them any mind. Some in the capital are more superstitious than others. The Great Cathedra recently got a new First Curate, and he’s a little louder on the subject of augury than the last one.”

  “What’s a curate?”

  “Like a rector in a sanctuary. The First Curate is the rector of the Great Cathedra. He’s got quite a lot of influence at court. And with the king,” she added quietly, sounding none too happy about it.

  “What does he say about augury?”

  “Psht, the usual rubbish,” said Bethan, waving her free hand. “That it’s unnatural and that we should ‘keep ourselves far from its path.’ The last curate was more concerned about the welfare of the sick and the poor. This one is rather single-minded.”

  I pondered this as we swayed to and fro with Westdolph’s gait. “He’s probably not going to be very happy to see me, then.”

  “The king overruled his objections in bringing you to Bellskeep, so I don’t suppose he will. Truth be told, I think the curate’s a bit afraid of you, too.”

  “I just don’t understand how anyone could be afraid of me,” I mumbled.

  “Can’t you really, little one? You can see men’s secrets. Take away their armor.” She rapped her knuckles against her own breastplate. “Sometimes our only protection is in hiding the things we know. The things we feel. That’s a frightening thing, even for me.” She nodded in the direction of the soldiers in front of us. “But your augury isn’t unnatural, no matter what those fool-born dunces might think. No matter what that buffoon of the Cathedra thinks. It’s a gift, if it’s anything.”

  The sounds of the road surrounded us—the low, rolling thunder of the coach, the strike of horses’ hooves on the stone slabs, and the chatter of conversation between the horsemen.

  “A gift,” I whispered, trying to convince myself.

  * * *

  THE NEXT FEW days passed much the same, although after the first day’s riding, my legs ached so badly, I barely wanted to take the saddle again. Bethan insisted, though.

  “We’re beginning to enter the timberlands at the edge of the Great Wood. It’s incredibly beautiful.” And so, though it felt like my thighs had been set fire, I dutifully mounted Westdolph in front of the captain, gritted my teeth, and rode on.

  She was right about the beauty of the place. The little hills of Presston, which had always seemed mountains to me, had nothing on the great, rolling valleys and peaks of the north. Where the trees at home had almost lost their leaves, the woods of the timberlands were evergreen with pines and spruce. The cold, fresh smell of their needles made every breath I took a pleasure. The world seemed somehow bigger, making me feel like an ant among giant blades of grass.

  After several days in the saddle, we passed through a fine market town by a wide stretch of river. The whole place smelled of sawdust. Bethan pointed out the large lumber mills by the banks of the river, where huge flotillas of logs drifted downstream. “They’re cut at the logging station and sent down the river to be milled. You can’t throw a rock in this town without hitting a carpenter. Come on a market day and you’ll see things for sale that you didn’t ever think could be done with wood.”

  Just like I felt a glow in my heart when someone said something fine about the orchard, it was clear that the captain felt the same about the whole country. But, my traitor brain reminded me, she serves the king who takes the Ordish’s children. The king who took you. Have you forgotten where you came from so quickly?

  Truth was, I’d locked it all away in my forgetting room, where it couldn’t trouble me. If my thoughts strayed too far toward home, I felt a physical tug on my insides that hurt worse than any gutsache I’d ever had. But the closer we got to Bellskeep, the harder it was to keep pretending this was all a jolly adventure instead of a long journey with a new life at the end, far away from my family and the orchard.

  I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “How long before we get to Bellskeep?”

  “Another two days,” Bethan answered. “We’ll stop tonight outside Timberwick. It’s the town on the edge of the Great Wood.”

  The idea of the Great Wood made me shiver. Just about every fae tale I’d ever heard took place in a deep, dark forest. Though I was too old now to believe in brownies and snalighasters, the part of me that still checked under my bed at night took the idea more serious. I thought about the Jack under my Allcloth and resolved to carry him with me. Maybe the spirit of growing things in the pocket of my coat, along with thoughts of my Ordish friends, would give me some courage.

  15

  Mind you close the casement,

  Mind you lock the door,

  Tiny claws a-scraping

  As they’re creeping cross the floor.

  Keep ’em from your bedside

  With sage and ash and rue.

  Mind the witching-hour beasties

  Or they

  Might . . .

  Get . . .

  YOU!

  —Bedside rhyme

  The morning dawned gray and dreary. The thin light barely made it through the thick curtains of the coach and I couldn’t help but grumble as Gareth pleaded me awake for breakfast. As we walked down to the nearby stream so I could wash my face, everyone’s mood seemed reflected in the sky. The soldiers, usually merry and joking, saddled their mounts in silence, talking to one another in low voices.

  “Everyone’s spooked as a cat in a thunderstorm today,” I said, dipping my hands into the cold water. “If someone shouted ‘boo,’ they’d all jump half a mile.” The stream’s bite was even colder than the one at Oldmoor, and I gasped as it shot all the way through my bones. “Though maybe it’s just the weather.”

  “I think it’s the Wood,” Gareth offered, turning to look at the road ahead.

  �
�What do you mean?”

  “I heard Ballard and Drake talking round the fire last night after dinner. Apparently, we’re meeting up with a second regiment about halfway through the forest.”

  Worriment poked its head above the burn of the cold stream. What could be lurking in the woods that a dozen cavalrymen couldn’t deal with? Probably more than brownies and snalighasters. “Why?”

  The steward shook his head. “They kept their voices down after they noticed me listening.”

  “Only!” The captain’s voice rang out across the encampment. “Ride with me.”

  I didn’t move for a moment, thinking on what Gareth told me. When I didn’t immediately go to her, she cocked her head. “Is there fog between your ears as well as in the sky?”

  Gareth gave me a little shove, and I made my way through the bustle of boots and hooves to Bethan’s side. “G’morning, ma’am.”

  “Thought you might like a little fresh air for a bit before you’ll have to ride in the coach. The Wood can be a little . . . unpredictable.”

  I bit my lip as a light dusting of sparks fanned out from behind her, and understanding flickered across her face. “Ah”—she coughed—“of course. Would you like to know the whole of it?”

  “Yes, please, ma’am. Non says it’s best to have a lantern so when you meet the devil in the dark, you can see where best to kick him.”

  Bethan nodded in agreement. “I’m beginning to think that your grandmother comes from a line of exceptionally wise women.”

  “She likes to think so, ma’am.”

  “There’ve been some reports of unfamiliar camps discovered in the Wood, so we’ve been advised to take a little extra caution. Most likely just a few scoundrels logging without permits, but we’ll take no chances.” She stared over my shoulder to where the team of horses was being hitched to the coach. Master Iordan stood by Gareth, carefully watching the captain and me. “No doubt he doesn’t approve of me telling you about the threat of danger any more than he likes you riding with me.”

  “I appreciate you telling me the truth, ma’am.”

  “It’d be rather pointless not to, don’t you think?” Bethan put her foot into the stirrup to mount. “Now, it’s time we were gone.”

  * * *

  THE QUIET STARTED about half a mile before we passed under the boughs of the Great Wood.

  It was as if we were sat in the middle of sanctuary. What little talk there was among the soldiers dropped off as the enormous green shadow of the forest loomed in front of us. There was no birdsong except for the occasional cry of a crow or scrubjay, so the footfalls of the horses and the rumble of the coach’s wheels seemed extra loud in the stillness. I shifted uneasily in the saddle, glad for Bethan’s sturdy frame behind me. Putting my hand in the pocket of my coat, I ran my fingers over the familiar shape of the Jack.

  The trees were the biggest things I’d ever seen. They made even Grandfather look like no more than a green sapling. Long, ginger-colored trunks stretched into the sky, their scrubby branches not beginning for a hundred feet or more. Their bases grew so thick that a dozen folk might stand arm in arm round them before completing the circle.

  “The great Orstralian pines,” Bethan said in a reverent hush, her eyes cast up to where the tops of the trees brushed the low-hanging clouds. “I remember the first time my father brought me to see the Wood when I was a child. I thought they looked like giants who’d fallen asleep standing up.”

  “They’re amazing,” I whispered. Their dense trunks stretched out before us as far as the eye could see in either direction, making a living wall for us to cross. The kingsroad itself disappeared under one such tree that stood out from its fellows because of its size, but even more so because the road ran directly through it. Its great trunk had been carved out to allow for the passage of wagons and men, but the tree itself still climbed skyward, live and strong.

  “One of the first Lamblin queens had the Mother’s Gate hewn out so that the kingsroad could take a straighter path,” Bethan explained as our caravan came to a halt before the living gateway. “Instead of going around the tree, her pride was determined to go straight through it.” She turned to call to the soldiers. “Left to the front, right to the rear! Two by two!”

  The soldiers at the left quickly filed to the front of the coach in order to pass through the narrow tunnel of the trunk. Sweets winked at me as he trotted by. Those on the right fell back until we formed a long, narrow procession. Bethan and I fell in between the coach and the rear guard. As we passed under the tree, there was just enough light from the other side to pick out carvings made inside the enormous trunk. IVE HEMERT PASSED THIS WAY. ALL SAVE THE KING. HERE WAS GIBIN AND FAIR KITT IN THE YEAR OF OUR MOTHER —. Names and initials of those living and long dead scored the inside of the passage. The tunnel was close enough that I reached out my hand and let my fingers run over the marks, wondering which way the folk who had left their names had been going. Into the Wood or out? Had their hearts been light or heavy when they came this way?

  Bethan held up her hand, signaling for the procession behind us to stop. “Would you like to leave your mark? It might be something for future travelers to say they saw the name of the Mayquin in the Mother’s Gate.” She dipped her hand into the small pouch at her waist and handed a small whittling knife to me.

  I stared at the blade in my hand. “What should I write?”

  She maneuvered Westdolph closer to the wall. “Whatever you like. Best to keep it short, though. We need to be moving on.”

  It took a moment of searching to find a bare space on the wall, but I picked my canvas and quickly set to work gouging the bark, the horse under me standing patient. When I’d finished, my name, ONLY FALLOW, scarred the flesh of the tree, alongside a ham-fisted carving of an apple. Bethan nodded her approval. “A mark for the ages. All who travel this road will look and say, ‘See? The Mayquin passed this way on the road to Bellskeep.’”

  As we exited the tunnel on the other side, my breath left me in a whoosh. Seeing the trees from outside the Wood was nothing compared to seeing them on the inside. Non had always talked about the majesty of the Great Cathedra, but I could imagine nothing more holy or majestic than being surrounded by the towering pines. The weak, wintery sunlight fell in long beams to the forest floor and the kingsroad, which was peppered with needles. It felt like we’d walked through a door to another world, where the idea of brownies and snalighasters weren’t so ridiculous after all.

  It was a good number of miles before the spell of the Wood wore off and conversations began again. But I was happy to stay quiet, my eyes pointed upward.

  “What do you think?”

  Bethan’s voice startled me out of my daydreaming.

  “They make me feel very small,” I admitted.

  “It’s good for a soul to travel through this Wood every so often,” Bethan mused. “These trees have stood for hundreds of years. They’ll stand for hundreds more, long after you and I are dust. It keeps one from getting bigheaded, don’t you think?”

  I’d opened my mouth to answer, when something whizzed past my ear.

  “Are there bugs at this time of year?” I began to ask, but all the breath was knocked out of me as Bethan yanked me from my seat and laid me across her knees like a sack of flour. Shouts went up along the procession. Everything became a blur of color and sound as the captain dug her heels into Westdolph’s sides, spurring him into a gallop. Both the horse and rider disappeared out from under me as Bethan heaved me upwards where a steady pair of arms was waiting to catch me. I could only make out the blue of Gareth’s jerkin as he kicked open the steward’s hatch in the top of the coach and dropped me through it like a stone into a well. My feet hit the floor of my compartment only a second before Gareth himself was beside me. He reached up to throw a bolt to the hatch and hurried to the door to throw another, hidden behind a bit of velvet drape, along with a shor
t sword that he drew reluctantly. It was then I realized we were inside a fortress.

  “Get on the floor, under the bottom bunk if you can,” Gareth said, risking a quick glance out of one of the tiny windows before slamming the cover over it. “Now!”

  I wriggled underneath the bunk quick as I could, still winded and confused. Gareth shot a look my way to make sure I’d done as he asked, but was suddenly on his knees next to the bunk, pushing my hair back from my face. “You’re bleeding!”

  I lifted my hand to my ear and it came away wet and red. “Something bit me.”

  “The caravan’s come under attack,” Gareth answered. To bring home his point, three solid thunks sounded against the side of the coach next to his shoulder. The steward flinched, pale and holding the sword as if it might bite him. “They’ve got bowmen.”

  I realized then why I was bleeding. I’d only been a gnat’s wing away from an arrow through the head. The idea put the shakes in me, and suddenly, I was trembling all over, worse than after Toly had tried to spirit me away.

  We could hear it properly now—the sounds of the battle outside. Bethan’s voice stood out over the shouting and clash of swords, roaring orders to her surprised soldiers. It was impossible to tell anything about what was happening from where I lay, huddled under the bunk. It sounded to me as if our escort had been attacked by an entire army. Of course, I’d never seen a battle any fiercer than the occasional scraps the hired hands got into after a little too much Scrump, so the fighting outside sounded like a war that could end the world.