by Dawn Cook
Daisies, looking ghostlike in the pale light, joined the ribbon of grass he was fashioning. “What I mean is, I would be willing to wager I’m a better flyer than you.”
“Are not.”
“A better hunter than you.”
Alissa snorted in disgust, not caring.
“My wards, though simpler, are probably faster.”
“I doubt that!” she exclaimed, momentarily silencing the crickets.
“Are, too.” He bit off the stray stems of his garland and placed it about her neck.
Alissa winced, imagining what she must look like. “I guess I’m ready for Lodesh’s gathering,” she said. “The poor little foothills girl has a new hat and stunning jewels.” She dropped her gaze and sighed. “Let’s go. I feel more alone here than at the Hold somehow. But at least the cicadas will be quiet now that it’s dark.”
Connen-Neute slid from the rock and extended his hand to help her down. “Cicadas?”
“Yes. They drove me to distraction this morning.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” he said. His hand was different from Strell’s, thinner, smoother, a great deal longer. Alissa paused, never having held a Master’s hand in hers before. Her toes went damp as she found the ground and his hand slipped from hers.
“It will be dark by the time we get there,” he continued, pulling his gaze from her hand. “No one will see you arrive and shift back.” He winced as he looked at her feet. “I don’t know what to do about your shoes, though. I could make you a pair, but they would be too big.”
Embarrassed, Alissa scrunched down. “I’ve a pair of boots in the stables,” she said. “We can pick them up first. I should probably tell Redal-Stan where I am, too.” A flush of guilt took her and she quashed it. She would never have fled if he hadn’t tried to pen her in.
Connen-Neute nodded. “Everyone else will be in boots. And on the way, I’ll show you what several thousand years of study and a hundred sixteen years of flight practice can do.”
“Oh, really?” Alissa said in friendly challenge. “I’d wager Beast can beat your thousand years of sentience any day—or night.”
Connen-Neute eyed her suspiciously. “We’ll see.” He stepped away and shifted.
Setting her hat and garland on the rock, Alissa minced a few steps away. She wanted to keep her daisy chain and didn’t want to risk breaking it down to nothing when she shifted. Beast stirred as she took true Master form, and together they looked Connen-Neute over.
Alissa’s suspicions were borne out. She was smaller, annoyingly so. He was as muscular as Useless but markedly smoother of hide. He might, she decided, be able to outfly Beast.
Connen-Neute’s gaze lingered on the healed scar on her wing. “I ran into a tree,” she said, her embarrassment easing as he closed his eyes in a sympathetic-looking blink and held up a long foot, one of the knuckles bent at an odd angle.
“Tripped over a cliff edge,” he said by way of explanation. “By my Master’s Hounds, Alissa,” he asked, “Where did you get such a length of tail?”
“Talo-Toecan says it’s from him,” she said, demurely wrapping it around herself twice.
The young raku blinked. “Talo-Toecan gave you his cellular pattern to proof your own?”
She nodded. “But I don’t see what difference it makes. All he has is that stumpy thing.”
“His tail wasn’t always that short.” Connen-Neute’s eyes were bright with amusement. “We never found out how he lost a third of it, and Keribdis isn’t talking, either.”
Suddenly uneasy, she snatched her garland and leapt into the dark, careful to not disturb her abandoned hat, a silent testimony to her and Connen-Neute’s conversation.
25
Alissa leaned one hand against Connen-Neute’s hulking thigh as she tugged Keribdis’s boots on. The dry smell of Ese’Nawoer’s field rose up with the stored warmth of the day, comforting in the light of a newly risen moon. It mixed with the clean smell of the flowering mirth trees. The scent of pine and apples invigorated her.
“I don’t see why you had to get your boots.” Connen-Neute sighed, causing her to nearly lose her balance. “I frightened that stable hand out of three years’ growth, not to mention the horses!” A shiver traveled across his hide. “You can’t even see your feet under your skirt.”
Lips pursed, she sat on his foot to finish lacing up the boots.
“It’s not as if you’re from the foothills, anymore. You’re a Master of the Hold, and as such, no one could care less if your feet are covered or not.”
His words struck a sore spot, and she sent her heel into the ground with a hard thump, just missing his clawed toes. “I’ll always be from the foothills, Connen-Neute.”
The raku swiveled his head, his eyes glowing. “As you will. Are you finally ready?”
Though dwarfed by Connen-Neute’s massive form, she felt tall in her borrowed boots. At her hesitant nod, he shifted, reappearing in an outfit she had never seen before. It was cut to a similar style and was still black and gray, but the fabric was finer. The red sash around his waist was vibrant, and his shirt had the shadows of ivy woven into the pattern.
Alissa ran a hesitant hand over her skirt. She could only make the one outfit. It was clean and crafted from what she had once considered the finest of materials, but next to Connen-Neute’s, it seemed common. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she mumbled as the faint sound of a woman’s laughter came softly across the damp field.
True to form, Connen-Neute said nothing as he replaced her daisy chain about her neck. Lifting her skirt free from the dew-wet grass, Alissa picked her way behind him, pulling him to a stop at the edge of the trees. She took a steadying breath.
People, lots of people, greeted her eyes. A small fire and pot were surrounded by elegantly dressed guests with hats and long coats. Their laughter burst forth occasionally, lending credence to Alissa’s belief that they were keeping the mulled wine from running away. The center of the grove was full of peeps, thumps, and whistles as a group of professional and what were obviously amateur musicians found their places. Much to Alissa’s surprise, they were concentrating on a small arc of the rising mounds of moss and not the flat center. Someone had put down a series of planks there. With sudden understanding, she realized it was a dancing platform.
Connen-Neute’s eyes were fixed hungrily upon the musicians, but it wasn’t until Beast quivered at the sudden out-pouring of a pipe that Alissa realized why. Connen-Neute was enthralled by music, as any proper young raku should be.
The grove was lighted by head-sized kettles of fragrant, flaming oil suspended on long ropes from the trees. The dancing boards were lit by wards of illumination; there were at least six Keepers present. And over it all was the clean scent of the blooming mirth trees.
Alissa’s breath caught as she spotted Lodesh. His hands were on his hips, and he watched all with a pleasing mix of authority and congeniality. He looked splendid, every part the nobleman’s son in a dark green outfit, the shade that looked so well on him and Strell. Her shoulders slumped. She would find a way back to Strell. Redal-Stan was wrong, but even as she thought it, a sliver of doubt dug itself deeper.
As if feeling her gaze, Lodesh fixed firmly upon her. He grabbed the arm of a passing man and gave him a set of preoccupied instructions, never dropping Alissa’s eyes. Done, he tugged his jacket straight and made a beeline for them. “Connen-Neute, Alissa,” he called, extending a welcoming hand as he drew close. “I’m glad,” he said softly, “that you chose to join me tonight, Alissa. Redal-Stan said he saw you headed this way but was unsure of your plans.”
Alissa couldn’t help her grimace. “I just spoke with him. He knows where I am.”
Lodesh blinked. “Spoke to him?” Then he brightened. “Oh. Through Connen-Neute.”
“Yes,” she said faintly, tucking that little slip away. “We spent most of our day together.”
Looking askance from her to Connen-Neute, Lodesh paused. “With Connen-Neute?”
Alissa’s lips pursed. “He has a lot to say if you take the time to listen.”
“Connen-Neute?” he persisted in disbelief. “This one right here?”
“Yes. I’ve been helping him with his verbalization skills.”
Pulling his attention from the musicians, Connen-Neute shrugged. His golden eyes focused on something behind Alissa, and he paled. “Excuse me,” the Master muttered, and he edged away, losing himself in the throng of people.
“By the Navigator’s Hounds, Alissa,” Lodesh gasped. “What did you do to him?” That’s the most I’ve heard out of Connen-Neute my entire life.”
Alissa looked behind her to see Reeve stomping toward them. “If Redal-Stan wouldn’t hound him, his speech would come easier,” she said, making room for Lodesh’s adopted father.
Reeve smiled a distraught greeting at Alissa as he came even with them. “Lodesh,” the man admonished. “You said only a few people. They’ve set up a dance board!”
Lodesh winced. “I asked them to, Father. So they wouldn’t damage the moss.”
“Aye,” he agreed ruefully. “But you said only a few.”
“I only asked a few. The rest just showed up. I couldn’t very well tell them to go.”
“They’ll leave things,” Reeve warned. “Just watch. And whose door will they knock on all day tomorrow? Mine. That’s who.”
“I’ll put up a sign.” Giving her a wink, Lodesh put an arm over Reeve’s shoulder and began leading him into the shadow. Alissa followed.
“No one had better climb my trees,” Reeve warned, and Alissa chuckled, imagining the well-dressed adults capering about the branches.
“Please, Father. You’re scaring the guests,” Lodesh said. “Everyone will behave.”
“They had better.” The squat man put his hands squarely on his hips and planted his feet firmly at the edge of the shadow. “If there’s one nick in my trees, one branch bent—”
“I know,” Lodesh interrupted. “I’ll never be able to have another gathering again.”
Reeve scowled at Lodesh’s exasperated tone. “Just so,” he muttered, then turned to Alissa. “Keep him in my good graces, will you, Alissa?” he said. Before she could answer or even say good-bye, he turned and stomped away.
“That was close,” Lodesh breathed. “If he knew Connen-Neute was here, he might have asked everyone to leave.”
Alissa’s thoughts returned to Connen-Neute’s frightened look and the speed at which he left. “Why? Aren’t Masters welcome?” she asked, feeling a tinge of worry.
“Not Connen-Neute.” Taking her arm, he strolled Alissa back to the light. “Father caught him climbing the mirth trees three years ago, searching for a fertile seed on a wager he made with Talo-Toecan. Then he bodily dragged him down and chased him out.”
Alissa’s eyebrows rose in astonishment. “Connen-Neute is afraid of him!”
Lodesh beamed. “Absolutely one hundred percent terrified.”
“But he’s a Master of the Hold.” Alissa gestured helplessly. “He’s so much more—”
“Powerful?” Lodesh finished. “True. But do you crush the bee that buzzes at you when you’re weeding out the vegetables?”
She shook her head. “It won’t sting me if I leave it alone.”
“But you’re so much bigger,” Lodesh drawled. “What could a little sting do to you? Why not just get rid of the bee, and the risk, completely?”
Alissa nodded in understanding. He smiled, clearly going to continue, but hesitated as a single piper and drum began a steady cadence. Breve’s deep, resonant voice cut through the noise, and her eyes went wide as she recognized “Taykell’s Adventure.”
“Listen to that,” Lodesh said, angling toward the crowd. “Breve found a new tune.”
Alissa felt an odd anticipation as Breve sang the first stanza. That and the refrain were the only parts that could be counted on as being familiar, for as she explained to Breve, the fun was making up new, and sometimes embarrassing, exploits for the woeful farmer to deal with.
“Taykell was a good lad, he had a hat and horse.
He also had six brothers; he was the youngest one of course. His father said, forgive me lad, I’ve nothing more to give ye. His name forsook, the path he took, to go to find the blue sea.”
The crowd lit into the refrain, leading Alissa to believe Breve had been singing it nonstop since having learned it. They bellowed it out more enthusiastically than her village ever had, and she warmed. Ashes, who knew what they would have Taykell doing by the end of the evening?
Lodesh looked at her, his jaw dropping as he made the proper jump of thought. “You taught it to him?”
She nodded, growing more embarrassed. It was a tavern song. She ought not to know it.
“Then, come on,” he said, pulling her closer. “I want to hear it.”
Ignoring her protests, Lodesh pushed them through the crowd until her toes edged the circle about the musicians. As a heavyset man wearing a silk jacket and an orange paper hat sang a second verse, she hesitantly raised her gaze to the happy faces. She couldn’t say who was from the plains or foothills. Their features were as mixed as hers. It was obvious the animosity between the two cultures hadn’t begun. No one stared. No one whispered “half-breed.” There was no spitting at her feet, no thinly veiled disgust. She slowly realized that for the first time in her life, she could get lost in a crowd. Her shoulders eased, and she clapped softly as Breve snatched what looked suspiciously like Connen-Neute’s paper hat from the large man and placed it on his own head. The Keeper grinned at Alissa and sang to her a verse she had taught him.
“Taykell met a maiden, fair as a summer’s day.
He told her he was homeless; she asked if he would stay. Pleased to find a wife and roof, he quickly then said, yes.
And far too late, he learned his fate. How could he have but guessed?”
The company roared into the refrain, pounding it out. She watched in amusement as Lodesh held out his hand for the hat, his eyes showing a delighted anticipation. Setting the paper hat on his soft curls, he waited until the surrounding people finished. All eyes were on him, and playing up to the crowd, he waited for the piper to play a few bars of music alone before he sang,
“But the maiden had a suitor, of elegance refined.
He gave her much attention, and with her was most kind.
Stunned by the deep devotion, and the love her suitor shown,
Taykell beat a quick retreat, and soon set off alone.”
Alissa’s jaw dropped, as the surrounding people laughingly sang the refrain. She was shocked he would use “Taykell’s Adventure” to convince her to forget Strell, but his good humor was infectious. And it was an acceptable way to publicly test the waters. Heart pounding, she snatched the hat from him and placed it on her head. She had never sung before people, but she couldn’t let Lodesh have the last word. Her hands began to sweat as the refrain came to an end. Focusing on Lodesh instead of what she was doing, she spontaneously sang,
“Taykell’s maiden, all alone, she did some thinking long.
Keeping house and drudgery, for her seemed all too wrong.
Doing what she wanted, instead of what she should,
She stole a horse, ugly of course, and ran away for good.”
The knowing cheers that followed brought a quick heat to her cheeks. She pulled the hat from her head and willingly gave it to a brown-eyed woman already wearing a hat bedecked with feathers. Perching Connen-Neute’s hat atop the impossible arrangement, the woman waited for her turn. Alissa tried to back away, but Lodesh wouldn’t let her, and the woman sang, her eyes riveted purposefully to Lodesh’s,
“She found Taykell a’pining, by a tree within a wood.
And snuck up slow behind him, to surprise him if she could.
But he felt his love approaching, and he spun with great delight.
Into his arms, and simple charms, they kissed with all their might.”
Face flaming, Alissa wiggled her wa
y backward. Lodesh followed, and she kept her eyes lowered as the crowd cheered. The tune continued on without them, and she held the back of her hand to her cheek to try to cool it. She had always thought Taykell ought to have a companion on his journeys. Perhaps if her invented verse stuck, he would.
“I quite like your new song,” Lodesh said slyly as soon as they were far enough away to be heard over the music. She snuck a glance at him, her knot of anxiety easing as she saw only a relaxed good humor on him. His gaze was fixed across the field, and his smile suddenly widened. “There’s Marga,” he said. “Let’s sit with her before she gets a ring about her.”
Alissa’s new carefree state vanished. She stopped short, letting Lodesh go three steps alone. Drawing up sharply, he eyed her in question. She ran her gaze over her plain attire and bit her lip. Everyone was so nicely dressed. Her Keeper attire looked rather bland.
Lodesh waved a hand in dismissal. “It’s only Marga,” he cajoled, escorting her across the grove. Alissa’s unease tightened. Marga was young Trook’s mother. She had been nice but rather imposing when Alissa had met her: so many attendants, such a fine house. Alissa had felt positively primitive, though Marga was as free and honest with her smiles as Lodesh. And what if the woman had heard her singing?
Tonight, though, Marga’s attendants were gone. She sat alone on a blanket embroidered with mirth flowers. Her hair was piled upon her head with pins and ribbons, lending her a calm grace that denied she had a child. Dressed in three shades of cream, she looked as perfect as an uncut cake. As was proper, her hem had been pinned up to show her boots, blackened with soot in mourning for her father and uncle. Marga’s eyes widened in delight at Alissa’s daisy chain, and Alissa dropped her gaze. Marga had a length of polished silver.
“Marga!” Lodesh exclaimed. “You remember Alissa.”
“Don’t be silly. Of course I do.” Leaning eagerly forward, Marga offered Alissa her hand, palm up, and Alissa briefly covered it with her own. “You never did allow us to properly thank you for finding Trook.”
