Finder's Bane - Kate Novak [1]
The noise of the caravan quickly faded in the distance. Soon the Spiderhaunt Woods began to close in about the trail, muffling all sound. The woods were composed mainly of oak and evergreen trees growing very close together, their tangled branches creaking as they rubbed against one another. The undergrowth was dense with vines and saplings and fallen trees. Sticky cobwebs brushed at Joel's face, but fortunately there was no sign of the giant spiders that gave the woods its name. Occasionally some tiny creature rustled in the brush, and overhead birds chirped busily, but otherwise it was quiet on the trail. After days of traveling with a crowd of merchants, talking deals and markets, the bard welcomed the peace. Miles later, though, the stillness began to feel eerie to Joel.
He started humming softly to himself. A short while later he was singing "Market Day," a song he'd written as an apprentice and had earned his former master a fat purse from a delighted merchants' guild. He began softly, but soon, pleased with his own skill and determined to fill the void of sound all about him, his voice swelled.
He was just belting out the final repeat of the refrain when his mare slowed and then halted in her tracks, her ears pricked up high, her nostrils flaring, the skin on her neck quivering. Joel stood up in the stirrups and peered down the trail, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. He nudged the beast's flanks, but she responded by turning away, heading back the way they'd come.
"What's got into you, girl?" the bard muttered as he pulled up on her reins.
Butternut stopped and stood still.
Joel pulled hard on her left rein, but she stubbornly shook her head and whinnied with annoyance.
Remembering Branson's warning about wolves, the bard realized the mare might have reason to balk. He dismounted and pulled Butternut's bridle toward him until he stood eye to eye with the mare. He stroked her muzzle and sang a lullaby softly into her ear: "Courage will wash away your fear, whatever evil may be near." Joel repeated the verse over and over until a sense of safety and well-being swept through him; then Butternut snorted and her muscles relaxed. Holding the mare's bridle, the bard led her back up the trail a few paces. She followed obediently, without qualms.
Joel snapped a lead rope on the bridle and walked beside his mount. The trail began to climb upward, and the woods began to take on a different appearance. The trees grew farther apart, and the undergrowth was more sparse. The ground was rockier, strewn with moss-covered boulders of great size, some larger than a man.
The bard tried to remain alert to any sign of what had spooked Butternut, but his thoughts were distracted by memories that made him uneasy.
He'd learned the courage verse on the day he had agreed to become a priest of Finder. It was one of many spells the priest Jedidiah had taught him after anointing him. Joel knew he was lucky to have found Jedidiah; priests of Finder were almost unheard of. Finder was a new god, a force for renewal and change in all things, but especially in art. Steeped from birth in the traditions of lore and music, Joel yearned for a rebirth in his art.
Yet the calling to Finder's priesthood had not come easily. It had angered Joel's masters, annoyed his friends, and embarrassed his family. More importantly, it frightened him. With joy and pride, he'd trained as a bard from childhood and attained his master's ring at a remarkably young age. Now it was hard to let go of the title.
Jedidiah had somehow understood Joel's fear of starting all over again, of trading the security and honor of his position for the role of a priest. "For now, you can call yourself the Rebel Bard," the old priest had told him, chuckling at the title. Finder had been known as the Nameless Bard in the days before he'd become a god.
"You're going to have to face it, Joel," he muttered to himself. "You've been casting priest