[Shadowed Path 02] - Candle in the Storm (48 page)

The horse responded with a burst of speed that approached a gallop. Yim found the bouncing nearly unbearable, but the outcropping, with its promise of dry ground, was close. Neeg headed straight for it, with Yim gripping his mane and holding on for the sake of two lives.

Then the ground beneath the galloping horse seemed to suddenly explode. Reeds and moss rose up in a spray of dark wet muck as Neeg splashed forward. Yim nearly fell over the horse’s head as the bog grabbed her running steed. Still, he made progress, forcing his way forward. The floating vegetation closed around Neeg’s legs, giving Yim the impression that he was sinking into the ground rather than wading through water. As he advanced, the ground seemed to rise higher. Soon Yim’s feet were immersed in water.

As Neeg drew closer to rocky ground, the water became deeper until it lapped against Yim’s calves. A sulfurous stench of decay assaulted Yim’s nose and her legs felt less wet than enclosed in muck. Neeg still advanced, but far more slowly. Yim could feel his body straining with the effort. With each step, he sank deeper. Soon, Yim could no longer see her horse’s legs, and her legs were submerged ever deeper in wet, rotting vegetation. Neeg’s progress was measured in ever-shorter distances until he halted altogether. By then, only his head, neck, and upper back were visible. The rest of him was swallowed by the bog. The horse began to shriek. It was a loud and terrifying cry, the voice of despair. As Yim heard it, another contraction hit.

Yim tried to control her breathing and manage her pain, but there was too much going on. Neeg was shrieking. She could feel his powerful body struggling beneath her. But the bog was stronger and winning the contest. Neeg remained in place, slowly sinking. Soon Yim would have no dry place to sit. She looked about. The surrounding bog appeared deceptively dry and solid, as if she were sitting in a meadow.
 
I can’t stay here 
, she thought.
 
I’ll have to jump 
. The idea was daunting. Even if she could manage, she had no idea where a safe spot lay.
 
Perhaps there are no safe spots, and I’ll sink without a trace 
. As Yim had the thought, she realized that she was sitting in water.

Yim was forced to wait for a contraction to subside before she could attempt a leap. By then, only Neeg’s neck and head were visible, and when Yim rose shakily to stand on his back, she was ankle-deep in soupy water. The horse stopped shrieking and lowered his head. It seemed a sign to Yim that she should jump, and she did.

Yim’s leap was neither a graceful nor a long one. She landed on what seemed dry ground and her legs immediately disappeared into it. Yim flung her torso forward, but she wasn’t well shaped for the maneuver. Still, she managed to grab some plants. They pulled free from where they grew, leaving black, wet holes where their roots had been. Yim’s lower half was totally submerged in water and her toes touched nothing solid. Neeg began to shriek again, and there was a doomed quality to his cries. Yim feared that she was doomed also.

Swim!
thought Yim.
 
It only seems that I’m on land 
. She laid her face and torso against the soggy ground and fluttered her feet, sensing more vigorous kicking might suck her downward. Gradually, Yim’s body assumed a more horizontal position. Then another contraction hit her. Yim gasped from the pain.
 
Float! Float until it passes 
.

Between contractions, Yim “swam.” It looked like a combination
 of swimming and crawling through rotting muck, plants, and murky water. It was painfully slow and exhausting at a time when Yim needed all her strength to give birth. She was so caught up in her ordeal that it was awhile before she noticed that Neeg’s shrieking had stopped. When she turned her head, she saw no trace of him, just plants on seemingly solid ground. Mourning him would come later, if she survived.

Then Yim’s kicking toes touched something firm, and she realized that she had reached the bog’s edge. She groped with her feet and decided to risk trying to stand. The idea of sinking into muck and being trapped was terrifying, but time had nearly run out. Yim’s contractions were following one another in rapid succession. She stood up, and ooze immediately gripped her ankles. Yim panicked and nearly fell on her face before she pulled free and made a step.

Each step was a struggle until Yim reached firm ground. Then, caked in muck, she staggered forward. Her efforts to escape the bog had left her spent and dizzy, but they had also distracted her from the pain of her contractions. Once she was safe, they were excruciating. Yim felt the urge to scream, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she made it to a small tree, leaned against it, and assumed a squatting position. Pulling up the muddy hem of her shift, Yim pushed some of its fabric into her mouth. When the next contraction jolted her, she bit down hard. Her legs were shaking and everything was growing black.
 
No!
 
she thought.
 
You can’t faint. Not now. Push! Push!

It was nearly dusk when the two women walked up the path with the catch from their traps. Frogs, strung like beads on a cord, dangled from the women’s hands and kicked helplessly. Then the younger woman cried out. “Mam, a body!” She rushed to a tree that grew near the path.

“Who is it?” called her mother.

“A stranger. She must have strayed into tha bog. And she has a babe! I think they’re both dead!”

The other woman hurried to join her daughter. In all her life, she had never gazed upon a stranger’s face. Setting the frogs upon the ground, she knelt to place her ear against the stranger’s wet, muck-covered chest. “Her heart beats, Rappali, though ‘tis faint.” She regarded the afterbirth on the ground. The umbilical cord had been chewed through. “She just gave birth, tha poor dear.”

“And her babe?”

Rappali’s mother touched the still newborn boy lying on the stranger’s lap. “‘tis cold and dead.” Then the child moved. “By tha Blessed Mother! ‘tis alive!”

Rappali picked up the child. “Aye, ‘tis unnatural cold. ‘Twon’t live long. We must name it afore it dies.”

“‘tis a mother’s task, Rappali.”

“There’s no time, and unnamed spirits haunt tha bog forever.”

The older woman nodded. “Aye.” She touched the child’s forehead. “We name ya ‘Froan,’ which means ‘frost’ in tha old tongue.”

At the sound of his name, the tiny boy opened his eyes and seemed to gaze at the one who had spoken it.

“By tha Blessed One!” exclaimed the older woman. “Those eyes! How pale they are!”

“Aye,” said her daughter. “So faint tha pupils liken ta two black holes.” She shuddered. “They pierce me ta tha quick!”

FORTY-
NINE

THE M
OST
Holy Gorm paced atop the highest tower of the Iron Palace. From there, he had a commanding view. To the west, he could see the bay, enclosed by high rocky cliffs, and the sea beyond. To the north, east, and south as far as the eye could see was Bahland, Lord Bahl’s domain. Gorm gazed upon its scattered villages and towns, aware that their inhabitants were watching the palace for omens. Its iron was no longer being oiled, one of the first economies for the lean times that loomed ahead. Soon the palace walls and towers would begin to rust.

The folk of Bahland had a term for the stretch of years when their lord diminished to an ordinary man. They called it “the browning.” They still obeyed Lord Bahl and feared him, but not to the extent they had when their lord was in the fullness of his power. Then he could sway their very thoughts, and they trembled in fear of his displeasure. Even during the browning, folk were mindful that a new Lord Bahl would rise to supplant his father and always acted with that in mind. The Most Holy Gorm had taken steps to insure that they believed the time ahead would be no different.

Only Lord Bahl and the Most Holy Gorm knew that there was no heir within the Iron Palace. There were rumors, but it could cost one’s life to repeat them. Several loose tongues had already been pulled out, and the men who had found the empty wagon and General Var’s headless corpse had been quickly silenced. Thus only two men knew for certain that the heir had vanished and his trail had
 gone cold. Even the magic bones were unable to augur where he had gone.

Another man would have given up, but not Gorm. He was old enough to have learned that lost things had a way of being found. Moreover, the child would want to be discovered. Not soon, but soon enough. All that was necessary for Lord Bahl’s return and triumph was time, and time was something the ancient sorcerer had in ample supply.

END OF BOOK TWO

The Shadowed Path trilogy will reach its conclusion in the final volume, coming from Del Rey.