The salt hills edged the salt pans; to follow them would be to walk around a giant square. She spotted a column of smoke to the west and changed course, again plunging into a stretch of grassy marsh—more grass than water, with reed islands here and there, like stands of bare pine trunks. The spring grasses shone bright green in the evening sun. Her feet found their way from one tiny island to the next, a winding route but not a wandering one.
Much of her mind was elsewhere, back in Saldemer. Over and over she recalled the whining accusations of Trumbert. She watched again as the wizard Saveric reduced her former tyrant to a whimpering dog. She heard again every promise he made to her—promises that sounded more like threats. Then those threats became real: He lunged at her but missed; the soldier grabbed her painfully by the shoulder—or had it been the arm?—and chased her up the stairs, his killer’s armor rattling against the stone. She reached the summit of the light tower. She jumped.
Over and over.
In between, she glanced up long enough to find the smoke again, to see the position of the sun, and kept going. Her shoulder threatened to burst into flames should she be weak enough to stop.
Thus Talysse hardly noticed when she came out of the bog onto dry ground. She crossed a mile of sawgrass and sand without looking up to see the long hut with its weathered walls, its reed mat roof with smoke curling from one end. More than once she came to a halt and stood swaying, as if she had forgotten how to walk, the pain in her shoulder a constant scream. Then came the time when she stopped and looked up, and she was standing at the cabano’s door.
She knocked by falling against it.
The door opened and she fell inside. A woman loomed. Light came from behind, casting her face in shadow. Talysse groaned and reached out with one hand.
The woman knelt down, and light showed a blue frock, wooden shoes, and a red scarf. Talysse noted all this in a glance. The woman said something but the words fell like broken sticks, meaningless. Talysse climbed to her feet with the woman’s help.
The woman led her to a table. She said some things. One of them was “sit down” and then there was a bench. More words came, something about warmth and something about food. Both sounded good to Talysse. She managed a few mouthfuls of soup before she fell utterly asleep.
CHAPTER SIX
The Gardiens
Talysse awoke to find herself in a tiny, dark room. Light came through a doorway in which hung a heavy, brown curtain. She realized with a start that she was lying on a straw bed, covered with a single blanket, but her shift was gone.
Voices came from beyond the curtain. They spoke in low tones; she could not hear the words, but she suspected they were talking about her.
Trying to decide what to do with me, she thought. She squirmed in the rough bed.
She remembered clearly how she got here—the pain in her shoulder was reminder enough. She was surprised to find that it no longer felt as if it were on fire. So, she had fled. Escaped. The thought fluttered like a bird inside her: She had done it!
This wasn’t how she had planned to leave. Her plan had involved a dramatic scene in which she told Trumbert all that she thought of him. She would scorn the twins, tell the other children they too should escape, then sweep out of the gates with a flourish and fly—yes, fly!—away west.
With Detta, of course, and that thought brought her back to ground. She had gone, but she had left Detta behind. Always the plan was that the two should leave together (she’d never quite worked out how to include Detta in the flying exit). They had laid by provisions and money for the day, laughing in whispers at their cleverness.
Now she was here and Detta was there, and the poor gnome would be crushed.
There was no fixing it, though. She couldn’t return to the cenobitum, not only because of the Prevôt but even more because of the wizard. She shuddered at the recollection of how Saveric had grabbed at her. Paris? He might as well have threatened to carry her off to the Troll Empire. No, there was no going back. There was only forward.
The words of the discussion came clearer.
“She can’t stay with us,” a man’s voice said. “She belongs to the cenobitum.”
“Would you turn her out?” said a woman. “Naked and alone?”
“We have taken her in, so we owe guest service. I will not be called inhospitable,” another man said. Talysse wanted to think the voice was kind.
“Merino, why must you speak so?” the woman said. She was scolding, not asking.
“I welcome a guest, as any good man,” the first man said, “but she is likely a runaway, and the cenobitum will want their own.”
Talysse clutched the blanket closer.
“If she is running away, perhaps it is for a good reason.” Another man’s voice said this.
“This is possible, Guarin,” said the first man. “It is a matter for consideration. Is the girl awake?”
“I’ll look in,” the woman said.
Talysse shut her eyes, pulled up the blanket, and lay quite still.
Footsteps approached, stopped nearby. Talysse made her breathing slow and regular. Being cautious of everyone seemed wisest. A smell of roasting meat followed the woman from the other room. Talysse’s stomach made a long growl.
“If you will wake up, I have a cure for that noise.” Talysse opened her eyes.
The woman said, “I am Ceranne, wife of Guarin. You are a welcome guest.” It was the same voice from last night.
Talysse said, as formally as she could, “Thank you, madame. My name is Talysse,” but her stomach spoiled the moment by growling like a badger.
“Is your shoulder better? Last night, my husband set it. You do not remember this, I think. The mind forgets, when the pain is too much.”
“It feels better, madame,” Talysse said. “I don’t remember much of anything, except strange dreams.”
Ceranne nodded. “It is better thus. You must be careful, even so. When your shoulder turns purple and black, do not be alarmed; it is a way of mending.”
The woman handed a bundle to Talysse. “A dress,” she said. “Big, too big, likely, but it will cover you.”
Talysse sat up, clutching the blanket close. “Will I be allowed to stay?”
“Ah, you heard that, did you? Don’t be afraid. The men worry, but they will behave with honor.” She leaned closer and smiled. “I’ll see to it.”
Talysse dressed herself, which consisted of pulling the dress over her head and putting her arms in the sleeves. That last maneuver started up the fire in her shoulder again and she had to sit down and wait for the pain to lessen. The dress was baggy, but she discovered a cloth belt, and that helped. She went to the doorway and hesitated, timid about entering a room full of strangers. She had seen strangers come and go at the cenobitum, but it had always been them coming to her home, not the other way around. Her stomach grumbled encouragement. She took a breath, moved the curtain aside, and stepped into the larger room.
She had been in cabanos before, though never with anyone in them. She and Detta took refuge in them whenever a storm swept in from the sea and they had strayed too far from Saldemer. The buildings were all much the same—a big room with a hearth and table, and a smaller room at the back—each an isolated cabin in a wilderness of birds and swamp, used only as needed by the herdsmen.
The woman Ceranne stood at the hearth, stirring a large pot. Three men stood near the table, one younger, the other two older, their round black hats held before them in rough hands. Against one wall leaned their famous tridents, the iron prongs at the end no longer than fingers.
“Husband,” Ceranne said without looking up from her cooking, “we have a guest.” She stated it as a formal announcement.
The man nearest bowed slightly. “We give you hospitality,” he said, equally formal. His voice was like surf on a stony beach. “I am Guarin.”
Talysse stared without replying. Each of the men wore a blue shirt, wide pantaloons, and knee-high boots. She had seen such men many times r
iding through the surf on their white horses, tridents couched like knights riding to battle, black hats for helmets. Always they had seemed figures from legend, romantic and distant. Now they were only a few feet away and they seemed even more dashing, if a little intimidating.
A silence elbowed at her.
“My name is Talysse, from the Cenobitum Saldemer,” she said hurriedly, to make up for her silence.
“L’oiseau d’argent,” the younger man said in Occitan.
“My nephew is too familiar,” Guarin apologized. “We see you fly over the salt hills, and so some call you the silver gull.”
The young man mumbled what might have been an apology, but his frank smile made her wonder if she had blushed.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” she said, recovering her manners.
“Good,” Ceranne said. “You are welcomed. Now you must eat.”
Talysse sat at the table, then was joined by the men. Light from the open window showed she had slept all night and well into the next day. She felt awkward, on display. Every glance felt as if they were judging her.
Ceranne set a bowl of gruel before each, with a smaller bowl of water on the side next to a wooden spoon. No one moved until the woman had also sat, whereupon Guarin spread his arms out across the table, palms up. “We give thanks to Ceres,” he intoned. “She shares her plenty with us, that we may share with others.”
Talysse sat with her hands in her lap, watching the others. The gardiens began to eat, casting glances at her.
“Do you need to perform your own thanks?” Ceranne asked.
“No,” Talysse said. “I… at the cenobitum, everyone waits until the dining master gives permission to eat.”
Guarin’s eyebrows went up but he said nothing.
“You don’t need to wait for permission around here,” the young man said cheerfully.
She nodded, hesitated, then picked up her spoon. Her stomach growled again and she took a swallow of the gruel in an attempt to quiet it.
“I am Donat.”
“I am Talysse, from Saldemer.” She faltered. “I already said that, didn’t I?” She frowned. Everything seemed strangely distant, unreal, as if she were in a play.
“From Saldemer,” Donat went on. “Are you traveling?”
Focus returned and she went on her guard. She looked down and took another mouthful, trying to decide how much she should say.
“Do you run away?” Donat pressed.
“The young lady does not have to give an accounting to you,” Guarin said, coating the words with censure. To Talysse he said, “My nephew is still learning courtesy.”
Donat ducked his head in apology, but his blue eyes were bright with curiosity.
“Have I run away?” Talysse echoed the question. “I suppose I have. A wizard came yesterday to take me to Paris.” The words came out so quickly, they caught her by surprise. She blamed the boy with the blue eyes.
“Paris! Truly?” Donat leaned forward in excited interest.
“Truly.” No sense it trying to hide it now, she thought.
“Why?”
“Donat,” Guarin began threateningly, but Ceranne interjected.
“Peace, husband. Talysse, do tell us if we pry.”
“I will, but you aren’t. It’s good to have someone to talk to about this.” And it was. Everyone in the room waited on her words. It made her feel like some troubadour spinning tales for a noble family.
“Go on, then.”
“You asked why. The wizard—his name is Saveric—told me there is a school up there.” She gestured vaguely. “I would become a wizard myself.”
“Truly?” Donat said again.
“She can fly,” Guarin said. “Are you forgetting?”
“I’d like to be a wizard,” Donat announced. “I’d enchant the herds so they would never wander and would come whenever I called.”
Talysse could not help but smile at this. Then she shook her head. “I wouldn’t. School means years of study in stuffy rooms with stuffy books, watched over by stuffy old men.”
“It must be for years?” Donat asked.
“Invariably. And afterward, you’d be placed at some noble court in a foreign land where you spend your days in plots and politics and everyone must speak Latin. You would never be able to return to your herds and horses.”
Donat made a face. “Wizards. Schools.”
“I agree,” Talysse said.
“Pardon me, ma’amselle,” Guarin said, “but you appear to know much about wizards for one who never leaves the Camargue.”
“Now who is being rude?” Ceranne said sharply.
“Oh, that’s all right,” Talysse said. “I know a bit because my patron, Remigius, is a wizard. He has told me stories.”
“Your patron is a wizard? Interesting.”
“Is that unusual?” Talysse asked.
“I do not know,” Merino said, “having little to do with wizards myself. What I find interesting is that your patron never suggested taking you away to Paris, and now a second wizard has concerned himself with your future. I doubt wizards spend time on a nobody.”
Talysse did not respond. She had never wondered about it before. The twins had a patron, an uncle, who was noble. Why was her patron a wizard? Her parents had given her into his care, but why a wizard? Why indeed did he keep her in the cenobitum rather than at a school for wizards? Why did the offer come from a stranger? Why was she so important that she had been chased up the tower?
Donat broke into her thoughts. “So Paris is just another sort of prison, isn’t it?”
The words reverberated as if a bell had rung. “Exactly,” she said emphatically. “My whole life I’ve been in the cenobitum. I’ve had enough of walls; I want to see the rest of the world.”
“Parts of the world are not so safe as the cenobitum,” Ceranne said.
“Particularly for a young woman alone,” Guarin added.
“I know,” Talysse said. “I wouldn’t have been alone, if it had gone according to my plan. Detta would have been with me.” She sighed heavily. “But it’s too late now.”
The realization settled into her like a stone in a river bed. Her heart had already decided; now her mind had caught up. An old sun had set, a new had risen.
“Where do you go?” Donat asked.
“To Arles,” she said, with a new confidence.
“The capital? Why there?”
“To find my parents.”
“Ah,” Donat said, pursing his lips. “It is a hard thing to be an orphan.”
“I am not an orphan, though. I am donata. Given.”
The rumble of horses made her look up. Men’s voices came from outside, calling gruff orders. The memory of the armed men crashed through the moment. She started to get up.
“Do not worry,” Guarin said, putting a hand on her arm. “I hear Yngezo and others. Friends.”
At his word, the voices now sounded younger, happier, with one squawking like an outraged hen. The door opened, and a disheveled figure burst in. The figure stopped abruptly, causing the men behind to stumble into one another. There were some colorful curses involving the ancestry of gnomes.
“Lyssie! My darling girl!”
Detta rushed forward, pulling at her apron, which had twisted around to one side. The apron was in shocking condition and her fur was matted, but her face was as radiant as a sunrise. Talysse had barely time to brace for the onslaught of hugs, kisses, and endearments.
Detta’s sweet nightingale was safe. All the gods of harvest were thanked by name. Lyssie had done a frightful thing—oh, how she had grieved poor Detta. Lyssie had done a brilliant thing, to escape from those awful men. Do you know they ransacked the vill? Shameful!
The torrent of affection continued until Talysse managed to pry the gnome free.
“Tante,” Talysse said, taking the gnome’s furred hands in her own, “my dear, what have you done?”
“Found you,” Detta said. A gnome’s smile hides behind fur, but her
eyes brightened.
“You must have walked all night!” Talysse said.
Detta shook her head. “I did not leave until after midnight. I waited until the master slept, then I gathered your things.”
“My things? What did you bring?”
“Half the cenobitum,” one of the men said, “to judge from the weight of the packs.” He smiled as he produced a blue pack and a brown one. “I am Yngezo,” he added.
“I brought all I could fit,” Detta said. “This one has outer clothes, this under,” she said. “Inside this one is a comb, a ribbon, your personal book, and a few coins.” She whispered the part about coins. “No shoes, though. I did not think of shoes. Simple gnome,” she scolded herself.
“Books!” Yngezo cried. “No wonder it is heavy.”
“What of your own things?” Talysse asked.
“I did bring a second apron,” Detta confessed. “It’s quite small.”
“Two packs. All my things?”
“I had to leave some things behind. I regret this.”
Talysse shook her head. “No matter,” she said. “This is not how we planned it, tante.”
“No matter,” Detta said, her eyes sly.
“I’m not going back to Saldemer.”
“Good,” Detta said. “Wicked men are there.”
Talysse reflected that gnomes were not stupid. They were, in fact, quite clever in their own way. But they could be rather dense sometimes.
“I may be going quite far,” she said.
“Me too, then,” Detta said. “My little duck, we are together and that is enough. Where we go doesn’t matter.”
“Argue with a gnome and you argue with the sea.” Ceranne smiled at her. “It is a wisdom among my folk.”
Detta cocked her head. “It would be difficult to argue with the sea. You’ll only get wet.”
Ceranne gave Talysse a ‘do you see?’ wink, and returned to serving food.
A Child of Great Promise: An Altearth Tale Page 5