Reisil clenched her jaw, feeling dirt and grit grinding between her teeth. She wasn’t going to die easily, whatever Upsakes planned. She squirmed furiously, forcing herself up out of the water. She and Juhrnus lay together on a narrow edge above the eddying river shallows. Downstream they could hear the thundering bellow where the gorge narrowed and the river plunged madly through the notch in the rock.
She struggled against her bonds until pain forced her to rest. The dirt on her tongue was turning to mud and she swallowed some, then set up coughing behind her gag. She wanted to scream; she wanted to pound her hands and feet in the fury of frustration. But when the spell of coughing subsided, it was all she could do to catch her breath, and so she lay there pliantly against Juhrnus, the pain and fear swelling like a tide within her. Her heart pounded like galloping hooves over cobblestones. Reisil breathed deeply, closing her eyes against the moon-dappled darkness and forcing her body to quietness so that she could listen.
For a long while she heard nothing but the lapping of the river and Juhrnus’s faint keening. She dared not think about the cause of that grief.
Then faintly she heard the jangle of bridles and hoof sounds, then voices, questioning. A deep one—Sodur. And a lighter baritone—Kebonsat. Then Glevs with his voice like a sweet horn, and Upsakes’s rough bray.
Reisil tensed. She could make no noise that her friends could hear, though she would be ready if Sodur or Kebonsat should come close enough for her feeble grunts to signal warning.
Kebonsat’s voice grew louder and now she heard the sudden, sliding chime of a drawn sword. Glevs, placating, then a roar like a bull and the battle was met.
Reisil lay still as stone, her head raised as she sought to sort sound from sound. Metal clanged amongst threats and shouts, guttural words of hate and loathing and a silence—Sodur who said nothing.
She was so intent on the struggle above that when something touched her cheek in the darkness Reisil jerked and wrenched away, her throat filling with a scream that had no place to vent. Then the touch came again, a soft twitching nose, a stroking paw. Upsakes’s weirmart—Kasepu!
The little animal scuttled over Reisil and down her back to gnaw at the bindings on her arms. One by one they gave way.
At last the creature wriggled off to chew at Juhrnus’s bonds while Reisil rubbed ungainly, swollen fingers over her forearms, deeply indented from wrist to elbow by the tight leather. Fire ran in rivulets over her skin to her fingertips.
She realized then that she could remove her gag and she hooked at it with clawed fingers. Three times she grappled at the muddy cloth until her fingers hooked beneath it. She twisted it off, her fingers dumb and clumsy. She spat the mud from her mouth and wiped her lips on her sleeve.
Juhrnus sat up beside her and she let out a yelp of surprise. Then she reached over and tugged the gag from his head. He too spat and for a moment his keening stopped, then began again as he rubbed at his arms.
Above, the sounds of battle grew louder. There were shouts and a sudden crescendo of clanging swords, over and over again as the fighters pounded against one another.
Then silence.
Reisil didn’t wait. She yanked the bindings from her ankles and struggled up the embankment, sliding back down on the slippery mud and weeds, tearing her fingernails as she grappled at roots and branches.
Her breath rasped in her throat, her ribs aching from her stitches and Upsakes’s kick, making it difficult to get a lungful of air. Still she scrabbled upward, determined to stop Glevs and Upsakes, afraid of what she’d find. On her stomach she squirmed over the edge of the bank, face, arms and body slick with mud, her mouth a red snarl of animal rage.
Kebonsat braced his foot against Glevs’s chest and twisted his sword free. Sodur knelt on the ground beside Upsakes, tying his hands and feet. The clearing had been churned into mud as if a herd of cattle had stampeded through.
Reisil clambered to her feet, unseen by the two men. She staggered a few steps into the clearing, stopping when her foot bumped into something. She looked down.
“Reisiltark!”
Kebonsat spun around at Sodur’s shout and leaped across the clearing, catching her by the shoulders.
“Are you all right? Where’s Juhrnus?”
“I am well enough. He’s down there.” She pointed back to the bank without taking her eyes off the small body on the ground. She pulled herself from Kebonsat’s grasp and knelt beside Juhrnus’s sisalik. The lizard lay like a sodden rag, his slitted eyes open and staring. She stroked her fingers down his yellow-and-green-striped length.
“Is he—?”
“Dead? No. But close. Very close.” Reisil answered Sodur absently, her mind seeking down another path, seeking after an elusive memory, almost instinct.
Her fingers kept stroking.
She felt a faint tremor beneath her fingertips as the little beast drew breath. Then Juhrnus was there, his hands flat on the ground beside his ahalad-kaaslane, tears runneling through the dirt on his face.
“Wake up, Esper,” he begged through swollen lips, his breath rasping in his throat. “Please! Please! It’s too soon to leave me!”
Another time Reisil might have found some amusement in seeing Juhrnus the bully and her longtime tormentor on his hands and knees, tears and snot running together down his chin. Now, however, she felt only pity and the urge to help, to do something to save Esper, to retrieve something back from the abyss of loss drawing blackly from the center of her soul.
But without Saljane, she could do nothing.
A scream pierced the air and the whistle of speed as Saljane plummeted into the clearing, clutching furrows from the dirt as she landed.
Wondering joy suffused Reisil. Saljane was safe and here. She had flown blindly through the night for her. For her.
She looked again at Juhrnus and Esper and her heart twinged with hope.
~Saljane! I need you.
With another scream, Saljane launched herself at Reisil, landing heavily on her unprotected shoulder, the gauntlet having been stripped away by Upsakes before he’d trussed her up.
~Ahalad-kaaslane.
The steel-edged mindwords carried with them a wealth of relief mixed with the dregs of panic shot through with rage.
~Ahalad-kaaslane, Reisil returned, her own emotional welter matching Saljane’s. We have work to do. You must help me.
Saljane looked at Esper and the sobbing Juhrnus.
Then from Saljane came the image of the Lady’s talisman dangling around Reisil’s neck.
Reisil unlaced the throat of her shirt and pulled it free. Sometime in their journey it had ceased to lie cold against her skin.
Sodur made a sound and she glanced at him questioningly. He reached out a tentative hand, but did not touch the exquisitely detailed pendant.
“Where did you get that?” he asked in a reverent voice.
“It was a gift.”
He rubbed a hand over his cheeks and mouth.
“Aye, it would have to be, wouldn’t it.” He looked at her intently, as if to see past some barrier, as if to look at her for the first time.
Reisil waited for him to say more, but when he didn’t, she turned back to the task at hand.
~What do I do?
~Blood calls to blood. You are the Lady’s children.
Reisil licked her lips, scowling at the talisman. She glanced back at Saljane and nodded, understanding coming to her.
“May I have your knife?” she asked, holding her hand out to Kebonsat. He hesitated, then put his belt knife in her hand, hilt first.
Reisil looked at the silver moonlight playing over the blade. She knew what to do, as if she’d known all along, as if the knowledge had lain dormant for just this moment.
“Blood calls to blood,” she said aloud, and reached her hand to Sodur, who extended his without comment. She drew the blade across his thumb until the blood flowed easily. She then held the pendant out to him and he let his blood flow over the metal. For a moment hea
t flared and it glowed like a coal. Reisil nodded as if her expecations were correct and turned to Juhrnus, repeating the process, though he hardly noticed, still whispering frantic encouragement to Esper.
Finally Reisil drew the blade across her own thumb, first rubbing the dirt away on her trouser leg. She drove the blade hilt-deep into the ground before her, then dripped her blood onto the hot metal. As she did, the amulet flared like a sun, filling the clearing with blinding, brilliant light.
~Help me, Saljane!
She felt her ahalad-kaaslane’s mind join with hers, melding together, then thrusting outward on fiery wings, flying, flying, seeking.
~Hear me, Blessed Lady! I have need. I plead your aid for one of Your own, who will certainly die too young. Help him!
Reisil sent her prayer arrowing out before her as she and Saljane soared together into that grayness between worlds, between the death of night and the birth of day, between the real and the imaginary, between fact and fancy, between knowing and faith.
What time passed, Reisil could not say. Doggedly she repeated her prayer until the words lost meaning, burned away by the fury of her need. Saljane supported her like the bones of the earth and Reisil cast herself farther and farther. The tark in her was willing to let her body go altogether and let her spirit fly free, untethered, unanchored.
“Such is not necessary, child.” The honey-pepper voice streaked through Reisil like ice and fire together. She felt it resonate through her so that her spirit trembled like a plucked bowstring. The world suddenly seemed to spin and distort and she felt herself tumbling like a dandelion seed caught in a whirlwind. Before panic could overwhelm her, she came to an abrupt halt. Dazedly she stared about, goggling.
They were in a glade—she and Saljane, Juhrnus and Esper, Sodur and Lume. She knelt on a bed of grass lush as emeralds, thick as a bear fur rug, each blade appearing to have been cut to a height by fairy hands. Around the edges of the glade moonlight and sunbeams twined together in columns of heart-swelling beauty. Wisteria and honeysuckle clung to the columns. Birds trilled and bees swarmed over the sweet-smelling flowers. Between two of the columns a figure moved and stepped into the glade. The Blessed Lady.
Reisil stared, mouth open. The Lady appeared much as She had in Saljane’s vision. Her honey-blond hair fell to Her feet, bound around by leaves and flowers, Her silver oak-leaf circlet crowning Her brow. She had a martial appearance, more like a warrior than a mother, more like death than life. She waited for Reisil to collect herself, watching with unworldly eyes. They were a solid green from corner to corner, though not a constant green. They smoldered with shifting colors—now the red-gold of autumn maples, now the purple of flowering vetch, now the blue of a mountain tarn under a clear sky. She tilted Her head, a smile curving Her red lips.
“You have called for my aid, daughter. Ask your boon.”
Reisil felt herself stiffen as a welter of emotions washed over her. Fury, foremost—at Upsakes, at her sense of helplessness as Esper’s life slipped away, at her satisfaction, even pleasure, in seeing Kebonsat twist his sword from Glevs’s gut, at the Lady for making her into a being with such divided instincts, to kill and to save. Then loss and fear, uncertain hope and running through it all, the singing joy of having Saljane.
She laid her hand on Esper, his ribs shuddering beneath her touch, his skin dry and hot. The sisalik was nearing the end of his life, laboring fiercely for every fevered breath. His eyes were fixed on Juhrnus now, the two lost in a communion beyond any comprehension, deeper than love, deeper than the blood ties of family.
Reisil felt herself swaying on the edge of the black abyss at the center of her soul.
“I ask your aid in saving the life of this ahaladkaaslane, ” she said, her voice uninflected, as if all the color and emotion had washed away to drip into that abyss, to vanish forever, with every other thing lost.
“Why?”
Reisil paused, feeling a lump in her throat. Yes, why? She looked at Sodur, but could read nothing on his face. It was as if he held his breath, waiting for something. Something from Reisil?
She felt Saljane’s hard beak against her cheek and reached up to stroke the short feathers along the top of her ahalad-kaaslane’s head.
“Because—” She stopped. What reason was good enough? Love? Loss? Hope? Fear? She looked into the Lady’s watching eyes, colors brightening and melding, then fading as new colors surged. Realization struck.
This was a test. A test of who she’d become and what she learned, as a tark and ahalad-kaaslane. Sodur had said she would not come before the Lady before she proved herself. Now she had forced her way, and must still prove herself.
“Because you can,” she answered finally, speaking clearly, quivering chin held high. She felt the truth of her words into the marrow of her bones, and her voice rang with it. “And you love life and you love Kodu Riik. When infection sets in, the tark tries to cure the body. Sometimes you must cut away pieces; sometimes the body dies for all you try to do. But the goal is still to make it healthy, to keep the people healthy. Kodu Riik is sick right now. Patverseme too. And Esper and Juhrnus are part of the cure. They’ll both die, if you will it, to serve Kodu Riik. But now Esper’s death is pointless. It doesn’t serve. And without them, we might not succeed.” We might not succeed with them. Reisil clamped down on that stray thought, hoping the Lady had not read it.
A slow smile broke across the Lady’s face and she nodded.
“You have learned well, child.” She stretched out one hand, holding it up for Reisil to see. She gasped. The Lady’s fingers were hooked like talons and the nails were shards of crystal limned with silver and gold. She rotated her hand that Reisil might see fully. For a moment Reisil didn’t understand; then she saw the patterns on the Lady’s skin—green like a field of hay, gold like ripe barley, red as autumn willows—patterns of leaves and vines appeared on the Lady’s white skin like translucent tattoos, shifting, changing, like wind over water.
“I am the land, I am its life and its protector. You are my children and I do not like to see you hurt. But sometimes the old bull elk makes food for the wolves; sometimes the young leopard starves for lack of hunting skills. These things happen, and must happen, for it is life and the balance must be maintained or there will be chaos and horror.”
Reisil froze, hearing in those words an implacable refusal. She looked at Esper and Reisil felt that abyss of loss opening wider, spinning like a whirlpool, tearing bits of her off and sucking them down into a void of nothingness. Her head bowed, heavy with a weight she could not bear.
“But you are right. This death serves no purpose.” Reisil took a breath, uncertain that she’d heard what she heard. She cast a wild look at the Lady, who still watched her, assessing. Then the Lady nodded and came to stand behind her, putting one clawed hand on her shoulder, soft as a falling snowflake, heavy as a mountain avalanche. Reisil felt Esper’s chest jerk beneath her fingers. Power filled her like a current of liquid sunlight. It traveled through every part of her, down to her fingers and toes, warming the frigid cold in her heart, spinning light into the abyss at the center of her soul. She drew deep, sobbing breaths, each one filled with light and joy.
Then the power ran down her arm and into Esper and she watched as the color flared bright in his hide and his eyes blinked with the glow of returning vitality. Inside, his broken back knitted, his burst veins reached out to one another and connected. His tail twitched and curled up around Juhrnus’s arm. Her childhood nemesis gave a shout of joy and tears pricked Reisil’s eyes.
“That’s enough.”
Reisil took her hand away, and watched in amazement as gold drops formed on her fingers and dripped over the emerald grass. Where they fell, flowers sprang up in a riot of color.
Suddenly Juhrnus and Sodur and their ahaladkaaslane began to ripple. They faded from sight. The Lady removed her hand and came around to face Reisil, who continued to kneel, awe written in every plane of her face.
“Thank you,�
�� she whispered, clutching her hands together.
The Blessed Lady smiled and brushed Her fingers over Reisil’s mud-caked hair.
“You have done well.”
“You are not angry at me? Because I refused Saljane for so long?”
“You, more than any other, understand what it means to be ahalad-kaaslane. Because you hold both of my gifts—tark and ahalad-kaaslane. You, more than any other, are a true ahalad-kaaslane. The first one of my children, Talis, was like you.”
She reached out and scraped a crystal talon over the pendant. “I made this for him. To accept both gifts is a difficult burden, requiring great strength and courage. The gift was offered and you have come to your choice with an open heart. Could I be angry at your care? To fulfill both is hardest of all. Wise are you in recognizing this. Luckily it is not often necessary to ask one of my children to take on such a task. Since Talis, there has been only one other who has worn both mantles.
“But now there is great need. Kodu Riik will not survive a continued war. The land will become barren and so will her people. I had hoped Upsakes would recognize this and aid in the peace. . . .” The Lady bent and picked up a small animal—Kasepu. The little weirmart shivered and clutched at the Lady, mewling and crying. Reisil recognized the sound. It was the same one Juhrnus had been making. A sound of profound grief and loss. Her heart ached for the poor animal. The Lady stroked the distraught weirmart, turning a sad face to Reisil.
“She has been betrayed, more than I. Upsakes lost his way. He became arrogant, thinking of the glory of Kodu Riik rather than its health and safety. This is why you are needed. He has corrupted many with words of alarm and promises of vengeance. Iisand Samir remains steadfast to me. He did not threaten Kallas. Those were lies to create dissent and support for Upsakes’s plan.”
She sighed, a strangely human and unexpected behavior. “You must stop this war. You must decide what flesh must be cut away, what cure must be wrought to save Kodu Riik. And you must see that it is done. It will not be easy. It will be bloody with a great deal of death. But if you fail, the cost will be far higher.”
Path of Fate Page 23