Pathways

by Mercedes Lackey

  “You have to go!” he whispered. “Run as fast as you can. Before they get here. Your border’s not far. Just head north.”

  The mare leaned down and delicately lipped at his hair. Spot pressed himself against Kip’s side and purred.

  And then it was too late.

  Horses and Voices and Sunsguard men in armor, carrying lanterns and torches, poured over the side of the arroyo. “There!” someone shouted.

  The mare somehow melted into the shadows of the thorn thicket, but Kip wasn’t fast enough. He got to his feet to run, but a soldier slid from his horse and grabbed him roughly by the upper arm. Spot hissed and spit and showed his teeth, but the soldier just kicked the cat out of the way.

  “Holiness,” the soldier called. “I’ve found the boy.”

  The horse carrying the red-robed Voice detached itself from the crowd and strode toward the soldier and Kip. The soldier shoved Kip to his knees. “Kneel before your betters,” the man said, twisting his arm hard.

  Kip didn’t dare look up, but after a moment, the heavily embroidered hem of a fine red robe came into his line of vision.

  “The boy had this, Holiness,” the soldier said. “Numbweed.”

  “So.” Red-Robe’s voice was oily and cold. Thick, beringed fingers reached down and plucked something from Kip’s tunic. “And what’s this? White hair, eh? The Fires of Cleansing will burn bright this Equinox.”

  Kip closed his eyes tightly and felt his guts turn to water. Better that they should just kill him now!

  “The Demon seems to be gone, Holiness,” another voice said from somewhere outside the circle of torchlight.

  “No,” Red-Robe said. “We’d have seen her run. These White Demons are as sly as any man. But no matter. This should draw her out.”

  And Red-Robe began to sing. The words were in no language Kip had ever heard, but the sound made his skin crawl with a sense of utter wrongness.

  With strength he didn’t know he had, Kip wrenched his arm out of the soldier’s grasp and lurched to his feet. He threw himself between Red-Robe and the thorn thicket.

  “Portia,” he screamed, “RUN!” He didn’t stop to wonder how he knew the White Demon’s name.

  Everything seemed to happen at once.

  Something heavy and impossibly sharp struck him square in the chest, knocking him to the ground, and Kip felt something inside him give way in a burst of incandescent pain. He struggled for a breath he could not draw. A horse whinnied. Someone screamed.

  Then there was the sound of bells and hoofbeats that rang like a hammer on hot metal. And over it all, the deep angry yowling of a furious cat.

  And then the smell of ozone and a flash of light, brighter than high noon at midsummer, and a crack so loud it was as though the sky itself had been rent open!

  After that, Kip of Sunswatch knew nothing more.

  • • •

  When Kip opened his eyes again, the sky was streaked pink with dawn. He was lying on his back at the bottom of the arroyo. A sharp rock pressed painfully against his left shoulder, and chilly dew covered his entire body. A warm, furry, purring mass was curled beside his right ear.

  With shaking hands, Kip reached up and touched his breastbone. His tunic was torn and stiff with blood, but the skin beneath it was whole.

  :That was well done, lad. Very well done indeed. If I still had hands, I’d applaud.:

  “I’m not dead,” Kip breathed, staring up at the thorn branches that crisscrossed the brightening sky.

  :Not anymore, no.: The warm baritone voice in his mind was rich with amusement. :I’m very much afraid you’re going to need a new tunic, though.:

  It was just about then that Kip realized the voice he was hearing was coming from . . . the cat. He sat up, then stared. Because the creature unfolding itself beside him was easily the size of a large dog, and it was covered in a luxurious coat of cream-colored fur, save for a mask, tail, and paws the color of flame. And yet the creature was somehow also unmistakably . . . Spot.

  “I—I—” Kip stammered. “You . . . you’re a . . .”

  :Yes,: the Firecat agreed. :I am.: He sounded rather smug. :There is a true Child of Vkandis coming to the Sun Throne. She will have need of those, like you, who can See truly.:

  Memory came rushing back. “Portia!”

  :Oh, I’d imagine Companion Portia is safe and sound in Valdemar by now, no doubt being fussed over by an entire bevy of Heralds and Healers. And those Voices have gone home with plenty to talk about, at least the two who are left. Imagine, a Red-Robed Voice of Vkandis, struck down by a bolt of lightning out of a perfectly clear night sky. Ha! I’d like to see them try to deny that Vkandis is on the move now. Bloody old fools.:

  Kip clambered stiffly to his feet. “And I bet they’ll think twice before they go hunting any more White Demons.”

  :That’s the spirit, lad. Now come along. It’s a long way to Sunhame, and we’ve got a lot of trouble to make there, you and I, before the One Who Is To Come can stretch out her hand and say, ‘In Vkandis’ name.’:

  The Firecat trotted off with a jaunty flick of his tail, but Kip hesitated.

  “Um . . . sir? Master Firecat? What’m I supposed to call you now? ‘Spot’ seems awfully . . . undignified.”

  Kip could have sworn the Firecat smiled at him. :Oh, lad, the day is coming when all of Karse will know who I am, but that day isn’t yet. ‘Spot’ will do just fine for now. I find, somewhat to my embarrassment, that I’ve grown rather fond of the name. Now, are you coming or not?:

  Five days and what seemed like a thousand years ago, Kip had knelt in the smith’s Sun Shrine, and prayed for Vkandis Sunlord to show him what it was he was supposed to be doing. Now, he couldn’t help smiling. Ma always did say a body ought to be careful what they prayed for. She wasn’t kidding.

  And according to Spot, somewhere out there there was an even greater purpose waiting for one orphan boy from Sunswatch. Though hopefully they’d find him some new clothes before they got on with the whole ‘greater purpose’ business. Kip squared his shoulders, straightened what was left of his tunic, and fell in step beside the Firecat.

  Cloud and Sparrow

  Michele Lang

  Hidden by night, Sparrow met her heartmate in the plane of dreams, and together they flew. It had been far too long. She held Cloudbrother’s hand, and they rode the astral breeze that blew lightly and steadily over them.

  “After Tis was born and you were in Haven with Abilard,” she said, “I couldn’t dreamcast to save my life. I couldn’t find you up here because I couldn’t get up here at all, not without your help. I started out at ground level, and now that I am a mother, it’s as though I’ve grown deep taproots. I didn’t think the air would receive me anymore.”

  She kept her voice light, but both of them knew serious trouble was afoot. Sparrow had just emerged from a terribly crowded moment in her life. Within a short span—only six months or so—she had lost her beloved father, Hari, been separated from her heartmate, and given birth to her son, Thistle.

  Flying with Cloudbrother now comforted her tremendously. It reminded Sparrow of who she really was at the core, in the center of her being, beyond the reach of the external circumstances that always changed. It was like hearing her heartbeat, sure and steady, pulsing underneath the noise and chaos that rose and passed away on the surface of her life.

  But this comfort did not erase the elemental fact . . . their flight now was meant to establish their next moves in a larger battle. Normal was still gone, flown away over the horizon.

  Cloudbrother’s hand tightened over her own, and he pulled her closer to him and tucked her under his arm. Her heartmate interrupted her unsettled thoughts with a low chuckle.

  “You are named Sparrow for a reason, you know,” Cloudbrother replied, his voice easy. “You were meant to fly here, and even the mightiest cedar tree w
aves its branches in the sky. You have the benefit of both places, and nobody else I know can really say that. Most people are like me, of one realm or another.”

  A childhood fever had robbed Cloudbrother of his sight, and subjected him to bouts of disconnection from the earth. Sometimes Sparrow marveled that he ever had the strength to leave the clouds and return to earth, blind and distant.

  A shadow passed over his face and away. The shadow leaped to Sparrow, and tension shot through her body like a bolt of heat lightning. “What is it, my love?” Sparrow asked.

  His voice remained calm, but Cloudbrother’s expression was wary, now, confirming her own train of thought. “The entity I seek is of the air, and of the earth as well. At the Council, we tried to find the answer to what I’m hunting, and the closest we could get was that it may well be that only water can stop him.”

  Cloudbrother had returned from Haven only a few weeks ago, just in time to help save Sparrow from a grim invader of the Vale itself. They both knew he had been called to Haven for momentous business indeed, but it was clear that the danger was close to home.

  “The many attacks on us, in Longfall and even within the safety of k’Valdemar Vale—Sparrow, we have to stop them. You and I, the locals. We grew up here in the North. The Council at Haven believes that only we northerners will find a way to stop these attacks. Because of our connection to the land.”

  “But how?” Sparrow asked. “I’m not a Mage, and while I helped you earn your Whites, I am not a Healer, only your love. I will do anything I can to help you, but how is this my quest as well as yours?”

  “I need your help, Sparrow,” Cloudbrother said, his voice quiet. “I don’t think I’d ever have made it through the Collegium without you by my side. The only way I can complete my mission now is with you, as always.”

  “But everything’s changed now . . . what about Tis?”

  Cloudbrother’s intent expression didn’t change. “Tis will either have to ride with us, or . . .”

  The implications sank into her slowly, like a slice from a blade. Tis. Their baby. He was not even three months born, and Cloudbrother wanted—no, needed—her to ride away with him. The safety of the Vale, the northern reaches of Valdemar, all were threatened by the pattern of strange attacks. Tis was in danger, too.

  Sparrow couldn’t bear to leave the rest of Cloudbrother’s sentence unspoken. “You’re saying I will have to leave him.” She spat the words out like poison.

  Cloudbrother sighed, knowing how much the truth hurt her but honoring her strength by delivering it undiluted.

  “This is the thing, my love,” he said. “You and I have been having trouble on and off for years, since the day Abilard and I found you in the Forest of Sorrows. Three times over we have been assailed by foul Adepts, Change-Wizards that seek to destroy k’Valdemar Vale. And Valdemar too.”

  Sparrow gulped, then shared her deepest fear. “It’s me, isn’t it?” she whispered. “Something about me—my weakness, my smallness. They see me as a portal into greatness since because of you I travel among the brightest stars of Valdemar.”

  Cloudbrother drew her close and protected her within an all-encompassing embrace, one that wrapped her pain and fear in a warm mantle of complete acceptance and love.

  “No, it’s not you, my darling,” he said, his voice hoarse now. “The Council saw to that. We did as much as we could to isolate the source. It’s me. I am the draw, and it is because of who I am. What happened to me.”

  Their progress over the tops of the clouds halted, and together they hovered in the clear starlight. His words vibrated painfully in her chest. Sparrow hugged him back, tried to send the protective warmth back to him even though her magic, such as it was, did not manifest on this plane.

  “It can’t be, Brock Cloudbrother. There is no one like you—Healer, Herald, or Queen—in all of Valdemar. I’ve always said your blindness is a strength, not weakness. You can see patterns from the sky, patterns of magic and behavior, that we all miss on the ground. How could someone so strong prove to be a liability?”

  Cloudbrother kissed her gently, and Sparrow melted into that connection, grateful to express her love for him in a language beyond words, beyond conscious thought. Together they floated, connected through their heartbeats in a place beyond ordinary time. A place where Sparrow had always felt supremely safe and protected.

  :Strength is weakness, and weakness strength,: Cloudbrother whispered into her mind. :My strength, the power that got me through my Herald training, the aspects that convinced Abilard to Choose me, this is where the danger lies. I must go back to where the Cloudwalker clan first discovered me when I was a five-year-old kid who loved to find trouble. That is the place of entry. It is where the bad magic has been slipping in. It is chasing after me.:

  Their kiss faded away, and Sparrow pulled back to look into Cloudbrother’s beautiful, pitted face. “So tell me. Finally.”

  His gaze pierced her. “Tell you?” he asked.

  “What happened to you. When you disappeared from Longfall.”

  Cloudbrother’s jaw set, and his nostrils flared. The expression of a man going into battle.

  She gulped. “If we are going to hare off into the wilderness with a baby strapped to my back, we better both know what we are facing, right? I know it hurts to go back in your memory, but I need to know the truth.”

  A low wind began to blow, scudding off the surface of the pillowy clouds billowing below where they hovered together. Sparrow looked up, into the inky black, star-sprinkled sky.

  They were alone. They were still safe.

  Cloudbrother sighed, gave in.

  “I was sure a handful,” he began. “You did your best to help me stay out of trouble, but you could only do so much. We were only five years old, right? I remember the time I got you to jump out of the hayloft and onto the mule’s back.”

  The memory made Sparrow laugh. “That was a stupid thing to do. Old Farley was not amused . . . that was the shortest ride I ever took before he kicked me right off.”

  “I was always looking for the excitement, the rush of the unknown. And you were the only one who could ever keep my feet on the ground.”

  “I guess that was always our way. I used to worry that I was holding you back.”

  “Never. You were keeping me alive.”

  Sparrow laughed again. Up here, the touch of his skin against hers whispered like an updraft, soft and rising heat along the length of her arms, the curve of her back. He held her so surely, so deftly, that she knew nothing could hurt her here.

  He sighed, his smile fading. “The day I disappeared, I followed a dancing spirit in the woods. A wood maiden, maybe, or some kind of Change-Beast that disguised itself as a pretty wisp of mist. I fell into a terrible nightmare . . . tangled up in something I didn’t understand.”

  The thought of it almost stopped her heart; Brock led into such danger, at the edge of the familiar. It could have been her. It could have been any of the children in the village.

  Sparrow had to remind herself to breathe as her heartmate continued. “By the time the Cloudwalkers found me,” he said, “I was already deathly sick, my hair had already silvered. Only the wisest and bravest Adepts could rescue me . . . and one of them lost his life in the saving of mine. He was Silver Cloud, my father in the clan, and my family took me in. I owe them an everlasting debt.”

  She knew the bonds she and her heartmate shared with the Cloudwalkers went deeper than blood, and she understood that Brock saw his current mission as part of the debt he owed to his adoptive family.

  It didn’t change the truth of what she had to do.

  “I . . . can’t go,” she whispered. “I can’t risk . . . whatever snatched you . . . grabbing Tis. It’s too much. I can’t sacrifice my baby, not even to save Valdemar.”

  He sighed. “But this is my charge. At Haven, it became clear that
I was the right Herald to follow this to the end. Not the most renowned, not the most powerful. But I was born to see this through. And I am afraid that without you, I will fail.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Sparrow whispered past the lump in her throat. “But I can’t risk Tis. And there is nobody else to take him.” Rork, her best friend and the kindest and bravest of all the hertasi folk in the Vale, still could not serve as Tis’s mother. And her own parents were gone.

  “The Healers would take him.”

  “I couldn’t bear to leave him, my love. I’d be useless to you.”

  The silence hung heavy between them, but there was no foreboding or anger in it. He was too great-hearted to try to force her to change her stance, because he felt the need to protect Thistle as keenly as she did.

  The weight of all their obligations pulled on Sparrow’s ankle like an anvil on a chain, and she began to slip out of her heartmate’s grasp, back down into the world of cares below. The falling sensation made her stomach clench.

  “Hey, now!” Cloudbrother said, such a note of command in his voice that her fears and worries scurried back down to earth. “You stay with me. I will help you!”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and held on, knowing he would protect her, and Thistle too, with his last breath. She hoped with all her heart that it would not come to that.

  • • •

  They both awoke in their narrow bed, no closer to the solution to their dilemma.

  Sparrow rose up on one elbow in the darkness of their little ekele, squinting into the silvery, moonlit shadows to see Thistle, sleeping like the mellow little Adept he was, tucked into his cradle alongside them. She wanted to trail her fingers down his round little cheek, but she didn’t dare wake him.

  “He’s good,” she whispered to Cloudbrother.

  :Yes he is,: Cloudbrother whispered back into her mind, his Mindspeech resonant as a bell sounding on a mountainside at dawn. :He’s perfect. And so are you.: