“For now, for a while,” Sodur answered, standing beside her and scratching Lume’s ears. “No little thanks to you.”
Reisil gave a sad smile. “Thanks to the Blessed Lady. Without her, I could do nothing.”
“Perhaps. But you proved yourself worthy of her trust, of her gifts. You did not fail her, or us. You were what Kodu Riik needed. So thanks go to you as well.” The ice in Reisil’s chest warmed with his words and impulsively she gripped his hand.
“Thank you for that.”
“Anytime. You are leaving now?”
“No reason to stay. I fear for the Mesilasema, but she will not let me help her, and Edelsat’s family is suffering greatly. If things are settled here—”
“They are, nor can you stay in the hopes of helping someone who won’t be helped. I too fear for her.” He shook his head. “But it is right that you should give aid to Edelsat’s family, and right that you should go now.” He looked around, seeing Edelsat standing a distance off, watching them uncertainly, his eyes like black wells in his pale, gaunt face. Sodur nodded at him and turned back to Reisil. “Come to us in Koduteel when you are able. There is much yet for you to learn, and many friends for you to meet.”
“I’ll do that. Give my farewells to . . . everybody.” Tears pricked Reisil’s eyes, for Kebonsat and Ceriba had gone away with the Karalis and Karaliene. She would have liked to speak once again to Kebonsat, to say . . . what? What could she say? She would see Ceriba again, she knew, in two weeks’ time. If Ceriba still wished to go to Elutark.
“Bright journey,” Sodur said as she gripped his hand again, and then she crossed to Edelsat.
Saljane tipped her beak to caress her ahaladkaaslane ’s cheek. Reisil wiped a trickle of tears away, feeling the warmth in her chest expand. She had Saljane, would always have Saljane.
Edelsat welcomed her with a tired, tight twist of his lips and led her away to find the remnants of his men, and to begin their journey back to Mekelsek Keep.
Chapter 19
Reisil finished rubbing down the dun gelding, smiling when he butted against her leg, demanding a scratch on his ears. She complied and he let out a groan of satisfaction. When her fingers were tired, she patted his forehead and went to build her fire.
It was early yet for her to stop, but the ride from Priede had been swift, and she wasn’t due to meet with Ceriba until the following morning. She liked this spot. From her vantage point on the bluff, she could see across the river to the pink walls of Kallas. Below it her former cottage nestled amidst the fruit trees rustling in the light breeze.
“It is pretty, isn’t it?” she said idly to Saljane, dangling her legs over the edge of the cliff. Green tangles of berry bushes and cottonwoods screened off the sides of their camp. Saljane sat on a limb, tearing hungrily at a silver grayling she’d pulled from the river. Reisil munched on a handful of squashed strawberries Odiltark had sent with her. In her bag she had rosemary-roasted chicken, a sharp lemon cheese, a loaf of nut bread baked just the evening before, and a sack of tart chokecherry wine from last year’s pressing. Odiltark had pressed the foodstuffs into her hands, lamenting her scrawniness while still exclaiming over the seeds and sprouts she’d harvested on the leisurely ride from Mekelsek Keep.
“Funny, isn’t it? Seems like a year since I left Kallas, instead of just weeks. I hope someone has remembered my garden. I’d hate to see it all go to waste,” she said to Saljane, who did not answer, absorbed in gobbling her feast.
It did seem like a year to Reisil. She thought of how homesick she’d been, how much she had resisted walking the path the Lady had set for her. And now?
Now she eyed her former cottage with a tinge of regret, the kind of fond regard that is for bygone times, which are remembered better than they were, and which comfort in times of pain and fear. But the gnawing ache of it was gone, and in its place was a joy in being strong, in being the means of defeating evil and returning joy to those who had lost hope.
She did regret that she could no longer take the time to stay in one place and grow things. She took such satisfaction in watching the green curls unfurl from the earth, tending them as they spread leaves and opened delicate flowers. She thought of Kaj Mekelsek, crying heavy tears as she banished the plague from his home. Too late for his wife, but not so for his children and grandson. Not so for his servants, menat-arms and retainers.
She smiled to herself, stretching and cracking her back. Things would always grow, wherever she was, and she would tend what green things she could when she could. But now her garden was all of Kodu Riik.
She thought again of Edelsat’s father. Proud Kaj Mekelsek had wept unabashedly, offering gifts of gold, silver, horses and jewels. She refused all, accepting in the end only a saddlebag bulging with travel supplies, at the bottom of which she later discovered a fat pouch of gold and silver coins, and a necklace of heavy silver links, to which she attached the Lady’s gryphon amulet. The last was a gift of Edelsat, she knew, feeling a pang of sorrow.
He had come to her in the velvet darkness as she walked beneath the stars, stretching tired muscles, gratified that Edelsat did not have to watch his family die a torturous death. He had taken her hand, touched her face with gentle fingers. And in the darkness she had wanted his touch, wanted to be held, to stroke his warm skin, feel his heart beating beneath her cheek.
But it could not be so. He continued to hold her hand when she’d spoken in pained fits and starts of her bruised heart, already given to another, sent to a cold shore where it found no welcome, no comfort, only rocky indifference.
“I wish it were me, but if it is not, then a better harbor your heart could not have found. Kebonsat is not thinking well—his sister stolen away and so abused, his father missing, perhaps dead. His own torture and near death. Ellini help us all. But his heart is large and I have seen his eyes on you. They are not the eyes of indifference.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Reisil had replied hopelessly, grateful for the comfort. “For our lives must be separate, his to grow sons and take the title of his house, mine to serve Kodu Riik in the Lady’s name.”
Still, when she rode away, she had taken the knowledge of Edelsat’s deep friendship with her, and the rebellious hope of something else.
She quickly sloughed her melancholy like an old skin, letting the sun warm her spirits. She stopped often to dig plants, to listen to the unfamiliar patter of the mountain birds, to sit by a still mountain pool and gaze at the reflection of the sky in its depths. She had nearly two weeks to make the journey and no sense of urgency.
It was a healing time, to reflect, to fly with Saljane—and no more fear of heights. She walked to the edges of precipices, gazing into deep-cleft forest valleys, across vistas of rock to faraway purple mountains she didn’t know the names of. It was a time to feel herself, to know herself, to walk in silence in the green cathedrals of towering redwoods, sleep beneath the sweeping boughs of traveler pines, breathe the sharp, red cedar-scented air, drink of crystal mountain streams and watch the gamboling antics of growing fawns and playful river otters.
At the little village where Upsakes and Glevs had died, she traded the leggy, smooth-gaited sorrel mare for the rough-gaited dun gelding she’d ridden from Priede. It was a poor trade, with her coming out of it with the lesser bargain, but she had missed the dun, and remembered fondly his trust and loyalty during the wizard night. The farmer who made the trade protested, fearing aretaliation from Mekelsek Keep—for purchasing a stolen animal, or swindling for it. Reisil smiled gently and insisted, the gelding lipping at her hand as she fed him a handful of grain, touching velvet-black nose to beak with Saljane.
In the end, the farmer had acquiesced, letting her go only after refilling her slack packs so that she could hardly tie them shut, and offering to reverse the trade at any time if she desired. She agreed, and before she left she went among his herds, pleased at the care he took of them, touching a lamb here, a horse there, a cow—mending small hurts and larger, hidden ailm
ents. Then she left in the dawn, avoiding the camp where Upsakes and Glevs had tried to kill them all.
In Priede, Odiltark had fussed over her, then sat clicking his tongue as she related her story. They’d talked well into the night, and then she’d accompanied him on his rounds the next day. She did little healing. Odiltark argued that he didn’t need it, that the patients would mend well enough with his care.
“Have you thought what will happen when everyone knows what you can do? You’ll have no rest. They’ll use you up. Think about it. Have a care for yourself.”
The next morning he’d given her messages for his sister, then closed her in a powerful hug before sending her on her way, admonishing her to look after herself.
Now Reisil watched the lowering sun flame on the Sadelema, feeling Saljane’s constant presence in her mind like a sparking fire. Below on the river she heard the creaks of the boats, stevedores shouting, and the clop of hooves as teams of draft horses drew heavily loaded wagons up into Kallas. Behind her the dun cropped the lush meadow grass. She thought of Roheline and Raim, suddenly craving a meal from the kohvhouse. She considered riding into Kallas and eating there, and returning for Ceriba the next day. But the memory of her last days in Kallas, the suspicion, the condemnation, stopped her.
No, she wasn’t ready to confront that yet. She sighed. They would already have the news of the treaty. They would know some, if not all, of her part in it. Still . . . Raim and Roheline had been friends and she had lied. Lied to them, lied to herself.
~Fledglings fly not well, nor gracefully, Saljane said in her mind, and Reisil smiled, feeling her companion’s sated fullness as Saljane cleaned her talons and beak.
“I am not a fledgling,” she replied aloud. Sometimes their conversations were silent, mind to mind. Other times Reisil spoke out loud, just to hear the sounds of the words.
~No?
Reisil laughed, tossing a pebble over the edge of the cliff.
“All right. I’d like to think I have enough experience and judgment to be called fullfledged, but I’m not sure that will ever happen. I have come a long way since we left Kallas. You know that as well as I. But how will I know when I get all the way there?”
There was a merriment in her mind, a steel-edged amusement. Reisil felt her stomach tumble and her heart swelled at the gift of Saljane.
~Ahalad-kaaslane, it is a journey we shall ever make, and one that finds no end.
“You sound like an oracle. Much wiser than I.”
In the last weeks Saljane had spoken more often. Reisil remembered how she’d wondered if their communication would ever be more than a terse one or two words. She smiled now. Their slow journey from the keep had been one of mutual discovery, of many questions, of much sharing. Reisil wasn’t even sure that Saljane used words, or merely thought her thoughts in Reisil’s mind. Sometimes they seemed so intertwined that it was hard to know where she stopped and Saljane began.
~In some things, Saljane answered thoughtfully. ~But different from you. We guide each other to better wisdom.
Reisil sighed, feeling smugly contented, like a cat lolling in the sun. “Just so. May we make the fewer mistakes for it.”
~We will make many mistakes, Saljane said. ~It is vanity to think otherwise.
“I was afraid you say that.”
~It is the truth.
“Yes, it is, and it always finds us, no matter how much we might hide from it.”
Reisil thoughts slipped away to Kebonsat, and she touched the edges of the sadness she had not allowed herself to feel. Edelsat’s confident words had buoyed her, but still she remembered Kebonsat’s cold distance. Whatever friendship had rooted between them seemed to have evaporated in that last long day. A bitter irony that she should retrieve her heart from Kaval, only to give it to a man who feared and distrusted her.
She let the sadness take her, let herself cry, the dun wandering over to stand behind her and breathe warmly on her neck. Saljane embraced her mind, sharing the sadness.
After a while, Reisil wiped away the tears, feeling strangely better.
~Saljane, we need a name for our friend. She patted the gelding’s forehead. ~Do you have any ideas?
The goshawk cocked her head at the horse, her white brow flashing.
~I had not thought. Do you have a name for him?
~I thought perhaps . . . Indigo. Reisil smiled as she sensed Saljane’s doubt. “It doesn’t seem to match, I know. He’s not blue. But Indigo is a valuable dye, hard to come by; it doesn’t fade; boiling won’t hurt it; and you can’t wash it away with any kind of soap. Steadfast, loyal, precious. Is that not a good name for our friend?
~A good name. So he shall be called.
Before rolling into her cloak, Reisil fished a rosemary candle from her pack and set it on a stone. She lit it, the flame standing still and tall. She’d burned it every night since leaving the Vorshtar plain. It never went out, never depleted.
She cupped her fingers around the warmth of the flame, then touched the silver tree-and-circle tark’s brooch on her collar. In the heart of the tree burned a candle like this one. She smiled.
The next morning Reisil woke early before the first gleams of dawn. She stirred up the fire, setting a pot of tea on a tripod to heat. When flames of gold and red burned bright along the eastern edge of the world, Saljane flung herself into the sky, spiraling in great lazy circles. Reisil dined on the remnants of the nut bread and cheese, washing them down with three hot cups of sweet tea. Afterward, she saddled Indigo and rode down off the bluff.
She wondered, not for the first time, how Ceriba’s family had responded to her decision to study with Elutark. She did not wonder whether Ceriba had been strong enough to hold to her choice. Given the alternative, she did not think that Ceriba would allow herself to be dissuaded.
Reisil cantered Indigo across a wide, fallow field to the road, Saljane’s shadow skimming the ground beside her. A line of birch trees screened the road from view, and thus she was surprised to see a camp of six tents and two-score horses on the other side. A pennant flew above the central tent, the rich hues of indigo and gold in a diamond pattern, with red rampant lions and a crown of red.
House Vadonis.
Reisil slowed Indigo to an amble, eyeing the collection of men and tents askance. There was a shout as she came out of the trees onto the road and soon a horse galloped out to meet her.
Kebonsat.
She pulled Indigo to a halt. Kebonsat pulled up opposite and for a long moment neither spoke. She could not read his expression. His face was a mask of angles and reserve.
“Bright morning,” she managed at last. “I had not expected to see you here.”
“You thought I would send my sister alone?” After what has already happened to her? He didn’t say the last, but Reisil heard it anyhow and colored.
“No, I suppose not,” she said quietly. “May I inquire after your father?”
The reserve cracked a bit, and for a moment he smiled with real warmth. “He is well. Kvepi Buris did not have opportunity or strength to do more than hit him over the head. Kvepi Chollai had him found and healed. Thank Ellini, my father has a hard head, and the damage was not too great.”
“That is welcome news.”
Silence descended between them again and Reisil found herself squirming as he watched her with that unreadable gaze. Finally she urged Indigo forward and Kebonsat fell in beside her.
“Ceriba is also well?” she asked when he made no effort to speak.
“She informed us of her decision several days after the treaty signing, when my father had found his feet again. It is a sign of her healing, perhaps, that she did not bend to my mother’s protestations, and that she would have come here alone.” Again, Reisil could read nothing in his tone. She looked up as Saljane coasted down to land on her fist. Reisil transferred her ahaladkaaslane to her shoulder, touching her mind affectionately, glad of the mental support in the face of Kebonsat’s chill reception.
They arri
ved at the central tent without another word spoken. Ceriba emerged as Reisil dismounted and the two embraced, Reisil in her dusty travel leathers, Ceriba in a tailored riding habit of pale blue with the Vadonis crest embroidered along the cuffs and neckline. Ceriba led her inside and offered her cool juice, a plate of mellow cheeses and an assortment of melon and berries. Reisil ate little, unnerved by Kebonsat’s hovering silence.
“How far is it to Elutark’s cottage?” Ceriba asked in a low voice. Gone was the merriness that had illuminated her features when Reisil first met her. There was a furtive, diffident air to her now.
“Two days, if we ride hard, three if we take our time. But I am not certain it is a good idea to go with such a group.”
“I alone will accompany you. The rest of our retinue will wait here,” Kebonsat stated shortly. Reisil nodded, feeling the food in her stomach turning. That meant several days in Kebonsat’s company by herself on their return journey. She did not know if she could stand his coldness.
They set off several hours later. Ceriba brooded, staring down at her saddle. Kebonsat rode ahead on the excuse of scouting the way, and Reisil tried to make herself relax and enjoy the beauty of the summer day. It grew warm, much warmer than it had been in the mountains, and soon she shed her cloak and vest and rolled up her sleeves.
They camped early, catching rainbow trout in a lazy stream. After supper Reisil dug soaproot and bathed in a quiet bend in the stream. The water was not warm, but neither was it as frigid as the mountain streams, and she felt some of her tension wash away with the dirt. She slept well that night, peaceful in the tall grass buzzing with insects and rustling with ground squirrels and grouse.
The next day went much the same way, but Reisil spent more time with Saljane, flying high and seeing Kodu Riik spreading out like a quilt in patterns of brilliant red and yellow, blue and green, gray and brown. That night they fished again, having come to the foot of Suur Hunnik. Elutark lived in a small cottage in the foothills above the town of Manniokas. The next day they skirted the quiet town and arrived in Elutark’s yard just after noon.
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