by A. C. Smyth
When she had taken him on, it had been with the proviso that she would not bind him. Normally a master would bind an apprentice—a contract on both sides that forged certain links between them using their kye. With doubt hanging over Sylas’s abilities, Ayriene had declined to make that link, and she stood by that decision. Part of it was due to her son, he knew. In some way she seemed to think that binding Sylas would be displacing Adwen; Sylas understood that. But the threat of his ability being burned away hung over him.
Ayriene fixed him with a stare that seemed to see into his soul. At last she nodded slowly. “Very well then. I am no flying tutor, like Master Olendis, but I will try. We will make a bird changer of you yet.”
Chapter 15
The domed houses were visible from some distance away, goosebumps on the skin of the desert. As they approached, Sylas was amazed to see how small they were, their single rooms hardly bigger than Master Jesely’s study at the Aerie. Namopaia. His home.
No, not his home any longer. That was the road now: wherever he and Mistress Ayriene ended up. A fitting solution for a man who did not fit in either of his lives. His one attempt at transformation since his plea to Ayriene had once more ended in frustration. All the planning and preparation—making their belongings safe so that no one would happen upon them while Mistress Ayriene accompanied him on first flight—all wasted. First flight, Sylas thought bitterly. Just being around a master changer wasn’t going to teach him to fly. Deluded fool!
He hoped seeing his mother and sister would bring him some peace—enough for him to carry on with his aim of becoming a healer, at least. Maybe if he could manage that, he could take his mother away from here. The healer way forbade taking more for a healing than the patient could afford, and in most villages, that was little enough. Even Mistress Ayriene did not earn much—he had seen the few smallcoins in her hand after a morning of consultations—but at least it gave him hope that someday he might support himself and his mother. Maybe not in comfort, exactly, but anything would be an improvement on Namopaia and his father.
Dark gazes followed them suspiciously as they made their way into the village. Irmos faces, especially ones as fair as Ayriene’s, were a rarity here. Ayriene as usual greeted everyone with a smile, introduced herself as healer, showed her pack. In each village, she would set up by the well to allow people to come to her. Sometimes it took a while for the first person to come, but then others would approach, encouraged by the first. Her customers fell into two types: those simply wanting her advice about one ailment or another, and those prepared to pay what they could afford for salves or teas or tinctures. With Ayriene’s unique talent, she made it known that she could offer healing for physical hurts also, and linandra diggers often came to have fingers broken in the mines made good as new.
If no invitation to stay was extended to them by the time she had seen all who came to her, Ayriene and Sylas would quietly pack their bags and set off along the road. Healers never stayed where they were not wanted.
A trickle of Namopaians came to them, most averting their faces to avoid making eye contact with Sylas. They knew him, yet gave no sign of recognition. His father was known for his temper, and few would cross Craie without good cause. In the distance he saw Ilend and his hopes rose. If Ilend was here, then the dig team were in the village. Pietrig was home.
He recognised the woman coming towards them and his heart lurched. It was Aithne. He had hardly dared hope that one of his family would approach them, yet here she was. As the others had done, she avoided looking directly at Sylas, but greeted Ayriene with a bob of the head and a timid sign of the Lady as if unsure what was the accepted courtesy for a healer.
“Healer.”
His heart sang at the sound of her voice, and his throat ached with the need to speak to her.
“How may I help you?” said Ayriene.
The words seemed to want to jump from Sylas’s throat: to ask if she was all right; to ask after his mother. But he had to hold his tongue until she spoke to him. Until she acknowledged him as her brother, he was the healer’s apprentice, nothing more.
“I am pregnant, Healer. I am getting bad sickness—not just in the mornings, but all through the day. I worry for the child. Do you have anything that can help me?”
Sylas struggled to keep his face composed, to keep the healer’s mask firmly in place over his features. She was pregnant. It had been likely, given the pressure she and Kael would have come under, but to have it confirmed was a joy. A smile tugged at the muscles of his cheeks and when he looked up Aithne was beaming at him, her eyes twinkling with happiness.
“Sylas,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”
Now that he was permitted to speak he couldn’t find the words, but he could feel the happiness spread across his face. She turned back to Ayriene.
“Healer, we would be honoured to offer the use of our house for you and your apprentice.”
Ayriene inclined her head graciously. She handled these conversations regularly, but made each person feel they were the first ever to offer the use of their home. Sylas wondered if he would ever treat people with Ayriene’s ease, and doubted it.
“We would not put you to any trouble. If you are pregnant, maybe you and your husband should not disturb yourselves.”
Aithne shook her head. “We can stay with my husband’s parents for now. They have room for us. The baby is not due for a while yet and we will be quite comfortable.”
Her husband’s parents. That made sense. Craie would never let Aithne and Kael stay with him and Zynoa if he knew it was for Sylas’s benefit. Aithne and Kael were making a stand in front of the village doing this, and Sylas knew and appreciated it. They were saying that they would accept and welcome Sylas, no matter what the circumstances of his leaving. Although, if he had come back with anyone less than a healer—and a changer healer at that—he might not have been able to expect the same outcome.
Aithne’s offer of accommodation also helped with the awkwardness of payment. Sylas knew only too well that the desert Chesammos had little with which to pay a healer. Ayriene had graciously accepted food and ale from their previous customers. However, since Aithne was providing a roof over their head for the night, Ayriene could legitimately wave her offering away. Aithne turned to leave, clutching leaves to make a tea which would help with her sickness and a tonic to boost the health of the baby she carried. Sylas took her hand.
“Come to the house tonight. Please. I need to talk to you.”
She nodded silently and left, and his cares lifted like a weight from his shoulders.
Sylas fretted until Aithne’s soft knock sounded at the door. She slipped inside at Mistress Ayriene’s call.
“Are you comfortable? Did you get enough to eat? Can I get you more water?” She had annoyed him as a child. She had been every inch the big sister, keeping her little brothers in line, and they had clashed many times. But at that moment the habit seemed endearing, not irritating. He had missed her more than he cared to admit. He held out his arms and she hugged him, then pushed him away, slapping his shoulder and dashing tears from her eyes.
“Where have you been? We’ve been so worried. We didn’t even know if you were still alive. Mother insisted if you hadn’t made it back the Aerie would have sent someone to look for you, but it was still in the back of our minds. You could have let us know you were all right.”
Ayriene cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. That was partly my fault. I should have seen to it that you had news of your brother. Sit down, Aithne. Sylas has been on eggshells waiting for you. Can you stay a while?”
Sylas squeezed Aithne’s hand, but her nervous glance at the door spoke volumes. “I can’t be long. It’s all round the village that you are back. I’m surprised Father hasn’t tried to make Kael stop me seeing you.”
So Kael was allowing her to see him. Th
at was a comfort. He didn’t want to come between his sister and her husband. He remembered Kael calling him brother, Kael stopping his father beating him to death. She had married a good man.
“Does Mother know I’m here?” He had half hoped to see her at the door with Aithne, but of course his father would never permit it.
“She knows. She says if you can be at the well at sunrise she will meet you there.”
Tears pricked his eyes. She would risk his father’s anger to see him. His voice was husky when he replied, “I’ll be there. Is all well with her?”
“You can ask her yourself in the morning, but she is as well as may be. She misses you, of course.”
“Father?”
Aithne glanced towards Ayriene.
“She knows,” he said. “You need have no secrets from Mistress Ayriene.”
“He is much as he ever was. Pleased about the baby.” She laid a hand on her belly in the protective gesture of the expectant mother. “He never speaks of you, except to curse you, but you probably expected nothing else.”
Indeed he had not. On an impulse, he decided to ask her something that had been preying on his mind since his conversation with Master Cowin. “Aithne, do you know what our grandfather’s name was?”
She flashed a look at him. “Why, Bairyn. You know that. He only died a few years ago. Is your memory so short?”
“Not Father’s father.”
She swallowed hard; she had known which grandfather he meant. Silently, she shook her head.
“Don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
She gathered their supper dishes, stacked them on the table ready to take away. He knew this simple action was to give her an excuse not to meet his eyes.
“I always thought it might be Erden. You know, because of your name.”
“Me too. Didn’t you ever wonder why we never knew anything about Mother’s family?”
She looked up then, pain in her eyes. “Of course. But you know why we didn’t ask.”
If Craie had got even a hint that the children were asking questions, or that Zynoa was telling them things he didn’t want them to know, they would all have suffered. He wanted to ask her if their mother had ever mentioned knowing someone called Cowin, but could not bring himself to—not with Ayriene there. As it was, she was learning too much about his family, and little of it was good. There was something else he needed to know.
“Has there been any trouble recently?” The uplanders had spoken as if the desert villages were about to erupt into violence, yet Namopaia seemed much as it ever had. Sure, there was a little tension in the air, but that could be accounted for by his presence. She chanced another look towards Ayriene, then shrugged her shoulders.
“I suppose some of it is common knowledge now. There was an incident a few weeks ago. Some of the villagers from Cellondora attacked an honour guard of the lord holder’s. They were carrying his standard, and the villagers thought that meant the lord holder himself was with them.”
“They attacked soldiers? With what?”
“They had their hunting slings.” Aithne hesitated, taking a quick look over her shoulder at the door. Sylas glanced that way too. Had she heard someone? He crept to the door and opened it, looking this way and that for eavesdroppers.
“There’s no one there, Aithne.”
She covered her face with her hands and he saw that they were trembling. “I’m sorry. It’s all been very difficult here. A lot of men are joining the rebels, and I’m scared Kael will get involved. It’s so stupid. What do they think they can do? Some of the Cellondorans had swords, Sylas. Chesammos bearing swords. It’s unthinkable!”
Where in the name of the Lady had they got swords from? A Chesammos buying a weapon would attract attention. Word of many Chesammos buying weapons would find its way to the ears of the Irenthi, one way or another. “An honour guard with a banner but no lord holder? Was it a trap?”
“Some of the men think so. They think someone is telling the Irenthi of their plans. Sylas, I’m so frightened. What if Kael gets drawn into it? I want our baby to have a father.”
“You must try not to upset yourself,” said Ayriene. “That’s not good for the baby, whatever foolishness its father is planning.”
“Are many of the men from the village involved?” He swallowed around a lump that had formed in his throat. “Is Pietrig?”
Aithne sighed, and he got the impression she had been waiting for him to mention that name. “I think so. Most of the diggers are, and I don’t think he’d be alive if he wasn’t at least going along with it. He avoids his father when he can. Rumour is that the elder wants him betrothed to a girl from Cellondora. Some sort of strategic marriage to ensure the two villages working together for the rebellion. Fienne is worried half to death about him.” She met Sylas’s eyes, daring him to ask after Pietrig’s sister. He was more concerned about the news of Pietrig’s imminent betrothal, and its implications, but his guilt required him to ask after the girl he had wronged.
“Fienne. Is she…? How is she keeping?”
“As well as you might expect, considering how you embarrassed her in front of everyone.” That was the sister he remembered, arms folded across her chest and a glare in her deep brown eyes. “I wanted to ask the healer if she knew of anything that might help.”
“For what?” Ayriene was obviously listening—making no attempt to hide the fact—although in a small Chesammos house it would be hard not to hear.
“A woman of eighteen who has never had her flows. Is there anything she might take to make them start? My brother here was indiscreet about her problems in a very public way and now she worries she may never find a husband. I know there are things you can take for painful flows and heavy ones. I just wondered.”
“Bring her here tomorrow. I can look at her privately and see if anything can be done.”
Any herbalist could give teas and potions, but only Ayriene could use the aiea-dera to look deep inside a person and see if anything damaged could be mended. Maybe that way Sylas could make amends. If he had not exposed Fienne’s troubles he would not have been beaten by his father, he would not have been healed by Ayriene, and like as not he would not be here now with the best healer on the island. Sylas’s guilty conscience regarding Fienne receded a little. Maybe the Lady worked through him to get a good outcome for Fienne. He hoped the Lady would be as kind to Pietrig.
Sylas was waiting by the well when the sun came up. Zynoa emerged from the little dome house he had grown up in, looked left and right, then walked towards him, her pace increasing as she got closer until she was running. He trotted towards her, breaking into a run himself to close the gap between them, catching her in his arms and hugging her until they were both breathless. His reluctance to be touched by her on his last visit home flashed through his mind and he felt a brief flush of shame, quickly extinguished by the sheer joy of being with her.
“Oh, my boy,” Zynoa said through tears. He realised with a start that his own cheeks were wet and wiped them with the back of his hand, grateful that there was no one there to see.
She took a step back, her hands on his shoulders, and studied his face.
“You have got so tall,” she said, stroking his hair and pulling her hand back as if embarrassed. “You are taller than your father now. Almost as tall as your grandfather, I think.”
She had never spoken to him of her family, and he wondered if Aithne had mentioned his question from the previous night. He wanted to ask her more—if his grandfather had been so tall, had he been an uplander like Erlach?—but time was short. Before long the village would stir and people would emerge to go about their chores. The well was an obvious place for the two of them to meet, but also the first port of call for most householders in the morning.
“Are you well?” Had she suffered for
his mistakes?
She nodded. “The better for seeing you. You leaving was so hard for me, but I see it was the right decision. You look so healthy. And apprenticed to a healer.” The pleasure was written all over her face. “That is an honest profession. Are you full changer now?”
“Not exactly.” How to tell his mother of failure heaped upon failure? “But Mistress Ayriene has promised I can go back to the Aerie soon to pick up where I left off. She says I am good enough to be a healer myself someday.”
“Ayriene?” She seemed thoughtful.
“You have heard of her?”
Zynoa didn’t answer, but took the linandra necklace from around her neck and held it out to him.
“You must take this now,” she said. “I offered it to you once before, and you refused it. You cannot refuse me this time. Aithne will have told you of our troubles. It is only a matter of time before the men take the beads to pay for swords or daggers, and I will not have my necklace used for violence. Or the soldiers will come. If I am caught with these in my possession, they will think they are stolen. Hide them at the Aerie if you can, or carry them with you. But I can keep them no longer. You may need them one day, Sylas. Take them for me.”
The reasons why he could not take the beads stood: they were too precious; he might be robbed; by rights they should go to Aithne. But before he could argue he happened to look out of the village, along the road he and Ayriene had travelled the day before. In the distance rose the plumes of ash and dust that announced horsemen approaching. The lord holder of Lucranne would never send his riders to Namopaia this early in the morning, unless he intended to catch everyone unawares.