Part 29 (2/2)

The farther south they journeyed, the steeper the land became and the hotter the weather. A sennight had pa.s.sed without rain; in the north, there were showers almost every day at this time of year.

Urkiat grew more uncommunicative daily. On the fourth day after leaving the deserted village, he broke his silence to insist that they abandon the coastal route.

”But that makes no sense.” Darak spread the map on the ground. ”Look. Here's the next village.” He tapped the tiny cairn that Ailmin used to depict a deserted village. ”And there's the next.” He pointed to the circle that indicated an inhabited one. ”It's a good ten miles south. If we turn inland now, we'll lose two or three days in the hills.”

”They might see us from their currachs.”

”If they do, we make for the forest.”

”It's too dangerous. I know this land. And I'm telling you we must go inland. Now.”

Darak took in the white face, the shaking voice, and the desperate eyes. ”It's your village, isn't it?”

Urkiat's shoulders sagged. Silently, he nodded.

”Why didn't you just tell me?”

”I was . . . I didn't want you to think I was a coward.”

”There's no shame in wanting to avoid a place that holds so many bad memories. But we've got to be able to trust each other. And we can't do that by keeping secrets.”

”I know. I'm sorry.”

”Tell me now if you can face this. If not-”

Urkiat's head jerked up, his expression stark but determined. ”I can face it.”

They reached the village late that same afternoon. Once, it must have been a pretty place, nestled beneath a rocky promontory in the gentle curve of the beach. Scrub pines shaded the circle of huts while farther down the sh.o.r.e, a heron waded through the gently waving reeds of a marsh.

A few huts still retained their walls, although the roofs had long since caved in. The rest had fallen into ruin, mere tumbles of stones, interlaced with a tangle of vines and fallen branches. Seedlings had sprouted among them and in the meadow that must have once been a small field.

The cairn was still intact. When Darak bent to pull a tall clump of salt gra.s.s that blocked the entrance to the barrow, Urkiat spoke for the first time. ”Let the forest take it.”

All the same, Darak placed a stone atop the cairn and whispered a prayer. He looked up to find Urkiat wandering down the beach. Shouldering his pack, he followed.

When Urkiat finally sat on a flat rock, Darak hesitated, wondering if he should intrude on his thoughts. In the end, he approached, but stood a little apart from him. If Urkiat wanted to talk, he would listen, but he would not force him to share his memories. Some tales were better left untold.

Urkiat took a deep, shuddering breath. ”I was keeping watch with my brother. He was sitting on this rock and I was next to him-where you are-on the ground. We'd argued about that-him getting the more comfortable spot. Mareth cuffed me. He was fourteen. He'd been standing watch for two years. When I kept watch with a younger boy, then I could take the good spot.”

His bleak expression softened. ”You wouldn't think you'd remember such things with all that happened later, but I do. Maybe because because of what happened later. Or maybe because it was my first watch. But I still remember the cuff and the argument. And the cold-G.o.ds, it was cold that night.” of what happened later. Or maybe because it was my first watch. But I still remember the cuff and the argument. And the cold-G.o.ds, it was cold that night.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ”Two others kept watch on the headland. That was my father's idea-to have two sets of watchers. But we never even saw them. There was only a little splash. Like fish. And the same kind of creak that branches make when they rub together in the wind. That was the sound of their oars. I didn't know that then. I was still trying to puzzle it out when Mareth grabbed my shoulder. I tried to shout-” His voice caught and he cleared his throat. ”All that came out was a whisper. We just stood there, staring at this . . . giant . . . emerging from the mist by the marshes. And then Mareth shoved me and told me to run. He shouted a warning to the village, shouted at me, but by then, they were everywhere. I screamed then and stumbled. That's what saved me.” He fingered the scar on his cheek with trembling fingers.

”When I woke up, they were gone. It was quiet. Except for the moaning. The smoke was so thick it choked you. We'd had a lot of rain that autumn and the thatch was damp. The village was empty save for the bodies. I found Mareth. Near me. They'd stabbed him so many times his tunic was in shreds.”

Urkiat swallowed hard and swiped his lips with his fist. ”I must have pa.s.sed out . . . my head . . . I could hardly see. When I woke again, I was in our hut. My grandmother was bending over me. She'd fled into the forest with the others. We lost ten that day. Eight dead and two . . . just gone. Stolen. And all our stores.”

He was silent so long that Darak finally asked, ”But your folk didn't leave?”

”Nay. Even after they came the next autumn and killed eight more, we stayed. The following spring, more s.h.i.+ps came. This time, the raiders wanted to talk. And my father . . .” He spat the word out like a curse. ”. . . who had buried his firstborn son . . . my father-the chief- invited the leader of the raiders into his hut and offered him wine and fed him salmon and barleycakes. And when they came out, the council met and we had a new treaty with the men who had butchered our people.”

Urkiat leaped up and stalked down the beach, only to whirl around again a moment later. ”My father agreed to provide furs and hides every spring and grain every autumn if the raiders left us in peace. My father agreed they could use our village to launch attacks on the tribes farther north. My father agreed they could cut down as many trees as they needed to build their great fortress and repair their s.h.i.+ps. And when the leader of the raiders asked for a boy to serve him and run messages to and from the fortress, my father offered me.”

Urkiat's voice dwindled to a hoa.r.s.e whisper. ”I thought I'd die of the shame. But you don't, do you? You eat it and drink it and vomit it up like bile.”

”Don't.” Darak didn't even know if Urkiat heard him for he was staring out to sea again.

”I served him two years.”

”You were a boy.”

”I was fifteen when I killed him.”

After a long moment, Darak managed, ”The leader of the raiders?”

”Aye.”

”You hated him. Hated what he'd done to your people.”

Urkiat laughed, the hoa.r.s.e croak of a raven. ”I loved him.”

Darak opened his mouth and shut it again.

”He was kind. And honorable. And fair. He taught me his language. He told me about the great cities of the Zherosi. He told me his people and mine should be friends, that if we tried very hard to learn each other's way, we could live together as we had generations ago.”

Urkiat spat. ”He was a dreamer. Or a liar. I still don't know which. But I . . . I loved him like a father. That's why I had to kill him. Because I was losing myself and everything I thought I believed in and sooner or later, I would choose him over my people and then I'd be . . . nothing.”

Urkiat sank down on the beach as if his legs would no longer support him. ”That's when they destroyed the village. After I killed him. I didn't plan it. I just . . . it just happened. And then I ran away. I should have stayed. Then they would have killed me, too.”

He stared out at the sea like a man bespelled. ”They hanged my father,” he said calmly, ”but the rest were impaled against the walls of the fortress. Even the babes. They didn't waste spears. They shoved sharpened stakes through their bellies. A few were still alive when I found them.”

”Dear G.o.ds . . .”

”They must have taken some as slaves. There were only fifty-three bodies. I counted. As I dragged them to the Death Hut. Three days, it took me. They didn't all fit. I had to lay most of them on the ground. But I folded their hands across their chests and closed their eyes.” His voice had become as light and high as a child reciting his lessons. ”It was very warm. Like today. And the sea so bright it hurt to look at it.”

Numbed by the horror of the story, it took Darak a moment before he could move. Urkiat's head came up. Although his eyes were wild, his voice was still very quiet. ”Don't touch me, please. If you touch me, I'll weep. And tears are a privilege I don't deserve.”

Darak went down on one knee, careful not to touch him. ”Aye, you do. But if you won't weep for yourself, weep for your folk. They deserve your tears.”

Very slowly, he reached out and laid his hand on the dark hair. Urkiat's hands came up, whether to push him away or cling to him, Darak didn't know, because he was already pulling him into his arms. When Urkiat's sobs finally ebbed, and the sun dipped into the sea, Darak helped him to his feet. He settled the pack on his shoulders and took his hand, as if he were a little lad like Callie, and led him away from the ruins.

Chapter 24.

<script>