The Banned And The Banished - Witch Fire Part 5

She shivered at his touch but allowed herself to be led away. They backed across the den to the shadowed foot of the stairs. The lantern in the kitchen, like a lonely beacon across the dark house, highlighted her parents. From the stairway, Elena watched her father turn away and begin to lift the rusted iron rod that barred the door against brigands. But Elena knew that what stood outside the door was much worse than thieves.

It was this fear that kept her bolted to the foot of the stairs. Joach tugged at her arm and tried to coax herup. "Elena, we have to go."

"No," she whispered. "They can't see us here in the shadows."

Joach didn't argue, obviously wanting to watch, too. He knelt beside his sister on the first step. "What do you think they want?" he whispered at her ear.

"Me," she answered, also in a whisper, without even thinking. Elena seemed to know this was true. All of it was somehow her fault: the change in her hand, the burned apple in the orchard, the exploded bathing chamber, and now this midnight visitation. There were too many strange happenings to be mere coincidence.

"Look," Joach whispered.

Elena focused back to where her father swung the kitchen door open. He continued to block the threshold, the ax still in his hand. She heard their voices.

Her father spoke first. "Now, what is all this commotion?"

The thin man stepped to the doorway, now highlighted in the lantern. He stood just a few fingers shorter than her father, but not as broad in the chest, and he had a small paunch of belly protruding from a torn ruffled shirt. He wore a riding cloak and black muddied boots. Even from across the house, Elena could tell the cloak was from an expensive clothier, not something purchased in the village. He rubbed at a thin brown mustache under his narrow nose, then answered her father. "We've come concerning an offense.

One of your daughters has been accused of a... um, a foul deed."

"And what offense might that be?"

The speaker glanced over his shoulder and shifted his feet, as if needing a.s.sistance. The second figure now approached the doorway. Elena saw her father stumble back a step. The lantern light revealed a figure cloaked in a coal black robe topped by a dark cowl. A staff was planted in the dirt beside him.

Using a skeletal hand, the occupant of the robe kept the edge of the cowl pulled between his face and the lantern light, as if the brightness stung. His voice creaked with age. "We seek a child-" He held up his bony hand. "-with a bloodstained hand."

Her mother let out a sharp gasp that was quickly stifled, but the old man's face twisted toward her, the lantern light now shining into the cowl. Elena suppressed a gasp herself as those eyes turned toward her mother-they were dead eyes, like the dull globes of stillborn calves, opaque and white.

"We don't know what you're talking about," her father said.

The cowled one collected up his staff and retreated to the dark yard.

The younger man spoke. "Let us not disturb your entire family. Come out here where we can talk in private, perhaps settle this matter without a fuss." He bowed slightly and extended a hand toward the farmyard. "Come, it's late and we could all use sleep."

Elena watched her father take a step toward the door and knew what awaited her father in the yard. She remembered Pintail's body being torn by the beasts that lurked under the soil. She darted up and meant to run to the kitchen, but Joach caught a fist in her nightclothes and yanked her back.

"What do you think you're doing?" he hissed at her.

"Let go!" She struggled with Joach, but he was much stronger. "I must warn Father.""He told us to stay hidden."

She spotted her father stepping to the doorway. Oh, dear G.o.ddess, no! She ripped out of Joach's grip and ran to the kitchen. Joach pursued. The three adults turned to her as she burst into the lantern light.

"Wait!" she called. Her father had stopped at the threshold, his face reddening with fury.

"I thought I told you-"

Behind her father, the younger intruder grabbed her father's shoulders and shoved him outside. Elena screamed as her surprised father flailed and toppled down the three steps to the hard dirt. Her mother rushed the man, a kitchen knife raised in a fist. But her mother was too old and the man too quick; he s.n.a.t.c.hed her mother's wrist and wrenched her around.

Joach yelled in fury, but the man sneered and shoved her mother through the door to land in a crumpled pile beside her father. Joach, spittle flying from his mouth, flew at the intruder. The man swung a cudgel from inside his cloak and clubbed Joach on the side of the head. Her brother collapsed to the wooden floor with a crash.

Elena froze as the man's eyes settled on her. She saw his eyes twitch toward her right hand, the one stained red. Then his eyes grew wide.

"It's true!" he said and took a step away through the door. He glanced out to the cowled one in the yard.

"She is here!"

Her father had struggled to a standing position by now. He stood guard over his wife as she nursed her left arm and pushed to her knees. "Don't you touch my daughter!" her father spat at the intruders.

Joach, his forehead b.l.o.o.d.y, rolled to his feet and stood between Elena and the door, swaying slightly.

The old man hobbled toward her parents. "Your daughter or your life," he creaked, his voice like serpents in the dark.

"You're not taking Elena. I'll kill you both if you try." Her father stood firm under the old one's gaze.

The robed figure simply raised his staff and tapped the ground twice. With the second strike, the dirt at her parents' feet erupted explosively, the cloud of mud obscuring her parents. For the first time in Elena's life, she heard her father scream. The dirt settled, and she saw her mother and father coated in the white worms that had attacked Pintail. Blood flowed freely from them.

Elena screamed, falling to her knees.

Her father swung toward the doorway. "Joach!" he screamed. "Save your sister! Ru-" Further words were choked shut as the worms climbed in his mouth and throat.

Joach backed into Elena, pulling her up.

"No," she said, a mere whisper. Then louder, "No!" Her blood ignited with fire. "No!" Her vision turned red, and her throat constricted shut. She flew to her feet, quaking, her fists clenched. She was dimly aware of Joach, wide-eyed, stumbling back from her. All of her attention was on the yard, on her parents writhing on the churning dirt. Suddenly she screamed, sending all her rage out from her.

A wall of flame burst forth and blasted into the yard. The two foul men tumbled out of the fire's path, but her parents could not move. Elena watched it envelop her mother and father. Her ears, still humming withenergy, heard her parents' screams end as if a door was shut upon them.

Suddenly Joach grabbed her around the waist and propelled her back from the kitchen into the dark den.

The kitchen wall was on fire. Elena collapsed into his arms, spent, a mere rag doll now. Joach struggled with her weight. The room filled with smoke.

"Elena," Joach said in her ear, "I need you. Snap out of it." He began coughing in the oily smoke. The fire had spread to the curtains in the den.

She labored to get her feet under her. "What have I done?"

Joach stared at the flames behind him, tears shining on his cheeks in the firelight. He looked forward, searching.

Smoke choked the air. Elena coughed.

Joach took a step toward the front door, then stopped. "No. They'll expect that. We need another way out."

He suddenly pulled her toward the stairs. Elena felt pinp.r.i.c.ks returning to her numb limbs. She started to shake with silent sobs. "It's my fault."

"Hush. Upstairs."

Joach pushed her to the staircase, then prodded her up the steps. "C'mon, El," he whispered urgently in her ear. "You heard them down there. They're after you."

She turned to him with tears in her eyes. "I know. But why? What did I do?"

Joach didn't have an answer. He pointed to the door to his room. "In here."

She spied the window at the end of the hall and shook free of Joach. "I didn't see what happened. I need to see." She stumbled toward the window.

"Don't!"

Elena ignored her brother's urgent whisper. She reached the hall's end. The thick-paned window did not open but had a wide view of the farmyard below. She leaned her forehead against the cold gla.s.s. Below, only steps from the rear door, lit by the flames, she saw what was left of her mother and father. Smoke billowed across in waves.

Two sets of scorched bones, entwined in each other's arms, lay on the brown dirt, skulls touching each other. The old man stood a few paces away. The fringe of his robe smoldered. He had an arm raised, pointing toward the front of the house.

Joach stepped behind her and pulled her from the window. "You've seen enough, Elena. The fire spreads. We need to hurry."

"But... Mother and Father..." She looked toward the window.

"We'll mourn for them later." Joach helped her to his bedroom. He pulled open his door. "Tonight we need to survive." His next words were ice. "Tomorrow is soon enough for revenge."

"What are we going to do, Joach?" she said as she entered his room."Escape." In the shadowed room, she could still see the firm set to his jaws. How could her brother remain so hard? A few tears had escaped him, nothing else. "We need warmer clothes. Grab my wool overcoat." Her brother slipped into his pants and a thick sweater her mother had knitted him for last Winter's Eve. She remembered that holiday night, and fresh tears began to flow. "Now," Joach said.

She grabbed his long coat off the hook in his closet and pulled into the thick warmth. She hadn't realized how cold she was until the warmth of the jacket embraced her.

Her brother stood by his bedroom window. "El, how's your balance?"

"I'm doing better. Why?"

He waved her to the window. The view looked out on the side of the house. A huge chestnut tree spread its thick branches far and wide, tickling both the eaves of the house and the roof of the horse barn. Her brother pushed the window wide. "Do as I do," he said, as he climbed onto the sill.

He leaped out, caught a thick branch in his hands, and swung up onto a thicker limb. He had obviously done this before. He twisted around and waved her forward.

She climbed onto the narrow sill. Her bare toes clung to the wood. She looked down at the dirt far below. If she should fall, a broken bone was the least of her worries. It was what lay under the dirt that made her teeter on the sill.

Her brother whistled like a warbler, drawing her attention back to him. She leaped out the window and caught the same branch he had. Joach helped pull her onto the thick bough beside him.

"Follow me!" Joach said, his words low, fearful of drawing the others' attention. She heard voices from the front of the house, followed by a crash of gla.s.s. She followed him through the limbs of the tree, ignoring the tinier branches that s.n.a.t.c.hed at clothes and flesh.

Through the branches of the tree, they crossed the treacherous yard. As they reached the smaller branches, the limbs began to bend under their weight. Joach pointed to the open door of the barn's hayloft. "Like this." He ran down a thin branch and jumped across the empty s.p.a.ce. He landed with a roll on a tufted pile of hay. Instantly on his feet, he was at the door again. "Hurry!" he hissed toward her.

She took a deep breath and ran. She must do this! And she might have succeeded if a branch hadn't snagged a pocket as she leaped. The coat ripped, spinning her in midair. She flailed as she flew and could not suppress a scream. Still yelling, she collided with the barn just below the door to the loft.

Before she could fall, Joach had a handful of the overcoat's collar in his grip. She hung in the coat from his arm. "I can't pull you up," he said, straining. "Reach up and grab the edge! Hurry! They're sure to have heard you!"

With her heart clamoring in her ears, she struggled to grasp the edge of the hayloft opening. Only her fingertips reached the wooden lip. But it was enough. With her fingertips pulling and Joach yanking on the coat, they managed to haul her into the loft.

Both winded and gasping for air, they pushed through the hay to the ladder leading down.

Elena paused at the top rung and pointed to the dirt floor of the barn. "What if the worms are down there, too?"

Joach pointed to the stallion and the mare in their stalls. "Look at Tracker and Mist." The two horses, agitated from the commotion, eyes white and rolling with fear, were still alive. "C'mon." Her brother ledthe way, scrambling down the ladder.

Elena followed, piercing her right hand with a thick splinter as she slid down. She picked the piece of wood from her palm, noticing that the ruby stain had faded to a slight pink, almost the same color as her other hand.

Joach had already thrown the stall doors wide, and the two horses snorted warily as they stepped out, upset at the smoke. Her brother tossed her a set of reins and a bit. She ran a fast hand down Mist's neck, calming her, and slipped the bit and reins in place. They didn't have time for saddles.

Joach leaped atop Tracker and sidled over to help pull her onto Mist's bare back. Once seated, he crossed to the door at the rear of the barn and used his toe to kick loose the latch. The doors swung open, facing the edge of the orchard. Joach held a door wide to allow Mist pa.s.sage.

As Elena guided Mist outside, she scanned the dark s.p.a.ce between the barn and the trees. Clouds had masked the moon, and the air was thick with smoke. Just as she was turning Mist toward the trees, light bloomed from behind Joach. Elena swung in her seat and gasped. Behind her brother, at the corner of the barn, the cowled man stepped into the rear s.p.a.ce. His partner held a lantern high.

"Elena, go!" Joach swung his horse to face the two men. "I'll hold them off."

Elena ignored him and watched the old man raise his crooked staff and strike the packed dirt. With this sharp impact, the ground swelled around the two men and spread in a wave, like a pebble dropped in a pond. The wave of churning soil raced toward Joach. Momentary glimpses of thick white bodies roiled in the dirt. "No! Joach, run!"

Joach saw what sped toward him. He yanked on Tracker's reins, twisting the horse's neck around.

Tracker whinnied in panic, fighting for a moment, then danced in a circle and began to leap away from the pursuers. But the horse moved too slowly. The advancing edge of the corrupt wave swallowed the mount's hind legs.

Elena watched as the rear of the horse sank into the soil as if into mire. The mud turned black with blood.

Tracker reared up and screamed in pain, his eyes bulging. Joach held tight to the reins. The horse crashed to the ground. The hooves of his forelimbs dug deep into the packed dirt, trying to drag his rear limbs out.

Joach urged the horse on, but Elena knew it was futile. The predators in the soil could rend flesh from bone in mere heartbeats. Elena raced her steed toward the struggling pair. She pulled up fast in front of Tracker. With an arm wrapped in the reins, Elena had to fight to keep Mist in place before the panting, wild-eyed stallion. "To me!" she screamed to her brother.

Joach recognized the futility of his position. "Leave me! Go!"

"Not without you!" Mist skittered back a step. The wave, momentarily delayed by the meal of the horse, now rolled toward her. Tracker's forelimbs became trapped in the churning soil. "Jump!" she yelled to her brother.

Joach clenched his fists on the reins, frozen in indecision. Then, with a shake of his head, he fought to his feet on the bucking horse. Cartwheeling his arms for balance, he leaped from Tracker's back and landed hard on his belly across Mist's rump. His sudden weight set fire to the horse's legs. Mist leaped away as if struck by a whip.

Elena let Mist run, only guiding her enough to point her toward the dark orchards. Elena was busy withher other arm, trying to keep her brother on horseback.

The three plunged into the grove of apple trees.

The juggler, bare chested, wearing only his baggy traveling trousers, stepped to the edge of the stage and set down his pan. Each town was the same, one blurring into the next, the same vague faces staring up from the audience. He had been on the road now for eight years, alone, with only his memories for company. And still those memories crowded him too closely.

A few in the audience mumbled and pointed fingers toward him. He backed a safe distance from the edge. He knew the fingers pointed to his right shoulder, where his arm should have been.

The juggler tossed his four knives in the air, slicing the pipe smoke of the room into thin ribbons. He watched the first tumble back toward his left hand and, with practiced indifference, s.n.a.t.c.hed the hilt and returned the knife aloft with a flick of the wrist. He sent the remainder chasing after the first. The spinning blades caught the flame of the torches and blazed back to the audience cl.u.s.tered up to the inn's rickety stage.

Appreciative ooh'sand ahh'sechoed thinly from some in the audience, but most of their attention was on the quality of the ale being proffered by the inn and the promptness of the service. With one eye on his knives, the juggler watched a harried barmaid wallowing through the crowd, a platter laden with sloshing gla.s.ses balanced about her head. She wore the plastered smile of the overworked.

He nodded briefly to acknowledge the clink of a coin in the pan at the foot of the stage. It's how one earned a living on the road.

"Hey, buddy!" someone yelled from the stage's ap.r.o.n, his voice slurred with a generous lubrication of ale. "Careful there with those fancy pig pokers, or you might lose your other arm."

Someone else cackled from near the back of the room and answered the drunken man. "Careful there yourself, Bryn. You're standing awful close to those whirling knives. He might just clip off that ugly woolyworm under your nose you call a mustache."

The audience roared at the jibe.

The insulted man-who was balding and had a thick, curled and waxed mustache-pounded a footboard of the stage. "Oh, yeah? Well, Strefen, at least I'm man enough to grow one."

This was not a good sign. Not that the juggler expected this altercation to worsen into anything more than an exchange of insults. But when the audience found more entertainment among the tables than on the stage, he would catch few coins in his pan. He needed to gain their attention. These days, even a one-armed juggler sometimes warranted no more than pa.s.sing interest.

He let a knife fall to the floor, feigning loss of control. The blade struck into the wooden stage with a thunkand sank deep into the board. This caught the audience's eyes. Nothing like failure that could be ridiculed to draw attention to oneself. He heard the beginning of derisive laughter bubbling from the crowd. Then each knife, one at a time, supposedly toppling uncontrolled, landed its blade tip into the hilt of the one below it-thunk, thunk, thunk-ending up with all four knives stacked in a row on top of each other.