Ken Hood - Demon Rider

Father Guillem insisted that there was only one road up this valley and hence no chance of getting lost, but Toby was far less worried about losing his way than he was about the reports of bandits molesting travelers. To send scouts out ahead would be useless in these conditions, even if he had any to send.

One way or another, the pilgrimage was ending. If he could deliver his charges safely to Montserrat, then Pepita, Gracia, and Father Guillem would remain at the monastery, while the others would resume their journey to Barcelona in a day or two. Toby himself would carry on alone, toward France, but here he was very close to Baron Oreste, who must be hunting for him with gramarye.

All day the don rode a few lengths ahead, bearing his lance and shield ready for use. Toby mostly stayed at the rear with the rest of the men, but from time to time he would ride along the line, trying to raise people's spirits. It was hard to keep up a cheerful front in such weather. When he asked Senora Collel to take a turn at leading the packhorses, she refused vehemently.

"I did not entrust myself to the don's protection," she snapped, "in order to serve as a mule skinner. Furthermore, I contracted to be escorted directly to Barcelona, not dragged up into these wild hills."

She was probably looking for an excuse to refuse further payment, and she was undoubtedly annoyed at no longer having a servant to nag and bully. But she had not mentioned hiring Toby as her resident Pretty Boy since she learned he was possessed, and that was an improvement.

Even the normally sparkly Pepita seemed glum, although that was partly because she still mourned Brother Bernat. She perched on her horse like a sodden bundle of laundry, her tiny, pinched face peering out from a cocoon comprised of every spare garment the pilgrims possessed. "You are my friend. I do not want you to go away and leave me."

"I do not want to leave you either, Senorita Pepita. I have enjoyed traveling with you, but life is full of sorrows, and parting from friends is one of them."

"You sound just like Brother Bernat! Why cannot I teach my spirit friend about happiness, instead of just about sorrow?"

"You have taught it about friendship by being my friend. Friendship is a great happiness, perhaps the very best of all."

"I shall not forget Brother Bernat, because he was my friend, and I shall not forget you."

"And I shall always remember you. You have taught me many things about carrying the burden of a spirit."

She wagged a minute finger at him. "You must not let it throw thunderbolts at people again! That was a bad thing you let it do."

"No, I never shall. I promise." He would at least try.

Even Doña Francisca was not quite her usual indomitable self. "I will pray to Montserrat for you, Senor Toby. I am very grateful for all your help. We should not be here now had it not been for you."

"Oh, that isn't true. In fact, I put you all in danger. You would have done better without me. Your son would have managed perfectly well."

She smiled disbelievingly. "I only wish we had money to reward you, for you have served us all loyally without a hope of—"

"I wish you had money, too, senora, for then I could refuse it. Journeying with you has been its own reward."

Gracia was better company, foreseeing the end of her strange mission. Either she did not comprehend the pervasive danger, or she had faith in her voices.

"These mountains must be very splendid when the sun shines, must they not?"

"Indeed they must," Toby agreed. "Brother Bernat said that spirits choose beautiful places for their domains, so I suppose very great spirits should have very wonderful scenery."

"My sons will be happy here, and all those other wraiths also." Her hand closed around the bottle. She had not been parted from it since he rescued it from the Inquisition.

"I am sure Montserrat will cherish them. And what of yourself? You will enter the nunnery?"

She hesitated. "I swore I would not mention... But this is our farewell, yes? We shall never meet again, and I owe you so much that I cannot bear not to tell you... You will not betray my confidence, senor?"

"Of course not."

"Don Ramon and I are pledged to be married! He wishes his saintly mother to be first to hear the news, and she is presently at home, running his great estates, so we are to say nothing until he has a chance to write to her."

He looked down at the stars of happiness sparkling in Gracia's eyes and could say nothing except to offer his congratulations and best wishes. The don was a man of honor as he defined honor. Deceiving pretty girls did not count. It was a gentleman's privilege.

Jacques rode in silence, smiling blissfully at the fog, except when he was answering a question with a worried, "I don't know, senor." He claimed he could not remember how long he had lived at Montserrat, where he had come from before that, or even if he had ever been married. Once he burst into song and sang to himself a long romantic lament in French without ever hitting a wrong note or stumbling over the words; and another time, as Toby came by, he was shaving while still riding on his donkey. He did an excellent job, too, without a single nick. Toby was tempted to borrow the razor and try the same feat just to see if he could do it, but his courage failed him. Jacques was a total mystery.

Josep was so muffled under a sodden fur hat that little of his face was visible. He smiled with blue lips, though, and held out a purse. "Your fee, Campeador ."

It clinked. It was weighty.

"Senor Brusi!" Toby protested, without even opening it. "This is too much! And the journey isn't over yet."

"Too much for my life? No, you have earned every blanca of it. I included an open letter to my agents in other cities. If you can find your way to any of them, they will give you employment."

Toby thanked him sincerely, but he untied the purse and removed the letter. "This will be incriminating evidence if I fall into the Inquisition's clutches, senor."

"Then read it and destroy it, but memorize the names. I shall write and tell them to look out for you."

"You are very kind," Toby said awkwardly. Kindness was a phenomenon he had met so rarely that he hardly knew how to handle it.

Father Guillem, who normally wore a solid frown, was beaming cheerfully because he was almost home. That did not stop him from giving Toby several stern lectures on the importance of keeping the hob under firm control in the future.

"Had it not been for Brother Bernat's testimony," he concluded, "I should certainly have reported you to the Inquisition in Tortosa. By all the customary criteria, you are possessed by a demon. Your watchword from now on must be eternal vigilance!"

It must be Lochan na Bi. Toby assured the learned acolyte that he was aware of the dangers.

And Hamish.

Hamish looked like a three-day corpse, very different from his usual merry self. The bandage round his head failed to hide all of the bruise swelling like a slice of raw liver on his temple. Unless the spirit was willing to heal him, he would need a week in bed to recover from that injury. He spoke little, which was an ominous sign, and he was visibly weakening as the day dragged on.

Under the pall of cloud, darkness seemed to come hours earlier than it should. The road entered a dense pine forest and grew steeper and steeper until it was zigzagging up a precipitous hillside. The horses found it hard going, although wagons obviously used the trail, for the stony surface was deeply rutted, running rivulets of reddish-brown water.

"Are you all right?" Toby asked anxiously, several times.

Usually Hamish just nodded, although the answer was obviously, No . Once he asked, "How much farther now?"

"An hour or so, Father Guillem says. Maybe less. He isn't sure where the safe zone begins, but he expects there will be a checkpoint soon. Look, if you want to hear some good news, I'm not having any feelings of déjà vu . None at all! I've never come this way before, I'm certain."