High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [108]
Cinnaminson.
Nothing in his life, he knew, would ever be the same again.
Chapter TWENTY
Grianne Ohmsford woke to a morning so dismal and gray that it might have drifted out of the marshy depths of the Malg Swamp, an apparition come in search of the unfortunate Jarka Ruus. It felt alive and hungry. It had a shape and feel. The air it breathed smelled of fetid water and brushed at the skin with greasy, insistent fingers. The clouds that formed its hair were so low in the sky as to be indistinguishable from the misty beard that curled about its ragged face. Everything about it whispered of hidden danger and lost souls. In its presence, heartbeats quickened with the uneasy and certain knowledge that death, when it appeared, would be quick and unexpected.
The Ard Rhys was cramped from sleeping in the cradle of tree limbs, her body aching and stiff. She had slept, though she did not pretend to understand how, and she had kept her perch and not fallen as she had feared she would. Climbing down through brume that would have discouraged even the most intrepid seabird, she caught sight of the tracks that crisscrossed the earth directly below, and decided she had been lucky to have survived the night with no more than her sore muscles. Weka Dart had been right to warn her against trying to make her bed on the ground.
She glanced around, scanning the mist and gloom for some sign of the devious little Ulk Bog, thinking he might have come back during the night, even as mad at her as he had been when he left. After all, he had gone to a lot of trouble to persuade her to allow him to accompany her, and she found it hard to believe that he would toss it all away because of a perceived slight. He didn’t seem the type who would allow insults to get in the way of ambitions. She still wasn’t sure what he was after, only that he was after something. But there was no sign of him, so she accepted that he had gone his own way after all.
Just as well, she told herself.
Except that she didn’t know the country, and that put her at a disadvantage. She knew in general how she should go, given that the Forbidding mirrored the Four Lands. She could estimate the location of the Hadeshorn from what she knew of its location in her own world. But the mist was confusing, and her sense of direction skewed by the different land formations. Worse, she would have to risk encountering the monsters that inhabited the Forbidding, without knowing who and what they were. At least Weka Dart had knowledge of the things she needed to avoid.
But there was no help for it. Nor help for her lack of food and water. She would have to forage for both as she traveled, hoping that she would recognize the former when she saw it. Water should be less of a problem, although just then she didn’t want to assume anything.
She stretched her aching limbs and looked down at herself. Ragged and dirty, she was a mess. Her clothes were almost in shreds, her pale skin showing through the gaps in ways that didn’t please her. She wrapped her tattered nightdress closer and told herself she would have to find something else to wear soon or she would be naked as well as starving and lost. She couldn’t travel much farther without boots, either. Her feet were already scraped and bleeding, and she hadn’t even gotten to the rocky climb to the Hadeshorn.
When I find out who did this to me...
She was about to set out when there was movement in the trees to one side and Weka Dart, bristle-haired and spindly-limbed, emerged carrying a cloth-wrapped package in both arms. He caught sight of her and stopped, his sharp teeth showing as he smiled broadly.
“Ah, Grianne of the trees. Sleep well, did you? You don’t look so bad for having spent the night aboveground. See all the tracks?” He gestured. “Now you understand what I was telling you.”