“No, we saw no one else,” Jenrosa said.
Roheth shook his head, as if he was chasing away a persistent fly. “So, you’re off to see the king in his court about taxes? I wish you luck, then.”
“Are you taxed heavily here?” Kumul asked.
“Us? Taxed?” Roheth actually laughed. “No tax collector’s been here for nearly a century. They don’t like the forest. Lucky, that.”
Roheth and Wente had each returned with a brace of rabbits, and these were wrapped in leaves and baked for dinner, served with roasted nuts and a dark gravy made from some mushrooms Seabe had collected that afternoon. The gravy was mopped up with the fresh bread Belara had baked, and it was all washed down with a few flagons of forest mead.
Lynan enjoyed himself more than at any time since fleeing Kendra. His hosts were considerate and, after a few mugs of the mead, joyfully boisterous. There were odd moments throughout the meal, though, when the forest dwellers would inexplicably slip into a kind of deep melancholy, as if a great tragedy had touched all their lives and memory of it refused to leave them. As the night wore on, the bouts of melancholy became deeper and more frequent, and then-laughter sounded forced. The companions began to feel uncomfortable, and started making excuses to leave.
“We can’t let you sleep outside,” Roheth protested. “There’s more than enough room in here for all of us.” His arm moved in a wide arc, encompassing the hut crowded with people. “Plenty of room,” he insisted somewhat groggily.
“It’s all right, Roheth,” Jenrosa said. “We’re used to sleeping on the ground.”
“It won’t do. Tell them, Belara.”
His wife stirred uneasily. When she talked, her eyes were downcast. “Roheth is right. We cannot let guests sleep outside when there is more than enough room in our home.”
“Your generosity is overwhelming,” Ager said to the hosts.
It was another hour before the forest dwellers had drunk themselves into a near stupor. With great effort, they gathered together their sleeping children and withdrew behind the woolen rug into their sleeping quarters, leaving their guests to stretch out how they liked in front of the fire.
Lynan woke just before dawn, not sure what had roused him. The fire had burned down to a few glowing embers, and the air was chill. He pulled his cloak tighter around his body and tried to get back to sleep. His mind was just beginning to drift when he heard a scraping sound. He sat up, peering into the eerie gloom. The others were all asleep. He heard the sound again and realized it was coming from outside. Something was scratching on the door, trying to get in.
A part of his mind was surprised he was curious instead of frightened. What if it was a bear or wolf? No, he told himself, that sound is not being made by claws. What if it was one of the children, gone outside for a piss and not able to get back in? He threw off the cloak and stood up, being careful not to step on anyone. The scratching became more insistent, almost frantic, as if whatever was doing it knew someone was coming to open the door. Lynan stretched out his hand, touched the wooden handle and began to turn it.
“No!” hissed a voice behind him.
Lynan nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around and saw Jenrosa sitting up, holding her cloak protectively around herself.
“Don’t open the door, Lynan, whatever you do!” she pleaded.
“What’s wrong? It could be one of the children trying to get back in…” Even as he said the words, he knew with utter certainty it was no child outside. He whipped his hand away from the handle and stepped back, his skin crawling with instinctive revulsion.
The scratching stopped. For a moment there was no sound at all, then something with an inhuman throat started wailing. It was almost inaudible at first, but it grew louder and more keening until it had become a scream of anger and hatred that made every nerve in Lynan’s body vibrate in pain. The cry then pulled up and away from the hut, as if its source had taken wing and was flying above the hamlet and heading into the forest. In a few seconds there was silence again, and Lynan found he could move once more. His body started shaking uncontrollably, and Jenrosa had to help him into a chair. By now everyone in the hut was awake. The sound of two mewling children came from the sleeping area.
Roheth and Wente stumbled into the living area, sharp axes in their hands, followed by Belara and Seabe holding their babes. Terror was on all their faces. At first, no one said anything. Belara placated Mira and put her in the cradle, then heated up a mug of spiced mead and gave it to Lynan. There was a heavy knock on the door, and before Lynan or Jenrosa could say anything, Ager had opened it. A wide-shouldered woodsman entered, and like Roheth and Wente he carried an ax.
“We heard her,” the stranger said to Roheth.
Roheth nodded. “Everyone is safe. Thank you for coming, Tion.”
“She’ll be back now,” Tion muttered, glancing disapprovingly at the guests. “Unless something is done.”
Roheth ushered Tion outside and followed him. When he came back a few minutes later, his face was gray and worried.
“What is going on?” Kumul asked levelly.
“What was it?” Lynan added.
“She was Silona,” Roheth said heavily.
Kumul did not look surprised. “So the stories are true.”
“Oh, yes. She exists, all right.”
“Excuse me,” Lynan interjected, feeling annoyed. “But who is Silona?”
“She is part of the forest,” Belara said quietly. “She’s been here since time began, guarding the trees.”
“Is she dangerous?”
“Mortally dangerous,” Roheth answered. “You are a very lucky young man. By rights, you should have died tonight.”
“If she’s so dangerous, why don’t you hunt her down and kill her?”
“Oh, men have tried before. Over the centuries, every generation throws up its heroes and its fools. Those who go after her are never seen again; at least, not as man or woman.”
“How often…” Lynan swallowed hard and started again. “How often does she kill?”
“Most of the time she’s asleep. Every few years she wakes to take the blood of three or four humans, then goes back to sleep.”
“Blood?” Lynan’s hands started shaking, and had difficulty putting the mug of mead to his lips. He drank deeply.
“She is a wood vampire,” Roheth explained. “Perhaps the last of her kind. The fact that the borders of this forest have stood for so long shows how strong her will is.”
“How does she take the blood?”
Roheth shrugged. “No one has ever seen her, let alone watched her feed, and lived to tell about it. One day you wake up and someone in the hamlet has died. There are no marks, but the body is drained of blood. We burn the corpse. Sometimes she takes travelers, and if their bodies are not found by the next night, they will walk the forest seeking out new victims for her.”
“The hounds of Silona,” Jenrosa said, glancing at Belara.
Roheth nodded. “When we find them, we cut off their heads and burn them. We give them rest.”
Lynan was feeling sick. I almost let her in. “Why… why did she not just break down the door if she wanted someone inside this hut?”
“Legend says her victims must come to her willingly,” Roheth replied, looking sideways at Lynan.
“I’m sorry, Roheth, I didn’t know what I was doing…‘
“I’m not blaming you. It’s impossible to resist her, which is why our families crowd together when she is awake and haunting the forest.”
“That explains all the abandoned huts we found on the way here,” Ager said. “They belong to woods people who leave to join other hamlets.”
Roheth nodded.
“How do you know when it’s time to gather together?” Kumul asked.