by CJ Brightley
“Because you said you didn’t trust me.”
“I—”
“You did. I heard you. I was listening under the window,” I said. “So I left. That explains me. Why did you have to find me? Did you think up some more accusations, or is this your plan for doing some nasty magical thing to me to take me prisoner for your Council?”
Lightning flared again, revealing his bent head. When he looked up, he’d gotten control of the stuttering, though his voice sounded gritty from the effort he made. “When I discovered you were gone. And Kee admitted to what she’d done. I scried you. Difficult spell. Focused on your location. Came alone. Dared not risk anyone else.”
I remembered what could happen if transfer magic went awry, and my neck hairs stiffened, tickling against the back of the tunic collar.
“When I recovered. From the magic. You had gone out of sight. Was going to return. Scry you again. Discovered that the border was warded. Couldn’t cross it.”
He fell silent. All I could see was his silhouette, grayish against the inky shadows of the barn. Angry and unsettled, I waited.
Finally he said, “So I set out after you on foot. I hoped you might go east. I spotted you down-slope in the river valley, summoning those horses. I managed to catch up with them before you vanished over the far ridge. Rode after you.”
“That explains what you did. Not why.”
“I wanted to explain.”
“Explain what? I think I heard pretty clearly what you think of me.”
He shook his head. “You heard what I said, but not why I said it.”
“‘I can’t believe anything she says.’ Even someone as ignorant as I am can understand that much.”
He flinched as though I’d struck him. “‘Though I want to,’” he repeated, low-voiced. “Did you not hear that? Though I want to. Lhind, you don’t know what’s at stake.”
“Oh, and now you’ve decided to tell me everything, when you accused me of not revealing my own secrets?” I could hear my own nasty tone, and squirmed. I did not like the way I was behaving, but I couldn’t seem to stem the flow of bitterness.
“No,” he said, his voice low. “Not everything. There are oaths to be kept. Others’ secrets I have no right to divulge. Some of it unrelated to the problems before us now. And none of them as disturbing as the fact that you kept your connection with Dhes-Andis hidden.” He burst out, “Do you have any idea how terrifying that was to hear?”
“I do now,” I admitted. And so, because I needed to get it out, I told him what Dhes-Andis had said to me about magic, and about my origin.
Hlanan listened without interrupting. As I was finishing, another brief, violent band of rain came through, too loud for speech, but he seemed to need the time to consider. So did I, though my thoughts chased in a useless circle.
When the ran lessened, he said, “Is that it, then? No more surprises?” I could hear him trying to smile.
“Isn’t that enough?” I retorted. And then, to make sure, I said firmly, “That’s my budget of secrets. All of ’em.”
“I’m glad you don’t believe everything he says.”
“So he does lie. I thought so!”
“Yes. No, not outright. It would be part of the game he plays to tell the truth, but not all of the truth. Using just enough of it to prod you into believing what he wants you to. For example, his being your father. I doubt very much that that is true. But you might be his niece, for there are rumors that his older brother married one of the Snow Folk. Dhes-Andis was quite angry about that.”
“So that man with the pale hair. The Blue Lady. They might be my parents, then?”
“Perhaps.” His voice was husky.
I said quickly, “I think we ought to sleep. Since we’re here, and neither of us wants to trudge in the rain.”
“Lhind, I apologize. For everything I have done wrong.”
“All right. I don’t like being mad, anyway. It’s too tiring. Here. You can have the loft. It was slightly warmer up there.”
He got up. I could almost feel his effort. He climbed to the loft, and I heard the little sounds of him settling down.
I looked about me in the flash of distant lightning, and spotted a stack of feed sacks opposite the corn barrels. I felt my way to them in the darkness. They were rotten with dust and dried-out mildew, but better than the damp ground. I dragged them out and curled up on them.
I’d just closed my eyes when a horrible thought occurred to me, and my eyes flew open. “I don’t dare sleep,” I exclaimed. “What if the inner eyelid isn’t enough to keep him out? Can he get into my mind when I am dreaming?”
“It sounds like you’ve the right instinct. If it helps, think of your inner eyelid as a mind shield.” Hlanan’s tired voice floated down. “Try this. Imagine going into a little room with no windows, locking the door, and then lying down to sleep. That’s how we are taught.”
I did, and fell asleep secure in my mental hut.
o0o
I woke early, as always, and inspected the outfit that Kee had given me. The tunic was plain, undyed cotton-linen, the trousers egg-shell blue. Down at the bottom of the pack I found a broad silken sash of a bright, peachy orange, which I ran through my fingers, wondering if I ought to bind up my hair to hide it, or put it around my waist.
From the slow sound of his breathing, Hlanan still slept. I plucked the nice, clean cap from the knapsack. It would serve as a makeshift basket. The necklace had fallen into it. I was shaking it out when it coruscated with light that did not reflect from anywhere around me. I gripped it in my fingers, and cautiously opened the mental door.
Lhind?
Faryana! I’d forgotten all about her when I’d told Hlanan I had no more secrets, and grimaced as I picked up the necklace. I made sure that inner wall was closed tight around my thoughts, except for a tiny peephole through which I focused on the diamonds. Then I sent: Why did you wait so long to answer?
I slipped out of the barn and began walking, scrutinizing the hedgerows as I listened on the mental plane.
You have learned how to focus. By that I mean you have learned to block out individual farsensers, as well as the universal block you used once on me. I did not have the courage to communicate with you when Dhes-Andis might be listening, even after I was fairly sure you were not choosing to cleave to him.
Who says I was choosing any such thing? I snorted, scaring a bird hopping nearby into flapping up into the air, scolding.
It seemed a close run race there for a time, she returned with considerable irony.
I was about to sling back a hot answer when I remembered my delight in chasing Lendan’s warriors about with fire bolts. Then I remembered how the power I’d played with so happily had nearly consumed me.
Is that what you call the dark arts? I asked.
The dark arts twist or destroy the world and the lives on it in order to achieve the magician’s ends.
That sounds to me like a judgment on the user, I thought at her as I walked over a mossy stone bridge. Magic is magic, isn’t it?
In some ways, that is true. But there are practices that are only used by sorcerers of the dark arts. Some of these practices are known to us, but we choose not to use them because of the harm they cause.
I can understand that, I thought.
Further, there are what we call the Mysteries—agents of magic, difficult to explain simply—who know the intentions of any user by some arts we cannot fathom and who choose not to ally with those sorcerers. Dhes-Andis and his colleagues will tell you that these do not exist, because they interfere so rarely. But that is part of the larger balance we vow to maintain. We must know when to interfere, and when not; when action is called for and when not, and always, always, we must consider the far-reaching consequences of our actions. Our most revered magicians appear ineffectual to the common world because they so seldom take perceived action but in reality they are on constant guard to protect and maintain the world’s balance.
Do the
y call us Hrethans one of those Mystery things? I asked. Then I remembered that I’d hidden my Hrethan background from her. And then I remembered the other part of my background.
Sadness permeated her thoughts. I guessed you are related to the Snow Folk, because I can hear you so clearly. And because you accessed magic so swiftly. A whisper of thought—maybe her private thoughts?—came, But you did not trust me enough to tell me.
I was getting dizzy, trying to keep the pinhole tight and walk at the same time, so I stopped, and perched on an old fence. Then I shut my eyes. Can you tell me a little about the Snow Folk, Faryana?
You know nothing of the Snow Folk, yet you are related?
When I did not answer, she went on.
We are called one of the Mysteries by some. But our abilities range, as with the rest of humanity. You can learn more of these matters from others. One thing I must ask—
I waited cautiously, still holding hard on my little peephole.
The question, when it came, took me totally by surprise. Have you shape-shifted yet? With the question came a distinct image of a white bird soaring through the skies. Not an aidlar, but larger, with bright blue eyes.
I straightened up so fast that I almost fell off the fence. So THAT’s what Tir meant, when it first named me Hrethan, I thought to myself. And to her: Birds? How?
When we reach a certain age, the ability is just there. One day you stand at a cliff’s edge, feeling the pull of the winds, the impulse is there, like using your tail for balance, but inward. Then you take wing. It has saved us time and again from the likes of the Djurans, or the old-time Shinjan slavers, who tried to capture us and sell us as pets to the wealthy.
I wanted to ask her if that shape-changing extended to half-Hrethan, but that seemed a dangerous question. Maybe it’s something that only happens to full-blooded Hrethan, I thought to myself, because I had perched on many a rooftop, but never once had I felt an impulse to take flight. A wish, yes. But I knew the difference.
A wave of dizziness blurred my eyes. The long contact was tiring me. I need to eat, I thought at her, and I felt her awareness close off as if she shut an inner door on me.
When the vertigo eased, I flipped over the fence to the far side, where I discovered a tumbledown cottage and an overgrown kitchen garden.
I scavenged food from the garden until the cap was full, then trod back to the barn. I found Hlanan sitting on the upended bushel, his head in his hands.
He looked up, his relief smoothing into blandness.
“Breakfast,” I said, setting the cap on a barrel, then, out of habit, surreptitiously shoving the necklace back into the pack. Oh. Another secret . . .
Hlanan had been eyeing the snap beans, carrots, three kinds of sweet berries, and a gleaning of chestnuts and hazelnuts that the local animals hadn’t found the autumn previous. I halved again the now-stale half loaf, and the cheese. “Got those from an abandoned garden. There’s a stream not a hundred paces off, where you can get a drink.”
“And wash the grime from my face,” he said. “Thank you.”
I picked up my dampish clothes that I’d draped over the corn barrels, feeling oddly off-balance. Of course it would be unsettling, I reasoned. I was not at all accustomed to going without my protective layers of disguise.
Before I could eat, I decided to get the worst over. “Um. Actually, I do have one more thing to confess.” I pulled out the necklace.
Hlanan almost dropped his food. His eyes went round, then narrowed. “I remember that. Kressanthe’s necklace. You were wearing it when you rescued me.”
“Yes.” And I told him everything Faryana had said. As I spoke, I braced for him to scowl, to scold, to try to take it away for my own good. Since it wasn’t mine, I wasn’t certain why I hated that thought.
He turned his palm up, as if he were about to demand it, or even plead for me to relinquish it to him, but then his hand dropped to his knee. He gave me a twisted smile. “One good thing, Faryana is better at explaining magic than I, and she saved me a lot of effort.” His tone was apologetic. And a little bitter, maybe with self-judgment.
Since he didn’t say anything personal, I didn’t, either. “Can you free her?” I asked, leaping to my feet as I packed everything into my knapsack except the damp tunic and trousers. “I think we should eat as we walk.” I couldn’t explain my sudden restlessness.
He obliged, picking up the cap and following me out of the barn. “No. I don’t know nearly enough magic.”
“Then back she goes inside my clothes, where she’s out of sight,” I said, suiting action to words. I tied the damp clothes by sleeves and legs to drape over my knapsack so they would dry in the sun as I walked. Imagine, the riches of two outfits!
I ran the silky orange sash through my fingers, fighting the urge to glory in having my hair and tail free to lift in the breeze. Habit was strong.
Because no one was on the road, I tied the sash around my waist, and dared to walk out as I was, my hair and tail snapping around me as if resenting confinement.
Then I joined Hlanan, who was watching the muddy pathway as if wisdom of great import lay there. “Will you honor me by repeating your intention?” he asked at last. “I believe you told me last night, but my wits seem to have fled.”
“Going east,” I said. “Kee and I talked about it. She thinks Aranu Crown would listen if I told her about Geric Lendan and Dhes-Andis and that army.”
“So you are not running away, you are running to someone.”
”I’ve never thought about it that way before. Both, I guess.”
“Something I learned from Rajanas, back when we first met.” He lifted his head, his gaze reaching far past the dilapidated barn roof. “We were a pair of scrawny twigs, full of ideas, captured flat.” He blinked, and gave me fleeting, whimsical smile as he poked among the beans for the last of the berries. “While we were chained together on the galley bench, Rajanas sometimes said that it took some mental twisting, but having a plan instead of mere escape meant, oh . . .”
“I remember. That if you just keep running, someday you will have nowhere to go.” I took the cap back, which had a few beans at the bottom, and three small berries.
“I said that before, didn’t I? Forgive me if I sound insufferable. And pass me the berries, would you? Unless you’d like to finish them off.”
“You don’t like beans? The crisp snap, the delightful smell of fresh green?”
“Not uncooked for breakfast, I must admit. Perhaps later . . .” He paused as though he was going to say more, but didn’t.
“Later what?” I asked.
He opened his hands. “You tell me.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask,” I said. “Did you expect me to find more, then? I will, of course.”
“Ah, so we will travel together?”
I stared at him in surprise. “Have we not so far?”
His smile was wry. “Until you left. Though the fault for that was entirely mine,” he added hastily.
“Well, what else were you going to do?”
“I hadn’t planned on anything but finding you, and asking you to transfer back,” he said. “After which . . . but nothing I’d thought of doing is the least use now, not with that barrier spell. So, my next plan was to find the nearest town where there might be a mage connected to the Council. Try to scry Thianra, and failing that, apprise the Council of what has occurred.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me,” I said. “We can go together, and you can teach me more things. Oh. That reminds me. One more confession.”
Hlanan looked askance, his brows lifting in a way that reminded me briefly of Rajanas. He was trying not to laugh.
“Not a secret,” I said hastily. “I overheard it, at the inn. Before I stole the bag of gold the innkeeper was paid.”
Hlanan coughed, still trying not to laugh. But when I was done repeating the conversation, all the humor vanished from his face. “So it was a ‘she’ who sent those hirelings,” he said thoughtfull
y, before he popped the last berry into his mouth.
“You think she is Kressanthe?”
Hlanan gave his head a shake. “No. Impossible.” He gazed up into the clear sky, as the cool, rain-washed breeze tugged at our clothes, then his expression changed. “I believe I know. And if I’m right, it answers a lot of questions.”
“Geric Lendan acting through someone else?”
To my surprise, he shook his head again. “Geric might have sent a message to her before boarding the yacht. It might have been a condition of his contracting the Wolf Grays. But she would not act on his orders. Not at all.” As he spoke, he lifted his head. In the distance riders emerged from a copse of trees and vanished over a hill.
“So who was it?”
We took a dozen steps. I was beginning to wonder if telling me broke one of those mysterious oaths he’d alluded to. Then he said, “The Duchess of Thann.”
“Who’s she?” As I said it, I thought, haven’t I heard that name before?
“She’s the one who contracts out the Wolf Grays. Some say she’s getting them trained for a major political action, and making a fortune doing it. I can believe that, having run afoul of her. Twice, actually.”
“You did? How?
“Really want to hear this old history?”
“Sure,” I said. I’d always been interested in his past. “I like stories, and we’ve nothing else to do.”
“Here’s the most recent one, then. I was traveling on another matter entirely when I came to the river, and in seeking for a likely passenger boat, I chose the one on which Thianra was employed as a bard, thinking she might be able to tell me a little about the captains. I got more than I expected. She’d discovered evidence that thefts along the river were not sporadic. We were curious enough to investigate. Discovered that the thieves were part of a ring.”
“And so she reported them?”
“I did. She wanted to stay with the riverboat, because she wasn’t satisfied we’d found who was behind the ring, so we decided she should lie low. We also wondered if the information would be forgotten, or worse. I made my report, and nothing happened. That was last winter.”