The trail wound back down the far side of the ridge for a while, almost as steep as the path up had been. Shay was careful where she put her feet, so it took a long time to get down. Slow and steady, her mom always told her. Take care of yourself, and don’t worry about what other people think. Besides, there was no one but the birds to care if she was slow and a little clumsy out here.
Clouds bunched above her, but they didn’t rain or snow. She stopped a few times to look at animal tracks. The horses of course. Deer and something bigger with cloven hooves. Not many, though, and mostly not completely fresh. But animals had passed over this path many times since the last time humans had walked it; the only boot tracks she saw were old ones with hard edges that had been frozen by earlier snowfalls and not yet crumbled by other steps on the path.
She refilled her water jugs from a tiny waterfall at the bottom of the hill. The water was colder than the water in the insulated jugs, and when she took a few sips, it made her cold inside.
The cold jolted her. Her right foot slipped on a wet rock as she stood up, and she fell down hard, knees and feet in the cold water. She pushed herself too quickly out of the water and fell in again, this time twisting her ankle.
Now she stopped, even though one foot was still in the water and the other hurt. Slow and steady. She needed to be slow and steady. She couldn’t put weight on the foot, and her shoes were wet, and her teeth clattered against each other. So she crawled on her sore knees and her cold hands, the pack making it harder, the water jugs trailing behind her.
Shay sat on the path gasping and shivering and cold for so long that the sun fell behind the tall trees that lined both river and path. She knew better than to stay on the path. That’s where the animals were, and her mom had told her they came to blood. This was also the path the bandits who killed her mother had come down on. She hadn’t really thought about that. She’d only thought about not being in the town by herself, without her mother to stop the other children from taunting her. If bandits came, she didn’t have anything worth stealing except for the kitchen knife, but she was a girl, and her mom had warned her about strange men.
When she stopped thinking so hard and decided to move, her body felt stiff. She crawled to the side of the trail until she found a grouping of young pines that would shelter her from the sky. After she stopped, Shay reached her fingers down to feel her ankle. It had grown bigger. While it didn’t hurt much to touch it, if she touched it hard enough to move her foot, pain shot up her calf.
She was a village healer’s daughter, and she knew to stay still.
It would be light enough to see for a few candlemarks. Everything was winter-cold and winter-bare except for the evergreen trees. Maybe it was better to live on the apples. She pulled down the few branches she could reach, apologizing to the small trees that would probably need them. She got enough to cover her legs and feet, and then she couldn’t reach any more. Shay dug her knife out of her backpack, being as careful as she could. She felt a little better with the shaft in her fist. She watched the water, letting it mesmerize her into a cold, shivery nap where she dreamed of horses and dogs and of her mother tucking her in at night.
Something in her dreaming must have caused her to move her foot. Pain woke her up to cold. Snow had started to fall, the flakes a bit golden in the late afternoon air. She felt stuck in place, cold and hurt and alone and empty.
She was hungry, but she didn’t want to move enough to dig out an apple.
A horse whinnied.
Shay stiffened and stilled.
Voices. Women’s voices. One of them saying, “The snow will hide tracks.”
The other responding. “We need to stop for the night soon.”
The first woman said, “I’d rather keep going.” Then silence fell except for the soft sounds of the horses hooves in the slight blanket of snow that had fallen while Shay dozed.
Shay shivered. Were they looking for her? On horseback? Most bandits were men. She held her breath and waited to see who rode up on her.
The figures of horses emerged from the snow on the path between her and the stream. Snow spangled their saddles and stuck to their manes and tails. Their riders were the two women who had gone through town, the Healer and the Bard. She recognized them even though they were closely bundled against the cold, bits of red hair escaping from woven hats.
Maybe she was still asleep and dreaming. She clutched the knife hilt tighter, or at least she tried. Her hand was stuck curled tightly around the wood. “Hello?” she rasped, her voice slight.
The first horse was past her, the second right across. They hadn’t heard her! She wasn’t directly on the path, and they’d have to look her way. She took a deep breath and tried to let go of the knife, croaking a disappointed sound when her bare, cold fingers still refused to move.
The woman turned and the horse stopped, and the next thing Shay knew, a cloak was thrown across her shoulders, and a face was close to her, saying her name, “Shay? Shay, is that you? Are you Shay?”
Then she was lying on a blanket by a fire, the warmth and light both slowly seeping into her. Night had finished falling, so all that seemed to exist was the fire and the women and blanket around her. The Healer held a cup and poured a bit of something warm between Shay’s cracked lips. The Bard sang to the fire, something soft and meant to help babies sleep. It was a song Shay had known once, because her mother used to sing it to her. She fell back asleep.
When Shay opened her eyes again, the fire was just as high, but the quality of darkness had turned toward the gray of dawn, although it was still dark enough that the fire lit the falling snowflakes so they looked briefly like sparks. She was lying on her back with her foot on a log, a saddle blanket under her head that smelled like clean horse sweat and snow, and a heavy cloak over her. The Healer was sitting and staring at the fire, and no one was singing except the storm itself, soft and thick and windless, the snow falling in a whisper and sometimes sizzling a tiny bit when it hit a coal just right.
Shay tried to say something, but what came out was more like a squeak.
The Healer turned toward her. “I’m Dionne. I’m glad we found you.”
Shay managed a “M-me t-too.”
“Are you still cold?”
“Only a little”
Dionne reached for a cup that sat on a little bank of coals away from the hottest part of the fire and held it up. “Will you drink some more tea?”
Shay tried to sit up, and then Dionne was beside her lifting her up and whispering. “Rhi?”
“Mmhhmmmm . . . .not morning yet.” The protest emerged muffled from a pile of blankets.
“She’s awake,” Dionne said as she lifted the cup so Shay could drink.
“Mmmmmhhhhh. It’s snowing. Leave me alone.” But the blankets moved, and the woman sat up and smiled at Shay. “Hello. I think we just found you in time.”
“Tha . . . thank you.” Shay said, and took another sip of the bitter tea ,which seemed to warm her blood so her whole body got a little warmer. She took two more sips before she asked, “Why did you come?”
The Bard answered. “You needed to be found.” She pulled on boots that had been left close enough to the fire to be warm. “Master Johaness sent us after you.”
The innkeeper? “He doesn’t like me.”
Dionne took the cup for her and set it back on the coals, letting Shay lie back down all the way. “He sure seemed worried when he caught up to us on that great big beast of his.”
The idea of the innkeeper riding after her refused to sit in her head. “Why didn’t he come himself?” At least her words were coming out better.
“Maybe he thought you needed Healing.” Dionne said.
“Or a song,” the other woman answered.
She hadn’t been close enough to see how much the women looked alike. “Are you twins?”
“The twin with no manners is my sister, Rhiannon.” Dionne said it gently, almost teasing. “And now that you can talk, your ankle is sw
ollen. Is there anything else wrong?”
Shay shook her head.
Dionne bent down over Shay’s foot and took the swollen ankle in both of her hands. At first nothing happened, then it felt a little warmer, and then it felt a lot warmer. When Dionne took her hands away she cocked her head and asked, “Is that better?”
Shay could move her ankle. “Much better. Thank you.”
“Can you sit up?” Dionne asked.
For answer, Shay sat up and held her hands out to the fire. “Are you going to take me home?”
The two women exchanged glances full of meaning Shay couldn’t read. “Do you want to go there?”
“No.”
They answered with silence for a bit. Then the Bard, Rhiannon, said, “I heard your mom died. I’m sorry.”
Shay swallowed. “Me, too.”
“What did you plan to do?” Dionne asked, her voice gentle.
So they must have talked to people in town, knew she didn’t have any family. It sounded as though no one had been willing to take care of her. That stung.
She threw a stick into the fire, marveling again that her ankle didn’t hurt when she shifted her weight. She watched the stick burn, thinking. Slow and steady. “Do you need someone to help you?” she asked. “I don’t have a horse.”
“Where were you going?” Dionne asked.
Shay kept her head down. “I don’t know.”
“Do you have family anywhere?”
Shay felt like Dionne’s questions punched her. Adults did this a lot. Avoided answering her questions by asking questions of their own. The small hope that they had really been looking for her felt even smaller now. They’d been doing their jobs. Saving people stupid enough to get into trouble. The thought made Shay laugh, the unfamiliar taste of bitterness burning the back of her throat. She was used to avoiding people, used to being laughed at and yelled at, but since so much of what people teased her about was true, she deserved those things. They seemed fair. But she had wanted these smart women on the beautiful horses to want her.
At least they didn’t ask her again when she didn’t answer, but just let her sit and watch the flames.
After a while she noticed that Rhiannon had started singing again. Both women were moving around camp. Shay should help. She stood up, but Dionne said, “Sit down a bit longer. I’ve got something for you to do there.” Sure enough, she showed up with two metal sticks, each with a sausage on the end. “Hold these over the fire. They’re cooked, so they just need to be warmed.”
Shay kept one stick in each hand, turning them slowly, her belly waking up at the rich fat dripping onto the coals.
They stopped feeding the fire while they ate, and then the women were careful that it was all the way out. Shay approved. They might not be slow and careful, but it was the careful part that mattered. She liked these women a lot even if they didn’t need her to help them.
Snow fell off and on all the next day, although thankfully no winter wind came with it. Shay couldn’t sleep in the saddle behind Rhiannon--the horse was too tall and swayed too much. But she had wanted to ride for all her life, and she might not ever ride again. So by the time they made camp, she fell exhausted and cold and pleased onto the ground. Dionne took one look at her and covered her up with the damp cloak. It was still dry inside even if was heavy and smelled of wet horse.
Shay drifted, listening to the murmur of the women’s voices and the sounds of wood being gathered, thwacked together to knock off snow, and piled. She should be up helping them since gathering wood was something she did well, but her body didn’t want to move. So she lay still, warm enough under the blanket to think, and thought about how to be helpful. If only she could prove that she could be a good helper, maybe Dionne and Rhiannon would want her.
A candlemark later there was more warm tea to drink and some dried meat and slightly stale bread to share out. Dionne mentioned that they’d be out of the snow the next day and would be close to a town, High Meadow. Shay had never been so far from home, but she said, “Sometimes people come from there to buy our sheep.”
“Do you know how to herd sheep?” Rhiannon asked.
“No.” She didn’t want to tell them about the kids throwing rocks at her.
Dionne frowned. “What did you do?”
“I helped my mom pick the plants she used and helped her dry them.”
Dionne stood up and rummaged in her packs, which had been hung on a nearby tree. She drew out three bags of dried plants and handed one to Shay. “Do you know what this is?”
She opened the bag and smelled it. Then she touched the dried plants. “Sweet rose.”
“What did your mom use sweet rose for?”
“She made tea when people had headaches and used it in one of the salves that makes cuts stop hurting.”
Dionne nodded and handed her the second bag. “Don’t touch this one with your bare hands.”
“Nettle. She made soup with it, but she never let me touch it until it cooked. She also mixed it with other plants to make things for swelling.”
After Shay identified the third bag as fleawort, Dionne sat back on her haunches and looked at Rhiannon instead of at Shay. “It might work.”
Rhiannon was still for a moment, and then she looked at Shay and smiled. “Let’s try it.”
Shay was so busy thinking about her mom and plants, she didn’t think about what they meant for a long time. Besides, they hadn’t been talking to her. She would be patient.
They stopped in High Meadow and stayed at an inn, all three of them sharing one room. Rhiannon sang for the people in the inn while Shay and Dionne sat on a nearby bench and ate a thin stew that tasted like heaven even if it was only root vegetables and spices and water.
When she fell asleep that night, Shay told herself not to want anything, that what Dionne and Rhiannon had done so far was enough. Surely they would leave her here, and she could find something to do or someone to take her in. She should find a way to thank them in the morning.
After breakfast and some bargaining with the innkeeper (a woman here, fat and round and a little grumpy) Shay helped them gather up the tack and their bags from the room and stood out of the way while they got the horses ready.
The stable boy brought around a sturdy little red pony with a saddle and bridle already on it, and Dionne and Rhiannon grinned widely when he helped Shay up onto it. She had never been so surprised by anything good in her life. “His name is Apple,” the boy said.
“Is that because he’s red?” Shay asked.
The boy laughed. “He’s not that red, but he loves apples, and he’ll come all the way across the pasture for a little bit of one. Sometimes it’s the only way to catch him.”
Shay was afraid to ask if the pony was hers, but they rode away from town with Shay on its back and a long lead line between her and Rhiannon to keep them together. Maybe the women were going to let her stay with them after all.
The roads were clear now, and the going was still cold but dry. Apple’s hooves made a pleasant sound on the frozen trail, and Shay focused on that and talked to him, trying to ignore the way her legs and butt hurt from riding.
By the time they had been riding three more days, her legs didn’t hurt anymore, and she’d fallen in love with the pony and wanted her life to stay like this forever. She couldn’t bring herself to ask, so she did everything she could to help and was very careful not to do anything wrong.
They started going through bigger towns with places that made metal and fields of horses instead of sheep and guildhalls for people who built houses.
The roads became busier. And then they came up to the biggest place Shay had ever seen, one with wide cobbled streets and walls.
Haven.
It felt like seeing a story come alive. She gaped when she saw two Heralds ride out on Companions, and she understood for the first time what her mother had meant when she said Companions were nothing like horses. They were not; they were so beautiful she thought she might die of happ
iness for just seeing them.
As they wound farther into the city, Shay felt the good feelings shrinking inside her. A sadness filled her, completely against her will. She had nothing to offer here. If she couldn’t wash dishes in Little’s Town, what could she possibly do in Haven?
She patted Apple on the side of his neck, focusing on the mixed brown and white and red of his coat that looked simply reddish-brown from a distance. Focusing didn’t help, because she couldn’t possibly keep Apple. No one had ever said he was hers, and it made sense that they procured the pony so she didn’t tire out the other horses.
They pulled up outside a great big building that looked like the school from Little’s Town only bigger and grander and grown up. Students in gray and pale green streamed in and out of the building, everyone moving fast and looking smart and neat. Rhiannon still used a long lead attached to Apple’s bridle, and she came up and held Apple by the head, whispering sweet nothings to him. Dionne came around to help Shay dismount. She managed to get off without any more than the steady form of Dionne nearby, staying slow and careful in her movements so she wouldn’t embarrass the women by falling here, or herself by needing help with simple things.
Shay noticed that she was wearing the same clothes she’d started out in, and while they’d been washed once, that had been two days ago. Her pants had tears in the knees where she’d fallen. Her shirt had been mended in three places and smelled like horse and cold and the road, not right for Haven at all.
“This is the Healer’s Collegium.” Dionne took Shay’s chin in one hand and guided Shay’s face so that she looked Dionne in the eyes. “Are you all right?” she asked. “You look scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of here.”
Shay nodded, not willing to try to talk in case it made her lose control and loosed the tears she felt in the corners of her eye.
“We want you to come with us to meet someone.”
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