Devon Monk - Cold Copper

“We are. Kitchen’s this way.”

“So is Mae, I believe. How are your knees?”

“Why?” Cedar asked.

“Just wondering if you’re capable of a bended one.”

“Won’t be asking her tonight, Wil.”

“If we don’t keep hold on the life we want, it’s likely to just wander away.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard you in a philosophical mood,” Cedar said. “Must be the full moonlight’s set you romanticizing.”

Wil laughed. “My words are falling on deaf ears, I’m afraid.”

“For now,” Cedar said, settling his coat over his shoulders and buttoning it up. “We have hunting to do.”

Wil strapped on his gun and gun belt before shrugging into his coat, tugging it straight, and then latching it closed.

Making a point not to meet Cedar’s gaze, Wil said, “Last I knew there were no laws against a man hunting more than one thing at once.”

“I suppose,” Cedar said.

Wil hooked laces up his boots and pulled them tight. “So you’re still not going to talk to her tonight?”

“There are children to save, Wil. Everything else can wait.” Cedar gave his brother a smile. “But the night’s young. I’m of a positive considerance you’re not going to stop talking about it until dawn.”

Wil grinned as he adjusted his hat. “Reckon you know me pretty well.”

They left the room and found Mae waiting in the kitchen. She had on her long coat, a pair of breeches tucked into her boots, and a hat pulled tight to her chin. She was also carrying a shotgun.

“Are you ready then, gentlemen?”

“I’d be wasting my time asking you to stay, wouldn’t I?” Cedar said.

“Yes.” She opened the door. “I’ve hitched the mules to the wagon and filled it with blankets. If we find the children, we’ll need some way to bring them back. I promise I won’t get in your way.”

“I’ve never once worried about that,” Cedar said. Then, “Are you sure you shouldn’t stay with Father Kyne? To see that he’s tended?”

Wil tugged on a thick pair of gloves and worked on settling a length of wool around his throat to cover the grin he was giving Cedar. Ask her , he mouthed.

Mae had, thankfully, turned her attention to the weather through the door’s window.

“Thank you, Mr. Hunt,” she said as she drew her scarf around the bottom half of her face, “for thinking of him. But he will be fine. Now. Let’s hunt for the children so you can hunt for the Holder.”

“Have I mentioned how I always enjoy your company, Mae?” Wil asked. “And my brother, he just can’t stop talking about how much he likes having you around.” Wil stepped outside and gave Cedar a big wink before offering his arm to help steady Mae across the icy ground to the wagon.

Cedar sighed and followed them, closing the door behind him.

For a moment, the world slipped and his vision split in two. He was outside the door to the church and he was inside, lying in a bed, staring at the ceiling, the beast calling his name.

He shook his head and the double vision faded. But for that second, he had seen through his own eyes and through Father Kyne’s. He glanced at Wil, who hadn’t missed a step. He must not be experiencing the same thing.

He considered saying something, but decided this was too rare an opportunity to turn away from. They’d hunt for as long as they were able.

Mae had seen to it there were two horses saddled along with the wagon.

After making sure Mae was settled in the driver’s seat of the wagon, Wil swung up on one of the horses. “I’ve missed this,” he said as Cedar, already in his saddle, sent his mount across the snow. “Would you like me to take the lead?”

“No,” Cedar said. “We can’t strike out into the night on a gut feeling. Not in this weather. Mae?” He took his horse to the side of the wagon. “Is there any kind of spell that might locate the children? I’ve done some hunting and found no real signs of them today other than frozen footprints by the river.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I tried scrying for them when you were in town.” She shook her head. “Father Kyne gave me this.”

She handed him a pink ribbon. “He said it belonged to Florence, the Peters’ daughter. He didn’t know if it would be useful. Perhaps for a scent?”

Cedar took the ribbon fluttering in her fingers and held it in his palm. The song of the Strange rose soft from that thin strip of silk. The Strange had touched this ribbon. Maybe they had touched the girl who it once belonged to.

He offered the ribbon to Wil. As soon as Wil grasped it, his eyebrows hitched up. “Strange,” he said. “Think you can follow that?”

Cedar nodded. “You can’t?”

“Usually I’d say yes, but this”—he pointed at his chest—“change makes me a little uncertain about the whole thing.”

“Just tell me if you see something I don’t.” Cedar took the ribbon back and placed it in his pocket next to the small piece of copper.

He turned his horse down the lane following the hint of Strange song caught and muffled in the cold wind.

Wil’s senses might feel unreliable, but Cedar’s were very foggy. He could hear the Strange, he could smell them, but he didn’t see a single creature.

When they reached the end of the lane, Wil spoke. “Do you see that?”

Cedar scanned the darkness. “No.”

“There are ribbons of light, like trails tracing along the street.”

“I don’t see anything.”

Wil dismounted.

“What are you doing?” Cedar asked.

“I’m going to find out what they are.” Wil stepped into the center of the street, spreading his bare hands as if trying to catch the nature of the wind upon his fingertips.

“What do you see?” Cedar asked.

“A thin pink string of light runs down the street. There’s other lights, like ribbons in all sorts of colors, coming from all the roads to this one. And none of them are higher than my waist.”

“Do you think it’s the Strange passing through?”

Wil shook his head. “I hear singing, Cedar. Children singing. Laughing. Some are crying. When I stand in these ribbons, I hear their voices. They walked this way, drawn away in the night. Lost.”

“Are you sure?” Cedar asked. “Finding them shouldn’t be this simple.”

“I know.” Wil walked back over to his horse, shaking his hands out as if shedding water. “You really can’t see that?”

“No.”

“So?” Wil asked. “What do you reckon?”

“It’s a trail. A trail the children walked. One ribbon for each child, pouring out of the heart of this city.”

“That’s…convenient,” Wil said. “So you think the Strange made these trails? To lure us?”

“Possibly,” Cedar said.

“We’re going to follow them, aren’t we?”

“We shouldn’t.”

Wil’s eyes crinkled up to make room for his grin. “It is the only trail. If it’s a trap, let’s spring it and move on to the next.” Wil clicked his tongue and urged his horse down the road following the lines of light.

Mae brought the wagon up beside Cedar. “He’s always so full of fire,” she said, not unkindly.

“That he is,” Cedar agreed. “And it has often burned him. He says there’s a clear trail that the children, many, many children followed this way. We’re going to follow it.”

“You sound concerned.”

“I can’t see it, and he can. I know Wil and I perceive the Strange differently, but”—he peered at the road, and at the city ahead of them—“I see nothing of the Strange. At all. Even though it is the full moon.”

“Maybe it’s the spell we cast?” Mae offered.

Cedar shrugged. “And to find a trail lit up bright as a torch and nearly on our doorstep? It’s too easy.”