She cast her mind out through the morning, avoiding the village and other close habitants. For a long time there was nothing, then her mind touched another. The connection felt thin, as if stretched over a great distance. She jerked back almost as a reflex to keep from seeing the person‘s secrets. Tentatively, she touched again. It was the mind of a woman, though strangely shielded; no emotions–no thoughts–flowed from her. After a moment, Maleena drew back into herself, careful to erase the mental path.
Shaken, she picked up the small tea kettle from its place near the fire and poured a cup of the steaming liquid. She sat down at the small table near the hearth and sipped at the tea, turning the discovery over in her mind. The woman must possess some kind of magic or she wouldn’t have the ability to block her mind off in such a manner.
Maleena got up and walked over to the shelf that held all of the cooking pots and bowls. Reaching up she took down a dark bowl, its surface as smooth as glass and dark as a moonless night. She placed it on the floor in front of the hearth and poured water into it until it shimmered on the verge of flowing over the sides.
She lowered herself to the floor in front of the bowl. Tucking her legs beneath her, Maleena closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to center themselves and a quiet to settle over her mind. When the quiet was complete, she focused her thoughts on the path to the woman. Letting her eyes drift open she stared into the bowl and whispered, “Show me.”
Colors swirled through the still water as her power flowed into it, twisting around each other in intricate patterns before settling to show the face of the woman she’d connected with. She appeared older, but Maleena couldn’t tell how much. She looked into the woman’s eyes. They were violet, like her own. She had never known anyone with eyes that color although her grandmother once told her that her mother’s eyes had been the same. Maleena was about to dismiss the image in the bowl when a vision seized her.
Everything around her spun and blurred then cleared abruptly. The woman with violet eyes rode a huge gray horse. The vision swirled. Again everything cleared. A lake lay in a perfect circle. On the sand of the beach Maleena stood next to a young man. He seemed oddly familiar, as if she should know him.
Again everything swirled. When it cleared, Maleena found herself lying on the floor next to the bowl. The vision left her breathless and weak, as they always did. She slowly pushed herself into a sitting position and looked again at the woman’s face that floated on the glass smooth surface of the water, taking in every detail before allowing the image to dissolve.
By the time the colors faded from the bowl, Maleena was already in her storeroom. She pulled the large, leather saddlebags her grandmother had used when she took produce and lace into the village. She paused in the act of placing an extra dress in a bag. What am I thinking? What am I going to do, take off and ride across country, hoping to meet up with some strange woman? Anxiety filled her and she gazed around the familiar house. She’d never been more than a mile from Lowden. Fear of the unknown nearly changed her mind. Maleena took a deep breath and pushed it aside. The vision came to her for a reason. She would keep her promise to her grandmother to follow her heart.
Maleena spent the remainder of the morning packing what she planned to take. By afternoon the packs were full with the scroll and the necklace carefully wrapped and tucked inside.
Satisfied, she placed saddlebags against the wall. She threw her heavy woolen cloak on and stepped out into the cold, damp air and headed to the barn behind the house.
A small gray mare whickered at her when she opened the barn door. Maleena pulled the horse from the stall and ran a brush over the soft coat, still thick with winter hair, before settling a saddle on the mare’s back and slipping a bridle over her head. Arella was a gift from her father shortly before he died. She felt a touch of sadness at the dim memory of gentle arms holding her while a man led a tiny filly up to her. Maleena felt a deep love for the mare, the only connection to her parents now that her grandmother was gone.
A small worry nagged at her. What if the aging horse couldn’t make the journey? Tears stung her eyes at the thought of losing the mare. For a moment, she stood undecided. Maybe I shouldn’t leave. What else could the world hold that would make it any better than living here? Maleena chewed her lower lip. I’ll go ahead and get the supplies, just in case I do decide to leave.
Checking one more time to make sure the girth was snug; she gave the mare’s slightly dished face a pat and then climbed into the saddle. She hooked her right leg over the top pommel and slid her left foot in the stirrup, settling her skirt so it fell neatly. “Are you ready, Arella?” Maleena asked, giving the horse a gentle nudge. It wouldn’t take long to ride the distance to the modest inn that offered food and lodging to the passing miners and traders during the warmer months.
Maleena had no desire to see the townsfolk and so skirted the village on a narrow woodland path, thankful the rain had stopped. A glance at the brooding clouds told her it could start again anytime. The air smelled strongly of wet pine and earth. Purple, yellow and white crocuses lined the path, their colors unusually bright against the dreary day.
She reached the break in the close growing pines where a wider path led through a large meadow to the Stone Wagon Inn. Maleena looked up at the inn as the mare crossed the clearing. Rising three stories, its roof was freshly thatched and its porch hung with airing rugs. Shuttered windows were thrown open during the brief lull in the rain to let fresh air into the rooms.
The innkeeper’s wife, Edadella Inreen, stood outside sweeping the broad, covered porch. She looked up and set the broom aside. Striding quickly, Edadella met her before she made it halfway across the open space. Maleena sensed the displeasure the woman felt at seeing her ride in.
“What brings you here, Maleena?”
Maleena took a deep breath to steady herself against the strong emotions rolling off Edadella. “I need to buy some traveling cakes.”
“Traveling cakes, eh? Are you leaving then?”
“Yes,” Maleena answered simply, offering no more information.
Edadella shook her head. “It’s truly a shame about your grandmother, she was the normal one. You stay here. I’ll bring them out to you. I have customers and the last thing I need is you in there.”
Maleena watched the older woman disappear into the inn. The few people moving about outside the inn avoided looking her way. A matronly woman and her small child circled wide around her as they passed. The woman looked straight ahead and managed to make it look as if Maleena didn’t exist.
The little girl, however, looked at Maleena with the open innocence of youth, too young to have learned the prejudices of the adults. Her look held none of the uneasiness or hostility that filled the eyes of her elders when they looked at Maleena. The child offered a small smile before her mother realized what was going on and roughly pulled the girl forward.
Only a few moments passed before the innkeeper’s wife returned, carrying a wrapped bundle. Maleena handed her payment and accepted the bundle, careful to make sure she didn’t touch Edadella. The exhaustion of holding back the emotions of others in close proximity didn’t compare to the painful overload of actually touching someone.
Edadella started toward the inn, then paused and looked back. “It’s probably best you know, if you leave. Your grandmother was a kind woman who healed many of the sick in this village. My youngest would’ve died two winters ago if it hadn’t been for your grandmother. In deference to her, I feel it’s only fair to warn you.”
She hesitated, then continued, “There has been talk these past few days since your grandmother has been gone. What you do… it seems much too close to magic. Maybe it is. I don’t know and don’t want to know. But there are others who are more sure of what they think and it would be best all the way around if you were to go. Go somewhere far away. If what you do is magic, then find some Members of the Peace and turn yourself in before you become a danger. If not, then for Fates sake, bury what you do
deep and never let it out again. If you go far enough away and do that, you might have a normal life.” She turned without another word and walked away.
Maleena watched her go, a small, uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Edadella’s words erased her doubts about leaving. She turned Arella and rode back the way they had come.
When Maleena reached her house, she settled her mare back in the barn with a scoop of oats before slipping into the house through the back door. She stirred up the fire, checked her packing one more time, added the traveling cakes, and then fixed a small dinner. The cold rain began again.
Normally, the sound of rain drumming on the roof soothed her. Tonight it only added to the restless feeling stirring within her stomach. She picked up her lace, hoping the delicate process of weaving the fine threads would settle her. Several mistakes later, she set it back down in irritation. The anxious tone of the hum in her mind added to the restless feeling.
She returned to the bowl still sitting on the floor and settled in front of, wanting to see the woman’s face once more. Centering her mind, she again gave the water the command and watched the colors swirl. When it settled, it wasn’t the woman she saw. Instead the face of the young man she’d seen in her vision floated on the surface. Curious, she leaned closer to the bowl and asked it to show her more.
The image drew back and she saw him taking shelter from the rain under a thicket of pine trees, no more than a mile down the road. She recognized the area, even in the dark. She studied him for some time, drawn to him. He would freeze out there. She could easily let him spend the night in the warmth of her home. The hum in her mind urged her to do it. With a sigh, Maleena let the image fade. Young women simply did not ask strange men into their homes.
As darkness fell, though she tried to return to her lace, the man out in the rain continued to distract her. After the third time Maleena caught herself staring off into space, her lace forgotten in her lap, she gave up and set it down.
She pulled her cloak around her shoulders and slipped her feet into sturdy, leather boots. Lighting a lantern, she closed the shutters just enough so the wind wouldn’t extinguish the flame, then slipped out the door into the storm. She thought briefly of riding, but dismissed the idea. There was no point in rousting the poor mare from the snug barn and dragging her out in the rain on a fool’s errand.
The wind worked icy fingers under her cloak, making her shiver. Why did a mile seem so much farther in foul weather? The dark made it difficult to judge the distance. She closed her eyes and centered her mind. She could feel him somewhere off the road to her left. Stepping to the edge of the road she held the lantern out, casting its light down at the trees that grew there.
He leaped to his feet and half drew his twin swords. The lantern light barely reached the trees and the weather made it difficult to see, yet she knew it was him. They stared at each other through the rain darkened night for several moments before Maleena broke the silence, “Hello.”
Although she could tell he was still wary, he allowed the curved blades to slide back into their sheaths though his hands remained on the hilts. “Who are you and what do you want?”
“My name is Maleena Wyndam and my farm is only a mile up the road. The fire in the hearth is much warmer than this thicket,” she answered calmly, aware of his thought paths.
His mind and his feelings were open to her, yet not uncomfortably so. It surprised her. Normally she avoided the minds of others. Their feelings, memories, and thoughts bombarded and overwhelmed her. His firm mental blocks guarded the thoughts and memories he didn’t want to share and made his presence comfortable to be in.
His few unguarded thoughts flowed freely into her and she answered them, “No, I don’t routinely go wandering around in the night offering my home to strangers.”
He jerked. “How…what do you want?”
“I want to know if you want a place out of the rain.”
“Why would you care where I take shelter?” he asked, eyeing her with suspicion.
She sighed patiently. He reminded her of a wild animal. “I honestly don’t know why. Sometimes I see things and when I do they are important. I saw you–here.” She studied him a moment. “You can use magic.”
His hands tightened around the hilts of his swords though his face showed none of the turmoil she sensed. “I know nothing about magic.”
“Yes, you do. I can feel it in your mind. I can also feel a presence in your mind, like I have in mine. There are some differences, yet they are alike all the same.”
“How do you stand there so calmly?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be frightened?”
“Yes. I could be a thief or worse. Do you always take such chances?”
“I am calm,” she answered, “because although I can’t see your every thought, I can feel your mind. I would know immediately if you were the type to do me harm.”
“You can read my thoughts?”
“Only on the surface. I can’t touch your mind more than to read your basic intentions and surface thoughts. There is no overflow from you. That’s unusual. You must have incredible control.”
He shifted, his stance uneasy. “You can use magic?”
She smiled. “Yes. Why don’t we start walking while we talk or else we will both freeze to death. Then maybe you will get around to telling me your name.”
He stood in silence for a time before disappearing into the trees. He reemerged a few moments later leading a huge, heavy, black horse behind him. When he gained the road, Maleena almost gaped at him. She’d never seen anyone so tall. He held out his hand. “I’m Mckale Mandarran and this great beast of a horse is Blain. Since you have gone to such great lengths to invite me to your home, I will accept your offer.”
Maleena hesitated and looked up into his eyes. They gleamed silver in the lantern light. Despite her aversion to touching people she found herself reaching out to take his hand. Their hands touched and thousands of thin, luminescent threads flowed out from both of them and reached toward the other. The threads danced in and out, weaving themselves tight. It lasted only a second and then they were gone as if they had never been. Maleena stared at him in wonder; his physical touch brought no pain.
He pulled his hand away, a wary look in his eyes. “What was that?”
She looked at the night around them, searching for a sign of the threads. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it. Maybe it’s what happens when two people who can use magic, meet.”
“I guess it could be.” He sounded doubtful.
The rising wind snatched at her wet cloak and she held it closed with her free hand. “My home isn’t far. There is a stall in the barn for your horse, although it might be a little small for him.”
“Small or not, I’m sure he will find it more to his liking than this rain. Lead the way, my lady.”
Maleena turned into the wind-driven rain and started up the road, her thoughts a jumble of confusion. Who was this man that she could touch him without pain? She ignored the small flutter of pleasure at being called my lady by him, feeling silly that the compliment could mean so much.
The dropping temperature turned the rain to stinging ice as they slogged up the road. The horse plodded behind them, his ears pinned against the wind. They were both soaked through and Maleena was shivering violently by the time they got his horse settled into the barn and stepped through the door of the house.
Sighing with relief as the warmth of the fire wrapped around her, Maleena pulled off her dripping cloak and hung it on a peg by the door and looked over at her companion. He hardly seemed affected by the cold rain. “How is it that I am freezing and you don’t seem cold at all?”
He shrugged. “I’m from Calladar and it gets much colder there. The days during the summer are nice enough but the nights are always cold. In the winter it is bitter cold even during the day.”
She shuddered. “Why would anyone choose to live in such a place?”
“The Watch canno
t be surrendered, even for a warm fire or green winters.”
He seemed like a half-tamed wolf again. “You must at least be ready to change from your wet clothing.” She handed him an oil lamp and pointed at the open door closest to where they stood, “You can use that room, there’s wood in the rack and flint on the shelf next to the fireplace. If you will excuse me, I must change before I’m frozen through.” Kicking off her mud covered boots she headed through the farthest door.
Mckale watched her vanish before reaching to unlace his boots. He would have preferred to keep them with him, but he didn’t want to track mud through her house. His grandmother had been death on anyone who tracked mud through her house. He had a feeling every woman was and he didn‘t want to make this one angry with him after she’d offered him shelter from the storm. In stocking feet, he strode into his appointed room. Using the light from the oil lamp, he found the flint and wood rack and quickly built up a fire in the small fireplace.
He was sure it was burning well, then shut the door and peeled off his sodden clothes. Mckale opened the clasps on his bag, thankful the well-oiled leather had kept the contents dry. He pulled on dry clothing, then dumped the remainder of his belongings out, setting the bag near the fireplace to let the warmth dry the rain still clinging to the outside of the bag.
Mckale emerged from the room clothed in snug, dry breeches, a loose cotton shirt, and his swords belted across his hips. The young woman stood near the hearth on the far wall, hanging her wet clothes on pegs. A pot of steaming tea sat on the table next to a small bowl of honey and two cups. Several candles in mirrored sconces on the walls gave the room a soft glow. Together it created a cozy, peaceful feeling that eased some of the tension he had felt since his father sent him on this journey.
He stood quietly in the doorway, watching the woman move about, arranging the clothes so they would dry as soon as possible. She was slim and very short; her head barely reached his chest. Although she wore a loose night dress, it didn’t hide her well-proportioned curves. Her damp hair fell in thick, chestnut waves to her waist.
Embers at Galdrilene Page 9