Between one stride and the next, her vision blanked and her foot missed its next step, sending her tumbling to the ground, knee twisting as she fell. She was shaking. No. The ground was shaking. The world had become unstable beneath them with a deep, grinding sound that sounded like the turn of the huge wooden wheel in the Taellaneth laundry. It grumbled on, the ground trembling.
At her back the sword lit with blazing fury.
She came to her feet at once, sword out, shaking her head in a futile attempt to clear her sight. All she could see for a moment was the blinding silver of the sword. Her vision cleared and she was once more back on the gentle slope in House Sena territory, cries of alarm all around.
A lot of the others had been taken off their feet as well, she saw. Kallish was standing, of course, weapons ready, amber sparks bright in her eyes as the warrior looked for an enemy.
The lush green of the land was fractured, grass split by a great, jagged crack that had opened like a wound across the ground.
Even as her eyes landed on the crack, the sword settled again, returning to its dormant state. Arrow glared at it for a moment, wondering what had triggered its response, then put it back in the scabbard.
“What was that?” she asked Kallish.
“Earthquake,” the warrior answered, voice clipped. She stowed her weapons away and strode across the grass, heading for the crack in the earth.
Arrow followed, seeing everyone else doing the same thing. There was no danger that she could sense, just the fresh scent of newly turned soil and a sharper scent of wet rock.
The crack in the world was deeper than her eyes could trace, the dark, rich soil giving way to jumbled rocks a long distance down, rocks shifting even as she knelt by the side, looking down.
“Earthquakes are not common,” she said, tilting her head up to Kallish. Arrow could not remember one in her lifetime.
“No.”
“It is said they only happen when the world is in danger,” Gilean told her. From anyone else, at any other time, she might have thought it was a joke. But this was the Erith heartland and it had been torn up without warning. And Gilean was as white as he had been earlier, when faced with Evellan and Miach’s taint.
“We should keep moving,” Kallish urged.
“A moment.” Arrow was not ready to leave yet, although she could not say why. The rocks below shifted again, coming to rest in a new pattern, and out of the deep crack came the sharp bite of winter frost, the fresh green scent of spring, the heady decadent trace of summer flowers in full bloom and the sound of scattering autumn leaves. The heartland. All seasons all at once. There was no taint here, just a great, jagged, hole.
The heartland was still resisting, weakening bit by bit even as Saul was getting stronger.
“This is the surjusi lord’s doing?” Kallish asked, crouching beside her.
Arrow came back to the here and now to find anxious expressions all around. Warriors who had faced baelthras with nothing but makeshift spears were pale. Worried.
“I think so. Maybe. There is no taint, though.”
“Just a wound through the heartland,” Willan finished for her, crouched at her other side. His jaw was set. “We cannot let him win.”
“Agreed,” Kallish said over Arrow’s head, rising to her feet. “And we need to get to the temple. Come.”
~
The House itself was an almost homely building, two storeys high, made of a pale stone that Arrow thought was probably local. The residence was set amid enormous, mature trees with spreading branches that would provide shade in the hottest summer days for the Erith and their horses.
They walked the last stretch to the House along a wide roadway fashioned from packed earth. Kinder to horses’ feet than gravel, Arrow guessed, having a fair idea of how Neith vo Sena’s priorities were formed. The roadway curved around a pair of ancient trees, their age almost blinding in second sight, further showing where the priorities of the House lay, and brought them to an open area in front of the residence where a group of Erith were waiting. Iserat, Kester and Iserat’s warrior companions along with Neith vo Sena himself.
The smallest of the Taellan, Neith was about Arrow’s height, with a neat, unfussy appearance that Arrow suspected fooled few people. He was in lively debate with Kester and Iserat even as they approached, and Arrow could tell from the way Kester was standing, in a relaxed pose, hands tucked behind him at rest, head tilted and the faint trace of a smile on his face, that the youngest Taellan was enjoying the discussion, whatever it was. She did not think she had seen Kester so relaxed with any of the other Taellan, even Juinis. He liked the older man, she realised. More than that, he respected Neith.
“Was anyone harmed?” Iserat asked, stepping away from the group for a moment.
“No,” Kallish answered. “There is a hole in the ground, though.”
“There is one near here, too.” Iserat’s face was tight, a suggestion of white around his mouth. Worried, Arrow thought. And angry, although she did not know what with.
“We need to be moving,” Kallish added.
“Kester is negotiating,” Iserat answered, the anger clear. “Apparently, Neith believes his horses are more valuable than the heartland.”
“I heard that,” Neith vo Sena interrupted, voice tart. “And that is not what I said. I wished to know what care you would take of my horses, that is all.”
“They cannot come to the temple with us,” Arrow said, sure that Kester had already made that point. “We can send them back as soon as we reach there.”
“So this young one said,” Neith answered, tilt of his head indicating Kester. “And a lot more besides. What nonsense about taint in the temple.”
“Not nonsense,” Miach interrupted. “And you are going to help us, old man. You are just stalling.”
Neith’s face flushed with colour, and for a moment Arrow thought he would lose his temper. Then he shook his head slightly and gave a soft laugh.
“It is so rare to get a good discussion these days. Come. Kester says you have not eaten properly for days. Or bathed.” His nose wrinkled. “Although, I could have told you that myself.”
“There is a bath?” Seivella asked, stepping forward.
“Bath houses at the back. I suggest you let the warriors in first, lady, so you can take your time. Come. Inside.”
For all his abrupt manner, Neith proved an excellent host, making sure plates and glasses were full, pointing out food items that he thought were particularly worth attention.
The House retainers moved about the guests almost silently, but with free, easy movements, and more than a few smiles shared. Despite the extra work they had been put to, it was clear none of them minded. It improved Arrow’s view of Neith, that the House retainers were happy in their work. And work they had. There was a vast array of food provided, and even as the warriors filled their plates and took them outside to sit on the various benches, seats and logs that were scattered around the residence’s garden, more food was brought in.
Arrow stayed inside, fascinated by the sense of age and peace the residence itself had. The floors were worn from generations of family members and House retainers. The walls were not quite straight in places from centuries of standing. The residence itself had settled into its surroundings, becoming one with the land. It had a strong presence in second sight.
She could sense the connection between the House and the land around, the traces of ward spells that stretched to the boundaries, the echoes of previous spells set by the Sena family. Everything flowed together seamlessly, the House and the land serene despite the visitors, the after-effect of the earlier earthquake the only mar to the House and its land.
She could almost see, in second sight, the invisible ties that bound the family together, that kept the retainers here. Obligation, yes, but also affection. Something she had seen so rarely among Erith.
She came back to first sight with an ache in her chest. Everyone in Neith’s household had a place, had a v
alue. It was her first insight into a proper Erith House, having only been permitted the barest glimpses before now. And it sparked an odd longing. There was no place that would claim her like this, that would accept her simply as herself.
Distracted and seeking calm, she moved out of the room with the food, finding a series of portraits in the hallway. The Sena family through the years, the most recent paintings those of Neith, his vetrai and their children. A son and daughter. A rare set of twins, a few years older than Arrow.
“You admire art?” Neith asked, appearing beside her. He had a tall glass of what looked like fruit juice in his hand.
“I do. But I was more interested in your family.” Arrow hesitated for a moment. Neith had always been quiet among the Taellan, more interested in his horses. The ache that had moved her out here, and her own curiosity, prompted her to go on. “I have not been in a House before.”
“A shame. There is nothing quite like being in one’s own home,” Neith told her, surprising her into turning to meet his eyes. “A House welcomes its family members.” She felt the truth of that ring through her. And not just members by blood, she knew.
Neith’s attention had moved on, his eyes drifting past her to where she knew Kester was standing, talking with Iserat and Kallish. “I had hoped we would welcome Kester at some point. He and my daughter,” he added, perhaps prompted by Arrow’s puzzled frown. His mouth twitched into a smile, making Arrow wonder what he had seen on her face that was so amusing. “No, there was never anything there. Do not fear, mage. Just a father’s hope. He is a fine young man.”
“Yes,” Arrow answered, feeling as though she were standing through another earthquake. Along with never having been in a House before, she had also never been included in this sort of conversation.
“And cunning, too,” Neith added, a trait he clearly admired. “You know that when Juinis came courting and it was clear that the Halsfeld House was going to swallow up his House, Kester made a bargain with me.”
“I did not know that,” Arrow said, fascinated, wondering how best to prompt Neith to continue, her curiosity roused.
“He asked me to take the horses. His father was a fine horseman.”
“And what did he get out of the bargain?” Arrow asked, puzzled.
“I am allowed to ride Neith’s horses whenever I request,” Kester said from over her shoulder, voice warm with amusement. “And he will never sell a horse to the Halsfeld House.”
“Not that I would have anyway. That man has no understanding of horses,” Neith said, entirely dismissing Juinis in one sentence. He dipped his chin to Kester. “I like your lady. She is turning out rather well. A much better match for you.” And on that note, he drifted away.
“Much better match than whom?” Kester asked, bewildered.
Arrow laughed, and tried to swallow more laughter as he raised a brow.
“It seems Neith thought you might be a good match for his daughter.”
“No.” Kester seemed quite revolted by the idea. “Apart from horses, her main interest is embroidery. She is very accomplished, but talks about both as though they are the most important things in the world.”
Arrow laughed again, feeling lighter than she had for what seemed like weeks.
~
Between food and bathing, the warriors had apparently come to an agreement that they would spend the night at House Sena and leave at first light. As Arrow headed off for her own bath, secure in the knowledge she could take as long as she liked, she caught snippets of what sounded like very complicated discussions about tide patterns and roadways.
The House Sena retainer who was attending the bathers showed her to a private room and left her with a seemingly endless supply of hot water and soap and a pile of towels so deep that Arrow could have used them as a makeshift bed. Despite the warmth of summer in the air, Arrow made her bath as hot as she could stand and soaked until her skin wrinkled and there was no longer steam rising from the water’s surface.
The same retainer, soft-voiced and soft-footed, showed her to a small bedchamber and left her.
Full of food, cleansed from head to toe, drowsy from the water, Arrow slid into the covers and into sleep as though there were not a care in the world.
She woke back on the beach, the lady pacing up and down with short, abrupt movements, her back to Arrow, attention on the horizon. Arrow looked back at the cliffs and saw that, far from progressing further to enclose the lady, there was a jagged crack in the surface. The lady had been fighting back.
“This is intolerable. I strike at him so he strikes at my land.” The lady was furious, shrieking her words into the endless, bright, summer afternoon. “He destroyed his own realm, and now he wants mine!” The lady screamed, doubled over for a moment in agony. “You shall not have it. Do you hear me, Saul? This is mine.”
“What do you mean, he destroyed his own realm?” Arrow asked.
The lady straightened, still with her back to Arrow, shoulders rigid.
“Do you think that the surjusi realm was always so bleak?” she asked, voice bitter. “No. It was as green as the Taelleisis once.”
Arrow’s drew a sharp breath in, remembering the surjusi realm. Dark. Barren. The inhabitants mostly surjusi, intent on killing each other for the sparks of Erith power they carried, the sparks that kept them alive. Her mind struggled to grasp the idea that it had once been a place of green and wonder and life in the same way as the Taelleisis was, still, despite the fading heartland.
She could far more easily believe, and imagine, that the surjusi and Saul had destroyed everything in their path. Saul, whether speaking on his own or through others, seemed to believe that everything was for his benefit and his pleasure.
The lady was sobbing quietly, the near-silent grief almost worse than her earlier screams.
“He has not won,” Arrow told the lady. She was clad in her day clothes, she realised, messenger bag at her hip, kri-syang in place and sword settled at her back. The sword’s spells twisted uneasily as she looked back at the cliff.
The lady turned back to Arrow, and Arrow could not hold in a gasp of shock. Alisemea’s face had hollowed, dark circles under her eyes, skin drawn with exhaustion.
“But he is winning,” the lady said, her voice breaking, anger vanished into grief. “I cannot hold for much longer.”
“We are on our way,” Arrow promised, holding out a hand. It was an instinctive gesture, one she had seen between families.
The heartland took her hand, scorching warmth and cool water and autumn chill and biting winter frost all at once.
“This cannot be the last of me,” the heartland said. “This cannot be all that there is.”
Arrow tightened her grip on the hand, even through the discomfort. This was not Alisemea. This was not even a person. It was the barest part of the spirit that inhabited the Erith lands, reduced to this exhausted, crying woman.
“Give me something to carry,” Arrow suggested. She did not know what prompted her to offer. It was not quite right, she sensed. And yet, she would not take back the words.
“You cannot carry enough and fight him.” The words were bitter.
And true.
That was what was wrong. Arrow needed her own power. Unencumbered.
“Then, let me take something to another one. One who can hold what is needed.” There. That was the right path. She could be a messenger for the heartland.
She had no one in mind to carry the burden. At least she thought she did not, but one face came to mind. Steadfast. Honourable. Loyalty proven over and over again.
The lady stared into Arrow’s eyes, the perfect blue of Alisemea’s eyes fading, replaced by blinding amber Erith power, scorching past Arrow’s defences.
“Yes,” the lady said, her voice echoing oddly through Arrow’s skull, bigger than anything that could come from an Erith’s chest. “Yes.” The amber flared, becoming all that Arrow could see and feel, taste of burnt amber and sugar on her tongue. “Here.”
> Arrow woke with a racing heart and too-warm skin, a furnace inside her that twisted with the bubble of spring streams and the near-silent roar of a winter avalanche. Her mouth was full of the taste of Erith magic, twist of amber mixing with the silver inside her. The silver and amber would not mix, circling like wary strangers. She would not be able to use her own power effectively while the amber was inside her.
It was the middle of the night. She could not wait until morning.
She got up and dressed as quietly as she could, keeping her boots in her hand, following the prompting of the amber twist, settled beneath her breastbone, to a door along the corridor, knocking gently.
The occupant opened the door, eyes widening as he recognised her.
“I have something for you. Come with me.” Arrow turned away and padded down the stairs, socks making no noise on the polished wooden floor.
She paused at the front door, wide open in Erith tradition, to put her boots on, then kept going until she was out in the cool dark of a summer night, beneath one of the ancient trees she had noticed on the way in, just beside the roadway, the roots of the tree digging deep into the heartland.
The warrior she had summoned stood before not long later, fully armed and wary.
“There is something different about you, mage. What has happened?”
“The heartland has need,” Arrow told him, letting the twist inside her come to the surface, her eyes hot with the dual aspect of silver and amber. “Will you serve her?”
“As I breathe.” The response was immediate. Without hesitation. “What is required?”
“Acceptance is all,” Arrow told him and put her hand on his cheek, in the same place she had received the heartland’s mark. “This may sting a little,” she added, familiar with the heartland’s ways.
The warrior hissed, his great endurance tested, and fell to his knees as the amber twist left Arrow, crept out through the touch of her hand on his cheek. Arrow knelt with him, keeping the contact until the last little bit of the heartland had gone from her, leaving a shocking absence that the silver rushed in to fill. Only then did she take her hand away and rise, taking a step back, but not too far, the warrior still within easy reach of her wards. He was vulnerable.
Taellaneth Complete Series Box Set Page 133