It was not a grand fire, but the warmth that emanated from it was unlike any warmth Wing had ever felt.
While living in the root cavern he’d supplemented the flint and steel he’d taken from the house on the night of his escape with additional fire-building instruments, but all of it proved useless when he’d been unable to find any dry wood. Happening upon the fallen tree with dry tinder inside felt like more of a triumph than coaxing flame from the union of mineral and metal.
Nursing the tender flames, Wing looked up through the tree tops and out toward the heavens that must still lay on the other side of the blanket of cloud.
Another night, he thought.
He’d never known the kind of darkness that penetrated the mountains at night: the movement of creatures in their warm dens beneath him, the occasional nocturnal hunter crawling over his blankets, tiny eyes glimmering in the darkness, watching with a coldness that disturbed what little sleep he got.
Within the tree cavern there had been at least the comfort of being sheltered. Now, he felt naked against the world. Vulnerable to its grandest or smallest whim.
The following morning, Wing gathered up as much of the dry tinder from the fallen tree as he could, bundling it in his extra clothes and stuffing it into the duffel.
Through two more sunrises and sunsets, beneath a sky that had cleared and cooled revealing the thin silvery cradle of first moon, Wing continued to move.
The tips of his fingers and toes were continually numb, and he hoped, not permanently damaged by the cold.
As the fifth night passed away into the sixth, the uncompromising struggle of living in the wild on the edge of Ime, caught up with him. Fevered and chilled, his stomach revolted, rejecting what little he put into it.
Water from streams or melted snow was easy enough to come by and over the past few days he had managed to spear the occasional fish from gathering pools at the base of cliffs, but now, dehydrated from vomiting, his strength expelled, he could only lay, trembling, frozen in his limbs, heart racing as if we were running for his life. He desperately needed to make a fire, but doing so was a laborious effort — even when healthy — and one he simply could not manage in his present condition.
So, without light, without heat, Wing crawled beneath a short, rocky overhang and with loathing, cast his eyes upon the vast expanse of dark forest that seemed to bend its will against him, intensifying the fragility of which he was already acutely aware.
The night passed into a dark day and by the next nightfall, his condition had deteriorated further still.
Sliding back and forth between delirium and lucidity, Wing’s fevered thoughts followed a well-worn path in his mind to places in the past, and for brief moments he felt the sun on his face as he stood in his fields, smelled the sweet fragrance of Reean’s fretheral garden, touched Carly’s soft skin, saw Nien’s smile.
Nien.
His brother’s name snatched him from delirium.
Briefly aware of the chills wracking his body, Wing tried to remember Nien’s face, the sound of his voice, the anomalous colour of his eyes.
“Nien,” he pled. “I won’t be long. Not long behind. Wait.”
Outside of the small protection of the ledge, it began to rain.
Chapter 50
Stranger in a Strange Land
“H ow is he?” Monteray asked as Kate came in through their bedroom door.
Shivering, Kate climbed quickly into the bed. “He has terrible nightmares. Whatever happened to him, whatever he went through before arriving here...”
There had been no word in town of repute, not even any gossip that Monteray had heard or been made aware of. Though this was a relief, it did nothing to solve the mystery of the man who lay, hopefully recovering, in their small cabin down by the river.
Monteray adjusted a bed pillow behind his back.
“His wounds,” Monteray said, his voice contemplative. “I don’t think what happened to him was done fighting a single opponent. They look like battle wounds, too many of them from too many directions.”
“You’re meaning a large engagement?” Kate looked at him.
“Yes. But there has been no word of an attack since Jayak.”
“So, what is it?”
“His clothing, that leather shoulder mantle and the symbol on the patch sewn over it — it’s Rieevan, of the fighting force that Lant put together.”
“The Cant? Why didn’t you say so before?”
“I’ve been thinking on it,” Monteray replied. “Why would a man of Preak, in his condition, cross the river into Legran?”
Kate nodded, agreeing. “He wouldn’t, unless…”
Monteray looked at his wife then and could see she was beginning to piece together the same possibility.
“Unless something truly terrible had happened,” Kate said.
“And the only valley where something truly terrible could happen and no one would ever know about it would be…”
“Rieeve.”
“Lant told me that his First in the Cant was adopted by the Cawutt family and was from Preak.”
The possibility sat like a stone in the room. Kate studied his eyes and the look in them broke his heart. Reaching around with his arm, he drew Kate into his chest.
“I’ll be going to see Rhusta a little earlier than I’d planned — he might have seen or heard something.” It was often easier to visit Rhusta openly than try and go into Rieeve, a thing that was rather difficult had the meeting not been pre-arranged. “By then, we should hear something from the spies I sent to the Confluence.”
Nien awoke slowly. His head hurt; everything hurt. He opened his eyes. His surroundings came to him at first in a blur. After a time, he forced himself to sit up. His left arm and side throbbed. He looked down and saw that his right arm was in a sling.
Glancing across the room, he saw a cup, pitcher, and bowl sitting on a small round table. Like a drunken, boneless man, he managed to make it to the chair beside the table before collapsing. There was water in the cup and some sort of vegetable broth in the bowl. Reaching out of the sling with his right hand, he grasped the cup and downed its contents. He then took up the bowl in his hands — ignoring the utensil beside it — and gulped down the salty broth.
Feeling immediately revived, he looked out the window near the door and saw a beautiful home in the near distance.
Where am I? He closed his eyes. Legran? He vaguely remembered coming down the mountain, crossing the river.
He must be in Legran.
He felt an instant of relief followed by a wave of cold fear that worked against the warmth the broth had provided.
Given the shape he was in, had he been wise in coming here?
He was here, but had he come of a conscious choice? He remembered almost nothing that had happened since holding Joash as he died in his arms within the walls of Castle Viyer. It was as if something else had driven him — carried him — here.
But now he was here, and he knew he could not defend himself were someone other than Master Monteray to find him and decide to pick a fight.
Briefly, he contemplated moving on. But the inclination was not one even his half-working brain could realistically consider as weakness forced him back to the bed where sleep took him by the time he’d eased himself down.
The following morning, Kate entered the cabin as she did every day to check on him. Monteray came in behind her. Stepping over to the table, she saw that the water and soup were gone. Dragging the chair behind her, she took a seat by his side and began to redress the wounds.
The man woke as she did.
“It’s all right,” she said in Preak, “don’t be alarmed.”
He flinched away from her hand.
“There’s no need to worry.”
The expression on his face told Kate her words did little to change his mind. Speaking in Legrand, she tried again. Fear and confusion answered her. She was about to try the Fultershier, when Monteray said softly, “Try speaking in R
ieevan.”
Rieevan, Kate thought, and her throat tightened.
Turning back to the man, she asked, “Do you speak Rieevan?” Something sparked in the man’s healthy eye — recognition, Kate thought. But before she was convinced of what she’d seen, his expression settled back into helplessness and confusion.
Out of ideas, Kate was about to give up when the man asked: “Where am I?” in the Fultershier.
Fultershier, she thought, and glanced briefly back at Monteray with a hopeful look. Perhaps he was from Quieness. Many Preaks were from Quieness these days. That would be good news — on one side. Perhaps that meant nothing had happened in Rieeve. Perhaps his condition was an outcome of something else entirely.
“You’re at our home in Legran,” she replied, also in the Fultershier.
“How long?”
“We found you three days ago. My name is Kate and that is Monteray, my husband.”
The man’s eye shifted to Monteray. “Sep,” he said. “Thank you for helping…” His words trailed off and his eyes closed.
“Sep?” Kate said.
Monteray stepped over, placing his fingertips upon the man’s neck. The pulse rose to meet his fingers.
“He’s all right. That can happen in his condition.”
“It’s disconcerting,” Kate replied.
Monteray nodded. “I know. Here, let me help you so we can go and let him sleep.”
On the fifth day, Nien stepped out the door of the small cabin. In the close distance stood the magnificent home. Another structure stood to the northing of the house and both, it appeared, were still under various degrees of construction; nevertheless, seeing them in full view took Nien’s breath away — only in Quieness had he seen such remarkable architecture.
“The Monterays,” he whispered to himself.
Since the revelation, Nien had stopped running scenarios through his mind concerning what he’d do should things with the owner of the house turn ugly. Now, the obvious thing was simply to tell the Monterays everything —
Except that he didn’t want to.
He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to be Nien. He just wanted to be Sep. He could make up a whole new story. He’d heard the name Sep for the first time in Quieness and that would make a plausible story. Many Preaks he’d met while in Quieness had never even been to the Valley of Preak, having been born and raised in Cao City. He could be from there. He knew the city well enough. He could invent a whole new story. Be someone else, entirely.
But Monteray should know, he thought, the other valleys should be warned that Rieeve had been taken, that the Ka’ull had, now, a foothold in the very heart of their continent.
Nien stood, staring at the house, wrestling with the problem.
But Monteray was already fully aware of the threat. He knew of Lant’s Plan. Lant had told Nien himself that he’d been in contact with Monteray, that the Master had spies in the northing passes, that he had worked with Lant in drawing up the Plan for the unification of the Valleys.
So why did Nien need to tell him anything? Would knowing that Rieeve had fallen really affect whatever plans the Master had?
Nien sighed deep in himself. No matter what he told himself, telling Master Monteray would make a difference. It would make a difference because Commander Lant and Monteray had been friends. He should not have to wonder if the Ka’ull were at their door, he should know.
If only I could do it and not be myself, Nien thought. If only he could pass on the information without Monteray knowing who he really was.
But there would be no way for that. Rieeve’s isolation negated any possibility that Nien would be able to know without having been there.
What am I going to do?
Nien fixed his gaze upon the house. In the event of being undecided, there was one thing Nien knew certainly: he needed a safe place to stay while he recovered.
That was possible now that he knew he’d been found by the Monterays, people Commander Lant loved and trusted.
The walk to the house seemed an impossibly long distance. Physically, it felt as if there were a slow leak in his strength that continually drained out faster than it filled. His breath came hard and laboured and a throbbing pain curled itself around his joints. Mentally, he’d never felt so...
Unlike myself, he thought.
He also thought it should have scared him. But it didn’t. How such an integral part of himself could suddenly be gone he wasn’t sure. Then again, it hadn’t been sudden at all. His body and mind had been altered by the events in Castle Viyer and then after, making the impossible journey from Rieeve into Legran in an infinite circle of agony on the edge of death. It had stricken his identity from him. He’d been reduced to flesh, to pain, to a single point of purpose: Reaching Legran. He’d somehow succeeded in that. Now, he was unsure why he’d bothered. There was nothing left to fight for. Not a home. Not even one living person.
Except for Wing. If his brother had survived. If he had managed to escape.
Lost in his thoughts, Nien glanced up to find that he had arrived at the back door to the house.
Leaning heavily upon the door frame, he knocked. Pain radiated from his knuckles up into his wrist, reminding him of the depth of his weakened state.
A young woman opened the door. Her eyes popped wide upon seeing him and a smile spread her lips.
Speaking in the Fultershier, Nien asked, “Are Kate or Monteray in?”
She called over her shoulder, “Mother!”
The woman who had been tending to him appeared shortly in the doorway behind her, wiping her hands down her apron. “Come in, come in,” she said.
“Thank you,” Nien said, and then added, “Kate.”
She smiled at him and pulled a chair out from the dining table for him to sit on. “How are you?” she asked.
“Recovering, thanks to you.”
Kate sat down in front of him and began checking the wrappings about his chest. She did this with such ease — as if she were his mother and he her flesh and blood — that Nien could only sit, entranced, as she made her inspection.
“There’s still a little bleeding,” she said. “But I’m impressed. I was wondering if we would ever see you open your eyes much less be on your feet.” She replaced the bandage. “And your other eye looks much better. How is the sight in it?”
“Not too bad,” Nien said.
“Can I get you something? Are you hungry?”
“No, thank you. I actually have something I would like to —"
Kate motioned for him to stop. Looking over her shoulder, she said, “Tei, would you please get us something to drink?”
Behind Kate, Tei had been standing, watching Nien with something between fascination and consternation.
Unhappily, it seemed, she disappeared through two short, hanging doors leading into what Nien assumed to be the cooking area.
Kate turned back to him. “You were saying?”
“I know it’s a lot to ask, especially when you’ve already done so much…” He paused again.
“Yes?”
“Well, if you could use it, I would ask if I could work — to pay you back for what you’ve done.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kate said. “You may stay as long as you need.”
Caught off guard, it took Nien a moment to persist. “I would like to work. I realize that sounds a bit irrational by the look of me, but I would feel better if I could do something. I have some skill as a carpenter and builder.”
Kate’s eyes, as they looked back at him, were so kind and warm that Nien felt some stirring of emotion in the disengaged center of his chest.
“Fine then,” she said. “Monteray could use the help, anyway — ” it seemed she was about to say something else in explanation but stopped short, saying instead, “I know he’s frustrated at the small amount of work he can do on his own without hiring out for help.” Kate touched Nien on the knee. “Yes, that would be a very good thing. But what you need to do now is r
est.”
“Thank you.” Nien got to his feet.
“Would you rest here for a while?”
“No, I don’t want to intrude. Thank you — again.”
Kate helped him to the door. From there, Nien started back to the cabin but made it only partway before a wave of nausea pierced a hole in his knees. He would have sunk to the snow had a steady arm not happened around his waist.
“You should have taken my offer,” Kate said meeting Nien’s surprised expression with an admonishing tilt of her head.
Nien nodded and could not help but give her his weight.
Back in the cabin, Nien took to the bed with a grateful sigh.
“You may not think so, but you look much better,” Kate said, opening the shutters to the river-side window.
“To be honest, I feel quite ruined. Any progress is due to you.”
Kate shrugged. “No. You were placed in my field. And I’m glad you were.”
Nien looked at her.
“I’ll bring you some dinner out tonight,” she said, patting his arm.
Nien forced a thank you before the sound of the shutting door reached his ears. A lump rose in his throat as silence filled the cabin. Kate’s kindness and reassurance reminded him of his own mother.
Reean, he thought.
The names of the rest of his family tumbled through his mind —
Joash, Jake, Fey.
I am Sep, he’d told Kate and Monteray. How he wished that were true. He closed his eyes and imagined being a Preak man, living in Preak with a Preak family. That didn’t work. So, he imagined being a Preak man living in Cao City, as a Quienan. That worked better. The imaginary life rippled through his mind, interrupted by other images: Fey’s laughter, Joash sitting on the stool by the door sharpening stone in hand, Jake lying belly down on a rug in the middle of the room. But these images were shot through with frozen stares, great swells of blood, and limbs locked in impossible directions. These images twisted Nien’s gut like a punishment.
Nien rolled onto his side, pressed his face into the pillow, and there in the darkness found the only memory that could drive out the rest…
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