[Firebringer 02] - Dark Moon (14 page)

As succinctly as I could, I described to her the wretched lives of the city’s
daya
.

“I was able to escape that accursed place,” I told her. “Drinking of the unicorns’ sacred moonspring far to the north, I was transformed. Had I never found my way to that miraculous well and drunk thereof, I should be a
da
still.”

Tek’s face was drawn now with shock, her inner thoughts as plain to me as though she had shouted them: her dam, not born a unicorn? Her mother, transformed from some degenerate, hornless freak by the sacred wellspring that was the birthright of all unicorns—a birthright I did not share? She shuddered now to realize that the strange, garbled rumors she had heard all her life must hold some truth after all: Jah-lila the outcast, the “renegade”—not a true unicorn at all!

“Who knows of this?” my daughter whispered.

“Teki knoweth,” I told her. “To Jan once I gave the barest sketch, on his initiation day. Now thou, too, knowest. And Korr.”

“Korr?” The pied mare looked up, astonished. I nodded.

It was he who showed me to the moon’s sacred wellspring—though such was against all custom and his people’s Law.”

Tek’s eyes grew rounder yet. Clearly she had never thought the black king capable of even contemplating any breach to the Ring of Law.

“After fleeing the City,” I said, “I escaped inland. Upon the Plains, I encountered Korr, the young not-yet-prince of the unicorns, a single-horned stallion far more magnificent than any da. His father, Sa’s late mate, Khraa, was prince then, and Khraa’s mother the queen. Korr, then newly initiated, used to travel alone outside the Vale, on fire to see what lay beyond, burning to contemplate the world.

‘Though not strictly forbidden then as they are now, such expeditions were no less frowned upon in his day—but who dared gainsay the prince’s son, destined to become prince himself in time? When he stumbled across me during one such youthful sojourn, I was yet a hornless
da,
wild and desperate from my harrowing flight.

“He mistook me for a renegade at first: one of his own people who had either deserted or been banished from the herd. Of course, thou and a few others well know that such outcasts do not lose their horns, thus ceasing to be unicorns—but Korr believed and still believes the old legends, as many do. Thus he shunned me, but at length I convinced him I was no renegade, that I came from neither his Vale nor the Plain, but from a far and different place.

“Learning of my flight from that imprisonment, he took pity on me at last, telling me of his own proud, free race and urging me to join them. He guided me to the sacred well, where I drank. And when, afterwards, I felt a horn sprouting upon my brow, I trusted that accompanying the princeling Korr upon his return to the Vale, I might find refuge there.

“And yet my strangeness lingered, a strangeness which no newgrown horn could dispel. Our travails in reaching the sacred well in summer, when poisonous wyverns roved everywhere—had been terrible. Korr’s guilt at transgressing an age-old custom began to weigh upon him. He feared for his future as prince, I think, should it become known that he had consorted with a once-hornless ‘renegade,’ betraying his people’s secrets to her.

In the end, he abandoned me, forbidding me to follow or try to find him. But I did follow, reaching his marvelous Vale. He pretended not to know me then. I called Teki my mate, for propriety’s sake, though we have never sojourned together by the Summer Sea, nor joined ourselves one to another as you and Jan have done by the pledging of eternal vows. Ours has been a partnership of colleagues and companions, not mates.

“Teki taught me his healer’s art, the ways and history of the unicorns, and I shared with him as much of my own lore as I might: starcraft mostly—he is no magicker. Briefly, I shared his grotto, but quickly saw how greatly my nearness, even as the healer’s supposed mate, troubled Korr. Though the leaving of his strange, wild folk held much pain for me, I quit the Vale with the reluctant blessing of my ‘mate’ and settled here, in the hills, to raise thee.

“How sorely was I tempted to keep thee selfishly at my side, for though this life in the wilderness hath its rewards, it is lonely, Tek. In the end, I could not wish such desolation upon thee. The hardest thing I have ever done was to lead thee back to the Vale when thou wert weaned. And until this autumn past, Korr hath always watched over thee, from a distance, hath he not? Even favoring thee highly, for memory of me—and for his guilt’s sake at abandoning me upon the Plain. My daughter, at least, hath lived welcome among unicorns, a Joy I fear I may never share.”

I fell still at last after my torrent of words, and my daughter lay in stunned silence, as though not knowing what to say. A long time passed as we lay there, face to face beneath the warm, shifting glimmer of lichenlight. At last, my daughter found her voice.

“If Teki who raised me is not my sire,” she said simply, “then who?” Her jewel-green eyes were watching me. Dared I tell her the truth? Dared I not? At last, I said: “A renegade—not a Plainsborn unicorn, but a true outcast, one who roved the Plain after quitting the Vale. A Ringbreaker, outside his people’s Law.”

Her gaze fell. I could not tell now what emotion lit her eye. Could she herself yet tell? Perhaps not. I dared to hope only that in the end, she would not hate me. I glanced impatiently toward the egress of the cave, anxious for the arrival of the restorative herbs my child and her unborn so desperately required. Luckily, she remained alert for the time being—no sign yet of her slipping into dangerous sleep. Nothing to do but wait. Returning my gaze to Tek, I found my daughter once more watching me.

“But what of Jan?” she whispered. “You said he lives—a prisoner in that sorcerous place, that city where you were born.”

I nodded, relieved to have skirted so nimbly such dangerous ground. Blame my daughter’s fatigue—and her overwhelming hunger for word of Jan above even her own history.

“Why did you not bring word?” Tek asked, her voice deathly quiet still. “Why did you not come to the Vale with word Jan was alive?”

I snorted. “And what good is my word in the Vale?”

“Korr has always respected your word!” the pied mare exclaimed.

“Feared it, rather, by my reck.”

I saw my daughter’s eyes widen. Clearly she had never considered that Korr might be afraid of anything.

I champed my teeth. “In his present state, I much doubt Korr would credit any news I uttered.”

Tek fell silent a moment, mulling that. Her eyes flashed suddenly. “You might have come to me, at least,” she said savagely, “told me of your suspicions my mate yet lived!”

I sighed. “I dared not. Korr had turned on thee so swiftly, so thoroughly, I feared my presence would only madden him further. And what better pretext to quarrel with thee—even do thee harm—than consorting with an outcast, self exiled, a magicker, dream-walker, foreigner: your own dam?”

Tek fell silent again, considering.

“If my mate remains a prisoner,” she said at length, “then no matter the distance, with or without Korr’s help, I must go to him, rescue him!”

Her eyes were on fire suddenly. Vehemently, I shook my head. “Even were this the mildest of winters, daughter, thou couldst never hope to complete such a trek.”

I sensed outrage welling in my daughter’s breast. Her thoughts once more showed plain upon her face: was she not a warrior, as fleet as any, and with more stamina than most?

As gently as I could, I said, “Starved as thou art and exhausted by flight from the Vale, thou must needs spend the balance of thy time at rest, recovering thy strength if thou art ever to bring safely to term what lieth unborn within.”

To my midwife’s eye, her pregnancy was now so obviously precarious that the least misstep might precipitate a miscarriage. Relief flooded me to see her reluctantly admitting the prudence of my words: she must do nothing further to endanger her as-yet-unborn filly or foal. Clearly her unborn’s peril was very great. Yet dismay remained on her features for only a moment. Abruptly, my pied child’s expression hardened.

“You must go, then, if I cannot.” Once more she looked me in the eye. “You know how to reach this city of fire and where within the settlement its sorcerers are holding Jan—”

“I’ll not leave thee,” I answered sharply, surprised at my own vehemence. My daughter’s dire condition had unsettled me more than a little. “Come spring, Korr will send searchers. He cannot but suspect where thou hast fled.”

Across from me, Tek shook her head stubbornly. Alarmed, I risked greater candor.

“Daughter, without the herbs I mean to give thee in the coming months, thou wilt surely miscarry—or die in travail. Either may still occur. I must attend thee. I dare not go.” Gratefully, I watched her sober. “Be easy,” I hastened to add. “All shall be well. It is within my power to aid thine unborn mightily, making up for time and nourishment lost.“

Tek lay clearly in a quandary now, her thoughts evident. “What is to be done?” she exclaimed. “Jan must be freed and returned to us—before his mad father destroys us all.”

“Jan is safe enough where he is for the present. He’s no hope of surviving outside the City till spring thaw, in any case. I am already at work to aid his escape. Once the grass is sprung, we must see which way the wind blows—but enough of this, daughter!”

I stopped myself suddenly, pricking my ears to sounds from without the cave. My pied companion’s poor battered frame had begun to droop. It seemed she could keep her eyes open no longer.

“We will talk more of Jan soon,” I assured her. “We have all winter to plan. Presently I will let thee sleep. But first, healing. Look: the herbs for which I had sent have now arrived.”

“Peace, daughter. These goatlings are come at my request.”

From around the curve which hid the entryway, two young pans appeared, both females, huddled beneath shaggy drapes: one bearskin, by the smell of it; the other, boar. Tek’s nose rankled. She stared at the loathsome, spindly creatures as both dropped their cloaks by the entrance. Catching sight of the pied mare, they grimaced, baring their square little teeth—or was such the pan way of smile? The elder goatling grunted and twittered at Jah-lila, gesturing with hairless forelimbs as she spoke. The Red Mare replied with similar twittering, incomprehensible to Tek.

“What,” she gasped, “what do such creatures purpose here?”

“They dwell here,” her mother calmly replied, slipping back into the unicorn way of speech, “under my care.” Smiling now, the Red Mare glanced warmly at the young pans. “I found these starving at wood’s edge one day, years past. Their dam had been killed by a cat and their people fled. I have sheltered and raised them, suckling them like fillies. The elder already spoke enough of their odd, guttural speech for me to follow. It is not so unlike that of the two-footed firekeepers. And I have learned more in conversing with other goatlings in the wood.”

Tek shivered at the thought. Pensively, her mother sighed.

“But since many quirks of the face and forelimb also hold meaning—and most of these I can at best only approximate—I fear I still speak Pan but poorly. It has been far easier for these two to learn Unicorn. They call me ‘ama’ now, which means ‘mother’ in their tongue. They are my acolytes: herbalists and midwives. It is they who gathered our grotto’s winter provisions. The taller is Sismoomnat, the younger Pitipak. They have been eager to meet you and gladly scoured their home woods this day for the rare and perishable herbs you must take before you sleep.”

Eyeing the ugly, upright goatlings, Tek felt her skin tremor. Despite her dam’s reassuring tone, the pied mare could scarcely restrain her urge to bolt. Only overwhelming fatigue kept her reclining as the pair of pans approached, laying before her a great clump of ferny, withered fronds. They crouched then, openly curious. The younger one, nearest to Jah-lila, laid one slender forepaw on the Red Mare’s neck and stroked her companionably. Jah-lila nuzzled the young goatling easily as one might a filly. All at once, Tek felt her revulsion beginning to fade. She could scarcely catch her breath for wonder.

“Greet-ings, Tek, Jah-ama’s daughter,” the elder, Sismoomnat, pronounced carefully, her birdlike inflection strangely melodious. “Wel-come to our home. We have brought you ama’s herbs. Ama has told us you would find your way to us before the win-ter was out. We are so glad that you have come, and that at last we may behold you. Wel-come, foster sister. Wel-come home.”