by Sandra Waugh
There was no sense in looking for a saddle; I’d not learned to ride with one. I simply led him to the stable doors and waited for the shrieking swifts to rise. Then, out of the stable, taking care to shut the doors tightly once more, drawing Rune toward the stone gates. I climbed on one of those to mount him.
Had it been only this morning that I’d first sat upon my horse? He felt like a part of my body.
“Run to it, Rune! The forest!”
It seemed he already knew. We were off, racing toward the shelter of the trees. I held my breath and dropped lower on his neck. The swifts had reached their peak and were plunging toward the earth.
“Run!” I urged.
The black wings were pointed back, streaming toward us like arrows. Surely they would destroy themselves in order to burn us. Surely they could not stop.
The trees were ahead; the blackness thickened.
Run, Rune, run.
One would hit us. I heard the whistle of air through its feathers. And before I could stop myself, I looked up at the thing diving straight at me—the fierce beak and those human eyes, so light against the dark of its body. My gasp would not have the chance to reach my lips.
And then, just above me, the swift burst into flame, casting the earth in appalling light, sparks of falling wing singeing my cheek and Rune’s flank.
How—? In the ghastly flare, I could see Gharain flying toward us on his horse. He’d hit the swift with a stone.
Gharain. He’d only make me turn around, and that was something I’d not do. I faced forward and shouted to Rune, “Go!”
And in three strides we were in the forest.
RUNE SLOWED HIS gait as the forest gathered black around us. I hugged the horse, dragging in breaths to steady myself, shuddering a little to hear the screams of the swifts—so thwarted and angry, for they could not reach me in here.
Gharain would be likewise thwarted and angry. “Never mind, Rune,” I whispered, as if those had been his thoughts.
Slowly I sat up and looked into the pitch-dark space between the soaring oaks and chestnuts. I’d drawn the enemy from Tarnec. Now where? I was torn between the impulses to race to Merith, or head straight north to reclaim the crystal orb for Tarnec. Love for Merith made me yearn to return, to do something—anything—to help my village. But what if I brought the swifts to them? And besides, the task I’d promised lay in the opposite direction.
Gritting teeth, I nudged Rune with my knees, saying, “We go the way you took me yesterday. To the Myr Mountains.”
Rune pushed forward into the thick of the woods. Strange to be once again in a forest at night—but such a difference to be with so sturdy a companion. We moved with a slow but steady pace, working through the trees. I had to close my eyes to sense and avoid the nearness of boughs and scraping branches. It made me lose track of our route—we’d not headed up the steep slopes as we’d done yesterday. Instead, we were moving across the vertical rise—southwest, I thought. The moon was no help to my sense of direction—she’d not yet risen.
“The mountains, Rune,” I instructed again with the tacit assumption he understood my words, surprised that he’d not taken yesterday’s path. But then, this darkness was a challenge for any creature.
The buzzing was no more, I realized suddenly. The swifts had quit their attack. I sighed, glad for what I hoped was not temporary respite, thinking of Ilone, if her pain had eased. I could not help but think as well, embarking on this solitary journey, of Dartegn’s arms tightly about her in so protective an embrace. One’s love, there for comfort, for aid …
I’d lost track again of our direction. “Rune!” I said severely. He’d paid no mind and was continuing southward on his sideways route. I tugged his mane now, trying to steer him differently. “We must go north! The Myr Mountains, Rune, to the Myr Mountains!”
“He will not take you there.”
I shrieked at the voice, whipped my head around to stare into the dark. How had Gharain come up behind us without my sensing it? He was but an arm’s length away, and I could barely make him out.
He said, “You would simply leave Tarnec? Run?”
It was a question, not a reprimand, yet my back stiffened in defense. “I brought the swifts to Tarnec.…” But then it seemed more important to contradict him: “I am not running.”
“My pardon, you have a plan: The mountains, Rune.” I could hear him grin. “The range is rather vast. Did you have a specific peak in mind? Did you think Rune would simply take you blindly into Troth territory? To the Breeders?”
“I thought,” I said fiercely, “that he would take me to the amulet!”
Gharain sat back a little on his steed, relieved, I supposed, to have found me. His breath, like a short sigh, eased out of his chest. I felt its heat.
He asked, “So the orb is in the Myr Mountains? This was what you saw?”
“This is what I know. And now that I am no longer reacting impulsively to the swifts, as you so brashly accused, may I go?”
He paused for a moment, and then said, “Still, Rune will not take you there. You are not ready.”
“Ready! When have I been ready for any of this?”
“What of the king? What of his appeal that you prepare for your quest? What of the tokens he warned you to wait for?”
“What of Ilone?” I challenged. Gharain fell silent at that, but I stayed fierce. “I will find the amulet and I’ll return it, somehow, but I won’t be responsible for anyone else’s pain!”
“You look at it wrongly,” Gharain retorted. “We mean to keep you safe so that you might save us all. We are charged to help you; we do it freely.”
“No!” I thought again of the sacrifice of the foxes and felt my throat close up. In another moment I would be near tears, and I’d shed too many of those in front of Gharain already.
“Lark,” Gharain said softly.
“Just let me go.… Let me do this alone.”
There was a sound he made that was almost laughter, but laced with something too dark. “I pushed my destiny before its time and did much damage. Do not repeat my mistake.”
“I promise I will not repeat your mistake. Go on,” I ordered Rune.
Rune made no move. I prodded him with my knees, my heels, tugged his mane, but he stood firm while I looked the fool for thinking I had any dominance over the beautiful creature.
Finally I said gruffly, “What do you suggest?”
That I’d been harsh held no lasting effect, for Gharain answered readily enough. “Come with me. We’ll meet up with the other Riders tomorrow evening in Bren Clearing.” That grin was in his voice again. “You wanted to go to Merith, no? I concede. Now is your chance.”
Bren Clearing. Should I laugh? If I thought about it, this would be the time the Merith elders had imagined I would meet the Riders there. It was strange how fate turned on itself. I sighed. It was only a tiny surrender, but I immediately sensed Gharain’s smile widen in the dark.
I was severe. “Do not think I choose your way. I follow my horse.” I hoped Gharain was right and that Rune would follow him, though I’d hardly admit how much I preferred the prospect of Merith to the imposing mountains.
Gharain’s smile stayed, but his voice was more hushed. “I wonder at you, Lark,” he said. “Your manner was first so quiet, submissive even. Yet in these short days …”
“What have you seen of me?” I was afraid he knew my deeper feelings.
He shook his head. “Treat your passions with care. They can be your downfall.”
And then I knew Gharain spoke of himself. But he was right. He was so right.
We traveled side by side through the night. Neither horse led the way. They simply walked together, stepping assuredly in the dark, first through the oak forest, back across the castle grounds, and ultimately in single file down the narrow trail that led away from Tarnec. Gharain paused once, to show me where to hold Rune for the steep descent. “Give him a little more lead,” he called, and then slid from his own horse
to show me, his hand taking mine and shifting my grasp. Our fingers entwined briefly in the silk of Rune’s mane. “You blush,” he murmured before he turned away. I think he was smiling.
It was blessedly quiet. The swifts were gone. Gharain said they would not attack again this night, even exposed as we were in the open valley. And so the stars were left to litter our way with light, a touch of mica sparkling in the gray cliff faces. We climbed back up to the other side of that great chasm, to the edge of eucalyptus and pine, where the moon passed overhead and was lost behind the trees. Only then did Gharain suggest we rest.
“There’s a small pool of water just beyond those boulders,” he said. And there was. A slab of rock behind the tumble was hollowed enough to hold the remains of a long-ago rain. The horses drank their fill, and I gulped handfuls of the clear water and washed the ride from my hands and face, glad for this stone bath, of being outdoors again.
I returned to find Gharain spreading a blanket, his mood likewise lightened. A water flask and sachet of hardbread were in his pack nearby—things he’d brought while I’d given no thought to food or protection. He was right: impulse had pulled me and I was unprepared.
“Our packs are always at the ready,” Gharain said, taking in my look. “I stayed but a moment after you to saddle my horse.” Then he added almost insignificantly, “And we are never without our swords.” He laid his to the side of the blanket.
Except when you swim, I thought, at the sudden memory of Gharain gleaming wet in the garden pool. Then I told myself I was ridiculous and focused on the sharp gleam of his blade.
Gharain sat down, brushing his hair from his forehead, and pulled his pack over. “Sit,” he suggested, looking up after a moment with a shrug to the sword. “I have no intention of using it.” Seeing my eyes still wide and fixed on the weapon, he said with that hint of humor, “ ’Twas only a jest.” And then, more softly, “Lark, I will do you no harm.”
It was not the sword that made me uncomfortable. I kneeled carefully, at the edge of the blanket, and hoped the dark masked my returning blush.
“Hungry?” he asked.
I was. I reached for the hardbread Gharain held out like a peace offering. But he did not release his end, and so we paused at this tiny challenge, his eyes fixed to mine, waiting.
Gharain spoke first. “This is not jest, Lark: I behaved harshly. It is not how I wished it.”
“Wished?” He would feel my fingers trembling. “What did you wish?”
“That we did not begin as we did.”
He said it low, soft and earnestly, and my cheeks flamed. I made a false laugh, which came out as a hiccup. “You meant to kill me, but you did not. We can be glad enough for that—”
“That’s not all of it, Lark.” Gharain hesitated, and then, “Do you forgive?”
A flutter, a thrill, a skipped heartbeat—things I could not help. I’m sure he knew, for he tugged a little on the bread, knowing he’d won, willing me to smile. “We are friends, then.”
Friends. It was a silly sting of disappointment, but I did smile. “Well, for this night anyway; I do not know your humor for the morrow.”
“Jest or truth?” he asked me with a brow raised. But he let the bread go and turned to his own fare, stretching long on the blanket to chew and study the sky. His body relaxed, eased into the earth he’d made his bed.
He’d not said a word of the touch that sparked my awakening. He’d said nothing of the connection he’d so bitterly acknowledged that night in the garden. He was not awkward and blushing, so it seemed necessary to ignore it as he did. I busied myself with my portion—nutty and sweet, and richly filling after the long ride. But it was soon finished, and I was still acutely self-conscious.
“Great nourishment before battle, this,” Gharain was saying. “It travels well.” There was a long silence while I kneeled on my corner of the blanket and he lay stretched, an arm pillowing his head. I heard my own heart beating. Gharain’s horse made a little clinking noise with his bridle.
Gharain looked over at me. “It is safer that we stay together.” After another moment he added, “It is also easier to sleep lying down. You might try.”
I nodded, shifting to lie on my back as he did. Side by side, a hand’s width of separation. I took a breath, willing myself calm, and wondered if this pretense of ease would suffice an entire night.
Gharain chuckled. “You’ll find no rest tangled as you are.” He reached to draw my hair out from where it had bunched at my shoulders. His fingers brushed the side of my neck, an accidental touch, and we both flinched. I caught Gharain’s look.
“You blush easily,” he murmured.
“Perhaps,” I whispered back, half-truthful, “I am not used to your friendship.”
“Friendship?” he asked, as if he’d not chosen the word.
Gharain pulled away, but left his arm stretched out above my head, and we let the silence fall heavy around us. He forced his attention to Tarnec, I could tell, while I watched the stars, savoring his nearness, his warmth like some heady drink.
“Ilone,” I said, sensing his thoughts, and asked, “Your sister will be all right, won’t she?”
“She is strong.” Gharain sighed. “I suppose I must thank you for drawing the swifts away when you did, foolish as it was.”
I smiled a bit at that, then shuddered. “That terrible whine—”
“You heard them, then? From far away?” Gharain was quiet for a time after I nodded. “We cannot. But something beyond hearing—some vibration of the creatures’ pitch, maybe, or how their wings beat the air—can drive a Healer mad. The closer they are, the longer it lasts.…”
“I wish I’d understood. I didn’t know what it was. I thought the mountains hummed or … I don’t know.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I was stupid. I could have warned Ilone, warned all of you. I learn by mistake.”
I thought he’d agree, but Gharain turned on his side suddenly to face me, curious, eager. “Do you see it differently as a Guardian, this Nature around us? How is it that you can see people’s histories, or know that an attack by Breeders is nigh? What is this Sight?”
I stared, taken aback by the barrage of questions. “I—I’m not sure if it is different as a Guardian. But … if you ask me what I know, then I will say that it isn’t only having visions, or reading people’s energies. The Sight means seeing, through all my senses. It—it means I see, as in I am aware.”
“Then, Lark, what do you see?”
Gharain was truly curious, asking what others had simply allowed. His gaze held mine, strong enough that I could not look away. I hesitated—how could I describe what was so personal, so intangible? Finally I said softly, “You ask about the things I consider the dark parts of the Sight. Yes, I can read a person, especially upon first meeting, and it is frightening because emotions are wildly unpredictable and stories sometimes brutal. I know little of violence, but when something powerful is imminent, an ugly sensation invades my surroundings, pricks at my hair, or runs through my body.…” I stopped. “There are dreams and visions too, which are warnings.” I thought of the visions of Merith under attack and the Life amulet being suffocated by hukon—things that were yet to be.
Gharain’s gaze was boring into me. “You suffer all this?”
Maybe it was the pleasure of sharing this night with him that made suffer seem too harsh a word, for once. “It is not all dark, Gharain. There is another part of the Sight that is … wondrous.” I turned to look up into the starlight. “To see this dance of stars across the sky, to feel the stone beneath us vibrate with its tiny hum, and taste night on the air. To hear the trees breathe and the sky shimmer with each exhale, to smell the Earth growing, changing. It’s all I’ve known, this awareness. Earth fills me—all the things that surround us pulse with life, and they … they pour into me like music.” I was quiet for a moment. “The king said that the amulets speak to their Guardians, but I think they sing. Life sings to me.”
I’d said more than I e
ver had about the Sight, more than I should have. I waited for a response. Gharain faced me, watched me, but said nothing while the night surrounded and hung poised on a collective breath of anticipation. I felt a stirring in my chest, and in his, as if a flame burned bright between us. And then it was necessary to change the subject, for the silence was too great and his gaze too deep. “And the Riders?” I asked in return to break the spell. “What do they sense?”
“Danger,” he answered simply after a moment, and rolled onto his back. “We are keen to the imbalance of things.”
I couldn’t help it; I grinned, remembering. “When I first heard of the Riders, I thought you to be very old.”
Gharain snorted. “Very old would hardly do. We are the strongest of Keepers, and the best horsemen. Many volunteer, but only twelve are selected.”
“And you are Riders forever?”
He laughed first: “Until we are very old.” Then sobered: “Or …” There was a brief, grim silence. Then he said proudly, “We protect Tarnec. It is a sacrifice we gladly make.”
Sacrifice. That cursed word again. Maybe Gharain sensed my unease, for he added, “Not to worry. We’re a tough lot.”
“I wonder why you chose so dangerous a path when you are in line to be king.”
He said very firmly, ending the subject: “I am not the right one to lead.”
We were quiet then. Gharain would have fallen asleep. I was tired too, though I watched for a time the stars wheeling high above, listened to Gharain’s steady breathing, and thought about his beautiful smile. I wished it were enough, this closeness in sleep.
Just before I drifted off, I heard him say very softly, “Lark?”
I closed my eyes. And dreamed.
Daylight was filling the window of my attic room in our cottage. The sheets were tucked into my bed tightly enough so that I had to struggle to push them back. I rose in slow motion, feet hardly touching the floor, and fought my way through aching lethargy to the window, looking out at green grass and brilliant sun. A lark shot up from the earth like a spray of bronzed water and swept across the sky above the field. I smiled and looked down then, to the little stone path that led from our cottage through the cutting gardens. Evie was there, attended by Gharain. They walked along the path away from the house, their backs to me. So close they were to one another—I’d never even seen her stand so close to Raif—their arms brushed from time to time as they moved. I remember how the sunlight caught her fair hair as she paused and turned to him. She was speaking; he was listening. I heard no sound, but even from my distance I understood the look on his face, and how she leaned slightly toward him. Gharain’s expression turned from earnest to joyful as he took in her words, his thrill visible in his posture. And then he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Evie’s arms went around him; she looked up, smiling so beautifully, and he bent his face to hers—
