A Blight of Blackwings

by Kevin Hearne

  Grateful for such precious time

  For at home I rarely wonder

  And worry about the passing time

  Cloistered from the precious world

  So now it is once again time

  For me to embrace the wide world

  And renew my sense of precious wonder

  After the break Fintan announced we’d meet another new character and I practically pumped my fist, because I’d be able to see them this time. He told us he’d be speaking as Tuala, the Raelech courier who’d accompanied Meara to Brynlön and helped fight the Bone Giants at Göfyrd and witnessed the cleansing by Culland du Raffert. He threw down his sphere, and the seeming that emerged was of a tall Raelech woman, lean and wiry and armored in the dark-red leather pieces that the Raelech military favored. Her black hair was drawn into a simple queue behind her head, and a pair of goggles rested around her neck, where they could easily be drawn up to protect her eyes. I noticed that her Jereh band was the bronze of a single person rather than gold.

  I don’t trust people who say that you can have it all. It’s glib and obviously untrue. And whatever you think “it all” is, you can’t have that without also having the fear of losing it. Unless, of course, you are wrapped up so snugly in a cocoon of wealth and privilege that the concept of losing isn’t even a thing that’s real anymore. Folks like that tell themselves a story where they worked really hard for what they were given, so that anyone who isn’t rolling in luxuries and benefiting from cronyism and nepotism simply isn’t working hard enough. If they lie to themselves like that, they’ll lie to you without blinking.

  I ran into one such after a week of rest.

  The rest was sorely needed. After the collapse of the Granite Tunnel, I was assigned to escort a stonecutter named Meara to Brynlön. She lost her fiancé, and I think maybe a good part of herself, in that tunnel. If you asked her before that day if she could have it all, she might have said yes, because she was young and in love and could not conceive of a future in which she did not have everything she wanted. Then she made a mistake and destroyed an army of Bone Giants, three-hundred-plus soldiers from the Baseld garrison, including her fiancé, and closed off the major trade route to Brynlön, which had taken years of the blessed working together to build. Ask her if she can have it all now and she will say absolutely not. You often can’t even have the one thing you want most.

  But she’s going to be a polished gem, that one.

  We ran into some more Bone Giants outside Göfyrd and watched a tidal mariner drown the entire city. And when it was done, Meara realized that what she can have now is a long path to redemption, a lifetime of building after one afternoon in which she destroyed so much. She will always mourn what she lost, of course, but I think she truly values her blessing now and knows why Dinae chose her. I think she will go down in history as one of the greatest Raelech stonecutters to ever live.

  That was the conclusion I came to after a week of fishing on the shores of Goddess Lake near Bechlan, and by “fishing,” I mean lying immobile on a beach in close proximity to a fishing pole that I ignored completely because I hadn’t even baited the hook. I had a stack of books, an umbrella to shade me from the sun, a small keg of beer, and a younger cousin who told me in frankess while we were trading stories of stupid things we’d done as teenagers that he had once tried to have sex with what he called a “consenting stump.”

  His voice was a deadpan drawl. “I don’t recommend it,” he said. “It wasn’t nearly as great as I thought it would be, going in. Stumps are not what you would call vigorous lovers. Completely unresponsive, in fact. Except for the splinters.”

  I laughed so hard I threw up on him, and that seemed perfect. Probably the best vacation I’ve ever had, just relaxing, thinking slow thoughts, and not moving. Because my job is to be on the move all the time, otherwise. At the end of that bliss, my aunt cooked up a hangover cure and kissed my forehead before I got dressed in my leathers and strapped on my goggles for the run around the lake to the capital.

  “Run safe, Tuala. Come stay again whenever you can.”

  I promised I would and savored the memories on the road. The lapping of the waters on the shore; the silent, skinny stalking of herons in the shallows; the gurgle of ale pouring into my cup and then down my throat. My hangover dissipated by the time I showed up at Triune Council Hall for my next assignment.

  They essentially told me to report to Temblor Priyit and take orders from her, and they gave me an address in the eastern hills of the city, where the folks with chests of money tend to live.

  I’d met the temblor before, a Nentian immigrant who’d been blessed by the triple goddess. She’d walked out of the Granite Tunnel with Meara, the only other survivor of the collapse, but I hadn’t seen her since then. I’d only heard of her behavior in more detail from Meara during our run to Göfyrd.

  She answered my knock at the door, dressed in a white bathrobe.

  “Temblor. I’m Tuala, master courier of the Huntress Raena.”

  “I remember you.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned on the doorjamb. “What’s your message?”

  “I’ve been sent to you for assignment by the Triune.”

  “Ah. I see. My R&R is at an end. Time to issue marching orders and march myself.”

  A man dressed in nothing but a towel moved in the background. The nature of her R&R was clear.

  “Did you get some time off, Tuala, or have you been running all this time?”

  “I got some rest, Temblor. Just returned from a week of doing nothing.”

  “Where’s home for you?”

  “Wherever I decide to sleep. I have no permanent residence.” At her frown, I added the standard excuse. “No use for a home when I’d hardly ever be there. I never know where I’m going or how long I’ll be away.”

  “So you have no possessions?”

  “I own what I’m wearing.”

  “Do you just stay with friends wherever you’re at, then?”

  “Yes. Or in Raelech embassies. Often in one of Raena’s temples. They get most of my pay.”

  “Ah. You’re one of the devout ascetics.” She smiled a tiny smile of condescension I’ve seen before. She’d decided that I was simple because I had the means to live as she did and chose not to. “No time spent with a significant other?”

  “Don’t have one,” I said.

  “Why not? You can have it all.”

  I shrugged in reply and then asked for my orders. There was no requirement for me to share the details of my personal relationships with a commanding officer.

  She stared at me for a few moments, deciding whether to be offended by my change of subject. She chose to ignore it and stood up straight.

  “Very well. Orders: We’ve been given leave by the pelenaut of Brynlön to march a force into Möllerud and destroy the Bone Giant army occupying that city. A vital part of that force must be a juggernaut named Tarrech, who’s been given some downtime, as we have. He lives in Randulet. I can get you his exact location—”

  “I’m familiar with it, Temblor. We are old acquaintances.”

  “Good. Bring him with all speed to Mell to meet our forces there. We will muster and march as soon as possible, and my understanding is that you’ll be accompanying us.”

  “Aye, Temblor.”

  “Dismissed.”

  I took off a bit faster than I needed too, blowing her robe open in the wake of my passage. She’d said I should use “all speed,” after all. Perhaps she would get the hint that I didn’t appreciate her prying.

  I let the annoyance sluice away from me in the wind of my passage and directed my thoughts to the road ahead instead of the road behind: It would be good to see Tarrech again. He and I had gone to the Colaiste together and had been blessed on the same day. And I loved visit
ing Randulet, nestled in the southwestern mountains. It’s Rael’s most isolated town, not being located on a trade route or boasting any special tourist attractions. The folks there worked hard, worshipped the triple goddess, and voted. They sent their kids to the Colaiste at age nine and most of them came back, because that’s how charming the place was. They were good people. And way too far for me to reach in a day, especially after I’d already run to Killae from Bechlan, only to be told to turn around.

  I directed my feet to the temple of the huntress on the west side of the city. It’s on the outskirts, really, where population density ceases to be a thing and we’re firmly in pastoral country, where livestock outnumber humans. It was built on a small rise in elevation that’s more the idea of a hill than an actual one. If there was anything like a permanent residence for me anywhere, it was this particular temple. I spent more nights there than anywhere else, and it’s where I got my post, though I corresponded with few people. They had a cot reserved for my use, and I kept a small chest of personal items underneath it: a set of winter clothes; a stick of sealing wax and a seal for my letters; and a stuffed goat toy, often patched and stitched, that I’ve owned since childhood. It was a gift from my parents and it’s all I have left of them; my memories of my early years are as fallible and fading as anyone else’s. The perfect recall didn’t begin until I was blessed.

  The best part of visiting temples of the huntress is the food. It’s always fresh game and harvested greens, simple fare well made. No baked goods—those are at the temples to the goddesses who have a more agricultural bent. Raena states rather forcefully in her scrolls that she’s provided plenty on the land; one just has to go get it.

  Once I stepped across the threshold, Hunter Bran waved and welcomed me to the closest thing I had to a home. He was shorter than me and had some gray in his beard—a “lone stripe of dignity,” he called it—and crinkles of amusement around his mouth and eyes.

  “Staying the night, Tuala?” he asked.

  “Yes, if I may.”

  He waved my politness away. “You know you’re always welcome. We have fresh venison for this evening but could use some greens.”

  “I’m on it. Can I take a basket?” A stack of gathering baskets waited by the door.

  “Absolutely. See you soon.”

  I dashed out with one of the broad baskets cradled under my arm and ran to one of the northern meadows, where spicy greens grew wild. I spent some time picking these and then had to run even farther north, to get some milder lettuces to counter the spice, and made my last stop at a humble farm that had a lovely greenhouse. One of the owners was confined to a wheelchair, and the greenhouse suited her well. She grew the most lovely herbs and tomatoes but rarely took them to market. People came to her instead. I purchased some of each—which was not technically the sort of gathering Raena favored, but neither was it baking—and made it back to the temple before sundown. The promised haunch of venison was already turning over the fire, and the hunters were happy to see me. The tomatoes and herbs were especially welcome, and a huntress took the basket from me while Hunter Bran gave me a glass of cider.

  There was a young couple visiting from out of town, and I had to endure the awkward moment when they saw my Jereh band and realized I was a courier. Since it’s the rarest of the blessings—only twenty-seven of us exist at any time—people who meet me for the first time often make the mistake of thinking that there must be something special about me, that I must possess some admirable quality or ability that made the Huntress Raena choose me. If I do, I’m unaware of it.

  The couple was moving to the hills near Lochlaen to keep bees, grow grains, and raise goats. Their Jereh bands indicated that the man was the farmer and the woman was the apiarist.

  They already held glasses of cider, so I couldn’t get them one to put them at their ease and let them know I did not consider myself better than them. I fell back to my other gambit: I squatted by the fire, intentionally lowering my stature, and flashed a friendly smile at them.

  “Feel like swapping stories? I’ll trade you a story of me for a story of you. How’d you two meet?”

  They were so cute. His father had bought some honey from her mother at market and wondered if any of her hives were mobile and available for pollinating a cornfield or two. They were indeed, and, next season, they met when her mother brought the hives to his father’s farm.

  “And where was this?” I asked.

  “Fandlin.”

  “Oh! So why are you moving to Lochlaen?”

  “Less likelihood of invasion from the sea,” the woman said. “We want to start a family and we want them to be safe. If an army’s going to come after us, we want some warning before it happens.”

  Everyone around the fire grunted and nodded at that. It was an entirely understandable and valid reason to move. The Bone Giants had ended many lives with their invasion, but they’d changed the course of many more. And then it was my turn.

  “I was once sent to Forn to deliver a message to the Black Jaguars at the First Tree,” I said, “but, of course, the Fornish don’t allow you to visit their capital at all. To get a message to the First Tree, you must instead deliver it to a greensleeve stationed at their border with Rael down by Aelinmech, and they use those little shoots in their silverbark to communicate via root and stem to their leaders, leagues away. A bit spooky, but it does keep me from having to run as far.”

  They laughed somewhat nervously, not knowing where I was going with this. “I had to wait for a reply, so it was the greensleeve and me at this border station, and we got to talking about drinks. I made her a cocktail of spirits and herbs that was taught to me by an herbalist up in Jeremech, and she declared it the most delicious drink in the world, apart from a silverbark mushroom sour.”

  The couple from Fandlin and all the hunters and huntresses, feeling mellow and in sync somehow, all said, “Whaaaaaat?” at the same time. A few of them considered their glasses full of cider, privately noting, perhaps, that it might not be the most delicious drink in the world but it was quite agreeable nonetheless.

  “Yes. The Fornish are quite famous for their teas and beers, but they also make a mushroom whiskey, and it is a friendly, savory, smoky roundhouse punch to the throat.”

  “Why have I never heard of this?” Hunter Bran asked.

  “They don’t export it. They only make limited quantities and they selfishly keep it to themselves.”

  “And you got to try some.”

  “I did. The greensleeve measured out mushroom whiskey, fresh lemon juice, bitters, and an egg white, shook it all up, and poured it over ice. But that’s not the kicker. She had the drinks all poured, one for each of us, but held up a finger, telling me to wait. She bent down to her shin, where there were mushrooms growing on her silverbark, and she plucked off two caps and plopped one into each drink.”

  The chorus of surprise and disbelief was music to my ears.

  “She didn’t wash them or anything first?”

  “Nope. That was a point of pride for her—she made sure I knew she would never do me the disservice of washing it. Told me natural flavors were the best.”

  “Goddess save me,” the apiarist said. “And you drank it?”

  “I not only drank it, I dunked that mushroom cap down in the drink like she told me to so that it would soak up the alcohol and everything, and then I ate it last.”

  Another round of shocked noooos and wincing, and then the farmer asked, “What was it like?”

  “She was right: It was the best drink I’ve ever had. Rich with a luxury suite of flavors, textures, and aromas. Probably won’t ever get another one either. How often are you going to find a greensleeve mixologist willing to share her own private stash of ingredients? But,” I added, pointing to my temple, “I remember it well.”

  The couple was relaxed afte
r that and the awkwardness was gone. We enjoyed our venison and field greens and I slept like the dead on my cot. I was on the road at dawn, with the wind in my hair and bugs splattering my goggles as I traveled south at top speed. I took a break every hour to recover my wind, drink some water, and take in some calories, and I made it to Randulet by sundown. I had to deliver my message before I slept again, because messages always seemed more important to the recipient when I looked my absolute worst.

  But, also, Tarrech needed his time to get used to the idea and say a proper goodbye. Being ripped away from one’s family on short notice was the worst. I couldn’t give him much time, but I could give him this night, because I wasn’t going to run any more that day.

  That thing he’d been always meaning to say to his wife, or to his kids, he could say it. That one last experience. That one final meal.

  The run had been pleasant up to the point where I came to the border of his property and spied his front door. All the dread I had kept resolutely shut in the back of my mind stepped right up to the fore at that point and rudely demanded a drink and some snacks.

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said, coming to a halt and taking a moment to catch my breath. There was no one around to hear. Tarrech lived on a large parcel of land, and his nearest neighbors were a half league away on either side. “He’s going to hate me. I’m the person he never wants to see.”

  Goddess, it hurt so much. I didn’t want to be that person for anyone, but especially not for him. He and I had been best friends before seeking our kennings. After that we went our separate ways, meeting on only a few occasions. Because of that, I’d forgotten some of the old days, and maybe my memory had polished some others to a glossy shine that it shouldn’t have. It didn’t matter. Now I was going to knock on that door and ruin his day.

  It was a winsome place. Blue-gray stone facing, a white jamb, and a red door with three small square windows in it. Dark hardwood deck in the front with a covered porch, some outdoor furniture, some bright pots of flowers with hummingbirds hovering over them, slurping up nectar. Neat rows of a garden bloomed off to one side beside a greenhouse, because his wife, Aevyn, was a master herbalist. Charming as anything I’ve seen.