“You can’t. Here, the Healers and the Empaths have worked to contain him.”
“And they’re failing. One by one, they’re failing. He speaks to sorrow and loss, and speaks so strongly that that’s all that’s left to those who can hear his voice.”
“You hear him.”
“Yes.”
“Magda—Margaret Merton—was the only Empath to equal Gregori in the Kingdom. You—and I mean no offense, child—are untested.”
“Yes. And I will remain untested. For now. I am safe in Riverend. Do you know why I can hear him, feel him, listen to him, and walk away?”
“No, child, although I am certain there are those within the Collegium who would love to know it.”
“Because I have felt everything he offers, and I have learned to . . . walk . . . away from it. Let me take him home.”
Gisel hesitated. And then, after a moment, she nodded. “I will need to speak with the King. Wait outside.”
But Kayla did not wait.
Instead, she went to her room, and found Daniel. He smiled when he saw her.
“Daniel,” she said quietly, “I have to leave the Collegium. I come from the North, near the mountains, and I have to return there.”
“Can I come with you?”
“Yes.” She held out her arms and he ran into them; she lifted him easily, catching most of his weight with her right hip. “But first, I want you to come with me.”
“Where?”
“To meet a Prince.”
The door was open slightly. No one, Kayla realized, had touched it since she’d walked away. She took a deep breath. “No matter what you feel or hear here, remember that I’m with you. That I will always be with you.”
Daniel nodded.
She nudged the door open with her foot and took a step inside. The Prince was sleeping.
“Is that a Prince? Really?”
‘Yes, Daniel.”
“He doesn’t look like much of a Prince.”
“No, he doesn’t.”
“Is he sick?”
“Yes.”
“Can you make him better?”
“Maybe.” She walked to the side of the bed and sat on it.
The eyes of the Prince opened. She felt Daniel’s sudden terror, and she held him tightly, pressing her chin into the top of his head and rocking him. This sensation was as real as any sensation, an echo of another time. She’d been happy, then.
She remembered it.
Drew on it, calling her ghosts. This boy was her son. this boy was her child.
She loved her children, and for her children, she could sing. She remembered the sweet, gentle nature of her oldest, and the stubborn fury of her youngest, and for the first time since she had bid them farewell, she laughed in delight at their antics.
The man in the bed stirred.
She had survived their loss because of her vows, and she had found that sorrow, in the end, could not keep her from the other children in the Hold. They needed her. Their parents needed her. In the worst of winter, she could soothe temper, displace boredom, still fury; she could invoke the love her mother invoked.
Even after the deaths.
Even then.
“Gregori.”
The sound of his name drained the room of light. But Daniel was safe; she felt his fear struggle a moment with her love. And lose.
Such a small thing, that fear.
She reached out to touch Gregori’s forehead; his eyes widened in terror and he backed away. But he had been abed many, many months; he was slow. And she, mountain girl, miner’s daughter, was fast. She ran her fingers through his hair and let go of all thought.
What remained was feeling.
Love.
Loss.
Gently, gently now, she brushed his hair from his face. She felt the raging fury, the emptiness, the guilt, and the horror that he could not let go. Not on his own.
But surely, surely she had felt this before?
A child’s emotions were always raw, always a totality. They existed in the now, as if the past and the future were severed neatly by the strength of what they felt in the present.
:Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! I’ll kill you!:
But she continued to touch his face, the fine line of his nose, the thin, thin stretch of his lips.
“You need my song,” she whispered, “and I had forgotten how to sing. I am sorry. I am sorry, Gregori.”
She did not question; did not think. To do either was death. Instead, she gave in to her Gift.
To her mother’s Gift. What she felt, she made him feel, just as he had made his enemies feel.
:Don’t—don’t touch me
:Don’t touch
:I’ll kill you
:I’ll kill you, too
:I don’t want to kill you, too
She sat in the room with her younger child in her lap and her older child in his bed. :Hush, hush.:
And when the older child began to weep, she held him.
Darius was a patient Companion. And a large one.
He did not complain at the weight of three passengers, and had he, Kayla would have kicked him. After all, she was no giant, Daniel was less than half her weight, and the Prince, tall and skeletal, probably weighed less than the saddlebags.
The King had agreed to let his son go, but with misgivings; it was therefore decided, by Royal Decree, that a Healer, and three attendants, would accompany them.
She was grateful for that; the spring in Riverend had already passed into summer, and in the winter, with a Healer, there might be no deaths. A winter without death.
“Kayla?” Gregori said, as the Hold came into view.
She felt his anxiety.
“Daniel’s fallen asleep and my arm’s gone numb. I don’t want him to fall—”
“You won’t let him fall,” she told the Prince gently. “And I won’t let you fall.”
“Will it be all right? Will they accept me?”
“I was so lonely here,” she answered. “I was so lonely. I don’t think they’ll begrudge us each other.” She smiled, and the smile was genuine. “Do you think you’ve learned the dawnsong well enough to sing it with me?”
A Herald’s Rescue
by Mickey Zucker Reichert
Mickey Zucker Reichert is a pediatrician whose science fiction and fantasy novels include The Legend of Nightfall, The Unknown Soldier, and several books and trilogies about the Renshai. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Battle Magic, Zodiac Fantastic, and Wizard Fantastic. Her claims to fame: she has performed brain surgery, and her parents really are rocket scientists.
Dust motes swirled through the sunbeam glaring into the barn. By its light, Santar trapped the upturned right front hoof of the salt merchant’s gelding between his muscular calves. “Hand me the pick.” Blindly, he held out his right hand.
Santar’s younger brother, Hosfin, slapped the tool into the proffered palm. “Do you see something?” He crowded in for a closer look, his tunic tickling Santar’s bare arm, his shadow falling over the hoof.
“Think so,” Santar grunted. “Got to get past all the crap first.” Flipping the pick in a well-practiced motion, he gingerly hooked out chunks of road grime and straw. The sharp odor of manure rose momentarily over the sweet musk of horse. “Here.” He touched the pick to a gray cobble shard lodged in the groove between forehoof and frog. He dug under the hard, sharp stone. The horse jerked its foot from his grasp, just as the pick lodged into position, and the movement sent the fragment flying. It struck the wooden wall with a ping, then tumbled to join the rest of the debris on the stable’s earthen floor. Still clutching the pick, Santar scooped the hoof back upward to examine the damage. He discovered a light bruise but nothing that suggested serious swelling or infection. He stroked the injury with a gentle finger, and the horse calmed.
Hosfin’s head obscured the hoof. “No wonder he was hopping and snorting.”
“Yeah.” Santar released the hoo
f and patted the horse’s sticky flank. “Could have been a lot worse. Lucky beast.”
“Lucky man,” Hosfin corrected. He stepped back, skinny arms smeared with grime, sandy hair swept back and tied with a scrap of leather. “Don’t think he could afford another horse by the look of him. Needs to learn to take better care of his valuables.”
Santar’s brown hair hung in shaggy disarray, in need of a cut. Horse work had honed his muscles: lugging grain bags and hay bales, exercising his charges, cleaning and grooming. He also had an almost inexplicable way with afflicted creatures that made his father’s stables an exceptionally logical place for any traveler to board. They might find stables nearer their lodgings or destination, ones larger or with more modern construction, ones with fancier names or décor. But Santar’s father prided himself on service, mostly provided by his seven sons and one daughter. Travelers who cared as much for their animals’ comfort as their own tended to seek them out, including the occasional Herald from Valdemar. Santar especially loved their huge white mounts with their impeccable coats and strange, soft blue eyes. They seemed so docile and intelligent, their conformations so perfect, their intensity of attachment to their riders so mythically intense. The Heralds tended them so vigilantly, Santar rarely had the opportunity to do anything for them but stare.
A sharp whinny from the yard sent Santar’s head jerking up so suddenly he nearly brained his brother. “Who’s that?”
Hosfin’s thin shoulders lifted, and he slouched from the stall. As Santar watched him move, he marveled at how his brother had grown just in the last few months, gaining the gawky, spindly proportions of an adolescent. Santar wondered if their eldest brother had looked at him the same way when he had turned fourteen three yeas ago.
Santar caught up to his brother at the door of the stable. The younger man stood as if frozen, the door wedged against him. Alarmed, Santar pushed past Hosfin. “What is it?”
A handsome white stallion stood in the yard, coat shimmering silver in the late afternoon sunlight. Against his fine, pink hooves, the grass looked like crystalline emerald; and blue sky reflected from eyes full of wisdom. Santar shook his head to clear it, shocked to find the creature of his reverie come so abruptly to life. “It’s . . . it’s a Companion.”
Hosfin finally spoke, but only to force out a single syllable. “Yes.”
The Companion let out another trumpeting cry, this one seeming ten times louder without the sheltering walls of the stable. It cocked its head, one pale eye focusing directly on Santar.
Hosfin managed more words. “I’ve never seen one without a Herald on it.”
Santar had, but only after the rider had negotiated its board. “Very odd.” He held out a hand toward the animal and advanced with shy caution. If it wanted, the huge stallion could stomp him to a smear.
Head still tipped, the Companion watched Santar’s approach. He had almost drawn near enough to touch it, when the stallion raised his muzzle in a blasting whinny.
Ears ringing, Santar jerked back, watching the animal prance a wild circle, then stop to snort and stare at him again. Cursing himself for his own sudden movement, he spoke softly and soothingly as he would to any horse, “What’s wrong, boy?”
Still at the entrance to the stables, Hosfin said, “Maybe he’s lost his Herald.”
It seemed unlikely. Santar believed the Companions chose the best and brightest, and the Herald/Companion bond was unbreakable. Needing something to say to the horse, however, Santar repeated, “Have you lost your Herald, boy?”
The horse bobbed his head savagely and pawed the ground. He whirled, stepped, then looked back at Santar over his shoulder.
The gesture was unmistakable.
Hosfin explained the obvious. “He wants you to follow him.”
“Yes.” Santar studied the horse. Only one scenario made sense to him. “Is your Herald . . . in need . . . of help?”
The Companion’s head whipped up and down so hard he had to make himself dizzy. He pranced forward and back, still staring at Santar.
Terror shocked through Santar. He wiped his grimy hands on his tunic. “All right. Let me just gather a search party.” He considered aloud. “We’ll need a doctor, a few strong men, a—”
The Companion spun suddenly and charged at Santar.
“Hey!” Santar ran toward the barn. Hosfin ducked behind the door.
Santar had barely managed two steps when the stallion’s head slammed his side, bowling him to the ground. “Hey!” he shouted again, throwing up his hands to protect his head from the heavy hooves. Huge, flat teeth closed over his tunic, hefting him into the air.
Santar bit back a scream, which would only further upset the horse. Instead, he launched into a steady patter in a calm voice meant to compose both of them. “Easy now, boy. Nothing to get riled about.” He hid fear behind a tone deliberately pitched to rescue self and animal from panic. He felt himself lifted, tossed. Air sang through his ears, then he landed on his belly across the horse’s withers. It did not wait for him to settle before galloping away from the village.
For an instant, horror overwhelmed logic. Stunned silent, Santar could only feel each wild hooffall jar through his body. Instinct awakened first, and he scrambled to a sitting position, grasping a hold on the streaming, white mane. The smooth precision of the Companion’s run thrilled through him. He had ridden many horses in his day but none with the silken grace of this stallion. Every stride seemed to flow into the next, and his body cycled like liquid through every movement. Finally, the last of Santar’s fear slipped away, replaced by exhilaration.
Hesitantly, Santar stroked a neck as soft as velvet, glazed with sweat. The familiar perfume of horse musk filled his nose, and the mane striped his knuckles like bleached twine. “All right, boy. I get it. Your Herald is in immediate trouble.”
The Companion nickered, a clear indication that Santar had properly interpreted his actions.
“What good’s my getting there fast if I don’t have any supplies or expertise to help him?”
This time, the horse gave no reply, the road through the surrounding farmland unscrolling beneath his hooves. Apparently, the horse found Santar adequate enough to save his Herald. The stable boy hoped Hosfin would have the sense to call for help. Perhaps they could mass a group to follow him, hopefully one that included men with healing knowledge and strength.
As the Companion’s long strides ate up a mile, Santar caught sight of farmers too far away to hear his call. Suddenly, it occurred to him where the Companion was headed. Not toward the river. Recent rains had swollen the waters past their banks and well over the ford. Santar glanced around the stallion’s neck. They approached the river at breakneck speed, and Santar knew it had surged to well above his head. “Stop!” he shouted.
To Santar’s surprise, the horse obeyed. It drew up with a suddenness that should have sent him flying, but that motion proved as fluid as every other. Instead, they came to an effortless halt just a few steps in front of the flooded fording. Uncertain of his next chance, Santar dismounted.
The Companion made a mournful sound deep in his throat. He plunged toward the water, then looked longingly at Santar. He lunged forward again, this time splashing at the edges of the pool.
Though it was against his better judgment, Santar approached the Companion. “I know you’re intelligent, and you can understand me.”
The horse pawed the ground furiously, attention beyond the water where the road continued eastward through the Tangled Forest. Santar had only gone this far a few times, and then only in the company of his father and brothers. The sun already lay well behind him. Unless the Herald lay just past the ford, they would wind up in the woods at night, never a pleasant prospect even in broad daylight on the well-traveled path. Demons owned the forest nights, ready to steal the soul of any man foolish enough to wander into their realm.
Santar continued, “It might take a few more seconds to gather a party, but it’ll be well worth the trouble to save your
—”
The Companion bellowed out an impatient sound, then slammed a hoof into the river, splashing muddy droplets in all directions.
Santar bit his lip, trusting the Companion’s judgment. He knew the bond between Companion and Herald surpassed anything he would ever understand. This horse came to me for help, and I’m going to give it. I’m not going to let another man die for my fear. “All right. Let’s go.” Catching a handful of mane, he dragged himself to the stallion’s withers again.
Without a moment’s hesitation, the Companion sprang into the ford.
Cold pinpoints of water splashed Santar’s face and arms, and his legs seemed suddenly plunged in ice. He wound his hands into the Companion’s mane, gripping desperately, as the water surged and sucked around them, threatening to drag him from the stallion’s back. He watched a massive branch swirling wildly in the current, lost to his sight in moments. The understanding of true danger finally reached him. Having thought only of the bare possibility of demons, he had not considered how much the horse would struggle in the current, how dire the swim, that the churning current could pluck him like a twig from the animal’s back and send him helplessly spinning to his doom. Though an able swimmer, he could never win against such a force.
Apparently immersed in the swim, the Companion paid the man on his back no notice, though Santar’s death grip on his neck had to have become burdensome. The water slapped and tugged at Santar’s sodden clothing, threatening a hold that he gradually winched tighter. Focused on his grip, Santar put his trust wholly in the Companion, blindly depending on him to bring them safely ashore and never once considering that the stallion’s strength, too, might fail. It was a Companion, the most clever and competent animal alive and used to having a human wholly reliant upon it. Not wholly reliant, Santar reminded himself. We’re talking about Heralds here, plenty capable and talented in their own right. Only then, Santar thought to worry that his own puny normalness might disrupt the tenuous balance, that the horse might count on him to perform with the ability of a Herald. We’re dead! By the time the idea materialized, the Companion gave a mighty surge that hauled both of them from the water.
Valdemar Anthology - [Tales of Valdemar 02] - Sun in Glory and Other Tales of Valdemar Page 10