by Jackie Dana
“Sander?” Fantion approached him with a flask of water, and Lysander took it readily, swallowing easily half of its contents in a couple of gulps. Then he wiped his gloved hand across his forehead and leaned against a broad tree trunk.
“It was Ryvenor, just as I feared,” he finally said, panting, his voice low and rough. “Burned to the ground. Completely destroyed.”
“And Yvora?” Nyvas asked with a grimace.
Lysander tipped his head back and tried to catch his breath. After a moment, he replied, “she’s unharmed, as are her boys.” He drank again from the flask, and as he did so, Arric struck a flint and set a twist of pine needles alight, which he used to light a torch so they could see each other. “She had quite a fright seeing me gallop into the middle of it all, I must tell you.” He allowed himself to grin despite the grave situation. “They were lucky, all things told. She and the children escaped without even a singe.”
“What about Tomar?” Fantion asked.
Sander shook his head. “He’s safe, but he’s fhaoli now, I think. She didn’t know for sure, but she thinks so, and of course he’s long gone now.” He paused to think, and then continued, “that would mean a dozen newly outlawed, plus the five from the beginning of the summer. That’s nearly all the men in the village.” Again he took a drink. “They all took off for the trees as soon as the Senvosra appeared. It’ll be hard on Ralli and Wylan, though, especially Wy—he and his father are very close.” He emptied the flask and returned it to Fantion. “You can well imagine that Yvora was mad as a hornet that I showed up when I did, since the soldiers had just left. She was sure I’d be arrested and hanged in the square before day’s end.”
Dosedra Arric’s eyebrows furrowed as he considered the news. “The Senvosra started the fire, then?”
“Nay, it was the men of the village. It was planned.” He took a moment to suck in a breath. “They were expecting arrests, Yvora said, and the village agreed it was the best they could do. The goats had already been chased into the hills, and the chickens into the trees. The boys will try to catch them all tomorrow, I suspect.”
It made no sense to Kate. “They burned their own homes?”
“Aye, Sander, what would make them do that?” Arric seemed as confused as she was.
“It’s on the list,” Fantion explained. “Ryvenor was suspected of harboring fhaoli. That’s one of the edicts from a few summers ago. Any families found to have fhaoli living among them have their belongings confiscated by the Senvosra, and everyone is arrested and punished as the Senvosra see fit—even the children. Since so many were already outlawed, everyone knew it was a matter of time. So the people of Ryvenor burned their own homes to create enough confusion to allow the men to escape.”
“Aye, a village without people is a dead village,” Fantion said. “It’s becoming a common tactic. This way, at least the men remain free, and no one gets arrested. And they’ll have a chance to rebuild.”
“But... if all of the village’s men are fhaoli now...” Dosedra Arric began. “Won’t they just face future raids?”
“Ah, well,” Fantion said, “welcome to the cycle of life under Vosira Bedoric.”
***
“I’m really sorry, Sander,” Kate said.
He had been kneeling so that he could roll out his blanket, and now he sat back on his heels, nibbling on a bit of bread and drinking heavily of the havar Fantion had just offered him. When she approached he pushed back damp strands of hair from his face. “Ah, I appreciate your concern, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“I know, but it’s still really horrible.”
“It’s the way of things. At least my family is safe. Tomar—my sister’s husband—and the other men will be joining us in Lockleaf for a few days, and then when it’s safe we’ll all go help rebuild the village. It’s really nothing new for us, as this happens at least once a season. I just worry about Yvora because she’s heavy with child, and doesn’t need the grief now. I would have sent her to the Sarnoc, but with all the Senvosra on the roads, that’s almost impossible. Instead, she’s talking of coming to Lockleaf with Tomar to give birth, since I’m here.” He made a low, grunting sound. “You cannot imagine how angry it makes me to think she would have to birth that baby in the woods. She should be in her own home—but now she has nothing.” There was a catch in his throat, and he covered his mouth and turned away for a moment. When he faced her again he trembled slightly. “Worst of all, it’s likely my fault.”
“What do you mean?”
“I went there, to Ryvenor, when Yvora became ill early in her pregnancy. Tomar was worried because she wouldn’t eat or drink anything, and she wouldn’t see another healer. I had to go. Afterwards, we got word that while I was there, some travelers recognized me and reported it when they returned to Loraden. So the whole village lost their homes, and it’s because of me.”
“It’s not your fault, Sander,” Nyvas said as he walked up behind him, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “You did what had to be done.” Without a word Lysander reached up to cover the young man’s hands with his own long fingers.
“Perhaps so, but it’s still hard to know why it happened, and not be able to do anything.”
“Sander, I shall speak to Bedoric about this when I return,” the Dosedra promised.
“Nay, Arric. It would be better that you say nothing. Ryvenor needs to be left alone. If we’re lucky, they’ll have until spring before the Senvosra return. If they can get new homes built, they may have a chance to make it through the winter, but if Bedoric has a mind to send more soldiers, they will suffer greatly for it.”
“Very well,” he agreed, but sounded doubtful. “I will send coin to your sister, though.”
To that comment, Sander nodded. “That will be greatly appreciated.”
Chapter 25
The next day, after a much shorter day of travel, and a much warmer one than the previous days, Arric dismounted and led them into a clearing in the shadow of a sheer rock cliff. With boulders in front of them that limited access to the area, it was a more isolated and defensible location than anywhere they had been for days. “Shall we make camp here?”
Kate was surprised by the suggestion, since they had a late start, and it was still a good two hours or more until sunset.
Apparently she was not the only one caught off-guard. “Are you sure?” Fantion asked as he circled his own horse back around. “We can probably travel another league before nightfall.”
“Everyone is drained, including the horses, and I doubt we will find a safer location for the evening if we press on.” In a low voice the Dosedra added, “Sander’s a wreck. I wouldn’t want to wager on whether it would be him or the horse that would collapse first.”
“Aye, that’s true enough.” His friend shrugged as he glanced back at Lysander, who seemed lost in his own thoughts. “Well, it works for me. This is more riding than I’ve done in years.”
Kate appreciated that comment, and after Arric helped her down from the saddle, she joined the men in stretching out aching limbs and shoulders. No one seemed immune from saddle-soreness, making her wonder if any of them rode horseback as often as she first thought.
As Arric and Fantion unpacked the bedrolls and other supplies, and Nyvas gathered wood, she crouched down beside Lysander to help him prepare their meal. Without a word he reached into his pouch and handed her packets of dried meat wrapped in leaves and twine, the small bag of dried herbs, and the last of the carrots Noresa had packed for them.
“We’ll need water,” the Dosedra said. She nodded to him, and unhooked the leather pail from Nyvas’s horse, as well as an empty leather flask. “There’s a stream that way, just down the hill.” He indicated the direction with a jerk of his head since he was busy cleaning the dried mud from Trill’s hooves. “Would you mind filling my flask as well?”
“No problem.” With a skip, she headed down the incline. Even though she ached all over, the pain abated a bit now that she f
elt she was part of the group rather than a reluctant—or worse, distrusted—guest.
The water of the stream was clear and cold. She scooped up water in her cupped hands, and after drinking deeply, splashed water on her grimy face. The water felt so good after days of mud and muck. She took a deep breath as knelt on the bank. There was little time to delay, since they needed water for cooking. Still, she stole a moment to use the pail to pour water over her head and scrub at it. Then, after shaking her head to release the excess water, she then filled the containers, and headed back up the hill.
On her way back she passed Nyvas and Fantion leading the horses to the stream. “Good idea,” Nyvas remarked at her damp hair. “I think I’ll do that myself.”
When she returned to camp, Arric was sitting on the ground, his face buried in his saddlebag, rummaging for something.
“Ah, here it is,” he exclaimed. “I feared I’d lost it in the swamp.” He pulled out an item wrapped in blue wool, something long and thin. As he unrolled the fabric on his thigh, she saw the unmistakable glint of glysar.
“What is it?” she asked from the other side of the fire, as she emptied the pail into the cooking pot.
He cradled the shiny cylinder in his outstretched palms. “It’s an ioni flute.”
She stepped around the fire. “It’s beautiful.” It resembled a silver flute from her world, but without the keys, and it was a bit shorter and thinner. In the sunlight it shone as if on fire.
“Legend says the secret of how to make ioni flutes came from the gods,” he said, as he warmed the luminous metal in his hands. “This flute is generations old, and I believe it’s one of the best that was ever made. Though perhaps you and the others should be the judge of that.”
He placed one end to his lips. A single note beamed forth, pure and unwavering. He blew into the flute a second time, this time filling the irregularly shaped holes with the fleshy pads of his fingers. Without further hesitation, he filled the flute with his warm breath, and from the instrument came a simple, haunting melody, with the notes slow and deliberate, hovering in the lower register.
As he played, she returned to the cooking pot, cutting up the carrots and dried meat with Lysander’s knife, and then she added the seasonings. When she carried the stew to the fire, her attention was on the music, and she almost dropped the pot the first time she tried to hang it on the hook.
Returning with his horse, Nyvas pushed his dark hair from his eyes, and stole a glance at the Dosedra. “I had no idea he could play like that,” he whispered to her as he crouched down beside her. “If I had known, he would’ve had that flute out every night, Senvosra or not.”
She smiled, and nodded in agreement. As the Dosedra played, his eyes were closed, his energy focused entirely on the flute and the music that came from it. The stiffness he carried with him every moment—as if he was always prepared for an attack—had vanished. “It’s incredible,” she whispered back to Nyvas. “Who’d have thought it possible?” She leaned back on her feet. “It’s really hard to believe he’s the same man that I met a few nights ago.” She chuckled, mostly to herself. “What’s the song called, do you know?”
Lysander walked up behind her to stir the pot. “Ah, he doesn’t name most of his tunes.”
“Wait—that’s his own music?” Seeing Sander nod, she shook her head in disbelief. “The surprises never end with him.”
With a gentle nudge from Lysander, as the stew bubbled, she grabbed her blanket and spread it out by the fire. Sitting quietly, she could give her full attention to Arric’s music. As he continued to play, her head began filling with images. It was easy to imagine a field of wildflowers in the spring, with warm breezes and children playing. She felt the ice-cold shock of jumping into a spring-fed pond in mid-summer, and eating fresh peaches right off the tree, the juice dripping down her cheek. There was dancing, and merriment, in a hall brightly-lit with torches, with laughter and rejoicing. By hearing his music she half-believed she was sharing his intimate memories.
As he continued to play, one song melting into the next, she almost forgot that she was in the middle of nowhere. Illogically, the music seemed to help revitalize her sore feet and diminish her aches. Maybe the flute really was god-given, or if not, perhaps the talent of the performer had been. She lost track of everything around her, and for the first time since her mother had died, she let go of grief and fear. Even as a few tears fell down her cheeks, she experienced a sense of inner calm, as if all her worries were set aside for the moment.
Eventually, however, Lysander broke the spell. At the end of the next tune, he softly called out, “food’s ready.”
In response, Arric set the flute in his lap, his eyes closed in contemplation, his fingers quietly absorbing the last of the gentle power within the metal. Finally content, he rolled the flute into its protective wrappings and carefully placed it back in the saddlebag. Then he walked past where she sat, ruffled her hair playfully, and reached for one of the bowls sitting on a rock beside Lysander.
As he passed, his touch sent a wave of goosebumps down her back, and she bit back a smile. In her current position, with her chin resting on her hands, and her elbows propped up on her knees, she neither moved nor dared to look up at him.
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asked when he passed by her again. She now glanced up and saw that he was holding two bowls. “May I join you?”
In some ways, things had been easier when she thought him heartless. At this moment—now that she no longer feared or despised him—she found it infinitely more difficult to talk to him. Kate closed her eyes, trying to summon her confidence, and nodded.
He sat beside her, crossing his legs under him. Whether or not he sensed her awkwardness, he did not acknowledge it.
“It’s been a long day, aye?” he asked gently, reaching for one of her hands, and placing a bowl in it. “Sander said that under no circumstances was I to let you fall asleep before you finished that.”
Her eyes opened a crack. His words were kindly spoken, and it made her smile. Smelling the aroma of the warm broth, she scooped up a mouthful with the wooden spoon and began to eat.
“You’ve been rather quiet this evening, Bhara.” He had started on his own stew, and finished his mouthful. “There’s nothing wrong, I hope?”
“No, Dosedra, not really. I’m just tired.”
He tipped his head sideways to gaze at her. “Aye, fair enough.” Then his eyes fell back to her bowl. “You’ve stopped eating.”
With a smirk she took another bite.
“While I’m sitting here, there’s an issue I’ve been meaning to discuss with you,” he announced gravely. “It’s been bothering me, and I think we should resolve it now.”
Her anxiety returned with a vengeance, and her head shot up. “What is it?”
“It’s all this formality,” he said, gazing at her, and then he winked. “In public, it must be different, but while we’re out here, please, just call me Arric.”
She smiled with a sigh of relief, glad nothing was wrong. “Then you’ll have to call me Kate."
After they ate, Arric was coaxed into performing again, and when he played a couple folk tunes, Fantion offered his voice to sing the words. It was a funny pairing, since the flute was so pure and light and Fantion’s voice was rough and slightly off-key. Still, it was an entertaining evening, the first she had known since the quantrill. As they sang, she reclined on her blanket, and before she knew it, she was fast asleep.
Chapter 26
“These are the foothills of the Carpasic Mountains,” Arric explained, as much to his male companions as to Kate. “We rode around them on our way to Bhoren, but we will cut through them here.”
This new day led them down a road that seemed little more than a faint line etched into the rocky cliffs. To make up time, Arric had chosen a more direct but also quite challenging route, with a path strewn with jagged rocks and small bushes with thick roots exposed from years of erosion. The treacherous passage required c
areful movements to avoid injuring the horses. Many streams found their source high in the mountains, and frequently the cold springs spilled down the hillsides and over their path, making the rocks slick. For a long stretch the path was particularly dangerous, meaning they had to dismount and walk, lest they and their horses go sliding down the hillside.
When they reached a spot that was unusually wide, enough that two horses could stand side by side without fear of tumbling over the edge, Arric called a brief rest. Lysander asked to search for a particular healing plant native to these mountains, and Arric gave him leave to hunt for it. “Hurry back,” he admonished, as Lysander scurried down the incline, Nyvas at his heels. “We still have a long way to go today.”
Kate sat on a boulder near the horses. Secretly she hoped the men would take their time, because today more than any day before, her feet were killing her.
Meanwhile, Arric bent his body forward and backwards in an attempt to stretch out the muscles in his back. As he did so, he said to Fantion, “I’ve been thinking about Sander and Nyvas a great deal these past few days. They are good men, to have agreed to accompany me on this foolish quest of mine.”
“Aye, that they are.” Fantion dismounted and approached a stream of water spilling down from somewhere higher up on the cliff. “Watching them together, though, sometimes I wonder about their relationship—if you know my meaning,” he said as he filled his flask. “They have always been friends, but lately…”
“I suspected as much the first day I saw them together. Perhaps they have spoken the Oath of Alisavi?” Arric turned to look in the direction they had disappeared. “Being fhaoli, it’s good they can share such closeness with each other.”