She turned to face the river, feeling it catch the trading barge in its grip as the crew cast off. The wooded bank opposite retreated behind them. Her throat knotted as they floated away from her home, her life as a tark.
“Bright morning.” Kebonsat settled in beside her, forearms on the railing. He had tanned, callused hands with long fingers and a sprinkling of dark hair. He stared at the water. “What news of my sister?” he asked urgently, his hands curling into fists.
~Saljane.
~Ahalad-kaaslane.
~What chances?
The bird swept her away. She gripped the railing, closing her eyes against the doubled vision. Saljane remained in the tree. Below, the kidnappers broke camp. One prodded Ceriba to mount. She fought him, jerking out of his hands. He grappled her and shoved her to the ground. She kicked out but he dodged and his boot thudded into her ribs. Reisil cried out in shock. Another man approached and pulled the first one away, lofting Ceriba into the saddle like a sack of onions. He tied her hands and feet, though she listed to the side, obviously in great pain.
The forest floor was so gloomy that Reisil couldn’t make out more than blurry gray patches for faces, hard as she tried to pick them out. Without warning, Saljane leaped from her perch with a stomachchurning lurch and Reisil retched over the rail. Saljane glided between the boles, coming to a rest on the opposite edge of the clearing. Now Reisil could see better and hear. Ceriba’s captors were mostly silent and the morning stillness was broken only by Ceriba’s sobs, the sounds of jingling bridles and the snorting and sneezing of the horses. Her six captors mounted, leading Ceriba toward Saljane’s perch.
Reisil did not recognize the first man. He was middle-aged, with a hard-bitten face. A scar twisted from his left eye up into his hairline. Behind him . . . Reisil knew him, though not by name. Only a handful of years older than she, he was a journeyman wheelwright from Kallas. He was also the man who’d kicked Ceriba. Behind him came a stranger leading Ceriba’s horse, then Ceriba. The next man had a thick paunch, red cheeks and steel-gray hair. Reisil didn’t see who came after. Saljane skipped past to the last, snapping her beak. A black pit gaped in Reisil’s chest and she willed it not to be.
But it was.
Kaval.
Chapter 7
Reisil gave a sharp cry and staggered back from the railing, fist pressed to her lips. The connection with Saljane ruptured as her mind ricocheted from Kaval’s treachery. What has he done? Bile crawled up onto her tongue and she swallowed it down, feeling hands grasping her.
“What’s happened?” demanded Upsakes, and Reisil heard venom threading his voice. Justified, she thought. Because she refused the Lady’s gift.
She opened her mouth, not knowing what to say. Upsakes held one arm while Kebonsat steadied her with the other. The two men glared at each other and Reisil could feel their animosity like heat from tall-burning flames. She forced herself to give a dry chuckle, a sound that tore at her constricted throat.
“It’s nothing, Upsakes. I should not bond with Saljane when she’s flying and I am rocking on a boat. Makes me green.”
She felt Kebonsat’s fingers tightening on her elbow and she glared at him meaningfully, not wanting to reveal what she’d seen to Upsakes. Kebonsat was the only one she could really trust. He loved his sister and could not be involved in her kidnapping. The others—She bit her tongue, tasting blood. If Kaval could have done it, then any one of them could have too.
Much to her relief, Kebonsat did not challenge her story. He merely helped settle her onto the deck, offering her a flask of water, which she gulped.
“Proper training would benefit you,” Upsakes declared, standing above her. The sun blazed brilliantly behind him and she could not see his face in the shadow. “One does not learn to be ahalad-kaaslane overnight.”
Heat flooded Reisil’s cheeks and she bent her head down. Overnight. If she’d accepted Saljane from the first, she’d have had two weeks to acquaint herself with being ahalad-kaaslane. If she hadn’t fought her fate, would she have such debilitating reactions to Saljane’s flights?
“At least she found my sister instead of wasting time on a useless search,” Kebonsat retorted.
“Yes. We are grateful that she did that much,” Upsakes said, stroking his weirmart’s head. “As the only ahalad-kaaslane in Kallas with a bird companion, it was lucky she decided to help.”
Reisil cringed from the acid in his voice. Upsakes waited another moment, then retreated back along the deck to where Juhrnus watched with a sneer. Kebonsat crouched down beside her. The sun was growing hot and sweat dampened her tunic. She pulled off her cloak, letting it puddle around her hips.
“What does he mean, lucky you decided to help?”
Reisil licked her lips, avoiding Kebonsat’s brooding stare, trying to decide what to tell him. Somehow she didn’t want him to know how much of a coward she had been—continued to be, she thought, scornful of herself. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to be home, tending her raspberries, pulling weeds out of her carrots and stewing pungent magga root against winter need. Not here, with these grim-faced men with blood in their eyes and hate on their tongues.
“He thinks that I was hiding being ahalad-kaaslane,” she said finally in a tissue-thin voice.
“Hiding? Why? To aid in the kidnapping?”
Reisil stiffened, meeting the sudden cruelty in his voice with shocked horror.
“No! Never! Any brute who would do such a thing—” She broke off, remembering Kaval.
“What?” prodded Kebonsat, suspicion still coloring his voice.
Reisil swallowed. What had Nurema and Leidiik told her? Patriotism. Kaval thought of himself as a patriot. Her throat burned. He might call it that. But he had stolen an innocent girl from her family, bloodied and bruised her, maybe even planned to kill her, if Leidiik was right. That wasn’t patriotism, wasn’t love for Kodu Riik. That was not justifiable. Not forgivable. So why did her mind and heart keep crying out for him to hold her, to smile that lopsided grin and reassure her that everything was all right, that he hadn’t really done it, that there was a reasonable explanation?
She remembered his reaction when she told him of the treaty and felt a tearing grief building in her chest. She caught her breath against the pain. This must be akin to what Kebonsat feels, she thought. She gripped his hand, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I am so sorry. He’s right. If I’d accepted Saljane, if I hadn’t fought so hard not to be ahalad-kaaslane, I would have been able to help sooner.”
Kebonsat looked startled, his strong, callused hand clenching on hers.
“I don’t understand.”
Reisil’s breath jerked in her chest and she pressed her other hand to her lips and closed her eyes. Finally she pulled it away and gave Kebonsat an unsteady smile. She glanced past Kebonsat and saw Upsakes glowering at them. She dropped his hand. “Now isn’t really a good time to talk about it. I do have to talk to you, but—” She broke off.
“But?”
“You love Ceriba. I know you wouldn’t have done this to her.”
Kebonsat’s eyes turned flat black and Reisil heard his teeth grind together.
“What are you saying?”
Reisil licked her lips. “Just that I am sure you didn’t have anything to do with this.”
“And you think someone here might have?” Rage kindled in his expression.
“I’m new to being ahalad-kaaslane. And I don’t understand much about what I am supposed to be,” she said. “And neither do I know much about intrigue or politics. I am just a tark.” Her voice cracked. She swallowed. “But even so, I can’t believe the men in the forest are working alone. Not that you can trust me.” She thought about Leidiik’s words to her and found them on her tongue. “I know what I’ve been up to, but you don’t. I could always be lying.”
Something that she could only call fear rippled over his face and was gone. Somewhere, men were taking his sister farther away.
“I
’m sorry,” she said. “I should have told you she was all right. Though she keeps fighting back and they don’t like it.”
Kebonsat’s face went red, then white, and he swore low, bitter, sharp-edged curses.
“She’s never had the sense to know when to be still,” he said.
“She’s brave,” Reisil replied. “I wish I had such courage.”
“I wish she had less.”
“No, you don’t. She must know you’ll come for her, and she’ll start planning for it. She’ll stop antagonizing them and start making a strategy.” Reisil spoke confidently, sure of Ceriba. She hardly knew the other woman, but tarks were taught to read people, to know them.
So why didn’t you know about Kaval? a niggling voice accused her. She remembered what Leidiik had said: That’s the reason why the ahalad-kaaslane don’t get to call any place home. Can’t afford to get too attached to anyone. Had her feelings for Kaval so colored her judgment that she could not see the traitor lurking within?
“Your pardon, but may I speak to Reisil a moment?”
Despite his pinched, hungry appearance, Sodur wore an expression of quiet comfort, and Reisil found herself nodding. Kebonsat rose and returned to the company of Glevs and the other Patversemese man.
Sodur sat cross-legged beside Reisil, turning to watch the flow of the water, his lynx curling up with his square head on his ahalad-kaaslane’s knee, tufted ears swiveling. A low purr rumbled from deep in his silvery belly.
“Bright morning,” Sodur said, wiping the drip from his nose with a dirty handkerchief. Reisil returned the greeting, unable to read much from his profile.
“You pose something of a problem on this journey,” he began without preamble. “We will depend on you to be our guide, but you have not had any training, and the bond with your ahalad-kaaslane is weak yet—I suspect even damaged.” He paused and Reisil swallowed heavily. He stroked the lynx’s ears and the purr intensified. “Such a crisis is not the best way to solidify the ahalad-kaaslane connection. How does your Saljane respond to you?”
“I don’t know,” Reisil mumbled. “How is she supposed to?”
Sodur chuckled and patted her leg, speaking in his quiet, kind way. “Indeed. Most ahalad-kaaslane animals live as long as their human counterparts. I’ve heard of rare occasions when the animal dies, the Blessed Lady sends another in its place. But most often not. I could not imagine losing my Lume. I would not survive his loss, I think. If I did, I would not wish a replacement. But that is not of importance now. I have no experience with any but Lume. I cannot tell you how Saljane is supposed to respond. Do you think it is a good bond?”
“I didn’t want it,” Reisil confessed, needing to explain herself to someone. Sodur’s calm, companionable voice warmed her and she felt herself wanting to open up to him. “I told her to go away. More than once. Told her to choose someone else. I am—I was—a tark. She was angry.”>
Sodur nodded. “She seemed so, hanging about Kallas. It was confusing.”
“Then the kidnapping happened and I didn’t have any choice anymore. Maybe I never did.”
“When the Lady chooses us, everything else disappears,” he said. “No matter how much we resist.”
Reisil looked at him, surprised, and he chuckled again.
“Oh, no. You are not the first to try to escape the Blessed Lady’s net. Nor will you be the last. The life of the ahalad-kaaslane is difficult, the road narrow and steep, with few opportunities to rest. Though the bards’ tales and songs glorify us, a wise person sees past the stories to the difficult reality. Unfortunately, the road is made more difficult by resistance. Under ordinary circumstances, we would have prepared you for Randaja—the spirit journey to the Vale of the Blessed Lady. She would have spoken to you and helped you understand Her purpose for you. But now, even if we had time, it’s no longer possible. Before She will see you now, you must prove yourself worthy, committed.” He smiled, a bittersweet smile, his attention turned inward as if he remembered something.
“Until then, you must fumble your way with Saljane on your own.” He patted her leg again and stood. Lume sat up with a groan and a yawn, pink tongue curling. “When the god Vaprus first gave Senjoor fire, Senjoor found the gift precious and dangerous. He held in his hands the means to save countless lives in that dreadful, unending winter, or kill many more. In the end he died by fire, though it saved his people. I don’t think he ever regretted the gift, however much it cost him personally.”
“I could do a lot of good as a tark,” Reisil said rebelliously.
“You could. You will do a great deal of good as ahalad-kaaslane. Your tark training will not go to waste.”
Reisil leaned back and stared up at the blue sky, hearing Sodur’s steps fading along the deck. The river smelled of fish and weeping willows. The sound of waves lapping at the hull lulled her and the sun warmed her face.
~Saljane?
~Ahalad-kaaslane.
Again that knife-blade edge to their contact. Reisil hesitated.
~How fares Ceriba? she asked finally.
~They ride.
No pictures, nothing.
Reisil hesitated again and she could feel Saljane’s impatience.
~How fare you?
Silence. Reisil waited, but there was no reply. She pushed again.
~Do you . . . do you remember my name?
~Ahalad-kaaslane.
Was that reproach?
~No, my name.
Silence. Then, ~Ahalad-kaaslane.
Flat. Denial.
Did that mean Saljane would not use her name? Was she reminding her of their bond and Reisil’s repudiation of it? Reisil blinked at the sky, feeling a stone growing in her chest. There was a closeness between Upsakes and his weirmart, Sodur and Lume, even Juhrnus and his sisalik. An aura of love and sharing. Would that ever happen with Saljane? Or had she destroyed it?
The river flowed and Reisil’s head pounded. She dozed, her dreams filled with images of Kaval and Saljane. Of Ceriba, on the ground, being kicked. Only this time Kaval kicked her and Saljane screamed and screamed.
She woke with a jerk, rubbing her gritty eyes, her mouth dry and tasting of copper. Her stomach grumbled and she fumbled in the pocket of her cloak for a plum. It had been squashed, but tasted sunny and sweet. The juice ran down her chin and she caught it on her fingers, licking them clean.
She became aware that the boat was no longer moving along the river, but swung in a half circle, so that the prow was facing upstream. She stood and saw Voli with her companions clustered around him. She approached, hanging back at the edge to hear.
“Most times,” Voli was saying, “they sort themselves out in a few days. Water’s high and the current’s fast. Breaks ’em apart. Can’t hold. Or folks from downriver come and tear ’em loose, get them going again.”
“We don’t have a few days,” Upsakes declared, his blocky forehead shiny.
Voli shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing else to do. Tie up to the bank so’s we don’t get bashed against the jam and wait. Can’t port around, not enough of us and too many trees. Wouldn’t get through.” Several of his crew nodded vigorously.
Reisil looked out onto the river and saw what it was they were talking about. A tangle of logs blocked their passage on the river. Constructed mostly from cut logs with the limbs stripped off, mixed with a few snags—trees tumbled into the river from storm or weakened roots—the logjam formed an impassible barrier across the river.
“Be a storm in a day or so up in the mountains. Flood surge should wash it out. It won’t hold long,” Voli determined.
“How far to Priede?” Upsakes asked. “We’ll go ashore here and go by foot.”
Voli shook his head with a grimace. “Can’t. Closer to the Kodu Riik side; have to put the boat up there. No bridges or towns for leagues either. Right bank’s steep. Too dangerous to swim across even if you could get yourselves out—bad currents.”
“Then we’ll cross on the logjam itself. It looks sturdy
enough.”
Voli scratched his jaw. “Wouldn’t recommend it. Could go at any moment. Slippery too, and always shifting—end up bilged on your own anchor. Be as doomed as if Squire Ketch himself had aholt of you.”
Upsakes looked defeated and Kebonsat furious.
Reisil wondered if Voli’s excuses were true, or just a means to slow them down. Could he be working with the kidnappers? She looked at the logjam. It cracked and snapped together, rising up and down on the water like a breathing thing. She shivered. To get a hand or leg caught between any of them—Bones would be crushed. A four-foot-diameter log broke free and the current battered it back against the pile. One end caught and the water drove it under, flipping the other end high in the air. It held for a long moment, dripping, ponderous; then the sunken end was released. The log shot up into the air and fell whistling, splashing into the river and sending waves washing over Reisil’s feet.
Voli raised his hands. “See? Time of year for it. Have to wait.”
“They didn’t come down more than a day ahead of us. How did their boat get through?” Kebonsat demanded.
“Magic?” Juhrnus suggested.
Upsakes made a guttural sound, his eyes bulging, his hands reaching and straining as if he wanted to strangle something.
Before he could say anything, Voli spoke. “Could be. Likely not. Fact is, it happens. Loggers cut as fast as they can this time of year. Take advantage of the snowmelt. Drought will make more of these as the river drops. Less profit.”
He began giving orders to his crew, who poled the boat closer to the Kodu Riik bank. One crewman stood on the upstream rail and made a high, arcing dive into the water. He carried a line tied about his waist, and when he rose to the surface, already the current had swept him to the middle of the boat. He kicked hard, his powerful strokes drawing him to the bank. He jerked as the line caught him just before the jam. He was forced to swim upstream, following the span of the rope. At last he clambered up the rocky edge, deep panting breaths moving his ribs like bellows. He untied the rope around his waist and secured it to a tree. Thick welts circled his waist, following the grip of the rope, and blood ran down his legs and arms where he’d kicked and scraped against the rocks along the bank.
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