Badgerblood: Awakening Page 4

  She dug in her pouch for more food. Hunger. That’s all it was, hunger. But she shrank back as the bony-fingered branches seemed to stretch toward her and the undergrowth seemed to creep over her feet where she stood. With a sudden panicked squeak, she trampled them down and ran, but a tangle of growth snared her foot and she tripped.

  The man spun at the commotion, grunting as she fell against him, and caught her arm. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain why she had fallen, then noticed his eyes. She stared. Flecks of green floated in the vibrant blue irises, and golden starbursts bordered each pupil. Something about the eyes was familiar.

  “Who are you?” She blurted the question before she could stop herself.

  His response came even quicker. “Kor.” As soon as he said it, he blinked and shook himself, looking startled and confused. “What—?”

  A little startled and confused herself, Allinor abruptly pulled away. “I— I’m sorry.” She muttered threats at the undergrowth as she yanked her foot free and straightened her tunic. “The roots attacked me—” She stopped, all at once feeling rather self-conscious and foolish.

  Beside her, Kor was leaning against a tree, watching. The flush in her cheeks deepened. Dropping her gaze, she reached in her food pouch again. At least that gave her something to do. Her insides cramped with hunger and nervousness. Her hands trembled. The closeness of the forest, the tightness of these aspens, was getting to her. She stuffed carrot pieces in her mouth, munching in the silence, looking everywhere except at him. There wasn’t enough left in her pouch to satisfy her, but she’d already eaten through the rest of her day’s rations while searching for the flower outside the forest.

  The man was still watching. She offered him a piece, but he shook his head.

  “So, Kor, is it?” she said, glancing at the trees and hoping to shift the focus away from her. “Of all the wide-open spaces in the forest, you certainly chose a tight path.”

  There was a brief silence, then Kor said, “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  Allinor understood what he meant. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. “Len. I’m called Len.”

  This wasn’t exactly untrue. Ever since she was three, her father had taken to calling her by the nickname in quiet moments of fatherly affection. Only her parents knew about it. But the name hadn’t been used since her father’s death several years earlier.

  Kor’s steady gaze betrayed no emotion as he repeated the name, but Allinor sensed his suspicion and picked nervously at the leather straps on the side of her tunic. He placed another tawny-yellow lump in his mouth and glanced around at the trees.

  “It’s safer in here,” he said, acknowledging her earlier statement. “Borlan can’t fit.”

  “Mmm,” Allinor said, brushing a lock from her eyes. “Neither can I.”

  Kor pushed off the tree trunk. “Course, the trees tend to be a little clingier, and there are still smaller animals that pose a danger. We’d better keep moving.”

  They continued on in a silence that was only interrupted by the gurgling of Allinor’s stomach. After another few handfuls, her food was gone and she regretted having spent so much of it on Spart. She blushed deeper as each sound from her stomach grew louder and longer—gerrrp…garrl-urrp……garrreeluuur-GEERP!

  Kor stopped abruptly and held out one of the lumps from the pouch on his belt. “It’s not much,” he said, eyeing her stomach with a wry smile. “But it should ease your hunger.”

  Allinor avoided his gaze as she took it. The tiny, misshapen morsel hardly looked satisfying, and she rolled it doubtfully between her fingers.

  “Yulgera root,” Kor said.

  She sniffed, testing it with her tongue. Then she popped it in her mouth and swallowed. “Thank yo—” The words died on her lips as she noticed Kor’s expression.

  He was staring at her, eyebrows raised. “Lasts longer if you suck on it.”

  “…Oh.”

  He offered her another lump, larger this time. She accepted, and they kept walking. She sucked the lump, cautiously at first, then more confidently as the fibrous, rooty texture and earthy, spicy tang grew on her. Gradually, her stomach gurgles subsided.

  They trudged through undergrowth and trees until Kor finally interrupted the eerie, creaking branches.

  “People here are suspicious of commoners with riches.” He stopped and turned to face her, eyeing the dagger in her belt. “Some get jealous, desperate, even.” Allinor stiffened, wondering what he was driving at. “People get hurt resisting.” At this, he stepped toward her and held out his hand, palm up. “I’d avoid carrying trinkets in the future if I were you,” he said, beckoning twice in a quick no-nonsense gesture.

  Allinor drew back. Her mind went to his threatening approach with the knife, just after they’d met. She’d thought he had eased off after his search in the woods for her fictional companions had proved fruitless. Maybe he’d only been pretending so he could lure her into this suffocating little grove with its clingy roots and undergrowth, and rob her. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  “Come on, hurry up,” Kor said briskly, wiggling his fingers. Another step brought him nearer.

  She stumbled back, snatching the dagger from her belt. He opened his mouth, probably to threaten her further, but she cut him off. “Don’t come any closer.” Her voice caught in her throat.

  The undergrowth dragged unpleasantly at her feet and legs, and she kicked at them. Out. I have to get out. She cast about for a means of escape. The trees were so tightly packed it was nearly impossible to tell which direction she had come from and which way they were headed. Or, which way she should run.

  “We have laws in Tilldor,” she said, trying to stall him. “Laws protecting travelers.”

  Surprise flashed in his eyes, followed by a mischievous twinkle. Allinor’s heart was pounding so hard she didn’t fully catch it.

  “Yes,” Kor said carefully. “We have those here, too, but they don’t always prevent incidents.” His gaze flicked casually to Allinor’s blade and he sucked his cheeks as though relishing her fear—or maybe he was holding back a smile.

  “Perhaps not, but they do give me the right to defend myself,” Allinor said, tightening her grip on the knife. “And may I remind you that you are injured and I am not. You touch me or try and take my belongings and I’ll chop you to pieces and feed you to the next burrlan I see.”

  The corners of Kor’s lips twitched. It was a smile. The grin spread and he dropped his head, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth.

  As she realized his intentions were far from nefarious, Allinor lowered her dagger. “You—meant for me to hide them,” she said at last.

  Kor looked up, still chuckling quietly to himself. Sweeping one hand down his front to indicate his dirty, disheveled state, he said, “Jewels are a bit much for a forest hermit, don’t you think? Besides, if I had wanted your trinkets—which I don’t—I would have taken them already—which I haven’t—and you would not be here—” He turned, leaning out of her line of sight as he held back the branches. “—which you are.”

  Through the gap, Allinor could see a river and an open, grassy field. Beyond both, the sinking sun set aglow the thatched roofs of the village. She stared at the scene.

  “I was going to hold them for you while you found a pouch to put them in,” Kor said.

  Her gaze flicked to him, then dropped to her dagger. “You could have said as much.”

  “I tried, but you cut me off. Then curiosity got the better of me and I wanted to see what you would do.”

  Allinor shot him a glare. The mischievous look was still there.

  “They’re fine where they’re at,” she said, slipping the dagger back in her belt. She didn’t quite trust this forest or the man enough to hide it and make it more difficult to get to. And the ring, she’d already switched to the hand with the untorn glove anyway.

  Kor shrugged. “Suit yourself, but I know a few villagers who would gladly take them off your hands. And they are not as gent
lemanly as me.”

  She scoffed, but it was a lighthearted sound. The moment of danger had passed. “I doubt anyone’s quite as terrible at that as you are.”

  “You’d be surprised.” Kor chuckled and turned aside, pressing deeper into the aspens.

  At the prospect of having to walk any farther in the suffocating trees, Allinor’s heart sank. “I thought we were crossing the river?”

  “You are crossing the river,” he said, “but not here. There’s a log farther on—makes it easier to cross.”

  Allinor sighed resignedly and tried to follow, but the trees seemed to be against her. Every step she took was bogged down by undergrowth. When she stubbed her toe on a root, she aimed an indignant kick at the offending growth and glared at it. The root seemed to shrink back. Startled, she drew back herself, then hurried past. A few paces on, she nearly tripped again. She dropped her gaze to avoid any further such incidents and promptly walked into a branch. It snatched back the hood of her cloak and caught in her hair. She swatted at it, but it snagged on her sleeve and the seam tore. Gulping down a breath, she struggled to free herself with trembling hands.

  Kor glanced back. “The trees seem to like you.” She gave him a rueful look and he laughed, but the sound ended in a grimace. He stopped to lean against a tree and dragged the back of his hand across his forehead. He was sweating and Allinor could see fresh blood on his clothes under the pack and waterskin.

  She nodded at his back. “You should tend to that.”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said, and resumed walking.

  “If you don’t take care of it soon, infection will set in,” she said, hurrying after. “That or you’ll bleed to death.”

  He snorted and grinned over his shoulder. “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Allinor frowned at the back of his head, wishing, rather ungraciously, that he would break his grin on a branch—Crack!

  “Oof!” He stopped short, raising a hand to his face.

  Allinor’s ungracious feelings faded to concern. Quickly, she tromped around to his front to see what was wrong. “What happened?”

  Kor lowered his hand and worked his jaw back and forth. A red welt was forming across his cheek and chin. “Branch caught me in the face,” he said, sounding a little bemused, then started off again.

  For a moment, Allinor stood dumbly. Guilt pricked her conscience. She couldn’t help feeling the welt was her fault. Bah. Don’t be silly. Shaking off the feeling, she hurried after Kor. “I think the trees agree with me,” she said smugly. “You should tend to your injuries.”

  “The trees are fickle,” he replied, and changed the subject. “Tell me about your blowdarts. Must have been at least ten in that borlan’s snout. What did you use, venom?”

  Allinor tugged at the end of her tunic, which had caught on another branch. “A paralyzer.”

  Kor shook his head thoughtfully. “Borlan are too big to take down with darts or paralyzers. Brave try though.” He sounded admiring and she heard him mutter under his breath, “Still surprised they stuck.” A little louder, he added, “Then again, maybe your darts did help. Now that I think about it, the borlan did seem a little wobbly in its step toward the end. Gave me a chance to throw my knife. Thanks.”

  Allinor’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s surprising.”

  Kor glanced at her. “What?”

  “Your manners,” she said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t realize forest hermits had any.”

  He snorted and pushed out of the aspens into a clearing under the borwood trees. “Most of us do,” he said, turning to hold back the branches for her as she followed.

  Allinor scanned her surroundings and breathed more deeply in the open space. It was dotted with purple ferns. The river murmured along beside them, dark and misty in the evening light. A line of borwood trees stood sentinel on the other side and beyond that was the sun-bathed field and village. She walked to the river and knelt to refill her waterskin, knees sinking a little into the damp, mossy bank. When she finished, she sat back on her heels. Behind her, Kor surveyed the area, glancing into the forest as though checking for danger.

  A breeze whispered in the trees around Allinor. There was a nip in the air. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and watched the swift-moving water. Leaves drifted into the river from the borwood branches overhead and floated by. They were a variety of sizes, the largest of which was three times the width of Allinor’s hand. She plucked one from the water and twirled its stem in her fingers. It fluttered back and forth with the motion like a trapped butterfly. This particular leaf was not tainted by the changing colors of late fall. The velvety forest green was marked by pale, moss-yellow veins that spread through it and bordered its serrated edges. The leaf bowed out in a fat heart shape, its point tapering off into two slim tails. She dropped it back in the river and watched it float away.

  At last Kor stepped up beside her. With a soft groan, he eased his pack and waterskin over his head and dropped to his stomach for a drink. As he bent, an ivory pendant slipped over the front of his shirt’s loose neckstrings and swung on a braided sinew cord. The circular bone piece was about the size of a large walnut, if the walnut had been flattened with a mallet. A section at its center curved out like a wave from the surrounding ring of bone, and a badger head profile was etched into the curving section. There was a deep indent where the badger’s eye should have been and scoring above and below it like a scar, as though something had been pried free.

  Curious, she pointed at the pendant. “Did you make that?”

  “No.” Kor stuffed it back out of sight. “I’ve had it since I was a lad. Can’t remember where it came from.” He cupped his hands to continue drinking from the river.

  “It’s well carved,” she said, trying to be friendly. “Does it mean anything?”

  He shrugged.

  “We have braided kotash fur and cockerel feather charms in Tilldor. They’re supposed to protect the wearer and preserve their luck.”

  “Mm.” Kor splashed water on his face and ran a wet hand through his tangled locks.

  Again, Allinor’s gaze was drawn to his back. Blood seeped through the angry, swollen gashes in his flesh, soaking his shredded shirt and vest. The injury looked worse than she’d thought. Bad injuries always did before tending. She tore her gaze from it and took a draught from her waterskin, trying to appear calm and unconcerned. “Why not come with me?”

  He cocked an eyebrow, flicking water from his fingers as he rose to his knees. “To Tilldor? I’m rather fond of the forest.”

  Allinor forced a laugh to cover her concern. “No, the village.”

  With a shake of his head, Kor sat back and stretched one leg out before him.

  She persisted, “I don’t have the herbs to tend your injury, but maybe a villager can help. There was an empty room in the tavern next to mine—”

  “Tavern?” Kor’s gaze locked on her. “You’re staying at the tavern?”

  She nodded. “Their prices are a little inflated for a village inn, but yes, I did rent a room. Thought I’d spend the night.”

  “Don’t.” He put another yulgera lump in his mouth. He had gone through quite a number of them in a short period, she’d noticed. “Tib has a—bit of a greedy reputation,” he said, hesitating. “If you’re not careful he’ll rob you blind.”

  At this, Allinor sat up straighter. “But my silver pieces—my pack is still there.”

  Kor nearly choked on his lump, but managed to squeeze out a word between coughs. “Silver?”

  “Funny,” she said dryly. “That bald little man with a limp reacted the same way.”

  After clearing his throat, Kor said, “That bald little man is Tib. He falls among the ungentlemanly villagers I mentioned earlier. He owns the tavern and finds silver more than a little tempting. If you left your belongings there, chances are he’s already taken them. Avoid the tavern.”

  Allinor silently digested this information, then stood and slipped the waterskin over her shoulder. “I
should be going.”

  Kor got to his feet and pointed at a skinny log lying across the river to their right. It looked precarious with its splintered underside and the long cracks running through it. “Cross there, and be sure to stay in the space between the rocks on the other side.”

  She squinted at the ferns across the river, but only saw a few stones hiding in them.

  “You’ll know what I mean closer up,” Kor said. “You have to crouch to see them. Stick to the path between and you won’t anger the flaming nettles. They’re particularly thick around there.” Allinor glanced sharply at him, trying to determine if he was joking, but he just held out his hand and bade her a cheery, “Good luck.”

  They clasped forearms and Allinor was alarmed to feel him trembling.

  “Please, come with me,” she said. “Surely someone in the village has the herbs to help.”

  He released his grip. “I’ll be fine.”

  Allinor dropped her chin and shoulders, fixing him with a hard stare. He avoided meeting it.

  “If I stopped to pamper every little scrape, I wouldn’t last long in the forest. There’s a saying: The dog that stops to lick a scratch will never see the swooping snatch…”

  She cocked her head at him.

  “It’s from a book—”

  She nodded eagerly, cutting him off. “The Silver Rose. I know it. My father—” She stopped, then continued more soberly. “…used to read it to me often. But how do you—?”

  “I’ve read it too, once or twice.” He grinned. “Not all forest hermits are ignorant, you know.”

  “Mmm.” She frowned, dubious. Then, “That’s more than a scratch.”

  He didn’t respond.