by Unknown
Kira travelled quickly, habit rather than necessity making her count the caverns to either side. Lamps flickered on the walls, set in wooden brackets driven deep into the stone, some lighting empty caverns to confuse any would-be attackers. Not that an enemy had ever found their way into Allogrenia, nor a friend for that matter, but Kasheron’s legacy of care and caution endured long after other ways he’d brought south had been forgotten.
The echo of voices heralded the stores and she took a deep breath as she plunged into a brightly lit cavern, crowded with Protectors busy stacking the season’s growth of osken. The cavern was well suited to storage, with straight walls and deep crevices in the ceiling bringing in draughts of dry air from above. Kira had expected to find Kandor here, lurking between the bags of beggar leaves, pitchie and nutmeal, begging blacknuts or dried mundleberries. But he was nowhere to be seen. He must have gone on to the training rooms, or at least she hoped he had; it would be annoying to have to waste time searching for him.
The Protectors greeted her cheerily as she hurried on, the smooth floor of the tunnel descending and the air growing moist. Three more cavern entrances passed, dark slashes in the stone, then the sound of clashing metal reached her ears, running along the stone walls. The noise grew, with gruntings and thumpings joining the screech of metal against metal. Kira’s heart quickened.
Before Tresen had begun Protector training, they’d slipped in here to use the practice swords, sometimes with each other, sometimes on the sawdust-filled effigies hanging from the cavern’s ceiling. Tresen would pretend he was the mighty Kasheron, and Kira his bondmate Birika, fighting off foes on their epic journey south. It had been quiet then, but it wasn’t now, Protector Leaders bawling instructions to men in the full throes of fighting practice, the air filled with the thud of battle and the acrid odour of sweat.
Kandor was perched on a side bench, his eyes bright with excitement as he watched two men practising with real swords. The fight looked genuine, the blades flashing in the lamplight, their points slicing dangerously close to each man’s unprotected flesh.
Kira screwed her eyes shut, reminding herself that the Protectors didn’t embrace killing any more than she did, and honed their skills only to keep the Tremen safe. The practice ended and there was a scatter of applause. Kira opened her eyes in time to see the combatants embrace and begin towelling themselves dry.
‘I lost you in the tunnels, so I thought I’d wait for you here,’ said Kandor, springing lightly from the bench.
‘I was held up by Protector Leader Kest of Morclan. He seemed to think I should know who he was.’
Kandor assumed an expression of solemnity. ‘Really, Kiraon, I am most disappointed. It behoves you to greet your future bondbrother graciously.’
‘What?’
‘Merek’s pledging to Kest’s sister at Turning.’
Kira gaped at him. Was he playing at trickery?
‘Father’s said nothing,’ she said, eyeing him.
‘That’s probably because he knows nothing. Merek has been careful to keep it to himself,’ said Kandor.
‘Obviously not careful enough,’ said Kira, recovering enough to start searching for a lamp among the clutter on the shelf behind him. ‘How is it you know?’ she asked, checking the box of flints she’d found.
‘Oh, I don’t spend my days buried in mouldy Writings in dark caves. Merek and Kesilini needed a messenger to carry their little love notes. I’ve been happy to oblige, since Morclansman Jadek is a wonderful piper and happy to teach anyone who shows an interest. Love is a wonderful thing,’ he said, glancing at her sideways. ‘Kesilini is as beautiful as her brother is handsome.’
‘So it’s been a fair trade,’ said Kira, ignoring his teasing, and checking the nut oil in the lamp. ‘Music training for scouting.’
‘I might stay here, Kira, if you don’t mind. Mendrin said he’d have a turn with me when the men have finished.’
‘But only with practice swords,’ she warned.
Kandor’s face crumpled in mock disappointment. ‘Oh, I was planning on using a real sword like our mighty clanmate, Commander Tresen.’
Kira made her way along the darkened tunnel, the unlit lamp in one hand, the other hand skimming the wall. She’d told Kest she had an excellent memory, and so she did, but it had to be worked at, and the best way of doing so was to find her way in the dark. The cavern floor was mainly smooth, so she was able to make good time, counting the openings as her hand trailed into nothing, and noting the occasional pools of warmer air telling of vents in the roof. These dwindled the further she went, the air becoming closer and wetter until she came to the cavern she’d discovered on an earlier jaunt. Setting down the lamp, she fumbled through the pots and pouches of pastes and herbs in her pack for the flints; it took a considerable time and she’d gone through every curse she knew before the wick smouldered into life. Patience, Kiraon, is not one of your virtues, her father’s admonishment echoed in her ears, adding to her ill temper.
The Writings were as she’d left them, spread out on the musty floor, and her frustration was forgotten as she crouched over them, mould transferring to her tunic without her noticing. Miken had told her many peoples lived beyond Allogrenia, using different tongues, and that even the Terak Kutan didn’t share a single language, which was why Onespeak had come into being. None of this mattered in Allogrenia, except to the Healers, for the Herbal Sheaf was written in Onespeak as well as Tremen, and Kira had spent much of her childhood struggling with it.
She’d complained bitterly about learning everything twice, but as she’d grown she’d come to understand that healing didn’t belong to a single people, nor should it. It was a gift to be given freely, her knowing gifted to her from all the Healers who’d gone before. Still, it had been difficult learning Onespeak, and while her knowing of the healing words was thorough, she struggled when the language spoke of other things, as it did now. Her eyes skipped over the page, searching for references to healing and herbs, especially the mysterious fireweed she’d read about on an earlier visit.
Finally she sat back on her heels, shoulders aching and eyes burning, her early excitement a dry ash of disappointment. There was much in the Writings about the brutality of the world beyond the trees, of a people called the Shargh, of their flatswords and of the wounds they inflicted, but nothing of any use to her, such as information about fireweed.
Dusk must be settling on the world outside and her father would soon be returning to the Bough. She got stiffly to her feet, hating to leave the Writings in the damp darkness but unwilling to take them with her in case her father confiscated them. With one last look, she went back to the tunnel, faced the way she must go and extinguished the lamp.
6
The sever had been pushed over by last winter’s storms, but it wasn’t dead, its roots still searching the earth for nourishment, its canopy forming a snug and private bower. Merek and Kesilini lay together, their eyes on the window to the sky the falling sever had punched through the canopy, and on the brightwings flashing iridescent in the moonlight.
‘I love it when the moon’s big,’ murmured Kesilini.
‘So do I,’ said Merek, ‘for I can see you so much better.’ His fingers stroked the exposed skin of her shoulder.
Kesilini wriggled closer, drawing in his scent. ‘You’re supposed to say how beautiful it is, and then compare me to it,’ she chided.
Merek continued tracing the curve of her shoulder and she loosened the lacings of her tunic further. ‘You are beautiful and you know I love you. Must I include glib talk of the moon?’
‘No,’ said Kesilini, though she wished he would. Merek had no time for the frivolities of other couples nor did he share their views on lovemaking, making it plain early in their courting that they’d not be sharing a bed until after they were pledged. She willed his hand to stroke lower, but he continued to caress her shoulder. Kesilini sighed and Merek’s hand paused.
‘What troubles you, my love?’
‘I was just wishing that Turning had passed and you were coming home with me.’ He kissed her on the lips and she pulled him closer, kissing him hungrily. ‘Come to my longhouse this night,’ she said thickly.
‘Soon, soon we’ll be together,’ he whispered, caressing her cheek, ‘but in the Bough, not your longhouse.’
Kesilini looked at him, startled. ‘But . . . I thought you’d be coming with me to the Morclan longhouse. Surely there’s no need for you to stay at the Bough, not with your father and Lern and Kiraon all able to heal.’
A hoarse, barking cry sounded away in the canopy and for a moment Merek was silent, listening. ‘A hanawey, I think,’ he said, tucking a tendril of Kesilini’s hair back into one of the ornate plaits circling her head. ‘You should teach Kiraon how to dress her hair properly.’
Kesilini said nothing and Merek sighed. ‘I don’t think Lern’s heart is in healing,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if he went back to the Protectors.’
Kesilini couldn’t see Merek’s expression, but he sounded put out.
‘Will your father be angry?’ she asked.
‘Lern makes his own decisions,’ said Merek shortly.
The tock of a bark beetle started above their heads and Kesilini moved restlessly. ‘Even if Lern leaves the Bough, your father and Kiraon can heal and maybe Kandor, too, when he’s grown a little. Kest’s seen him gathering with Kiraon. Surely that’s enough? It’s said your sister’s skills are so great she’ll be Tremen Leader one day.’
‘That’s for the Clancouncil to decide.’
Kesilini snuggled back, trying to reassure herself with the familiarity of Merek’s presence, but she was troubled. Their own Clanleader, Marren, had said Kiraon’s skills were as great as Kasheron’s, and Marren was not a man easily impressed. Surely there’d be no debate about her becoming Leader? Perhaps Merek wanted the leadership for himself. The idea was as shocking as it was unexpected.
‘What think you?’ asked Merek after a while.
‘Nothing,’ she said, lacing her top.
Merek tweaked one of her braids. ‘Come now, Kesilini, we’re almost pledged. Do you think I can’t tell when you’re upset?’
She stopped and turned back to him. ‘Would you put yourself before your sister for the leadership?’ she said, heart skittering.
‘It’s the council’s decision, Kesilini.’
‘What about your father?’ What had Kest said? Maxen’s arrogance is exceeded only by his ambition.
‘What about my father?’
‘Would he have the council overlook Kiraon for the leadership?’
Merek slipped his jacket back on and helped Kesilini to her feet, bringing his arm around her as they walked.
‘How many female Leaders have there been in Allogrenia, Kesilini?’
‘Two.’
‘Sinarki and Tesrina,’ confirmed Merek. ‘And how old were they when they died?’
Kesilini shrugged helplessly.
‘Let me tell you. Sinarki was eighteen seasons and Tesrina twenty-three. The first Kiraon, whose skills, it’s said, exceeded those of her son, didn’t live to see her twenty-seventh season.’
‘What are you saying?’ said Kesilini, stopping. It seemed to her suddenly that naming their own Kiraon after Kasheron’s mother, the great northern Healer-Queen, was a bad omen.
‘I’m saying, my love, that healing exacts a price, and that the greater the healing gift, the greater the price.’
Kesilini remained staring at him and he took her hand. ‘Come.’
They walked on in silence, picking a path through the moon-iced trees, carefully stepping round the occasional tangles of sour-ripe. Bitterberry blossom rambled through the shelterbush, spilling its perfume into the air, and moon moths hovered, attracted by its scent.
‘But surely male Healers suffer in the same way,’ said Kesilini after a while.
‘The Writings suggest not. They’ve enjoyed much longer lives than their female counterparts. Perhaps because they’re less skilled,’ he added dryly.
‘Is that what your father believes?’
Merek laughed. ‘By the ’green, no! And I doubt anyone in Allogrenia would have the nerve to suggest it.’
‘So what you’re saying is that it’s best that Kiraon’s not Leader, or even heals?’
‘I want Kiraon to live a long and happy life.’
Kesilini laid her head against his shoulder. ‘But maybe it’s not the same thing,’ she said softly. ‘Everyone knows she loves healing, and I’m sure she’d be miserable if she didn’t do it. Kest says the Protectors have come across her gathering beyond the Third Eight.’
‘I’ve no doubt they have. But Kiraon’s almost seventeen, and soon she’ll raise her eyes from the ground and see that there are young men in Allogrenia, not just herbs. I know father feels that Clanleader Farish would make her a worthy mate, but whoever she chooses, there will come a day when she will bond, live in her bondmate’s longhouse and bear his children.’
‘You think it’s better so?’
Merek raised her hand to his lips. ‘Do you dispute the importance of love?’
‘No, of course not.’ She paused. ‘Nor the importance of a large moon, which means your father will be taken up with council business and not wondering where you are.’
‘So, the moon is good for something apart from highlighting your beauty?’ teased Merek.
‘Of course; it shows us the way home.’
*
It was dim in the Bough, the only light a gentle orange pulse from the fire. It gilded the oil casks and pots of beggar leaves, nutmeal and osken lining the shelves, also lighting up Kira’s face as she sat curled in a chair deep in thought. She was scarcely aware of the fire or the piping drifting from Kandor’s room, for her mind was on a passage in Onespeak she’d translated earlier that day.
She’d realised partway through reading it that it had nothing to do with healing, but she’d persevered, finally being rewarded with a description of silver horses racing across a golden plain. The only horse Kira had ever seen was the one graven on the Tremen ring of rulership her father wore, yet the picture in her mind was potent, rousing a strange, nameless yearning.
Abruptly the Bough door clicked and she sprang from the chair, hurriedly smoothing her tunic and noticing the mould for the first time. Stinking heart-rot! She brushed at it, feverishly rehearsing the version of her day’s doings she’d formulated, which avoided lying to her father without actually revealing where she’d been.
‘If this is all the welcome a noble Protector gets for trekking through the night in your service, then the hospitality of the Bough is lacking indeed.’
Kira laughed in relief. ‘Tresen! How is it you’re here?’
Tresen dumped his pack on the floor and pulled a chair to the fire. ‘Well, as our fathers are presently engaged in Protector training using their tongues as swords, I thought it would be a good time to escape.’
Kira shifted a pot of simmering water deeper into the coals and retrieved the thornyflower tea from the shelf. ‘What were they discussing?’
‘Discussing? Bickering more likely, about the gathering rights of Morclan and Tarclan beyond the Third Eight, of all things.’ Tresen jiggled the pot, watching the bubbles begin to rise.
‘But no one gathers beyond the Third Eight.’
‘Precisely. The fact that the whole thing is pointless is irrelevant to them both.’
It was typical of Tresen to blame both men equally for the quarrel, but Kira knew who’d probably started it, and who’d be refusing to let it go.
He poured the water onto the thornyflower, nodding appreciatively as Kira added a spoonful of honey to his. Tresen’s sweet tooth had earned them many a bee bite in their growing, and the daring tales of how they’d managed to rob bees’ nests high in the canopy had grown with each telling.
Tresen took a long sip of his tea and sighed, then settled back into his seat. ‘It’s a long walk to the Bough and I’m a little hu
ngry,’ he said, eyeing the cooking place hopefully.
‘Fortune smiles upon you,’ said Kira, straight-faced. ‘I collected some scavengerleaf on the way back from the Warens. I’ll get you some.’
‘I said hungry, not starving and desperate.’
‘Hoping for some of Sendra’s nutcakes, were you?’
‘There were scarcely any left at the council by the time I got there,’ grumbled Tresen. ‘They’re always the first to go.’
Kira fetched the basket and emptied the last few onto a platter. ‘It looks like they’re the first to go here too.’
Tresen picked one up and took several large bites. ‘Actually, the reason I’m here is not Sendra’s nutcakes,’ he said, cheeks bulging.
‘Oh, really? It must be her pitchie seeds then.’
Tresen choked and Kira watched him in amusement. ‘That nutcake doesn’t seem to be doing you much good, Protector Tresen.’
Tresen finally managed to swallow, pouring himself a second cup of thornyflower tea and adding another generous dollop of honey. ‘The reason I’ve come,’ he said, ignoring her teasing, ‘is for us to go to the starstone.’
Kira stilled. She’d told Kandor that they’d go, but that had been under the trees, not here in the hall, with her father’s straight-backed chair looming out of the shadows. She bit her lip. ‘I don’t think I can.’
‘Kandor told me your father’s forbidden you to leave the Arborean until the moon’s full. It’s full tomorrow.’
Kira shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. ‘That’s tomorrow, not this night. I doubt father will give me permission in any case.’