by Cat Bruno
And again the great cat cried. This time Syrsha understood. It was not in warning or in greeting. It was in recognition of who had come.
*****
15
For several days, the King had stayed at Ravenfold, while most of the Lightkeepers had returned to the King’s City. Tanic had remained, although Pietro had wished she had departed with her brother. Lerric had spent two days questioning him, with the King’s permission, until Pietro grew to hate the man.
The Chief Lightkeeper did not believe most of what Pietro answered, yet he could not accuse him openly, for the healer still had the support of Queen Assana. She had pleaded with Delwin, convincing her husband that without Pietro’s warnings, the Tribesman would have likely come to Ravenfold. Even though Pietro knew her fears were false ones, he admitted no such thing. In truth, he had little choice once Tanic had followed him, yet confessed only what was already known.
After, when the Lightkeepers met with the King at Ravenfold, Pietro found himself relieved to hear that the Tribesman had escaped. More, he had been half-stunned to hear of the great storm that had befallen the Lightkeepers. Even without his naming Jarek, the King concluded that such an unnatural storm could have only come from the water-mage. For days, King Delwin raged, demanding that his council investigate fully. None learned of Pietro’s own involvement with Jarek, not even Tanic, who rarely parted from his side. The woman was wiser than she appeared and knew much of the ways of the golden-eyed. Even with as little royal blood as he had, Pietro could not shake the fire-lust once it began. He was not dim-witted and understood how the Lightkeeper used that knowledge against him.
When they were alone, she would whisper promises of safety and vows of love. Pietro doubted that he would be able to live under the rule of Lerric, even with the proffered safety. If he could not return to the Academy, then he would just as soon stay with Assana, he had decided days past.
“Did you hear that the King has departed?” Tanic called as she entered his room.
At Ravenfold, he had more freedom than in the Grand Palace, yet it was not enough that he would not be allowed to leave. Delwin had arrived before the Lightkeepers and had sought out Pietro with haste. With Tanic’s aid, he told a story of searching for night-blooming primrose just outside the castle’s walls. She had offered to accompany him, but before they could return, she had sensed the Tribesman. The King was ill-pleased that she had not alerted the Queen’s Guard before they searched the Vesta port, yet he thanked them for their quick actions upon their return.
Without Tanic’s lies, Pietro knew that he would have been imprisoned or worse. No doubt she knew just as much.
“He came to see me this morning as I was tending to Alistair,” Pietro told her, concealing his annoyance.
“My brother rides with him, and the King has taken a fondness to Lerric. He would be a fool not to, for soon the Lightkeepers will be needed even more than his beloved Royal Army.”
With a hurried glance to the open door, Pietro warned, “Guard your tongue.”
She only bobbed her shoulders indifferently, as if she cared little who heard her words.
Not long after, one of the Queen’s serving girls visited them, shyly requesting that Pietro attend Assana. After hurrying through the dark-stained hallway, he found the Queen seated fireside and covered with a thickly stitched blanket. Nearing her, Pietro noticed the whiteness of her face, as if she had recently been ill.
“I came at once,” he stuttered.
With a wave of her hand, unadorned but for a single gold band, Assana told him, “The King has ridden to Rexterra, although the boys and I will remain at Ravenfold.”
Her eyes were not reddened or puffy, and it did not look as if she overly mourned Delwin’s retreat. However, Assana appeared unwell, and the healer did not believe it was mountain sickness that ailed her.
In a lowered voice, dampened by the echoing crackles of blazing embers, Assana sighed, “I believe that I am with child.”
Into his silence, she added, “I know that this is ill-advised and that I should allow you give me the necessary teas to bring about my moon-blood. Yet, I will not do so.”
Surprised by her words, it took him several moments to answer. As her healer, he finally stated, “The risks are high, my Queen. You are not wrong in thinking that I would try keep you safe. If you would allow me to remind you of what might happen, then you might be of a different opinion.”
“No, no,” she moaned, although it was without pain or anger. “I know the risks. I know that I likely will bleed overmuch upon birth. And that there is little that you will be able to do to prevent it.”
“It is more than blood loss that worries me,” he interrupted. “Do you not recall the moon year following the twins’ birth? You could not walk for half that time, and the other half you were hardly out of bed. You were damaged overmuch and even now are not yet recovered. In truth, you never will be.”
His words were true ones, and the Queen did not chastise him as he argued.
“The babe is likely only one, Pietro. And my last. You have half a moon year to prepare. We will remain at Ravenfold, but Delwin has promised to send whatever is needed, including additional healers. Think on what you might need and ready a list. We will talk again after the evening meal.”
He understood her dismissal, offered a distracted bow, and mumbled an agreement as he exited. The King’s City seemed more distant than ever. Even farther yet was Tretoria and the Healer’s Academy, where Kennet waited for him.
Bronwen is dead, he suddenly recalled, the memory arriving without warning or cause.
Unable to tolerate more of Tanic’s constant chattering, he walked to the eastern wing, remembering that the library could be found there. Becca, who had resided at Ravenfold for more moon years than Pietro could figure, had made the small room her own, and he was unsurprised to find her there. Wearing a too-large robe and seated behind a glazed mahogany desk, the white-haired healer hardly glanced up as he entered. With a forced cough to alert her to his presence, he made his way to the back wall.
Lined with numerous leather-bound books, the shelved walls might impress those at Ravenfold. But for any who had spent time at the Academy, the room was dismal. Pietro eyed the books, moving slowly back and forth as he looked for anything related to the healing arts.
Over his shoulder, he called, “I have few books with me from my days at the Academy.”
The other healer had done little to interest him since his arrival, for she was a dull and simple woman. Pietro doubted that she had accumulated many books during her time as the castle healer. But he continued to search the shelves, thinking on his days long past. Once, many moon years before, he had been one of the Academy’s most noted students. Now, he would become little more than Becca, who spent her days shuffling about the dank hallways of Ravenfold.
Unless he could find a way to reach Kennet. He only needed a reason to visit the Healer’s Academy.
Without turning, Pietro addressed the other healer and said, “I worry for the Queen. If she is determined to have the babe, then we must convince her to listen to our guidance.”
Only then did Becca rouse, as she sputtered, “So she told you then. I suspected such was the case for the last half-moon. We are not so far removed from the King’s City that we did not hear how she nearly died birthing the twins.”
It was then that Pietro began to think like the man he had once been.
“Even with the most-skilled healers about, the Queen’s bleeding could not be controlled. Now, it is just the two of us, Becca. I do not want to be the one who has to inform the King that his wife has died.”
“Now, now,” she chided. “It will not come to that. She is young yet and healthy, and the babe surely only a single.”
“Aye,” he agreed as he joined her near the desk. “But I was there the last time and can tell you of how stained the birthing sheets became. And, after, I stitched her up and know more than any other of the damage done.”
Becca listened now, her eyes, yellow-edged and drooping, clearer and more focused. She was aged, but trained as he himself was, Pietro knew, and could be of some use.
“Have you told her that continuing with the babe would be unwise?” she asked with murmured words.
His nod was answer enough.
“The Queen is usually not so foolish. In truth, I have always found her to be quite level-headed and well-suited for the role. Her husband would do well to heed Assana’s advice.”
He did not ask of what she spoke, for her words were dangerous, more so for one such as he. None would accuse the old healer of treason, but Pietro was guaranteed of no such protection.
“The Queen requested a list of what we might need in the upcoming moons,” he told her.
Slowly rising from the chair, Becca said, “Come with me then. Let us examine our supplies. It has been a few moon years since I birthed a babe. And most of the townsfolk here use the midwives.”
As they walked toward the rooms used for healing, he questioned her about the gardens and other small things. But Pietro could not stop thinking of the Academy. The Queen’s pregnancy might be just what he needed to secure a visit there.
*****
Within hours of entering the temple, Syrsha had asked to see the great cats. Yao-Tzu had politely explained that the cats were not meant for the eyes of novices, apologizing often as he did so. Had Gregorr not been beside her, she might have argued, yet the fennidi’s glance warned her into silence. Later, she learned that only those who had earned their fifth ranking were permitted to interact with the animals. To that, she did complain, asking why visitors were welcomed and permitted to offer tribute to the great cats, but she was not.
His eyes downcast and staring upon stained toes, Yao-Tzu had reminded her that she had not come to Sholin as a visitor.
That discussion was days past, and she still had not been allowed to seek out the cats, which roamed freely in the large, fenced inner courtyard. After her first night in the temple, the cats had ceased growling, yet she could hear them each night still. Had she been stronger, she would have time-walked to them, yet she had promised the others that she would not attempt such for a full moon.
Instead, Yao-Tzu had placed Otieno, Liang, and herself in a class with other new students; most had not yet seen their sixth moon year. Aldric spent his days with Sharron and Gregorr, who studied with a Tiannese healer, learning of the needle-care used in Tian. Each night, for they all shared the same room and used their sleeping rolls, the group would talk of the day’s activities at the temple. Otieno complained more than the others, for he was ill-suited for the hand combat favored in the East. Liang, who had trained some before her marriage, had begun with some skill, but Syrsha soon passed her.
For the other children, a test would be given twice a moon year, and only those who excelled would move onto the higher level. Had she been like any of them, Syrsha would not have been able to reach fifth rank for over two moon years. Yet their sensei quickly realized her abilities and called for a shihon to join them. The shihon was unlike anyone Syrsha had trained with, for he reminded her more of Aldric than of Otieno. Master Ru, as everyone at the temple called him, wore wire-rimmed glasses and stood tall and thin. He looked more like an acolyte than a fighter, although it had not taken long for him to show her that he was both.
And neither, as he was fond of saying. But it was the blackened stripes across his upper right cheek that marked him as more.
In the western wing of the temple were the anjin rooms, or mat rooms, as Liang told them. Across the bamboo-planked floors lay rolled mats, no thicker than Syrsha’s finger. Twice daily, before the midday meal and after the evening meal, the group would roll up the mats and sweep the floors clear. To watch Otieno push the straw-edged broom often threatened to make Syrsha laugh, yet she dared not, for fear of Master Ru’s punishment. Ru’s hands were as fast as any that she knew, and his whipping stick was never far from reach. On several occasions, her knuckles stung from his strike, even though he never took joy in the whipping.
The midday meal had just ended, and the group walked quietly back toward the anjin. Syrsha and Otieno both dressed as the children did, in loose-fitting, gray pants and a matching tunic. With each step up in rank, colored patches and sashes were added, until one became a master and wore the bright robes like Master Ru. At first, it had been strange to strip off her leather, especially since she had worn the wolf-cuirass since her days in Sythia.
What was most odd was seeing the diauxie without sword, for he had punished her sharply many times over for just such an offense. He now walked behind her, and, unlike Liang and the children, his steps were loud across neatly laid planks, despite the soft-soled shoes he had been given.
In a whisper, she called back to him, “You are not very cat-like, Akkachi.”
Gruffly, he stated, “Your mother once accused me of leaving no footprints, faela. It cannot be both.”
She quieted at the mention of her mother, for he talked little of Caryss. Unlike Aldric and Gregorr, and even her father, the Islander had never professed love for the healer. Otieno once referred to Caryss as fire-born, and Syrsha knew he did not speak of her copper-glazed hair. He thought her foolish at times and argued with her often, yet even he could not hide his guilt over her death. He would have come to love her, Syrsha long ago realized, although she never told the diauxie such. She was a healer and refused to learn the ways of the sword, despite once trying to kill the High Lord. For both, Otieno had judged her harshly.
The Islander had been the only one in the room when Caryss had pierced her father’s back with the atraglacia dagger, but he long held his tongue on what had occurred. Conri had lived, with no ill effects, and Aldric still praised Caryss for her actions. Gregorr had joined the group a moon later, but even he had come to understand her decision.
Her mother, even in death, was never far from any of them.
“Master Ru says nothing is but one thing,” she sighed, trying to quiet her memories.
“So he thinks,” Otieno told her, making no efforts to keep his voice lowered.
On the morrow, just after sunrise, the class would be tested for the first ranking. Most would fail, for they were young, but there was no doubt that the newcomers would pass, even Otieno who struggled with many of the balance-based movements. To attain fifth ranking would require more time than Syrsha could stay, so she had begged Ru several times to allow her to test each quarter-moon. His response, like most of him, offered no promise, but he did not think the request impossible.
Because of the morning testing, Master Ru did not join them, and the three adults were again forced to practice chikung moves like the children. Over and over, their hands mimicked Chon’s, as the junior master guided them through the art of energized breathing. Otieno did little to hide his displeasure, but Liang appeared to enjoy the sensuous movements, letting her ivory fingers dance around her body with delicate balance.
For Syrsha, the steps and leg raises came with ease, as did the hand rolls and body twists. Never once did she fall from a hold, even the most challenging that Chon could call. For over an hour, the group followed as Chon chanted instructions. Syrsha’s hands, a half-moon removed from swordplay, were soft and unmarked, gliding above her head until she stood like a tree. Standing on one leg, the other pressed into her thigh, Syrsha waited.
Around her, the others shifted and fell, but she remained, nearly unmoving, except for the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed deeply, as Ru had taught. With her eyes closed, she let her hearing deepen as she listened for the sound of padded paws pacing across the clay-cobbled courtyard. The cats lingered, longing and lonely under the fading orange sun.
Syrsha could smell them, musky and damp from hours spent under a warm Tiannese sun.
I am a wolf, she reminded herself, letting her lips curl upward. Without movement, she remained, listening to the low groans of the great cats, the gentle growls used in greeting.
Later, she heard her name being spoken and opened her eyes to find Otieno watching her.
“The mats must be washed before the morn.”
Dropping her foot to the floor soundlessly, she said, “It will be done.”
“Master Ru has requested that you join him for tea,” he told her.
“Once I have finished here, I will find him.”
Before Otieno left, he called, “Take Gregorr with you.”
He did not wait for her response, for they both knew why he suggested the fennidi accompany her.
They all remembered what had happened in Sythia.
*****
She had grown taller since they had left Cossima, and now Gregorr stood below her shoulder. Even he now dressed in the simply cut tunic and loose pants favored by the temple acolytes and masters. Gone was his hooded cape, which had masked his forest-dyed skin and moonlit hair. Today, the silvery strands hung loosely, washed and brushed until they shone bright as stars.
For days, the children of the temple had stared upon the fennidi without being able to hide their curiosity. His gentle words, pitched softly like mist, made their cheeks blush bright and their deep brown eyes look to the ground. He knew few Tiannese words, yet he understood much of what the children asked. His hair was what fascinated them most, and Gregorr allowed all to touch it without complaint.
As the two walked toward the central quarter of the horizontally expansive temple, Syrsha thought on what Master Ru might require of her. In the language of the Ancients, she asked Gregorr why the shihon had sent for her.
“You have spent more time with him than any, faela, and would know the answer before I,” he chided.