Solace Arisen

by Anna Steffl

  And Degarius couldn’t go back for Nat’s body.

  Miss Nazar’s horse jumped the creek. It would have been a beautiful thing to watch...but for the packhorse.

  She dropped the tether! What a damned fine rider she was. The packhorse landed, and then kept running with Miss Nazar’s horse.

  Degarius cleared the creek and heard Kieran come over after him, but suddenly the hoofbeats ceased. Kieran had stopped, wheeled his horse around, and was aiming an arrow at the redcoats. Was the fool trying to get himself killed?

  The brother let loose an arrow and nocked another as the first arrow hit the front-riding soldier in the shoulder. The second arrow hit the farther back horse in the chest. It stumbled and went down on its knees, throwing the rider. More arrows, with time to be expertly aimed, left Kieran’s bow and found their marks. Then, the brother stowed his bow, but didn’t turn and ride. What in all hell was he doing? Was he dismounting?

  “Kieran!”

  At Degarius’s shouting, Arvana stopped. She caught the packhorse’s tether and led him to Kieran who was slowly sliding from his horse. When his feet touched the ground, he crumbled to his knees. Clinging to a stirrup with one hand, his other fumbled with the spiritbane. “It wasn’t like taking a deer. Not like it. I killed two men. Maker, how can you forgive me?”

  Degarius grasped him under the arm. “You were doing your job. If you love the Maker, get up and ride. Wipe your damn bloody hands on me, if you want. I’ve killed a hundred men. What are two more?”

  Kieran leered at Degarius, but his whole body hardened, and he rose and began to remount.

  For a moment, Arvana felt everything she once had for Degarius. He meant what he’d said to Kieran. He bore the ugly trials of this world so others wouldn’t have to. A monk, who’d chosen a peaceful life, shouldn’t have been called upon to kill. It was why the superior told Degarius about the girl birthing the draeden. She knew his conscience wouldn’t abide it.

  Her heart went out to Kieran, too. His anger at Degarius had temporarily replaced his grief. It wouldn’t last long, though. As well-intentioned as Degarius was, it was impossible to simply wipe the blood from one’s hands. She clucked to her horse to move and opened her hands from the reins. They had the blood of Chane Lerouge and a hundred Solacians upon them. The Maker had a special grace for Degarius and Kieran. There wouldn’t be one for her. The blood was there by her own mistakes, not out of duty or a sense of justice...until she faced the Gherians. Not that one blood could cleanse the other.

  LIFE AND DEATH

  Cumberland, six days later

  While riding, Degarius slipped a knuckle under his glasses and rubbed the sleep from his eye. What he’d give for a cup of coffee. To avoid drawing attention to themselves, they’d not made a fire since entering Cumberland so the nights were cold and the mornings a coffee-less, frosty headache. But the strategy had worked. No soldiers or robbers had set on them during the night. During the day, the road, more of a narrow, often steep path through the mountains, was quiet except for the sound of their horses kicking through the leaves. By good luck, they’d avoided thieves. Or, if bandits had seen them, they’d had a sliver of compunction at robbing Maker’s men.

  As Degarius rubbed the other eye, Kieran’s blurry figure flagged them to stop. Damn it, it would be his luck to meet bandits after congratulating himself for avoiding them. One hand went to his sword; the other straightened his glasses. Far ahead, a doe was grazing roadside. Had Kieran stopped to watch her? The animal held its head attentive, took a few steps into the brush, and then returned to eating. Degarius relaxed his sword hand.

  Kieran dismounted in a slow slide and gave Miss Nazar the reins. He crouched low and stalked the doe with a high-stepping gait. The doe flicked her tail and bounded into the woods. Three other deer previously hidden in the evergreen brush darted across the road. Kieran disappeared after them.

  “What’s he doing?” Degarius wondered aloud. Kieran hadn’t taken his bow. “Does he mean to take it with a knife? I’m not stopping to cook.”

  A cry, half surprise and half agony, cut through the cacophony of birdcalls.

  Silence.

  A man’s shout, not Kieran’s, and the rustle of footsteps in the forest carried through the hush. They were coming nearer.

  Degarius drew Assaea.

  Miss Nazar was ahead of him with Kieran’s horse. A thief in the woods could kill her with an easy shot. “Get off your horse and get behind it,” Degarius said. If they tried to ride away now, they’d be shot in the back. And a sword was no good at a distance. Degarius resheathed his sword, dismounted, took his bow, and ducked behind his animal—the only thing Cumberlandians would guess a monk had of value. They wouldn’t risk wounding it.

  Degarius glanced to Miss Nazar. She was holding the Blue Eye. If she had to use it, the advantage of surprising the Gherians with it was gone, but at least they’d be alive.

  A Cumberlandian, clad in simple leather clothes, came from the forest. He wore his bow slung over his back and was supporting a hopping Kieran—a shaft stuck out from his thigh, near his hip. In Anglish, with a drawling Cumberland accent, he said, “I live up the hill. For three years I apprenticed a surgeon in Acadia.” Slowly, so as not to appear threatening, he held up an arrow with a brutal-looking three-bladed flared tip. “Without dowels, it’s hard to remove and he’ll bleed out soon. I meant to kill a deer, not a holy man.”

  Degarius released the tension on the bowstring and lowered the bow. If the man had wanted to kill them, he wouldn’t have bothered to be burdened with Kieran.

  Arvana tied the horses to the fence around the Cumberland home while Degarius and the Cumberlandian carried Kieran to the house. Over his shoulder, Degarius called, “Get the tarp.” She found it in the pack and then ran to catch up.

  A woman, far along with child, stood in the doorway. Four children poured out around her. From the garden, an older girl appeared with her apron sagging with apples. The little ones raced to her.

  Her arms full with the tarp as she entered, Arvana brushed the woman’s very round stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t worry. The baby kicks a hundred times harder.” The woman spoke in a clear Acadian accent. Why was she living here? She returned Arvana’s quizzical look, probably guessing straight off that Arvana wasn’t a man and wondering why she was dressed as one. She pointed to the back of the house. “The bedroom is there.”

  The small house was remarkably familiar. Like her home in Sylvania, it was built around a central fireplace and had a loft. A vague sadness overcame Arvana as she glanced back to the woman. A toddler darted to the woman, and she tented her apron over his head. No, it was six children, with one on the way. She tapped the boy on the rear and told him to go outside. He waddled to the door, rose on his tiptoes for the latch, and grunted, but he couldn’t reach it. This could have been my life if I remained in Sylvania, Arvana thought.

  In the bedroom, she unfolded the tarp. It was quick thinking of Degarius to use it to protect the bed. It floated down over the bearskin coverings, stirring a breeze smelling of human scent and old fur.

  Kieran groaned as they eased him on it.

  The smell, those guttural expressions, brought back a memory Arvana tried never to recall—how her father had suffered at the end. How Allasan couldn’t stand it anymore and left. She covered her mouth.

  The Cumberlandian unrolled a canvas containing surgeon’s instruments. He cut back Kieran’s leather breeches.

  Blood covered Kieran’s leg.

  Degarius, who was on the other side of the bed, looked up from Kieran and said to her, “Go outside.”

  He saw she’d momentarily covered her mouth. He thought her a coward, that she couldn’t stand the sight of suffering. He was wrong. “What do you need me to do?” she asked.

  “Leave,” he said gruffly.

  Arvana bunched her fists. This wasn’t her fault. “I can help. I’ve tended worse.”

  The Cumberlandian, handing a dowel
to Degarius said to her, “Go to my wife. She seldom gets visitors.”

  Fine. Arvana wanted nothing more than to be out of Degarius’s proximity. She’d long despised herself for her faults, but never another person except her brother like this. She hated the feeling, but it was so strong she just couldn’t tell it to go away. When and how had her guilt over his fate turned into resentment? He was the one who kept coming to the archive, who drew her picture, who wrote the coy letter, who embraced her at Teodor’s party, who kissed her in the Citadel woods.

  Outside, she found the woman watching the children play leapfrog. Arvana clutched her arms tight and tried to squeeze the anger away so she could find some joy in the children’s antics. But when they noticed her, the game disbanded and the little ones ran to hide. The older ones drifted into the orchard.

  “They don’t know what to make of a lady in breeches,” the woman said. “I don’t know what to make of one in a monk’s cap.”

  Arvana yanked the cap off, shook out her hair, and gave the answer they’d agreed upon, the one she knew Degarius would give the Cumberlandian if prompted. “The others are monks on their way to Sarapost to start a community. I’m a former sister. When I resigned, my superior let me come with them in order to get home. She thought it safer for me if I dressed as a man.”

  “Why did you resign?”

  Arvana bunched the cap tight in her hands.

  “It’s none of my business,” the woman said, then cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted for the children. One child came hesitantly from behind a rain barrel. Another crept from the door. After darting a few shy glances at Arvana, they started to skip and turn somersaults.

  “They’re showing off for you,” the woman said, half in apology and half in pride.

  Arvana managed a smile.

  “Don’t worry about the monk,” the woman said. “My husband will take care of him.”

  Kieran. Gripped by her bitter concerns, Arvana had forgotten him. She pulled the cap on.

  The woman rested her hands on her stomach. “My husband trained in Acadia. It’s where I met him. We went along well enough until a neighbor was robbed. Acadians think every Cumberlandian a criminal. They burned our house in retribution. After we barely escaped, he decided to return to Cumberland. It’s true it’s dangerous here, but even thieves need a doctor now and then so we’re left alone.”

  Outrage simmered in Arvana. The woman was good and kind, and how had this world, both Acadian and Cumberlandian, treated her? How much worse was a draeden? Why bother to save men from it when they were brutal to one another? The Maker may have had a moment of mercy long ago and blessed swords, but what was worth saving now? Men were stupid, never learned. Why was she throwing away her life on what would likely be a futile mission?

  “Look,” the woman said and laughed. A bump had appeared on her stomach. She covered it with her palm and followed it as it moved.

  Arvana’s curiosity, and the woman’s laughter, eclipsed her anger.

  “This one never sleeps. It kicks day and night.”

  Unconsciously, Arvana put her hand on her own stomach as she watched for another kick. What an odd sensation it would be to have something moving inside.

  The woman must have seen her wide-eyed interest. She grasped Arvana’s hand and pressed it where hers had been. “Do you feel it?”

  A small yet sharp kick poked through the woman’s firm belly. Arvana laughed despite herself.

  “You have time. You’re still young enough.”

  Arvana drew her hand away. “That’s unlikely.” Only as the words came out did she realize how tart they sounded, how they made the woman cradle her stomach in her hands and go silent. She was ashamed of the tone of her reply to a woman who was only trying to be kind, who couldn’t understand that she had sacrificed that part of herself to the Maker. She’d stayed empty in order to receive a different kind of gift that never came. Arvana summoned a repentant smile and asked, “When is your baby coming?” It was a question one woman could freely ask another. After all the years in Solace, though, where such questions never needed asking, she felt odd pronouncing it.

  The woman seemed not to notice any awkwardness in Arvana’s voice. She brightened and said, “Maybe tomorrow, maybe two weeks.” She fell into a description of the other births, of the tremendous pain with the first, but how they got easier and easier.

  Arvana listened with both the attention due a miracle and a strange gratefulness. No one had ever spoken to her this way. This, this was why she was going to the Forbidden Fortress. So a draeden would never come here. It was the one thing she could give in return.

  “I don’t think you’re ready to ride,” Degarius said to Kieran, but he limped to his horse unassisted. The Cumberlandian had done an admirable job removing the arrow, cleaning the wound, dressing it with honey, and stitching it closed, but one night’s rest was hardly enough.

  “If you can get me on the horse, I can ride,” Kieran shot back.

  The man could be a stubborn ass. “Fine,” said Degarius. He’d spoken his concern. If Kieran insisted on riding, it was his pain to bear. At least they’d be in Sarapost all the sooner. Degarius helped boost him and settle in the saddle.

  Miss Nazar, who’d been rummaging in her pack, was heading back toward the house. Why was she going back? They’d said good-bye and thanks. What was that blue thing dangling from her coat?

  He followed, but stopped in the doorway. She didn’t see him. Her back was to him as she opened her coat and slipped out the blue nightgown.

  “I want you to have this,” she said to the woman. “It’s never been worn. Your husband will like it.”

  The Cumberlandian held it out by the shoulders. “My husband doesn’t need any encouragement.”

  Both laughed bashfully.

  “It’s too beautiful. I can’t accept it. It’s too generous,” the woman said with an accepting grin.

  “No, not generous at all,” Miss Nazar said. “I’ll never wear it.”

  The grin fell from the woman’s face.

  Miss Nazar went on, “I sleep on the ground. It’s cold. This isn’t practical for me.”

  “But you’re going home.”

  “Please just take it,” Miss Nazar said.

  The Cumberlandian woman clutched the nightgown to her, and then looked past Miss Nazar to him. Her expression asked a question, but what it was, he couldn’t guess. The nightgown was Miss Nazar’s to do with what she pleased.

  “Good luck with the baby,” Miss Nazar said. “I hope it’s easy for you.”

  Clutching the nightgown, the woman threw her arms around Miss Nazar, pressing her belly to her. She whispered in Miss Nazar’s ear, who nodded in return and said, “Yes, I promise.”

  When Miss Nazar turned to leave and saw him in the doorway, her pleased look went stony. She swept past without a word.

  Degarius closed the door behind them. What was the sour look for? He hadn’t told her to give the gown away. “I gave them two crowns. That was enough payment.”

  She suddenly went as hot-faced as a kettle at boil. “It was a gift. A gift,” she said as if he didn’t understand the meaning of the word. “What is the word in Gherian?”

  What the hell? What had his pin been? “I gave you my medal.”

  “To absolve your conscience—both times.” She hooked a foot in the stirrup. “That’s not a gift.”

  He chewed his lip. “And the scroll for you to mourn the governor? I spent a fortune on it.”

  Her foot dropped from the stirrup to the ground. She crossed her arms over the saddle and buried her face in them. So, this woman thought she could fight The Scyon when she couldn’t even keep dry eyes over the truth.

  She wasn’t going anywhere past Ferne Clyffe.

  “Maker help you both,” Kieran said and rode between them.

  Four days later, north Cumberland

  Kieran groaned. The low, throaty rattle set Degarius’s teeth on edge each time he heard it. Kieran’s thigh heale
d well at first. Then, on the third day, it began to weep copiously and slough gray tissue. Degarius cleaned the wound as best he could, Miss Nazar dressed it, and they’d kept riding. They were, perhaps, only two days from Ferne Clyffe. But yesterday Kieran woke clammy and feverish. By noon, he couldn’t sit in the saddle. Degarius had rigged a travois to Kieran’s horse’s stirrups and towed him since.

  Kieran moaned again and muttered for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon, “I’ll never see the Maker. I killed two men.”

  “Let’s stop for lunch and give him another dose of birch bark powder,” Degarius said to Miss Nazar. He spotted a small path off the main one. It led to a meadow of brown grass.

  They dismounted and each unlashed a pole from a stirrup and eased the travois to the ground. She opened the apothecary box. “There’s only one dose left.”

  “Give it to him.”

  “The Passage Prayer. Say it for me Hera. Where are you, Hera?”

  She froze, the vial in one had, its cork in the other. Kieran’s calling her hera hadn’t escaped her.

  “I’m here, Heran Kieran.” She mixed the powder in a small draught of water, sat on her heels beside the monk, and held the cup to his lips.

  Kieran managed a feeble sip then started muttering again. “Pray the Passage Prayer for me, Hera, before it’s too late.”