by Anny Cook
“You seemed deep in thought.”
“I was rude. Next time poke me.”
“I thought that was your job.” She turned toward a large open pavilion. “Come this way.”
Bishop lagged behind, still shocked at her first statement. Abruptly, he realized that she was leaving him behind and he hurried to catch up, oblivious to the speculative stares that followed him. By the time he walked into the controlled chaos in the pavilion, Samara had staked her place at the long tables set up in the cool shade. He wove his way through the crowd until he reached her table. “Now what?”
“Now you go meander around for a while,” she said firmly while she relieved him of the baskets he carried. “Once I have my things on display, they will disappear very quickly. Then I will be free to enjoy the rest of the gathering. Go look at the other wares. Maybe you’ll find something you like.”
With surprising reluctance, he left her and wandered out onto the wide field, amazed at the number of people who milled around in colorful confusion. Festival caps and gaily embroidered meerlims competed with shardas and sheras in eye-popping colors. In the background, the domed hurkas were muted punctuations of smoky greens and blues and tawny tans. It was almost more than the eyes could process.
“So, Bish! I see you decided to wear a sissy skirt after all,” a low masculine voice behind him teased.
Bishop whirled around to confront his friend Dancer. “You’re a fine one to talk with your pointy ears and fangs!” He studied the amazing changes in his friend. “I think I would like to be a fly on the wall at one of your concerts as you look now. That would be a sell-out crowd for sure.”
Dancer just smiled, flashing his impressive fangs. “That’s in the past, Bish. I’m happy here.”
“Have you seen Trav?”
“We stopped up there on our way here. He’s still healing. After our visit Wolfe put him back to sleep. It’s best that way as he just gets agitated otherwise.” Restlessly, he looked around at the crowds. “I suppose I should find Eppie and see what she’s up to.”
“You’re really attached to her.” Bishop’s sober statement caught Dancer’s attention.
“More than you can possibly imagine.”
“Try me.”
Dancer frowned at him. “You’re different. Something is changed.”
“Aside from your brother abducting me, us living through a bombing and then ending up in this valley that’s a baby utopia?” Bishop laughed. “I’m living my own weird fantasy adventure in the Land of the Blue People. Why would anything have changed? I keep waiting for someone to pop out and tell me I’m on one of those strange television shows.”
“It is a bit odd,” Dancer admitted.
“Do you remember Hamilton and Rebaccah McCrory? They used to work with Uncle Nathan and Aunt Morgana.”
“My aunt Morgana?” Dancer looked at him as thought he’d lost his mind. “Are you crazy?”
“Heads up because Rebaccah’s headed this way.” Bishop tilted his chin at someone approaching them from behind Dancer.
He turned, his eyes widening in shock as Rebaccah and Hamilton stalked through the crowds. “Fuck. How did that happen?”
“From what Samara told me, your aunt and uncle were here first. Then Samara’s parents. Then Baron and Jade. It’s old home week,” he muttered satirically. “Smile and say cheese.”
“Dancer? Samara told me you were here,” Rebaccah announced breathlessly.
Ruthlessly Bishop nudged Dancer forward. “Allow me. Dancer Devereaux. His brother Traveller is at the Llewellyn domes recovering from an accident.”
She looked at him intently before slowly nodding her head. “You’re the violin prodigy. The last time I saw you, you were about eight. You look like your mother.”
Absurdly pleased that she remembered him, Dancer chuckled. “That’s what my father always said.”
“How are your parents?” she asked eagerly.
Bishop intervened hastily. “Why don’t we find a more private spot to talk? Dancer?”
Dancer glanced around wildly, wondering where he could take them when Eppie popped up out of the crowd and suggested that they move to the council pavilion that just happened to be empty. Bishop trailed along, uncomfortable yet feeling responsible in some strange way.
When they were all seated, Hamilton spoke for the first time. “It’s bad news so you’d best just tell us.”
“They’re dead.”
Dancer’s abrupt announcement hung in the still air as though waiting for a fanfare of trumpets so Bishop leaped in once again. “They were murdered a little over two years ago. As was Teacher. Tracer and Raven… well, I guess you might not know about them. They’ve disappeared. The best intelligence I could dig up places them in the Middle East. And the most likely culprit is my father.”
The silence stretched out until finally Ham asked, “How did Dancer and Trav find the valley?”
“I stumbled in here in by accident and found Eppie. We had an attachment.” Dancer took Eppie’s hand in his. “We’ve been talking for a long time.”
“You’re the one she bonded with so quickly.”
“Yep, I’m the one.” His pride and love radiated all around him.
“What about Traveller?”
Bishop raised one hand. “That would be my story. We were trapped in a cave by an explosion that injured Trav. I was looking for help and found the valley.” He shrugged. “More or less, anyway.”
Eppie squeezed Dancer’s hand. “Trav is Wrenna’s mate. They have an attachment also.”
Rebaccah had a thoughtful look on her face. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that two in one family would have attachments?”
Very softly Eppie replied, “It’s stranger than you know. Robyn is attached to Tracer and Wolfe to Raven. That is why we know that they are still alive.”
“And you, Bishop? Have you come seeking a woman?” Ham queried coolly.
Bishop looked up and saw Samara silhouetted against the bright sunlight. He jumped to his feet and went to meet her, planting a kiss on her cheek before leading her back to the small group. “I found a woman,” he said firmly without considering the consequences of his words.
There was another long silence before Dancer said with a very peculiar smile, “Congratulations and good luck!”
Hamilton nodded soberly. “We will talk later.”
Alf Campbell, the council leader, poked his head through the wide doorway. “You must find someplace else to visit. It’s time for the first council meeting.”
“Well then. Obviously, that’s our cue to vacate. We will no doubt meet several times over the next few days. For now, I need to go relieve Andrew. He’s watching our market table.” Ham stood and tucked a hand under Rebaccah’s elbow.
The two couples remaining watched them walk away. “I wish there was some other way to tell her,” Dancer muttered.
“There’s no easy way to impart ugly news. No gentle way to talk about murder. When she’s ready, she’ll be back for more details.” Bishop smiled down at Samara. “Don’t tell me all your pretty bags are gone?”
“All but two or three special ones.”
“Where are your baskets?” Bishop asked with a frown.
“They’re in our hurka. Come, I’ll show you. It’s the purple one near the bridge.” The look on his face sent her off into a cascade of laughter.
“Since when do we have a hurka?”
“Since Papa set one up for us.”
Bishop grabbed her hand and led her to a small open-sided shelter near the edge of the field. “Samara! What does that mean in the valley?” he demanded suspiciously.
“It means that my parents are finally viewing me as a woman.” Her serious expression tore at his heart. “My father is telling everyone here that he approves my choice, whether we formally swear a covenant bond or not. There will be no recriminations.”
“Just like that?” Bishop snapped his fingers for emphasis.
“Just like that.
“What happens when I walk away? When I leave the valley?”
She hid the crack in her heart and plastered a smile on her face. “Then I will worry about it when it happens. No need to cross the bridge until I reach it.”
“And in the meantime, we have a tent thoughtfully provided by your father. I will never understand this place. Never.”
Suddenly angry at his willful obtuseness, she turned away. “Do not worry, Bishop. No one will drag you to that hurka and demand that you perform. Your kzusha is safe! I release you from your escort duties! Perhaps you will find someone else to keep you company!”
With that, she jerked her hand from his grasp and walked away, swallowed up in the jostling crowd.
The sound of clapping hands grabbed his attention and he turned to find Merlyn leaning against the support post, watching him. “Well? What are you clapping about?”
“You are a moron. After twenty-five years apart, I really expected you to be smarter.”
Bishop shot him the finger. “Fuck off. At least I don’t have fourteen children with two more on the way.”
“No, indeed. You have nothing. No children. No wife. And now you have discarded a lovely young woman who would take you in a second though you have absolutely nothing to offer. Truly, you are an idiot.” Merlyn shook his head in amazement. “Ah, well. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m quite a rich man here in the valley. Perhaps I can even afford to support you.”
“I don’t need your help!” Bishop shouted.
“No? Well, let me know when you find a useful occupation.” Merlyn pushed away from the post and leaned closer so that only Bishop could hear him. “Believe me—or not—but you will never leave this valley. You merely delay your adaptation to our ways. And now I must go. My mate needs me.”
He stalked away, heading for the bridge in a hurry. Bishop watched him cross the bridge and take the path to Lost Market. Making a sudden decision, Bish found his way to the traders’ pavilion. It was time he discovered a way out of the valley. And for that, he would need weapons and supplies. In the days he’d spent in the valley he hadn’t been entirely idle. He knew that he needed leg sheaths and flicknives. As he moved past the women gathered around a table piled high with folded fabric, he compiled his mental list. Extra clothing. A blanket. A hurka…best not think too much about hurkas.
He found a table spread with flicknives and picked one up to inspect the edge on the graceful wavy blade. He tested it with his thumb, inadvertently slicing the top layer of skin. Sharp.
“Allow me, Uncle.”
Bishop squinted in thought as he tried to recall which nephew was offering his help. Red hair. Hawke—the quiet one. Hawke plucked the flicknife from his hand and checked it with minute thoroughness. When he was satisfied, he laid it to one side and chose another to check. Four knives later, he tapped the small pile. “Put them on the Llewellyn account, please. And wrap them for my uncle.”
The artisan, who hadn’t said a word, grinned suddenly. “Ah, Hawke. I will do well today when the news spreads that you found my knives worthy. I thank you for your patronage. Go! I believe that Asa from Broken Pine has excellent leatherwork!” He rapidly wrapped the knives in two sheets of heavy linual, scratched a glyph across the top and presented them to Bishop. “With my compliments.”
“Thank you!” Bishop took the bundle from him and followed Hawke to a table in the far corner that was doing a brisk business. When they arrived, the other customers simply moved out of the way. Some ducked their heads in polite acknowledgement. Bishop heard mutters of champion and Hawke but thought nothing of it.
Three men moved briskly, serving the crowd of potential customers. The oldest man immediately presented himself when he saw Hawke. “How can I be of service today?”
Hawke gestured toward Bish. “This is my uncle, new to the valley. He needs leg sheaths for his flicknives. And a pack. And a wallet.”
“Ah? Of course. Come, sir, over here where I may measure you.” The man crooked his finger. “How is your mother, Hawke?”
“She is well. There will be two more babies near Midwinter.” Hawke leaned against the pavilion post and watched as Asa measured Bish. “You know, you’d best get him a decent pair of sandals too.”
“As you say.” Asa jotted down numbers on a scrap of linual. “Two more babies, eh? What a man your papa is, to be sure!”
“I believe that I heard today that your daughter is also pregnant.”
“Yes, yes! From that last bonding storm! We are so blessed that young Dancer came to the valley. There will be many new babies in the valley this Midwinter.” Asa pointed to a chair. “If you will sit, I’ll measure your feet, sir.”
Bishop plopped onto the chair while he listened to their conversation all the while wondering what a bond storm was and what it had to do with pregnancies in the valley.
“Yes, indeed. And I heard today that Dancer’s brother has arrived? Wonderful. May the healers and midwives be busy this coming spring!” Asa finished measuring Bish’s feet. He went to a pile of sandals and picked through it until he found two pairs of sandals which he handed to Bishop. “These should fit. Please try them on.”
By the time Bishop had tried on the sandals that fit him as though made especially for his feet and had been fitted for his flicknife sheaths, a bulging pack and rolled hurka were deposited by the chair where he sat.
Hawke snagged the pack and hurka in one hand and said, “Come with me, Uncle. We are finished here.”
Feeling very much like a child who was being punished, Bishop followed Hawke as he led the way to the training hall. Inside it was cool and dark. Hawke lifted a punchbow from the wall and proceeded to demonstrate how it worked. In spite of his uneasy feelings, Bishop was intrigued by the ingenious adaptations that had been added to a standard crossbow. Once Hawke had watched him arm it and was comfortable with his skill, he demonstrated the shoulder sling and helped Bishop adjust the fit.
Before Bishop could remove it, Hawke led him out into the far field where he dumped the pack and hurka at Bishop’s feet, handed him a rolled piece of linual in a red engraved chinka tube and pointed into the distance. “I would suggest that you start there just to the left of that dark rock. The map will show you everything we have discovered about the valley. Good luck!” Hawke patted him on the shoulder and walked away.
“What! No trial? No second chance? I’m to be banished, just like that?” Bishop shouted.
Hawke turned to face him and for the first time, Bishop realized his young nephew was gripped in a towering rage. “I merely gave you what you so obviously wanted—freedom and escape. Go. Find your way home.” The implacable calm Hawke demonstrated was far more frightening than open fury.
Bishop looked down at the pack and hurka and then back at his nephew. “Who made the decision to banish me?”
“I did.”
Inhaling sharply in shock, Bishop just stared at his nephew for a long moment. “You have that authority?”
“I am the champion. It is my responsibility to protect the valley. You endanger the peace of the valley. Go away, Uncle. When you decide that you want to live here, you may return.”
“What if I decide I don’t want to go?” Bishop yelled. “How are you going to make me?”
Hawke bowed gracefully. “It will be your decision, of course. If you refuse to leave I will turn you over to Dai’s tender care. Believe me. You would rather be on your own.”
Without another word, Hawke left him standing alone. Grimly determined, Bishop shouldered the pack and hurka and walked toward the dark rock in the far distance.
Chapter Eleven
Bishop’s Banishment
Samara moved blindly through the crowds, instinctively heading for the hurka her father had gifted her with only that morning. “Running away so soon?” a strange male voice queried.
She whirled to face the man who dared to question her, then stepped back in shock. He was huge, even by valley standards. She frowned as she tried t
o place him. There was a tinge of familiarity about him that she couldn’t quite grasp. Then he smiled. She knew that smile though she hadn’t seen it in many years.
“Banisher Ewell! Why are you in Lost Market?”
“I believe it’s called the Midsummer Gathering. Yes…that must be it.” Ban shoved a stray strand of tawny hair back from his face. “Who was the outlander?”
“Merlyn’s brother, Bishop.”
“Ah? Not settled in, I think.”
Her face burned with embarrassment. “No.”
“It takes time,” he said gently.
“First, you have to want to settle. He only wants a garbonhzan and I have not chosen that path yet!”
Ban took her hand in his big rough paw and led her to a group of stone benches that lined the riverbank. “Sit. I will tell you what I think.”
They sat quietly for a few minutes and then Ban said, “First love is not patient. When I fell in love with Daveen, I wanted everything to happen quickly, quickly. Daveen wasn’t in a hurry. I grew so frustrated when he moved so slowly.” Ban slid her a twinkling glance from his bright green eyes. “Finally, I caught him bathing in the river one day and I seduced him.” Ban chuckled at the memory. “He still refused the covenant bond for another six moons. He thought he was too old for me.”
“Then what?”
“When Daveen died, I thought my heart was dead. I didn’t ever think that I would have another love,” he said soberly.
“Something changed for you,” she guessed. “You met another man?”
“Not yet. But I’ve seen one that I want to meet. He’s just not ready yet.”
Samara looked over the milling crowds. Immediately, her eyes were drawn to the tall dark-haired warrior who was keeping peace outside the council shelter. “Arturo? Oh, dear.”
“Patience will make the wait worthwhile. I think it is the same for you. This man of yours—do you love him?”
She snorted impatiently. “Yes. Silly woman that I am, yes!”
“Then you must also practice patience, I think. In the meantime, we are at the Midsummer Gathering. There is no reason to have a long face. Come, keep me company and tell me all the news from Lost Market. We will confound the busybodies by having a good time!”