“I loved your grandmother Ella from the time she was twelve, and she loved me. There was never any question between us about who we would marry, except that her eyes always turned a tiny bit over the horizon toward Haven. I used to look as well, hoping against hope that no lone Companion would come and take her away from me.
“None did.
“Even though none came to Choose her, Ella knew whenever a Herald was headed toward us. She also knew about Bards and Healers and would be sure I knew to be here on those nights. But she lived and breathed for the visits of Companions. She would brighten a day or two before they came, and she would lay out the best feed and clean every corner of the stables. You know the big stall with no door where we put them when they come? She did that herself, pulling out a wall and taking a door off of its hinges, and she used both elsewhere in the barn to make the smaller pens for goats and sheep in storms.”
“I know which ones you mean,” Helen replied.
Her grandfather acted as if he hadn’t heard her interruption, as if he were in some other place and time. “She loved the company of Companions. The best part was that they seemed to love her back. Even though she was never Chosen, it was almost as if she and they were greeting each other as old friends. She would whisper to them, and they would whicker back to her and let her brush out their manes and tails. They would touch her shoulders with their soft noses and bump her lightly.
“Heralds came through once a month or so then, instead of once a year like now.”
“Was that for grandmother?” Helen asked.
“No, I don’t think so,” he said. “The road between Haven and Jackstown wasn’t in yet, and so we used to have a lot more traffic through here. More bandits and thieves worked the road when this was a main trade route. Heralds had to work harder to keep the roads clear.” He took a deep breath and glanced at his wife’s still face, pausing to be sure she still breathed. “Ella always spent a whole day preparing for Heralds. I used to wonder if they timed their travel days to end up here instead of the next town over.”
Helen sighed happily, imagining herself sweeping the stable floors and bringing in sprigs of sweet-smelling herbs to decorate the stall doors. If only she didn’t have a brother! She would much rather work in the stables than in the kitchen.
“This story is from before Ella was old enough to make the pies and tell the town, and even from before I proposed to her.” He leaned toward Helen. “This story is from when she was just a year or so older than you. It starts on a day in the fall, when the wind blew round the inn and scratched at the shingles on the roof and people rushed after any leftover harvest that wasn’t covered and dry.
“Ella woke up normally and did her chores. The wind grew stronger, and clouds scudded and piled and filled the sky up. She was standing by the stoop watching the sky darken when she knew that a Herald was on the way. She scrubbed up the stall and went to her grandfather and got him to give her some extra good grain he was keeping against a hard winter. She put on her cleanest shirt and watched by the barn door. The children were all girls that generation, and Ella the only one of them who liked hay in her nose and scritching the barn cats.
“A tinker came in, with his cart full of pots and nails. He settled into the upstairs room. Then a set of three travelers came from the other direction, one of them handing her the reins to all three horses and giving out orders, ‘Feed and water them, but leave their tack close.’
“That was a strange command, since the barn had a good, dry tack room in the middle of it. The horses were all so hot and fractious Ella had to work hard to get them properly cooled down and watered and fed. One was a swaybacked nag with a sore hoof, one was far too fine to go with the nag, and the other had clearly worn a harness more often than a saddle from the places its coat was rubbed shiny. The combination seemed as odd as the command about the tack. This put her on edge a little, but before Ella had time to even go in and get a good look at the people who owned the mixed batch of horses, her Herald came in.
“Only he didn’t look like one.
“His leather workman’s clothes were stained brown and black and had clearly never been Whites. His hair was mussed, and he looked as though he hadn’t slept in days. His Companion was just at thoroughly disguised. His beautiful white coat had been dyed black and brown, and his mane and tail had both been turned black as night. Blinders covered his blue eyes, and his bridle had a cruel bit.
“Ella wasn’t fooled for a moment. The bit hung too loose in the animal’s mouth to cause pain or give the rider much control, and no paint could hide the fine bones and honed musculature of a Companion from her. He was the Herald she’d been waiting for, and he looked tired and wary and worried.
“At first he just handed her the reins to his ‘horse,’ but then he stopped a moment, as if someone were speaking to him. He frowned thoughtfully at Ella and then said, ‘Lock him in a regular stall and don’t treat him any different,’ and pressed a coin into her palm.”
“‘Lock him?’ she asked, aghast.”
Helen gasped. Everyone knew you didn’t lock up Companions.
“‘Yes.’ He was very firm with her, and he was a Herald, so she did what he said and treated the Companion like a horse. He acted like one, too, and didn’t allow Ella to groom him.”
Helen stretched her feet out. “Did grandmother hear the Companion talk to his Herald in his mind?”
“No. She knew when they were coming, but not because they told her. In most ways, your grandmother was a very ordinary innkeeper’s daughter.” He shifted a bit and looked fondly at his wife. “Ready to settle down and listen to the rest?” He seemed slightly happier than he had for days, as if it were a relief to tell this story.
“Yes, Grandpapa.” She tucked her feet under her and rearranged her pillows.
“Your grandmother put the Companion in a stall near the best of the three other horses and far away from the tinker’s jackass. She fed him and watered him, feeling edgy all the while, as if the world were simply not right. The painted Companion and the brown-clothed Herald and the three mismatched horses all added up to something bad.
“As Ella was stacking the grain buckets in their corner, hail pounded on the roof and set two of the horses to stamping their feet. The Companion looked up over his box-stall door, head high, scenting the air. Ella stayed with the animals until the hail passed and they calmed, and then she dashed into the common room to grab a bowl of squash and venison stew.
“When she got there, she stood in the kitchen doorway with her bowl. The Herald in disguise sat in the corner of the common room eating quietly, looking as unheraldlike as possible.
“The three men with the three strange horses were eating together. She’d seen the tall, thin one with the cruel eyes when he left the horses off for her to tend. Now she got her first good look at the other two. One was as big around as two men, but girthed in muscle rather than fat. He had a half-moon shaped scar on his right cheek, and he looked as hard and dangerous as the first one. The third man was less noticeable, the kind of man that can blend in with any crowd and look like the least interesting person there. At least that was what he was like until he looked at her, and then she felt a deep, cold evil when she met his eyes.
“Twice, she saw the big one with the scar glance toward the Herald.
“Your great-grandfather didn’t seem to like the situation any more than Ella. He was known for having a sense of danger and for keeping people safe inside his inn. As soon as Ella finished eating, he came to her and spoke softly in her ear. ‘Go to bed and bar your door.’
“She did, but she sneaked out of the window and went into the stables, where she talked to the restless horses to try to calm herself. She felt as nervous as the animals, with the wind whistling through every hole in every board and keeping the barn cold and uncomfortable in spite of its sturdy walls.
“Even the barn cats paced
and occasionally let out sharp whines and yowls that crawled up Ella’s neck and made her worry more. She climbed up into the rafters with the hay and the cats, trying to soothe the half-wild felines so the horses wouldn’t be worried by them. The Companion was just below her, and she saw him pace and worry.
“She thought about climbing back through her window and listening through the door, or about sneaking into the kitchen and trying to avoid her father, but the fierce rain and worry for the locked-up Companion kept her glued down in the hay, listening.
“When something finally happened, it came between gusts of wind and surprised her.
“The barn door flew open.
“The Companion screamed and kicked at the stall doors.
“Ella’s mother yelled from inside the inn, anger and fear in her voice.
“:Let me out!: a voice spoke in her head.
“The Companion! Ella had never heard one in her head before, but she knew who it was like she knew her own name. She swung her legs over the edge and started down the ladder.
“The nondescript man stood in the doorway, his face shadowed and his feet spread wide and planted. He held a bow, pulled tight with an arrow aimed at the front of the Companion’s stall. The Companion screamed in her head again, this time saying, :Get out of the way!:
“She clung to the ladder, watching in amazement as the Companion reared up and battered the door repeatedly with his front hooves.
“The arrow grazed the Companion’s face, just below his ear. Blood stained the paint on his coat, and he screamed in pain and anger.
“Ella swarmed back up the ladder and found a bucket. She threw it at the nondescript man. He dodged it, then glanced up and met her eyes long enough for her to feel cold and vulnerable. He reached for another arrow, and she shrank back, but his focus returned entirely to the Companion.
“Another man—one she hadn’t seen at all, even in the inn—rushed in through the barn door. He spoke to the nondescript man, crouching low toward the Companion’s stall, holding a knife. He was big, and looked mean and cold and angry.
“Ella looked around the hayloft. There was no second handy bucket, no pitchfork. Everything useful was on the floor of the barn. The loft held nothing except a few ragged blankets, bales of hay, and cats.
“She reached for a cat and missed, getting a quick scratch on her thumb. The others scattered.
“The Companion’s hooves pounded again and again on the stall door. Wood splintered. Hinges creaked. The door held. As far as she could tell, the Companion didn’t see the second man but was still focused on the archer and on getting free.
“She rolled a hay bale, finding it easier than she expected, as if her fear and pounding heart were making her stronger.
“She gave the bale a kick and it rolled a second time, now close to the edge. Stray bits of hay filled the air, and she almost lost her footing.
“A gust of wind blew the big barn door into the wall with a bang!
“An arrow hit wood somewhere below her, a thunk almost lost in the wind’s howl.
“Another thin scream came from the inn, and the door blew shut again, cutting off the sound.
“The man with the knife crouched beside the stall door, just waiting for the Companion to win his freedom. He was just below her, and between the pounding hooves and slamming door and yowling cats, not the mention the storm, he didn’t notice she was there.
“Ella was scared, but she was more angry than scared. Nobody should try to hurt a Companion!
“She drew in a deep breath, braced her feet carefully, and rolled the bale the last of the way free of the loft and it fell directly onto him, knocking him down. His knife skittered across the barn floor and came to rest under an old table.
“The Companion broke the door in two. He bounded through the splintered halves and glanced at the man Ella had knocked down. Apparently satisfied that he was no danger, the Companion raced directly into the man with the bow and half-nocked arrow, throwing him to the ground with weight and speed alone. He didn’t stop, but leaped past the fallen man and through the door, heading for the inn.”
Helen found she’d been clenching her fingers tight around the blanket. She looked at the frail body of her grandmother and asked, “So, she did hear the Mindspeech?”
“Never again. Only that one night.”
“Who were the bad men?”
“They were the leaders of the worst bandit ring in this area. The roads were safer for two years after that.
“The Herald had a knife wound in his arm. He had so many bruises that Ella’s grandmother fed him soup for two days. Ella washed the Companion clean and brushed out his mane and tail. Her grandfather kept the bandits trussed up in the town jail.
“In two days, a Healer and two Heralds came. They took the bandits and left, although the Healer fixed up a few people in town who needed help as well.
“Before he left, the Herald told Ella that she’d saved them both.”
“Of course. If one dies, the other dies.”
“Almost always,” her Grandfather said. “It’s not true for some of the Companions, such as the ones who bond with the King’s Own.”
“Will you tell me that story?”
“Another day.”
“Did grandmother wish she were Chosen?”
“She never told me if she did. But I think so. I think almost all younglings in Valdemar have that hope in their hearts. But most of us grow up and have to be content with the gifts we do get in life. Sometimes it’s the barest and smallest gifts that matter, like knowing when a Herald is on the way, or even like knowing when a storm is coming, the way your mom does.”
Helen reached out to give her grandmother’s hand a squeeze and found it was cold and still. She looked up her grandfather in alarm.
He put a hand on hers, a single tear tracking down his cheek. “I thought she would go tonight and that this would be a good story to be telling when she did. It’s okay, sweetheart. She was ready, and she had a great life.”
Even though he was saying those words, Helen could tell his heart hurt. His eyes were bright with tears. She walked around her grandmother’s still body, touching the cold, stiff toes as she went by. She gave her grandfather a hug and he returned it, his arms shaky.
“She’s the woman in the song, isn’t she?” Helen asked.
“The Master Bard who wrote it changed the name of the inn and Ella’s name so we wouldn’t be bothered. The Bards all know, and that’s why they stop here so often on their travels, especially the ones in training.”
After a while, the other members of the family came up to help out, and Helen went to sleep.
She woke just before dawn, tiptoeing through the quiet and slightly sad inn to the kitchen and stoked the fire.
She made herself tea and stood by the window. As early sunlight spilled onto the road, a Herald and Companion rode up the lane toward the inn. She helped stable the Companion and took the Herald into the kitchen, where her mom and sister were preparing breakfast. Before breakfast was over, a trio of Bards came up on stocky brown ponies, with gitterns strapped to their backs and saddlebags bursting with clothes and food and musical instruments. They all headed for the front door as Dravon took the ponies to the stable.
Helen went to the kitchen and took a hot biscuit directly from the oven. She told them to make at least twice what they were making and to plan on a big lunch. The words came out without her thinking about them. She smiled and went back out to find a spot of shade to watch for more guests. By dinner, there were eight more people from Haven: two Heralds with their Companions, two Bards, and a Healer and her apprentice.
The funeral was held the next day in late afternoon, after the most important parts of the farming were done. The air smelled of warming stew and bread and fresh fruit and mead that people from all over town had brought to the inn, so there
could be a feast after the ceremony.
Almost everyone who lived in Goldleaf came, making a small, respectful mob in the cemetery, which was just on the edge of town. The visitors from Haven stood behind the townspeople. None of them spoke a word, although they watched quietly. Even though she’d seen two of the Bards and one of the Heralds and her Companion before, Helen thought it felt like living in a legend for them all to be there at once. She tried to watch them all so hard her neck started to hurt from twisting and turning so many ways at once.
Then the priest started speaking, and everyone quieted into respectful silence. Even though he never mentioned her grandmother’s gift, as the priest spoke about how well Ella ran the inn and how she helped so many people, Helen felt closer to her, and she knew how much she’d miss her. She hoped to keep sensing people coming from Haven because every time she would remember her grandfather’s story.
After the priest was done with his talk, and after her grandfather said a few simple sentences, the bards started to play “The Innkeep’s Daughter.”
As she recognized the song, Helen felt her eyes sting with tears. She stepped back a little out of the circle, closer to the Heralds and Companions. She didn’t want anyone to notice that the song was making her cry.
One of the Companions came up and put its head on her shoulder lightly, the touch so soft and comforting that Helen felt warmed by it.
Consequences Unforeseen
Elizabeth A. Vaughan
Dearest Father,
This missive is written in haste, and for that I beg your pardon. You may have already received the news, but if it has not reached you yet, I regret that I must inform you that my husband, Lord Sinmonkelrath, was killed in the same hunting accident that claimed the life of Prince Karathanelan. Official word will have been sent through the Court of Valdemar to the Court of Rethwellan. I will write separately to Sinmonkelrath’s eldest brother as well, so that he may pass the word within his family, although I fear there was little love lost between his brother and him.
No True Way: All-New Tales of Valdemar (Tales of Valdemar Series Book 8) Page 5