Terry Goodkind - The Pillars of Creation

“But those places are beyond barriers and boundaries that can’t be crossed.”

“Then how can he be here? It must be so, otherwise he could not have traveled here.”

“And Sebastian is from one of these other lands?”

“To the south, he said.”

“The south? I don’t see how it could be possible. Are you sure that’s what he said?”

“Yes.” Jennsen added a firm nod of confirmation. “He said the south. He only mentioned it casually. I’m not sure how it’s possible, but what if it is? Mother, maybe he could guide us there. Maybe, if we asked, he would guide us out of this nightmare land.”

As levelheaded as her mother was, Jennsen could see that she was considering this wild idea. It wasn’t crazy—her mother was thinking it over, so it couldn’t be crazy. Jennsen was suddenly filled with a sense of hope that maybe she had come up with something that would save them.

“Why would he do this for us?”

“I don’t know. I don’t even know if he would consider it, or what he would want in return. I didn’t ask him. I didn’t dare even to mention it until I talked to you, first. That’s part of why I wanted him to stay here—so you could question him. I feared to lose this chance to discover if it really is possible.”

Her mother looked around again at the house. It was tiny, only one room, and it was nothing fancy, built from logs and wood they had shaped themselves, but it was warm and snug and dry. It was frightening to contemplate striking out in the dead of winter. The alternative of being caught, though, was far worse. Jennsen knew what would happen if they were caught. Death would not come swiftly. If they were caught, death would come only after endless torture.

At last, her mother gathered herself and spoke. “That’s good thinking, Jenn. I don’t know if anything can come of such an idea, but we’ll talk to Sebastian and see. One thing is for sure. We have to leave. We dare not delay until spring—not if they’re this close. We’ll leave at dawn.”

“Mother, where will we go, this time, if Sebastian won’t lead us away from D’Hara?”

Her mother smiled. “Baby, the world is a big place. We are only two small people. We will simply vanish again. I know it’s hard, but we’re together. It will be fine. We’ll see some new sights, now won’t we? Some more of the world.

“Now, go get Sebastian and take him to the cave. I’ll get started on dinner. We’ll all need to have a good meal.”

Jennsen quickly kissed her mother’s cheek before racing down the trail. The rain was starting, and it was so gloomy among the trees that she could hardly see. The trees were all huge D’Haran soldiers to her, broad, powerful, grim. She knew she would have nightmares after seeing a real D’Haran soldier up close.

Sebastian was still sitting on the rock, waiting. He stood as she rushed up to him.

“My mother said it was all right for you to sleep in the cave with the animals. She’s started on cooking up the fish for us. She wants to meet you.”

He looked too tired to be happy, but he managed to show her a small smile. Jennsen seized his wrist and urged him to follow her. He was already shivering with the wet. His arm was warm, though. Fever was like that, she knew. You shivered even though you were burning up. But with some food and herbs and a good night’s rest, she was sure he would soon be well.

What she wasn’t sure of was if he would help them.

Betty, their brown goat, watched attentively from her pen, occasionally voicing her displeasure at sharing her home, as Jennsen quickly collected straw to the side for the stranger in Betty’s sanctuary. Bleating her distress, Betty finally quieted when Jennsen affectionately scratched the nervous goat’s ears, patted the wiry hair covering her round middle, and then gave her half a carrot from the stash up on a high ledge. Betty’s short upright tail wagged furiously.

Sebastian shed his cloak and pack, but kept on the belt with his new weapons. He unstrapped his bedroll from under his pack and spread it out over the mat of straw. Despite Jennsen’s urging, he wouldn’t lie down and rest while she knelt near the cave’s entrance and prepared the fire pit.

As he helped her stack dry kindling, she could see by the dim light coming from the window of the house on the other side of the clearing that sweat beaded his face. He repeatedly scraped his knife down the length of a branch, swiftly building a clump of fluffy fibers. He struck a steel to flint several times, sending sparks through the darkness into the tinder he’d made. He cupped the fluff in his hands and with gentle puffs of breath nursed the slow flames until they strengthened, then placed the burning tinder beneath the kindling, where the flames quickly grew and popped to life among the dry twigs. The branches released a pleasing fragrance of balsam as they caught flame.

Jennsen had been planning on running to the house, not far off, to get some hot coals to start the fire, but he had it going before she could even suggest it. By the way he trembled, she imagined he was impatient for heat, even though he was burning with fever. She could smell the aroma of the frying fish coming from the house, and when the wind among the pine boughs died from time to time, she could hear the sizzle.

The chickens retreated from the growing light into the deep shadows at the back of the cave. Betty’s ears stood at attention as she watched Jennsen for any signs that another carrot might be forthcoming. Her tail wagged in hopeful fits.

The opening in the mountain was simply a place where, in some distant age past, a slab of rock had tumbled out, like some giant granite tooth come loose, to plunge down the slope and leave a dry socket behind. Now, trees below grew among a collection of such fallen boulders. The cave only ran back about twenty feet, but the overhang of rock at the entrance further sheltered it and helped keep it dry. Jennsen was tall, but the ceiling of the cave was high enough that she could stand in most of it, and since Sebastian was only a little taller than she, his spikes of snow white hair, now a mellow orange in the firelight, didn’t brush the top as he went to the back to collect some of the dry wood stacked there. The chickens squawked at being bothered, but then quickly settled back down.

Jennsen squatted on the opposite side of the fire from Sebastian, with her back to the rain that had started, so she could see his face in the firelight as they both warmed their hands in the heat of the crackling flames. After a day in the frigid damp weather, the fire’s warmth felt luxurious. She knew that sooner or later winter would return with a vengeance. As cold and uncomfortable as it was now, it would get worse.

She tried not to think about having to leave their snug home, especially at this time of year. She had known from the first instant she saw the piece of paper, though, that they might.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” he said, looking as eager for the fish as Betty was for a carrot. The wonderful smells were making her stomach grumble, too.

“That’s good. My mother always says that if you’re ill, and you have an appetite, then it can’t be too serious.”

“I’ll be fine in a day or two.”

“A rest will do you good.”

Jennsen drew her knife from its sheath at her belt. “We’ve never allowed anyone to stay here before. You will understand that we will be taking precautions.”

She could see in his eyes that he didn’t know what she was talking about, but he shrugged his understanding of her prudence.

Jennsen’s knife wasn’t anything like the fine weapon the soldier had been carrying. They could afford nothing like that knife. Hers had a simple handle made of antler and the blade wasn’t thick, but she kept its edge razor sharp.