A Time of Omens - Katharine Kerr [107]
The village cried out, praying wordlessly to the gods to keep them safe through the night ahead. Silhouetted by the dancing bonfire, the priests flung their arms over their heads and began to chant. Rhodry found himself remembering Oldana, and the other fire that had bloomed by the Lake of the Leaping Trout. Doubtless Aderyn’s alar had burned the old man’s body, too, out on the grasslands where he’d died. For a moment Rhodry felt so odd that he wondered if he’d been taken ill; then he realized that he was crying, aloud and helpless like a child, beyond all power to stop himself. Fortunately, in the chanting, yelling mob no one noticed.
When the chanting died away, the horn shrieked again, over and over, sending the villagers on their way. The children ran for home, the adults walked fast—but not too fast, because it didn’t pay to let the spirits know you were afraid of them. Rhodry trailed after the innkeep’s family and managed to have his face wiped and respectable by the time they reached the inn. Merro set a couple of bowls of milk and bread out on the doorstep to keep the spirits happy, then ushered everyone inside and barred the door with a profound sigh of relief. While his wife poured ale for the grown-ups, Merro lit the new fire laid ready in the hearth.
“Well, there,” he said. “May the gods keep us safe in the coming snows, too.”
With a murmured excuse, the wife set the tankards down and left the tavern room, taking the young boy with her. The two older girls crouched down by the fire and stared into the flames, trying to see the faces of the men they’d someday marry. Rhodry and Merro sat at a table and drank in silence. Outside the wind picked up, rustling the thatch on the roof, banging the shutters at the windows. Even though Rhodry kept telling himself that it was only the wind, he heard the dead walking.
Merro was just remarking that he might pour a second round when they heard hoofbeats clattering up to the inn. It could only be a horse from the Otherlands. Merro turned dead-pale, staring at the door while the wind whispered and rattled. Someone—something—knocked so loudly that the two girls shrieked. Rhodry sprang to his feet, his hand on his sword hilt, as the knocking came again.
“Innkeep!” The voice sounded human enough, male and deep at that. “Open up, for the love of the gods!”
Merro sat frozen, his face dead-white.
“It’s going to rain!” the voice went on. “Have pity on a traveler, even though he was a dolt, sure enough, to let himself get caught on the roads for Samaen eve.”
Merro made a rattling sound deep in his throat.
“Ah, by the black ass of the Lord of Hell!” Rhodry said, and he could feel himself grinning. “Let’s let him in, innkeep. If naught else, it’ll be a fine tale to tell, about the spirit who was afraid to get wet.”
The lasses shrieked again, but halfheartedly, as if they were only doing it to keep up appearances. Rhodry strode over and unbarred the door. The man that stood there in the shadows seemed human enough: tall, broad-shouldered, a little beefy, in fact, with windblown blond hair, but in the uncertain light Rhodry couldn’t see his eyes to tell if they were demonic or not. He was holding the reins of a normal-looking horse, too, standing head down and weary, a gray as far as Rhodry could see. Up in the sky the clouds hung black. A few drops of rain spattered, then stopped.
“What do you think, Merro?” Rhodry called out. “He looks like flesh and blood to me.”
“Oh, well and good, then.” With a sigh the innkeep came over. “But by every god in the sky, traveler, you gave me a fright! Now let’s get that poor beast some hay.”
By the time that Merro and the stranger got back to the tavern room, the rain was pouring down. Rhodry helped himself to more ale, then put one foot up on a bench and leaned onto his knee to watch as the stranger stripped off his wet cloak and shook his head with a scatter of drops. You never knew about men you met on the long road, though in truth this lad seemed decent enough. In the leaping light