The Book of Forbidden Wisdom

by Gillian Murray Kendall

  Jasmine was very tolerant.

  My happiness made me warm.

  I was away from the Great House of Montrose, where my father moped and dreamt up land-­merger marriages. Kalo was absent. And as for Leth’s betrayal, well, it allowed me to see how lucky I had been that the wedding hadn’t been completed.

  Maybe everything would be all right.

  That’s when I heard the Echo again. As if it had never been gone.

  Clip.

  Clop.

  Clip.

  Clop.

  Trey didn’t need to say anything. I could see by his face that he had heard it too.

  Silky looked at both of us. She was upset.

  It seemed our Echo had not been made by the men who had attacked us, and whoever it was had been out there while we, vulnerable, had slept.

  But then the Echo was drowned out by something louder—­the sound of running, rushing water.

  “The River Wys,” said Trey. “It flows near the Great North Way.”

  “Maybe the Echo will lose our trail in the water,” said Silky. “The way we lost Kalo and Father at the river.”

  “We’re too visible,” I said. “It was night then.”

  There was a bend in the road. We were in a forested area, and there was no way to see ahead to the Wys, even as I heard it bubble and sing.

  Silky and Trey and I came around the curve at the same time, and the road simply ended. Water lapped at the horse’s hooves. A long, dirty expanse of water spread before us, and in its center ran the wild river Wys.

  The river had overflowed its banks; the Great North Way was nowhere to be seen.

  “Is the Great North Way just gone?” asked Silky.

  “It’s there,” said Trey. “But we have to cross the flood and the river Wys in the center. That’s going to be the tricky part.”

  “Everything’s the tricky part.” My buoyant mood quickly evaporated. All that water.

  There were some things I could do quite well: I had a prodigious memory—­I mean really prodigious. If I read something once, I knew it. There were some things I could do fairly well: I was hard to beat at Nancalo. And there were some things I had never bothered to learn how to do at all.

  Like swimming.

  We were silent, contemplating the power of water. And then we could hear hoofbeats at our backs, above the sound of the wild rush of the river. Our Echo was no longer an echo, and the hoofbeats were coming closer.

  “We hide in the trees, or we cross,” said Trey, but he was already half dismounted, ready to lead Bran into the swirling waters. Silky was urging Squab forward. Only I hesitated.

  “Where will it end?” I asked. “If we manage to swim to the Great North Way, where will it end?”

  Silky looked at me in surprise.

  Trey set his lips and then spoke. “It’s not going to end here,” he said firmly. “Not here.” He pulled Bran ahead until the water was up to the horse’s knees. Trey remounted and turned and looked at me.

  “All right,” I said.

  “Angel can’t swim, Trey,” said Silky.

  “I know, Silky.” Then he spoke firmly to me. “Hang on to Jasmine’s mane.”

  “Not the saddle?” I was near panic.

  “Saddles come off,” said Trey shortly. “Manes don’t.”

  The three of us moved into the water. The smooth brown pond was easy to traverse, but the current that ran through its center—­the old river Wys—­was another story. We waded until we were at the edge of the current.

  I could no longer hear the hoofbeats of our Echo over the surge of the water, but when I took a quick look back, I saw a horse round the same sharp curve we had. The rider pulled up suddenly, probably, I thought, as surprised as we had been by the flood.

  But there was no time to think about the sighting of our Echo. I had other problems.

  “I’ll be the shield,” said Trey. “Bran’s the biggest.”

  I didn’t know what he meant until he and Bran staggered into the current and tried to brace against it.

  “You’ll be swept away,” I said, raising my voice in an attempt to be heard over the water.

  “Hurry,” he said. Silky moved Squab forward. She was almost at Bran’s flank, and Bran was standing solid as a rock; the water split around him into two streams.

  For a moment I really thought it was going to work. The current of the Wys wasn’t so very wide. I briefly looked at the Echo-­horse on the bank. The rider was beginning to move his horse into the flood.

  Then Squab plunged forward. I let Silky go ahead, farther into Bran’s shadow, where the force of the swirling waters was broken up.

  After that, it was my turn.

  Jasmine stepped into the river Wys, and almost immediately I felt her begin to lose her footing. That’s when I saw something huge and knobby and black coming toward us from upstream. A moment later the shape took form.

  It was an enormous tree trunk, and it was going to crush me.

  There was no time to prepare myself for the impact, not that it would have made any difference.

  The log reached me and knocked me off Jasmine. I saw Trey’s appalled face.

  After that, the water closed over my head.

  When I came up, the tree limb was gone. I was holding nothing. I was nowhere near Jasmine or Squab or Bran or Silky or Trey. I flailed in the water knowing I would soon reach the end of my strength, of my luck. No more Lady Angel Montrose. No more Angel. Then I got water in my mouth and went down.

  When I reached the surface this time, I was sputtering and swallowing water, and I could feel my legs fatally tangled in my wet clothing. If I went under now, there was no way I would be able to make it back to the surface.

  I heard a great cry, and I realized that Trey was calling me, although I couldn’t hear what he was saying over Silky’s screams.

  And I started to go down again.

  I clawed at the water.

  There was movement closer to shore. Time suddenly seemed to slow down, as if the river were going to take its time in finishing me off. As I struggled, the current swirled me so that I could see the bank. I saw the Echo-­horse, and I saw someone dive from the Echo-­horse into the Wys, which, I found myself thinking, was a stupid thing to do.

  I tried to turn to get back toward Trey, and I saw he was trying to hold Silky, to keep her from the voracious current. To keep her from coming after me. To keep her from dying.

  Thank you, I thought.

  I went under, and the water closed over my head.

  I knew I didn’t have the strength to struggle back to the surface.

  Sometimes, one just knows when it’s time to give up. I didn’t want to leave Silky alone, and, somehow, I didn’t like leaving Trey. But trying to breathe meant swallowing more and more water. I went ahead and closed my eyes.

  And then, as far as I knew, I drowned.

  Chapter Eight

  The Great North Way

  The thing is this. If an arrow pierces your heart, or a horse stomps on your head, you’re dead.

  Sometimes, though, with drowning, a person has a second chance.

  When I became conscious again, the only thing I could think about was being sick. Then I turned to my side and was sick. Copiously. A figure that had been hovering over me sat back. It was Trey; he had been holding my hand. Silky was holding my other hand. I didn’t feel well at all.

  “I let him touch you,” said Trey in a voice of anguish. “He said he might be able to make you breathe again. I wanted you to breathe again.”

  “Well,” I croaked. “I’m breathing.”

  I felt as if I were waking into a dream. We were on the far shore of the flooded river Wys, and, as I sat up and looked around, I saw that the bank we were on was, in fact, part of the Great North Way. It stretched on and on befor
e me. This road was meant for us to take. Or, rather, I meant for us to take this road.

  Bran and Squab and Jasmine were cropping the grass, and the sun was quickly drying them. Nearby was the horse I had seen as I was being swept away. It was a scraggy beast with a notched ear—­color: undistinguished. The question of where the rider had acquired the horse probably didn’t bear much scrutiny.

  I knew the rider at once, of course.

  “He pulled you out of the water,” said Trey. “I couldn’t get to you. Silky tried too, but I had to keep her from being swept away.”

  “Then that man,” said Silky, “took you to the bank and squished the water right out of you. Trey was going to punch him for touching you, but I wouldn’t let him.”

  “My chest hurts,” I said.

  My rescuer spoke.

  “Your heart didn’t start right away. I had to pound on your breastbone.”

  Silky wiped away her tears with the dripping hem of her riding skirt. “He hit you really hard,” she said. “Until he got you alive again.”

  “I’m grateful,” I said. He seemed surprised at my words.

  He knew me, too, of course.

  Silky lowered her voice as she spoke to me. “I’m certain he’s landless,” she said. “Look at his clothes. Maybe he’s even a vagabond.”

  I looked at her, my head tilted to one side.

  “Don’t be silly, Silky,” I said. “He’s the Bard who sang at my wedding.”

  There was a pause.

  “The one who barged in and needed to get paid?” she asked.

  “Yes,” I said. For a moment I searched my memory. “The bard who was passing through and sang when Bard Cal couldn’t. The Bard.”

  It was as if, at that moment, I had Named him. We all referred to him as the Bard from then on. I eventually learned that his name was Renn, but it made no difference. To us, he was the Bard.

  “You sound as though you’re feeling better,” said Trey.

  “Actually,” I said, “I feel horrible.”

  “You sound a lot better,” said Silky. “For a while you were dead.”

  I laughed weakly and tried to get to my feet. Silky started to lean down to help me. Trey just looked at me, distressed. All his training was keeping him from doing what I knew he wanted to do—­put his arm under my shoulders and help me to my feet and support me as I stood. But there were too many taboos—­my hair was as unkempt as if I’d come from bed, and I realized, with deep embarrassment, that my dress was clinging to me in a way that left little to the imagination.

  I wished I could tell Trey to go ahead and help me, but I knew better. It changed nothing that I was cold and that I wanted his warmth.

  I stayed silent—­

  —­and the Bard left his crop-­eared horse, came over to us and pulled me to my feet.

  His grip was firm, and his arm was warm, and the act was done before I could protest.

  Trey was immediately angry with the Bard, and I didn’t blame him.

  “The Lady Angel didn’t say you could touch her,” he said. “And you can move on now instead of following us.”

  The Bard released me. I was wobbly on my feet, but Silky was there to help me stay upright.

  “I wasn’t following,” said the Bard. “I was going the same way. That’s all. I found the shallow grave a day back. Who’s in it?”

  “A man who asked too many questions,” said Trey.

  “I assume the Lady’s running away,” said the Bard. “Most exciting wedding I’ve ever been at. But now I’ll go if that’s what you want—­I’m certainly no company for those from Great Houses.”

  I looked at him more closely. There was mockery in his tone and defiance in his blue eyes and a whole world of experience in his classically beautiful face. I remembered trying to calculate his age at the wedding. He was older than I. Older than Trey. Maybe he was twenty-­five. And—­bad timing is all—­I was suddenly, strangely and irrevocably drawn to him.

  I didn’t like any of it. I didn’t like the way I had felt when he had helped me up. His arm had been comforting and strong, but I didn’t want his comfort or strength. I didn’t want those feelings.

  But what I liked or what I didn’t like no longer mattered. The Bard had saved my life. Our ways, I knew, were forever intertwined.

  Two chance meetings are not chance.

  “What are you doing on the Great North Way?” asked Trey. “Surely you’re not going to Shibbeth.”

  “When the pickings are lean here,” said the Bard, “yes, I sometimes go to Shibbeth. I know the country. But I wouldn’t worry about me if I were you. You have a lot more to think about. These woods are full of ­people, and I presume they’re hunting you.”

  “It’s not your business,” said Trey.

  “Then it’s none of my business that I’m not the only one who saw that grave.”

  “What do you mean?” Trey demanded.

  The Bard shrugged. “Horsemen came and dug the fellow up. I felt sorry for the landless who handled the body—­they’re all tainted now. That’s the only reason they’re so far behind you. The purification rituals. The long ones, that use no water.”

  “I didn’t think they’d go on the Great North Way,” I said. “Ghosts.”

  “Oh, they seem superstitious enough,” said the Bard. “But they’re trailing you along both sides of the road. There’s only one place you’ll be safe.”

  “Where would that be?” asked Trey.

  “You need to pass the Cairns of Shibbeth. They won’t dare follow you into Shibbeth. Unless they have land there—­and permits to come and go.”

  “My brother knows Shibbeth,” I said. “And he has land there.”

  Trey looked thoughtful. “I don’t think Kalo’s with Leth,” he said. “And Leth won’t pass into Shibbeth if there’s the chance that a border patrol will pick up him and his riders. The ‘Lidans don’t like strangers. And they show it.”

  “What if a border patrol picks us up?” asked Silky.

  “You’re probably safe way out here,” said the Bard. “But I doubt your almost-­groom knows that.”

  Suddenly I knew we would end up roading together. We needed someone who knew Shibbeth. Besides, I wasn’t ready to leave this Bard behind, prickly though he was, with his deep mocking eyes and the bold way he had reached down and helped me.

  It may have been true that bards were like vagabonds, one step above outlaws, really, a caste so low it almost didn’t count as a caste, a caste forbidden from marriage to the landed, from carrying weapons, from fraternizing with nobility. These things were so.

  But it occurred to me, too, that these things were true not because bards were below us but because they were beyond us. We wouldn’t know how to include them even if they had wished to be included.

  “I suppose you want to come with us,” said Trey to the Bard. “I suppose you want the job of guide.”

  I thought Trey was being rude.

  “I wouldn’t call you very safe company,” said the Bard. “Not given your pursuers. But what does the Lady Angel say?”

  I reddened. But I spoke clearly. “You know Shibbeth,” I said. “If you keep us safe, we can pay you on our return to Arcadia. We can pay you well then.”

  The Bard laughed. “So you don’t have the money now,” he said. “And I can’t help but wonder under what circumstances you would ever be able to return to Arcadia. But I suspect we’ll end up roading together nonetheless.”

  Trey looked angry.

  “The Lady Angel is offering you her company,” he said at his stiffest. “And that’s something more valuable than anything you own.”

  But that wasn’t true. The Bard had held my life in his hands, and he had given it back to me. His action was above the value of things.

  And I realized then that I would never be able to
thank this Bard by paying him off with jewels or giving him the freedom of my lands. I would never be able to thank him enough: the debt ran deep, more deep than any I had ever known. And then, as it sometimes was, the future was there, and I reached out for it, and it was as if I could touch it, and somewhere there, in the darkness of time, were my thanks.

  The great wheel turns.

  PART II

  Chapter Nine

  The Cairns of Shibbeth

  The Bard joined us, but not before further infuriating Trey.

  “I’ll get you through Shibbeth,” the Bard said. “The roads are easy enough to traverse, but you might need some help with the customs.”

  “That’s kind,” I said.

  “We’re paying him, Angel,” said Silky.

  Trey gave a snort.

  “I notice there’s nothing to put in my purse just yet,” said the Bard. “But having saved the Lady Angel, I feel I have some sort of obligation to keep her alive.”

  I almost smiled, until I saw Trey’s face. For his sake, I spoke.

  “You go beyond the bounds,” I said, and I saw Trey relax.

  “I do that sometimes,” said the Bard. “But nobody complained when you came back to life.”

  “Bard,” said Silky, “you’re being fresh.”

  “Enough,” I said, but I couldn’t help one tiny smile, just to myself. And then I saw that the Bard was looking at me, and he was smiling back.

  We mounted. The Bard made a move to help me, but Trey forestalled him; nor would he let the Bard so much as touch Silky’s foot to help her up.

  Then we were on the Great North Way, and Shibbeth lay ahead.

  Leth may have been trailing us, but there was no sign of him. We moved at a good pace—­the Bard’s crop-­eared horse had stamina—­and soon we had left the river Wys far behind us. It grew hot. I hoped that Leth’s horses were as tired as ours—­and that it would take his troops some time to ford the river Wys.

  We kept going.

  My breastbone hurt as we rode, and I had to keep wiping my nose as the water of the river Wys leaked out of it in a small, continuous stream. In the heat Silky drooped like a flower plucked too long ago. Trey and the Bard were silent; I could see the marks of fatigue on both of them.