by Jenna Rhodes
She tilted her head a little. “No. I’m not.”
“Whatever blood you draw, you can dedicate to your Goddess.”
Lara drew her reins through her fingers slowly. “She is a God of peace.”
“Even more so, then. The war that Daravan and the ild Fallyn directed to her shores was an affront to all her sensibilities. And yours.” He mounted and leaned forward in his saddle toward her. “I have it on good authority that the ild Fallyn have no sensibilities.”
Her cheek twitched slightly as the corner of her mouth drew up. “You push me. I’ve held back because my sleep left me weak, as you know well, and because . . . because I don’t want to start a civil war among the Houses. We bicker enough as it is.”
He shook his head. “I am only encouraging you to do what you’ve known you had to do, yet hesitated. I could never push you.” Bistane paused. “Let me correct myself. I would never push you. I stand at your side, to help how I can, even if you demand flesh and blood of me.”
“What did I do to deserve you?”
“I don’t know. But long ago I asked our Gods to let you look upon me and really see me for what I was and what I could offer. Don’t make me sorry for my plea.”
She reined about so that their horses stood near enough that her leg rubbed against his. “Never.” She took a deep breath. “Then it’s home, and forcing Tressandre’s hand. I can’t prove what she’s done to Evarton and Merri, but by all the Gods, I can get her for this.”
Chapter
Forty-Five
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
“Looking.”
Merri tugged at his shirt hem. “But what do you see?”
“A lot of things.” He pulled her up beside him. “You’re tall enough to look now. On tippy-toes.”
Merri shook her head in disbelief and then did as instructed, her eyes growing wide as she found she could indeed look out the small framed window. She cast a sideways glance at him. He no longer had to stretch to his tallest to look out. With a small hmmm of interest to herself, she looked back through the window as night in the valley spread out before them. It was, as always, empty. As empty as their hope for something good to come after them. No one would come. They weren’t wanted. They had been given away, to keep raiders away. They’d been told that, every day since they’d been taken. No one wanted them. No one looked for them. No one cared, except the grumpy man who looked after them, and he cared as little as he could. His heart seemed as empty as the fallow pastures stretching all about them. There was nothing to see.
But now.
A silvery glow danced over the bending grasses, and the trees at the far side seemed to dip and sway in time with it. A star hung low enough to be one of the moons, but she wasn’t sure about that. Her eyes didn’t see as far or as well as Evar’s; she was always missing things he tried to point out to her, and the sky was no different. She stretched her little legs a bit more. Her chin could almost reach the bottom sill. Evar’s face occupied the middle of the glass pane. She wet a finger and marked where his chin hit.
“What’s that for?”
“I think you’re growing.”
He knew he was. His pants had shrunk so much almost half his lower leg stuck out, and Merri’s little coverall was getting very short and tight on her rump. He could talk better, his mouth almost able to keep up with his thoughts, for once. He no longer felt like a sausage that might burst its casing, or tinder that might burst into flame with his anger at what he could not do. His body could almost keep up with his mind, and Merri’s, too. They were changing, even in the weeks they’d been here. It proved him right. Something in the valley filled him up, and Merri as well. But what?
He stared back at the empty pastures, wondering what his sister saw. He saw lines of power that he could tug on and knot and stir around but knew he shouldn’t. What lay out in the open, coating the pasture during the day, felt wrong. Nighttime brought a different power, sprinkled in dewdrops over the bent grasses and weeds. Silvery dots came out of the ground and bounced along until they formed a small river, more than one, ribbons of silver wavering along the fence lines and pathways and groves. They looked so real, he thought he could poke one with his finger if they went out to see. The frowning man slept, but he had a lock on the door, and even though Evar could get his fingers on it, he hadn’t quite puzzled out how it worked. Yet. The floating ribbons had to wait. Perhaps another week. Two at the most. And after he poked them, what then? What if they struck him down, like a sword slicing through him? He hadn’t ever seen a sword do that, but he’d seen the curved scythe the frowning man used to keep grasses and brush clear of the cabin. Swish and gone. A man would be much harder, but metal could cut deep if swung hard enough. He thought of all his clay soldiers left behind, left at home. Now when he played, he’d understand what happened to them when they fell over. They could be cut in two. Or lose an arm or a leg. He shivered.
Merri tugged on him again. “Can you see it?” Her whispery voice tickled the side of his neck.
“See what?”
“The man.” And she pointed a finger which had once been that of a chubby toddler but now was more like his, slimmer and definitive.
He squeezed his vision tighter, unable to believe she could see something he didn’t. “Where?”
“There, sitting on the fence. He’s got all white hair and sharp blue eyes. He looks like one of your soldiers.”
Evar blinked rapidly two or three times, and then he saw the figure, head turned as if he could see them watching through the window as he balanced on the top railing of the fence. The man’s head turned back and Evar could see he watched something else, something Evar couldn’t see. “What’s he watching?”
“He’s watching Dayne. And a hole in the sky.”
“What?”
She waved one small fist. “A hole. In the sky. And Dayne is standing there, and he’s got his sword out and . . . oh, Mama! Mama’s there!” Her voice rose in excitement. He had to whirl around and clasp his hand to her mouth to muffle any further words. Her mouth worked against the palm of his hand. “She’s covered in blood, Evar!”
He pressed hard. “Don’t wake up the frowning man!”
She grew still in his hold. When he pulled his hand away, he had to wipe it on his pants, and she wiped slobber from her mouth on the back of her fingers. “Ick.”
“Quiet.”
“I saw Mama! She looked all fierce and she had a sword and she was all covered in blood. She was hopping mad. I saw it!”
“Then you saw something awful, Merri, and you can’t talk about it.”
“Awful? Was it bad?”
“Yes, if Mama has blood on her, it’s bad. Very bad.”
“She didn’t look broken. She looked . . . she looked angry. Like the time she caught the blacksmith whipping our pony when he wouldn’t stand still for new shoes.”
Evar remembered that. It had happened when the days first started getting really long and really hot. The smithy had come by to do some shoeing and their cart pony wouldn’t let him pick up his hooves or stand still. The man had gotten redder and redder in the face, with sweat soaking his shirt and pouring off his face until finally he’d let out a string of very loud words and began to whip their pony. Nutmeg had charged out of the house kitchen and grabbed the whip out of the smithy’s hand with a few loud words of her own. She held a pail of cold water in her other hand and promptly dumped it over the top of the man’s head before leading their pony off and yelling at the smithy to go away. She had been very very angry then. As angry as he could remember, even at them. Merri had told Evar then that the pony would have stood still if she could have talked a bit to him. The big, sweaty man scared him.
At dinner when Nutmeg told them, Dayne had clamped his mouth shut, unable to say a word, but Grampa Tolby had rocked back in his chair and laughed and laughed until Grandma Lily had to go
and get him a clean handkerchief. Then he’d leaned forward and kissed their mother on the cheek, saying she should always look out for those who couldn’t defend themselves. Evar and Merri had stayed quiet, unable to express what they wanted.
Evarton took a step back from the window. He couldn’t remember understanding at the time, but he understood now. She’d stopped that man from beating their pony which hadn’t known any better and couldn’t help himself. He ran his fingers through his tangled hair. What he didn’t understand was why Dayne hadn’t said much.
“He’s gone,” Merri told him. “It’s all gone.”
He didn’t know what any of it meant or why Merri had seen it and he couldn’t until she told him about it, and he didn’t know what he could do about it. He scrubbed his nose.
“Can I look again tomorrow night?” She peered up at him, her small face trusting.
“Yes. Every night till we figure it out.”
She threw him a happy smile before lowering herself from the window and walking very quietly back to their cots where she climbed in, rolled onto her stomach, turned her face to the window, and fell asleep. Evar watched her. She did not ever seem to worry about anything for long. He already knew, even as a child, that his world was far different from hers, and he had to protect her from it. He wondered if his world would change or if hers would?
• • •
The frowning man liked them to work. When they’d found all the dried patties they could and stacked them up, he sent them to look for kindling wood. Merri enjoyed that, because it sent them into the shady fringes of the pastured valley, along the tree line which edged the grass. There were many small branches and twigs to be picked up and even the tiny bugs that crawled among them didn’t dismay her. They invariably bit Evar and left him with a variety of welts and itchy spots which his sister would soothe away with a touch and a grin, telling him, “They don’t eat me! You must taste good.”
He did not find that as funny as she did. To compensate, he would occasionally dump a handful of crumpled fall leaves down the back of her coveralls. The frowning man thought that unacceptable and would yell at both of them for their antics. He sent away for clothes and shoes, grumbling that he’d been lied to, they weren’t toddlers at all but clearly children, and children who’d reached a growth spurt at that. The shoes that came by special horseman were too long, but he packed the toes with a soft sock and showed them how to wear them. Merri’s fit quite a bit better, but Evar had to take his socks out after a week or two because his foot was growing into the shoe. Even with new clothes, his pants never seemed to cover his ankles and calves.
What the two of them noticed more and more was that Evar grew almost too tall to look out the small window comfortably, while Merri shot up so that her nose would touch the exact center of the window glass when she did, and he had to crouch down a bit. Growing up made things easier, but it scared Merri. She got out of bed one night and crept over to Evar. She did not dare get in bed with him, because he struck out in his sleep and she might get hit. She sat quietly on the edge and looked at him, fixed her eyes on his face, and tried to not even blink. It always worked. Eventually.
“Gah! You’re staring at me again.” He wrestled his blanket aside.
“I can’t sleep.”
“And why not?”
She scratched at her knee. “I’m afraid Mama won’t know us when we see her again. We’re growing.”
“She’ll know us.”
“Do you think?”
“A-course. Mamas always know their children!”
Now she scratched at her head. “But you’re taller! And me, too. And thinner.” Her mouth arched downward.
“When we see Mama again, she will yell our names and run forward and grab us in a hug.”
“Both of us?”
“Both of us. At once.”
“Are her arms big enough?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. At least, as he remembered her, they were. If they weren’t, she’d try at least. She wouldn’t give up. He didn’t think about Auntie Corrie often, she had never been one for hugs, and Dayne . . . well, Dayne was the one who would toss them in the air and then give them a big, swooping swing-about till their heads grew dizzy. Grandma Lily would put one or the other on her knee while she worked at the loom, and Grandpa Tolby would walk the vineyards with them, slowly, so they could investigate the growing fruit, and then he would walk home with first one, then the other on his shoulders. They all gave them hugs but none so tight or wonderful as their Mama. What he didn’t understand, and what he couldn’t convince either himself and his sister of, was why no one had come for them. His nose prickled with heat and, afraid he might cry in front of Merri, he scrubbed at it, hard.
Merri touched her fingertips to his cheek. “It’ll be all right.”
He grabbed her hand in his. “You know, the lady is coming to see us soon.”
“I know.”
“She wants our secrets.”
“Probably.”
“No probably about it—that’s why she stole us! And we can’t let her know. She’s not a good person.”
Merri turned her face up to him. “I won’t tell. Not even if she hurts me.”
“And I won’t even if she hurts me,” Evarton vowed back to her. But he stopped then, and it felt as though his tongue had fastened itself to the roof of his mouth. He wasn’t at all certain he could be quiet if the lady or anyone decided to hurt Merri to make him tell. He took a deep breath. He might have to do something then, something big and terrible and deadly.
Evar swung off his cot, took his sister by the arm, and walked her to her blankets to tuck her in. She curled on her side, and he rubbed the back of her neck until he heard her slight, fuzzy snore before he left her, but he walked to the window instead of to his bed. He did have to slump down a bit to see out, but the sight that met his eyes made the effort worthwhile. Silvery ribbons of light and dew danced over the grasslands, overflowing from the brook which edged the valley. He longed to touch them, to see what he could make of them, and he pressed one hand flat against the barrier of the window. He drew in the misty exhalations of his breath with his other hand, his fingertip making spiral dances that matched the movement of what he watched. As he did, a woman arose out of the dew and sparkle, her body ghostlike but clearly a woman of beauty and grace, as different from his mother who he knew to be beautiful as he was different to Merri in looks. The river woman wore a cloak of running dew drops that caught the dark blue of the night as well as the silvery fog from the grass. She watched him, but when he reached for her with his thoughts and his intent to make her real, a gust slapped him back from the window, nearly slamming him into a wall.
Evar straightened, shakily. He came back to the pane but did not dare touch his hands to it. The river woman wagged a finger at him in denial. Not yet, she told him silently. She floated across the grasses, through the fencing and came near the small cabin. He could feel a sudden chill in the air as she dipped down so she could look him in the eye.
Words spilled over into his head. Call me Andredia. And she bent near enough to the window to look him straight in the eye, and he recognized the stern yet handsome face of Warrior Queen Lariel masking the face of the river woman. Remember.
Evar took a hasty step backward as he could feel the power build up yet again, but she did not slap at him. Instead, she grew tall and he had to press his nose to the pane to see all of her though his heart beat loudly in his chest as he did, cold fear rising. She seemed to be waiting.
“I-I-I’ll remember.”
The woman nodded at him and then strode away from the cabin, each step taking in all the dew and fog on the ground, inhaling it, until all silvery magic dancing over the pasture disappeared into her figure as she stepped into the small river and disappeared. He thought about Merri’s vision which she had not seen again, although she sometimes talked abo
ut a great bridge with terrible things marching on it, things she wouldn’t tell him about. He thought about the valley filling him and his sister with . . . well, he still was not quite sure what it was. He thought it felt like magic, even if it was not the magic he’d been born with, or if he could do good with it. It had grown their bodies to fit their deeds, and he feared it wasn’t done with them yet.
His hands shook as he tumbled into his cot. He lay on his back looking at the night-cloaked ceiling for a very long time before sleep finally came for him.
Chapter
Forty-Six
“COME ON, COME ON, wake up, ya little bastiges.” He yanked the covers off of them and slapped their bare feet with his hand. “Rise and shine, ya whiny bags of snot.”
Merri rose with a gulping snuffle, but Evar shot out of bed, his lips curled back from his teeth like a disgruntled hound. However, the frowning man paid him no attention, already beyond reach of his bite, if he had intended one. In the darkness, his defiance went unseen. Daylight had yet to flood the dusty old bunkhouse, and it looked as muddy and dark as the bottom of a well. Merri tried to swallow down her dismay, but her snuffles turned to hiccups as she did until even her brother shoved her in the shoulder.
“Stop that!”
“I—I can’t.” She plopped down miserably on the bed’s edge and waved a shoe at him. “My shoes hurt.”
“Whatcha mean?” He thought he might guess, because his own shoes pinched his toes horribly and he wasn’t even sure if he could get them back on his feet. So soon after he’d thought he had her fixed for shoes, but that was before her nose reached the middle of the small window’s pane. He sat down next to her, the wobbly cot creaking under both their weight. She shifted and the cot made a low groan as if it would collapse completely. He took the shoe from her hand. “It hurts where?”