Fox was tied to a tree just beyond the village. Once Lark had tightened the girth again, they mounted up and were underway. As promised, it was pitch black in the forest, but Fox did not seem to be having any difficulties at her slow pace.
It was also loud. The birdsong during the day had been airy and distant, but the current insect song was as thick as if they were wading through it. Able couldn't identify any of the calls he heard, but he didn't have to. They didn't have to mean anything. He closed his eyes and let the noise wash over him, let it drown out his thoughts and memories.
When he opened his eyes again, he was in the ocean. Ripples of light washed across his arms. He looked up and saw it was growing darker. The world rocked back and forth as though he were on a boat, as though he were standing on top of the ocean instead of within it. The air was cold, no, colder than cold. A piercing cold tinged with wood smoke that stung his nose and throat. A persistent cold that set into his bones and made him shrink. He heard deep rushes within the water, like strokes of an oar. Like deep breaths...breaths of a large beast. He turned to look deeper into the ocean and spotted a dark shape. It was coming towards the light, it was what was getting darker, it was a whale. A whale come to swallow the sun. But then it turned its neck to look at him and it was a bear, a massive black bear. It snorted, blasting the cold air into his lungs and its eyes glinted in the
Sudden light. Able woke to stare at a tangle of hair in his eyes. Oh, it was Lark's braid. He lifted his head up to see half a moon high on the eastern horizon. They were in a field, and Fox was still steadily plodding along towards the seaport.
"...I fell asleep?" Able gingerly lifted himself the rest of the way from Lark's back, but his body was so achingly stiff he might not manage to stay upright long. "I never thought I would sleep again."
"Well, you seemed pretty asleep to me," Lark replied with a chuckle. "But if you're awake now, do you mind if I pick up the pace? I'd like to get home before daybreak, or I'm not likely to get any sleep myself."
"Oh." Able had not thought about how he was being selfish wanting to leave as he had. "Yeah, go ahead."
As Lark coaxed Fox into a trot, Able rubbed his face to wake up some more and discovered a wet spot on his cheek. And yes, there was a matching spot on Lark's back.
"So, uh... I'm afraid I drooled on your jacket."
"Oh," Lark sounded slightly put out, but then the cheer returned. "Thanks for letting me know. I'll wash it tomorrow. Today. Ha, I'll just wash it at some point."
"I could wash it for you."
Lark shook his head. "Oh, no, that is quite all right." The possessive tone suggested it was best to let the matter drop.
Still, Able was so tired that talking might be necessary to keep him awake. "What happened with the villagers? ...what's going to happen to them?"
"Kettlebrook isn't quite a village, but I take your point." That seemed unusually pedantic of Lark. But he continued after a pause, "If you can keep this to yourself..." He glanced back over his shoulder. Ah.
"You mean not tell the Sheriff's men?" Was there a scenario where they might force Able to tell them such things? Not so long as he followed the law himself, there shouldn't. "I should be able to do that."
"All right." Lark seemed genuinely at ease again. "So they were warned. Nothing very specific, but they'd known since the outpost went up that the Resistance intended to target it, so people, especially the ones with children, had already been leaving. Moving to different towns with family and the like. Others had been lightening their belongings to prepare to move. This afternoon some members came around to get us out, saying an operation was underway and there was going to be trouble. Pack anything you might need over the next few days, or anything small enough to carry that you cannot bear to lose.
"I helped some of my friends with their things. By the time most of us were ready, the gate opened and Larbant enforcers started to come out, so we all just ran at that point. We thought they were coming for us, but they didn't give chase. The Resistance set us up in a grotto with some temporary shelters and told us they would let us know when it was safe. That ended up being pretty well after dark, and then the guy said it wasn't actually all that safe and asked if anyone wanted to be relocated, at least for the next few days. Sounded like maybe some things happened that were not according to plan, maybe?"
"I don't know what their plan was, but the realization of it was...messy." Despite having broached the subject himself, Able still didn't want to talk about it.
"Right, so about half of everyone decided to do that, but the others decided to stick it out and try to get their houses back."
"That's...I hope they don't suffer more for that," Able sighed heavily. "What do you suppose is going to happen to that Oaktree fellow? Reeve said something about arresting him."
"Who, Punctual? I wouldn't worry about him."
"But—what? Why?"
"He's a—well, he's like a sorcerer," Lark stated without a hint of humor.
"Uh...you... So, like...what does that mean? He can...work magic?"
"Let's call it magic, sure," Lark agreed casually.
Did Lark delight in the discomfort of others, or did he just not remember Larbantry? Attempting to work magic was expressly forbidden, as though such a thing were even possible. Some people thought it was, though, and would accuse others of trying to work curses or charms. Anyone who claimed visions would be sent to the clergy so they might determine if the person was indeed been visited by God or if they had worked magic— cold points crept across Able's skin as he recalled his dream.
"You know," he said cautiously, "the Shadow said something about the Bear. The Bear and punishment for taking from his grove?"
"The Shadow said that? You saw him?" Lark looked back at him, face open with excitement.
"Yeah, I...I did." Able swallowed at the dryness in his throat. "What was he talking about?"
"Okay, the Bear." Lark paused and wobbled his head uncertainly, surely considering how to dumb this down for a skeptical foreigner. "The Bear is not a bear, He's...the spirit of what is bear. The darkness in the forest is the Bear. You felt it, right? That place is holy to Him."
Able did remember that feeling. Yet another thing that happened today that he wished hadn't. It was fortunate that Able's body was too sore to give away his discomfort by fidgeting.
"So..." Lark scrunched up his face, "the darkness needs to stay in the forest. You take the forest away and the darkness will, uh...roam. Unless the Bear is appeased. That's what he was talking about."
"...does that mean the Shadow is a sorcerer too?" Something that threatened to make sense, at this point.
"Not necessarily, and the term we'd use is 'Bear-Servant.' People who serve the Spirits are our priests."
"You can't call them—" Able stopped himself. He didn't even have faith in the priests, yet he'd reacted as they'd want him to. Then again, his lack of faith felt risky to even think about in a world where the acknowledged god saw everything and might tell his chosen prophets. "I mean, the priesthood in Larbantry won't much like that."
Lark flashed a wry grin over his shoulder. "You don't say? And the Bear is the sleeper and the protector, not just the darkness. So, people would probably run with any story about him being a Bear-Servant."
It still seemed all gods were terrible. "Why name an inn after something like that?"
"The Bear isn't the same as the Bear Star." Lark chuckled. "Related, because the gods come from the sky. But the Bear Star is about safety and shelter, especially in the winter."
"Oh," as if that made any more sense. "Is there some holy book or folk tale collection that explains all this more?"
"Not that I know of—I mean, tales? I really should be able to recite a few of them, but I'm not much of an orator?"
"I'm too tired to judge."
"Well, then," Lark laughed. "Let's see..." And with some hemming, hawing, and backtracking, he managed:
All things came to this world once through the Hole that the great fire made in the sky, and that includes the Darkness, which poured in and threatened to fill up the world as water fills a bowl. By the time the Bear descended from the sky it had grown quite Dark indeed. He followed the Dark, for He was too large to be afraid of it, and His nose could find anything He needed.
The Darkness had spread so far and the Bear had grown so large that He found He was everywhere and could hear everything. The plants, from being too long in the Dark, had no strength and were crushed into the earth, and all other creatures were pushed between Him and the Dark, and they wept in helpless fear. He could feel their distress against Him, so he turned to the human, who could speak, and asked what it would take for them to take heart. "The light," the humans wept. "We cannot live without it. None of us can."
The Bear had come from a Dark world and liked the Dark in this world, but He understood their plight and said, "I will go find light for you and livingkind, but you must promise to save some darkness for Me. We will share this world."
The humans replied, "We'll do anything, whatever you want, if you bring the light back!"
And so the Bear followed His nose and went hunting North and South and West and East until He discovered the great fire that had made the Hole in the Sky and saw that it burned the Darkness away.
"The Bear didn't turn the great fire into the sun, though," Lark added. "He just found it. The Vulture carried it into the sky as part of His quest for order and balance. But the sun goes away every year, and the Bear always finds it and brings it back for us."
"The sun doesn't—" Except the sun had gotten no higher than forty-five degrees since Able had landed here, in this summer. "...does it really not rise for a few days?"
"In Fairbanks it's up for about six hours on the Solstice, but you go further north and it's less and less. They say in Northmost, you only get a glow in the sky, like the sun should rise, but doesn't. I've always wanted to see that, but haven't had the chance."
"Three fewer hours of daylight than in Blueport..." Able fished out his astrolabe and worked through some calculations in the moonlight until he estimated, "that'd be about seven hundred fifty miles north."
"Ha, to Northmost?" Lark flashed another grin over his shoulder. "More like eight hundred from Fairbanks—why I've never gone. That's really impressive, though! No wonder you're not impressed with magic when you're the magician."
"Wh—it's only mathematics!"
But Lark was laughing. "I know. I'm not that ignorant. Though, I don't know how did you that!"
Grateful for something safe and practical to talk about, Able explained the formulas he had used. The change in pace was not working for Lark though. He gave every indication of being a visual learner and glancing at a poorly lit astrolabe while Able spoke in the abstract wasn't connecting the concepts for him. If only Able had something to draw on, Lark wouldn't have been laughing at himself for being stupid! But it is what it was.
The lighthouse was a welcome sight, and it heralded the even more comforting sight of the moon glinting off the ocean. Lark stopped outside of the town at Laughter's farm and, after calming the dog who tried to alert Laughter to their presence, started seeing to Fox. Able had only meant to sit on a hay bale for a minute but woke to Lark shaking his shoulder and telling him all the tasks with the pony were finished and they could go.
He apologized for his uselessness multiple times while they both walked down the road into Fairbanks and back to Splendor's house, but Lark insisted it was no bother. The first hint of gray was starting to light the eastern sky by the time they arrived.
"Do you want anything to eat?" Lark unlocked the door to let them into the house. It was darker inside than it was outside, but he seemed untroubled by this and didn't bump into anything as he went into the dining room to light a taper.
"I don't know." Able's insides were sticking together, but his stomach still churned. He ached to lie down, but the stairs were daunting.
"I'm going to butter some bread." Lark lit the candelabra on the table, then took the taper into the kitchen.
Able made sure the door was locked behind him then went to slump into a chair at the table.
"Jam?" Lark called from the kitchen.
"No thanks," Able mumbled as most of his energy went to keeping his head off the table.
Shortly Lark slid a plate in front of him and sat beside him. Able wished he had paid more attention and asked that his spongy, flat bread be left untouched by the tangy goat butter. He'd never felt desperate for Larbant food before. But he was eating before he knew it.
Lark had his own plate with a large piece of buttered bread but with jam, and another piece in his hand that he was well on his way through devouring. Able's jaw was almost too tired to chew, but as he worked at his own meal his stomach settled down and some of the tension in his back eased off. He was about halfway through, by the time Lark finished.
He tapped his fingers on the table while he watched him askance. "Tea?" he finally asked.
"No, thanks. I don't even think I can finish this." Able set his bread back on the plate.
Lark regarded it. "Would it be weird if I...?"
"Go ahead." Able slid the plate over to Lark who immediately ensured the food on it would not go to waste. He stood and realized he had never even taken his bag off his shoulder.
"Good night," Lark said after swallowing. "Sleep well."
"You too." Able plodded up the stairs and closed Elm's bedroom door behind him.
Gone now were the struggling fighters and the thundering hooves and the roaring flames, replaced by grave quiet and stillness. With a sigh of relief, he set his satchel on the ground and flopped onto the bed and into blissful unconsciousness.
And then the fire was back—no, Able blinked away the searing light to realize the sun had found its way through the south-facing window and onto his face. He groaned and shuffled away from it, but it found his face again in ten minutes. He thought to close the curtains, but every attempt he made to move his body rewarded with shots of pain.
He'd apparently managed to remove his belt and boots at some point in the night. Therefore, moving was clearly within his capabilities, so he soldiered on until he was standing. Instead of closing the curtains, though, he hobbled about washing himself up and changing into clean clothes because he was famished and did not want to try getting up again.
It must have taken three times as long as usual to drag his sore legs down the stairs. Splendor Hatling, looking positively stunning in a peach dress with a royal blue sweater and her gray hair perfectly coiffed, was seated at the table with tea, a half eaten biscuit, and a pamphlet.
"Ah." She looked up from perusing it. "There you are. Lark said you got in late and not to disturb you. I expect you'll be wanting luncheon?"
"Yes, please." Able carefully eased himself down. "Is he still in bed?" Although after he said it, Lark's door had been open as he passed, hadn't it?
"Lark? Skies, no." She laughed melodically. "We've been down in the shop since breakfast, although I came up here to make luncheon and now I'm having a bit of tea."
Able stared. "...since breakfast?"
"That's right," she nodded once as she said. "He'd just had a bath when I got up and helped me make it."
"What does that guy eat?" Able muttered, but Hatling apparently missed his incredulous tone.
"Six eggs with cheese and a can of applesauce, to my recollection. Why, would you like that?"
"I don't know if I'm quite that hungry," he raised a dubious eyebrow. "But I'll be happy to eat whatever is the least amount of effort. Were there perhaps leftovers? I could get them myself."
"Oh, don't be silly," she chided warmly. "I do love cooking."
He fell silent rather than continue to be silly. While Hatling vanished into the kitchen, Able curiously reached for her pamphlet. He should have expected it to be a collection of fashion plates instead of any town news. But he'd never really looked at something like this before, since Ma had made his clothes for him until he started using the same clothiers the other students did. He flipped through it and wondered at the unfamiliar words.
He was glad he had, for Hatling returned with his lunch wearing an amused expression and brushed away his apologies for being nosy before launching a discussion of the pamphlet's contents. He did his level best to keep up with her because it meant they were not discussing Kettlebrook.
Able offered to clear away all the dishes so Hatling could get back to work. When he'd finished, he struggled back up the stairs to sort Kettlebrook out for himself. Alone in the dead woman's room with a blank page in front of him, his usual, neat letters flowed out of his hand once again. He started by writing out a time-line of the event then moved on to describe what he had seen.
The man they call the Shadow is neither a large nor small man but has a voice the carries and a manner that is singular. He wears all black, outfitted in loose but sharply cut wool and leather. The jacket I saw was long-sleeved and mid-thigh length, cinched at the waist with a broad belt of knotted leather cords. The sleeves, also broad, were tucked into leather gloves. Most prominent is his hood which, pinned to the vest cut of the jacket and combined with a mask, conceals the whole of his head to the eyebrows and then his face to the nose. The exposed part of his face is also painted black; even his eyes are dark...
Dark and glinting in the waning light, like the bear in his dream. That's all it was. He'd been merely reliving the experience of the Shadow coming out of the chaos—coming at him so suddenly. A bear in the dream because he had been going on about a bear in that growling voice of his, then so large and powerful in the battle. Nothing mystical about it at all.
This was the first weight that seemed to fall from Able's mind, and many more followed as he pieced all the information out into words on paper. Line by line, he transformed the writhing mass of worms boring through his brain into a collection of coherent thoughts. Only one thing was left niggling at the back of his mind: the feeling he had missed something.