To her surprise, Indarin ruffled her hair and then helped her to her feet. “I don’t believe we are wanted here at this moment.” He smiled down at Vertigern and Elayne, who perhaps could no longer see anyone but each other.
“I don’t think anyone is,” Jeren agreed. “Not right now.”
As they walked back to the small encampment, Jeren couldn’t resist a glance back. The couple still nestled against each other, talking quietly now.
“Now I know why she disliked me, I suppose.”
“I believe so.”
“I wonder how long she has loved Vertigern?”
“You have done a good thing today, Jeren. A brave and mighty thing. They will marry now?”
Jeren rolled her stiff shoulders and felt her stomach sink at the question. “I don’t know. Vertigern is supposed to marry as his Holt requires. I was to be his match. Now… I think they will select another noble for him.”
“Not Elayne? But she is noble.” Indarin seemed confused. The inner workings of Holtlands politics were alien to him. Shan had understood. It marked a difference in the brothers she had not realised before.
“Sadly, no. I mean, she is noble, yes, but not nobility. Her family…” It felt like such and awful thing to say. The woman had saved her life, had almost died for her. “Her family are minor nobles at best, like faithful servants to Grey Holt. The Scions of Tyr would never allow it. Vertigern must marry well for his family’s sake.”
It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair.
She didn’t look back again. The thought of seeing the two of them steal even a brief moment of freedom was too much. She had dreamed of such freedom. Freedom to do as she would, to love as she would. Now Shan was a prisoner, at best. There was every chance that he was no more than a thrall.
The thought jabbed deep into her mind. No, it couldn’t be. But if the Enchassa had him captive, how long could he resist?
Or maybe…maybe he was already dead?
And all of a sudden Jeren’s resolve turned adamant. She would go to the Vision Rock and have this finished one way or another. And then she would go in search of Shan. No matter what it took.
Ylandra, bound and gagged, still managed to hiss and spit like an angry cat when Jeren appeared. The Seers surrounding her managed to keep her subdued, but still Jeren gave them all a wide berth. She didn’t want to see Fethan ever again.
“You look angry.” Ariah’s liquid voice made her start.
“I…I’d like to finish this, Ariah, to go to the Vision Rock. To get it over and done with.”
Ariah raised an eyebrow. Not what she had hoped to hear perhaps. No deference, no recognition of a sacred space. She still held the Sect Knife in her long fingers, turning it over thoughtfully, like it reminded her of something, something she would rather not remember. “Though it may not show you what you want?”
Indarin hovered at Jeren’s side, an attentive teacher, a concerned friend.
“Is she ready, Indarin?” Ariah asked.
“Yes.”
Nothing more than that. Jeren hesitated. Yes. Just one word. It meant more than anything else he could have said.
“Where did you find Ylandra, Shaman?”
“She ran into the Spring Camp raving and calling for Jeren. We welcomed her and she wept to see us, embraced us, seemed herself. I brought her here, Ariah. This is my fault.”
Ariah chuckled, a sound that made her sound ancient and knowing. “Nonsense, Indarin. Ylandra brought this on herself.” Then she paused. “But you cared for her all these years, my friend.”
He stiffened. His secret, Jeren realised. How long had he kept it?
“It doesn’t matter now,” he replied, though the tightness in his voice gave his words the lie. “Though I was Shaman, she never saw me. Her ambition blinded her. I was a tool for her use. Nothing more. I will watch her now, if you will, see what I can discover. Then, Jeren and I will leave at first light. Your time to conduct her vision grows short, my Lady.”
“We’ll leave?” Jeren gasped. “Where?”
“North, and then we’ll follow any landmarks or directions I can glean from Ylandra. You and I are going in search of Shan, Jeren. And we will get him back.”
The tunnel narrowed again. Leithen groaned and forced his way through. Stone scraped against Shan’s shoulders as he pushed onwards. The light ahead was a tantalising gleam, hanging there, just out of reach.
“It’s not far now.” Devyn’s head popped up again, blocking out some of the light.
“You can do it,” said Doria, still hugging Pern and Jerryl to her side. “Keep going.”
Leithen snorted something like a laugh from behind Shan. “I guess a couple of weeks of starvation has some advantages then.”
“It is good to look on the brighter side of things,” Shan agreed and struggled on.
Devyn had led them out of the Fell caverns, through the narrow tunnels he had followed to find them. That he had done so still grated on Shan’s sense of protection. His instructions had been clear enough. The way the boy had ignored them to come back reminded Shan more of Jeren than he would like to say. It was the type of thing she would do. Especially for those she loved. Devyn wanted his family.
Shan pushed himself through the final gap, his clothes and skin tearing against the rocks, and fell at the Holters’ feet.
The children, the small ones, helped him up. He could feel them trembling even as they did so, afraid to touch him, afraid of their shadows. And rightly so. Doria and Devyn were at the opening, trying to aid Leithen, his larger frame hampering his progress.
They weren’t going to manage it, not like that. “Doria, let me help.”
She backed away, letting him take hold of her husband’s hand. Devyn strained to pull harder. “As one, Devyn. Leithen, can you brace yourself against the sides, give yourself something to push off. Ready?” Leithen nodded, his face a pale blob in the darkness, his grip tightening on Shan’s hand. Devyn watched Shan, waiting. “One, two…three.” On three they both pulled, bracing themselves against the rockface, and Leithen grunted, a sound which stretched out in pain and effort as he scraped through the last section.
And then he was free. All three of them tumbled onto the rocky ground.
“We have no time,” Shan told them, picking himself up. “I’m unarmed and I must reach Jeren before Ylandra. I fear I may already be too late.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Leithen replied, picking himself off and dusting off his ragged clothes. He winced when he caught the grazed and bloody skin but didn’t stop. When he saw Shan’s surprise, he actually laughed. “We’re Rohs, Shan. All of us, even the little ones. We serve the children of Jern, and Jeren is our Lady since her brother cast us aside. We must protect her. It is in our blood.” Murmured agreements came from his family, even to Jerryl, the littlest of them.
There was no argument to be made. Shan knew that. Jeren was stubborn, and determined. He’d said it himself to her on more than one occasion. It was a known River Holt trait. Though he would never admit it, it was one of the things he admired most in her. In them.
Yes, in all of them.
“Very well,” he agreed. Perhaps they expected more of an argument, but they took his acceptance well enough. “But we need to move now. And the pace will not be slow. Cannot be slow.”
Doria gathered the younger children in her arms in apprehension. Did she think he’d suggest leaving them behind? He had gone part of the way to convincing them that his people were not monsters like the Fellna, but not all, it seemed.
“If you will.” He held his hands out to Pern. The boy went to him warily, and then squealed with unexpected delight as Shan swung him up onto his back.