Choices

by Mercedes Lackey

  A faint scream echoed somewhere in the maze of his mind.

  Sunfish.

  Petril gritted his teeth and dashed forward. She turned toward him, surprise widening her eyes.

  “Sorry,” Petril mumbled as he snatched the box in one hand and shoved at the Herald with the other.

  Then he took off as if the devil himself was chasing him.

  Petril felt a rush of confusion, though he couldn’t really tell if it was his own mind being confused at what he’d just done or the Herald or something else. He’d never really sensed feelings from a human before—at least he couldn’t remember doing so. And there weren’t any other animals around . . .

  Except for the Herald’s Companion.

  Darkness crowded the edges of Petril’s vision and he could swear his heart stopped dead as a rabbit’s from fright. He didn’t dare look back over his shoulder. Didn’t dare look right or left.

  Git yerself back to the stable, he reminded himself. Bella and Sunfish’re needin’ ye.

  His da had once taken the boys—all six of them—to watch trout returning upstream to Lake Evendim. The trout fought their way up falls and around rocks in their struggle to return to the lake, leaping upward only to be washed back down, then leap upward again.

  Petril pictured those fish now, tried to mimic their single-minded determination.

  He had one goal right now, one purpose. To get the Herald back to the stable in time to stop Lord Fancy Pants from taking Bella and Sunfish away.

  He tried not to think about what might happen once they got there. Tried not to think about how angry the Herald might be.

  Tried not to think about the Companion thundering behind him.

  He darted around one corner, then another—and found himself facing three windowless walls.

  With no way out.

  The alley behind him filled with an enormous dark shadow that slowly resolved itself, changing from dark to white as the afternoon sun glistened on pristine white hide. For a moment, the animal seemed to fill the entire opening, standing as tall as the buildings themselves.

  Petril blinked and the horse—the Companion—suddenly looked . . . normal. Huge, yes, but not monstrously so.

  “It’s them ’orses,” Petril gasped, holding his hands up as if he could stop the enormous white horse standing in front of him from biting or charging or stomping him into fish paste. He realized he was still clutching the metal box. “’ere, ye kin ’ave it back. Didna want ta take it, ye see. But I didna ken what else ta do. No one’ll believe me, but them ’orses need yer hep. Ye ’ave ta get ’em away from that fancy-pants lord fore he does somethin’ bad to ’em.”

  The anger he’d been feeling faded to something resembling irritation, then—amusement?—followed by concern.

  The Companion snorted, showering him with dampness.

  Petril rolled his eyes, but he didn’t move. It looked like he wasn’t going to be stomped into fish paste. Not yet.

  “Ye ’ave ta hep me,” he repeated. “We gotta save ’em. I done made Bella a promise.”

  The Companion visibly relaxed, shifting his hips from one side to the other and nodding his head as if in agreement.

  “Ye should see what they done to ’er,” Petril went on. He knew he was blathering now, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. “Lord Fancy Pants done whipped her bloody, and then whapped her a good’n on the head, and they locked Sunfish in a wagon—”

  “Who whipped whom bloody, and who in the blazes is Sunfish?”

  Petril gulped as the Herald squeezed past her Companion, a stern look creasing her round face. He found himself reminded of a full moon—if the moon were to frown instead of smile. He held out the box and gingerly stepped forward, ready to leap back if the Companion decided it was time for some stomping.

  “Sunfish is Bella’s baby,” he said.

  “And Bella is . . .?”

  “Bella’s the Shin’a’in mare I done rescued from those bandits,” Petril declared, standing a little taller as he said it.

  “You?” The Herald raised an eyebrow, though the frown had eased just a little. “You rescued a Shin’a’in mare?”

  Petril nodded. “An’ her little ’un. Had ta do it. Weren’t no one else ta do it.”

  He studied the Herald’s face. Did she believe him? Would she help?

  The buildings seemed to sway—just a little—and he felt something . . . prodding . . . at his mind. Startled, he glanced at the Companion, and found himself drowning in sapphire blue eyes.

  Instinctively, he pictured the mare and her foal, remembered what had happened to them before they came to Haven, their journey and the carter’s disappearance.

  Whatever he’d been feeling abruptly vanished, leaving Petril feeling as lost as a duckling without its mother. He glanced at the Herald, who had a distant look on her face. She blinked, then focused, the frown back on her face, but this time he didn’t think she was frowning at him.

  “Where are they?” she asked, her voice gone from angry to impatient.

  “Tha . . . tha . . .” He swallowed hard and tried again. “Tha stable on tha other side o’ the square. Beyond those other buildin’s.” He glanced at the walls surrounding him like a fish trap. “It’s where I were headed ’fore I got turned around.”

  “There are four stables in the vicinity.” She crossed her arms and glared at him. “Be more specific.”

  “Um . . .” Petril tried to think, but he had really and truly gotten himself lost, though he’d refused to admit it until now. He thought about the stable and the owner. “The owner’s a big fella. Not really all that tall, but ’is arms is big as a tree.”

  Once again, the Herald got that distant look on her face. She nodded as if reaching some sort of decision. “Come on then. We’ll take a look at old Ben’s. He isn’t the only man I know with arms that big, but he’s the only one running a stable close by and the only one stupid enough to try to hide a Shin’a’in mare.”

  Relief washed over Petril so suddenly he thought his knees might collapse. She believed him. He gave the Companion a tiny smile.

  The Companion nodded, the movement causing something on the bridle to jingle.

  They believed him.

  “Name’s Petril,” he said as he cautiously inched nearer the pair.

  “Mira,” the Herald said, turning and leading the way out of the tight alley. “And this is Bryn.”

  The Companion lowered his head as if bowing. Petril stared, then, realizing he was probably being rude, bowed his own head. “Pleased ta make yer acquaintance,” he said stiffly.

  He wasn’t really sure if that was the right thing to say, but he’d heard the phrase several times when old Fritz had met someone new.

  Again, he got the sense of amusement. Was it coming from the . . . Companion? The Companion nodded, and this time Petril could see amusement reflected in the sapphire blue eyes.

  They managed to get out of the alley, the Companion backing gracefully while Petril followed. Mira led the way back through the square, skillfully dodging people hurrying to whatever destination they had in mind. She held up a hand, pausing as a brightly painted wagon drawn by four horses rumbled past, then hurried forward.

  The Herald led the way down one street, then another and another. Just when Petril thought they might be going the wrong way, he spotted the front of a stable.

  And standing outside, looking thunderous as a summer storm, stood Lord Fancy Pants himself.

  “Tha’s ’im,” Petril whispered. He sensed something wrong, but couldn’t figure out what. “Got ta check somethin’.”

  He raced forward, darting past Lord Fancy Pants and under the guard’s outstretched arm. The owner shouted something as Petril raced by, but he didn’t—couldn’t—stop.

  Petril slid to a stop outside Bella’s stall and put his hands on his knee
s, trying to catch his breath and failing.

  Bella stood perfectly still, head down, as if she could barely keep from collapsing.

  Sunfish was nowhere in sight.

  “Get that boy away from my horse,” Lord Fancy Pants demanded as he strolled up behind Petril. “He’s a horse thief. I want him arrested.”

  Mira walked up as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The Companion wasn’t with her.

  “Wha’d they do ta ye?” Petril asked Bella, going down on his knees in front of the horse’s head. He put his hands on her cheeks and tried to feel what she was feeling.

  Nothing.

  At first he thought he just wasn’t connecting with her. He’d never really been able to control his ability to sense an animal’s feelings, after all.

  Then he realized that he had connected. He was feeling what she was feeling—nothing.

  A memory teased at his mind, the memory of his oldest brother carried in from the boat, limp and unmoving. He’d grabbed hold of a nettlefish while clearing the net. Nettlefish were known for their poisonous sting. One poke could render a man unconscious for days, maybe even kill him.

  “She were poisoned,” Petril said, casting an accusing glare at Lord Fancy Pants. “Ye poisoned ’er, didn’t ye?”

  A lump rose in Petril’s throat. Was Sunfish already dead, then? Was he too late?

  He blinked hard against the burning in his eyes, refusing to cry like a blubbering widdle.

  He’d been only four—helpless and confused—when his brother had died from the nettlefish poison.

  He wouldn’t let Bella die too.

  “Where’s ’er baby?” Petril demanded. “What you done wi’ ’er baby?”

  He could hear the Herald questioning Lord Fancy Pants and someone with a deeper, harsher voice.

  Instinctively, he focused on the mare, trying to will his strength into hers. He could almost feel the poison running through her veins, black and deadly.

  Bella’s head dropped until her muzzle rested on the dirty straw. He could feel the connection slipping . . .

  No.

  Again working from instinct, by what he felt was right, Petril visualized that blackness turning to light.

  His heart skipped a beat as the blackness seemed to lighten just a little.

  Petril felt a presence at his back and then a slight pressure in his mind, not like a poke or a prod, more like someone had reached out to support him.

  He focused harder, clenching his teeth so tight his jaws ached. He closed his eyes, held onto the connection he felt with the mare and willed the poison to change as Bella’s head seemed to sag into his hands . . .

  No, no, no, no . . .

  Everything around him faded until he and Bella were all that existed . . .

  Bella snorted, jerking her head out of his hands. Petril sensed the mare’s anxiety as she whipped around, stamping frantically and whinnying loud enough to hurt his ears.

  “Where’s ’er baby?” Petril demanded again, struggling shakily to his feet. “She—”

  “I’ve got him,” Mira said. Light from outside backlit her stocky figure as she strode toward him, casting her Herald whites in an ethereal glow. Sunfish walked beside her, his long, awkward legs seeming to go all directions except straight ahead. He perked up as Bella whinnied again.

  “Go on with you, then.” Mira released the foal’s halter and Sunfish bolted toward his mother.

  Practically mowing down Petril in the process.

  “Heyla to you, too,” Petril murmured as mother and son rubbed noses. Petril scrubbed at his temples.

  “Me ’ead feels like a beatin’ rock after washin’ day,” he muttered to no one in particular.

  :Well done, lad: said an unfamiliar voice.

  Petril blinked and looked around, trying to figure out who had spoken. Probably all in his head—

  :That it is—all in your head,: the voice said again, this time with a sense of amusement Petril recognized.

  Petril stared at the Companion standing against the rear wall. “Ye talkin’ ta me, ’orse? I . . . I mean . . . sir.”

  The sense of amusement turned into a chuckle, which felt even stranger.

  “Wait,” Petril said with a frown. “Yer laughin’ at me!”

  “Bryn isn’t really laughing at you,” Mira said. “He’s laughing with you. And you should feel honored. Companions don’t speak to just anyone.”

  Petril started to nod, but the movement sent a bolt of lightning searing through his skull. “Me head,” he moaned. He sat in the straw, unable to stay on his feet.

  :There’s a Healer on the way,: Bryn said. :Make sure you drink what he gives you—finish the entire cup—then get a good night’s sleep. You’ll feel better by morning.:

  “’ow do ye know?” Petril asked. He just wanted everyone to go away and leave him alone so he could curl up in a ball and die.

  :We ‘‘’orses” know more than you think,: Bryn replied.

  Petril heard the sarcasm in the Companion’s voice but decided to ignore it. “Take care o’ Bella. She’s still feeling a bit weak.”

  :They’ll both be well cared for,: Bryn assured him.

  “They won’t be staying here,” Mira said at the same time. “We’ll take them up to the Collegium, where they’ll stay until someone figures out what to do.”

  “She’s special.” Petril managed to peer up at Mira with one eye half open. “She’s Shin’a’in.”

  “As you’ve already said.” Mira gave him a tight smile. “Please rest assured that Miss Bella and Master Sunfish are now in good hands.”

  Petril let his eyes close and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Sometimes he’d come home after a day spent working in the sun and his head would be pounding so hard he thought it would split. Mum always gave him something sweet to drink and sent him to bed, reminding him to focus on his breathing.

  * * *

  • • •

  What the Healer gave Petril to drink was not sweet. He forced the drink down, wondering if someone was trying to poison him. But the pain dulled enough that he was able to protest when someone lifted him onto a horse’s back.

  “Lemme down,” Petril demanded, though his voice sounded like it was coming through a thick fog. “Bella’s still weak—”

  :Bella’s fine,: Bryn said. :The Healer’s seeing after her as well as Sunfish.:

  Petril cracked one eye open long enough to see a broad white neck bobbing gently before him. “You!” He gasped.

  What was the punishment for riding someone else’s Companion?

  Mira laughed, the sound so full of merriment Petril couldn’t help but chuckle in spite of his worry.

  “Wha? It ain’t yer hide thas lookin’ ta be tanned.”

  “Bryn offered to carry you; otherwise, you wouldn’t be up there.” Mira patted his leg. “You’re getting the hero’s treatment, youngling. Take advantage of it while you can.”

  The hero’s treatment.

  Petril felt a small glow start deep inside, a glow that grew into a small fire despite his aching head. He realized that he liked having Bryn’s presence in his head. There was something comforting about actually communicating with an animal instead of only feeling their emotions. And this hero’s treatment was kind of nice.

  He studied Mira out of the corner of his half-opened eye.

  “’xactly ’ow does one git ta be a ’erald?” he wondered, then felt himself blush when he realized he’d said the words out loud.

  “You’re still a little young—” Mira started, but Bryn cut her off.

  :The Healers and one or two of the Heralds will speak with you. I’m not quite certain what your Gift will turn out to be—you have shades of several Gifts hanging about you, the strongest being Empathy, with some Healing thrown in. You have options, lad. But more on that later.:<
br />
  :Options?: Petril tried to think the word at Bryn, but the effort sent pain shooting through his skull again.

  :That was foolish,: Bryn said. :You have a lot to learn.:

  Petril gave up any attempt to communicate mentally or otherwise. He did have a lot to learn. After all, he was only eight, though his head made him feel like he was eighty.

  He pictured himself riding up to his little village on a glistening white Companion. Mum and Da would be so surprised, so proud.

  His brothers and sisters would be green with jealousy—

  :Not so fast, lad. Hard to say yet whether or not you’ll be Chosen. You might better serve as a Healer—: Bryn seemed to catch himself and stopped midsentence. :Never mind. You get some rest now, young hero. You’ve had enough excitement for one day.:

  Young hero.

  Being a hero was hard, Petril reminded himself. It wasn’t all sweet pies and soft beds. But he still wanted to help people, just as he always had. Wanted to help animals, too, now that he knew that he could.

  Da always said heroes were born outta need.

  That’s it, Petril decided. He could be the hero he wanted to be. He just had make sure he was there when he was needed.

  In the right place.

  At the right time.

  A Siege of Cranes

  Elisabeth Waters

  Lena paced back and forth through the rooms assigned to her at the Palace. The dressmakers had—finally!—departed, and she had stripped down to a plain cotton shift. For a girl accustomed to the robes of a Novice of the Temple of Thenoth, Lord of the Beasts, clothing suitable for a highborn young lady in her first Season at Court was miserable.

  “The costumes they were fitting on you really are lovely,” commented the young woman who sat calmly in the main room as Lena crossed from her bedroom back to it.

  “Costumes is exactly the right word, Sofia,” Lena said. “And they aren’t costumes I can move about safely in.”

  “What do you need to do in them beyond standing around looking pretty, walking in the gardens if it’s not snowing too much, and dancing?” Sofia was something called a “flyer”—she, along with the rest of her family, had an act that involved swinging back and forth between moving bars high in the air. True, there was a net below them, but it was a long way down. Lena had met them the previous summer, when she had joined their traveling show. She and a Companion named Meri, along with a Herald Trainee and her Companion, had been pretending to be a trained horse act. In reality, of course, the “horses” had been training the girls. Lena had also learned to fly a bit; Sofia had taught her. She loved it; it was as close as she could physically come to flying like a bird. She could come much closer to it mentally, having Animal Mindspeech, but that wasn’t the same thing at all.