Prince of Dogs
Page 153

“And?” Did he look curious or merely tired and worn out? By the age of his children she guessed he was only about ten years older than herself, yet he looked as old as Da had at the end, aged by constant work and worry and by grief at the death of his wife. “Godesti says that if my dear Adela had given gifts to the Green Lady at the old stone altar, then she wouldn’t have died, for the Green Lady helps women through their labor. Is it because she did as the deacon from Sorres village commanded and turned her heart away from the old ways? She prayed to St. Helena when her birth pains came on her, but maybe the Green Lady was angry for not receiving any gifts. Is that why she died?”
“I don’t know your Green Lady. But I lived in Andalla once, with my da. The Jinna women there didn’t pray to Our Lord and Lady, they prayed to the Fire God Astereos, yet they survived and bore healthy children—many of them, at any rate. I’m sorry about your wife. I’ll pray for her soul. Maybe it had nothing to do with God—except that God watch over us all,” she added quickly. “Maybe the child didn’t move right within her. Maybe it was breech and couldn’t come out. Maybe some sickness got into her blood and made her weak. It might be any of those things, or something else, and nothing to do with God at all, just as”—she gestured at the path behind them—“this track was washed away by a combination of rain and rockslides, not because the creatures of the Enemy made mischief here to bedevil you—”
“I pray you!” He drew the Circle at his breast hastily, and then another sign, something she didn’t recognize but which was clearly pagan. “The shades might be listening.”
“The shades?”
“The souls of dead people too restless to board the ship of night and sail to the underworld. Or worse …” He hefted his walking staff, twirled it once, dropping his voice to a whisper. “… the shadows of dead elves. Their souls are confined in a dark fog. They have no body, but they weren’t released from the earth either. They aren’t allowed into the Chamber of Light, but they have nowhere else to go if they were killed on this earth. They haunt the deep forest. Surely you know that, you who have traveled so much.”
“The shades of dead elves …” She stared at the forest around her: leafless winter trees stood dark against the gray-white sky with undergrowth of all shades of brown and dull green and the pale yellow of decay interwoven beneath; evergreens skirted the edge of open areas. All of it was dense with growth and fallen limbs and the tangle of a wild land untouched by human hands. Had that been Sanglant’s fate? To wander the earth as a shade, because he could not ascend through the seven spheres to the River of Heaven and thence stream with the other souls into the Chamber of Light? Was he near her now?
Then she shook herself roughly, and her horse stamped and shook its head as if in sympathy. “Nay, friend,” she continued. “The blessed Daisan taught that the Aoi were made of the same substance as humankind. Some of the ancient Dariyan lords converted to the faith of the Unities. So why should the blessed Daisan turn elvish kin away from heaven if they served God faithfully? And even if they do live here, why should they concern themselves with us?” Suddenly, Liath realized she didn’t believe the souls of dead people lurked in the forest. And she wasn’t afraid of the shades of dead elves. Of course, many other things might lurk in the forest, wolves and bears least among them. “To be fearless is to be foolhardy and likely dead,” Da always said. But away from Hugh, fear did not ride constantly on her shoulder.
“Who knows what lingers in this forest.” The man looked around nervously, afraid even in a morning light that painted the gray-limbed trees and stubborn clouds of morning with the burnished light of pearls. “Near the ford there may be bandits. But by dusk tomorrow you’ll come to a big town called Laar.”
They parted. He seemed relieved, but whether to be returning to the safety of his village or to be rid of her and her uncomfortable views Liath could not be sure. She did not mean disrespect to the old gods or the saints. But it was not God or the shades of dead elves or the half-formed creatures who served the Enemy who had caused her to miscarry last winter. No, indeed. It was the very abbot whom these villagers praised.
Snow drifted down between the bare branches of trees. She walked most of the day to keep warm and to spare her horse. The road was good, considering what little use it must get. Two wagon ruts wide, it remained clear of undergrowth, and puddles hidden beneath a film of ice were the worst of its treacheries.
Was there really any point to being in a hurry? It had taken Hanna months to reach the king. No one would know why she had herself been delayed, and in any case, Count Lavastine would be unlikely to muster an army before summer. Spring, with sowing and swollen rivers and muddy roads, was not the time for an army to march. The Eika surely could make no attack down the Veser River in the full flood of springtide.