by Alisha Basso
He called a halt and assessed their position. They had left the road and struck out cross country, the most direct route. But if they cut east now, they would soon come to the dry riverbed that would lead them to Siblan.
“Why did I not think of this sooner?”
Malek gave him a curious look, but did not bother to try and answer.
Leinos turned them, and soon they found the going easier. By nightfall, they would reach the city.
“Why do we go this way and not north?” Malek asked. “We must find the Horsecaller.”
“You are right, but a slight detour is necessary so that we can reach her sooner. We go to Siblan. You have heard of it?”
The boy’s eyes grew large. His color had begun to improve, but now it drained away. “The city of the dead?”
“The same.”
They walked in silence for several paces.
“Will we see them?”
Leinos smiled for the first time in days. “Perhaps, but I hope we are not there long enough for that. We go to visit Kadre, cousin to Queen Naele, and his guardian, Pagajera. She can help us contact the sages. If they deign to send help, we will be in the Bitter Reaches by dawn.”
“But how? How can we travel so far so fast?”
Leinos put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “The sages have a way. They can take us, though it is rare. And we will need rare courage to travel with them.” He ruffled Malek’s hair. “But you are a young man of exceptional valor. And I know you will do anything for Lauren.”
The boy’s brows drew together in concentration. “And for Pindar.”
“And for Pindar,” he said with a final pat to Malek’s back. The thought of seeing Lauren soon sent a cheerful surge through him, banishing the head pain. The boy must have felt it too.
They broke into a run.
They reached the outskirts of Siblan as the gray day dissolved into night. No torches lit the gates, nor did any guards greet them or request to know their business. Leinos hoped security had not become this lax in Lerom. A brief pang of guilt speared him. He should be in Lerom. But the queen had made her choice. She was on her own. At least until they had the horses. He shook off the regret.
Siblan was not as large as the capital, and probably too far east to worry about attack—not to mention being hard on the sea, and few wished for such proximity to the unnamed dead—but seeing it so vulnerable, especially at night, made him uneasy.
He put his arm around Malek’s shoulders and drew him closer as they made their way through the quiet streets. In the past, it would have taken at least half a hand to gain the city center where Kadre lived; the streets used to be full of farmers selling food, shopkeepers hawking their wares, traders from all over. That was before the river dried up. Before the farmers had scarcely enough to feed themselves, the shopkeepers could no longer restock their shelves, and traders had nothing to trade.
The occasional murmur of hushed voices floated through upstairs windows, but otherwise, it was as though the sea itself had washed the place clean, leaving behind only whispers.
At Kadre’s door, Leinos lifted the heavy knocker. Before he could let it drop, the stout door swung in, Pagajera’s arm shot out, scooped them inside, stopped the knocker from falling, and silently closed the door.
The guardian pulled him into a tight hug. “Leinos, how good it is to see you!” She patted his back with a commitment that took his breath, then held him at arm’s length, a wide grin splitting her ever-cheerful face.
“And who is this?” She glanced at Malek but did not wait for an answer. “Last we heard, you had gone to the Ravery with the hag of hags and one of the graybeards on some fool’s desperate errand to— ”
She must have finally read the pressing need in his face. It was unusual for Pags to pause for breath, let alone stop mid-sentence. Malek looked at the woman in shock. He had probably never heard sages or crones spoken of with anything but the utmost respect.
“By the goddess,” she continued. “You have been disrequired. And look like you have been swimming with the dead. What has happened?”
“Malek,” Leinos said. “Meet Pagajera. She believes it her job to stir the dirt at your feet until dust so clogs your nose and fills your eyes, you can neither breathe nor see.”
The boy only nodded slowly, keeping his wondering gaze on the tall woman’s round face.
Then, to answer her impatient look, Leinos said, “We need to talk.”
Pagajera ushered them through the large house to a room at the back, where she roused Kadre from a doze before a cold fireplace. He greeted them in much the same manner as she had, but in blessed silence. Pags summoned a maid who brought them warm food and drinks, but the guardian would not allow Leinos to explain until they were alone.
Kadre commented on his condition as well. “Have you been wrestling the goddess, my friend? I have seen you bruised and cut before, but never so troubled.”
Leinos started at the beginning, when Lauren burst through the Ravery, for his friends had not received any news in many days. Kadre shook his head mournfully to hear of his cousin’s actions.
“She ever was more fearful than bold,” he said. “But you already know that is why, as much as anything, I left the court at Lerom.”
“Cirq without Supreme Guardian. This does not bode well,” Pags said.
“Cirq has a Horsecaller once again,” Leinos said. “Our beloved country no longer has need of Supreme Guardian.”
Pags and Kadre nodded.
“But can it be true?” Pags asked after emptying her mug of tea. “That the sage in Tinnis has turned his power to evil? This has never happened before.”
“Most likely,” Kadre said, “he does not think of his actions as bad, but serving a higher good.”
“Bah,” Pags scoffed. “This Rezol only wants power. And King Rast is merely his instrument. Surely the other gray beards can stop him?”
Leinos rested his elbows on his knees. “All the sages sit in council now at Elaz to determine the best action.”
“But that could take—”
Kadre laid a gentle hand on his Guardian’s arm. The gesture communicated great affection even while it stayed her enthusiasm. “Leinos needs you to summon a sage, now, Pags. He must get to the Bitter Reaches.”
Less than a hand later, Pags returned from another room where she had gone for privacy. Leinos noticed a hint of apprehension in her eyes, but she schooled her features quickly, smiling reassurance.
“I do not know how long it will be. You should rest, and with your permission, I will tend your wounds. Let me take you to your rooms.”
Leinos rose, feeling fatigue as he never would have when Supreme Guardian. Malek had fallen asleep against his shoulder, and he lifted the boy into his arms to carry him upstairs. He nodded to Kadre.
“Your help and hospitality are greatly appreciated, Kadre. I am sorry to have brought news that saddened you.”
Kadre rose as well. “On the contrary, old friend, you bring hope to this home. Now, go. I will rouse you the moment the sage arrives.”
Pags had already sprinted ahead. The woman always had energy to spare. Leinos could find his way in the dark. He knew the house well. As he turned the corner into the hall, an older man emerged from the shadows. Leinos did not recognize him, and he knew most everyone left in Cirq. But Kadre had connections in many countries, and travelers often found their way to his door. Had Kadre been female, he would be queen. It struck Leinos that if the Horsecaller could be a woman, then why could Cirq’s ruler not be a man?
But this was a theory best left to an unencumbered walking day. He hoisted the boy against his chest and nodded to the stranger. He would have continued to the upper level, but there was something about the man’s eyes, even in the dark, and even without the heightened senses of Supreme Guardian, that made him pause.
“My lord,” the stranger said in a foreign accent, “a word if you please.”
Chapter 30
QUEEN Naele
paused in her pacing. She had caught herself treading this same path in her tower more and more since returning from the Inn at the Crossroads, barely escaping death on one of her own thoroughfares. To think it had come to this. The queen not safe to travel her own land.
The hard stone floor beneath her feet showed no sign of wear, but her back ached, and her legs were tired. She allowed herself to drop into her chair in an undignified heap. A distinctly un-queen-like heap.
Perhaps she should practice this, add the frivolous and superfluous into her life. For soon, one way or the other, by design or force, she would be disrequired.
The idea thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. In thirteen days, a delegation of Derrien lords would descend upon Lerom expecting her to hand them the reins of power.
In exchange, she would have a well-deserved retirement in an obscure cottage somewhere off the southern Derrien coast. Somewhere near the place of Pirron’s birth, alongside the harbor and ships he loved so well. It would be quiet. And warm.
A few knew of the plan. Her chancellor, Seyah, here in Lerom, who likely saw opportunity for herself in the change. And Marzak, although he had not approved. She had told Leinos when arguing with him about the Horsecaller, and he had surely told his guardians. But she had not revealed the whole of the agreement. They thought the Derriens came to take control of Cirq’s southern ports. Not the entire country.
If the horses magically appeared before then—she had made sure there was no possibility—then she had no doubt Cirq’s people would gather behind the Horsecaller and rise against their faithless queen. But that was only if the Horsecaller did not kill her first. And who could blame the Raver for that?
Especially after the Tinnisian raid that deprived them both of Leinos forever. Regrettable, losing both him and the boy. She pressed her hands against her face. It was chilled. And dry. No tears for her. Yet, these losses were more than regrettable, were she honest. He had been a good man, Leinos, a dedicated guardian of Cirq, and in the end, more loyal and steadfast than she.
She had expected nothing from him as consort, they had both understood that. But she had hoped the boy would come to love her, and she would not be alone in her self-imposed exile. Futile, this line of thinking. Self-indulgent. And fantasy. Leinos would have fought the Derriens when they came, and others would have joined him. Cirqians were independent to the core. Leinos’s love and loyalty lay with his country, not with her. The moment he learned she had betrayed them—even it was for the best—he would have turned against her.
Queen Naele lifted a cup of cold tea to equally cold lips. But she did not like to see how much her once-steady hands shook, so she put it down, sloshing some on the tabletop.
She could see him—Leinos—surrounded by Tinnisian warriors, fighting to the death. Saw again the blow that felled him.
It was just as well. If it took the rest of her miserable life, she would convince herself it was just as well.
~~~
Lauren rolled to her back, sharp pain shooting from her left hip over her tailbone. She was done.
How much was one not-so-young-anymore woman supposed to do? She’d tried. Tried to believe, tried to overcome her fear, tried to keep going in the face of mounting evidence that everyone in this godforsaken place was wrong. Enough was enough. Even her horse had dumped her.
But as she lay there, she realized she was comfortable, other than the throbbing pain in her hip. The rain and hail of a few moments before had stopped. And the pain, at least, was familiar. She even knew what the bruise would look like, how it would blossom over the joint like a giant chrysanthemum and spread down her thigh, first purple and blue, later green and yellow.
The injury, though not severe, would make her arthritis flare, and she wished for an ice pack. That arthritis, however, had not bothered her after the first couple of days in Cirq, probably the result of constant movement rather than sitting at a desk.
The ground beneath her was soft and dry, a deep pine needle bed that smelled like Leinos. Sweet goddess, she missed him. She would stay right here, she decided, and wallow in self pity. The trees were so dense, the storm couldn’t penetrate. Thunder made itself felt, rumbling just outside her haven. Inside, the air was warm and still. She closed her eyes and slept.
Pindar hadn’t abandoned her. His questing muzzle worked its way along her side, pausing at the injured hip, nostrils flaring hotly with each breath, then continuing until he found her face. He lipped her forehead and cheek, whiskers tickling. Horse kisses.
The reins were hooked over his right ear. Gently, she took them down so he wouldn’t get a foot tangled, and stroked his ears, soothing herself and reassuring him she was all right. He nibbled the edge of her cloak, then carefully took it in his teeth and pulled.
“No, thank you.”
He pulled again, harder, lifting her shoulders. All around, branches hemmed them tightly, yet, when they moved, there was plenty of room. She pried his teeth off her cloak.
“Easy there,” she said. He peered at her, his deep brown eyes questioning. “I’m okay. Just need a few minutes.”
Lauren lifted herself onto one elbow. The light inside the forest had changed slightly, and the air felt different. It was morning, she realized. She had slept the night right where she’d fallen. Behind Pindar, large trees like those in Raverwood strode into the forest, their branches beginning high up, well over Lauren’s head, even if she were in the saddle. Around her and Pindar were mostly smaller trees she could encircle with two hands, their close-set branches starting at ground level, forming an impenetrable barrier.
Absently, she waved a hand in front of her face. “I like it here.” Pindar swished his tail. Then, she realized what she’d just done, what he’d done. “Was that a fly?”
She hadn’t missed the irritating pests, but it wasn’t normal, even in Cirq. Their presence in this sheltered place could mean only one thing. She waited, holding her breath, listening intently.
There, a buzzing past her ear. She swiped at it with a grin. Never before had she been happy for the presence of a pesky fly.
With a groan and the help of a nearby trunk, she hoisted herself up. “Let’s get this show on the road.”
Before mounting, she loosened the girth and checked beneath the fleece saddle pad, smoothing his coat and making sure there was nothing that would cause him discomfort, then resettled the saddle. Pindar stood while she mounted, her left hip complaining at the strain.
Trees and branches parted. She didn’t see them move, they just kind of dissolved momentarily. When she looked behind, they had closed in, once again solid forms. Their path was marked by new shoots of grass and clumps of tiny white flowers with broad green leaves. These, she realized, were the leaves Pindar had brought her. How long had he spent carefully picking around the flowers?
Soon, they were away from the dense part of the wood, but the trees still stood tightly together, as if in tender embrace. Pindar walked slowly, reverently, silent on the spongey ground, and the trees opened their arms, gathering horse and rider into a warm hug.
The wood emanated its own soft light as well, for although she knew the sun was up outside the forest, its light did not penetrate the dense canopy. Yet she had no trouble seeing where they were going. Pindar had his head. The way was not obvious, but he continued as if there were an open road in front of them, and she was content to let him choose.
They walked for a long time. She felt safe, comforted, and the wood showed no signs of thinning or ending. The level of brightness never changed, and no breeze moved the stiff branches. It was as though the place were in a state of suspended animation.
Nor was there any evidence here of horses. But they had to be near for this place to be so alive. Is this what all of Cirq had once been like? Small wonder the people clung to the desperate hope of regaining their former lives and had gone so far as to send someone through the unknown of the Ravery to fetch her. Well worth the risk.
If it panned out.
> She couldn’t allow new doubt to creep in at this point. No, they had to keep going. As of tomorrow, she had thirteen days left to deliver Cirq’s horses.
Not that anyone would come and fetch her from here for execution. But nice as it was, she couldn’t stay in this lonely place forever, either. If there was any chance of being reunited with Leinos and Malek, she had no choice. She had to press on.
But first, they needed a break. Her water skin was empty, and Pindar had to be thirsty, too. She pulled him to halt and slid to the ground, then undid the saddle, set it down, and slipped off his bridle. He nosed her side, but she hadn’t had treats for him in a while. With a whispered sorry, she pulled out a brush and worked it through his coat, pushing away the damp where the saddle had left its mark, then patted him on the rump.
“Go on, find us something to drink.” He walked off, and she went to pick leaves to eat.
Shortly, he dug a hole, and she went over to wash up and make a cold pack for her hip. As she wrung out her spare shirt, Pindar lifted his head and became transfixed, the only sound water dripping from his chin down to the spreading pool at their feet.
A prickle ran up Lauren’s spine, and she had the distinct impression someone watched them. No underbrush impeded her view, and the steady glow didn’t create shadows. Which meant something had just scooted from one giant tree to another.
To her right came a cough, like the huffing of lions at the zoo.
“Who’s there?”
No answer.
They had to get the tack.
She hooked one finger under Pindar’s jaw and tilted her head to indicate that direction, and they began to move.
A form darted between two trees, a creature low to the ground, not human, not equine. She decided to make a dash for their supplies. She almost made it.
Halfway, a root caught her toe and she sprawled on the ground, flung nearly to her goal, her forehead painfully smacking a rock. Without thinking, she flipped to her back, stave at the ready, but nothing assaulted her. Moisture seeped into her eye, and she tried to flick away the nervous sweat, but it persisted. She rubbed at it, and her fingers came back bloody.
