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Just before a sharp bend to the right, he came at last to the cutoff, almost missing it. He made a quick search for tracks to see if she had been there and taken the small path. There were none. Relief washed over him. He dropped to his knees and sat back on his heels in exhaustion, trying to catch his breath. The first part had worked. He had beaten her here. Now he had to make her believe him before it was too late.
Holding his right hand over a painful stitch in his side and still trying to catch his breath, he started to worry that he was going to look silly. What if it was just a girl and her brothers playing a game? He would be the fool. Everyone but him would have a good laugh.
He looked down at the bite on the back of his hand. It was red and throbbed painfully. He remembered the thing in the sky. He thought about the way she had been walking, with a sense of purpose, not like a child at play. It was a woman, not a girl. He remembered the cold fear he had felt when he saw the four men. Four men warily shadowing a woman: the third strange thing to happen this morning. The third child of trouble. No—he shook his head—this was no game, he knew what he had seen. It was no game. They were stalking her.
Richard came partway to his feet. Waves of heat rolled from his body. Bent over at the waist with his hands braced on his knees, he took a few deep breaths before straightening to his full height.
His eyes fell on the young woman as she came around the bend in front of him. His breath caught for an instant. Her brown hair was full, lush, and long, complementing the contours of her body. She was tall, almost as tall as he, and about the same age. The dress she wore was like none he had ever seen: almost white, cut square at the neck, interrupted only by a small, tan leather waist pouch. The weave of the fabric was fine and smooth, almost glistening, and bore none of the lace or frills he was used to seeing, no prints or colors to distract from the way it caressed her form. The dress was elegant in its simplicity. She halted, and long graceful folds regally trailing her gathered about her legs.
Richard approached and stopped three strides away so as not to appear a threat. She stood straight and still, her arms at her side. Her eyebrows had the graceful arch of a raptor’s wings in flight. Her green eyes came unafraid to his. The connection was so intense that it threatened to drain his sense of self. He felt that he had always known her, that she had always been a part of him, that her needs were his needs. She held him with her gaze as surely as a grip of iron would, searching his eyes as if searching his soul, seeking an answer to something. I am here to help you, he said in his mind. He meant it more than any thought he had ever had.
The intensity of her gaze relaxed, loosening its hold on him. In her eyes he saw something that attracted him more than anything else. Intelligence. He saw it flaring there, burning in her, and through it all he felt an overriding sense of her integrity. Richard felt safe.
A warning flashed in his mind, making him remember why he was there, that time was dear.
“I was up there”—he pointed toward the hill he had been on—“and I saw you.” She looked where he pointed. He looked, too, and realized he was pointing at a tangle of tree limbs. They couldn’t see the hill, because the trees blocked the view. He dropped his arm dumbly, trying to ignore the miscue. Her eyes returned to his, waiting.
Richard started over, keeping his voice low. “I was up there on a hill, above the lake. I saw you walking on the path by the shore. There are some men following you.”
She betrayed no emotion, but continued to hold his gaze. “How many?”
He thought her question strange, but answered it. “Four.”
The color drained from her face.
She turned her head, surveying the woods behind her, scanning the shadows briefly, then looked back to him once more, her green eyes searching his.
“Do you choose to help me?” Except for her color, her exquisite features gave no hint as to her emotions.
Before his mind could form a thought, he heard himself say, “Yes.”
Her countenance softened. “What would you have us do?”
“There’s a small trail that turns off here. If we take it, and they stay on this one, we can be away.”
“And if they don’t? If they follow our trail?”
“I’ll hide our tracks.” He was shaking his head, trying to reassure her. “They won’t follow. Look, there’s no time….”
“If they do?” she cut him off. “Then what is your plan?”
He studied her face a moment. “Are they very dangerous?”
She stiffened. “Very.”
The way she spoke the word made him have to force himself to breathe again. For an instant, he saw a look of blind terror pass across her eyes.
Richard ran his fingers through his hair. “Well, the small trail is narrow and shear. They won’t be able to surround us.”
“Do you have a weapon?”
He answered by shaking his head no, too angry with himself for forgetting his knife to voice it out loud.
She nodded. “Let’s be quick then.”
They didn’t talk once the decision had been made, not wanting to give away their location. Richard hurriedly concealed their tracks and motioned her to go first so he would be between her and the men. She didn’t hesitate. The folds of her dress flowed behind as she moved quickly at his direction. The lush, young evergreens of the Ven pressed tight at their sides, making the path a narrow, dark, green, walled route cut through the brush and branches. They could see nothing around them. Richard checked behind as they went, though he couldn’t see far. At least what he could see was clear. She went swiftly without any encouragement from him.
After a time, the ground started rising and becoming rockier, and the trees thinned, offering a more open view. The trail twisted along deeply shaded cuts in the terrain and across leaf-strewn ravines. Dry leaves scattered at their passing. Pines and spruce gave way to hardwood trees, mostly white birch, and as the limbs swayed overhead, little patches of sunlight danced on the forest floor. The birches’ white trunks with black spots made it look as if hundreds of eyes were watching the two pass. Other than the raucous racket of some ravens, it was a very quiet, peaceful place.
At the base of a granite wall that the path followed, he motioned to her, putting a finger over his lips, letting her know they had to step carefully to avoid making sounds that would echo their location. Whenever a raven cawed he could hear it reverberate through the hills. Richard knew this place; the shape of the rock wall could carry a sound for miles. He pointed to the moss-covered round rocks littering the flat forest floor. He showed her that he meant for the two of them to step on the rocks to avoid snapping sticks hidden under the leaf litter. He moved some leaves to show her sticks hidden there and pretended to break them, then cupped his hand to his ear. She nodded her understanding, lifted her skirts with one hand, and began to step up on the rocks. He touched her arm to make her look back again and mimed slipping and falling, to let her know she had to be careful because the moss was slippery. She smiled and nodded again before hurrying on. Seeing her smile was unexpected, and it warmed him, softening the edge of his fear. Richard allowed himself a small dose of confidence about their escape as he stepped from one mossy rock to another.
As the path climbed steadily upward, the trees thinned more. The rock taking over from the soil offered trees infrequent opportunity to put down roots. Soon the only trees grew in crevices and were gnarled, twisted, and small, wanting to offer no purchase to the wind that could pull them from their meager anchoring.
They slipped quietly out of the trees and onto the ledges. The path wasn’t always clearly marked, and there were many false trails. She often had to turn to him, and he directed her by pointing, or with a nod of his head. Richard wondered what her name was, but his fear of the four men kept him from talking. Even though the trail was steep and hard, he didn’t have to slow on her account. She was a strong climber, and quick. He saw that she wore good boots of soft leather: the kind of boots worn by one used to trav
eling.
It had been well over an hour since they had come out of the trees, climbing steadily upward, into the sun. They were heading east on the ledges before the trail cut back to the west later. The men, if they had followed, would have to look into the sun to see them. Richard kept them crouched as low as possible and checked over his shoulder often as they climbed, scanning for any sign of the men. When he had seen them by Trunt Lake they were staying well hidden, but it was too open out here for them to hide. He saw nothing, and started to feel better. They weren’t being followed; the men were nowhere to be seen, and were probably miles down Hawkers Trail by now. The farther from the boundary and the closer to town they got, the better he felt. His plan had worked.
