by Stina Leicht
That is an eight-hundred-pound bear. Am I seriously going to frighten it away with a blackthorn stick? What am I thinking? What if I get seriously hurt? Who is going to help?
No one. Because I’m alone.
And that bear is the least of my worries.
As a chill ran through her, she knew she could no longer afford to feel sorry for herself. This stops now.
Shaking with the knowledge of what she’d almost done, she turned around and closed the door. She dropped the walking stick back into its former resting place. Then she got dressed, cleaned up the tea, and finished her breakfast. After that, she located Sergeant Hirvi’s weapons. She didn’t know how to use a saber or a pistol, but she decided it was time to teach herself. Arranging the necessary components on the table, it became apparent that she didn’t have an infinite amount of powder or ammunition. It was also clear that Hirvi regularly cast the bullets himself. She didn’t have anyone to show her how to load the thing either, and she had a hunch to do so incorrectly was dangerous. It was then that she decided to leave the guns alone.
Nels will come. Soon, in fact. I saw it. There had been several different variations of that vision, but she knew he was on his way. I won’t be alone for much longer. She stared out the window and attempted to get an idea of when he’d arrive. She had expected him sooner, but something somewhere had changed. She didn’t know what it was. The vision she’d had the night before indicated that he would still show up on her porch with wounded—only there would be more of them. She worried she wouldn’t be able to care for them all.
It was time to look after the food stores. They’ll be hungry. With that done, she’d check her medicine supplies. There were bandages to make and herbs and vegetables to harvest—not to mention the bread to bake. The list brought her back to the apiary. Honey was an important component of wound dressings.
“Asa, Great Mother and Protector of Animals, please send that bear safely to its home,” she said out loud. “And while I don’t mind sharing your bounty with your creatures, please allow a few of the hives to have survived. I need them. Thank you.” With that, Ilta once again put on her coat and ventured into the chilly morning.
What she found both saddened and reassured her. The bear was gone. However, all but two of the hives were destroyed. She went to the shed, gathered the tools she needed, and set about the business of cleaning up the mess. Repairing the combs, she was ambushed by grief for her Gran. However, this time it felt cleaner and less debilitating. Where before Ilta had been angry when day-to-day needs pushed for attention—for everything to go on as if nothing important had happened—carrying on now felt less of a betrayal. She believed that in living and taking take of herself, she was honoring her Gran rather than dismissing her.
Ilta had also reached the point in her Gran’s journals with which Gran had been concerned. Ilta’s mother, Saana, had fallen gravely ill when she’d been pregnant with Ilta. Gran had chosen not to send for another healer and treated her daughter. During the process, something went wrong. When it looked like both mother and child would be lost, Gran had dared something no healer was permitted to do with a pregnant patient. She’d poured her healing magic directly into Saana, saving her daughter. Ilta had survived too, but unfortunately, she’d also been changed.
“Gran, I think I understand what you meant. It’s all right,” Ilta whispered from beneath Gran’s veiled, wide-brimmed straw hat. “I love you. I miss you, too. Terribly. But I think I’ll be okay now.”
Finished with her work, Ilta then placed a protective ward on the two remaining hives—bears tended to return to places where they found food.
It was now late afternoon. Sore and hungry, she decided to make something to eat. She couldn’t take too much time. It would be dark soon, and she still needed to reset the wards on the edges of the property. If she didn’t, she’d have more than one wild visitor. She walked back to the house with more spring in her step than when she’d left it, and prepared her dinner—a thick slice of toast, some cheese, and an apple. She thought of her Gran’s journals as she ate. She was almost ready to face the rest of what they contained. At some point, she’d be leaving and would have to decide which volumes she would pack and which would remain behind.
She’d lifted the apple to her lips when a vision ripped away the sunlight.
TWO
Ilta rushed to renew the wards. The vision that had stolen so much precious daylight had also emphasized the need. It was frustrating in the extreme, and if there hadn’t been moments when her powers had warned her of an event while it happened—and therefore not allowing her to surface soon enough to experience it for herself—she’d be angry. She checked the sky and cursed. Her pocket watch thumped against her chest where she’d pinned it. There were so many instances she wished she could be normal. Others didn’t have to constantly check the date or the hour for fear of losing their sense of continuity. Others didn’t have to fear losing their sense of self.
She’d made the circuit, refreshing all but the last ward, when it started to rain. Shivering, she pulled up the hood of her cloak and took the path eastward. She’d left this particular ward last because of its proximity to the Herraskariano road and because of her vision. Each spell was designed to link with the next until a circle of protective magic was formed around the house and its grounds. Normally, Gran kept the road ward separate. It operated as alarm, mail alert, and doorway, allowing individuals in need through and alerting the warder of visitors. It’d amused Gran to give visitors the impression that she’d had a vision foretelling of their arrival even when she hadn’t. It teaches respect, Gran had said.
Gran had her own sense of humor, Ilta thought with a pang.
Assisting with the wards had been one of Ilta’s first magical lessons. She had helped Gran with them once a month ever since. It’d been the reason she’d known the exact moment of Nels’s arrival all those years ago. Her visions weren’t always clear or exact. It was almost impossible to keep track of time when your mind was persistently invaded by both the past and the future, but there were other ways of compensating.
Her earlier vision had been different. She would have a visitor. Soon. Tonight. She wasn’t certain he’d be friendly, given the situation at court. Lightning flashed. She counted to twenty before the quiet rumble followed. The main part of the storm hadn’t arrived yet.
She found the old hazel in near darkness without expending more energy to magically locate it. She’d have to climb the tree. It was usually her favorite ward for that reason, but it was raining and cold and she was afraid. She wanted to get back to the house for a warm cup of tea. Ideally, she’d finish long before the intruder—visitor—showed up. It was possible.
A flash of guilt vaporized the thought. I’ll deal with whatever comes in whatever form it comes to me. No more cheating. Gran would.
She studied the tree before attempting the climb. The trunk would be wet and slick. She’d have to take off her boots, which would mean her feet would be freezing and dirty by the time she was through. Her left thumb throbbed with a dull ache where she’d repeatedly cut it for the spells.
Let’s get this over with, she thought, and sneaked a glance down each end of the steep, furrowed road. There was no one. Of course, she hadn’t expected to see him. He’d be hard to spot, even for her.
The climb was an easy one. While one needed to place a ward where it was least likely to be tampered with by the curious, it made no sense to establish a ward where it’d be impossible to reach. The rain slowed to a drizzle. She secured the drawstring bag of supplies around her neck and began to climb. The hazel’s trunk was cool and bumpy under the soles of her feet. She reached the bough with little effort. She’d made her way to the branch over the path leading to the house and had the fresh ward in her hands—a bundle of twigs lashed together in the shape of a person—when she heard footsteps. She twitched, almost dropping the fetch. Stopping to listen, she could make out words but couldn’t understand them. It took her
less than an instant to recognize the texture of the words. Nels had tried to teach her once and failed. Acrasian. That’s Acrasian. There are Acrasians in the area?
That wasn’t who she was expecting at all.
Returning her attention to the task at hand, she retrieved the bottle of consecrating oil from the drawstring bag and then anointed the stick figure. She held the fetch in a trembling right hand and charged it using energy from the hazel tree, adding it to her own. The new ward, no longer intended to serve as a doorway, would hide the path from enemies. It would need more power than it normally held, but she’d designed it with that in mind anyway. She concentrated until the fetch tingled in her hand. Next, she mentally connected it with the others, forming a potent and solid circle. Her skin itched with newly charged power.
The voices from the road fell silent.
Ilta froze. Due to the storm, the remaining light was feeble at best. Rain had gathered on her cloak, dripping from the hood into her face. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see the road through the trees, but then, neither could they see her. Carefully, she raised her chilled feet until they were under her cloak, and hugged her knees. Her back was against the trunk, and she was now in a comfortable and stable position. However, the longer she remained in contact with the ward in her hand, the more her senses would become overwhelmed with information from the entire protective perimeter. She needed to replace the fetch in its former location on the branch. At the same time, she was afraid to move and draw attention to herself. The Acrasians had to be closer than she’d thought to have sensed her magic.
Wait. They’re Acrasians. They can’t be that sensitive, can they? Once again she wished she could consult with Gran. There was so much she didn’t know.
But if Gran were available, you wouldn’t be in this fix, would you?
Three birds—cardinals—shivered rainwater off their feathers somewhere along the western perimeter. Stragglers, they hadn’t joined the others on their way south. A squirrel scampered up the warded yew in the north; she knew the shape of its clawed toes as it passed over the stick-figure carving traced with blood on the trunk. A deer—
Stop it. Focus.
She slowly replaced the ward and almost fell out of the tree at the sight of a young man wearing a black wool uniform coat. Why didn’t I hear him? He approached with cautious steps. A hissed inquiry came from the road. The young man below her turned, waved the other Acrasian away in an annoyed fashion. Turning back to the path and her, he took another step and paused—a confused expression on his face.
It was one thing to hide what no one knew was present. It was another to make something vanish once its existence was known.
Oh, Great Mother. Oh, shit.
The Acrasian stole toward the hazel with quiet steps. She didn’t know what had caught his attention, whether it’d been movement or the feel of fresh magic. Not everyone could sense magical power, but enough could that it was a possibility. Wait. He’s human, not kainen. It had to be movement. Right? His graceful steps reminded her of a korva. Not a korva. An assassin. There was something peculiar about this Acrasian. First, even she knew what an Acrasian soldier’s uniform looked like. She’d seen any number of them in visions for years. However, his uniform, and it was obvious that it was a uniform, was different. It was solid black with silver braid. Acrasian uniforms varied somewhat in the details. All military uniforms did. Some had bright red sashes and epaulettes, while others bore yellow, gold, or green detailing, but the primary color for Acrasians was always dark gray, as it was dark blue in Eledore.
The Acrasian reached out for the hazel’s trunk as if blind. He glanced up. From this angle, she got a full view of his face. He was a year or two older than she. His hair was dark under the Acrasian tricorne. His eyes were dark too, almost black. Shock showed the whites of his eyes. He muttered something in Acrasian, and at that moment, she knew he’d spotted her.
Her heart thrashed inside her chest. Out of reflex, she lifted her hands in the air so that he could see she wasn’t armed. She whispered so that the other Acrasian wouldn’t hear. He wouldn’t understand, but she did it anyway. “I won’t hurt you. See?” Her voice felt hoarse. It’d been so long since she’d spoken to anyone. Her mind whirled. She had to do something, but she didn’t think she could hurt him.
A sound from the road drew his attention from her. He turned and looked over his shoulder toward the road. He gasped and went for his pistol. A silent figure darted from the shadows. A long, sharp knife blade sketched a swift horizontal arc, catching the Acrasian under the chin. Blood splattered. The Acrasian dropped to the ground and died, twitching in a swiftly spreading pool of gore.
Ilta swallowed a sick feeling. She hadn’t seen such violence since Nels’s uncle had invaded Gran’s garden.
“You can climb down now. It’s safe. All the nasty Wardens are dead. Their friends too.” An average-looking kainen of average height and dull brown hair stood over the body in the middle of the road. His uniform was stained with blood. He didn’t even glance her direction but was going through the dead Acrasian’s pockets.
“What’s a Warden?”
“Acrasian assassins. They like to think they can hunt kainen.” He gave out a derisive snort. “I came to see if you’d gotten word of the evacuation. Clearly, you haven’t.”
“What if I don’t trust you?”
He laughed, and it reminded her of the first night she’d visited Nels at his barracks house with a sudden pang. “You’re Nels’s little blond, yes? Named Ilta?”
“Is that any way to address the Silmaillia?”
“You’re the Silmaillia’s apprentice? That Ilta? Ilta Korpela?”
“Yes.”
Viktor whistled. “Well, no wonder he never cheated on you,” he said. “I thought it was out of an overactive sense of loyalty. Or a spell.”
Ilta frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Perhaps you don’t remember our first meeting?” He doffed his tricorne with a flourish and gave her a courtly bow with his left leg forward. “Overlieutenant Viktor Reini at your service. I’m a friend of Nels’s. I’ve come to escort you from this place.”
Her expected visitor had arrived.
THREE
It’d taken only a small amount of convincing for Viktor to understand that they had to remain at the house. It’d been good to see his genuine relief in the knowledge that Nels was still alive. The news from Virens was bad. Defeated and destroyed, the surviving remnants of the Eledorean army were now fleeing north. The Acrasians were in pursuit. They killed everyone in their path.
“I was tempted to head south and search for Nels,” Viktor said, pausing between spoonfuls of hot chicken soup. “But I knew he would want me to make sure you were safe first.”
“Thank you.” She welcomed the need to guard her mind from his thoughts.
They discussed preparations and packing. It felt good to know that she’d have help. He even offered to show her how to use Sergeant Hirvi’s weapons, but she couldn’t make up her mind as to whether or not such a thing was counter to her Healer’s Oath or not. It was clear not all traditions were worth keeping. On the other hand, the mistakes she’d already made were difficult enough to live with. She ended by telling him she’d think about it.
After they’d eaten, she gave him Sergeant Hirvi’s room. Pausing on the steps to her own bed, she turned and gazed back at the main room with its cozy, banked fire. It was wonderful to have another person in the house—even more so that it was a friend of Nels’s. She felt a little bit more like herself. She retired for the night in the knowledge that she was safe for the first time since Gran had died.
The next few days passed in a blur of activity. Outside, it stormed and showed no sign of stopping. She attempted not to worry. With Viktor’s help, she had the cots, bandages, and tea prepared long before the front door was forced open with a kick. She’d sent Viktor to meet Nels the moment she felt the signal from the wards. The stained glass window in the front door rattled as
the door hit the wall.
A lightning flash made three Eledorean soldiers into silhouettes against a brightened night sky as they lurched through the doorway. One was being half carried over the threshold by the other two. Muck and gore masked the sky blue of their uniforms as their muddy boots pounded out ominous drumbeats on Gran’s clean floor. Drenching rain formed puddles before Ilta could shut the door, and she caught the reek of old blood and sweat as she hurried past. It took her a moment to recognise Nels.
Rolls of thunder shook the house like a warning.
He was breathing in gasps as he staggered inside. He peered through the wet hair gluing itself to his face and gave her a shy smile that sent a delicious shiver through her. “Hello, Ilta.”
She suppressed an urge to hug him that almost broke her heart. “Oh, Nels. I’m so happy you’re safe.”
“When I heard the Acrasians had sent Warden pack units up the mountain, I thought for certain …” Nels didn’t finish the sentence. Water dripped down the side of his nose.
“I’m—I’m fine. Lieutenant Reini got here before they did.” She opened her arms wide, adopting a happy attitude to smooth over the awkward air. “See? All safe. Now, let’s see to your corporal.”
“Kalastaja is in bad shape,” Nels said. “Wiberg did his best, but he isn’t a healer.”
Viktor stumbled in beneath the weight of another injured soldier.
“Let’s see what I have to work with.” Ilta helped Nels lay the shivering and feverish corporal on a cot near the hearth.
Light from the fire gave her a better view of them both. She risked another quick look at Nels. The change in him was a shock. It was more than the filth, the unruly hair, and beard, or the torn and muddy uniform. He was harder somehow. She was glad to see the added confidence but didn’t like that he seemed so guarded. She tried not to think about what he’d been through—the rout, the forced march to Gardemeister, getting up the mountain to her. Instead, she focused on her patient.