Under The Vale And Other Tales Of Valdemar v(-105

by Mercedes Lackey

  “Okay.” Her own voice sounded small, so she straightened her back and said it again. “I will.”

  Dionne took Shay’s hand, and they followed Rhiannon down a twisty cobbled path worn smooth by many feet. They turned onto a thinner path and went through a wooden gate into a garden. Stone benches sat in each corner of a lovely little garden full of raised beds. Only a few were full now, since it was winter even in Haven. The bare beds lay fallow and ready for the spring, neatly raked and cleaned out. Shay’s mom had kept a few pots to grow herbs she couldn’t gather, but this was richness beyond imagining. Shay let go of Dionne’s hand and started walking through the beds that still had plants, smelling each one. Half were familiar.

  When she turned around, Dionne had gone. Rhiannon stood by one the benches, looking like she was waiting for something or someone. Shay went and sat by her, and Rhiannon put a hand on her shoulder. Then she started singing one of the tunes she’d sung for Shay almost every night, the lullaby her mother had known. It calmed Shay and reminded her to stop her racing thoughts and fears and take things slowly. They waited a long time, but the longer they waited, the more Rhiannon’s song calmed her and chased away her worries about what people here would think of her. So she felt easy when Dionne brought out an older woman with a thin, sharp face and bright eyes. “This is the herb mistress for Healers. She likes to be called Janelle.”

  Shay held her hand out. “I’m Shay.”

  The woman’s handshake was warm, and neither soft nor too hard. “Dionne told me quite a lot about you. I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “Me too.” The easiest shortest response she could make.

  “Can you tell me what the plants out here are?”

  Shay licked her lips, suddenly afraid she’d forget all the names. But she took is slow and easy, and managed to remember the names and how her mother used and cared for all of the plants she had seen before.

  Janelle nodded at Dionne, then looked at Shay. “Would you like to stay and help me the rest of the winter?” She paused. “I could use a hand soon, getting the spring plants started.”

  Shay didn’t react. Slow and steady.

  Janelle gestured toward Dionne and Rhiannon. “They need to go on.”

  Dionne spoke up. “But we’ll check on you next time we’re in Haven. Then if you want to go back home, I’ll take you.”

  Shay shook her head. “I don’t have a home.”

  The herb woman whispered, “Maybe you do now.”

  Shay looked at Janelle and thought, and then she said, “Thank you.”

  They went to get her pack, which had been tied behind Apple’s saddle. Shay hugged the pony tight. When she let go, she was crying. They were going to go without her. She had a place, but she didn’t want to leave the twins. “Can I ride somewhere else with you sometime?”

  Rhiannon smiled. “Maybe. If Janelle gives us good reports. And you can ride yourself if you have someone to go with you.”

  Shay blinked, confused.

  “We’re going to put Apple in the common herd and give you rights to draw him out if you want and to visit him and bring him apples.”

  She couldn’t believe that her mom dying was luck, but coming here was good. She was in Haven, and someone wanted her help. She’d have Janelle and Apple, and her new friends would visit. “The only thing better would be if I could go with you all the time,” she said, leaning over and giving Rhiannon a hug.

  “I’m sorry,” Rhiannon said.

  “Don’t be sorry. Mom always told me to take things slow and steady.”

  Dionne had come up behind them. “Maybe Rhiannon could learn that from you.”

  Rhiannon swatted at her, but it was playful, and the mingled laughter of the women made Haven look beautiful again.

  Chapter 9 - Sight and Sound - Stephanie D. Shaver

  “Wil?”

  :Chosen?:

  The Herald snapped out of his reverie, sitting up with a snort on the hard wooden chair. “Sorry,” he said to Kyril. “Must’ve been woolgathering. You were saying?”

  “I was asking,” Kyril said, “about the circumstances that led to Herald Elene’s death.” His pen tip gleamed with ink, poised over the parchment.

  “Right.” Wil rubbed his eyes. The burden of being awake put a strain on his ability to be tactful and thorough. She died, he wanted to say. I’m sorry. She went into a river and drowned and died.

  But Kyril would pick every bone of the story until he got his damn details. No easy way out of this one.

  “She went into the river at Callcreek to save a boy who’d been caught in a flash flood,” Wil said. “Bad situation, all around.”

  “The boy—did she . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Wil said softly. “She Fetched him to shore.”

  Kyril nodded. “She is . . .was . . .terribly Gifted. Continue.”

  “They started to pull her back in, and apparently a log—”

  Blue flash of Foresight—

  —in the water out of nowhere so dark and cold and ah gods mother so sorry Elene so sorry Alrek no Alrek—

  It wasn’t a Foresight Vision—just the memory of one. It hit like an aftershock: not as bad as the original, but with enough intensity to stall his narrative.

  Wil envied Heralds who only knew who had died when the Death Bell rang. He always knew who and where. Sometimes, for people like Elene, his Foresight showed him firsthand details leading up to the death. People he’d been close to—internees, instructors, year-mates . . .

  Not that there are many of those left . . .dammit, focus! He grabbed hold of the disparate threads of his thoughts and forced himself to rattle off details, devoid of the panicked terror that his Foresight made him privy to.

  According to the shore crew that had been on the other end of Herald Elene’s lead rope, a log had tangled in her lifeline and dragged her under. Some of the men swore the rope snapped, others suspected someone panicked and cut it. Elene’s Companion, Alrek, had ber-serked, run in mad circles, and then galloped off, the frayed bit of filthy rope trailing behind him.

  “Did you question the locals about who might have cut the rope?” Kyril asked.

  “I did, sir. Under Truth Spell,” Wil said. “No guilty parties. It sounds like the whole situation was a big, confused mess.”

  “And Alrek?”

  Wil shook his head. “Hasn’t been seen since the incident.”

  Kyril nodded and picked up a clean page. “We’ll find his body. Sometimes they just show up in Companion’s Field. Was Elene recovered?”

  “Yes, but . . . she’d been in the water awhile.” The villagers had done their best, given what time and the muddy waters had done to Elene. She’d been carefully wrapped in sackcloth and transported on a bed of sweet grasses and flowers.

  “Her grave is by the Temple of Astera near Callcreek,” Wil finished.

  Kyril made a note. “Anything else?”

  Wil mulled the question. The Vision had been useful in caulking the gaps, giving him questions to ask the denizens of Callcreek. Wil felt that he’d gleaned all he could from it for Kyril’s report.

  And yet . . .

  “Sir, something is nagging at me,” he said at last.

  “Oh?”

  “But I can’t tell you.”

  Kyril raised a brow.

  “I mean I can’t tell you,” Wil clarified. “It’s my Gift, sir. My gut says there’s something, but not what.”

  “Ah. The famously unreliable Foresight.”

  “Sorry, sir.”

  “Quite all right. I know better than to try to pry it from you. Just be sure to tell me when it surfaces.”

  Wil nodded.

  “Excellent. One last thing, then.” For the first time since they’d begun their dialogue, Kyril set his pen down, then sat straight up and folded his hands onto the desk.

  “Elene had a family,” he said.

  Wil felt his stomach twist.

  “We have an obligation to them,” Kyril continued. “When possi
ble we prefer to deliver the news in person. I understand you knew her personally.”

  Wil nodded.

  “What I’m about to ask of you isn’t for everyone,” Kyril said. “Honestly, it’s not for anyone. It’s a hard task, telling a mother her daughter is never coming home. Can you do this, Herald?”

  :Wil, you’re exhausted,: Vehs said.:If you don’t want—:

  “Yes,” Wil said. “I can.”

  :Or you could ignore me completely.:

  Kyril gave a small sigh. “The Queen and the Circle thank you. Come back tomorrow—we’ll talk about protocol for notifying the family.” He cocked his head. “Meanwhile, you look like you need sleep.”

  “In buckets,” Wil admitted, laughing a little. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Herald,” Kyril replied.

  Wil departed the Records Room to the rhythmic scratching of Kyril’s pen.

  : . . . nightmares are getting worse. You need a Healer. Are you even listening?:

  :No,: Wil replied honestly.

  As usual, unseen someones had prepared his apartment for his return to Haven. There was fresh water in the ewers and seasoned firewood by the hearth.

  He’d been focused on building the fire, not Vehs. Wil’s hands were callused and leathery from years on Circuit. He didn’t bother with gloves or pokers anymore, just shoved the lit wood around until the configuration pleased him, ignoring the sparks and splinters.

  :Healers—: Vehs started.

  :The Healers want me to drink sleep tinctures,: Wil shot back. :And not the cute stuff made with hops and shamile. The mean stuff you give to a bull when you need to geld him.:

  :No one is gelding you, Chosen.:

  Wil snorted.

  But Vehs wouldn’t let it die. :If it’s what you need to sleep . . .:

  What Vehs was nattering on about was that the Vision didn’t just intrude on his waking thoughts. It had become a recurring nightmare, one he couldn’t seem to shake. Wil hadn’t slept—really slept—in a week.

  His sleep-debt had been growing even before Elene’s death, thanks to nights on the Karse Border. Now that debt was coming due, with interest. Hallucinations, jittery nerves, the acute, fleeting sense that he was being watched (when he wasn’t).

  It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before. The Vision would fade eventually. He’d endure until then.

  :I’d rather deal with the nightmare.: Wil rolled his right shoulder, wincing. Spring had been damp and chilly, and his joints protested the chill. He shucked off his Whites, the cold air making his skin and scars prickle. Under the bedcovers it felt even colder.

  Not for long, he thought, his eyes drifting shut. Warm . . . no time.

  He slept. And in his dreams, Elene died again.

  —in the water—

  Freezing, all the way up to her neck. A hard shock of cold as she allowed the current and rope tied to Alrek carry her to the child clinging to an outcropping of rock. She practically blanketed him with her body, getting a good hold.

  She turned to look back at the shore, Alrek’s white form blazing like a guiding star.

  Then she reached, her Gift struggling with the child’s weight and mass, struggling with the distance, struggling as she struggled against the current.

  The boy vanished beneath her. She saw a dark figure appear near Alrek, heard the shore crew cheer. For a moment, her heart soared—

  The log came—

  —out of nowhere—

  —and dragged her down, her body pinned beneath the wooden anchor and the tangled lead rope. Everything became a confusion of sound and sensation, so dark and cold, and all she could think was, Ah, gods—mother, I’m so sorry.

  :Elene!: Her Companion’s voice, pleading in her mind.

  :So sorry, Alrek.:

  She felt him and the villagers straining to drag her in. The rope jerked, and her chest blazed with pain as ribs cracked. Her Companion’s mindless panic threatened to overwhelm her.

  :No! Alrek—:

  She fumbled with something at her belt—

  Wil shot up out of bed, fighting his own blankets, spilling out onto the floor with a scream in his throat. He sat, panting, until his heartbeat settled.

  Am I missing something? he thought. When will I stop dreaming about you, Elene? She had been a yearmate, an infrequent lover, a fellow Circuit rider. She could be in his head another day, week, month . . .

  :Year,: Vehs said adamantly. :And in the meantime, you aren’t sleeping. Go do something about it already!:

  Wil pushed a hand through his close-cropped hair, smearing sweat across his scalp. :I’d rather you sang me a lullaby.:

  :Chosen—:

  :No tinctures, Vehs.:

  :Stubborn—bull-headed—:

  But Wil’s annoyance at his Companion’s meddling had reached its breaking point—he snapped down his shields, cutting off Vehs’s rant. Not that he could block him completely. Just enough to muffle the chatter.

  He curled up on his side in his bed, and sometime around midnight he finally eased into a half-waking doze that lasted until dawn.

  Food and a bath briefly revitalized him, but by the time he took the stairs back to his quarters, he found his steps dragging. He flopped onto his bed and settled his eyes shut.

  In the water—

  Knock! Knock! Knock!

  Wil jolted up and for a moment sensed something nearby, watching—

  The feeling vanished. Someone was knocking on his door, but he was alone in his bedroom.

  Wil lurched over to the door, yanking it open. A red-haired girl in the orange-red of a Bard Trainee waited in the hall.

  “Hi!” she said brightly. “I’m Amelie!”

  “Hello,” he replied, fighting the instinct to close the door again. Bard Trainees were, in his experience, never a good omen.

  “Milady Lelia would like to see you.” Amelie smiled brightly. “Is now a good time?”

  Wil raised a brow. “ ‘Milady’ Lelia?”

  Amelie maintained her blazing smile and nodded.

  Wil glanced back at the bed, then back to her. He forced himself to smile. “Now’s a fine time,” he said.

  They didn’t have far to go. Wil hadn’t seen Lelia in years, so he didn’t know how the Bard had managed to win a Palace wing apartment from one of Selenay’s distant relatives, but she’d done it.

  What surprised Wil was not that she had finagled it but that she had chosen to settle down. Lelia seemed the type of Bard who would wander Valdemar until her shoes wore away and her toes fell off.

  Amelie led him in, and if the woman waiting for him was barefoot, he couldn’t tell because she was bundled up in a red velvet blanket.

  “Wil,” Lelia said, with enough warmth to make his heart swell. She remained unvarnished loveliness, albeit with an air of fragility he did not remember seeing before.

  Aging, just like me, he thought. Only with a little more grace and flair.

  “Milady.” He bowed.

  She rolled her eyes at his airs, pushing out of the chair to hug him. The sudden, friendly movement pushed away the melancholy he’d felt a moment before. He returned the gesture, smiling.

  “I’d have given you a full day to rest and recuperate, but the last two times I did that you were gone before I could gain an audience.” She sat back down. “You just love to go, don’t you?”

  I could say the same about you, he thought. He took a seat on a couch as Amelie plied him with tea, cream cakes, and other snacks. He waved them off politely.

  “My protégé,” Lelia said, nodding toward Amelie as she swept out of the room. “She’s all sorts of mischief.”

  “You seem to be doing well.”

  She stretched her smile so wide he thought her face would crack. “You’ve no idea. How’ve you been? Stopped any assassination plots lately?”

  He shrugged. “It’s been a slow year or two. Mostly citizens irate over taxation, property lines, and who owes whom for what.”

  “Assassination plots
sound more fun.”

  “Same amount of paperwork, too.” His lips twisted in a grim smile.

  She sipped tea as they talked. He gradually grew at ease with the sumptuous setting. No one disturbed them, though judging by the number of chairs, settles, and low tables, Lelia was accustomed to entertaining groups.

  “When do you head out next?” she asked, topping off her cup from a nearby pot.

  “Tomorrow,” Wil said. “Probably. Maybe the day after.”

  “Another Circuit? So soon?”

  “No,” Wil replied. “I have to go deliver bad news to Herald Elene’s family.”

  Lelia tilted her head to one side. “She died a fortnight ago, near Callcreek, yes?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a curious look. “You knew her?”

  “No, but I make a practice of knowing for whom the Death Bell tolls.”

  “Ah.” He lifted his brows sympathetically. “Right. Lyle.”

  Lelia smiled. Her twin brother was a Herald; he had, in fact, been Wil’s internee.

  Every time it rings, she has to wonder, he thought. Even if sometimes it’s a little more than I want, at least I know.

  “I was near Callcreek when she died,” he said. “On my way back from the Border, actually. I did the footwork of finding out where, when, why, and how.”

  “No ‘who’?”

  “She drowned on a rescue mission. No one’s fault.” His chest twinged as he said it though, and he remembered the crushing pain from his Vision. “Her family needs to know. So I’ll be heading to Boarsden shortly.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Boarsden, eh? That’s near Winefold.”

  Wil knew the map of Valdemar the way parents knew the faces of their children. “Correct.”

  “Would you like me to go with you?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  “Me. Go with you. I admit in advance I have ulterior motives.”

  He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat. “Such as?”

  “My family travels to Winefold around this time of year. There’s a festival to bless the fields—it’s at least a week long. Good work for traveling entertainers. I’d love to see them, and once you’re done at Elene’s you could view it as—” She cocked head again. “Brace yourself, Wil. I’m going to use a strange word on you.” She shaped it slowly. “Hol-i-day.”