Offering his thanks one last time, Uthar leapt back through the gateway and sped around to the back of the house, calling off Nob with string of curses that sent the hound scampering back to the smithy with its tail between its legs.There were two horses hitched to the post behind the house, but Uthar barely saw them.
Faith, she had to be all right.
He pounded up the low stone steps and was two full strides into the house—the door just crashing open behind him—when he abruptly found himself being propelled back the in the opposite direction.
On tiptoe Widow Hafwood wouldn’t have been able to do up the top button of Uthar’s shirt, but ancient women more than made up for it in sheer force of will. Her knobby hands were empty, but she may as well have been switching Uthar across the seat of his pants for how quickly she forced him back out the door.
“Fool man!” she spat when she had him back on the steps, one hand tugging her dark shawl tighter across her thin shoulders, the other boxing Uthar’s ear with all the strenght of a woman half her age. “I’ve sent off half the village searching for you, and now you’re too late.” She glared lightning at him over her hawkish nose, head shaking in resigned irritation. “The Cleansing was good and done an hour ago, and where were you? The Ward take you and all men; not an ounce of patience between the lot of you. If you’d waited here in the yard as you were told you’dve been able to see the missus afore the parting started.” Uthar opened his mouth to protest him, but it did him no more good than if he’d tried to turn back the sun with his own arm. The Widow quashed his words with vicious glare, a well aimed kick at his shin and a final, “Not another word out of you, Uthar Hardric. You’ll see Lenora and your child soon enough. Now you wait out here as you were told, and don’t let me hear so much as a peep out of you. There’s women’s business needs doing inside this house tonight.”
The Widow planted a frail-looking arm on his stomach and gave him one final, not-so-frail-feeling push off the steps, then turned and shouted back into the room, “You hear me, Masters Givens and Eldun? Women’s business in this house, and we don’t need any of your meddling.” There was a brief scuffling of boots on the floor inside followed by muffled protests, and then the Widow was propelling two more men out the door.
“You three wait as your told, and you’ll be called for shortly,” the whisp of a woman said, her scarecrow form silloutted in the bright rectangle of the open door. She snorted at them collectively, and then grumbled, “Go try and make yourselves useful, though I doubt you’ll manage that without supervision.”
The door slammed shut, leaving the three men in darkness.
“The Widow is a forceful woman,” the man on Uthar’s right—Evin Givens—said after a long, silence-filled pause. He clapped a hand on Uthar’s shoulder a steered him around away from the door. “Your wife is fine, Uthar, a far sight better than my Anida was with our first child.”
Uthar nodded absently, and tried to give the burly man an acknowledging smile. He was sure it came off crooked.
If he noticed, Evin gave no sign of it—the man was already fishing around in his coat pockets, probably for his pipe—and Matias Eldun cut in heartily, “Aye, she looked more than fine, man. A fine woman, to be sure, and a fine mother for the child.”
Evin had his pipe out now, and was fumbling to light it. He paused long enough to give Uthar a significant look. “‘Tis a momentous birth, Uthar. A momentous birth. Faith, how long as the Family been looking forward to this day?”
Reflexively, Uthar glanced over his shoulder, checking to make sure none of the native folk of Matham were nearby. The Family had been living in Matham for nearly a quarter century, but small villages breed long memories—or so the saying went—and the Family tried hard not to give other folk any reason to remember that the Hardrics and the others hadn’t always lived in Matham.
Master Eldun was nodding in agreement with Evin, his close-set eyes gazing up at the night sky. “And you proved us all wrong, my boy.” He sighed, a long tired sound that for some reason made Uthar look back towards the house worriedly. “Lenora has made a fine addition to the Family. I’ll be the first to admit that not everyone was pleased with your choosing Lenora—but then, the Family always grows nervous when its time to mix in new blood.”
Bristling, Uthar turned back to Matias. “Meaning no disrespect, sir, but I didn’t marry Lenora for her blood.”
“And thats just it, Uthar,” Evin cut in, scratching at his short-cropped beard with the stem of his pipe. “You were head over heels for Lenora, we could all see it. And seeing as how your choices would affect the whole course of the Family, some in the Council thought as you weren’t using your head . . . not enough, so to speak.”
“But, all’s well that ends well,” Matias drawled, latching an arm around Uthar’s broad shoulders and smiling to himself. “The Blood has been strengthened, and now you’ve an heir to carry our hopes.” That bright smile faded, then disappeared completely. “All our hopes and fears.”
Uthar opened his mouth to point out that Lenora wasn’t exactly through the thicket yet, when suddenly the world . . . lurched.
There was no other word to describe it. One moment Uthar was standing with Matias and Evin in the cool night air, the wind sighing through the trees beyond them, stars shining bright as jewels just above the treetops, and then next moment he was on the ground, writhing in agony as the world compressed around him, reality twisting until he could no longer see, he could no longer breathe. His longs screamed at him, burning inside his chest, and he opened his mouth, trying desperately to suck in air—but none would come. It was as if the very air had turned to stone. He clawed at the dirt with both hands and felt the earth beneath him buckles, steel bending between an invisible vise. He couldn’t see anything, his head felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out, and his heart seemed to be trying to claw its way out of his chest. He opened his mouth to scream—
And abruptly the world relaxed, sprining back to normalacy, like a wadded up banner suddenly unfurled to in the wind.
Sagging back to the ground, Uthar stared up at the night sky wildly, chest heaving and ears ringing. The night was alive with sound, birds screaming and thrashing in the trees, and voices too—Matham had come wide awake, folk flinging open doors and windows, rushing out into the street. The harsh sound of women and children and even men crying out in pain and terror assaulted Uthar on all sides.
Lenora . . .
With all the force of the ten pound hammer he used in the smithy the thought came crashing home. Head still spinning, Uthar twisted around and forced himself forward, scrabbling on his hands and knees.
Lenora . . .
“By the Ward, Evin! Speak to me Ev!”
Uthar turned to see Matias craddling a limp Evin. The other man looked up at Uthar, blood running freely from his nose and ears. “He’s dead, Uthar. By the Faith, he’s dead. What was that?”
Uthar barely heard him. “Lenora.”
The word tore raggedly from his throat and he turned back to the house. Nothing could be done about Evin, the Faith protect him. But Lenora could still be saved.
He was halfway back to the house when it happened again. Everything buckled—the earth, the sky, Faith even his mind—and Uthar crashed to the ground again. This time he did managed to scream, but it was a roar of frustration rather than fear.
Lenora!
Stunned, Uthar clawed his way back to his feet and staggered towards the door, hands outstretched. By some miracle he made it up the steps, but then it was all he could do to lean against the door and not fall over. His trembling hands fumbled at the latch, but he couldn’t seem to direct them, couldn’t make them work. His thoughts were muddled and cloudy, he could barely remember where he was. Cursing thickly, he leaned back and threw himself against the door, shoulder lowered. The oaken door shuddered in its frame, but held firm. Roaring, Uthar crashed into it again, and again. Once, twice, three times—with a splintered snap the door caved and Uthar fell into the room.
A third time the world twisted, contorting in on itself like some kind of nightmare knot—only instead of a rope, creation itself was the cord—and Uthar fell to the floor. Faith, he felt like he was being squeezed through the eye of a needle!
When it was over, when he could breathe and see and hear again, Uthar struggled to his knees. He tasted blood and when he put a hand to his nose his fingers came away bright red. His ears were ringing.
Widow Hafwood lay sprawled out on the wooden floor, hands covered in blood and some other sort of fluid, eyes wide and staring, mouth ajar and blood leaking from the corner of her lips. Dazedly, Uthar crawled towards her—unsure, even as he moved what he intended to do—and then the ringing in his ears faded just enough for him to hear another voice screaming.
A young girl was standing by the bed, head thrown back and throat rattling with an unending, almost inhuman scream. She was the Widow’s apprentice, Uthar had seen her before, he knew her family, but for some reason he couldn’t bring her name to mind. For all her wild screaming, the girl’s body was cupped protectively around something that Uthar couldn’t see; but he couldn’t spare the time to wonder what it was—he had eyes only for the woman sprawled amid the twisted, red-stained blankets, her golden hair a sweat-matted tangle plastered to her forehead.
“Lenora,” he croaked as he pulled himself hand over hand along the bed opposite the screaming girl. “I’m here, Lenora.”
