Inharmonic (The Music Maker Series Book 1) Page 5

  The water had returned to its glassy stillness, and before Nadja’s fingers touched the surface again, she noticed her reflection . . . and someone else’s.

  Trying not to make any sudden movements, Nadja slowly looked up and discovered she wasn’t the only one enjoying the watering hole. Across the water, a few feet away, a large ghost cat stood motionless, its unblinking yellow eyes boring into her own. One of the most feared predators in the Forest of Kithira, the black cat was almost invisible among the dark shadows and abundant flora outlining the other side of the spring. An incessant low, purring noise emanated from deep within the animal, and it watched Nadja with interest. Nadja’s heartbeat quickened as it hurried to push adrenaline through every inch of her body. Soon, the sound of the blood rushing through her ears matched the rhythm of the cat’s purr.

  She couldn’t outrun it. A ghost cat could run faster than any human. The trees were no option either. Ghost cats were climbers. And even if she had time to get her blowpipe loaded and in position before the cat was on her, the small darts were no match for the sleek feline.

  Almost imperceptibly, Nadja crept her right hand towards her improvised fishing spear, never taking her eyes off the cat. The cat’s tongue flicked out, running along the edges of its muzzle, and Nadja glimpsed the flashing white fangs underneath. Those fangs could easily snap her little spear.

  The ghost cat crouched. In a blink, it sprang across the pool with a roar, claws outstretched. The cat slammed into her with the force of a charging bull, knocking her away from the spear and onto her back. Her head slammed against the ground. She screamed as the animal’s razor-like claws dug into her shoulders and pinned her to the forest floor. The ground beneath her back was spongy, and the weight of the cat caused her to sink down. Nadja lifted her feet, trying to connect with the beast’s belly, all the while frantically groping for the spear with her right hand. She threw up her left arm, shielding her face and neck as the cat aimed its fangs at that very spot. Instead, the animal’s gaping maw clamped down on her forearm, its teeth sinking in almost to the bone. The cat yanked and pulled at Nadja’s arm, tearing bits of flesh and muscle in a frustrated attempt to uncover its true target. The violent shaking inched the pair towards the water’s edge.

  The water!

  Seizing her only means of escape, Nadja’s fingers finally found the spear. With every ounce of her strength, she swung her arm in a wide arc. The sharpened tip of the spear connected with the soft flesh of the ghost cat’s neck. Its tip sank in only about an inch before snapping off, momentarily stunning the beast. The cat swayed, releasing its hold on Nadja long enough for her to roll onto her stomach and make for the water. Halfway in, the cat’s paws connected with her back, flattening her to the ground. Nadja thrashed against the weight of the predator, splashing water in a feeble attempt to distract it. She knew the cat’s next move. A bite to the back of her neck and a swift severing of her spinal cord.

  She squeezed her eyes shut.

  Thunk!

  The weight lifted. Stunned, Nadja lay unmoving for a beat. Then her survival instinct kicked in, and she took a deep breath and rolled into the water.

  Nadja’s body sank to the bottom of the spring as a stream of bubbles rose to the surface, transforming the crystal clear pool into a frothing crimson cauldron.

  Chapter 6

  A log popped and crackled, startling Nadja awake. She opened her eyes and gazed up at the cream-colored ceiling. In the hazy moment between sleep and waking, she drew her eyebrows together trying to remember when she and her mother had swapped their leather hut coverings for canvas. Puzzled, she lifted her hand to brush the hair out of her eyes and gasped as the movement sent bolts of pain shooting up the length of her arm and through her shoulder.

  Now fully awake, she sat up slowly and surveyed the area. Of course she wasn’t at home. She looked around at the small tent, then down at her bandaged arm.

  “Good afternoon, Pretty Lady.”

  Nadja jumped at the greeting and twisted to face the opening, biting her lip as her shoulders burned.

  “I wouldn’t move so fast, if I were you,” rolled the velvety baritone, “unless you want to reopen some of those wounds.”

  Nadja stared at the man crouched inside the entrance. He had a handsome face, with chiseled angular features, topped with a mop of wavy brown hair. His sapphire eyes sparkled with mirth, and he appeared to be about the same age as she. Nadja wasn’t so injured that she didn’t appreciate how attractive he was. Nor was she so affected that she let down her guard.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Well, I’d say I’m your hero,” he said, flashing her a perfect grin. When his reply elicited a cold stare from Nadja, his face sobered. “I heard your screaming and found you wrestling with a ghost cat. You took a pretty good beating and fell into the spring. I fished you out, brought you to my home away from home,” he said, gesturing to the tent, “patched you up and let you sleep it off.”

  “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About a day.”

  “A whole day?” Nadja exclaimed, pushing back the blankets and struggling to her feet. That was a whole day she should have spent putting distance between her and the Wanderer camp.

  “Whoa, slow down,” said the man, reaching in to take her elbow.

  As Nadja stood, she felt a cool breeze rush up her legs. Looking down, she discovered not only was she wearing an enormous shirt which hung to her knees, but she was most certainly not wearing any pants.

  With a squeal, she tumbled down and desperately tried to pull the blankets around her waist. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

  “Up or down, make up your mind,” said the man.

  “Where are my clothes?” she squeaked.

  “They are hanging out by the fire.”

  Nadja glared at him, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

  The man let go of her elbow and held up his hands. “Like I said, I pulled you out of the spring. You were soaked, and your clothes were in no better shape than you were. Would you have rather I’d left you as you were? You’d have had plenty of time for an infection set in.”

  “No,” said Nadja, casting her eyes to the ground.

  “And if your dignity is what you’re worried about,” he continued solemnly, “you have my word I was a complete gentleman.”

  Nadja was silent for a moment, then lifted her eyes to meet his. “Thank you.”

  “But I can’t promise I’m always a gentleman,” he grinned and winked at her before scooting back out of the tent. A moment later he opened the flap and tossed in her dry clothes. “Come on out when you’re ready. Supper is on the fire.” Before closing the flap, he flashed her another smile. “And my name is Pax.”

  Nadja dressed as quickly as she could. The smell of roasting meat rolled into the tent, causing her stomach to clench and rumble. Her skirt was in good shape, but the shoulders and sleeve of her tunic were shredded beyond all levels of decency. As she removed the tunic and cast it aside, she noticed a pair of matching dotted arcs across either side of her chest. She gingerly touched the puncture wounds left by the cat’s claws. They were tender, but seemed to be healing well. Reaching up and across her body with her right arm, she found the ones it had left across the back of her shoulder. They felt about the same as the ones on the front. With her left arm out of commission she couldn’t check the other side, so she rolled both of her shoulders to compare pain level and range of movement. About the same. Satisfied, she put Pax’s voluminous shirt back on, pulling up the bottom hem, as best as she could with one arm, and knotting it at her waist.

  She left the tent and took in her surroundings as her eyes adjusted to the afternoon sun. The camp was small, clearly just for one, but well situated in a little glade. An empty spit bridged a modest fire, and to the left of that, a double bit axe stood in the middle of a perfectly split woodpile. Its generous size suggested her rescuer hadn’t planned on going anywhere for a few days. She turned her he
ad in his direction and caught her breath.

  He was standing in front of a stump, preparing the food. Even with his back to her, she could tell the dim light in the tent hadn’t done him justice. He was much larger than he’d appeared crouching in the doorway of the tent. A generous foot taller than she was, his shoulders and back were large and broad. The muscles in his arms were powerful and defined in a way which comes from years of manual labor. The sun’s rays illuminated errant strands of golden hair hidden within his chestnut mane and deepened the color of his already tanned skin. He turned at that moment and spied her, causing her stomach to flutter in a most peculiar way.

  “You know, you might just wear my shirt better than I do,” he joked.

  “Mine is a bit beyond repair,” she said, turning hurriedly and glancing around the camp in an attempt to hide her rosy cheeks. “Have you seen my pack? I have another one I can change into.”

  “Nope. But, I wasn’t worried about that at the time. Here, eat something. It will help you get your strength back. I’ll see if I can find your pack.”

  He handed Nadja a plate of roasted rabbit, a few chunks of bread and cheese, and a deep purple plum. Her eyes grew wide, and she practically drooled at the spread. But, she simply took the plate and said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She settled down on the ground in front of the fire and looked up at him again. “No, I mean it. Thank you. You probably saved my life.”

  Pax nodded and lifted one side of his mouth in a charming, crooked smile. “I’ll be back in a little while. There’s more bread and cheese and fruit in the sack over there if you’re still hungry after you finish your plate,” he said, pointing to the stump. Then, he turned and headed into the forest.

  Nadja wasted no time digging into her meal. After days of nothing but raw fish and foraged scraps, the smoky rabbit meat and creamy cheese were something out of a dream. The plum burst in her mouth as she bit into it, sending sweet juicy rivulets running down her chin and leaving a sticky trail behind. She giggled at the sensation, recalling the time her mother purchased a watermelon from a merchant ship in Chansey, and they sat along the seashore eating until they were stuffed and covered in pink stains.

  A half hour later, her hunger satisfied, she was sucking the last bits of rabbit off of the bones when a rustling in the undergrowth announced Pax’s return.

  “I believe this belongs to you,” he proclaimed, setting the pack next to her. “And I found your walking stick as well.” He handed her the blowpipe.

  “Thank you,” said Nadja, turning her head to hide her smirk.

  “That hike worked up an appetite. Any meat left?”

  Nadja’s face fell, and she eyed her empty plate in embarrassment. “Oh, um, I thought everything on the plate was for me,” she stammered. “I didn’t realize there was nothing else left.” She looked up to see his eyes twinkling in merriment and the corners of his mouth threatening to betray him.

  “Just kidding,” he said as his lips melted into an easy smile. “I ate while you were sleeping.” He walked over to the stump and fished out a chunk of bread. “But I could use a snack.”

  Settling down onto the ground next to her, he tore off a piece of bread and popped it into his mouth. “So, what’s your story?”

  Nadja stiffened as she fortified her protective mental barrier and searched for a believable story. Slowly, she lowered her plate to the ground. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you could start by telling me your name.”

  Warning bells rang I her head. “Uh, I’m nobody important,” she offered, lamely.

  Pax looked thoughtful for a moment. “All right, Pretty Lady. What are you doing out here in the middle of the woods?”

  Nadja slid her plate away from her and shifted on the soft grass, scooting closer to the fire. The sun was setting, and the air was turning cooler. Clearing her throat, she replied, “I’m headed west to visit family.” It wasn’t a lie, technically.

  She saw the wheels turning in his head as he chewed his last bit of bread and stared at her small pack, which was obviously not stocked for travel of any great length. He opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off.

  “What about you? What are you doing out here in the middle of the forest?” she asked, trying to divert the focus from herself. Her plan worked easily.

  He leaned towards her and lowered his voice. “I’m on a quest,” he said with an air of mystery.

  The scent of pine and earth washed over Nadja as he drew near to her, momentarily shaking her guard. “What kind of quest?” she asked.

  “The kind only for the strong and courageous,” Pax said with intensity, leaning in closer and closer to Nadja. “It’s the kind of quest which either refines or destroys a man. And if I find what I’m searching for, it will bring honor and fortune to my entire family.” He was almost nose-to-nose with her now.

  “And what is it you seek?” she breathed.

  Pax brought his lips within inches of her ear. “I seek,” he whispered, “the great and elusive Auldwood Oak.” With that, he leaned back lazily on his elbows and chuckled, polishing off the last bite of bread.

  Confusion flitted across Nadja’s features but shifted into annoyance as she realized he was teasing her again.

  “A tree,” she said flatly.

  “Ahh, but it’s not just any tree. The wood from the Auldwood Oak is the rarest and most coveted crafting material of luthiers across Amrantir. They say it’s as light as a feather, but as strong and sturdy as Mount Stalwind. And the resonance produced by instruments made from it is almost otherworldly. But, like I said, they’re extremely rare.”

  “Have you seen one before?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “But, you know where one is.”

  “Nope.”

  “Then how do you expect to find one?”

  “The roots of the Auldwood Oak run deeper than any other tree in the forest. They grow gigantic, and there are stories of some living to be thousands of years old. They’re rare for two reasons. One, they only produce seeds once every hundred years or so. And, two, their roots release a toxin into the soil which prevents any other Auldwood seeds from taking root within a day’s ride of the parent tree. So, in order for a new tree to grow, the seed has to travel a long way to find suitable ground. And, I figure since I’m already a week into my search and I haven’t seen one yet, I must be getting closer.”

  Nadja suspected his finishing logic, but decided not to challenge him on it. Instead she asked, “Why is finding this tree so important to you?”

  Pax sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. “You know, you haven’t yet asked me what happened when I found you being attacked by the ghost cat.”

  Nadja had wondered, but her memories of the attack were hazy. She remembered the cat charging her. She remembered its hot breath on her neck and feeling like she couldn’t breathe because of its weight on her chest. She remembered trying in vain to get to the water before, as if by some miracle, the weight lifted. Then the water enveloped her and made her wounds burn even more.

  Pax stood and walked over to the woodpile. He gripped the axe with one hand and pulled it free, swinging it loosely from side to side as he walked back toward Nadja. When he was within striking distance, his relaxed features drew together into a look of intense focus, and his eyes turned to lock onto a spot to her right. Then, in one swift and fluid movement, his muscles rippled as he brought the axe up behind his back and over his head, gripped the handle with his other hand, and launched it forward. The axe flew straight, turning end over end, and embedded one of its sharp blades into a large tree at the edge of camp.

  Nadja jumped at the crunch which crackled the air as the axe connected with the tree.

  Then it all made sense, why the ghost cat seemed to disappear mid-attack, and why Pax didn’t have a scratch on him. She was grateful he had dispatched the cat, but upset to think a tiny miscalculation on his part could have ended her
instead. She chose to focus on the positive.

  “Impressive.”

  “I’m a woodsman,” he shrugged, pulling the axe free from the tree. “It’s a family business. If I could find an Auldwood Oak, it would be a windfall for us.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m also a bit of a woodworker myself,” rubbing the back of his neck and appearing, for the first time, to lose a tiny bit of that confidence which had, until then, seemed inexhaustible.

  “Really?” Nadja’s interest piqued. “What kinds of things do you make?”

  “Anything, really. Furniture, toys. But what I like making most is musical instruments.”

  Nadja nodded. “Yet another reason to find the Auldwood Oak.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So, you make stringed instruments?”

  “Yes. But I make wind instruments as well,” said Pax, crossing to the tent. He opened the flap and reached inside, digging through a small leather bag. Returning to Nadja, he said, “This isn’t much, but it’s something I’ve been working on while I’ve been wandering the woods.” He sat back down beside her and opened his fingers.

  In his hand rested an expertly crafted oaken ocarina. It stretched across the length of his large palm, from wrist to fingertips, and reminded Nadja of a knobbed cane handle.

  “May I?” she asked, glancing up at Pax, who nodded in reply.

  Still favoring her left arm, she reached over with her right, lifted the ocarina from his hands and placed it in her lap. She turned it over, noting the smoothness of the seams and the symmetrical curve of both sides. The wood was silk to the touch, except near the finger holes. She held the instrument up to her eyes for a closer inspection and was pleasantly surprised to find each finger hole was decorated with a unique, tiny design of dots, curls, and swoops. Pax relaxed his stiff posture as she smiled in appreciation. She brought the mouthpiece to her lips and blew a long, mellow, and haunting note which hung in the air for a few seconds after she stopped.