Page 82 of The Herlequin: Pitch & Sickle 6
‘No.’ Silas wished he could have found more amusement in the assumption. ‘He will not. I won’t be long. Is Will Scarlet about? I don’t recall seeing much of them last night, and I haven’t thanked them properly.’
The burr made a movement that might have been a nod toward the oak’s entranceway. ‘Sleeping.’
Silas thanked him again and stepped beyond the clearing. He was not ready for the bracing chill that came. ‘Christ almighty.’ He considered retrieving his coat after all, but this was to be a short journey. He’d be done in the time it would take to go back for the coat.
Silas carried on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
WHEN SILASthought himself at a discreet-enough distance, he answered nature’s call, sighing with the relief. Done, he stretched his arms overhead, trying to work out the kinks formed after a night spent without a pillow beneath his head. Several satisfying cracks later, he turned to head back to the clearing. A faint trickling of water caught his attention. A stream or brook not too far off. A place to splash his face and wash his hands of what the moss had failed to remove of last night’s exertions.
That was memory enough to warm a man through to the core. With a covetous grin, Silas traipsed further out into the forest, where slivers of faint morning light were having much more luck with pushing through the canopy. It struck him, only then, that they’d not heard the grumble of a storm in quite some time. The Herlequin, it seemed, had taken his unsteady weather with him. Good riddance to both.
Snow lay in patches over the ground, thin layers nothing like the depths that Hastings had had to deal with when she carried them to safety. His uplifted mood wavered at the thought of Sybilla’s horse. How long should they wait here for her return? Not that they had any other choice right now. He must speak with Robin about horses when the dryad woke. He’d feel a hell of a lot better knowing they could at leasttryto race off if an attack came.
It did not take him long to happen upon the water. A spring bubbled up through lichen-covered rocks and ran away in a narrow and very shallow brook that serpentined through clusters of dogwood, whose red new-growth shoots provided rare splashes of colour in the December landscape.The splay of several elder trees, which looked suspiciously purposely planted in a rough circle, grew amidst the dogwood. With superstition decreeing that elder kept the devil away, Silas could only guess what rituals may have gone on between the boughs.
He rested a knee upon one of the rocks and splashed the cold water against his face.
‘Shit,’ he hissed, a shiver running the length of his body with the slap of the icy liquid. But gracious, it was refreshing. The water was sparkling clean, unlike that of the pond he’d dunked himself into.
To think that time with the kappas was barely a day ago. It felt as though they’d all lived a dozen lifetimes since.
He shook off his hands and was playing with lewd thoughts of returning to the prince and making them dirty once more when several delightful little asrai made themselves known, leaping like translucent trout from the shallows of the brook to greet him. Young ones, whose giggles were like raindrops on a tin roof, trying to outdo one another with leaps and twirls and backflips. Their orbs of fluid swirled happily when he congratulated them on their acrobatics.
Was I the best, ankou?said one, who truly was not. Their twirls had showered Silas with a spray of unwelcome iciness. But he gave a noncommittal nod and shake of his head.
‘It is so hard to choose, really. You are all very impressive.’
The asrai insisted on him judging a race next, pleading with him in their watery tones. With a glance around at the lightening forest, Silas agreed. He’d not been gone long, and Pitch needed rest not arousal, so it was best Silas gave himself a moment to clear his head. Sherwood had proved herself a safe haven. So long as Silas kept near the clearing, a little spectator sport sounded very amusing. Besides, he knew it was asrai who had led Pitch to him at the greensward. He owed them this small consideration.
‘Just quickly then, and not too far.’
The asrai splashed themselves up and down, over and over with such fervour that Silas had to take a step back to avoid getting any damper. Finally they settled and sat themselves atop the water, like large marbles of clear crystal. There was some semblance of a lineup, then the race was on.
Silas followed after the handful of asrai, who rolled themselves along the water’s surface and down the brook where it meandered through the elders and out to where more dogwood and buckthorn stood sentinel along the waterway. He jogged to keep up and actually got quite absorbed in the competition. It was hard-fought between two particular asrai, the rest trailing out behind in varying degrees of distance, including the poor inept twirler, who was last of all.
‘Come on then.’ He slowed to give encouragement. ‘You’re not out of the race just yet.’
Which was a lie, for there was no way this poor thing was going to catch their faster brethren, who had now moved around a slight bend and out of sight. By the time Silas and the dejected asrai found them, they had moved on to another game, which involved diving for minnows.
Silas bade them farewell and turned about.
The very faint cry of a child reached him, barely caught over the boisterous splashing. He stepped away from the brook, straining to hear.
There. Again. A little one calling for their mother. At once Silas strode towards the sound, horrified at the thought of a youngster lost in these woods. What if their family had stopped to take shelter from the snowstorm? An unnatural storm created in part because of him. It was far too cold for a babe to be wandering about. The chill would claim them quickly. Silas broke into a run, homing in on the sound, which grew louder as he approached.
‘Mumma? Where are you?’ Their voice wobbled and hiccoughed with the strain of tears and distress.
Silas hurried, pushing his way through the undergrowth, which seemed determined to make the way a challenge. ‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Hello there, it’s all right. Just stay where you are. I’m coming.’
He was puffing by the time he dragged himself clear of a bramble that had lain in wait beneath a less thorny dogwood. His jerked his shirt arm free, scowling at the tiny tear left behind. A good thing he’d not worn his coat, then.
A wet and violent sniff announced the youngster. There was no telling if they were a boy or girl, for a bonnet covered their hair, and in the trend of the very young, the child wore a dress. This child was young indeed, more so than Tilly, he’d guess. They wore no coat, only a rather bedraggled pale yellow slip, and one of their slippers was missing, the other with notable holes near the little toe. Their tiny toes were a worrying shade of blue.
‘Are you all right?’ Silas asked.
They stared at him with bugged eyes, red with crying, their nose twin rivers of mucus, and took hurried steps away when he approached.