Jill Williamson: To Darkness Fled

Achan had no pack, only Eagan's Elk. His change of clothes was in Sir Caleb's pack. "Do you think the water damaged my sword?"

"Not in that short time," Sir Caleb said. "When did you last oil the blade?"

Achan's mouth hung open a moment, his vision flicking to Sir Gavin. "I've never done so."

Sir Caleb stared at Sir Gavin's back. "Were you not taught?"

Achan swallowed. "I-"

Sir Gavin sighed and answered while rummaging through his pack. "There was no time, Caleb. Nathak banished me the day I gave Achan the blade. Besides, you know I'm no teacher. I've done the best I could. But now that he has you, I freely relinquish the honor of his weapons training."

Achan was thankful for Sir Gavin's instruction. But could Sir Caleb teach him more? Teach him better?

Sir Caleb glared long and hard at Sir Gavin, as if the crime of not oiling a blade deserved years in Ice Island. Finally he turned to Achan. "I have oil in my pack, Your Highness. For now, remove the blade from the scabbard to give both time to dry. A wet scabbard can rust steel."

Achan lifted the hem of his shirt to dry Eagan's Elk. A black mark on his side caught his eye and it all came rushing back. "Can we get these leeches off now?"

"Yes." Sir Caleb unfastened his jerkin and shrugged it off. "Best take off all your clothes to make sure we don't miss any."

Achan set Eagan's Elk in a nearby tree and stripped down to his undershorts. He stacked his clothing carefully on the branch to avoid having it touch too much slime.

At least a dozen leeches spotted Sir Caleb's pale and wiry torso. "And that's why you don't rip them off. See how much you're bleeding?"

Achan looked down. Tiny streams of blood ran down his chest like water after a bath.

"Slide your fingernails under to wedge them off."

Achan mirrored Sir Caleb, plucking the parasites away.

"Be tossing them aside after." Inko draped his cape in a tree, his grey skin and pockmarked face like a potato full of eyes. "I'm not wanting them crawling on me in my sleep."

The men paired up to check each other's backs, Achan with Sir Caleb and Inko with Sir Gavin. Then they checked their own undershorts.

"I'm clean." Achan pitched the last leech into the trees.

A voice in the woods cried out.

Achan froze. "What was that?"

Sir Caleb wrenched his sword from the branches and advanced on the trees, weapon raised. "In the name of Caan, come out. We mean you no harm."

Vrell clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle another sob and wiped tears from her cheeks.

"Come out, now, or I'll come in after you," Sir Caleb said.

Vrell yanked up her trousers and tied her belt with shaking fingers. "It is only me." Her voice betrayed her, coming out soft, like a kitten's mew, expressing her true emotions. She inched toward the flickering light, thankful her entire body hadn't been underwater.

All four men stood in their undershorts staring at her, eyes wide. Trickles of blood were smeared across Achan's chest. The white bandage she had tied around his head had been knocked askew. She cast her gaze to the ground and casually drew her fingers along her thigh where a tickle spasmed. Could she have missed a leech? She had checked herself thoroughly but had hardly been able to see what she was doing.

Sir Caleb still held his sword ready. "What in flames were you doing in there, boy?"

Vrell stared at the sleek blade. "I…I had to…"

Achan's lips curved into a lopsided grin that faltered as quickly as it came. "Didn't realize you were gone." He winced, evidence that his cheeks still pained him. "Did my leech hit you?"

"Nearly." Vrell meandered to the edge of the clearing where Sir Gavin had promised food. She turned her back to the tree holding Sir Gavin's pack and folded her arms, still trembling at the memory of leeches attached to her legs. Achan spoke to Sir Caleb, his scarred back facing her. Pity doused her bad attitude. At least no one had ever whipped her.

Achan walked to Vrell's tree. He peeled his shirt off a branch as if thick cobwebs held it there.

"Wait." Vrell dug out a scrap of linen from her satchel and handed it to Achan. "Use this to stop the bleeding. You should let me rinse those wounds out as well."

"I'm fine." He wadded the linen in one hand and wiped the trails of blood away. He pushed the hair from his eyes as he worked. A thick strand stuck to his forehead, held there by a trail of slime. "Get your leeches off?"

Vrell stared at the moss beneath her feet. "I–I think so."

"Strip down and I'll check."

Vrell's eyes swelled. "I–I am fine. I am not…feeling well." She backed into the thicket of prickly trees, keeping an eye on Achan. A sharp branch dug into her shoulder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. The trees were so close together it was difficult to get through.

Achan's gaze followed her. "What are you doing?"

She slid behind a thick trunk and held her breath, praying someone would distract Achan from his quest to be helpful.

But Achan called again, "Sparrow?"

"Leave him." Sir Caleb's low and commanding voice soothed Vrell's nerves. "He'll ask for help if he needs it."

"But how can he stand it?" Achan asked. "I didn't want the little beasts on my skin any longer than they had been."

"Worry about yourself. Get your sword and sit. Then I'll show you how to oil your blade and rub down your scabbard."

Vrell sank against the tree, stopping herself before she sat on the moist ground. She squatted, wrapping her arms around her knees. Now seemed a good time to try and contact Mother again, but she hated the idea of blacking out on this sodden ground. That would not matter if Mother did not answer.

Vrell concentrated on her mother's face and sent a knock.

She waited, listening, but heard only the men shuffling in the clearing, the crackling of the torch, the occasional click and hiss from above. She took a deep breath-gagged at the bitter smell of the forest-and knocked again.

"Vrell?" Sir Gavin called out. "Come back, lad. I've got to put out the torch."

Vrell forced tears away and stood. She paused to let a bout of dizziness fade from standing too fast and crept back to the clearing. Four bedrolls had been laid out around the torch. A moth the size of Vrell's hand fluttered around the flame. Achan, Inko, and Sir Caleb had each claimed a bed. Sir Gavin's pack sat on the last bedroll. The knight crouched beside the torch. Where would Vrell sleep? Surely they would not expect her to share one of those skinny little flaps of leather?

"Get yourself some meat, Vrell, and sit." Sir Gavin motioned to the bedroll with his pack.

An open burlap sack protruded from the top of Sir Gavin's pack. Vrell knelt on Sir Gavin's bedroll and took the top chunk of dried meat from the sack.

"Couldn't you be waiting until we're offering our thanks?" Inko's gaze locked on Achan, who had eaten half his meat.

Achan shot a questioning glance at Vrell. She pressed her hands together in a position of prayer. His head tipped back and he pursed his lips.

Vrell knew little of what Achan believed about Arman, but she knew he didn't follow the Way like she and the knights did. Likely, Achan held beliefs similar to the rest of Er'Rets' general populace, who believed in a host of gods for any and every superstition. The remnant who knew the truth-who followed the Way, believing in Arman, the Father God, as the one and only god-was a small group indeed.

"But why thank Arman for food?" Achan asked.

Vrell coughed and clapped a hand over her mouth. How rude to question Arman-or one's elders-in such a way.

But Achan charged on, clearly unfazed by his impropriety, chewing while he spoke. "I mean, if you thank him for food, why not thank him for everything? Clothes, companions, being alive, leeches…I don't see what good it does, why it matters."