And she gave a vial to Kaiholo.
“To defeat the Sister Queens,” he said, and swallowed the liquid.
Nikolias approached them, accompanied by Calafi.
To Reynard’s surprise, more men emerged from the second two wagons, until almost forty gathered in clumps around the path. These spread out behind him, as if expecting trouble and providing a barricade to protect the wagons. They carried long knives with curving blades, and some wore dark metal plates on their chests and in front of their groins, connected by braided cord.
Anutha’s sharply focused expression showed she was near the end of her stamina—but still seeking warriors to equip with drakes. Nikolias avoided her importuning look, but she stepped up to him and said, “Thou hast lineage and worth and have served many of my people,” she said. “And this island.”
Nikolias looked at the offered vial. “None of my Travelers have ever managed drakes,” he said.
“I have one!” Kaiholo said.
“Still to be proven. Not me, however,” Nikolias said.
“Then who is ready and strong enough?”
The lean man turned to speak in a hauntingly familiar tongue to those armed men and women now drawn up around him. Reynard listened closely, but while the tongue was vaguely like Rom, they also, he surmised, spoke in a code known only to themselves. Calafi kept close to him, curious more than protective.
“What should we do?” Reynard asked.
“They are choosing who among them should have drakes,” she said.
“We are protected by trods,” Nikolias said, “but two will accept your gifts.” Nikolias chose Andalo, and Anutha gave him a vial. He examined it, then opened the stopper and swallowed, making a bitter face. Then Nikolias pointed to Calafi, who drew back her lips in a kind of surprised snarl.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because thou’lt go with the boy, the Pilgrim, and the Eater into the krater lands, and may face Annwyn’s armies.”
Anutha pulled herself free from the men who supported her and walked unsteadily along the path to where Valdis and Calybo stood beside their horses.
“Take these,” she said.
“Valdis should have protection. But not me,” Calybo said. “Thou dost not have many left.”
“Thou speak’st sad truth.” Anutha shook the bag. It did not clink—it was empty. “The last vial goeth to an Eater. Maggie and Maeve said that was essential.” She held up the last vial. Its contents swirled in her shaking hand.
The Travelers drew back a step as Valdis came forward. She took the vial and opened it.
“I am not human,” she said.
“I would not harm thee,” Anutha said. “An Eater can also be protected by a drake.”
And so Valdis put the vial to her lips and drained its contents. Anutha smiled approval. Yuchil and the warriors helped the scout back to the wagon.
In the night, with a low breeze winding through the pass, Yuchil approached Widsith and Reynard.
“Thy scout asketh for thee,” she said, and led them back to the wagon. Inside, the Traveler’s vehicle had room for many people—and a small nook in which Yuchil had laid out blankets and soft bolsters, on which the scout lay with eyes closed, barely breathing.
Widsith knelt beside Anutha and touched her wrist softly. She opened her eyes and sighed, then shuddered. “I trow some knife or arrow was dipped in venom,” she said. “I wish the King of Troy was here. He might have a remedy. The Travelers, I fear, do not.”
Yuchil met Widsith’s look and shook her head. Reynard could not take his eyes from the scout’s pale, heavily lined face.
“I have served Maeve and Dana for many years,” Anutha said. “Along with Maggie, I have led the blunters to their charges along the southwestern shore, and found new grounds they had not known before, for nymphs often rise where none have ventured in years. I have heard many tales of thee, Pilgrim, and thy journeys, in our village, and even from those just beneath the sky, who valued thee as companion.”
Widsith bowed. “I am honored,” he said.
“I have heard from Maeve and from Guldreth herself that great change cometh, and the old ways must adapt. The boy is new. He knoweth not his beginning, and his end is not determined. But you will serve his destiny now more than your own. Guldreth said as much. We had many good talks over the years. Now, she is traveling… I know not where. Perhaps to fetch Hel.” She clasped Widsith’s hand and smiled at him, then closed her eyes.
Yuchil escorted them out of the wagon. Widsith was crying, and Reynard was dismayed until he thought, until he understood, that the difficult ways of Tir Na Nog, the devious rules and strange duties, had appealed to many here, to Widsith, to the Travelers—and to Anutha herself.
And now that was passing, and rapidly.
They returned to the fire and the night.
Yuchil climbed down from the wagon hours later. “The scout is dead,” she said. “The poison hath taken her. She was very strong, and carried out her duty. I wish her spirit to move swiftly and depart this island whilst it still can.”
Two Journeys
THEY BURIED THE scout in the deepest dirt they could find, and placed a spiked cross over the grave, with Calafi and Yuchil having carved farewell messages along the forward edges.
Andalo laid a dagger on Anutha’s grave and with a forefinger, drew a line across his chest and down from his nose to his navel.
Nikolias convened all the Travelers around the wagons, and urged Widsith and Reynard to come forward. “You perhaps do not know our ways in the krater lands,” Nikolias said.
Widsith said he did not, never having gone farther than this.
“Some Travelers never leave, serving always the Crafters, whilst others, like our clan, ride the trods and bring out news, such as we receive, and take in more news the krater land servants are curious to hear.”
Reynard asked, “What will we find in the krater lands?”
Calafi nudged him. “Thou’lt see soon enough!” she chided.
“I want warning,” Reynard said resentfully.
“Nothing can so prepare,” Calafi said.
“The young man wanteth answer, such as we can give,” Nikolias said. “The extent of our journeys taketh us to where Travelers who serve Crafters have built marvelous cities. Lately, the cities are sad, many in ruins, their inhabitants gone or dead. Those who have escaped tell of great discord. The results we see around us. Waves of Crafter change make the woods suffer and die. Even as far as Zodiako, Crafter plots are out of balance.”
“What of the outside worlds, the finished lands?” Sany asked, focusing on Widsith. He finished his bowl and set it down. “Have they changed?”
“As always, there is cruelty,” the Pilgrim said. “In all my travels, there hath rarely been peace. I am not convinced even in their best times Crafters know how to make a peaceable kingdom.”
Nikolias said, face stern, “No report returned by such as thyself ever told of a paradise or realm where we would rather live than here.”
Yuchil and Calafi brought more bread, cut it, and passed it around. The young warriors moved in to receive their shares. They looked curiously and slyly at Reynard, assessing his age and position. He returned their study with cautious composure, reluctantly aware that he was indeed under consideration for some sort of trade—perhaps sacrifice!
Nikolias instructed them all to prepare for the next part of the journey. “The trods must know us. Trods that have been stretched and smoothed hundreds of thousands of times are no longer just roads. They acquire pride—and sometimes judgment. They become highways of words.”