Path of Fate (49 page)

At the little village where Upsakes and Glevs had died, she traded the leggy, smooth-gaited sorrel mare for the rough-gaited dun gelding she’d ridden from Priede. It was a poor trade, with her coming out of it with the lesser bargain, but she had missed the dun, and remembered fondly his trust and loyalty during the wizard night. The farmer who made the trade protested, fearing aretaliation from Mekelsek Keep—for purchasing a stolen animal, or swindling for it. Reisil smiled gently and insisted, the gelding lipping at her hand as she fed him a handful of grain, touching velvet-black nose to beak with Saljane.

In the end, the farmer had acquiesced, letting her go only after refilling her slack packs so that she could hardly tie them shut, and offering to reverse the trade at any time if she desired. She agreed, and before she left she went among his herds, pleased at the care he took of them, touching a lamb here, a horse there, a cow—mending small hurts and larger, hidden ailments. Then she left in the dawn, avoiding the camp where Upsakes and Glevs had tried to kill them all.

In Priede, Odiltark had fussed over her, then sat clicking his tongue as she related her story. They’d talked well into the night, and then she’d accompanied him on his rounds the next day. She did little healing. Odiltark argued that he didn’t need it, that the patients would mend well enough with his care.

“Have you thought what will happen when everyone knows what you can do? You’ll have no rest. They’ll use you up. Think about it. Have a care for yourself.”

The next morning he’d given her messages for his sister, then closed her in a powerful hug before sending her on her way, admonishing her to look after herself.

Now Reisil watched the lowering sun flame on the Sadelema, feeling Saljane’s constant presence in her mind like a sparking fire. Below on the river she heard the creaks of the boats, stevedores shouting, and the clop of hooves as teams of draft horses drew heavily loaded wagons up into Kallas. Behind her the dun cropped the lush meadow grass. She thought of Roheline and Raim, suddenly craving a meal from the kohvhouse. She considered riding into Kallas and eating there, and returning for Ceriba the next day. But the memory of her last days in Kallas, the suspicion, the condemnation, stopped her.

No, she wasn’t ready to confront that yet. She sighed. They would already have the news of the treaty. They would know some, if not all, of her part in it. Still . . . Raim and Roheline had been friends and she had lied. Lied to them, lied to herself.

~
Fledglings fly not well, nor gracefully,
Saljane said in her mind, and Reisil smiled, feeling her companion’s sated fullness as Saljane cleaned her talons and beak.

“I am not a fledgling,” she replied aloud. Sometimes their conversations were silent, mind to mind. Other times Reisil spoke out loud, just to hear the sounds of the words.

~
No?

Reisil laughed, tossing a pebble over the edge of the cliff.

“All right. I’d like to think I have enough experience and judgment to be called fullfledged, but I’m not sure that will ever happen. I
have
come a long way since we left Kallas. You know that as well as I. But how will I know when I get all the way there?”

There was a merriment in her mind, a steel-edged amusement. Reisil felt her stomach tumble and her heart swelled at the gift of Saljane.

~Ahalad-kaaslane,
it is a journey we shall ever make, and one that finds no end.

“You sound like an oracle. Much wiser than I.”

In the last weeks Saljane had spoken more often. Reisil remembered how she’d wondered if their communication would ever be more than a terse one or two words. She smiled now. Their slow journey from the keep had been one of mutual discovery, of many questions, of much sharing. Reisil wasn’t even sure that Saljane used words, or merely thought her thoughts in Reisil’s mind. Sometimes they seemed so intertwined that it was hard to know where she stopped and Saljane began.

~
In some things,
Saljane answered thoughtfully. ~
But different from you. We guide each other to better wisdom.

Reisil sighed, feeling smugly contented, like a cat lolling in the sun. “Just so. May we make the fewer mistakes for it.”

~
We will make many mistakes,
Saljane said. ~
It is vanity to think otherwise.

“I was afraid you say that.”

~
It is the truth.

“Yes, it is, and it always finds us, no matter how much we might hide from it.”

Reisil thoughts slipped away to Kebonsat, and she touched the edges of the sadness she had not allowed herself to feel. Edelsat’s confident words had buoyed her, but still she remembered Kebonsat’s cold distance. Whatever friendship had rooted between them seemed to have evaporated in that last long day. A bitter irony that she should retrieve her heart from Kaval, only to give it to a man who feared and distrusted her.

She let the sadness take her, let herself cry, the dun wandering over to stand behind her and breathe warmly on her neck. Saljane embraced her mind, sharing the sadness.

After a while, Reisil wiped away the tears, feeling strangely better.

~
Saljane, we need a name for our friend.
She patted the gelding’s forehead. ~
Do you have any ideas?

The goshawk cocked her head at the horse, her white brow flashing.

~
I had not thought. Do you have a name for him?

~
I thought perhaps . . . Indigo.
Reisil smiled as she sensed Saljane’s doubt. “It doesn’t seem to match, I know. He’s not blue. But Indigo is a valuable dye, hard to come by; it doesn’t fade; boiling won’t hurt it; and you can’t wash it away with any kind of soap. Steadfast, loyal, precious. Is that not a good name for our friend?

~
A good name. So he shall be called.

Before rolling into her cloak, Reisil fished a rosemary candle from her pack and set it on a stone. She lit it, the flame standing still and tall. She’d burned it every night since leaving the Vorshtar plain. It never went out, never depleted.

She cupped her fingers around the warmth of the flame, then touched the silver tree-and-circle tark’s brooch on her collar. In the heart of the tree burned a candle like this one. She smiled.

 

The next morning Reisil woke early before the first gleams of dawn. She stirred up the fire, setting a pot of tea on a tripod to heat. When flames of gold and red burned bright along the eastern edge of the world, Saljane flung herself into the sky, spiraling in great lazy circles. Reisil dined on the remnants of the nut bread and cheese, washing them down with three hot cups of sweet tea. Afterward, she saddled Indigo and rode down off the bluff.

She wondered, not for the first time, how Ceriba’s family had responded to her decision to study with Elutark. She did not wonder whether Ceriba had been strong enough to hold to her choice. Given the alternative, she did not think that Ceriba would allow herself to be dissuaded.

Reisil cantered Indigo across a wide, fallow field to the road, Saljane’s shadow skimming the ground beside her. A line of birch trees screened the road from view, and thus she was surprised to see a camp of six tents and two-score horses on the other side. A pennant flew above the central tent, the rich hues of indigo and gold in a diamond pattern, with red rampant lions and a crown of red.

House Vadonis.

Reisil slowed Indigo to an amble, eyeing the collection of men and tents askance. There was a shout as she came out of the trees onto the road and soon a horse galloped out to meet her.

Kebonsat.

She pulled Indigo to a halt. Kebonsat pulled up opposite and for a long moment neither spoke. She could not read his expression. His face was a mask of angles and reserve.

“Bright morning,” she managed at last. “I had not expected to see you here.”

“You thought I would send my sister alone?”
After what has already happened to her?
He didn’t say the last, but Reisil heard it anyhow and colored.

“No, I suppose not,” she said quietly. “May I inquire after your father?”

The reserve cracked a bit, and for a moment he smiled with real warmth. “He is well. Kvepi Buris did not have opportunity or strength to do more than hit him over the head. Kvepi Chollai had him found and healed. Thank Ellini, my father has a hard head, and the damage was not too great.”

“That is welcome news.”

Silence descended between them again and Reisil found herself squirming as he watched her with that unreadable gaze. Finally she urged Indigo forward and Kebonsat fell in beside her.

“Ceriba is also well?” she asked when he made no effort to speak.

“She informed us of her decision several days after the treaty signing, when my father had found his feet again. It is a sign of her healing, perhaps, that she did not bend to my mother’s protestations, and that she would have come here alone.” Again, Reisil could read nothing in his tone. She looked up as Saljane coasted down to land on her fist. Reisil transferred her
ahaladkaaslane
to her shoulder, touching her mind affectionately, glad of the mental support in the face of Kebonsat’s chill reception.

They arrived at the central tent without another word spoken. Ceriba emerged as Reisil dismounted and the two embraced, Reisil in her dusty travel leathers, Ceriba in a tailored riding habit of pale blue with the Vadonis crest embroidered along the cuffs and neckline. Ceriba led her inside and offered her cool juice, a plate of mellow cheeses and an assortment of melon and berries. Reisil ate little, unnerved by Kebonsat’s hovering silence.

“How far is it to Elutark’s cottage?” Ceriba asked in a low voice. Gone was the merriness that had illuminated her features when Reisil first met her. There was a furtive, diffident air to her now.

“Two days, if we ride hard, three if we take our time. But I am not certain it is a good idea to go with such a group.”

“I alone will accompany you. The rest of our retinue will wait here,” Kebonsat stated shortly. Reisil nodded, feeling the food in her stomach turning. That meant several days in Kebonsat’s company by herself on their return journey. She did not know if she could stand his coldness.

They set off several hours later. Ceriba brooded, staring down at her saddle. Kebonsat rode ahead on the excuse of scouting the way, and Reisil tried to make herself relax and enjoy the beauty of the summer day. It grew warm, much warmer than it had been in the mountains, and soon she shed her cloak and vest and rolled up her sleeves.

They camped early, catching rainbow trout in a lazy stream. After supper Reisil dug soaproot and bathed in a quiet bend in the stream. The water was not warm, but neither was it as frigid as the mountain streams, and she felt some of her tension wash away with the dirt. She slept well that night, peaceful in the tall grass buzzing with insects and rustling with ground squirrels and grouse.

The next day went much the same way, but Reisil spent more time with Saljane, flying high and seeing Kodu Riik spreading out like a quilt in patterns of brilliant red and yellow, blue and green, gray and brown. That night they fished again, having come to the foot of Suur Hunnik. Elutark lived in a small cottage in the foothills above the town of Manniokas. The next day they skirted the quiet town and arrived in Elutark’s yard just after noon.

Reisil took the horses into the barn, leaving her companions to get acquainted with Elutark. Reisil took her time, unsaddling and rubbing down the horses, checking feet for rocks. She turned them loose in a grassy paddock, leaning on the fence as Indigo galloped through the grass, then dropped to the ground to roll. She returned reluctantly to the cottage, but soon Elutark had peppered her with so many questions that time passed swiftly until supper, without the usual stiff silence.

Elutark gave Reisil and Ceriba Reisil’s old room, and sent Kebonsat out to the barn to sleep. Reisil and she sat up for several hours after the other two had gone to bed.

“Ceriba’s had a hard time of it. She’s strong, though. Isn’t going to break. She’ll make a good tark in time, I should say,” Elutark pronounced without looking up from her small handloom. “And you will on to Koduteel?”

Reisil nodded. “I’ll return to Kallas with Kebonsat and see my friends there. Then I’ll go.”

Elutark said nothing of the tension between her former pupil and the handsome brother of her new charge, sending them away the next morning without ceremony. Ceriba hugged Reisil.

“I’ll see you again?” She sounded fearful.

“Of course. As soon as I am able, I will visit.” Ceriba drew a deep breath and nodded, collecting herself.

“Thank you.”

She hugged Kebonsat, sending messages of farewell to her parents. Then Reisil and Kebonsat mounted and retraced their path of the day before.

That night they sat in silence, much as before. Reisil blew on the hot fish, almost too hungry to wait for it to cool. Kebonsat sat on the other side of the fire, watching. Reisil had come to assume the silence, not bothering with any more attempts at conversation. It was as if she shared the fire with a speechless shadow. So when he spoke, she started, dropping her dinner.

“I haven’t properly thanked you—for your aid with Ceriba, for healing me,” he said in sharp, surly tones, sounding more accusing than grateful. Reisil pressed her lips together and picked up her fish, picking off the stray bits of grass that clung to it.

“No, you haven’t. But there is no need.” She recognized the steel in her tone, the sharpedged asperity, and was pleased. It was a nononsense tone she’d acquired from Saljane.

Kebonsat didn’t respond and Reisil finished her dinner, though she was no longer hungry. Afterward, she went down to the stream to wash her hands. She sat on the bank, watching the moon in the water, unwilling to go back to the fire. She flinched when Kebonsat joined her, close beside her so that his thigh touched hers.