* * *
Calling it a hideout stretched the definition of the word, at best. It was a small clearing in the woods, a place that Sera knew she would be able to recognize again. The thick trees curled out from each other, giving the area the appearance of two giant hands cupped together, fingers spread and stretched to the sky, ready to catch the moon. Sera paused for a moment, leaning against one of the trees and enjoying the relative quiet. Insects provided an incessant hum, but it was nothing compared to the constant bustle of the town.
Walking to a large root that arched up from the ground, she dug up her stash underneath it, taking her latest prizes and tucking them into the sack. It didn’t look like much, but it had nicer clothes, some food, and enough wealth to live comfortably for several weeks. Perhaps that was what she would do at the next town: change clothes before she arrived and stay at the best rooms the inn had for a few days before moving on. That had been her cycle of late; living comfortably for a while until her funds nearly ran out, then moving on and earning more until she was no longer welcome.
Sera put down her sack and walked around, collecting twigs for a fire. As she moved around, she couldn’t help but think back to the Companion’s stare. She clenched her jaw and squeezed the branches so tight that some of them snapped in her grip. She began talking to herself, a habit she’d picked up from spending so much time alone.
“It isn’t like I’m stealing anything. They give me the money on their own. I just give them a little nudge. I’m not forcing them to do anything. Besides, it doesn’t always work.”
She tossed the sticks into the center of the clearing with a loud clatter. She snatched up the branches, arranging them into a pile as she muttered to herself.
“Besides, what does a Companion know about anything? They get to live at Haven with Heralds, and have everything they need given to them. They don’t know what it’s like to be working all day in the street with your mother, trying to entertain people enough to eat for the first time in weeks.”
Sera froze, holding a twig a few inches above the kindle pile as her mind shot back through the years. She pictured her mother’s face, long and sad as she counted the coins in their collection bowl, realizing there wouldn’t be enough for them both to eat. She would smile, trying to hide her sadness from her daughter with that jongleur’s mask, but Sera saw through it even at that age. She couldn’t remember the last time she saw her mother smile for real.
Both of Sera’s parents had been street performers. When they’d learned that Sera had a Gift and could influence others when she sang, they hoped she would be able to go to the Bardic College in Haven. But that dream faded long before it ever had a chance to become reality. Her father died from illness before ever learning the truth. Sera didn’t have the Bardic Gift; it was just weak Mind-magic that let her strengthen emotions others already possessed. For the hundredth time, Sera cursed her Gift for being so trivial. Perhaps if it had been more, she could have used it to make enough money to save her father.
After he died, Sera and her mother lived as best as they were able, but her father had been the true performer. Even on those rare occasions where they were able to scrounge up enough coin for two meals, burly men with ugly scars would show up and demand a “tax.” At first, Sera’s mother had refused, but the men were more than willing to show their propensity for violence. Sera learned to hide the coin, never revealing how much they had in the hope that they’d be able to hang onto it.
And then one day, the men didn’t believe Sera’s mother when she turned over everything she had. Thinking she was holding back, they tried to beat her into giving them more. She gave up every last coin she had, but it still wasn’t enough. Her mother died that day, and Sera didn’t even know the names of the men who killed her.
Sera wiped her face, the fresh tears from a long, never-healed wound leaving tracks in the dirt on her cheeks. With renewed fervor, she set to work on the fire. As it started to blaze, she paced around it, kicking at the dirt until there was an obvious circular path. When she ran out of energy she collapsed, propping herself up on her arms as she watched the flames dance and listened to the wood pop. Tomorrow was another day, and she was still alive. That was all she could do, just keep living one day at a time, no matter what she had to do.
* * *
The next day, Sera took the road east, heading toward Tindale. Not that it mattered much—one town was the same as any other to her. She wore her beggar’s rags while traveling. Once she got closer to civilization, she would change. But experience had taught her well that it was better to appear poor and carry a simple sack than to openly display one’s fortune.
She passed a few people throughout the day, most working on their farms. Sera made sure to keep her eyes down and her shoulders slumped, an act practiced so often that it felt more natural than walking tall. It also allowed her the luxury of ruminating over her own thoughts as she traveled. Every once in a while, her mind wandered back to the Companion and the way it had stared at her. Even a good night’s rest hadn’t released the tension knotted between her shoulders.
A scream jolted Sera back to the present, and her gaze snapped up. Ahead, a couple stood close together in a field, their backs to each other and sheltering a small girl. Based on how they were dressed, they were farmers who had been hard at work. The girl was the one who had screamed. Her mother held a hand behind her, trying to calm the youngster.
Three men on horseback rode at a walk around the farmers, their mounts trampling the plants just starting to sprout. They carried weapons—two with gnarled clubs and one with a sword—and wore rough, ragged clothes with leather patches haphazardly sewn on.
“Lookin’ good, Triel. Lookin’ real good. Looks like you been eatin’ fat all winter while me an’ my men starved. That ain’t right, is it?” One of the men reined in his horse in front of the father.
Sera passed even with the group, and one of the bandits looked her way. She snapped her stare back to the dirt in front of her. It wasn’t her problem. Besides, it wasn’t as though she could do anything. The farmers could spare a bit of food.
“I already gave you a whole pig. It was my last one, you know that.” Triel’s voice was strained. Sera could tell he was trying to be brave, but failing. The bandits probably knew it, too.
“Maybe you been holdin’ out on us.”
The words sent a chill down Sera’s spine, and she froze. They were too familiar. Even if these weren’t the same men, they were the same type.
“Maybe you just need some convincin’.”
Sera glanced back and saw the leader dismount in front of the mother and reach out to grab her. Triel shouted and grabbed the man’s wrist, yanking it away. The bandit responded with a harsh backhand that cracked against the man’s cheekbone. He dropped to the dirt, and his wife and daughter ran to him. The bandit leader shook his hand.
“That was stupid, Triel.”
The bandit drew his sword, metal rasping against leather as it came free. The other men on the horses chuckled and leaned forward, resting their arms on the front of their saddles. The mother covered her daughter and Triel with her body, looking away with eyes tightly shut.
“NO!”
Sera was as surprised as the others to hear her own voice. Everything seemed to grow quiet as all attention was drawn to her. The bandit leader recovered first, tilting his head to look at her as if she were an oddity, something he had never seen before.
“This don’t involve you, beggar girl. Walk on, or you’re next.”
Sera’s anger raged inside of her, and she clenched her fists at her side hard enough to cut into her palms. She took a step toward the bandits, and then another. She didn’t know what she was doing. Conscious thought had left her actions. She only thought of the hurt these men caused. The suffering. The horrible events that they brought to pass and the amount of pain that covered their hands. Tears filled the corners
of her eyes. A strange heat filled every inch of her body, and her head felt as though it would split under the pressure. The emotion could not be contained.
She crossed inside the circle made by the bandits’ horses and stood next to the huddled family. When she spoke, each word was filled with suppressed fury, and accentuated with another step. “You will not hurt anyone any more.”
They all stared at her in silence. The bandit leader shifted his feet and took a half step backward. He laughed, but it sounded as forced as Triel’s earlier attempt at bravery.
“Who’s gonna stop us? You?”
“You aren’t even human,” she replied. “You can’t be. You’re just beasts—mindless animals. All you do is prey on those weaker than you, because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that someone stronger than you is going to take everything away, because that’s the only thing you understand.”
Eyes wide, the bandit leader took a step away and glanced over his shoulders. His hand started to shake, and he fumbled his sword back into its scabbard. She heard one of the men behind her whimper. The third bandit jerked on his reins, trying to turn around and get away. His horse whinnied in protest at the harsh treatment. Even the bandit leader’s horse was cowed, dropping its head and digging furrows in the dirt as it backed away.
“All you know is pain,” she continued. “That’s all you can give. And when you’re gone, everyone else will be better off. You are nothing.”
Sera collapsed to her knees with the effort of the speech, slumping forward and catching herself with her hands. The bandit leader turned and ran, not even bothering to mount his horse. The other two bandits took off as well, the sound of their retreat fading into the distance.
Sera was still slouched, staring at her knees, when she felt a soft hand on her shoulder. She looked up into Triel’s eyes—one of which was swollen shut. But the smile on his face carried a warmth she hadn’t felt in years.
“Thank you. I can’t say it enough. Thank you.”
Sera took his hand and let him help her to a standing position.
“Please, come to our home and share our dinner. It’s the least we can do.”
Sera nodded, incapable of doing anything more. Her feet dragged through the dirt as she followed the family in her own daze, trying to understand what had happened. It felt as though she had used her Gift, but so much more. She’d never been able to make others feel something they hadn’t already felt before. What did this mean? She longed to figure it out, but the effort of remaining upright took all of her mental abilities. Her mind felt burned out.
The young girl came back and grabbed Sera’s hand as they walked. “Are you a Herald?”
* * *
After the meal with Triel and his family, Sera refused their offer of a bed for the night and continued her journey. Only this time, she traveled west, returning the way she had come. Along the way she changed clothes, discarding her beggar’s rags and wearing comfortable travel clothes. Now that she stood at the edge of Wineboro, she had a momentary pause. She took a deep breath and shifted her sack on her shoulder. There was no point in delay. She knew what she had to do.
As she walked up to the inn, she was surprised to see the Herald standing outside of it, leaning against the wall where Sera had been just two mornings ago. Her Companion stood next to her, watching her approach with those deep blue eyes. Sera stopped when she was a few feet away and offered a slight curtsy as way of greeting.
“Herald, there’s something I need to talk to you about, if you have a moment.”
The Herald grinned. “My name’s Helene, and Myron said you’d be coming back.”
When Sera raised an eyebrow, Helene gestured toward her Companion.
“Ah, yes.” Sera dropped her gaze to stare at her feet, shuffling them back and forth as she tried to get the words out. “I wish to turn myself in. I’m a criminal.”
“Oh? And what crimes have you committed?”
Sera couldn’t be sure, but it almost sounded as if Helene was mocking her. She flushed and was glad it was dark. “I’m a thief.”
She held out the sack containing all of the goods and coin that she had left. It was all money she had persuaded others to give her.
“Didn’t they give that to you? You didn’t steal it from them. They reached into their pockets and handed it to you of their own free will, right?”
Sera looked up and her mouth hung open as she searched for words.
:Helene, stop playing with the girl and making this more difficult than it needs to be. You can see how uncomfortable you’re making her.:
Helene sighed, and the mischievous grin left her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sera found her voice and cut her off.
“He can talk?” Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward until her face was only inches from Myron.
She heard a warm chuckle in her mind. :Of course I can speak, child. How else would I have told Helene to wait here for your return?:
“But . . . how did you know?”
:You have a good, if injured, heart. I saw it when we met. I knew you’d return. If not today, then tomorrow, or the next day.:
Sera’s shoulder slumped, and she looked at the sack. “What I did was wrong. I don’t even know how to go about fixing it.”
“You could always donate the money to Haven. We would see that it is put to good use,” Helene said.
Sera held out the sack, trying to be rid of it as if it were a bag of venomous snakes. Helene took it, and the grin appeared on her face again.
“Besides, you can use it as payment to enroll in the Collegium.”
It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Sera glanced back and forth between the Herald and her Companion.
“You mean . . .” She couldn’t finish the sentence. It felt as if giving the fragile hope any real form would cause it to shatter.
:You have Gifts, child, and with the proper teaching, you could bring much good to the world.:
“We leave first thing in the morning,” Helene said with a wink.
Forget Me Never
Cedric Johnson
Spring had come early to Rethwellan. The last traces of winter had vanished in a fortnight, and in another fortnight all the land seemed to be in full bloom. The streets of Petras were filled with the fragrances from every flower, bush, and tree in the city, as well as a cacophony of birdsong from the returning migrant flocks.
Few were immune to the distractions of this glorious season, least of all the young. Students had it doubly hard, being trapped indoors with the temptations of the season just out of reach. Each class could not end soon enough.
Karinda wasn’t the only Bardic Trainee yearning for freedom that afternoon. Every one of her peers halfheartedly paid attention while their Master droned on about proper care of stringed instruments. Karinda had her belongings neatly piled up at her feet like many others, ready to pick up everything and be out the door the moment the Master Bard dismissed them. She plucked at each string of her lyre, not giving a tinker’s damn what each note sounded like.
Finally the elder signaled that the lesson was over. Karinda grabbed her things quickly and made for the door, eager as the rest to enjoy a few minutes of freedom outside before the next class.
“Karinda!”
She winced at hearing her name, but stopped in her tracks. Of all the days to get called on, she thought, it had to be the one when I didn’t want to be. Karinda waited until the last of the Trainees were well out of the room before approaching the teacher. “Yes, Master?” she asked cautiously.
It took another minute for the old man to respond. Karinda tried not to fidget as the Master put away his instrument and collecting the parchments next to him. Finally, the Bard looked up and started to call her name again, but stopped when he caught Karinda’s gaze.
“Well, I see you’ve finally d
ecided to grace my classroom with your presence,” he said briskly.
Karinda clenched her jaw. “I’ve not missed a day, Master.”
The Bard scowled, but rather than call her out on this, he continued in a brisk tone. “Quite frankly, young lady, I don’t know why you bother at all.” Karinda scowled in return but held her tongue. “Your work is mediocre at best. Despite a year of training, your skill with the lyre would lead anyone to think you’d picked up the instrument for the first time yesterday. And your compositions are uninspired at best. Care to revise your statement about not having missed a day?”
Karinda turned bright red. Not from embarrassment but from anger. Not all of it was directed at the elder Bard, though. His words were true, even if the reasons for them weren’t. Karinda hadn’t lied. She really hadn’t missed a single class. But she couldn’t put it all on her negligent trainer, either. No matter how hard she studied and practiced, the true skills of a Bard eluded her. Her playing never got better, all but the simplest of songs slipped from memory, and the less said about her own songwriting attempts, the better.
The redness passed from Karinda’s face, but the anger remained. “What would you have me do, Master?” she asked quietly.
The Master Bard sighed and looked at her with genuine sympathy. “Honestly, child, I would strongly urge you to consider if the path of the Bard is truly yours to follow. Despite your family’s rather—generous donation to the Bards, your heart really isn’t in it. Your lack of retention and attendance make that abundantly clear.”
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