by R. K. Hart
‘She probably will teach you some things. But healers have particular ways of doing things, and Lorcan knows what you need to be taught. Tiernan’s students … well. You’re not as easy to define as everyone else. The healer way of doing things does not often suit you.’
‘Why not?’
Jakob answered. ‘Healing is gentle, persuasive, subtle. Our gifts tend towards … the opposite of that.’
‘What gifts do the others have?’ Lida said, realising that she’d never had the chance to ask.
Jakob ticked them off on his fingers. His hands were trembling, but Lida pretended not to notice. ‘I am a shielder, and also … well, you know. Tomas is a weatherworker. Marlyn uses illae as if she has another set of hands, and she is a reader, too. Lorcan … Lor is also a weatherworker, though it is not his only gift.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘And now you. Something different again. The dreamer.’
‘So far all I can do is turn up where I’m not wanted.’
‘That is why you will need to work on it, Lida,’ Jakob said gently. ‘No one is good at this straight away.’ His face started to lose its colour.
‘Out,’ Mikal said to Lida, noticing immediately. Lida moved to give Jakob a gentle hug.
‘Take care, cila,’ he said. ‘And take care of Lorcan, yes?’
Lida twisted her lips as Mikal pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly. He smelled of soap and herbs. ‘L’prochenne, ma joli soer,’ he said.
‘L’prochenne, cil frere,’ Lida answered clumsily, trying to wrap her tongue around the thick pronunciation. ‘Thank you again.’
He kissed her brow and propelled her towards the door. ‘Only use the willowbark if you need it,’ was the last thing he said before gently pushing her out into the white hallway. Lida walked back to her room by herself, feeling far more downcast than she had expected, and suddenly very lonely.
Part Two
Chapter Ten: Dreamlines
The soft dawn light spilled into the dining hall, illuminating the group gathered around one of the tables. They sleepily poured coffee and reached for still-warm pastries, preparing themselves for the first stretch of their journey to the snow. They glowed in a tableau, four fair heads and one riotous crown of sun-streaked curls.
Lorcan stumbled through the redwood doors, exhaustedly pushing them closed behind him with a flicker of illae. He had spent so many hours the night before wishing desperately to sleep - and to dream - that it was, of course, denied to him; his eyes had not fluttered shut until the early morning. He did not think he was the only one. Dylan was scowling tiredly at his cup, and he had buttoned his shirt up wrong; the Myrae girl looked as if she was still half-asleep, her chin propped up by both hands.
Lorcan took the seat beside Katrin and pulled a pot of coffee towards himself. The others were more animated: Alys was chatting happily as the red-haired healer Ella listened, a half-smile playing about her lips, and Katrin’s long, thin fingers were methodically shredding a piece of unbuttered toast. Her face was pensive; none of her breakfast seemed to make it to her mouth.
The Myrae girl shook herself slightly, as if trying to wake up, then began to spoon sugar into her cup, pointedly ignoring Lorcan. He guessed she was still cross about her disrupted bath, and decided to return the favour; he was still smarting from the combined powers of Marlyn and Jakob’s reprimand. Have you forgotten where you come from? Jakob had half-snarled. Marlyn had been less severe, and more devastating: It is dangerous to disturb others using their gift, she had said gently. What if it is the same for her? What if she becomes lost, wherever she is? Worse?
He studied her from the corner of his eye. Her own were less bright than usual, and her face was wan; her hair was so unruly she looked as if she had spent the last few weeks living in the woods. She took a mouthful of her drink and grimaced, then pulled irritably at the sling around her arm and shoulder. After a moment of restless fidgeting, she looked up and shot Lorcan a ferocious glare.
Deciding that it was not his job to bear her bad mood, he stood abruptly and walked from the hall, leaving his coffee behind. He knew that leaving it would put him in a foul mood later, but he did not think it could be any worse than what he was already feeling. He ran both hands through his now-shorter hair. It still fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back impatiently.
He headed for the stable block. Despite the early hour, Jed was already there, saddling Bright Eyes for Ella. Cocoa and Bear - Dylan’s mare and Katrin’s stallion - were ready to go, tied outside their respective stalls. Cocoa flicked her ears as Lorcan walked past.
Midnight whickered as he slipped inside her stable. He rubbed her face affectionately. Her name was Jakob’s idea of a joke: the mare was pure white, one of the beautiful desert horses from Autere. She was delicate-looking, fine boned and graceful, but as hardy as the northern horses and nowhere near as obstinate.
‘I thought you’d want to saddle her yourself,’ Jed said, leading Alys’ mare, Silk, from the stall next to Midnight’s.
‘I do.’ Midnight nudged his pocket; Lorcan smiled and took the carrot from it. ‘Thank you.’
He murmured to her under his breath as he worked. In minutes, she was ready, and he regretted how swiftly he had finished; he should have drawn it out, given himself more time in the comforting dimness and warmth of the stable. He sighed and fastened his sleeping bag to the front of his saddle, then re-shouldered his pack.
‘When do you think you’ll be back?’ Jed asked, trying and failing to sound casual.
Lorcan’s fingers tightened on Midnight’s reins. ‘I would think not for three months, at least. Probably longer. But you know that Dylan may choose to stay. You should farewell him properly.’ He gave the Eilin boy a level look. ‘And I do not know what the Myrae girl will do. I do not know what she needs from the north.’
Jed flushed, and hastily reinforced his mindshield. Lorcan wanted to tell him not to bother, that he did not need to read Jed to know what he was thinking: his warm brown eyes were wistfully soft, though they changed when they fixed on Lorcan.
‘You’ll help her find it, though,’ Jed said. ‘Whatever she needs.’
‘My brother has entrusted Cathan Valson’s charge of care to me,’ Lorcan said dully. ‘I will have to.’
‘You would in any case.’
Lorcan did not answer. He watched as Jed led Sacred from her stall; the lovely red mare snorted, and Lorcan imagined the sound to be disdainful. Just like your mistress, he thought. He swung himself up onto Midnight’s back and urged her out of the stable block.
Katrin was waiting by the wrought iron gate, sitting easily on Bear. She gave him a terse nod.
‘We are late already,’ she said in Brinnican.
‘We will be later still, if Carasson has his way.’
Katrin’s eyes fell to Dylan, who was walking as slowly as possible into the stables. ‘He truly does not wish to go home.’
‘He truly does not wish to be forced into marriage.’
Katrin raised her eyebrow. ‘Then he may relinquish his birthright and do as he pleases. If he wants his tribe, he needs an heir.’
‘O, what choices we are given; which fates shall we resist?’ Lorcan said under his breath.
‘Indeed,’ said Katrin, catching the quote. ‘Though I think it too early in the morning for Valyn’s moralising.’
‘There is no good time of the day for Eilin poets,’ Lorcan agreed.
‘Do not say that too loudly,’ Katrin murmured, as Lida led her mare from the stables towards them.
She was followed a moment later by Alys and Ella; Dylan was lagging behind, talking to Jed. They were rarely out of one another’s company, and Lorcan knew the parting would be difficult, for Dylan in particular. He swallowed a sigh and ran a hand through his hair again.
‘Courage, stom-ruith,’ came Ava’s voice from behind him. She slipped silently up beside Midnight and scratched the mare’s white neck.
‘Gods, woman,’ Lorcan muttered, looking down at her. Though
it was barely past dawn, she was already fully dressed, her hair shining from recent brushing. ‘Could you stop doing that?’
‘No,’ she said, and pushed his foot from the stirrup so she could spring up and kiss his cheek.
She looked awful, as far as Ava was able to look awful: the skin under her eyes was puffy, her face drawn. A light brush of her mindshield confirmed his suspicion. He glared at her.
‘You went star-skimming without me,’ he accused. ‘You know how dangerous that is.’
It was not strictly star-skimming, what Ava did. Star-skimming was a nonsense magic from children’s faery stories; when Ava rose up out of her mind - and up, and up, much further than Lorcan could go, much further than Rikard, even - she skimmed minds, collecting and collating thoughts and emotions and fears and hopes and weaving them all together with as much skill as any tapestry-artist. From there, by collecting the threads from many thinkers and the feelings from many hearts, she could weave together what she jokingly called prophecies. She could answer questions about the near future with, Lorcan reflected, about as much accuracy as hedgewitches in stories were generally credited.
He did not go with her - the sky took him when he tried - but he sat with her while she worked and offered his strength when she needed it. She sometimes did not know where she was, when she came back, and sometimes did not know who she was, and so it was Lorcan’s job to remind her gently of both.
‘I am clearly fine,’ Ava said, ‘and evidently I still got more sleep than you. I had only one question, so it did not take long. They gave me many answers, though. You will need to be ready.’
‘For what?’ he said warily.
‘For many things, the stars say.’
‘Can the stars be more specific?’
She gave a knowing smile, eyes lidded. That smile made other people’s hearts thud in their chests and cleared every thought from their minds; Lorcan merely frowned.
‘They were. But I will not be.’ She ruffled his curls. ‘You must wait; I promise it is worth it. Farewell, beloved one.’
‘L’prochenne, soer bi-aime,’ he answered, trying and failing to smooth his hair.
She stepped back down and moved to the Myrae girl, wrapping her arms carefully around the girl’s neck.
‘I wish you could come with us,’ Lida said wistfully.
Ava laughed. ‘I don’t,’ she said frankly. ‘But write to me, when you reach l’Cour du Kali.’ She fished something from her pocket and held it out. ‘I made this for you.’
It was an emerald-green ribbon; Ava had embroidered it with silver thread. Lida exclaimed her thanks, her eyes shining; Lorcan could not see the pattern Ava had sewn, and wondered what she had chosen. Gifts from Ava were seldom without meaning.
Her bright blue eyes flickered to him for a moment; he could not read what was in them. ‘Wear it and think of home,’ she said to the Myrae girl, gave her one more tight hug, then turned to disappear back through the orchard and into the Illarum without a backwards glance. Lida ran her hands over the ribbon, then folded it with more care than Lorcan would have expected of her, gently nestling it in the side pocket of her pack. She climbed awkwardly into the saddle, taking up the reins with her good hand.
‘Come,’ Katrin called. She urged Bear forward, and they followed.
Alys and Ella rode at the front; Alys was chatting without need for pause or - seemingly - breath. Lorcan rubbed at his temples irritably, already wishing that he had not abandoned his coffee. Lida was behind him, determinedly silent. Lorcan strengthened his mindshield against the onslaught of Dylan’s moody speculations about his mother’s plans for his marriage. Lorcan was sympathetic, having often been in a similar position with his own father and spared only by his mother’s fierce insistence that her sons have the right to choose. Nevertheless, he wished that Dylan would dwell on it more quietly.
Lorcan had ridden the Port Royal trade road many times, and the vista rarely changed. It was all farmland, with patchwork crops and solid, practical Eilin farmhouses with their square sandstone facades. Everything was carefully shaped and cultivated; rabbits in the fields barely bothered to twitch their noses at the sound of the horses, and even the birds trilled sedately. He had hated it when he had first arrived, spending months fervently wishing for the ragged cliffs and cutting winds of Kell, where nothing could be mistaken as tame. Then the first storm had come, an angry black tempest full of sheet lightning blown in from the Southern Sea, and he thought that perhaps Eilan was not so bad after all. He had certainly not wished to leave, and he had argued with Jakob when his brother had called him to the sickroom.
‘Send Marlyn instead,’ Lorcan had half-pleaded.
Jakob was implacable. ‘No. Alida’s father charged me with her wellbeing. I cannot go, so you must act in my stead.’
‘You got her here. Your agreement is fulfilled.’
‘It is not,’ Jakob insisted. ‘He charged me on my name, Lor. He took my arm and I swore an oath. It is not discharged until he deems it so.’
Lorcan had run his hands through his hair. ‘Do you understand what you are asking me to do?’
Jakob knew, of course; when it came to Lorcan, he always knew. ‘If I could go in your place, I would.’
‘But Bronwyn -’
Jakob had made a dismissive gesture. ‘Straighten your spine and shoulder your bow, archer. It has been years. You will accompany Alida. You will keep her safe as her father charged, and you will continue her lessons as you would any new apprentice. And that is not a request, Dar-Oidre,’ he had added firmly, effectively ending any further argument Lorcan might have made.
Jakob very rarely ordered his younger brother to do anything, but when he did, it was entirely non-negotiable. The only person Lorcan could have appealed to was their mother, and Lorcan had a feeling that in this instance she would have stood by her Priom-Oidre anyway; name-bound oaths were taken seriously in the north. Knowing that Jakob would have spared him the journey if he could did not make following the order any easier.
Lorcan stared at the silver cuff on his wrist - a twin to the gold one his brother wore - and for one fleeting moment he wanted nothing more than to gallop back to the cliffs and hurl it into the sea. Instead, he reached down and twisted it around his wrist, again and again.
They stopped for lunch some hours later by a copse on the side of the road. There had been recent rain, and they watered the horses in a tiny stream running parallel to the boundary fence. Lorcan slid from Midnight’s back, his empty stomach rumbling.
The Myrae girl was digging through her pack; she gave a satisfied exclamation when she fished out a thick jumper. The day was overcast but not cold; Lorcan wondered how she would fare when they got closer to the border, if she was already feeling the chill of the months-away winter.
Dylan stretched. ‘You southerners,’ he said, with a grin and a shake of his head, clearly thinking the same as Lorcan. ‘It gives new meaning to that saying about Eilin women.’
She pulled the jumper over her head. ‘What saying about Eilin women?’
Dylan blushed faintly. ‘I thought everyone knew it.’
Lorcan rifled through Katrin’s food pack for some bread. ‘I do not think Eilin women would say it about themselves, Carasson,’ he said, alighting on a block of cheese.
‘What is the saying?’ Lida asked, intrigued.
Dylan eyed her warily, then cleared his throat. ‘As cold as an Eilin woman.’
She frowned. ‘Meaning what?’
‘You know,’ Dylan said.
Lida raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think I do.’
Dylan cleared his throat again. Lorcan almost laughed. ‘Because Eilin women are … because Eilins don’t …’
‘Eilins don’t what?’
‘They don’t … um. Before they handfast.’
‘Oh,’ Lida said, her face heating.
Lorcan let his mindshield thin; Lida’s thoughts were on her sister, who had apparently discarded that particular Eilin tradition man
y years previously and had never looked back. He caught a glimpse of shining red hair and mischievous green eyes set into a heart-shaped face almost as lovely as Ava’s.
Lida lifted her chin. ‘Did an Eilin woman tell you that?’
Dylan stared at her. ‘What?’
‘Well,’ she continued, ‘some Eilins keep to the tradition. But saying that you do is a common way of turning down someone you don’t want to … be with.’
Dylan gave no answer, but his eyes narrowed. This time, Lorcan did not bother to hide his smile, flashing the Brinnican man a wide grin.
‘It’s possible that the woman who told you that was truthful.’ Lida shrugged. ‘Or …’
Dylan muttered an expletive under his breath in Brinnican. ‘You mean I was refused by an Eilin?’
She gave a smug smile. ‘Perhaps a better saying would be as sensible as an Eilin woman?’
Lorcan could not help it; he laughed. The Myrae girl looked startled, and took the bread he offered her. ‘Better luck next time,’ he said to Dylan. ‘It seems that Eilin women have far better taste than you thought.’
‘We have excellent taste,’ Lida said tartly, ‘which is why we marry Eilin men.’ She pushed her hair behind her shoulder and went to sit with Ella to eat, leaving the northerners standing by the boundary fence with the horses, staring after her. Dylan’s face had creased into a cross frown, but one corner of Lorcan’s mouth curled upwards, and it stayed that way for some time.
When they set off again, Alys claimed the Myrae girl; Ella had apparently tired of her friend’s cheerfully relentless chatter. Alys had never been to Kingstown, so she plied the girl with question after question. Lida seemed happy to answer, so Ella and Dylan joined in after a while, asking her everything they could think of. The girl spoke at length about growing up in the city and her childhood, and Lorcan thinned his mindshield and let her thoughts wash over him. From her mind, he could feel the beating heat of the Eilin summer, intensified by the sandstone structures of the city. He could hear a children’s song, sung by her sister, her voice deep and lovely and true. He could see her father teaching her to swim in the public pool, and then taking her to a small river just outside the city and continuing the lessons. The girl remembered how cool the water had been on her skin, and Lorcan shivered.