SIXTEEN
By the time he finally reached Emberen, Tavo Kaynin had been on the road for ten days. It would have taken longer, but in the end he had stolen a horse and ridden for the last three days of his journey. He was worn down both mentally and physically. He had killed twenty-three people—his parents and his uncle, Squit Malk, the men in the tavern, and the man on the road whom he had broken in order to find his sister—but it meant nothing to him. He no longer felt anything was wrong with killing when he could justify it by pointing to the ways he had been mistreated. Fluken was quick to reassure him that he should not allow others to abuse or mislead him—and that anyone who did should expect to pay a price. If the cost of their transgressions was their lives, it was unfortunate for them but no blame should attach to Tavo.
That was Fluken’s thinking—and now Tavo’s as well. That was who he was. He was, in short, a creature he would not have recognized a few months earlier. His mind no longer worked as it once had. Yes, he still sought his sister with the same relentless determination that had driven him from the beginning of his flight from Backing Fell, and nothing had changed to his way of thinking where Tarsha was concerned. She had betrayed him. She had left him in his uncle’s care just as their parents had and then abandoned him. Like everyone else, she deserved the retribution he planned to deliver.
He entered Emberen, a ragged and soiled creature—his demons raging inside him and his desperate need to exact revenge on his sister beyond understanding—sitting astride the stolen horse he had ridden half to death. Fluken sat behind him, invisible to all who glanced his way, whispering steadily in his ear, urging him onward, prodding him relentlessly. Fluken was his friend, and he listened. But in truth, he felt the hold that Fluken once had on him beginning to weaken. He no longer needed Fluken as he had before. He better understood how powerful he was, how much in control of a magic that for so long had been in control of him. He understood that letting the magic guide him, that letting it think it was in control when actually it wasn’t, allowed him to be its master.
He saw no problem with this reasoning. He saw nothing wrong with his newfound conviction that he had mastered something so powerful simply by deciding to go along with its urges.
It was early morning in the village and there were few people about. Most who saw him turned their heads. Most sensed in him something they did not want to get close to. But these people did not matter. They were no different from trees or storefronts or animals; he would suffer them but not allow them to deter him.
Twice he stopped people to ask after Drisker Arc—one a man, one a woman. Each time they were quick enough to respond, pointing him down the road and beyond the town. The woman gave more explicit guidance, however, telling him exactly where to go and what to look for. The Druid had moved recently, she revealed. Someone had burned down his cottage. There was in her eagerness to reveal what she knew both fear and loathing. Which of these emotions was for Tavo and which generated by mention of the man he asked after, it was difficult to say, but it didn’t matter. A path to his destination had been provided, and Tarsha would be waiting not too far ahead.
He abandoned his horse just outside of town, climbing down gingerly and setting the animal loose to wander where it wanted. A man passing gave him a questioning look, but Tavo ignored him. The horse was a burden he no longer needed. The man hesitated as if to reprimand him for his lack of care, then appeared to decide against it and passed on. Others he encountered gave him looks, as well. He knew he was a sight, unwashed and bloodied, his clothes ragged, his face drawn and scarred. He had eaten nothing in three days save an apple and a half loaf of bread another traveler had offered him. He had found water easily enough, but nothing else. Not that either food or water much mattered. He wasn’t thinking of sustenance and didn’t miss it. All of his attention was focused on reaching Tarsha and putting an end to this part of his journey.
Fluken walked beside him, jaunty and fresh-faced. He never seemed to change, not even in the smallest way. No dirt ever appeared on his face or hands or clothes. He never ate anything—at least not that Tavo saw—preferring to sit back and watch his friend eat. Perhaps it was his unselfish nature that caused him to forgo food for the benefit of his companion. Perhaps he just didn’t care all that much about food. It was hard to say. Everything about Fluken was confusing and vague save his insistence on tracking down Tarsha.
They passed out of Emberen, leaving its shops and businesses behind, and moved into a residential district where stretches of forest separated the houses and outbuildings. A pair of children came running out of a patch of woods off to one side, caught sight of him and hesitated, then raced back into the trees. A dog barked at him from the end of a heavy chain. The dog was big and dangerous-looking, but Tavo just stared it down. In moments the dog had turned back, slinking away with a low growl.
When he reached Drisker Arc’s cottage, he recognized it right away from the description the woman in the village had supplied. It was set well back from the road, a small building of white-painted boards and a brick chimney. A broad covered porch ran the length of the front side, enclosed by an ornate metal railing and a broad wooden capstone. A pair of ancient straight-back chairs and two small tables occupied the available space and seemed entirely insufficient for the job.
Tavo stood looking at the cottage for long minutes, trying to decide what to do. He needed to find his sister, but he didn’t want her to see him and flee. He thought to call out, then stopped himself. Better just to walk up to the door and knock.
He was on his way up the gravel pathway when the front door opened and an old woman clothed in black appeared on the porch. She didn’t see him at first; her clear intent was to sit in one of the chairs. But even without looking at him, she seemed to sense him and turned. And the expression on her face stopped him in his tracks.
“Who are you?” she demanded in a tone of voice that suggested he ought to answer.
“I’m looking for my sister,” he said.
“Why look here?”
“This is Drisker Arc’s home, isn’t it? I was told she was coming here.”
The old woman studied him a moment. “What is your sister’s name?”
Tavo was growing irritated. He didn’t like being questioned, and it felt like this delay might be purposeful. What if Tarsha was already slipping out the back?
“Tarsha,” he said.
The old woman shrugged. “She’s not here. She was, but now she’s gone.”
Suddenly Tavo was infuriated. The old woman was lying; he could feel it. She was trying to help his sister.
“I know she’s inside. You better tell her to get out here!”
“You better watch your tongue.”
Tavo smiled. “You don’t know what will happen if you don’t do what I say! You don’t have any idea what I can do.”