37. Pilgrimage
While Callbrith and the dwarves continued their work below the surface of the compound, Sherry, Wynne, and Zevran left through a long unused passage behind the Tower.
The air was damp with dew, and laden with the cloying scent of carrion. The first watery fingers of pre-dawn light had slid over the horizon beyond the stone of the mountains, seeking for a hold by which to lift the grudging sun to its daylight vigil.
Their horse's hooves made no sound as they rode across the smoke and fog-cloaked battlefield, muffled as they were by cloth. Even the tack had been muffled, so that no jingle could betray their passage into the still morning. Behind them, fog and burned flesh moved in the air with sluggish displeasure, returning to the place from which they had been displaced by the intruders.
The world was calm and silent, not even the birds yet arisen to break the preternatural silence. The small group passed the first of the gnarled, blighted rose bushes that had once marked the line between one field and the next. It had twisted in upon itself, its thorns slicing through leaves as if it were attacking its own parts. The hole it passed through wept with black sap like tears from a dying leviathan. Alone amongst fire-scored earth, it struggled for life against a growing tide of black, putrid soil. Its pathetic misery screamed against the fate that had wrought it, yet inexorably the taint had taken it until only a single withered, dead rose hung from the top of it, blackened on the edges with a red heart.
As they passed, a petal fell from the dying rose to lie bright and forlorn on the black soil.
When they had disappeared into the fog, the petal turned black and fell as ash, like it had never been.
They traveled on into the dark morning, speaking not at all until they had reached the edge of the battle-destroyed grounds. The fog had begun to lift from the open area, yet it left behind the stench of decay and the ever-present horror of ash that had settled on them and that left them unable to escape the smell of burned flesh.
Sherry stopped and looked back. At the edge, nestled against a tree line that rose above it, was the last remaining living field. The golden rye there stood still, ripe for the scythes that should have breached it several days before. She felt a dawning misery that it still remained standing, and there seemed to be no indication that Jesse even cared. Without that single field of rye, the people of the compound would have a lean winter. Already the chill of Autumn had risen, biting ears and noses even without the inevitable winds.
She could only feel gratitude that the bees had already begun hibernation. If Jesse didn't mishandle them, they would survive. She feared for them the most, for they were essential to survival. Without them, there would be little food, for pollination would decrease exponentially. There would also be no more honey, which was one of the staples of the diet of the people of her compound.
The others sat silently as she mourned the state of affairs left by Jesse's betrayal. It would be a lean winter at best. If the harvest were not done, it would be an austere, even a severe one.
But there was a way to offset it. It would take them away from Alistair for a time. They had to go North before they could travel over to save him. She could only hope that she could accomplish all that needed done before Loghain completed his mockery of a 'trial'. Unaware that her work inside had been found, Sherry turned and headed into the woods. The others followed, looking back also at the place they had come to know as 'home'.
Together, the group traveled quickly. Finally, they arrived at what appeared to be a small log cabin in the mountains. There were no roads leading to it, or away from it in any direction.
"Alistair is being held in a cabin?" Zevran asked impertinently, one sarcastic eyebrow rising towards the white hair that managed to remain sleek despite days of travel.
"No," Sherry answered him. "We're here for food and to pick up Peep."
The cabin door opened before she was finished speaking, and a massive man walked out of it. His skin was so dark it was nearly black. His legs were casual towers of latent power, and the crossed arms bulged with the same sense of negligent killing potential.
"Sherry!" he said when he saw her. His deep, resonant voice rolled across the clearing like a plush red carpet.
As Sherry dismounted and flew into his arms, a younger black man emerged from the cabin behind him. He was short, his body oddly twisted. His fingers flicked constantly against each other, and he rocked back and forth.
"Sherry! Sherry comes!" he said, his face lighting up as he gazed at the sky. "Sherry and the dragon, Sherry and the dragon," he chanted softly, his voice squeaking slightly.
"That's Peep?" Zevran asked, his voice filled with surprised incredulity.
"Shhh," Wynne admonished him.
"Well, what good is he going to be? He's… he's…" Zevran failed to find a word in either language that would express his dismay.
"I'm Peep. That's Billy," the massive black man said. "And I know what you meant to say is that he's brilliant."
Zevran prepared to say something, but subsided, obviously warned by something in the other man's manner.
Peep turned back to Sherry. "I can see ye be needin' me, then. I'll tell the Missus, and we'll have a bite to eat."
"We don't have much time," she told him.
"I know. Billy said you was comin' and I should pack. Supper'll be on soon if it ain't already. Then we's can go. But I ain't travlin' on a empty belly, and neither is you." His warm voice vibrated through them as he spoke.
As he and Sherry turned towards the cabin, Zevran exchanged a look with Wynne. Neither of them knew what to think of their new traveling companion.
"Sing it for me, Peep."
"No," he said, laughing with a deep rolling laugh that tickled as it passed over her and left her grinning.
"Come on. You know you want to," she wheedled.
He sighed, pretending to be dismayed. "Alright, but don't tell nobody." Then he sang, in his vibrating baritone, "My bags are packed, I'm ready to go… cause I'm leavin', on a jet plane. Don't know when I'll be back again… yeah, leeeavin', on a jet plane…"
As they vanished into the dark interior, Wynne asked Zevran, "What's a jet plane?"
The elf shrugged and followed the odd pair into the interior, wincing as Sherry tried to force her alto voice into an upper range she couldn't quite reach.