Jarka Ruus - Терри Брукс

The country they traveled through was both familiar and strange to her, its geographical features similar to those of her own world, but not the same. The differences were often small, ones she could not specifically identify but only sense. It was not surprising to her that the world of the Forbidding, impacted by an alternate history, would not reflect everything exactly. In her world, the topography had been altered by the destructive effects of the Great Wars. The basic landmarks were identifiably the same—the mountains, passes, bluffs, rivers, and lakes—but certain features were changed. The landscape gave her the impression that she was revisiting a familiar place, yet seeing everything in an entirely new light.

They did not encounter any other dragons. They saw huge birds flying overhead, ones that were neither Rocs nor Shrikes, and Weka Dart told her they were Harpies. She could not make out their women's faces, but could picture them in her mind—narrow and severe, sharp and cunning. Harpies were mythical in her world, thought to be nothing more than the creation of ancient storytellers. But they were among the creatures banished in the time of the creation of the Forbidding, and so only the stories remained. To see one here, real and dangerously close, made her think about all the other dangerous things that were here, as well, creatures that would hunt her for food or sport or for no reason at all. It was an unpleasant prospect.

It had the effect, however, of distracting her. Since her awakening and realization of what had happened to her, she had given little thought to the problems she had left behind; they were distant and just then beyond her control. In a sense, it was liberating. The Druid Council, fractured by its contentious members and constant scheming, was a world away, and would have to get on without her as best it could. She hadn't been able to say that in almost twenty years, and there was a certain relief in being able to do so.

The weather inside the Forbidding never changed, earth and sky rendered gray and colorless by an absence of sunlight and a heavy, unbroken ceiling of clouds that in the distance flashed with lightning and rumbled with thunder. Sunset was little more than a deepening of the gray they had traveled through all day. Vegetation everywhere had a blighted and wintry look to it, as if sickened by the soil in which it grew. Nothing of the world suggested that living things were welcome or encouraged. Everything whispered of death.

By day's end, they had reached the southern mouth of one of the passes leading out of the mountains and were looking down from the foothills into the plains that Weka Dart called Pashanon, which in her world would be Callahorn. Burnt, stunted grasses grew in clumps over miles of hardpan earth and barren hills that stretched away from countless miles through a scattering of high, windswept plateaus.

«We need a safe place to sleep," the Ulk Bog declared in his odd phlegmy voice, casting about for what he wanted. «Ah, there!»

He pointed to a huge chestnut set back from the bluff at the edge of a stand of trees that marched upward into the foothills like soldiers.

«We have to sleep in a tree?» she asked him doubtfully.

He gave her a wicked grin. «Try sleeping on the ground, Straken, and see what friends you make during the night.»

She was not happy that he was still calling her Straken after she had warned him, but she supposed there was no help for it. He addressed her as he saw her, and nothing she said was likely to change that.

«Is it safer in the trees?» she asked.

«Mostly. We are less visible in the trees and the worst of the things that hunt at night don't climb. Except for vine serpents.» He grinned, his teeth flashing like daggers. «But there are not so many of those this high up.» He started away into the trees. «Wait here.»

He was gone for some time, but when he returned, he was carrying an odd assortment of roots and berries, which he deposited at her feet triumphantly. He clearly thought that this was what she would want to eat, and she decided not to disappoint him. She thanked him, cleaned the food as best she could, and ate it, grateful for the nourishment. Afterwards, he directed her to a small stream. The water seemed clean enough to drink, and so she did.

She was aware of the light failing around her, of the darkness settling in, heavy and enfolding. The silence of the day was deepening, as well, as if what little noise she had been able to discern on her travels had gone into hiding. The look and feel of the land around her was changing from gloom to murk, the kind of darkness she understood, the kind in which predators flourished. But the darkness here had a different feel to it. Partly, it was the absence of moon and stars. Yet the smell and taste of the night air were different, too, fetid and rotting, and it carried on its breath the scents of carrion and blood. She felt a tightening in her stomach, a response of her magic to unseen dangers.

«Better get up into that tree now," Weka Dart urged, looking skittish and uneasy as he led her back from the stream, his side–to–side movements become quick feints.

She was aware that he hadn't eaten anything of what he had brought her, and she asked him about it. His response was a grunt of indifference. They climbed the chestnut and settled themselves in a broad cradle formed by a conjoining of branches. Any sort of rest seemed out of the question, she thought, feeling the roughness of the bark digging into her back. She glanced down at her nightgown and found it tattered and falling away. Another day of this, and she would be naked. She had to find some clothes.

«Tomorrow," he told her, on being asked what she should do. «Villages and camps ahead. Clothes can be found. But you're a Straken—can't you make clothes with magic?»

She told him no. He seemed confused by this. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled. «Magic can do anything! I've seen it myself! Are you trying to trick me?»

«Magic cannot do everything. I should know.» She gave him a sharp look. «Anyway, why would I want to trick you? What reason would I have for doing so?»

His face tightened. «Everyone knows Strakens have their own reasons for doing things. They like tricking other creatures. They like to see them squirm.» He was squirming himself, the fingers of his hands twisting into knots. «You'd better not try to trick me!»

She laughed in spite of herself. «You seem awfully concerned about being tricked. Why would that be, I wonder? A guilty conscience, perhaps?»

His eyes were furious. «I have a right to look out for myself! Strakens are not to be trusted!»

«I am not a Straken, Weka Dart," she said again. «I've told you that already. Pay attention to me this time. Look at me. I am not a Straken. I am an Ard Rhys. Say it.»

He did so, rather reluctantly. He seemed determined that whether she admitted it or not, she was a Straken and not to be trusted, which made it odd that he had chosen to ally himself with her. Or rather, she corrected, choose her as a traveling companion. Clearly, if he felt as he did about Strakens, he would not travel with her if he could avoid it. It made her wonder what he was after.

«I should cover our tracks before the big things start to hunt," he announced suddenly, and disappeared down the trunk of the tree before she could stop him.

He was gone a long time, and when he returned he was gnawing on something he held in one hand. It was hard to tell what it might have been, but it looked as if it was the remains of a ferret or rat. All that was left were the hindquarters. There was blood on the Ulk Bog's mouth and face, and a wicked glint in his eyes. «Tasty," he said.

«You look happy enough," she observed, meeting his challenging stare. She had seen much worse than this, if he thought to shock her.

«Fresh meat," he declared. «Nothing already dead. I'm no scavenger.»

He consumed what was left with relish, teeth tearing the raw meat into bite–size shreds that he quickly gulped down. Finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licked his fingers, and belched. «Time for sleep," he announced.

He stretched himself out on one of the limbs, looking as if sleep would come easily. «Where are your people, Weka Dart?» she asked him, too uncomfortable herself even to think of sleeping.

«Back where I came from. Still living in their burrows. They are a shortsighted, unimaginative bunch. Not like me. That's why I left. I decided there was more for me in life than burrows and roots. But not if I remained with them.»

What a liar, she thought. Even the way he spoke the words gave him away. He must think she would believe anything. It made her angry. «Where is it you intend to go?» she pressed, keeping her anger carefully hidden.

He smacked his lips. «Oh, that's for me to know. I have plans for myself. I may tell you when I get to know you better.»

«Won't you be missed?» She had put up with this Ulk Bog's deceptions long enough and had decided to do something about it. He was relaxed and unsuspecting. It was a good time to teach him a lesson. She began to hum softly, bringing up the magic of the wishsong and layering it about him. «Parents? Brothers and sisters?»

He shrugged, yawned. «No family. No friends, either, for that matter. Not ones I care about leaving behind. Ulk Bogs are a stupid lot, most of them. Can't see beyond their ground roots and mushrooms.»

«Roots can be tender and mushrooms sweet," she ventured, the magic beginning to insinuate itself into his thinking. «You were quick enough to bring them to me. Why don't you eat them?»

He laughed foolishly, the magic taking hold. He had no defense against it. A Druid would have brushed her efforts aside effortlessly, but Weka Dart didn't even know what she was doing to him. «I could tell you were the sort that ate roots and berries. Not me. I need meat, fresh meat. Keeps me strong. Makes me dangerous!»

She had a strong hold over him now, so she began to press harder. «Not eating roots was what got you in trouble in the first place, wasn't it?» she asked, guessing at the truth, reading it in his poor attempt at lying. «What sort of fresh meat did you eat? It must have been something that was forbidden to Ulk Bogs.»

«More foolishness!» he snapped defensively. «What difference did it make? They weren't even ours! They were tender, and I only ate a few! There were plenty more where those came from! But you would have thought I had eaten my own children!»

«Instead of someone else's?»

«Another tribe's offspring, useless to everyone! Weren't even missed for a long time!»

«But when they were missed? …»

«All my fault, not even a chance at an explanation!»

«So they drove you out.»

«I left before they could. It was clear what they intended for me, and I saw no reason to endure it. Stupid burrow people! Rodents! They are food for bigger things themselves, little more than rats to dragons and ogres and such! If you don't want to be prey, you have to be predator! I told them this, I told them! What good did it do? What reward did I get? A promise of punishment if I stayed and no more babies to eat. Impossible! I had a taste for them by then. I couldn't give them up just because the others didn't feel the same way I did!»

He stopped suddenly and stared at her, wild–eyed. «Why did I tell you that? I didn't want to tell you that! Not any of it! But I did! How did that happen? What did you do to me?»

«I helped you come to terms with the truth, little man," she said softly. «I don't like liars and deceivers. I was one myself, and I know them for what they are. You were perfectly willing for me to believe that you are traveling about to see the world. But the truth is that you are running away, perhaps from other Ulk Bogs searching for you because you ate their babies. You want me to protect you, but you don't want to tell me why. All this talk about my tricking you has got to do mostly with you tricking me.»