They dragged Barda inside and Jasmine ran to the fireplace. In moments she had started a fire. The tinder-dry wood crackled as flames leaped up. Light began to flicker around the tiny room.
And it was then that Lief saw what lay in a corner.
Two skeletons were propped against the wall. Scraps of clothing still clung to the bones, and hair to the skulls, so Lief could see that it had been a man and a woman who had crept in here to die. Then he saw that the woman cradled in her arms, in the tatters of a shawl, another small heap of bones — the bones of a tiny baby.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He forced himself to take a step forward, then another. There was something lying at the man’s feet. A flat tin box.
“No!” Jasmine’s hushed voice was filled with fear, but Lief did not stop. He picked up the box and opened it. Inside was a scrap of parchment covered in black writing. He squinted at it, the terrible words dancing before his eyes. He took a deep, shuddering breath.
“What is it?” whispered Jasmine.
Lief read the note aloud. His voice sounded thin, like the voice of someone he did not know.
The note crushed in his hand, Lief stared at the bones. He could not take in what he was seeing.
The heir to Deltora was not safe in hiding, waiting for them. The heir had been dead all along.
“This Endon was a man who did not deserve to be king,” Jasmine said harshly. “Weak and peevish, filled with pity for himself. It is what I always feared.”
Lief forced himself to speak. “You are cruel, Jasmine!” he whispered. “He had lost all he loved when he wrote this note. He was in despair.”
“He caused his loss himself!” Jasmine spat. “If he had been brave enough to depend on himself for once, they would have survived, as my parents did. There is wood here. I heard the sound of a stream. There are berries and other wild foods.”
She shook her head angrily. “But oh, no! Still looking for others to hold his hand and make his life easy, he could not even try to help himself or his family. And so they ended in this barren place, starving and cold, and his wife and her little one died.” Her eyes were brimming with tears as she stared at the tiny, ragged bundle resting on the woman’s breast.
“We will never know the truth of it,” Lief said heavily. “But one thing we do know. Without the heir to wear it, the Belt cannot save Deltora.”
His chest was tight, his stomach churning. Barda is dying, he thought. Dying for a cause that was lost before it began. And Mother and Father! How much have they suffered? All for nothing. Nothing! Father’s plan to help his friend and hide the heir led only to death and misery. Who told him the lie that the Belt would remain whole only while the heir lived?
Was it stated in The Belt of Deltora? Lief searched his memory. No! He was sure — positive — that the little book had never mentioned any such thing. Why had he not thought of that before?
Because I simply believed what Father told me, he thought dismally. As no doubt Father believed someone else. Prandine, perhaps. Or even Endon himself. He bowed his head, in an agony of despair.
The caravan swayed. The bells on the reins jingled. But Steven was not singing. Inside, in the dimness, Lief and Jasmine sat with Barda lying between them, trying to protect their injured friend from the worst of the jolts.
They had spent a miserable hour by the hut fire before Steven came looking for them. Lief shivered, remembering what had happened when Steven saw the skeletons and read the note.
Steven’s face had darkened. His face had begun to heave. Suddenly he had screwed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together. “No! No!” Lief heard him mutter as he turned away, beating the stone wall with his fists. And Lief knew he was struggling with Nevets, trying to keep his savage brother in check.
After a few moments, the battle was won. Steven turned back to them, his face weary, but calm. “What cannot be changed, must be endured,” he said grimly. “Our duty now is to the living.”
He bent over Barda. “Ah — this is my fault,” he murmured. “I thought you knew of gripper fields.”
“Will Barda live?” Lief’s throat was tight as he asked the question.
Steven gnawed at his lip, hesitating. “At Withick Mire he will be warm and comfortable,” he said finally.
He bent and lifted Barda as easily as if the big man were a child. Then he strode from the hut without a backward glance. Lief and Jasmine trailed after him, both very aware that he had not answered the question.
They walked in silence through the trees to where the stepping stones began, then picked their way back across the gripper field. Ahead, the caravan stood alone, the horse waiting beside it. The trees that had blocked the road had been cast aside. The cooking fires, the stores, and the rubbish had been swept away as though blown by a great wind.
Of the Guards there was no sign except for a few scraps of bloodstained grey fabric scattered here and there. With a chill Lief realized that Nevets had chosen the easiest way to dispose of the remains of his victims. The grippers closest to the road had been well fed.
Hours later, they began to notice a vile smell. The stench of rot and decay seeped into the caravan till the still, dusty air was thick with it. Jasmine wrinkled her nose in disgust. “What is it?” she whispered.
Lief shrugged, then steadied himself as the caravan rocked violently as though it was travelling over rough ground.
He looked down at Barda. The rough bandages that bound Barda’s legs and arms were soaked with blood. He had taken a little water, and when they smeared Queen Bee honey on his mouth, he licked it from his lips. But he had not opened his eyes or spoken.
The honey is all that is keeping him alive, Lief thought. But for how long? How long? Oh, let us reach Withick Mire soon!
So that Barda could be cared for properly. So that his wounds could be washed and freshly bandaged. So that — Lief forced himself to think of it — so that if Barda had to die, he could die peacefully, comfortably, on a warm couch, instead of in this cold, shaking, stinking caravan.
At that very moment, to his surprise, the caravan came to a stop. The back doors were flung open, and Lief and Jasmine scrambled out.
The rain had stopped. The sun was setting, flooding the sky with dull orange light that lit a strange and horrible scene. The caravan was in the middle of a giant garbage dump. Giant, stinking mounds of rags, bones, broken furniture, and household goods, twisted metal and rotting food scraps rose on all sides. Among the mounds, ragged, miserable people bent and shuffled, searching the refuse.
Lief spun around angrily to Steven. “Why have you brought us here?” he demanded. “We must get Barda to Withick Mire!”
Without a word Steven pointed at a sign that stood just beside where the caravan had stopped.
Before Lief could say anything, one of the ragged scavengers came shambling towards them, leaning heavily on a stick. A black patch covered one of his eyes and he had tied a scarf around his mouth and nose, no doubt to protect him from the stench of the mounds. He bent forward, leering at the newcomers with his one good eye.
“What do you seek here, may I ask?” he rasped, his voice just a croak. “Here, amid the leavings of Del?”
Lief and Jasmine hesitated, not knowing what to say.
The scavenger cackled. “Perhaps you seek shelter?” he asked. “Then come with me. All are welcome in Withick Mire.”
He hobbled off, threading his way through the mounds with the ease of long practice. Not knowing what else to do, the companions followed, Lief and Jasmine on foot, Steven leading the horse carefully through the maze.