Sparrow had never considered it from that vantage point, but it made sense to her. Longfall could have used Cloudbrother’s wit, his strength, his insight, and his courage. His home village was poorer for his having left.
“You don’t need to be Chosen to have a mission in life,” Sparrow said.
“We think so too, but those who are left behind sometimes do not see it. We want you to ride Circuit, Sparrow. To help people like you, people who sometimes may lose their way when their beloveds become Heralds. You have known both sides. We need you to be a bridge.”
Sparrow considered the offer. She had been Chosen, but it was up to her to accept this mission. And it was her so-called “ordinariness” that made her perfect for it.
It was time for them to fly the nest, all together.
Her heart soared, now.
“I will do it,” Sparrow said. “But on one condition.”
“Name it.”
“My heartmate and I have never had a honeymoon. Let us go to the vineyards on the road to Iftel for a week or maybe two. And then we’ll come back to work.”
A low murmur rose and fell in the room, like the crash of the winter waves on Lake Evendim.
“You ask but little,” the Lady replied. “Your wish is granted, with our blessing. Return here in two weeks, and we will send you on your way.”
For the rest of her life, Sparrow would remember this moment.
It was the end of everything.
And the beginning.
Snowbound
Brigid Collins
Herald Marli tilted her head and sniffed the cold air as her Companion, Taren, carried her along the road toward Shaded Vale, a village nestled deep in the hills north of the Karse border.
“Blizzard’s definitely coming in,” Marli said, scanning the slate-gray sky between the boughs of pines already bearing a sprinkle of white. “Way the air’s tasting now, it’ll be here soon.”
:Oh, no you don’t,: said Taren in his haughtiest tone. The bells on his harness jingled in time with his steady steps. :I’m not moving one bit faster than I already am. Or do you really want a tumble down the hillside into some ravine we’ll be unable to clamber out of?:
To accentuate his point, he deliberately—but carefully—stepped closer to the edge of the road he had been walking along for the past quarter-candlemark. Road was a generous term for what amounted to a bare dirt track at the top of a ravine. Little dribbles of snow went tumbling down the slope to their right.
Years of trained reflex had Marli tightening her core muscles to help Taren keep his balance. “All right, I get it. In fact, I already got it. I don’t know where you get this idea that I’ve got a reckless streak. All I want is for us to arrive in time to help the villagers prepare for this storm.”
Taren’s mental voice rang with exasperated affection. :That is precisely where I get the idea. Always willing to go haring off into a dangerous situation if it means you can help someone.:
“I’m a Herald,” Marli grumbled. “That’s what I’m supposed to do.”
:But you’ll be no help to anyone if you’re trapped and injured at the bottom of a ravine. We’ll continue at my pace, and we’ll get there in time. Don’t worry, dearest.:
Marli stroked the white curve of his neck and tried to follow his suggestion. But worry was in her nature, and always had been. From her younger years before Taren Chose her, when she was a simple farm girl betrothed to the miller’s son and doing what she could to settle disputes in her small hometown, through her training at the Collegium when she’d helped fellow students suffering the ache of homesickness, to her internship with the mute Herald Selte, who’d taught Marli how to read the weather by being observant and open, but who’d also radiated loneliness like a fire radiates light.
She’d worried a lot during that internship. They’d been riding Circuit during the worst summer drought in recent history, teaching people how to reduce and fight the inevitable fires. A fight against the flames at Selte’s home village had proven to be the very thing Selte needed to open herself back up to other people. These days, Marli couldn’t be prouder of her friend’s progress.
But Havens, she could do with a warm fire to fight right now! Something about winter, and the onset of winter storms, made it harder for Marli to shut out her own loneliness. The cold and snow had always had that effect on her. Back before Taren had Chosen her, she’d had the promise of a future husband and, later, children to get her through her winters.
That obviously hadn’t happened, and now it never would. Such a fundamental set of life events, which most people took for granted. She certainly had. She’d come to terms with her loss, if only because she had to. People counted on her to be at her best, which meant burying those melancholy thoughts down where they couldn’t distract her.
It wasn’t so bad, after all. She had friends, she had Taren, and she had a constant sense of purpose.
But purpose didn’t buffer her against the cold. Though she was bundled up in a set of fur-lined, down-stuffed Whites, the wind still cut through. Her nose buzzed with numbness. Her fingers were stiff within her wool-lined sheepskin gloves.
Marli bit her tongue against the urge to wheedle Taren to go faster. Instead, she looked back up through the trees.
The clouds flew overhead, dark gray and low enough she felt she might touch them if she stretched. The sharp taste of snow colored the air.
The storm would break in the next half-candlemark at best.
Taren went taut with sudden alertness. :Someone’s out in the trees.:
That startled Marli out of her fretting. Her mind flashed on, and quickly abandoned, the idea of a representative from Shaded Vale come to escort them the rest of the way. These hills attracted droves of bandits from a variety of places. Holderkin who’d lost their place at home for one reason or another, deserters from the conflict at the border, both Valdemaran soldiers and Karsite refugees, other folk too hardened against their fellow man to belong in any law-abiding community.
All types who hated Heralds. People who would have no qualms about attacking someone riding in Whites on the brink of a blizzard.
Marli had plenty of experience with their sort. Much as even the thought of killing left her mouth sour with bile, she wouldn’t hesitate to defend herself.
Tightening her grip on the saddle pommel, she ranged out with her Farsight to scan their surroundings. Her right arm moved subtly toward the sword sheathed at her side.
She was too slow.
A figure dressed in wintery forest camouflage leaped out from the brush covering the hillside to their left. The evergreen foliage hissed with the force of the figure’s launch. A thin woven scarf covered the attacker’s entire head, ensuring only their silver-gray eyes peered out.
Those eyes flashed like lightning.
A peculiar sensation trickled over Marli as she drew her sword. Everything slowed as if encased in snow. The attacker was at Marli’s leg and grasping for Taren’s harness as if to snatch a bell from it before she could properly position her blade in defense.
The eyes roiled like storm clouds.
Marli felt as if she might be swept away and battered to pieces.
Taren reared and struck out with his hooves, but the attacker moved nimbly aside only to return and slice at Marli with a knife before reaching again for Taren’s ringing harness.
A thin line like fire lanced along her calf, and she gritted her teeth against a groan.
The pain broke whatever strangeness had come over her, though. With a clearer head, she fell back on her training.
Her sword met the next jab with a jarring metallic ring.
Her attacker had to be a bandit, the way he held that knife, the way his clothing obscured his features, the way hunger burned in those eyes. A ne’er-do-well like this who would attack a Herald on Circuit could have no other professi
on.
Removing such threats to Valdemar’s peace and safety was a Herald’s duty. Marli wouldn’t kill if she could help it, but she couldn’t let this one go unrestrained, either. Bandits could be rehabilitated, with patience and kindness.
Surprise, then disarm, echoed her weaponsmaster’s voice from her memory.
Even one who understood a Herald’s Mind-magic would still be caught off guard by something suddenly flying at their head.
With her Fetching Gift, Marli tore a naked branch off an aspen behind the bandit, deliberately making the shivery crack ring in the frigid air.
Those storm-churned eyes widened, and the bandit dove for the road barely in time. The branch snagged the bandit’s headwrap as it whooshed overhead, revealing a sharp, coarsely stubbled jaw and rough-cut, dirty black hair.
Marli swung the branch back over the bandit and extended her Gift to her sword. She could control two objects at once, even more if she exerted herself.
She maneuvered both branch and sword through the air, intending to pin her adversary in place long enough to restrain him more effectively. She moved as well, leaping easily from Taren’s back despite his agitated snorts and stamps.
:I could step on him,: Taren offered.
:You step too hard.:
Marli’s breath clouded, and warmth raced through her body. Strenuous use of her Gifts had that effect. But it wouldn’t last long. During the fight, the storm clouds had finally begun dumping their snow, and the small piles by the roadside were growing rapidly. There would be no arriving at Shaded Vale in time now.
Anger flooded her. How dare this selfish man hinder her journey? Didn’t he realize he’d have nobody to steal from if the nearby village succumbed to the inclement weather?
“Idiot,” she muttered.
“Ain’t the one prancin’ ’round all ’lone,” growled her captive. A slight shift was all the warning Marli got before the man’s knife hurtled toward her face.
Damn it! Automatically, she batted the projectile aside with her Fetching. The distraction cost her her hold on her weapons. The branch fell to the snowy ground with a thump.
The sword clattered as it bounced against every rock in its tumble down into the ravine.
The bandit was on his feet again, his head lowered in preparation to charge Marli.
Taren reared, front legs flailing for the man’s face, the Companion’s scream strangely muffled in the whirling snow.
Marli’s heart seized. “Taren, no!”
In her mind, the ravine yawned wider in anticipation.
Marli threw her Fetching with no attempt to finesse it and grappled with the steep hillside itself. I need a wall, she thought. A safety net to catch him.
But she was either too late or too forceful, as Taren’s hooves connected at the same moment the hillside crumbled under the bandit’s feet.
The peculiar slowing effect from earlier returned. The snow fell so violently it enshrouded the hills like a fog. The bandit tipped backward into this snow-fog, his body disappearing as the whiteness enveloped him. His thunderstorm-gray eyes alone pierced this veil.
Don’t let me fall! he seemed to call out to her.
She jumped.
:Marli!: Taren shouted.
Marli made some soothing reply. She hardly knew what she said.
She’d never used her Fetching to hold another person, but she reached to catch the falling bandit now. He flailed against her, panic driving his arm into her stomach and his heel against her already injured calf. Marli only grunted and redoubled her efforts so his limbs wouldn’t strike the stones.
With her Farsight, she looked to the ravine floor and angled her body to shield her enemy-turned-ward from the impact.
The last thing she saw before the whiteness overwhelmed her was the blue of Taren’s eyes widened in terror, peering over the edge of the cliff.
* * *
* * *
Kimfer’s head rang with every curse he knew, most of them aimed at himself.
This “trial” was supposed to be simple, a mere formality. Track the solitary rider on the fancy horse. Slip down to the ribbon of road before the snow made such passage impossible. Cut a single silver bell from the ridiculous harness. Get back to show off the prize and earn his place with the hill bandits for the winter, because there was no way Kimfer would spend another winter fending for himself. He did this sort of maneuver—and for more hefty loot—all the time in the warmer months without picking up a scratch.
How had he gotten so out of his depth?
Oh, right—because he’d forgotten the Heralds were all witchfolk.
Had two years on his own in the wild truly caused him to forget the lessons his holderkin family had instilled in him through fear and blood? Never trust a Herald, Kimfer! Not even to be a proper mark! His own stupidity had allowed his quarry to turn things around on him.
His stomach had wanted to climb out his throat when he met her chestnut eyes in his first assault. Felt like they looked deep inside him, saw secret, dirty things he never even showed himself.
Why had she jumped after him?
Large flakes of snow were falling. The cold wetness seeped through his too-thin clothes, and the wind cut right to the bone. Storm was rolling in for sure now. Would’ve been nice if the hill boys had lent him one of their superior coats for this “trial” of theirs.
The Herald woman lay under him, not moving beyond the tempest the wind made of her short waves of brown hair. Whatever witch power she’d used to hold him during their fall had dropped away the moment they hit the ground, but Kimfer couldn’t bring himself to move away just yet. She’d protected him from the worst of the impact—why?—but he still felt rattled.
Carefully, he rolled off his mark-turned-rescuer. The snow had piled so high around them he couldn’t roll any farther away from her. He lay shivering beside her, his heavy limbs wrapped around her as if they were lovers.
The shivers became shudders at that thought.
But she looked so pale. Neck looked like it was angled bad, too, at least from his vantage point. Had she really broken herself to keep him from falling to his death?
A faint flutter at his fingertips dispelled that thought.
Working himself up onto his elbow, he got a better look at her. Her neck wasn’t at so bad an angle after all, though it couldn’t be comfortable draped over an icy rock like that. With a light touch, he arranged her head so it lay straighter.
Now, why had he done that?
Her eyelids fluttered. Kimfer thought he heard her moan, but it might have been the wind. She was clearly stirring, however, and he didn’t fancy being around when she regained awareness. No telling what someone with witch powers like hers might do in her situation.
Now that he was sitting up, he could take better stock of himself. Moving his joints revealed no pain he couldn’t handle. Turning his head didn’t throw spots in his vision.
He was good to hoof it out of this place, and he’d better make tracks before the blizzard got any worse.
The new plan came together as fast as the snow fell. Find the rocky slope of the ravine. Climb to the level of the road. Grab the fancy horse. Break it to his command. Ride it into camp. Earn his place as many times over as there were bells on that ridiculous harness, plus the worth of the horse itself.
Kimfer didn’t like the idea of taking up with bandits. Not that stealing bothered him in the slightest. He did it himself all the time. But society was a resource like any other, and it could be overtaxed just as easily as deer could be overhunted. Kimfer couldn’t enjoy the company of people who weren’t smart enough to figure that out.
But the season’s first blizzard was here, and the time to put aside his scruples had definitely arrived. Thoughts of hot food, ready shelter, and a warm—if lonely—bedroll fueled him as he struggled to break a path through the snow
. Funny, back when he still had his hold to welcome him, he’d thought his tastes wide enough to allow anyone into his bed, whatever gender, whatever profession.
The things you learn about yourself after everything goes up in smoke and the only option is to struggle for survival alone.
The snow had piled so high here at the bottom of the ravine that it came to midthigh. Despite the cold, he was sweating by the time he’d managed a single horse length. Even that meager progress had wiped him so completely he had to stop and pant. The pain in his chest from that damned horse’s kick had grown, too.
Hunching against the buffeting snow, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder at the Herald woman.
The snow was building up on top of her, and the white outfit she wore made it seem as if she were already buried alive. Only her face and a few wisps of brown hair were visible.
Her eyes were open, and she was staring at him.
At the sight, misery and fear and something else he couldn’t identify twisted in his guts.
Can’t trust a Herald, his memory argued. Never know how they’ll use those witch powers.
But how could he leave her to freeze to death after she’d specifically used those powers to save him?
Why, why had she saved him?
While he stood paralyzed with indecision, the Herald woman stirred. Clumps of snow rolled off her, and those big chestnut eyes drifted closed and open again.
“Bar . . . ret?” she said. “You’re . . . here?”
Her voice sounded like the exact mixture of misery and fear that currently roiled in Kimfer, including that other thing he hadn’t been able to name.
Loneliness.
It decided him. Nobody—witch-powers or no—deserved to die alone in a winter storm.
He was back at her side in an instant, kneeling in the snow and checking her more thoroughly for injuries.
“I’m here,” he said. She started to cry out, to reach for him, and he reassured her. “I won’t leave you.”
Passages Page 19