by G. H. Duval
The path veered sharply to the right, climbing and growing wide enough that she and Preon moved from single file to striding abreast. Other paths intersected theirs, but they maintained their course.
They were greeted with polite nods and acknowledging murmurs. A few of the more devout citizens went so far as to stop and bow, intoning blessings of “Great Shepherd be Praised,” and “Thanks be to God for your service.”
She and Preon acknowledged every greeting and returned the blessings, pleased as always to be honored such as they conducted their assigned business. Particularly as they were often ignored, ironically enough, when they were at home in Coer and near the Steading. Those with whom they lived and worked most closely had largely lost such reverence for the Shepherds, whose entire lives were sworn to their protection. Myrra supposed that was to be the case when a nation had not faced war, famine, or any true difficulty—from outside or within—for the better part of four centuries. For not the first time, she wondered how many of their people now thought of Shepherds as mainly ornamental.
Certainly, the grumblings had been growing, and open resentfulness could be found from the non-touched class. Even the densest among her kind could see that. For those not Steading-initiated, the life of a Shepherd must seem a grand thing. A life of luxury where a roof, ample food, and clean clothes were always provided.
They could not know the toils of the training—physical and mental—required of every Shepherd sworn to formal service. Could not know the burden of carrying an Aspect within your mind, your body, and your soul—the demanding, urging, whispering voice that was forever present…insistent. Could not know the sacrifice of only living for the next set of orders, being sent throughout the realm, or even beyond it, in service to a flock among which you do not even get to live. Could not know the lack of marriage, of children, of having anything that belongs to you—and not to the Firsts—including you, yourself.
Ah yes, Myrra thought. Such is the extravagant life of luxury I lead. As her thoughts wandered dangerously close to self-pitying, she opened the barest sliver of connection to her Aspect, let it fill her mind with its adoration and comfort. She had traded all the comforts of a normal life for that connection, and as the voice of Air crooned in her mind, she once more acknowledged that she had absolutely made the right choice.
The press of bodies about them increased, though all kept a respectful distance from the Shepherds and their mailed warhorses, and Myrra spotted the market the sentry had mentioned. For a town the size of Hayden’s, the market was impressive. There were at least two dozen stalls, and a surprising variety of goods were being offered—rather enthusiastically for the hour, Myrra thought—to those rushing about their business. Many stopped to take advantage of the sweet-smelling porridge and warm, honeyed loaves. Even more stopped to select from the produce on display, and she openly coveted the bright purple figs, blazing pink rhubarb, and golden-tinted pears. Her stomach grumbled noisily, reminding her that all they’d had for breakfast was a half-wheel of hard cheese and what was left of a loaf between them.
They were accustomed to traveling along the roads and relying on the Waystations, with the scant provision offered there. They were soldiers, after all, and they would not delay their travels in order to stay at inns and fill their bellies. A grumbling belly while on assignment was something to which she had long grown accustomed.
“Perhaps an early lunch, today? Once we’ve reported in to the Headmistress’s minion?” Preon offered, craning his head to peer over the roofs of the closely packed homes and shops that surrounded the market.
“Should be plenty to choose from around here. Pleasant surprise, that,” he added, as if he’d expected to find Hayden’s a bare hovel of a place. She followed his gaze and found the source of his interest easily—the deep-blue slate spires of an Accord. The boy had been right. One really could not miss it.
“Yes, an early lunch would be lovely, Captain,” she agreed, not in the least embarrassed that he’d heard her stomach’s protests. She dropped her eyes back to the road and leaned into her saddle as the ground rose more sharply now. The path led them away from the market and up a long hill.
As they crested the top, the change of environment was startling. The path turned into a proper road, no longer made of cobblestones. A smooth, deep slate picked up where the stones left off, and the ring of her horse’s hooves against it reminded her of being at home on the streets of Coer. The road widened even more, and the press of structures and bodies receded.
There were no residences at the entrance to Loring Hill. The stalls from the town below disappeared and were replaced with storefronts—shops built from dark, oiled wood with expensive glass windows to showcase the fine wares within.
The road parted around a large, gently gurgling fountain that depicted—of all things—an Air Shepherd hovering in mid-air with currents swirling about him. The entire thing was sculpted in brass and shone brilliantly in the morning sun. Myrra chuckled and Preon joined her. A thing of Water designed to honor Air. She shook her head. She would never understand the laity.
They moved around the fountain, following the flow of traffic into the posh section of town while others traveled along the opposite path heading out and down—back to Hayden’s proper. The throng was less pressing here, but those who moved about in their finery seemed to be in even greater haste. These were the gentry who served the nobles, then…those well-heeled men and women who were still shut up in their fine homes, breaking their fast and not yet ready to venture out into the chill day.
The road reached a fork, and they paused. To their right, the path turned into a fine avenue, bordered on each side by topiaries and brightly colored pots, bursting with pansies and mums. It was a smaller version of the avenues that led to the manors of the Great Houses in Coer. Myrra was surprised to learn that such pockets of wealth could exists even here.
The avenue stretched farther than expected before it seemingly terminated at a set of tall gates that boasted the sigil of House Korlan—the bright red lion etched into the iron. She realized the road did not actually end at those gates but turned yet again. She wondered what other Great Houses had established footholds away from Coer, where a second son could escape the shadow of his older brother and yet feel almost his equal.
Preon had already turned to start down the path to their left, and as she joined him, the full splendor of the Accord came into view. Though a good deal smaller than the First Accord in Coer, this one was still easily the largest structure in the whole of Hayden’s. The white-washed walls rose before them, topped by the same blue-tinted slate roof as every Accord across the realm—the same as that of the Steading itself—and she smiled at the familiarity of it.
They made their way at an easy pace, following the path around to the side of the structure, where the rail for tying up horses awaited them. A black-and-silver clad Steady was posted there, a side entrance at his back. He stood poised and alert in stark contrast to the youth holding forth at the town gates. It would seem Arbiter Jeyson kept fast to the proper customs. Such had not been the case in Hale, though it was a larger town and sat even closer to Coer. She made a note to mention this to the Headmistress when they returned. Going slack in the small things often led to gaps in the greater.
As Myrra and Preon dismounted, the Steady wordlessly executed a sharp salute, tapping his fist to his own Firsts’ emblem before collecting their horses’ reins. They returned his salute, not bothering to speak as he would not be permitted to respond in any case, and trusted him to see to their mounts as they passed beyond the door he guarded.
They took a moment once inside to allow their eyes to adjust from the morning’s bright sun to the dim light within. They found themselves in a hallway, with only two small lanterns flitting at the far end. They heard only the soft, persistent hum that was always present within an Accord—the thrumming presence of their God. Reverence settled over them like a warm blanket, and Myrra allowed her Aspect even greater acc
ess to her mind and body, allowing it to sing its communion to the God they both served. Her eyes tingled pleasantly as her Aspect filled her, and her vision grew slightly tinted with its blue glow.
Preon had done the same, she realized, as a sudden warmth flared beside her. The lanterns at the end of the hall flashed suddenly for the span of long breath before they settled once more to steady flickering. Preon’s eyes shone with that warmth, his green eyes flashing orange. Perhaps, she conceded, he was indulging his Aspect a bit more than she thought prudent. But in this, she would never change her Captain—was not sure she would if she could. Instead, she decided to capitalize on his behavior, and channeled a current to bring some of his warmth to her, swirling the heat into her hair and beneath her cloak. After the chill of the morning, the touch of such warmth was delicious.
The hall let them out into the sanctuary proper. The dawn service was long done, but several grey-robed acolytes moved about the large, domed room in preparation for mid-morning devotions. The one closest looked up as they entered and moved along the nearest row of pews to greet them.
The acolyte was a man of middle age, exceedingly slim, and his smile was gentle and warm. His eyes swirled with grey for just a moment, but a honeyed brown as warm as his smile returned by the time he reached them and bowed.
“Welcome, Shepherds,” he said as he rose, his voice nearly a whisper in the great room. “Master Jeyson is expecting you. If you’ll follow me.”
He turned and led them beyond the altar, around the dais, and down another dimly lit hall. They followed obediently, unsurprised by such a welcome. In fact, they’d have been unsettled if the Spirit Shepherd they had come to see, on his Mistress’ behest no less, had not expected them.
After several turns and more nearly identical hallways, the acolyte left them at a door, returning the way he’d come without a word. Myrra always marveled at how little their au L’espri brethren spoke. Partly, she knew, this was the result of such constant proximity to the very spirit of their God, the ever-present reverence coaxing one to silence and reflection. But a great many of these servants could also speak to one another directly with their minds, and an even greater number could communicate in feelings if not words. She supposed the need to use one’s actual voice became a redundant, almost quaint practice.
Before they could knock, the door opened, and an auburn-haired man with startling blue eyes smiled out at them. Myrra released a breath she’d not realized she held. A part of her had braced for swirling grey-streaked-with-lavender eyes. She was grateful that Jeyson had gleaned whatever he needed from their minds before they’d arrived at his door.
“Brother. Sister,” he greeted them warmly, and though he spoke in a normal voice, within the heavy silence of the Accord, his voice barreled into her as would a shout.
“Please, please,” he implored, “come in.” He opened the door wide and beckoned them in, motioning them to a set of deeply cushioned chairs that had been placed near a crackling fire. His study was a good-sized room, but the fire was up to the task, and Myrra sighed openly at the warmth that greeted them. She released her Aspect and pulled the tether shut. Preon, too, reclaimed his mind, the orange burn fading away until only agate looked out once more.
They settled into the chairs and found a table placed between them and the fire, a tea service laid out with a tantalizing array of treats to go with it. A teapot was placed on the hook above the fire, and Jeyson took a cloth from a hook at the mantle and filled each of the teacups with hot water. The leaves within immediately released their aroma—rich black tea with a hint of citrus—as Jeyson put the pot back on the hook before settling down himself.
He motioned to the refreshments on the table, which included several bowls of fruit—some fresh, some stewed and sweetened—as well as soft-cooked eggs, honey-coated pastries, a wheel of sharp, dark cheese, and a giant bowl of cold, thick cream.
“I remember well my days of apprenticeship. Days of hard travel, cold nights, and the sparseness of Waystations. If difficult business awaits us, we may at least do our work while well fed, no?” Again, that warm, all-knowing smile.
Myrra accepted his kindness and hospitality for what it was. She was long passed her days of suspicion where Spirt Shepherds were concerned. Having two of them in her own Complement had cured her of that. So what if he peeks about my noggin getting to know me? She thought. He’s only trying to be a good host.
“Quite right, Brother,” Preon agreed emphatically. “Quite right!”
Preon helped himself to a generous hunk of the cheese and picked up his tea. Myrra wanted all of it but started by filling a small bowl with warm sweetened apricots, to which she added a fair amount of the cream. She chased a heaping spoonful of the sweet, warm concoction with a deep pull at her teacup, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to moan aloud.
Jeyson sipped his tea patiently, giving his guests time to savor their meal for a few moments before getting to the business at hand. He popped a raspberry into his mouth as Myrra refilled her now-empty bowl, but with some of the eggs this time. Preon snagged a pastry and sat forward, signaling he was ready to get to it. Myrra decided he could see to the conversation as she concentrated on sating her stomach. He was Captain after all.
“You’ve been more than gracious, Brother,” Preon began after swallowing a giant bite of the sticky yet somehow still flaky pastry. Myrra wondered if she’d have room for one after she finished the eggs.
“Not at all,” Jeyson waved away the comment. “I’ve already received word from Hale of what brings you, and I’ve taken a few liberties as you made your way to me this morning, as I’m certain you’ve already worked out for yourselves.”
He grinned, having the decency to look abashed. Many of his Aspect were circumspect in the use of their abilities. That, more than the actual prying into her mind, bothered her the most. Myrra liked that he came right out with it.
“Well, then?” Preon prompted. “You know why we’re here. You know where we’ve been.” Preon pushed the final bit of pastry into his mouth and munched as he settled back into his chair. “What have we missed?”
Jeyson’s brows raised, surprised. “Why, I don’t believe you’ve missed anything.”
Preon snorted and Myrra moaned. She shot an apologetic look at Jeyson. A snob and an oaf was her Captain. Such a rare jewel was the man.
Jeyson chuckled, and Myrra could not discern if it was at Preon or at what she was thinking. She flushed.
“If we’ve not missed anything, we’re the worst Rangers to ever serve the Firsts, I’m afraid,” Preon insisted.
“I beg to differ,” Jeyson countered. “You’ve simply not yet looked in the right place. But,” now he was the one who leaned forward. “I do believe you’ve finally come to the right place.”
He selected the plumpest of the pastries, placed it on a small plate, and passed it toward Myrra, who had just swallowed the last of her eggs. He said nothing, but the twinkling in his eyes told her that he had, indeed, been listening to her thoughts.
She deposited her once-more empty bowl on the table and took the plate offered. She sank her teeth into the pasty, a shot of salt and sweet going right through her, and she sent Jeyson a look of pure adoration. He winked.
“At least you have,” he said, inclining his head toward Myrra. “You’ve received a Call, have you not?”
“I have,” she mumbled, chewing furiously.
Jeyson nodded, almost to himself, and steepled his fingers. His manner became more still, serious. “I had quite the upsetting visit last evening. A parishioner of mine came to see me about an issue with his son.”
Myrra glanced from Jeyson to Preon and back again.
“This parishioner is known to you both. He was Steading trained, and he was schooled at the same time as you were.”
“What is his name?” Preon asked, suddenly alert, back straight.
“Harlan au Terre.”
Myrra stopped eating. A third of the pasty lay unto
uched on her plate, and she placed it on the table. Her appetite vanished.
“Harlan au Terre,” Preon repeated, his voice a cross between wonder and disappointment. “A talented Shepherd, he was. But he and Geyma got caught up in all that nonsense with Lena. The conspiracy theories and the anger.” He shook his head, making a tsk sound. “I never could fathom it. As soon as they completed training, they resigned from Service. I always wondered where they went off to.”
“Well, they made it here,” Jeyson supplied. “So did Lena. In fact, that is why they came here. Lena was born and raised here, and when she and Jasper returned, Harlan and Geyma decided to follow them. We’ll get back to Jasper and Lena in a bit, I believe.” He had a strange twinkle in his eye that Myrra could not fathom.
“But, for now, let us finish the business that involves Harlan and his family. He and Geyma run a successful farm just outside of town. Mainly just the two of them, their son, and a little help from local boys when the farm is too much for them. You’ll not believe this, but their son is a Shepherd, too. In fact, we’ve two families, right here in Hayden’s, in which Shepherds have borne Shepherds!”
“That is unusual,” Myrra agreed. “Hirute does not usually grace the gift along family lines. So says the Helig R’ad.” And then it came to her. All at once. Her Aspect nearly banged against the inside of her mind. She clenched her teeth and took hold of her Aspect tether, forcing her affinity to recede.
“Their son is au Ciele,” she continued. It was not a question, but Jeyson answered, nonetheless.
“He is. And he is exceedingly gifted. We were already considering cuffing him before the incident.”
“What incident?” Myrra’s heart raced, and she feared something had happened to this boy before she’d had the chance to help. Feared she had failed to serve her Aspect when called.