Path of Fate (6 page)

“I don’t know.” Meelaru put her fingers to her trembling lips. “Taktitu wouldn’t tell me, but I’ve never seen my husband so upset. Everyone is.”

“I’d better go then.” Reisil looked at the beggar woman and her children as if she’d never seen them before. For a split second she didn’t recall them at all. She turned back to Meelaru. “This woman and her children need to eat, a place to rest. Can you look after them? I’ll come back for them later.”

Meelaru gave them a hard look then a short nod, her round cheeks jiggling. Her expression firmed and color seeped back into her cheeks. Reisil almost smiled. Meelaru could be depended on to get things done in a crisis, and she never turned away needy children. Reisil ought to know. Meelaru motioned the woman and her children into the shop,
tsk
ing at the dirt and dust.

“Mind you come back and tell me what you hear. Taktitu’s bound to forget,” she said to Reisil, her voice sounding more like herself.

“Yes, mind you do, little sister!” came a taunting voice behind Reisil. She spun around, clenching her teeth. Juhrnus.

He stood opposite her, a spiteful grin stretching his lips, his legs braced wide, his head tipped in challenge.

He watched her, his lip curling as he stroked the yellow-and-green-striped head of his
ahalad-kaaslane
. He cradled the sisalik on one arm, its claws clamped around his wrist. The lizard’s black, fleshy tongue whispered across the back of Juhrnus’s hand affectionately. Mean-spirited and malicious as he was, she still couldn’t understand why the Blessed Lady had chosen him.

“Poor girlie, missing your Kaval? Afraid he’ll get lost on the way home? Or maybe you’re worried that he’s bedded every serving wench, merchant’s daughter and trull between here and Koduteel and has caught himself a pox. Got your potions all ready for that, have you? The ladies do so love our handsome Kaval, don’t they?” He shook his head and
tsk
ed. “He has such a hard time keeping his . . . eyes . . . from wandering. I do hope he’s got enough strength left to wave his flag for you.”

Reisil kept her expression composed with some effort, though she flushed at Juhrnus’s none-too-subtle crudity. She and Kaval weren’t a secret. But that really wasn’t the point. Juhrnus had made it his personal mission to harass and embarrass her since the first moment she’d returned from her apprenticeship. Six months and he’d dogged her heels every single day as if she hadn’t been gone for thirteen years, as if she were still ten years old. She’d hoped after being chosen
ahalad-kaaslane
he might have better things to do, something more important occupy his time, but apparently she was wrong.

Her glance flicked to Meelaru, who watched the exchange with avid curiosity. There was a frown between her eyes, as if she were waiting for Reisil to put Juhrnus in his proper place.

And just what is that?
she thought wrathfully.
He’s
ahalad-kaaslane.
Who can speak against him? Who can bring him to heel? He’s the Blessed Lady’s own chosen. Bad choice as that might be,
she brooded, trying to sort out some reply that wouldn’t damn her in Meelaru’s eyes, but might give her back a little of her own.

In the back of her mind, a malicious voice wondered what he’d say if he’d knew she’d been chosen too. She quashed the thought with a spurt of fear. She must not ever reveal that to anyone! Least of all Juhrnus!

“Come, little sister. Cat got your tongue?” Juhrnus smiled, daring her to say something. Reisil’s fingers curled. He’d taken to calling her his little sister when they were very young, disguising his attacks on her under the name of familial sport, all goodnatured and affectionate, just brotherly teasing. After all, she belonged to everyone’s family and nobody’s, moving house to house as she had. Even after years away, whenever she encountered him, she felt as if she were a child again, homeless and helpless.

“Hadn’t
you
better get up to Raim’s, Juhrnus? You ought to buckle down, now that you’re
ahalad-kaaslane
. What would your grandmother say if she knew what a wild thing you still were, and here with all this responsibility?” Meelaru asked suddenly, and Reisil felt a rush of relief clash headlong against a staggering sense of humiliation. Meelaru was
rescuing
her.

Red seeped into Juhrnus’s cheeks and his eyes narrowed. But he flashed Meelaru an impudent, bitter-edged grin. “She’d be speechless with surprise that I hadn’t yet drunk myself into the river like my mother, or got myself killed in the war like my father.” He sauntered forward past Reisil, then turned back and gestured for her to accompany him.

Left with little choice, Reisil fell in beside him, her jaw tight with anger. He chuckled softly.

“Little sister, what will you do when I leave Kallas?”

“It can’t be soon enough for me,” she gritted between her teeth.

“Ah, you don’t mean that. But never fear. I plan to devote all my attention to you before I go.”

“Some
ahalad-kaaslane
you are,” she returned. “If you are so intent on me, how will you find time to help Kallas and Kodu Riik?”

Reisil was gratified to see him wince as her dagger hit home.

“I am not the only
ahalad-kaaslane
in Kallas. There are three others,” he said stiffly, not looking at her.

Reisil snorted. “Felias is no more experienced than you. And you want to spend your time bullying me.”

“Make hay while the sun shines.”

“Whyever did the Blessed Lady choose you?”

Juhrnus jeered at her. “Hidden depths, little sister. My talents are valuable to the Lady, as no doubt Kaval’s are to you,” he added with a suggestive wag of his brows. He bent and made a kissing sound next to her ear and then brushed past, dashing up the wide flagstone steps to disappear inside the double doors of Raim’s kohv-house.

Reisil stood on the bottom step for a moment, taking several calming breaths. Once again he’d gotten the better of her. When would she figure out how to handle him? Maybe she wouldn’t have to. He would be leaving soon. She had only to wait him out.

Inside she could hear the clamor of shouting voices. The place must be full to the bursting. Her mouth watered as she smelled the welcoming aromas of rhubarb tarts, honey bread, mori-spice soup and rich kohv blended with thick cream and dusted on top with golden nussa, a tangy-bitter spice harvested on the upper slopes of Suur Hunnik in spring. She’d watched the sun rise as she ate her breakfast on her front porch and she hadn’t eaten since. And from the sound of things, she doubted she’d be eating anytime soon.

The delectable scents contrasted incongruously against the tumult within. She eyed the polished oak doors, wishing she could return to her cottage, to the quiet tilling of her garden and the tending of her patients, and let the leaders of Kallas work this problem out on their own.

But she couldn’t. Because with the mantle of tark came leadership, or at least the responsibilities of good counsel, and she must walk up those stairs and prove her abilities.

What was it Elutark used to tell her when she had doubted herself?
You are what you pretend to be.
Well, then, she’d pretend to be composed, thoughtful and brave, instead of nervous of her own shadow. Reisil grinned wryly to herself as she smoothed her clothing and then marched up the steps.

 

On a normal day, the gaily colored ceiling, the arcaded walls open to a breezy courtyard, and the fragrant rushes strewn over the floors sent her spirits zooming. But today a wall of bodies blocked the entrance as a swarm of townspeople besieged Varitsema, the mayor of Kallas. She could see him above the crowd, standing on a bench in the center of the melee, the expression on his face a mix of anger, frustration and stubbornness.

Reisil recognized many faces: people she’d treated, people who’d taken her in as a child. But their expressions were closed and harsh like the teeth of the mountains in winter. She shivered at the tangible rage rising from the group.

Sodur and Upsakes stood quietly with folded arms. Upsakes’s chocolate-furred weirmart coiled about his neck, her long-whiskered nose twitching below his chin, sharp claws clutching into the leather pads on his shoulders. Reisil couldn’t see Sodur’s silver lynx, but it was certain to be close by. Their presence was comforting.

Varitsema raised his hands. A whispering hush fell, broken here and there by the sounds of coughing, shuffling feet and muttered invectives.

“You may yell all you like, but the Iisand Samir’s own herald brought the proclamation and there is little to be done about it. I only repeat to you what he said.

“In fourteen days, a Patversemese envoy arrives in Kallas on his way to sign a permanent treaty in the names of their majesties Karalis Vasalis and Karaliene Pavadone. The Dure Vadonis, his family and entourage, will spend one day and night here. We are commanded to receive them with joy and courtesy and give them all the consideration of our own royal family.”

An ugly eruption threatened. Varitsema lifted his hand again for silence. When the voices subsided, he said in a cajoling tone, “It means the end of the war. It means we won’t have to send our sons off to die anymore. It means trade and prosperity for us all.” His voice shifted and became commanding. “I know you don’t like it, but hear me! If we should break the truce, fragile as it is, the Iisand has declared that all our lands and homes will be confiscated and we shall be made as homeless as those miserable squatters out there in the copse. We won’t be allowed to take away any more than the clothes on our backs.”

Stunned silence filled the room. Reisil’s mouth fell open. She looked at Upsakes and Sodur for reassurance. Upsakes stroked his weirmart with a tense hand and Reisil noticed a feverish flush to his face. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Sodur frowned and rubbed his chin.

Reisil began to shake her head. It was impossible. There must be a mistake.

“That’s . . . that’s insane! He can’t do that!”

Reisil didn’t see who spoke, but dozens of voices rose up in support.

“I’m afraid he can,” Sodur said in a flat voice.

“You would support this? The
ahalad-kaaslane
? You’re supposed to protect the people of Kodu Riik!”

“We would pray to the Blessed Amiya and follow Her guidance as we always do,” Sodur said. “But you must realize that the crown is bound to the Lady as the
ahalad-kaaslane
are. I doubt Iisand Samir would promise such a possibility if he did not believe She would permit it. I would advise you to take the warning seriously, for your own sakes. Geran Samir is not known to threaten idly.”

“Is that why you’re here? To make sure we cooperate? So that we let the wolves into our gates?” demanded someone, Reisil could not see who.

“Peace, friend. We are here sorting out the new crop of
ahalad-kaaslane
and making arrangements for the squatters. Our presence is mere chance, but I promise you we will stay and aid in whatever manner we may,” Upsakes replied in an easy voice that did much to soothe the angry tension.

But his next words, delivered like the lashes of a whip, sparked it again.

“I have no doubt that the Iisand will keep his word and you will all be turned from house and home, penniless and dishonored, should you not receive the ambassador from Patverseme with proper ceremony. With no horses or goats, cattle or sheep, what will you eat? Where will you go? How will you earn a living?”

For a single moment there was shocked, menacing stillness, like the eye of a tornado. Reisil heard her heart beat, and then a single indrawn breath as the crowd breathed together.

Shouts shattered the silence. Reisil felt herself wilt away from fury that stormed the room. She took a step back toward the door and then caught herself, annoyed at her own timidity. She stiffened her back and pushed herself forward, squirming through the mass of rigid bodies, clenched fists and jutting elbows. At last she arrived at the edge of the circle surrounding Varitsema, sweat dampening her ribs, her breath rasping in her throat.

The mayor’s thin face was pale but set. With every sally from the crowd, he reiterated reassuring words of loyalty, peace and prosperity. They had little effect. The people behind Reisil surged forward like stormdriven waves, their angry words tangling into nonsense as they berated him. Sodur and Upsakes had been drawn into little pockets of their own and each spoke fervently to those who surrounded them.

Reisil didn’t know what to do. If anything, her voice would only add more sound to the fury. Nor could she just stand there. She turned. She almost didn’t recognize the snarling, red faces, mouths sharpedged and glistening like snapping wolves. For a moment Reisil wavered, stunned by the ferocity of the townspeople. Then she caught herself and began to scan the faces before her. She knew these people. Some she had known her entire life.

“Paber!” she called to a florid butcher on her left. On arriving back in Kallas, she had removed porcupine quills from his son’s leg. He started at the sound of his name and swung his head from side to side like a bull stung by gnats. “Paber,” Reisil said more gently. “Is this such a bad thing? To have peace at last? Think of your sons. Soon they will be of an age to fight. Do you want to see them march off, maybe never to come back?”

Her words struck home and he swallowed. Beside him, Torm, a maker of glass beads, overheard and his own lips clenched together. Reisil felt a thrill of pride and hope as the two men looked at each other and then away.

She turned quickly to the next man, a grandfather. She remembered him from her childhood. He used to run logs down the Sadelema until he’d caught his foot in between two spinning trunks. He’d lost the leg, but not his sense of humor. Reisil remembered sitting on his lap on the bank of the river, listening to his outrageous tales of adventure. That was years ago. Before the war.

She reached out and put a hand on his tanned forearm.