Days of Blood and Fire - Katharine Kerr [27]
Meer shook the boy’s hand away and stalked into the forest. Jahdo hesitated, then decided that Meer would need to be alone, at least for a while. He wiped his face on a dirty sleeve, then picked up the food again, packing Meer’s share away, eating his own while he squinted up at the sun. Not even half of the day’s first watch had passed since the mazrak’s cry had wakened them.
“I’ll bet it was the mazrak, too,” Jahdo said aloud. “I’ll bet that ugly old raven does have much to do with this.”
Thinking of the mazrak made him shudder in cold terror. He ran across the open space, hesitated on the edge of the forest safety, groaned aloud, then dashed back again to grab the tether ropes of the horse and mule.
“I don’t even want to think about that raven getting you,” he told them. “Come on. Let’s go find Meer.”
He’d led them to the forest edge when he remembered their gear, spread out near the riverbank. Without Meer to lift the packsaddles, he couldn’t load the stock. Sniveling and crying in sheer frustration, he led the horse and mule onward. Fortunately, Meer was quite close, standing at the edge of a small clearing. Jahdo urged the horses into this sliver of open ground and dropped their halter ropes to make them stand.
“Meer?” He hesitated, wanting to ask the bard how he fared, realizing that the question was stupid. “Meer, it be Jahdo.”
Meer nodded, turning his sightless eyes the boy’s way.
“Meer, we can’t just stay here. Forgive me, but we’ve got to do something. If that mazrak—”
“True.” The bard’s voice sounded thick, all swollen with grief “No need to beg forgiveness. You’re right enough.”
“Are we going to go back west now?”
“Can’t. I’ve got to make sure he’s dead. In my heart, I know, but how can I tell my mother that I learned of his death without bothering to find out how or why or where he lies buried?”
“Well, truly, that would be kind of cowardly. She’ll want to know.”
Meer nodded his agreement. Jahdo chewed his lower lip, trying to find the right words. There were none, he supposed.
“Meer, I be so sorry.”
Meer nodded again.
“Uh, I’m going to go get the food and what I can carry.”
The bard said nothing, sinking to his knees, his face turned to the earth.
Jahdo went back and forth, carrying armloads of sacks and bags, dragging the heavy packsaddles, staggering under their bedrolls, back and forth until at last he was exhausted but their gear safe in the tiny clearing with the horses. During all of this the bard never moved nor spoke. Jahdo went back to the river one last time for a long drink. He splashed water over his head and arms, as well, then knelt for a moment, looking up at the sky. A few stripes of mare’s tail clouds arched out from the west, but nothing moved below them, not even a normal bird. Shuddering, he hurried back to the forest.
This time the bard looked up at the sound of his footsteps.
“Do you want to stay here for a while?” Jahdo said.
“I need to collect myself.” Meer’s voice was thin and dry, the sound of reeds scraping together. “My apologies, Jahdo. My apologies.”
“It be well I do be real tired, myself. I just wish there was somewhat I could do.”
Meer shrugged and sighed.
“I guess you wouldn’t know where your brother is? I mean, well, you know.”
“I don’t, I’m afraid, no more than I knew where he was when he was alive.” His voice choked on the last word. “But we don’t need scrying crystals to guess what’s happened. His false goddess has deserted him, and in the end no doubt she’ll do the same to all who believe in her! A curse upon her and her evil prophets both!”
“I guess all we can do is keep going east and hope and pray and stuff. I be so scared.”
But wrapped in his grief the bard never heard him. Meer clenched one enormous fist and laid rather than pounded it against a tree trunk. Under his breath he keened, a low rumble rather than a wail, yet it rose and fell with agony. All at once Jahdo realized a small horror—without eyes Meer couldn’t even weep. At last the Gel da’Thae fell quiet. For a moment he stood silently, then turned and spoke