Watersmeet (20 page)

“It’s why you’re here, human! We can’t keep pretending we’re folk from the ‘northern wards’ just returned from a hunting party. It’s time to let yourself be known.”

Abisina cringed as a centaur passed close to her, her nostrils filling with the smell of grass and horse sweat.

“Come on, human. He’ll be passing by any moment. Get ahold of yourself!”

“But Haret—he’s a leader here! He’s too busy right now. He doesn’t even know I exist! And what if he hates me?” Was she ready to face the father of her dreams?

“He’s coming!” Haret cried, but Abisina stared at the ground. She could hear the cries of “Rueshlan!” as he approached, and she thought that she could discern a low, rumbling laugh. The tip of his boot stepped into her field of vision, but she didn’t move.

Haret took matters into his own hands. He stepped around Abisina and stood in Rueshlan’s path, calling out, “Rueshlan! I bring you Abisina of Vranille!”

The boot stopped. “What did you say?” The deep voice rumbled over her head. Every pore of her skin tingled.

“Abisina of Vranille!” Haret said, louder this time, and the crowd around them quieted.

“Sina? Did you say Sina of Vranille?”

“I—I bring you her daughter!” Haret said, shaking slightly. “I am Haret, son of Harland and Marrah from the southern side of the Obruns.”

The crowd stirred at these words, and Abisina strained to hear the rumble of Rueshlan’s voice.

“Where—where is she?” he asked.

“Here.” Haret took Abisina by the hand and pulled her from the crowd so that she stood facing the boot tips. Slowly, as if moving through a thick liquid, she raised her head, hair tumbling back from her face until at last she stared into his searching gaze.

“Who are you?” he whispered.

“Abisina.” Her voice cracked. “Sina was my mother.”

“Was?”

Abisina nodded, unable to turn away.

“Look,” she said. “This was hers.” She fumbled at her neck. She could see the metal’s glow reflected in Rueshlan’s eyes.

“Vigar’s necklace!” His face drained of color.

Abisina had to gather every shred of courage to utter her next words: “She—she told me it belonged to my father.”

Abisina sat near the hearth in a large room buzzing with activity. Rueshlan had brought her to this dwelling in one of the enormous trees to escape the crowds leaving the amphitheater. But many of the folk of Watersmeet had followed them. A steady stream now came to take her hand and welcome her, some wiping their eyes and touching their hearts. She was thankful that no centaurs were there. But all this activity was a backdrop to the only thing that felt real: her father, sitting next to her, clasping her shaking hand in his own strong one. Abisina hardly heard the greetings and welcomes around her or noticed one dwarf leave and another faun arrive.

Abisina pulled her attention away from Rueshlan as he spoke with a dark, heavyset man with white hair. She wanted to find Haret. It was hard to see him in the crush of bodies, but she spotted him deep in conversation with two dwarves, one a redhead, the other bent double with age, his white beard sweeping the floor. Both had the same dark skin as Haret and the other dwarves she’d seen. She couldn’t hear Haret, but his hands flew around in agitation as he spoke. The redheaded dwarf was shaking his head, looking serious.

Abisina wanted Haret to share this moment with her, the joy that lifted her beyond the top of Watersmeet’s highest tree. She was trying to catch his eye when Frayda, the woman who had first greeted them, approached. “Kyron is waiting for you outside, Rueshlan. He longs to meet your daughter.” She smiled warmly at Abisina.

“I wondered where he had gone.” Rueshlan turned to Abisina. “You must meet Kyron and the centaurs. They—”

“No!” Abisina leapt to her feet. “No centaurs!”

Conversations stopped across the room.

She lowered her voice. “Please. No centaurs.”

“But—why?” Rueshlan said, concern—and something else—on his face.

Abisina didn’t want to speak here, in front of everyone. She knew she had insulted them, but she didn’t back off—she couldn’t.

“Sir, if I may.” Haret jostled through the crowd. “The human—er, Abisina”—he reached Rueshlan’s side and motioned for him to lean closer—“she’s had a terrible run-in with centaurs. Her people have been at war with them for generations. And then Icksyon—do you know him?” At the shake of Rueshlan’s head, Haret continued quietly, “Icksyon terrorizes parts of the south, and Abisina was captured by his followers and taken to him. He—he bit off her toe before she managed to escape—”

“Bit off—?” Rueshlan choked.

“The littlest one. It’s healed well. . . .”

Rueshlan’s eyes flashed. “Thank you, Haret. I didn’t understand.” He took Abisina’s hand again.

Now they know
, she thought.

But she felt betrayed somehow. On hearing Haret’s explanation, her father seemed angry, but also surprised, disbelieving. And what had she seen on his face when she insisted that she meet no centaurs? Disappointment? She braced herself for questions about Icksyon. She didn’t want to go through it all again, not here.

But Rueshlan didn’t ask her any questions. Instead, he said to Frayda, “Please, tell Kyron that I will”—his glance flitted to his daughter—“that I will find him as soon as I’m able.”

Frayda opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and headed toward the door.

As Rueshlan was turning back to Abisina, a cry came from the doorway: “Hail the Midsummer! The feast is here!”

A copper-skinned man carrying a heaping tray on his shoulder worked his way into the room; behind him came two dwarves carrying a large table, five fauns with more trays, and two men rolling in a cask of beer. The crowd pressed tighter to let them pass. The red-haired dwarf, who had been talking to Haret, cried out, “At last, some food!” and a wave of laughter broke over the room. The food had not even been set on the table before the crowd descended. Someone placed a wooden plate in Abisina’s hand piled with thick slabs of brown bread, the light meat of fowl, a creamy lump of cheese, and a disk of golden dough covered with nuts and dripping honey. It had been hours since her few bites of bread from Frayda, and she was famished.

As she took her first bite, Rueshlan introduced her to the two dwarves who had been talking to Haret.

“Abisina, you must meet Gilden, one of the oldest in Watersmeet. And this is his great great-grandson, Alden. It’s Alden’s house we’ve taken over.” She now noticed that Rueshlan, though seated, had to duck to keep from hitting the ceiling. The chair he sat in was twice the size of any other in the room. Of course, this was a dwarf’s house!

“Thank you,” Abisina said to Alden around her bite of bread as Gilden wrung her hand with surprising strength.

“At your service, Rueshlan’s daughter!” Alden said. “And you missed a ‘great.’” He winked at Rueshlan. Then, turning soberly to Abisina, he added, “Don’t you worry about Haret. We’ll do all that we can for him.”

“Haret?” she asked in surprise, but before he could answer, a female faun stepped forward, arms open wide.

“And this is Glynholly.” Rueshlan chuckled as the faun gathered Abisina into an embrace.

“Rueshlan’s daughter!” Glynholly cried as she held her at arms’ length, her light eyes dancing. “It’s such an honor!” She pulled Abisina into another crushing embrace.

“Glynholly is another of my advisors and a dear friend. She spoke at the Gathering tonight,” Rueshlan explained as Frayda rejoined the group. She gave Rueshlan a short nod before offering her hand to Abisina.

“Welcome to Watersmeet—again—Abisina.”

“I—I’m sorry we didn’t tell you who we were,” Abisina said awkwardly, still recovering from Glynholly’s hugs. “We were afraid we might not be welcome—”

“Unwelcome in Watersmeet?” Rueshlan broke in. “This is your home, Abisina!”

Abisina looked at him, and the crowd around them seemed to disappear. “My home?”

“Of course! But you’ll want to think about it, I’m sure,” he added hastily. “You’ve only just gotten here.”

“No,” Abisina blurted out. “I don’t need to think about it at all!” Her wide smile perfectly matched her father’s.

She was still smiling when Haret approached her late that night. A welcome breeze blew in from the open door as the crowd thinned out. Rueshlan had gone to talk to Kyron and the centaurs, but even this dimmed her happiness only for an instant. Haret sat down in Rueshlan’s vacated seat, legs dangling. His eyes darted around the room, and his hands wandered from his beard to the dagger at his waist, back to his beard.

“Haret, can you believe we’re here?” Abisina said. “I’ve found my father—and you’ve found the dwarves of Watersmeet!”

His fingers drummed the arms of the chair. “They’re from the Obrun City, as my parents and grandfather and great-grandmother believed. All those years. . . .”

Abisina sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Can you imagine how happy Hoysta will be? We’ve both found our families, Haret. We’ve found just what we were hoping for.”

“Have you told him?” Haret asked abruptly. “About Vigar’s warning? The minotaurs?”

“Not yet,” Abisina said. After meeting her father, the minotaurs seemed like a small concern. “I’ll tell him tomorrow—”

But Haret wasn’t listening anymore. His fingers continued to drum on the chair; his gaze roved the room. Abisina was glad to avoid his question. She didn’t want the threat of Charach ruining her first night with her father. But Haret’s agitation worried her. He seemed so anxious to get back to the dwarves—as if he sat with her only as a courtesy. Was the companionship they found on the trail over?

Abisina leapt out of bed the next morning ready to see her father. Her clothes lay rumpled on the floor, where she’d flung them after Alden led her to this bedroom just before dawn. She threw on her tunic with fumbling fingers and rushed out to find Rueshlan waiting for her in the adjoining sitting room.

“There you are!” He took her hands in his. “When I woke this morning, I thought you might have been a dream! Midsummer madness!”

Abisina basked in the pleasure on his face.

They ate breakfast together in the same room as before, though this time they sat at a small table by a window looking out on the clearing—or ward, as they called it here—with the dappled light of the sun filtering through the enormous pines. Folk with baskets over their arms passed in front of them, calling out Midsummer greetings. The ashes from last night’s bonfire still smoldered, and two fauns were already stacking wood near the stone slab for the next celebration.

The holiday mood matched Abisina’s. “Those trees!” she exclaimed, leaving her bread and honey to peer toward the canopy of branches far above.

“The Sylvyads. I sometimes forget how remarkable they are.” Rueshlan looked toward the distant branches, too. “They’re thousands of years old. They grow where the three rivers meet to form the River Deliverance. Their thirst is deep, and only the rivers together can quench it.”

“Have people lived here all those years?” Abisina still stared upward.

“For generations, since Vigar came from the mountains and settled her people.”

“Vigar,” Abisina repeated, her hand on the necklace. “I—I met her,” she began tentatively. “Well, not the real Vigar,” she continued quickly. “But Haret and I, we found her orchard in the mountains. And she spoke to me. . . . She was there.”

Rueshlan leaned forward. “What did she say?”

“That she had led me there. With this.” She pulled the necklace out of her tunic, and the light from the window caught the metal, reflecting on the walls.

Rueshlan watched the light for a moment before saying, “It’s a symbol of many rivers coming together.” He pointed to the ribbons of metal twisting into a single strand.

“Vigar told me about you, told me your name. She said that you were all with me—all the wearers of the necklace.”

Rueshlan continued to look at the pendant. “They say that her spirit still protects Watersmeet.”

Abisina knew that she should warn him now—tell him about her mother and Charach. But something inside her rebelled.
No! I’ve left that behind!
The light streamed in; cheerful voices called to one another in the ward. It felt wrong to bring
his
name into all this beauty. She could wait. Just a few days.

“She was also Watersmeet’s greatest teacher. The Sylvyads provided shelter for her small band of humans and for the others who soon joined them—dwarves and fauns and centaurs.” If Rueshlan noticed Abisina flinch at the last mention, he did not let on.

“Why—how did they all come to live together?”

“It was Vigar’s idea. The forests and glens around Watersmeet were dangerous then. In the Sylvyads, she

welcomed anyone who needed protection. And it has remained our home. Would you like me to show you Watersmeet?”

Rueshlan stood and offered Abisina his arm. She took it, struck by the sight of her copper skin against his.
This is my father
, she said to herself, flooded again with happiness.

They had stepped out into the ward, Rueshlan finally able to stand to his full height, when Abisina stopped. “Haret!” How could she have forgotten him?