by R. K. Hart
It was Lida’s turn to make the evening meal, and Maya returned home when she was elbow-deep in a pile of chopped vegetables. Maya was pale with exhaustion and miserable, and she sank down at the kitchen bench and buried her face in her arms. The young woman’s husband had arrived not long after Lida left the hospice, finding his young wife’s body cleaned and dressed in white. As was often the way with people in the first throes of grief, he was cruel to Maya and aggressive towards Delia, whose brooch he had spotted just before he left with his wife’s carefully-dressed body lain in his wagon.
‘She might have lived, if she’d made a different choice,’ Maya said sadly, taking up the cup of tea Lida made for her.
‘You did everything that you could, May. Delia said that she might not have been able to help in any case.’
‘I know.’ Maya rubbed at her temples, her eyes closed, red lashes brushing her cheeks.
Lida decided to change the subject. ‘There was a Myrae woman at the market today.’
The ploy worked, and Maya plied her with questions; she was as fascinated with their mother’s people as Lida was, and Lida described the woman in great detail until their father came inside and they ate, sitting at the kitchen bench, the windows open to the summer night’s air.
Lida left her father to clean up and climbed into bed not long after, opening a worn copy of The Eilin Histories that Maya had lent her. She had completed her schooling six months prior, but her history teacher had given her a list of books ‘to keep Lida going’ until she apprenticed. Lida wondered if the inclusion of this book hadn’t been some odd joke on her teacher’s part: it was so dry that she’d barely finished one chapter in the months she’d been trying to read it. It didn’t help that she was more tired than usual this night, her eyes and arms oddly heavy. After struggling through a few pages on the Five-Years Brinnican War she gave up, blowing out her candles and pulling a light summer blanket over her bare shoulders.
When sleep came, her dreams were full of blood. It dripped to pool on the tiled floor, the sound echoing through the hospice ward, the scarlet of it stark on the woman’s temple and against the bed’s blue curtains. The pool of red grew larger and larger until it began to lap at Lida’s boots; it was then she realised Maya was beside her, breathing shallowly. As one, they turned and ran, but instead of finding safety in the refuge, the hallway led them back to the ward, back to exactly where they’d been standing before, and the young woman’s blood began to drip once more.
Lida desperately tried to wake, but the dream held her. She pinched herself, she stamped her feet, she shook her head, but all the while the red kept dripping. Eventually, she shouted; Maya looked sideways, exclaiming in surprise, and the dream dissolved. Lida found herself in her own dream, one she had often, where she swam in a deep, cool rock pool, far under the surface, and looked up to see green light glimmering off the water. The sandy bed was carpeted in silky seaweed, and Lida spent some time running her hands through it, luxuriating in the feeling.
Bang.
Lida looked up in surprise, but nothing in the dream changed.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
She sat up in bed, her heart pounding, her spine soldier-straight. The rock pool dissolved.
It took her sleepy mind more than a few moments to realise that the sound was a knock, coming from the front door. It came again, with more urgency; as it was not unheard of for either Maya or Cathan to be sent for at any time of the night, Lida wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and stumbled up the hallway, yawning. She felt tired and drained, as if she’d been riding all day. She had to will her legs to take each step and her knees were trembling by the time she reached the door.
She pulled it open, letting the now-cool night air into the house. ‘Yes?’ she said sleepily, her eyes half closed, hearing Cathan’s soft tread on the floorboards behind her.
‘I have never searched a city for a woman before,’ a rolling voice said, more hoarse than the last time she’d heard it. ‘I cannot say I wish to do it again.’
Lida’s heart hammered against her chest and she looked up to see the Erbidan man from the market giving her a wry half-smile, his fingers tapping lightly on a deep red bruise that spread across his throat. She shook her head and tried to close the door, but Cathan took the handle and opened it fully.
‘What do you mean?’ her father said sharply, pushing Lida behind him. ‘Do you need a physician?’
‘Delia helped me in the end,’ the black-haired man said, and he rolled up his sleeve, showing Cathan the golden cuff that sat snug around his wrist, then a matching signet ring marked with a cross, resting on the pointer finger of his left hand.
Cathan stared at it for some moments, then into the man’s face, as if trying to place him. ‘Which estate?’
The man stepped back and offered an Erbidan bow, one hand stretched to the side, his empty palm facing Cathan. ‘Kell.’
Cathan blinked. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘You’d better put the kettle on, Lida.’ He stood to the side of the door and gestured. ‘Do you prefer Illarus, or Priom-Oidre?’
‘I prefer Jakob,’ the man said, and stepped inside.
Chapter Two: Decisions
Lida made the tea slowly, her eyes glazed. She was so tired that she wasn’t sure whether she was awake or not; she pinched herself once or twice to try to come to a decision, but it didn’t help. The open window showed the barest hint of new sun over the horizon; it was not quite morning.
The black-haired man sat at the kitchen bench, watching Lida with a disconcertingly close eye. She spilled the tea as she poured it.
When Cathan said Priom-Oidre, Lida had thought she’d misheard. It was one of the few Erbidan words in wide usage, but only because it was a title: it meant First-Heir, or first in line to inherit in a First Family. It was generally a title for women, for Erbide was matriarchal; there was only one male Priom-Oidre that Lida knew of, and her eyes slipped back to the bruise on his throat, her stomach twisting itself into knots. If this was he, his last name was Merchant, and his mother owned most of the island of Kell.
Lida bit the inside of her cheek and pretended to study her tea.
She didn’t know much about the Merchant family, bar that they had two sons and no daughters, and that they traded in grain, Erbidan redwood, and the very honey she had carried home after her frantic dash through the markets. They were also the only family outside the Myrae who could trade directly with Brinnica, and it was that, along with connections across the Kelti Sea in Autere and Seti, that allowed the Merchants to rival the Eilin royal family in wealth and power. A few years previously, there had been rumours of an engagement between one of the Merchant sons and King Triste’s niece; it had come to nothing, and the Princess Cassia had been shipped off to Seti to marry a warlord twice her age. Lida wondered whether Jakob had been the son in question, and whether he, unlike the Eilin Princess, had been given much choice in the matter.
Jakob smiled, rather sourly. ‘Yes, which is why it never happened.’
Lida stared at him. ‘What?’
He didn’t answer; Cathan came back with Maya in tow. She was blinking languidly, her hair barely tousled, a shirt pulled hastily over her silk shift.
Cathan ignored the mug of tea Lida pushed towards him, heading for a cupboard and taking up a bottle of Brinnican whiskey instead. He poured a generous measure into a glass and threw it back, immediately pouring a second.
'One or both?' he said to Jakob.
Jakob tilted his head slightly and looked at Maya. The hairs on Lida's arms stood on end as the air pulled around her, just as it had when she'd watched Delia try to heal the injured woman. A small sound escaped her throat as she felt her chest push forward, towards Jakob; she fought against it determinedly, until the feeling stopped as suddenly as it had started.
'Just this one,' Jakob said, nodding at Lida.
'Just this one what?' she said crossly, unnerved.
Cathan gave his whiskey a considering look, then brought it to
his lips and drained the glass. He poured himself a third, the amber liquid almost to the brim.
'Do you remember the old oak tree on Marnie's farm?' he said to Maya.
She blinked. 'Yes. I used to climb it all the time. Marnie had it cut down after Antonius got stuck.'
'Do you remember the day you fell?'
Lida watched the blood drain from Maya's face. 'I thought I dreamed it,' she whispered.
Cathan spun his glass, whiskey sliding over the rim to pool on the bench. 'You were very young. Do you remember what happened?'
Maya took a deep breath. 'I fell, and it hurt so badly … I remember staring at the sky. And then she was there. Mama. I could hear you shouting the background, and Marnie was crying, and Antonius was screaming … but Mama was there.’
'Do you remember what she did?'
'She held my arm.' Maya laughed shakily. 'She held my arm, and my arm went hot, and then it didn't hurt any more.'
Cathan nodded. 'Your arm was broken. It was bad. I could see …' He coughed. 'The bone had pushed through. I could see it. Siva ran to you, and -'
'Oh, gods,' Maya said, fully awake now, her eyes shining. She took the edge of the bench in her hands, as if holding herself up. 'Oh, by Eianna.'
'So …' Cathan started, then trailed off and appeared to give up, sipping at his drink more sedately as his shoulders caved in an uncharacteristic slump.
‘So what?' Lida demanded.
Maya waited for Cathan to answer, but when he did not, she took Lida's hand and pressed her fingers excitedly. 'Don't you see? She was a healer.'
'So are you,' Lida said, unimpressed. 'So is Da.'
'Gods, Lida, think. An illae-healer.'
Lida stared at her fingers as Maya squeezed them again. In her mind, her many-faced mother held out strong hands and lay them on an injured arm, just as Delia had.
She swallowed. 'Why didn't you tell us?' she said, her voice a whisper.
Cathan drained his third glass. 'We lived through the last purge, little one. It was … We were travelling back south, and your mother was pregnant, and we had to go through Yoss River Town, and I … I can't explain how scared she was. How scared we were. We saw … we saw the pyres. We could smell them, and … She didn't often speak of it anyway. Her gift, I mean, and when I asked about it, just after we met at l’Cour du Kali, all she said was that her mother and aunt had been strongly gifted. I never saw her use it, once we left the north, except that one time for May.' He swallowed. 'I don't think she thought of it as a gift. I loved her, and it … it didn't seem that important.'
'Is that why we don't know her father's name?' Lida said.
‘I don’t know the full reason,’ Cathan said. ‘But I imagine that was part of it. They hunted whole gifted families, little one. Siva … she might have been protecting the people she had.’
‘The Myrae take their mother’s names,’ Jakob said softly.
Lida gently pulled her fingers from Maya's grip and turned her mug around. It changed everything and nothing all at once: Siva was as unreachable as ever, but her mystery made more sense.
'I'm glad I know,' she said at last.
Maya nodded her agreement. 'Are you?' she asked Jakob, almost shyly. 'A healer, I mean.'
Jakob's golden cross was not pinned to his breast, but rather etched into the golden signet ring. Cathan had called him Illarus, a term the gifted used for a fully-trained man; Lida looked up, suddenly curious.
'I do not have that honour. Healing does not run in my mother's blood.'
Maya's fingers went to her hair, twisting a section around her fingers. 'Not me, but Lida,' she said, almost sadly.
'Delia said your talent is great,' Jakob said gently. 'There are different kinds of gifts. And different kinds of strength.' He touched his fingers to his bruised throat.
'No,' Lida said, realising what they meant.
Cathan poured another glass of whiskey.
Jakob considered her. 'You watched Delia work today.' He looked out the window. 'Yesterday.'
Lida nodded warily.
'What did you see?'
'What did I see?'
'When she was healing.'
She bit the inside of her cheek. 'Truly?' she said at last. ‘I thought I saw gold. Her hands … her hands were glowing. But it might have just been the light from the windows.’
‘And what did you feel?’
Lida looked at her father. Cathan closed his eyes and took another mouthful of his drink.
‘A pull in my chest,’ she whispered, thinking she sounded mad, the memory of the same feeling from just minutes before still fresh. ‘A pull in the air, in my chest and on my skin.’
Jakob nodded curtly. ‘And you?’ he said to Maya. ‘What did you see?’
Maya’s eyes were on her sister. ‘I saw Delia put her hands on the patient’s face,’ she answered slowly. ‘But nothing more. I felt nothing but sadness.’
Jakob finished his tea. ‘Gifts are inherited,’ he said. ‘Generally from the mother’s line, but not always. Delia asked me to find you, but even had she not I would have felt you - you were drawing not half an hour ago, and I could sense it a mile down the road.’
‘Drawing?’
‘It is what we call when we pull the power towards ourselves. When we take it from the world and bring it together to use.’
‘No,’ she said flatly. ‘Wouldn’t I feel it? Wouldn’t I know?’
‘You just told me that you did,’ Jakob said.
‘What?’
‘The pull on your chest and on your skin. You probably shivered or sweated. You might have felt tired, afterwards. It is draining, when your gift first manifests. You probably feel tired now. Delia’s hands - you saw it. The glow of gold. Illae. The power.’
Lida shook her head. ‘Jakob, I was asleep half an hour ago. It can’t have been me that you felt.’
He blinked. ‘Asleep?’
‘Until you knocked on the door.’
Jakob picked up his cup, remembered that it was empty, and sat it down once more. His fingers fidgeted over the handle, though his face was impassive.
The room waited.
‘I can see the power in you,’ he said eventually.
Lida looked at Cathan. ‘Da?’ she said desperately.
Cathan sighed. ‘Why else would he be here, little one?’
Lida had no answer to that. There was a long silence.
Maya began to braid her hair back from her face, her fingers slow and deliberate. ‘So,’ she said, ‘what happens now?’
Jakob inclined his head. ‘If she chooses, I will escort Lida to the Illarum to be tested. If I am right, she will be apprenticed to one of the five mentors so that she may learn to use her gift.’
‘You could be wrong?’ Lida said.
‘Of course. And if I am, someone will bring you straight back home.’ He paused. ‘But I think that I am not.’
‘And if I choose not to go with you?’
Jakob studied her face. While she was not quite glaring at him, her chin was set and he thought the noise he could hear was grinding teeth. He met her stare. ‘What stories do you know of the gifted?’
She frowned in surprise. ‘I know of the Lightning Mage and the Sea Witch,’ she said after a moment’s thought. It was Jakob’s turn to grind his teeth, though nothing in his expression changed. ‘I know of the Green Man in Black Forest. And I know of things the gifted did,’ she blurted. ‘Fires and floods and calling the wind. Entire villages under their control. Great cracks in the earth and dead crops, or trees sprouting through houses overnight. Rivers rising up to swamp the land.’
‘Mmm,’ Jakob agreed. ‘All those things and more. But with the exception of the Lightning Mage and the Sea Witch, they happened because the Illara or Illarus was untrained. Those things happen to children, as they are coming into their gift. They happen to full-grown women and men,’ he went on, nodding to Lida, ‘whose gifts come late, or who do not realise they are gifted at all.
‘If yo
u do not choose to come with me, you might learn to master your gift on your own. It is possible, though improbable. You could try to find a hedgewitch willing to teach you the basics, but from what I felt your gift is stronger than a hedgewitch could manage. More likely you would never master it at all, and hurt yourself or somebody around you when your gift manifests without control. You would become a story fathers tell their children to keep them afraid.’
Lida bit the inside of her cheek.
‘At seven years old, my brother called a storm that lasted a week when he lost his favourite toy,’ Jakob went on, more gently. ‘The rain caused a flood, and our winter crops were ruined. The crops for an entire island. My mother was away, and we had no other weatherworker to banish it. The storm stayed until we found the toy.’ He paused, remembering how black his brother’s eyes had been, how brightly he had glowed with power. Jakob had been afraid, not of his brother, but for him: their mother’s gift was no easy thing to bear. ‘What happens to you could be worse than that.’
Lida gaped at him, then closed her jaw with a snap. ‘Then it’s not really a choice,’ she said flatly.
‘I am sorry for that,’ Jakob said sincerely. ‘I was never given one either, but I promise that I have had no cause to regret.’ He toyed with his mug again. ‘There is, of course, also the matter of your mother.’
Lida sat soldier-straight. ‘What about her?’
Jakob gave a half-shrug. ‘There is nowhere else like the Illarum in the four lands. If your mother was formally trained, then it happened there. We keep registers of students, going back more than a thousand years. The mentors have access to them. You may find out her mother’s name.’
Despite herself, a thrill raced up Lida’s spine.
‘We could find them,’ breathed Maya. ‘If we know Siva’s mother’s name, we could find her family.’ Her green eyes shone in the candlelight. ‘We might have an aunt. We might have cousins.’