Arrow's Flight

by Mercedes Lackey

  He waited for her to surface, ready to catch her before she'd fully located him. When she didn't, he waited for currents that would tell him she was somewhere nearby, beneath the water.

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  Nothing happened, and he began to be a little concerned. She'd been under an awfully long time. He struck out for the spot where he'd last seen her.

  He had no sooner begun to move when she erupted from the water immediately behind him. Hands on his shoulders drove him under. He kicked free and came thrashing back up, to find her a bare fingerlength out of reach.

  "Infatuated fool, am I? Stupid, am I? Then why can't you catch me?"

  He kicked off after her, windmilling the surface energetically. She didn't seem to be expending half the effort he was, yet she sped through the water with ease, remaining out of reach with a laziness that galled. From time to time she'd vanish altogether, and this was the signal that he'd better hold his breath, because shortly after her disappearance he would find himself pushed or pulled under the surface again.

  And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch her even then.

  Finally he took refuge in the shallows, and waited for her to follow. Now he was angry; humiliated, and angry, and ready to take her apart.

  She rose, dripping, out of the water just out of reach. He glared at her—

  And suddenly realized he'd put himself in a worse position than before. He was stark naked— he could probably pound her into the ground like a tent peg if he could get his hands on her— but if she could get even the tiniest amount of leverage to get a knee in—

  Oh, she could hurt him.

  Anger, frustration, and acute embarrassment chased each other around inside of him until he was nearly vibrating with conflicting impulses—while she glared back, just as angry as he was. Until something of his inner confusion communicated itself to her— and she collapsed to her knees, laughing helplessly.

  His anger ran away like water.

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  He was completely exhausted; when anger stopped giving him an energy boost, he felt it. He turned his back on her, climbed out of the water, and dragged himself onto the waiting blanket without bothering to reach for a towel or his clothing.

  As he lay face down, panting, he heard footsteps behind him.

  "No more— please!" he groaned. "You've won; I've lost. I'm an idiot. And a boor. Truce!"

  "You give up too easily." Talia laughed deep in her throat, like a cat purring, "And you deserved what you got. Keren's right; every so often you start to think you can have everything your own way, and you ought to have a lesson."

  She sat down beside him, and he moved his head enough to see that she'd donned her short undershift and was toweling her hair vigorously.

  "Where did you ever learn to swim like that?"

  "Sherrill," she replied. "Oh, I've been able to swim since I was very little, but my efforts were a lot like yours; loads of thrashing to little purpose.

  After the time I was dumped in the river, Alberich detailed Sherrill to teach me the efficient way to swim, and how to keep from drowning under most conditions. Next winter she gave me a 'final exam' by pushing me off the bridge fully clothed. Obviously, I passed— though a pair of my boots is still probably residing at the bottom of the river. Good thing I'd almost outgrown them."

  "Remind me never to anger either of you while swimming."

  "Count Keren in on that, too. She's just as good. Poor, abused Kris." He could almost see her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Are you half-drowned?"

  "Three-quarters. And completely worn out."

  "Forgive me, but I doubt that." She ran a delicate finger along his spine.

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  He gritted his teeth and remained unmoving, trying his best to ignore the shivery-pleasant sensations she was causing. When he didn't respond, except for goose bumps, she simply laughed again, and began stroking him delicately from neck to knees.

  He was determined not to yield, and held himself as quiet as possible.

  "Stubborn, hmm?" she chuckled.

  Before he had any notion of what she intended, she began fondling him in such a way that his original intentions went flying off in every direction.

  "Witch!" he said fiercely, and flipped over so quickly that he managed to get her pinned beneath him.

  "I thought you were supposed to be worn out."

  "I'll show you how worn out I am," he muttered, and began tormenting her in return, playing teasingly with every part of her that he could reach. She simply chuckled throatily and returned kind for kind. He held out as long as he physically could— but the conclusion was foregone. It left them both dripping with sweat, and drained as well as sated.

  "Lord of Lights," he said when he was able to speak. "If that's an example of what Rolan does to you, I'm glad Tantris isn't a mare! By the time we finished this circuit, I'd be worn to a shadow."

  Instead of replying, she sighed, rose, and took the few steps to the water's edge, plunging gracefully back into the pond.

  When she returned, clean and dripping, she seemed to have regained a more tranquil mood. Kris took a brief dip himself, and by the time he got back she was dry again, wearing her sleeveless tunic against the cooling breeze. He dried himself off and handed her the bottle Skif had left with them. She took a long pull at it and gave it back.

  "So it's Midsummer's Eve, hmm? We never celebrated Midsummer on the Holdings," she said, "And I was always at the Collegium during holidays after I was Chosen."

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  "Not celebrate Midsummer? Why not?" he asked in surprise.

  "Because, according to the Elders, it has no religious significance and is only a frivolous and lewd excuse for licentiousness. That's a quote, by the way. What do people usually do, Midsummer's Eve?"

  "Your Elders have a little right on their side." He couldn't help smiling.

  "On Midsummer's Eve at sunset, there are picnics in the woods. People always begin in large groups, but by this time of night they've usually paired off. The excuse to sleep out tonight is that you need to sleep in the forest in order to find the freshest flowers in the morning. Believe it or not, when morning arrives, people do manage to pick flowers."

  She took a long pull on the bottle. "For their lady-loves?" She probably hadn't meant it to sound cynical, but it did.

  Kris was too tired to take offense. "No, for every female, no matter who.

  There's no female of any age that lacks a garland or bouquet; those that have no relatives get them from anyone that can claim the remotest acquaintance with them. No one is left out, old or young. Women who have been or are about to be mothers get baskets of fruit as well. That day there are more picnics in the woods— family picnics, this time, with a bit more decorum— and music and tales in the evening. Bards love it; they're sure to leave with their pockets full of coin, their hair full of flowers, and a young lady or gentleman on each arm. It's rather like a Birthing-Day celebration, but on a bigger scale."

  "Holderfolk don't celebrate Birthing-Days either— except to deliver a lecture on responsibility," she said tonelessly.

  "When is your Birthing-Day?" he asked curiously.

  "Midsummer's Eve. Tonight. Which is no doubt why I'm such a demon-child, having had the bad taste to be born on such a licentious night."

  "So that's why you've been so off-color!" Kris snatched at the excuse to turn her mood around. "You should have told me!"

  "I'm being more than a bit of a bitch, aren't I? I'm sorry. First I get mad and knock you down, then I make a fool out of you, knowing damn well 256

  Arrow's Flight

  that I could probably swim rings around you, then I half-drown you, and I conclude by doing my best to ruin the rest of the evening by being sour.

  I'm being rotten, and I apologize."

  "You've put up with my moods often enough. You're entitled to have off ti
mes yourself."

  "Well I think I've caught up for the next hundred years or so."

  "I'm sorry I didn't talk to you about— you and me— before," he said, as the bottle came and went.

  "I wish you had. You've been leaving me in knots because I was afraid I'd manipulated you into being fixated on me. I couldn't imagine why you'd be making love to me unless it was because my Gift had warped you. I'm not exactly the gods' gift to men. And I've been mostly a problem to you on this trip."

  "Oh, Gods—" He was at a complete loss for words for a long time. Finally he handed her the bottle, and caught her hand when she moved to take it.

  "Talia, you are a completely lovable and lovely person; I care for you because you deserve it, not because your Gift manipulated me. Dirk may well be lifebonded to you— and if that's true, I couldn't be happier. It would satisfy one of my dearest wishes, that both of you should find partners who deserve you. And if those partners should be each other—that would make me one of the happiest people in this Kingdom."

  "I—" she said hesitantly, "I don't know quite what to say."

  "Just don't hit me again. That's one response to being at a loss for words I'd rather you didn't repeat. Now, what else is bothering you?"

  "I'm tired. I'm tired of having to struggle for what seems to come easily to everyone else. I'm tired of having responsibility for the whole damned Kingdom on my back. I'm tired of being alone, and fighting my battles alone."

  "Well—"

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  "Look, I know it has to be this way, but I don't have to smile and pretend I like it! And last of all, I'm feeling rotten because nobody has ever given me a Midsummer garland or a Birthing-Day present."

  "Makes sense."

  The bottle was more than half empty; they'd shared it equally, and Kris was beginning to see things through a very delightful haze.

  "How does it make sense?" she demanded irritably.

  "Because if you could have what you wanted, you wouldn't be upset, but you can't so you are." It seemed like a brilliant deduction to Kris, and he examined the statement with delight.

  Talia shook her head as she tried to reason it out. "That just doesn't come out right, somehow," she complained.

  "It will after another drink." He passed her the bottle.

  When the last drop of liquor was gone, so was her ill temper.

  "I— am fairy— very— glad that we've got something to shleep— sleep on right here," Kris said carefully, "Ish— it's much nicer, you can see the stars, and I can't walk anymore anyway."

  "Stars are nice," she agreed. "Not moving's nicer."

  "See the Wain?"

  "Who?"

  "The Wain— those stars jusht over the big pine there. Five for the bed 'n the axle, two for th' wheels, three for th' tongue."

  "Wait a minute," she peered at the stars, trying to get them to form up properly, and was delighted when she finally did. "What's the rest of 'em?"

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  "Right next t' the Wain's the Hunter. There's the two little stars for his belt, two more for's shoulders, four for's legs—" He realized by her steady breathing that she had fallen asleep.

  He reached over for the second blanket and covered them both with it, without disturbing his floating head much. He lay back, intending to think a little— but a little thinking was all he managed, since he, too, was soon drowsing.

  * * *

  The next morning he woke before she did, and remembered the conversation of the night before. He moved very carefully, hoping that he wouldn't wake her, and on being successful moved off into the woods on a private search. Talia woke to an incredibly subtle perfume wreathing around her. She opened sleep-blurred eyes to see where it was coming from, to discover that someone had placed a bouquet by her head.

  "What?" she said sleepily, trying to think why there should be flowers beside her. "Who?"

  "A joyous Midsummer to you, Herald Talia, and a wonderful Birthing-Day as well," Kris said cheerfully from a point behind her. "It's a pity that more of your friends couldn't deliver trifles, but you'll have to admit that we are a bit far from most of them. I trust you'll accept this one as a token of my profound apology for insulting you last night. I didn't intend to."

  "Kris!" she exclaimed, as she sat up and took up the flowers, breathing the exquisite fragrance with hedonistic delight. "You didn't need to do this—"

  "Ah, but I did. It wouldn't be Midsummer unless I gathered at least one bouquet. Besides, that scent you're enjoying is supposed to be a sovereign remedy for hangover."

  "Is it?" she laughed.

  "I have no idea," he admitted. "Part of my hangover always includes a stopped-up nose. Look at the stems, why don't you?"

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  Holding the bouquet together was a silver ring, of a design of two hands clasped together. It was the token a Herald only gave to the friends he loved best.

  "Kris— I don't know what to say—"

  "Then say 'Thank you, Kris, and I accept your apology.'"

  "Thank you, love, and I do accept your apology— if you'll accept mine."

  "I would be only too pleased to," he said, giving her a cheerful grin. "Dear heart, I'd intended to give you that at Midwinter, but since you said you'd never had a Birthing-Day gift, the opportunity was too good to pass by.

  And it had damn well better fit— you wouldn't believe how hard it is to get someone's ring size without them knowing! It goes on the right hand, little bird; the left is reserved for another purpose."

  Talia slipped it on, vowing to discover when Kris' Birthing-Day was so as to return the gesture with interest. "It's perfect," she said as he sat down next to her with a very pleased expression.

  She threw her arms around him, completely happy for the first time in months, and opened a tiny channel of rapport deliberately so that he could know what she couldn't say in words.

  "Hoo— that's as intoxicating as what we were drinking last night, little bird!"

  She took the hint and closed the channel down again, but she could tell that he had enjoyed the brief thrill.

  "What are these flowers? I've never smelled anything so wonderful in my life! I think I could live on the scent alone."

  "A little deep-woods northern flower that only blooms at this time of year.

  It's called 'Maiden's Hope.' I thought you might like it."

  "I love it." She continued to breathe in the scent of the flowers with her eyes half-shut. Kris thought with amusement that she looked rather like a young cat in her first encounter with catmint, and told her so.

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  "I can't explain it— it smells like sunrise, like a perfect spring day, like the heart's desire—"

  "How about like breakfast?" he replied comically.

  " Breakfast? Oh well, if that's your heart's desire—" She laughed at him and rose smoothly to her feet. "It is my turn, so I guess I'd better reward you for being so outrageously nice to me after I tried to murder you last night."

  "And since you seem so enamored of those flowers, I'll see that you have some in your wedding garland if I have to nurture them in a hothouse myself."

  "I thought you had a black thumb." She removed one of the creamy white blossoms and tucked it behind one ear.

  "For you, little bird, my thumb will turn green. I never break my promises if I can help it, and this is one I definitely intend to keep."

  "Then I'd better keep my promise of breakfast. Where will I get my flowers if I let you wither away of starvation?"

  They gathered their scattered belongings and returned arm-in-arm to the Waystation.

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  Twelve

  Geese honked overhead, heading south. It had been one of those rare, glorious golden autumn days— far too lovely a day to spend indoors, so Talia and Kris had been hearing petitions stationed behind a wooden trestle table se
t out in front of the inn door. Their last petitioner had been a small boy leading a very large plowhorse, and he had given them a message.

  Talia scanned the letter, and handed it without comment to Kris. He read it in silence, while the scruffy child who had brought it scuffed his feet uneasily through the pile of golden leaves at his feet.

  Kris returned the message to her, as she braced her arm on the rough wood of the trestle table and leaned her chin on one hand. "How long ago did all this happen?" she asked the boy.

  "'Bout two days," he said, combing dark hair out of his eyes with his fingers. "Feud, though, tha's been on years. Wouldn't be s'bad this time

  'cept fer th' poisoned well. Tha's why granther sent me. Reckons in settlin'

  now, 'for somebody gets killed."

  Talia looked up at the position of the sun, and added figures in her head.

  "I'm for riding out now," she said, finally. "Advice?"

  Kris brushed more leaves off the table, and glanced back over his shoulder at the inn behind them. "We don't have any more petitions to be heard, but riding out to a place that isolated is going to take the rest of the afternoon.

  We'll have to ride half the night to make up the time, and we won't have the chance to reprovision until we get to Knowles Crossing."

  Talia's shields chose that moment to go down; she felt the boy's anxiety with enough force to make her nauseous while she fought them back into place. She couldn't manage more than half strength; could still feel the child fretting after they were up. "I take it that means you think we should reprovision now, and wait until tomorrow morning."

  "More or less."

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