“Yes,” the man agreed.
Hope looked around at the man, Rafe, the woman with the longbow. Rafe thought for a moment that she was going to snatch up the wallet and run. Her face creased and the tattoos twisted, doubt holding her tense.
“The horses are in there,” Josie said, standing. “I’ll give you two old saddles, as a gesture of good faith. And now, we’re busy, so please leave.”
She snapped up the wallet, held out her hand for the thousand tellans, pocketed everything and walked away.
The man came around from behind Rafe and clapped his shoulder as he passed by. “Life Moon be with you,” he said quietly. “And take good care of those horses, they’ve served us well.”
Rafe stood and went to Hope. She was putting the jar and book back into her shoulder bag, staring after Josie as if judging whether she would be able to reach her, tackle her, steal back the leather wallet before an arrow or bolt found its mark.
“Hope,” Rafe said.
“Boy.” She did not turn.
“Hope, we should leave. We have horses now, we can put a good distance between us and Pavisse by nightfall.”
The witch looked at Rafe and smiled… and her tattoos twisted into a smirk. “True!” she said. “That’s true! Come on, let’s see how friendly our new mounts will be to a witch and a farm boy.”
A FEW MINUTESlater they were riding away from the farm, listening to the farm wolf howl defiantly as they left.
“You lost something valuable, didn’t you?” Rafe said. “I’m sorry. It’s all because of me, everything that is happening-”
“I lost an old wallet that one of my clients left behind,” Hope said, and she smiled across at Rafe. He did not like that smile very much; it twisted her face so that she looked as if she were in pain. “I knew they would go for the mystery. The skull raven heart and the Book of Ways-now, they are valuable, and who knows when we may need them?”
“But when they open it?”
“They’ll find just what they wanted: an enigma. Sheets of old parchment with scrawls in a language they cannot know, because it’s of my own making. A pendant carved from a tumbler’s claw. Things they will wonder about for a long time, but never solve.”
Rafe rode silently, staring ahead.
“Boy, it’s not as if I fooled them. If that really had belonged to a Sleeping God, do you think it would have contained something that made more sense?”
“I don’t know much about them, other than people think they’re gods.”
“Foolish people.”
“But it’s their faith you’re playing with!”
“Foolish people, Rafe,” Hope repeated. “They’ll never leave that farm, they’ll never do any good. They’re not important! You are, and I have to look after you. If it means I have to fool some fools, then I’ll certainly not let that disturb my sleep.”
She’s right, Rafe thought. She’s right and I know it. He rode on in silence, following Hope, letting her steer him because, in truth, he had no idea what else he could do.
THEY RODE HARDfor an hour, realizing only too quickly that the horses were weak, tired and malnourished. They slowed then, letting the mounts maintain their own pace. Rafe only hoped that the Red Monks had lost their scent.
His scent. It was him they sought.
The whole land whispered behind his eyes, and he felt protected.
As the sun dipped to the west and the life and death moons appeared from the blue, Hope spotted a rage of skull ravens. She dismounted and handed Rafe her horse’s reins.
“I’ll send your friends a message,” she said. “Stay here. Stay still. And don’t be scared.”
The witch headed off across the grassland toward where the skull ravens roosted in a dead lightning-tree. She was making a noise deep in her throat, a series of clicks and snicks: a bag of stones being shaken, sticks being rattled. It set Rafe’s nerves on edge and made the horses uneasy. The skull ravens jumped down from branch to blackened branch, making their way closer to the ground. There were ten of them in total, each with a wingspan as wide as Rafe was tall, their heads large, beaks long and thin.
They were waiting for Hope to arrive.
As she neared, still clicking and making that strange sound, the birds took flight as one and flew straight at the witch. She held out her arms and lowered her head, giving them room to roost. One on each foot, three on each arm, two on her head, Hope was almost lost beneath the beating wings and ruffled feathers of the skull ravens, though she stood fast. And the birds were making a noise now, calling out in clicks and clacks similar to those that Hope had been uttering.
Rafe gasped, wanting to help yet desperate to turn and ride away as fast as he could. Don’t be scared, Hope had said. He could only assume that she knew what she was doing.
Hope stood that way for some time, the noisy communication continuing. The horses stood still and silent, perhaps asleep. The death moon revealed itself fully, becoming the brightest object in the sky, and Rafe stared at it for some time. The life moon was on the fade. Their combined glows did not fight, but merged peacefully, yellow bleeding to white, white tinting to yellow. And their light struck the ground in different ways. On a distant hillside a clump of trees sucked in the glow from the life moon, green leaves hued white at dusk. Nearer the summit of that same hill, an ancient burial mound reflected yellow, the dark rocks lightening at night. As Rafe stared at the death moon he thought of his parents.
The skull ravens called out loud, and for an instant he was sure that they were attacking Hope, piercing her with beaks and claws as retribution for some terrible tactlessness. The horses stirred and stamped their feet, and it was all Rafe could do to bring his mount under control while holding tightly to Hope’s horse’s reins.
The birds were taking flight. They rose as one, flying in a tight spiral above Hope. She stood with arms outstretched as if still inviting them back. It had grown too dark for Rafe to see her expression when she turned around, but the fact that she was moving, coming toward him, showed that she was unhurt.
The skull ravens cried out until they were high in the air, almost too high to hear. They were one of the few species that flew almost entirely by night.
“What was that?” Rafe asked as Hope approached.
She seemed exhausted. She rubbed at her shoulders and sides, sighing, hair hanging lank. Even her tattoos seemed tired, dragging her face down. “I gave them a message for the thief and his Shantasi,” Hope said. “Rafe, we need to make camp and sleep. It’s been a long time since I communed outside my species.”
He thought there was humor in her voice, but because she had her head dipped he could not see her eyes. And he did not understand.
Yet somewhere at the back of his mind, there was a new comprehension dawning. Rafe had no concept of what Hope had done, but this new expansion of his mind, the fresh revelations seemingly being laid out again and again for his perusal, seemed to offer understanding. He had only to realize how to read it.
They found a place sheltered from the north by a jagged slope of rock. Hope set about making a fire, silent and slow.
“Won’t the Monks see the fire?” Rafe asked.
“It’s a risk if they’re following us this way. But there are other things out there in the night, just as dangerous, that the fire will keep away.”
“Must we camp? Can’t we keep moving?”
Hope shook her head, and Rafe realized for the first time just how old and tired she looked. Perhaps up until now excitement had kept her young, the childlike gleam in her eyes whenever she looked at him emphasized by the eager shapes the tattoos seemed to etch across her face. But now, with darkness blanking the tattoos and the gleam in her eyes a pale reflection of the death moon, she looked so worn.
She said nothing more, and Rafe entrusted himself to her wisdom. She had yet to let him down.
With the fire built, Hope quickly fell into a deep sleep. Rafe sat up, huddled under a blanket the farmers had given them along with the saddles, staring up at the moons and stars. Wondering, as he had as a boy in Trengborne, just who or what else in Noreela was looking at this sight right now.