Part 54 (1/2)

41.

Muster TALEN LUGGED LEGS through the woods until his collar bone felt like it was going to break. He rested. Picked him up again. Rested. He lugged him across two creeks, paddled him across a river in a canoe they'd found, and then lugged him into the woods on the other side.

He'd scuttled their trail as best he knew how from any dogs that might be following. But that didn't prevent him from having to skirt around two more groups of men on the watch, nor did it help them avoid the farms and wooden shacks that stood in their path. In the end, they'd used a whole day to do what should have taken, at most, two hours.

At last, they crested a hill that led down to the Creek Widow's valley. They were both b.l.o.o.d.y-footed, but they'd made it. Except who knew if patrols had already come for the Creek Widow? They could be waiting right now for someone like himself to show up.

Talen didn't dare climb a tree to get a look below. The branches would shake too much as he ascended. But he knew a spot on the hill that opened to a good view. He and Legs sat there for some time watching. He saw nothing but vultures circling in the updrafts, the horse the Creek Widow called the Tailor eating away at the gra.s.s in the apple orchard, and the Creek Widow digging herself a new cesspit for the privy.

He was satisfied n.o.body waited for them there, but nevertheless, he waited until the sun set to descend the hill and enter the Creek Widow's yard. He and Legs stole across the yard and weren't more than a dozen paces from the front door, when someone spoke from behind. ”That will be far enough.”

Talen froze.

”State who you are and what business you have sneaking about my yard at night.”

He sighed in relief. But how had she sneaked around behind them?

Talen turned. She held a pitchfork out in front of her with a fair amount of menace. Warrior, her ancient dog, stood at her side. He mustered one woof and fell silent.

”I told you before,” said Talen, ”one old woman out here on her own-you've got to have a dog that will chase more than biscuits.”

”Talen,” she said. ”Lights, you're lucky you haven't got the tines of my pitchfork in your back.” She turned to Legs. ”And you're Purity's, aren't you?”

”I am,” said Legs.

She looked out into the yard, across the pasture. ”Get in the house.”

”I hope you've got something to eat, cause we're starving.”

”Food?” She stabbed the pitchfork at him. ”I think I promised a beating the last time you were here. Now get.” She eyed the woods behind them.

Perhaps the valley wasn't as peaceful as it had appeared from the top of the hill. Talen turned with Legs and hurried below the creator's wreath hanging on the lintel of the door and into the house. The festival of gifts was coming, and everyone wanted to thank the Creators and invite their blessings. The wreaths would soon be everywhere-above the gates of each city, on the bows of s.h.i.+ps, over the windows of barns.

The Creek Widow came hard on their heels and shut up the door behind them. Then she turned on Talen. The fire from the hearth was the only light in the house. Something delicious cooked on the stove and filled the room with the smell of beef and onions.

”What are you two doing?” she said.

”Is River here?”

”River?”

Talen's heart sank.

She saw his expression. ”You tell me what's happened,” she said. ”Quickly.”

Talen did. He told her about going into Whitecliff, his encounters with Fabbis and the hunt, the weave and the little creature at the window. He told her about packing up to leave, about the monster, River and Sugar going after it.

His tale elicited a running commentary of grunts from her. When he finished, she put her hands on her hips. ”Men,” she said in disgust. ”I told them it was time when Purity was first caught. I told them, but they wouldn't listen. Men,” she said again. ”Always leaving the woman to clean up.” She looked at Talen and Legs. ”And you can be sure I will clean up. We must leave; this house isn't safe.”

”Where are we going?”

”The refuge, my boy. The refuge.”

Talen knew of no such place.

”I knew it was fraying apart when your da sent his letter. I told him. I told your da. I told him, I told him, I told him. But no. That man won't listen. Now if I were his wife, I would have made him listen. River, bless her heart, I know she tries. But a daughter can't hold her own like a wife can. Men get stupid when they run on their own, Talen. That's just how it is. And your father got stupider than most. Your mother kept the beef out of his brain. But she's too long gone. Too long without a good woman. And that's the truth.” She grunted and looked to the rafters for answers. ”May the Six bless him. He's going to need it.” Then she directed her attention back to Talen. ”Fetch the Tailor from the field.”

”Will the others be there?” asked Talen.

”Others?”

”Aren't there a number of other people in the Order?” asked Talen. ”Won't we need them to attempt a rescue?”

”Son,” said the Creek Widow, ”Your Uncle's on a s.h.i.+p headed for Mokad. Your Da's who knows where in the custody of Lord s.h.i.+m and the Fir-Noy. We've got some creature from the tales taking us down one by one. I don't know where your brother is. We weren't many to begin with. You want others?” She spread her arms wide. ”I'm afraid you're looking at them.”

”But-”

”There might be a few more. If anybody has survived, we will find them at the refuge. I was waiting for the final word. I cannot wait anymore. We must leave immediately.”

Talen fetched the Tailor from the field and brought him round the front of the house, worrying the whole time that someone was spying on them. The Tailor was named after a man the Creek Widow had loved once. Talen had never gotten the full story and didn't know if the man died or was killed or simply jilted her.

He helped Legs up and then held the horse as the Creek Widow filled the saddle bags with a few necessities and what she said were her three most prized possessions-a fat codex of lore she'd been hiding in a stone box under the floor, two yards of bright yellow silk she had not yet been able to bring herself to wear and probably never would, and an ancient cooking pot her great grandmother had given her.

When she finished tying everything off, the Creek Widow walked to the well, drew a bucket of water, then carried it to the south side of her home where her almond tree starts stood in a single straight line of pots on a narrow table. She watered them, gently brushed each with her hand, then stood back and addressed the group. ”I cannot promise I'll return, lovelies. And there's no time to put you where you belong.” She grunted over that fact and shook her head.

Then she changed her mind. ”No, I just can't,” she said. She turned to Talen. ”Bring me a spade.”

”But-”

”Cha!” she said.

Talen fetched a spade from the barn and brought it to her. ”I thought we had to leave immediately.”

”Hush,” she said. ”Gather an armful and follow me. Those pots will dry out in a day.”

They carried the nine starts to the garden and hastily planted them between two rows of cabbage.

”I know you'll be a bit crowded,” she said to them. ”But it will have to do.” Then she stood and said good-bye to her apple trees and the two walnuts she prized the most. She walked to the chicken coop, opened the door, and bid her birds farewell. Then she walked to Warrior lying on the porch.

”My lovely old man,” she said, giving him an affectionate rub about the neck. ”Keep a good watch on the ladies. I'm counting on you.”

A branch cracked in the woods that started just on the other side of the road running by the house. All three of them froze. The crack was followed by the sound of someone pus.h.i.+ng through brush.

The Creek Widow pointed at the barn. ”Hide,” she whispered.

Talen took Legs by the hand and sprinted to the barn door. He rolled it open just enough to slip inside.