by A. K. Wilder
“Don’t worry so much.” I rub her shoulders. Somehow her concern helps me stay calm. “On the bright side, you’ll be setting foot in both Southern and Northern Aturnia today. Two more realms to tick off your list.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Not quite how I envisioned experiencing it, but true.”
The captain wants the horses off-loaded first, so we head for the hold. Once there, it’s as feared.
“They aren’t sound,” Samsen says.
Ash’s mare stumbles down the ramp. She comes back up fast but walks so stiffly, I can’t tell if she’s injured or just sore. Echo and the donkey aren’t too bad, but the other three are completely stove-up—their legs swollen and joints puffy.
“Don’t consider it.” Samsen rests his hand on Piper’s shoulder. “I know you want to, but at what cost?”
He’s right. Our healer might be able to help one of these fifteen-hundred-pound horses, but all five? And then struggle to hold them still while a two-headed snake latches onto their throats? Not going to happen.
Ash holds Rita and the donkey to the side of the dock while I help Belair bring his bay gelding down the ramp. He’s the worst off, and cranky for it. Suddenly I have a tall and wobbly horse to manage along with Echo, who pins her ears back at the bay when he tries to bite. Samsen and Piper are still trying to coax their mounts onto the ramp. I turn to Ash for help, but the bosun’s mate is in her ear. Whatever he’s saying, it has Ash turning pale and then red.
“What was that about?” I ask when he’s gone.
“I’ll tell you when we’re clear of the crowd.”
Piper arrives with her horse and Samsen follows with Frost, his winter-white mount, Belair clucking to him from behind. I lead the way, but the dock is a logjam. People are shouting, the donkey keeps braying, and longshoremen run up to unload the apple barrels and other cargo, crates of various sizes I hadn’t noticed before. “Chicoopa!” I shout the Aturnian word for make way.
“You mean chiroop?” Ash says under her breath.
“Chiroop! Chiroop!”
Eventually we push through, walking single file down the dock. The animals stumble to a halt at the harbor entrance, where we lead them up the final ramp to the main street of Clearwater.
“Blacksmith?” Ash is up on tiptoes, searching the thoroughfare.
Having the advantage of height, I spot their shingle, an anvil and hammer. “This way.” I lead my company straight for the noisy, open-air barn where hot forges give out a welcome warmth and the sound of hammers on anvils rings in my ears. The scents of coal fires and burned hair hit me at the entrance. “A blacksmith shop in any realm is exactly the same.”
Ash catches up. “Not exactly.”
I look again and realize they are all women. Not big and burly but lean and hardened. One shapes a red-hot horseshoe using rhythmic hammer falls, tapping the iron, then letting the hammer bounce on the anvil and then tapping again. She says something in Aturnian without looking up from her work.
Ash does the talking and I wish, not for the first time on this trip, that I’d taken my language classes more seriously. For years, my main focus was on field training, but now that I can hold my phantom to form, I realize how much more there is to advancing as a savant. I’m glad that Ash is here.
The farrier straightens, tossing the horseshoe into a bucket of water. Steam hisses up around her as she and Ash exchange more words I don’t understand; then the blacksmith turns to the horses. She feels down the big bay’s swollen cannon bones and clicks her tongue, not too hard to translate.
I nod as she flips Echo’s blanket up. The mare’s flank is caved in like a canyon.
Ash gathers us around. “She’s going to check their shoes first and watch each one walk. There’s a trough at the side of the shop for a good, long drink and hay nets for a gold coin each.”
The blacksmith picks up the bay’s near foreleg and rubs a callused thumb across the nail heads. The shoe’s obviously loose. Must have clipped it unloading.
On the spot, the woman pulls a couple of thin, beveled nails from her tool belt and sticks them in her mouth. She taps a nail in the bottom of the shoe with a small hammer and block. And then she strikes it with one hard drive to catch the bevel, and it pops out the side of the hoof wall, perfectly in line with the other two nails. She’s a master at her craft. She wrings the nail off flush against the hoof and clenches it with wide-mouth pliers.
“And liniment?” I ask Ash.
More words are exchanged before she turns back to me. “They’re out, but the apothecary’s across the street, six doors down.”
“I’ll go with you.” I hand Echo off to Piper and retrieve the shrinking sack of coins from my saddlebags. There are a few unmarked half pieces of gold, and I hand them to Ash, hesitating when I pull the single gold coin from my pants pocket, the one Father tossed me when I left Baiseen.
“Oh?” Ash studies it until realization dawns on her face. “For the fountain on Aku!”
I nod.
“You’re not spending it here.”
She’s so adamant, I agree, though Aku’s wishing fountain is not high on my mind. Making it out of enemy territory without starting a war, yes, that takes priority.
“We’ll be right back,” Ash calls to the others and leads me out.
On our way down the street, I raise my brows at Ash. “So what did he say?”
“Pardon?”
“Kaylin. You looked upset.”
Her brow pinches. “He gave a warning, but it clashes with the captain’s advice.”
“Tell me.” My stomach sinks. We can’t have more bad news today.
“He said a storm’s coming. To ride straight to Capper Point and be there by tonight, secure on a ship to Aku. No matter what.”
I point my nose to the sky but can’t see through the fog. “Storm’s coming?”
“It’s what he said.”
“Is that all?”
“More or less.”
She’s blushing, so I assume more that has no relevance to the journey. It also makes me think I should try to get my own warning back to Baiseen. The Aturnian warship might be working its way south, port by port.
“Here we are.” She points to the shingle.
It has lettering that I can’t read, and below it is a painting of a man and woman in a garden.
“It says, Herbs, Medicaments, and Soaps,” she translates.
“That’s promising.”
I’m about to pull the door open, but Ash plants her hand on it to stop me. “Wait.” She studies a notice on the door. It’s in Aturnian, I assume, and has symbols at each corner. In the center are two circles, spirals really, one large and one smaller, overlapping and curling into each other like script. “What’s it say?”
She shakes her head. “The symbols I don’t recognize, but the words, if I’m translating right, say, Heed the warning. The dark sun draws nigh.”
“Dark sun?”
“I must have it wrong.” Her brow is creased. “The symbols remind me of—”
The doorbells jingle, and a young woman exits the shop. I move aside to let her pass. “Let’s go,” I say quietly, tilting my head toward the door.
The air is cloying inside, thick as syrup. A middle-aged man and woman fill orders from the wall behind them, stacked to the ceiling with jars of herbs and colored liquids.
“It’s a library of flowers and essence.” Ash points at the containers, smiling. “And look there.” She tips her head up to the herbs hanging from the rafters and lists them off. “Chamomile blossoms, lavender, bay leaves, lemon grass. Is that comfrey or tobacco?”
“No idea.” I take shallow breaths and try not to choke.
Ash, on the other hand, is perfectly at home. She chats in Aturnian with the elderly woman in front of us who speaks with a toothless smacking. She’s wearing
so many layers of clothes, it’s a wonder she can move her arms.
“Apparently, this is the only apothecary in town, but they could do with another,” Ash interprets.
I give the woman a polite nod but don’t risk saying a word, even hello.
Ash seems pleased about that. She says everyone in front of us is after something for a headache. By the smell of their clothes, I suspect they all drink too much, though that pastime is not uncommon outside of the Sanctuary, in the homes and taverns of non-savants. Master Brogal says it’s because the communion with one’s phantom is its own ecstasy, in a way, its own escape onto another path, something the non-savants all long for. I don’t know. Ash has never complained of such longings, and “ecstasy” is hardly the word I would use to describe my relationship with De’ral.
When it’s our turn at the counter, Ash asks about the best horse liniment. The short man serving us recommends aberlac, a word she tells me means “muscle relief.”
“Best get two bottles,” I whisper. “And that tincture for headaches, as well.” Maybe it will help me with mine.
After she pays, we head out the door, but I have to drag her away from the notice again. “If the sailor is right, and we need to be in Capper Point by dark, there’s no time for this.” I take a swig of the tincture and tuck it into my pocket. “Come on!”
She sighs and hurries along beside me to the blacksmith’s.
The horses are saddled outside. Everyone gathers around, and Ash and I pour liniment into cupped hands to rub the horses down, elbows to pasterns, gaskins to fetlocks. My hands instantly heat, and fumes go up my nose.
When finished, Ash gives me an expectant look. “Ready?” She has her map out and is measuring the distance with her thumb and forefinger.
Liniment fumes burn my eyes. “We can’t go yet.”
“Why not?”
I lean in so she can hear my whisper over the sound of the hammers and pumping bellows. “I need you to script a message.”
“Now?”
Belair joins us. “Why are we whispering?”
“I want to send word to the Mag—my father. He needs to know about the warship in Capper Point that’s inspecting vessels.”
“Tangeen must know as well, but how can we send a message without exposing you as the Heir?” Belair rubs his scruffy chin.
Ash’s mouth turns down. “And who’d carry it?”
“If you write it in Aturnian, it can go with the next merchants’ caravan,” Belair suggests as Piper joins us.
“Addressed to the Magistrate of Palrio?” Ash shakes her head. “They’ll read it, burn it, and hunt us down.”
Definitely not a good choice. “Other ideas? Anyone?”
Ash drums her fingers on the railing, eyes hooded.
“Watch out.” I pull her hand away from a line of green ants crawling toward her.
“Look at that color,” Belair reaches toward one.
“I wouldn’t—”
“Ouch!” he cries and shakes his hand.
Ash examines his finger and drops some aberlac on it, which only makes him glare and fume.
“Maybe we have to forget the message and ride?” Belair says when he’s stopped shaking his sore finger.
“We can do it.” Ash tugs on my sleeve. “But we have to be smart.” She leans closer, keeping her voice low. “If any one of these good citizens of Clearwater suspect the Heir is walking in their midst, their minds will turn to ransom and reward. The message can’t reveal us. So…how about we send it to Toretta?”
“The border city full of spies?” I don’t follow.
“Specifically, to Farin Blane.” Ash is already nodding to herself. “He has a difficult job,” Ash allows, “governing a border city, but he’s loyal to Baiseen—isn’t he?”
“Father always says so.” I think I know where she’s going with this. “We address it to him?”
“And when he breaks the seal, he’ll see it’s for the Magistrate and courier it to the palace. As long as I word it right, it won’t give us away if intercepted beforehand.
“It’ll warn him as well, if Aturnians are breaking treaties. He may ride it straight to Baiseen himself, to consult with Father.”
She’s already pulling out parchment, quill, and ink. While she writes, the others repack the saddlebags. Piper and Samsen buy bread, grains, and parched fish from the store. The ink is dry when the others are ready, and Ash reads it aloud to us.
Dear Father,
It is my hope this letter will find you and the family well. We are nearly to our destination, though the seas were not so smooth. Of note, a single eider duck roosts at Capper Point. We wonder if a flock will follow and migrate to Palrio before we return. Perhaps you will have some fine hunting. I wish I could join you! As it is, time chases us to the halls of Aku. I shall write again before our return if there is a messenger at hand. Indeed, you will hear from the High Savant Yuki in due course.
All loving regards,
Your son.
“All loving regards?” I shake my head. “That’s not something I’d say.”
“And your Father knows it.” Ash looks quite satisfied.
“Ah.” I pull her into a quick hug. Over the top of her head, I ask Samsen to run it down to the station. “They have one, don’t they?”
“I’ll ask.”
I unbuckle my belt knife. “Use this to pay. I’m out of unmarked coins.”
My heart sinks. Fifty hours before the gates close, lame horses, enemy lands, and a storm hitting before dark? Am I deluding myself that we can make it in time?
“Are we ready now?” Ash asks.
“Let’s go.”
It’s midmorning by the time we lead the horses out of Clearwater and into the countryside. The animals are slow and hobbling, worse off than I thought.
“I can’t believe how cold it is.” Ash is rugged up in a knee-length sheepskin coat and scarf. Her green knit cap flops up and down as she walks.
More than a few times, she looks over her shoulder, back toward Clearwater, the harbor, and, I’m guessing, the Sea Eagle, not that anything can be seen in the fog.
I try to keep my voice neutral, but I can feel the gruffness slip out around the edges. “Did you leave your gloves behind?” Like earlier, it’s not the gloves, but the bosun’s mate, I’m betting. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. “We can get you another pair.”
She shakes her head. The mood around her is thicker than the fog.
My heart pinches as she lets the sadness in her eyes show. Stuffing my conflicted feelings down deep, I smile at her. “You know what?” I ask with a light voice.
She doesn’t respond so I keep talking. “If we traveled with a black-robe, they could cast the bones and tell you exactly where to find your gloves.”
She rewards me with a small smile but it fades. “A black-robe wouldn’t waste time on something so trivial, Marcus. Not for a non-savant.”
“No ordinary non-savant.” I reach in front of Rita and gently push her shoulder. “The recorder to the Heir of Baiseen.”
“And the delegate’s son, Belair Duquan.” He comes up behind us.
“Thanks. Both of you.” A genuine glint shines in her eyes as she raises her chin.
That’s better.
A few miles out of Clearwater, I give the signal to mount up. There’s nothing to see ahead or behind but fog, making the road a cloud tunnel, the hoofbeats echoing, each thud giving me shivers. It’s hard not to keep looking over my shoulder. “What can we expect ahead?” I ask.
Ash studies the map. “The coast is not heavily traveled, it seems.”
“Nothing to it, then.”
We walk and jog for several hours and rest at a creek that cuts through a trampled cornfield. There’s no crop left, but the horses enjoy chewing on the pale, dried leaves and husks.<
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“Shouldn’t this be the start of the harvest season?” Belair asks, snapping a dry stalk in two.
“Should be,” Piper answers. “Looks like winter’s come early to Northern Aturnia.”
“Have we crossed the border, then?” He throws the stalks like short spears into the field.
“Hard to tell,” Ash says, studying the map. “But if not, we’re close. They should post a sign.”
“Be glad it’s not marked or patrolled.” Samsen pokes around at the remnants of a fire. “A small party camped here recently. Raised a phantom, too.”
“How long ago?” I ask.
“Seven days?” Piper says, investigating the tracks. “Maybe ten. They were on horseback.”
A wave of unease tickles up my spine. “Let’s go.” I glance at the remnants of the fire as I tighten Echo’s girth and mount up. Scouts? Phantoms? Troops patrolling the border? The last thing I want to do is test the initiate laws of safe passage to Aku. With the sanctions against Northern Aturnia, they might not be feeling all that generous, putting not just me but my whole company at risk.
I haven’t voiced it aloud yet, but it’s possible the Aturnian warship is searching for us. Me, specifically. I recall how Father handled the purported Aturnian spies, and I swallow hard, imagining that if I were captured, Aturnian officials might like to return the favor. Truth, there may already be worse repercussions in play, to retaliate for my father’s actions. Damn the bones, my father is too smart not to have known that would be the result.
And now here we are, journeying through Aturnian land. It’s as if we’ve been played right into the enemy’s hands.
De’ral rumbles at the thought.
Kaylin’s right. We need to reach Capper Point before dark. I cluck to Echo as Piper and Samsen take the lead, Samsen’s eagle phantom scouting ahead. Belair jogs beside me, Ash bringing up the rear.
“They’re adorable,” Belair says, nodding to Samsen and Piper, who are riding close enough to touch.
“I guess.” It’s not how I would put it.
“There’s a story there, I’ll wager.” He sounds more than a little curious. “She’s older, right?”
