by S Kaeth
“See, decide, act, and—”
“Face the consequences,” she finished with him, closing her eyes against her shame. She took a deep breath and looked around again. “Where’s Eian? Is he alright?”
“He’s out playing. His manners are better than yours were at that age. You pestered me relentlessly when I sat watching over Taunos after the tserwora bit him.”
Kaemada frowned, recalling the story. “I had only two summers.”
The corners of his mouth pulled, almost as if he were going to smile. “Still.”
“Eian is so quiet. Sometimes it worries me.”
“His thoughts are elsewhere, his mind exploring worlds you can only imagine. He’s too preoccupied with greater things to worry with mere words.”
Kaemada knew where this conversation was heading and cut it off. “He’s not to start any training yet. He has only four summers. You’re much too harsh for him.”
Amusement lightened Galod’s expression. “You were five summers old when you started. I wasn’t too hard on you.”
“I cried every day!”
“Not the whole day, and each morning you came ready to train again.”
Kaemada scratched Tannevar gently with the hand under his muzzle. “Did you really bite Galod?” she murmured.
“I said he was lucky to be alive.”
The wolf blossomed in her mind, boasting of his ability to handle unnatural ripples in the air, should the need arrive. His head lifted, ears perking up as their link opened again, and it was like the sun had risen anew.
“Tannevar!”
He wriggled closer and she wrapped her arms around him. She grinned despite the pain in her side, which faded some as Tannevar bore a share of it, just as she bore a share of his injuries. He nuzzled her chin before she buried her face in his thick fur.
Galod shifted on the stump. Of course he wouldn’t sit on the ground as was proper.
Her voice was thick when she spoke. “Ameyitum, Galod. I should not have shouted at you. Thank you for everything.”
The corners of his mouth twitched again—a Galod smile. With a rush, the world became alive around her. Sensations flooded her from the others around her, their wounds, the sickness in them. She knew Ra’ael’s shoulder still hurt, that her left leg still ached from the breaks below her knee that the healers had mended. And Galod—
Galod’s mind snapped shut against her, sending her crashing out of his thoughts just as she touched them. Her stomach turned at the look on his face and the realization of what she’d nearly done.
“Ameyitum!” she said, clutching Tannevar’s neck as he stiffened.
“Your psionic abilities are returning.” Something like embarrassment flickered across his face before his composure snapped back.
“I did not know. Forgive me.” Her chest tightened and she apologized desperately, as if words could flow forth and cover her mistake.
The hermit’s mind was even stranger than others she’d touched. Her psionic abilities must have been broken. No wonder she’d been cut off from Tannevar. She needed to rebuild her mental walls to keep her thoughts from washing out and invading the privacy of others.
Galod pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily. “Only a fool consorts with psions without being sure his mental defenses are strong.”
Voices approached from outside, and he stood, closing his book.
She winced. Her intrusion would drive him away. Apologies fell off her tongue like leaves at harvest. “Ameyitum, Galod. Saiameyitum.”
He frowned at her and stepped out, stooping past the low doorway. Embarrassment and guilt weighed on her, and Kaemada stroked Tannevar’s fur to escape them.
“There isn’t enough room for supplies,” Talaera was saying as she and Maeren stepped inside.
“We will manage.”
“Perhaps if we had more wagons, but as it is, the wounded will fill the space.” Talaera gave Kaemada a pointed look, and Kaemada lowered her gaze briefly. She didn’t regret sending the wagons to Tanelwith. How could she have known?
“We can carry supplies on our backs.”
“Not enough for both the journey and an offering. Everyone will be overburdened.”
Maeren sighed. Meeting Kaemada’s eyes, she gave a tired smile. “We will make do, Talaera. Have the healers heal as many as they can. They can ride in the wagons to sleep off their exhaustion.”
Such exhaustion could injure the healers and cripple their ability, perhaps for good. Maeren knew that, which meant for her to suggest such a thing, they must be desperate. Kaemada frowned. They should be able to rest on grace extended from other kaetaln.
“With Tanelwith hit so hard, and now us, all of Heartwood will suffer. We cannot afford the disgrace! It’s one thing to share with the needy, but it’s another to be overly so!” Talaera lamented.
“All we can do is bring as much as we can carry. Shareil, Talaera. It will all be well.”
Talaera sighed. She paused, looking at Kaemada as if she wanted to say something.
Expecting a rebuke, Kaemada looked down at her blanket, picking at the fabric, but Talaera simply moved on, ducking out the doorway.
Maeren sighed, kneeling next to her. “How are you feeling?”
“I—” She straightened and forced a smile. “I’m alive. And we will figure out a way to contribute to the Feast.”
Maeren smiled wearily and patted her arm. “Worry not. There have been pegasus sightings overhead the past days. I’m taking it as a sign from the spirits. I will send someone with stew for you. You rest.”
Kaemada watched Maeren make her way around to each of the people in her home, checking on bandages and making them comfortable. Outside, Eian’s laughter caught her ears, and she smiled through tears pricking at her eyes. She’d nearly lost him. So easily, an arrow could have found him and she’d never hear that laugh again. Fear gripped her, but she took a deep breath. That part of her story was now over.
See, decide, act, and face the consequences.
A need filled her to do what she could to help, to lighten the darkness even a little. She tried to rise to check the other wounded, but pain halted her. She wouldn’t be able to walk far without rest, just like so many others. They had goods to bring to the Feast, but no room to bring them, in part because of her. The wagons from Tanelwith wouldn’t have returned yet—she’d expected they’d get them back at the Feast. And Tikatae had attacked the kaetal to strike at her.
There had to be brightness here somewhere. She’d make some if she had to. Her story felt shaky, uncertain, so she reached out to the others her story entwined with, to strengthen their songs and thereby her own. Her fingers smoothed the blanket piled on top of her. Every thread supported the next, and woven tightly together, they were strong.
Pegasus sightings. Many summers ago, she had befriended a pegasus. They’d grown apart with time, but… She couldn’t help her people in defense, nor did they wish her help with psionics. But she could help them bring supplies to the Feast if she could reach Shareilon.
She took Eian with her into the wilderness often, never with a mishap, and he was always good at following directions and staying close. But this was the sacred journey. There would be Angels to evade, though surely just two would be less enticing for the Angels than an entire kaetal. They could time their flight such that they spent only a day, maybe two, in Angel territory to reduce the danger. And the path. It would be even more important to be vigilant, to keep Eian on the sacred path. No one who left the path was ever seen again.
Kaemada breathed away her worries. She would have Tannevar and Shareilon there to help her, and she couldn’t stand to have Eian out of her sight, not so soon after nearly losing him. This had to work. It was the only way to avoid serious dishonor for her kaetal, even though she would miss the sacred songs and the fellowship of the journey. But once they arrived at Talahn Valley, she could relax and enjoy the Feast of Starfall.
The Feasts were the very best parts of every summer, espe
cially looking up at night in the crisp mountain air and watching the stars streak across the sky. If a person listened hard enough in the quiet after the starsong, they could hear them faintly whistle. According to legend, the song the stars sang as they fell used to be louder, and there used to be another song, one sung by the stars while they shone in the deep night. Over the generations, the songs had faded, and no one heard the song of the stars anymore unless they were falling.
She had to get them to the Feast with what honor they could bring. Closing her eyes, she reached out, upward, upward. Maybe if she dreamwalked, she’d have a chance at bridging the distance.
Her body was safe, guarded by Tannevar’s vigilance. Her mind drifted, questing for the pegasus. She searched for the warmth of his presence, with his smell so like a horse, but mistier, his light grey coat, white mane and tail, and his white feathered wings, soft as clouds. He was the grasslands married to the sky, and his home was the foothills to the south and west.
Impossibly, he answered, a mental impression of a gentle nuzzle from that great head.
She sighed with relief, and with images and emotion, he answered her curiosity, sharing the faint, nagging pull on the part of his mind she’d bonded to. He’d come to make sure she was alright.
It must have happened when she briefly lost access to her psionics, she realized. Letting her gratitude for his care spill out, she explained the kaetal’s problem.
Shareilon did not understand. He had no need for festivals, no expectations made of him regarding the bringing of food and gifts. He admonished her with a warm snort.
Kaemada strove to show how important this was to her, and Shareilon answered with bristling pride. No beast of burden was he, but a pegasus, mighty, one with the wind and clouds. A master of land and sky should not be weighed down with bags of goods like a lumbering alanshor!
Contrite, Kaemada soothed his ruffled pride with the reassurance that she appreciated his might and his spirit, and that she understood how he felt about carrying things.
With reluctance, Shareilon agreed to carry Kaemada, Eian, and only what they needed for the journey, but nothing more.
She shared her gratitude before retreating, exhausted by the effort of connecting with him.
He snorted a puff of warm wind and was gone, leaving her adrift, drawn to her bond with Tannevar. Her head pounded, and she remained laying where she was, her arms wrapped around the wolf.
She must have slept, for when next she became aware, the afternoon light had given way to evening. An empty bowl lay on its side next to her. Tannevar’s lolling tongue and the wag of his tail informed her of his mischief. She grinned at him and ruffled the fur on his head, laughing when he ducked away with a disgusted look on his face. Her stomach wound protested, cutting her laugh short, but she smiled, easing herself up to sit with her back resting against the wall of her hut.
Kaemada winced. “How are you feeling, Ra’ael?”
The priestess’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What are you planning?”
“We’re planning something?” Maeren asked, her pace slow as she entered. Her face was lined with exhaustion.
“Maeren, I did not ask before. Ameyitum. Are you alright? How’s Takiyah?”
Maeren laughed. “You must be feeling better! Concerned about everyone else already, are we? We’re fine, though Takiyah seems unwilling to leave her father’s side.”
“Kaemada!” Ra’ael snapped. “Now.”
She winced, dropping her gaze to Tannevar as if he could guard her against this confrontation. It would have been easier to do this one at a time, but Ra’ael was only getting more impatient.
“We do not have enough wagons,” Kaemada began.
“I told you, we will make it work,” Maeren interrupted.
“Saimahkae, please. Fill my place in the wagon with goods, so at least we can contribute some to the festivities. Eian and I can ride Shareilon.”
“Absolutely not!” Ra’ael shouted. “I smooth the way far too much for you already! I cannot plead tolerance for you with the priests and Elders for something like this.”
“The journey to the Seeker Tree is as important as the ceremonies!” Maeren objected. “The songs, the stories, the walk itself, they tie us together.”
Kaemada twisted some of Tannevar’s fur between her fingers, clinging to his calm. “Let me help in this way. We need room for supplies and tents to hide from the Angels. We have supplies to share; we simply need as much wagon room as possible.”
Ra’ael shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. What if you fell? We’re only strong together.”
Maeren frowned in thought for long moments. She finally sighed. “This is highly unusual. As you said, Torkae cannot handle a disgrace.”
“Saimahkae, with respect, no! She cannot! Not against tradition! Not when we’re already under the scrutiny of the other kaetaln!”
“You leave the scrutiny to me, Ra’ael.”
“That is why I must do this,” Kaemada said, smoothing Tannevar’s ears. He pushed on her leg with his paw. “The messenger, he sought out Takiyah, he sought out me. He would have sought out Galod if he could. He’s intent on causing our kaetal trouble.”
“You’re making too much of the messenger, Kaemada.” Maeren shook her head.
“Am I? Did you hear him sneer as he spoke of Galod, as he told Takiyah and me that we’re not Rinaryn? Who is he to split us apart? Who is he to spit his hatred at us simply because he dislikes Galod?”
“Enough.” Maeren closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath. When she opened her eyes again, she spoke with exaggerated calm. “Galod’s presence is the decision of the Storyteller and me. He’s not your decision, nor the messenger’s. The same goes for you and Takiyah. You are ours. That’s the end of it.”
“That’s why you must forbid this foolhardy idea!” Ra’ael broke in. “Tradition is clear! We stay on the path!”
Kaemada wrapped her arms around her legs, curling up miserably until Tannevar pushed at her again, demanding she scratch his shoulder. “The word ‘on’ could be translated ‘above’. I will stay above the path.”
“What will the others think, with you arriving separately?”
“What will they think, with us arriving with no sacrifice?”
“Both of you stop bickering!” Maeren scolded. She sighed. “The messenger lacked even the decency to stay to help us. No, we must arrive with an offering.” She passed her hand over her eyes. “Kaemada, please, please be careful.”
Kaemada smiled and embraced her. “Eian and I will see you at the Seeker Tree. We would never miss it.”
Ra’ael sighed in surrender. “At least make sure you arrive well-groomed, lest others think you’re Fallen.”
Kaemada scoffed. The Fallen were banished from their kaetaln, forbidden to return to their homes and families and friends. Who would mistake her for a Fallen? The very idea was ridiculous.
DEITAE
Chapter Four
Every Rinaryn travels to the Holy Mountains twice a year, in the planting season and in the harvest season. Hidden in the mountains is a place they refer to as the Valley of Light, or Talahn Valley, and there grows a most interesting node. They call it the Seeker Tree—indeed, its appearance is that of a tree—and hold great reverence for it, gathering around it for their Feasts of Starfall. For seven days, they celebrate life and lives already lived, reconnect with relatives, begin courting potential spouses, and compete for apprenticeships with masters. They worship, give thanks, and sacrifice harvest bounty to Eloí.
It is not an optional journey, not even for the sick or wounded. It’s considered holy and solemn, and yet at the same time, celebratory. For some, it’s only during these Feasts that they visit with relatives from other parts of Rinara.
—journal excerpt
Early morning light glimmered in the thick mist. Shadows moved, their forms indistinguishable through the murky grey, as houses were dismantled. Kaemada moved toward the flaring, dancing light of the fi
res as the most tattered of the grass coverings from the huts were fed to the flames. Alanshorn snorted as they were harnessed to the wagons and the sledges made from the bent branches of the huts, turned upside down and covered with the woven grass coverings that were still in good shape. Firewood and tents would be carried inside them.
Each of Kaemada’s movements was slow and careful, as she feared to trigger a stab of pain. Still, this was important. She knelt by the edge of the fire, scooping a handful of coals from the edge with a stick into a small clay pot. Cradling the warmth, she stood, bringing a part of the kaetal’s fire with her as she left them. She’d return it when they rejoined the kaetal at the Feast, just as in harsh winters, when families split up to better survive, taking some of the kaetal’s fire with them and then bringing all those flames back together in spring’s bounty. Around her, other families were also collecting coals from the edges, packing them carefully in clay jars.
Orange and yellow burst across the horizon, and the mist lifted like a wave across sand, erasing the signs of their presence. No longer were homes scattered across the land. Working together, everything had been dismantled. In a moon or two, there would be no sign they’d lived there. After the Feast, they’d build new houses and establish the central fires at a different point along the forest’s edge, allowing the growth to renew where foraging and hunting and the growing of tended things had used up resources.
The forest drew Kaemada’s gaze to higher aspirations. Yes, she loved the prairie, but the trees were home. They balanced the prairie with its fires. True, if a tree caught, it would burn, but together they provided a harbor for others. Their deep roots, strong trunks, and lofty branches changed the land.
“Listen to your mahkae.” Ra’ael’s voice drew Kaemada toward one of the wagons.
As Eian released the priestess from a massive hug, a huge grin stretched his cheeks. His eyes lit up, meeting Kaemada’s, and he took her hand.
Ra’ael’s dark eyes fixed on her. “We can carry both of you. You can still change your mind.”