Fool’s Quest

In the distance we could hear screams, angry shouts, and a peculiar sound that I could not at first identify. “Is that sword against sword?” I whispered to Shun.

“The pale people didn’t carry swords.”

“Maybe they snatched some up.”

“I doubt it. Here. Put your coat on the ground for us to sit on. I’ll open my coat and you sit on my lap and get inside it with me. We might be warmer that way.”

The kindness of the offer startled me as much as how pragmatic it was. As we arranged ourselves, I asked, “How did you learn this?”

“Once, when I was very small, my grandmother was taking me home from a visit when our carriage wheel hit a pothole and broke something. It was winter and night and our coachman had to ride off to get help for us. She took me inside her coat to keep me warm.” She spoke to the top of my head.

So. Her childhood had included rides in carriages and a kind grandmother. “Not all of your life has been horrid, then,” I said.

“Not all of it. Only the last four or five years.”

“I wish it had been nicer for you,” I whispered, and strange to say I meant it. I felt closer to her, as if I were older this night or she were younger.

“Sshhh,” she warned me, and I kept silent. Excited and angry cries still tore the forest night. A long scream rose and fell and rose again. I thought it would never stop and I buried my face in Shun’s shoulder and she gripped me close. Despite how we huddled, we were still cold. The dark and the forest seemed so huge that I felt we were a stubborn nut that it clutched and tried to crack with cold. I heard a horse galloping; it passed us, and though it was not at all near, I still trembled with fear. At any moment I expected to hear someone shout that they had found us. They would seize us and drag us out and this time there would be no Dwalia to protect us. Or Vindeliar and Dwalia would come with his misting lies and her soft, cruel hands and claim us to be Servants. I closed my eyes tightly and wished I could close my ears.

No, cub. The ears keep watch while the eyes sleep. So sleep now, but be wary.

“We should sleep if we can,” I whispered. “Tomorrow we will need to move far and fast.”

Shun settled her back against the tree. “Sleep, then,” she said. “I’ll keep watch.”

I wondered if there was any sense in keeping watch. If they found us, could we fight and escape? But maybe it would only be one or two of them. Maybe we could run. Or turn and fight. And kill them. I was cold and shaking, but somehow I fell asleep.

I woke once in the night to Shun shaking me. “Move off me. My legs are numb!” she breathed by my ear.

I didn’t want to get off her lap. When I moved, it opened her coat and the little warmth my body had stored around itself slipped away into the night. She shifted around, grunting a little as she did, and settled her legs into a different position. “Sit next to me,” she directed. She slipped one arm out of the white fur coat and I crawled inside it. I put my arm down the empty sleeve and she put her arm around me. My bottom did not like the hard, cold earth. I tugged at my coat and found enough slack to fold an edge up around us. We huddled. The night had become colder, darker, and much more quiet. Two owls began a conversation, and I slid into shivering sleep again.

I woke shaking all over. My toes were numb, my bottom ached, and my spine was painful ice in my back. I had buried my face in the fur of the coat, but one of my ears was painfully cold. Morning light was fingering its way through the snow-laden branches that had sheltered us for the night. I listened but heard only the morning challenges of birds.

“Shun. Are you awake?” She did not stir and I felt a bolt of terror that she had frozen to death in the night. “Shun!” I shook her, gently but insistently. She abruptly lifted her head and stared at me without recognition. Then she gave her head a sudden shake and knew me.

“Listen!” she hissed at me.

“I did.” I kept my voice low. “Nothing but birdsong. I think we should get up and try to get as far from here as we can.”

We both began to move stiffly. We could not stand upright under the branches. It was hard for me to untangle myself from her coat, and harder for me to pull my coat from under her and wallow my way into it. It was cold and full of fallen needles. I was suddenly hungry and thirsty.

I led the way out of the tree-well and Shun wallowed up after me. The winter day was bright and clear and for a moment I stood blinking. Then I scooped a handful of snow and put it in my mouth. It melted into a very small amount of water. I stooped for more.

“Don’t take too much at once. You’ll chill yourself even worse.”

Shun’s advice made sense. I could not have explained why it irritated me. I took a smaller scoop and put it in my mouth. She spoke again. “We have to make our way home. We can’t follow the sleigh tracks back. If they’re looking for us, that will be the first thing they’ll expect us to do.”