Jes looked at her, and the oddness was still there—a sharpness she wasn’t used to seeing. “All right, now?”
“Yes,” she said.
He nodded and took off at a jog. It took her a moment to recover her breath. As soon as she knew she wasn’t going to be sick again, she scrambled to her feet and headed down after Jes. Somehow with Jes there she wasn’t afraid of the village-boys anymore. She wouldn’t have thought that Jes, of all people, could make her feel safe.
Going down the trail was less demanding than her run up it had been. She made it to the place where Lehr had originally left the trail just as Jes was finishing a controlled slide to the bottom.
Rinnie looked down, half-afraid of what she’d see. But Lehr was safe. He held Storne in some sort of mysterious wrestling hold, and Lukeeth was lying unconscious nearby with blood running from his nose.
“Is Rinnie all right, Jes?” said Lehr.
“Fine,” answered Rinnie for herself. “Jes scared Olbeck. From the expression I saw on Olbeck’s face I bet he won’t leave his house for a week.”
“Good,” grunted Lehr as he held on while Storne struggled with renewed energy. He waited until the other boy was still. “You drink too much,” Lehr said calmly, “and you think too little. Just because Olbeck’s father is the steward doesn’t make him invulnerable or someone you should listen to—you’re smarter than that. And to try and”—he paused and looked at Rinnie for an instant before changing what he was going to say. “You heard Olbeck. He likes to ‘have conversations’ with children now? My sister is ten years old, Storne. You are better than that.”
It was strange hearing Lehr lecture someone else besides her or Jes. She could see that Storne felt that quiet voice cut through his skin, too.
Lehr stepped back and let Storne up. The miller’s son brushed off his clothes and, with a wary look at Jes, turned to leave.
“Aren’t you forgetting Lukeeth? If you leave him here he might never find his way out of the forest,” Lehr said.
Storne hefted the other boy across his shoulders without a word, and started up the hill.
“You take care of your friends, I remember that,” said Lehr softly. “But the question is, would they have taken care of you? Olbeck left you to us.”
Storne spun around, almost overbalancing. “At least they can keep their tongues from wagging too freely. Unlike some I know.”
“You idiots were going to get yourselves killed,” said Lehr explosively, as if it was something he’d kept bottled for too long. “Swimming at night is a fool’s game—and there are things in the river—”
“Things.” Storne spat on the ground. “So you went whining to your father who ran to tell mine. Let me tell you something, Traveler’s brat. You don’t know half what you think you do. You’d better just stay out of my way.”
Jes put his hand on Lehr’s shoulder, but no one said anything until Storne was at the top of the ridge.
“Is that why you aren’t friends anymore?” asked Rinnie. “You told Papa they were going to go swimming in the river at night?”
Lehr shrugged. “That was the excuse. But Storne’s friends didn’t like that he ran around with a Traveler’s brat. He would have dropped me sooner or later.”
“Storne traded you for Olbeck?” she said, knowing how much it hurt him. She knew exactly how much it hurt; there were girls in town who wouldn’t talk to her because Mother was a Traveler. “He is stupider than I thought.”
“They are dangerous in a pack,” said Jes. “If Rinnie had been alone…”
Lehr gave a jerky nod. “When Papa gets back, I’ll talk to him about this. He’ll know what to do to see that they don’t hurt anyone.” He reached up to pat Jes’s hand, which was still on his shoulder. “Let’s go home,” he said.
Jes released his hold and picked up the fishing rods that lay scattered about on the ground where Lehr had dropped them. “Fishing’s still good,” he said.
Rinnie looked at him, but the air of danger that had surrounded him was gone, and he looked and sounded as he always did except for a certain lingering crispness to his voice.
Lehr touched his reddened cheekbone tenderly. “I suppose they’ll not bother us anymore. Mother will be safe enough with Gura.” He took a close look at Rinnie. “You look pale.”
Rinnie smiled at him and tried to look less pale. “I’m fine. Ma’s counting on a fish for dinner. You always bring one back; she won’t have anything else ready.”
So they went down to the creek and fished.
Seraph heaved a sigh of relief. The harness collar that fit Skew had been neglected, but the leather was only very dry, not cracked. If it had cracked they’d have had to wait until Tier got back with Frost before starting the plowing.
She oiled the collar carefully until the leather was butter-supple under her fingers. Then she turned her attention to the harness. She untied the leather strings that kept it together and oiled each piece as she went, carefully organizing the straps on the freshly swept floor of the tack room so she could put the harness back together when she finished. Broken down, the harness looked like random scraps of leather.
The first time she and Tier had taken it apart and oiled it, she thought they’d never get it back together correctly. Even Tier had been all but stumped. A grin pulled at the corners of her mouth when she remembered the look on his face when she’d called him in for help. Maybe if he had been the one who’d taken it apart he’d have stood a better chance. They’d finally taken Skew out and put the harness back together on him one strap at a time.
From his loose box in the stable, Skew snorted at her. He was frustrated that one of his people was near enough to see, but not near enough to give him the attention that was his due.
“Do you remember the look on the steward’s face that first year when he came and saw the furrows we’d plowed?” Not the current steward, but his uncle, who had been a kind man. “No two lines anywhere near straight. None of us had ever plowed a field before.”
The steward had come by the next morning and worked side by side with Tier for the whole day. He’d made a point of stopping by now and again throughout the season to lend a hand and dispense a bit of advice.
Skew wickered a soft entreaty at her, so Seraph set down the cropper and wiped her hands off on her skirts before rubbing Skew’s face. The dark oil would clean off of her skirts better than it came off of Skew’s white patches.
“How the old steward hated seeing you in that plow harness,” she told the old gelding. “He offered to buy you from us, did you know? Offered two horses trained for farm work because he thought it disgraceful that a gentleman of your breeding should pull a plow. Tier said that a good soldier hates war, and you were a good soldier so farming would be all right with you.”
She rubbed the ridge just in front of Skew’s ear and smiled when he tilted his head sideways and closed his eye in pleasure. “You didn’t mind the plow anymore than you minded pulling my wagon, did you?” She smiled again. “Tier says the best warhorse is one who’ll do what he’s asked.”
Skew rubbed his head against her, knocking her back a step.
“So what do you think?” Seraph asked softly. “Am I seeing problems that don’t exist? How much of a threat is one misguided priest? If I tell my children what they are, it’ll change them forever.”
“I should have told them a long time ago,” she whispered. “Tier told me to. But they deserved a chance at… innocence.”
She closed her eyes and rested her face against the old horse’s neck, breathing in the sweat-straw scent of his skin. “I think it’s time, though, old friend.”
She stepped away. “They need to know what they are. I have no right to keep it from them, and the priest is a good excuse.” She nodded her head briskly. “Thank you. Your advice is always correct.”
She finished the harness, inspected the plow and found no significant damage from its winter in the barn, then returned to the cabin and started shaping her risen do
ugh for loaves, putting some aside for fry bread as an after-dinner treat. She’d just taken the loaf of bread out to cool when Jes, Lehr, and Rinnie came in the door with three fat trout, cleaned and ready to cook.
Seraph took a good long look at the bruise on Lehr’s face, the rips in Rinnie’s clothing and the place where her hair had been hacked short. Only then did she take the fish Lehr held out to her.
“Jes and I’ll set up the smoker and we’ll smoke these two,” Lehr said hastily and retreated outside with his brother.
With hard-won forbearance, Seraph set the trout on a baking tile, salted it, and filled the body cavity with onions and herbs. After wrapping it tightly in leaves, she used the peel to set the tile on the coals of the fire below the oven. She put the tool where it belonged, dusted off her hands, and turned to her daughter.
“Now,” she said. “Just what happened today?”
Rinnie took a washing rag and began to clean the table. “We ran into a little trouble with Storne and his friends—Olbeck, the steward’s son, and Lukeeth. I got caught up in some thorns and I had to cut my hair to get untangled. But Jes showed up and the other boys took off.
“Mother,” Rinnie said, staring unnecessarily hard at the surface she was cleaning. “There was something odd about Jes. I mean, he didn’t do anything and Olbeck took off like a startled foolhen. Has Jes ever hurt anyone?”
Seraph took off her apron and rubbed her cheeks, hot from the work with the ovens. It was indeed time for a few truths, she thought, but not right now.
She gave Rinnie part of the truth. “For all that our Jes is different, he’s strong and accurate with his fists—your Papa saw to that. Olbeck came out poorly in an encounter with Jes not too long ago.”
After dinner, thought Seraph. We’ll talk after dinner.
“This is as good as anything you’d find on the Emperor’s table,” declared Rinnie, finishing the last of her fish.
“Thanks to the fearless fishing folk,” agreed Seraph, already up and tidying.
She’d tried so long to let her children fit in with the life of the village, and had hoped they’d be happy here, free of the never-ending quest to protect people who feared and hated the Travelers more than the things the Travelers fought. Tonight that innocence would be over—but it wasn’t fair to keep their truths as her secrets either.
“Rinnie,” Seraph said, abruptly impatient to talk. “Get the basket of fry bread with a jar of honey. I think we’ll take a walk and find a good place to talk.”
“It’ll be dark soon,” said Jes, sounding subdued.
Seraph gave him a straight look. “I think that might be just what is needed. I have some things to discuss with you all that will be easier to do in the meadow above the farm—and a few of those things will be more believable in the darkness of the forest than they will here.”
“Mother—” began Lehr, but Seraph shook her head at him. “Not now. Let’s take a walk.”
Jes was right; by the time they got to the meadow the sun had sunk behind the mountains. There was still plenty of light, but Seraph was glad of her warm cloak in the evening chill.
At her direction, her children sat in a rough semicircle and divided the fry bread, consuming it like voracious wolves, even Lehr. Sweets were not a common treat for any of them.
“I haven’t told you much about my family,” Seraph began abruptly.
“They were Travelers,” said Rinnie. “Everyone but your youngest brother, Ushireh, died of plague brought by a Traveler they took in for the night. And when Ushireh was killed, Papa rescued you when you were a little younger than Lehr and Jes. And you blew up the bakery and Papa said you were married to each other before you really were to save you again. And I know about the Wizard Ancestors, too. They called up the Stalker and then killed everyone who lived in the city to contain it. But it didn’t work as well as they’d hoped. So from that time until this the Travelers have had to fight the evil that leaks from the city.”
Seraph laughed. “Right. But there is more to tell you.” She looked at each of her children in turn. “Understand that this was my decision, not Tier’s. I didn’t want you to know about my folk. I wanted you to fit in with your father’s people, but… there are things that you need to know.”
She took a deep breath. “You know I am a mage.”
“But you don’t do any magic, Ma,” said Rinnie suddenly in tones of complaint. “Aunt Alinath says that there are no such things as mages, just people who are good at making others see magic in ordinary sleight of hand.”
Jes began to laugh. It wasn’t his usual full-throated, joyful laugh, but something low and unamused.
Rinnie looked up at him and shifted a little away from him.
“Jes, it’s not her fault,” Seraph chided gently before looking at Rinnie. “I’m afraid your aunt is wrong—and she knows better, too. She was there when I blew up the bakery—your father was there as well. And despite what you’ve heard, not all Travelers are mages, nor are all mages Travelers.”
“Remember the stories Papa told us sometimes, Rinnie,” said Lehr, “about the mages in the army?”
“Right,” agreed Seraph. “But I am a special kind of mage—a Raven.”
The cool power slid over Seraph’s skin like a lover’s caress as she lit a mage fire in the palm of her hand. When the magic stabilized she took Lehr’s hand and put the light in his palm where it flickered cheerfully.
“Let me tell the story from the beginning,” Seraph said. “There once was a great city of wizards who were arrogant in their power. In the blindness of pride, they called into being the Stalker, a great evil. To contain that evil they sacrificed the entire city, all of the non-wizard residents of the city, man, woman, and child—including their own wives, husbands, and children.”
She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to hear the cadence of her father’s voice so that she didn’t leave anything out. “When the wizards sacrificed their city to bind the Stalker, the cost of the magic they wrought killed all but a few of the most powerful mages and most of the very weakest. The survivors had virtually nothing but the clothes on their back. At first, they thought that would be enough, but the world is not kind to a people who have no place. As the years passed and the people dwindled, the remnants of the wizards of Colossae discussed what could be done.”
She smiled a bit grimly. “Arrogant in their knowledge and power, even with their city sealed in death behind them, the wizards still meddled where they would. The Stalker was caged, but as time passed the bars of that cage would loosen. The wizards decided that their descendants, not having Colossae to nourish and educate them, would not be able to stand against the thing they had created, so it was decided to change their children and give them powers less dependent upon learning. They created the Orders.”
“I’m a mage,” she said. “There are other Traveler mages who are much like the Emperor’s mages who helped Tier fight against the Fahlar. But I bear the Raven’s Order. I don’t need complex spells, I don’t need to steal power as other mages do. I can do things that have not been written in a book and memorized. But the Raven is only one of six Orders bestowed upon Travelers.”
Jes had withdrawn from the family until his face was hidden from the light of magefire. Seraph rose to her knees and stretched until she could touch his arm lightly.
“Peace, Jes,” she said. “It’s not just you—and I’m sorry I let you think it was. Your gift is just more difficult to hide.”
Jes’s gift was so terrible that there had been nothing she could do to shield him as she had the other children.
When he settled reluctantly where he was, she sat back down and said, “I am Raven. But there are also Bard, Healer, Hunter, Weather Witch, and Guardian. But, like Mage, we call the Orders by the birds who are symbolic to each Order because it is less confusing. Ordinary wizards are also called mages, but Raven always means the Order of Mage. The other five Orders are thus: Bard is Owl; Healer is Lark; Hunter is Falcon; Weat
her Witch is Cormorant; and Guardian is Eagle.”
She watched them closely, but they seemed to be following her words so she continued. “My father told me that once the Orders were far more common. Among my clan, in my generation only three of us were Order-bound, Raven, Eagle, and Falcon. Other clans fared less well—and I knew of only one Lark still living when I left the clans, and she was very old.”
Seraph drew a breath and wondered how to say this next part. “Imagine my surprise, then, when all of you were born into Orders.”
Lehr passed the light across the basket of fry bread to Rinnie and rubbed his hands on his thighs. “But there’s nothing different about any of us,” he said. “Except Jes. And his oddities are surely nothing that would have served the purposes of the Travelers.”
“Nothing different about you? Isn’t there?” asked Seraph softly. “Have you ever come back from a hunt without game, Lehr? Have you ever been lost, my Falcon?”
He stared at her scarcely breathing. “Father taught me how to track, and to remember things so I wouldn’t get lost,” he said tightly.
“Did he?” she said. “That’s not what he told me.”
“What am I, Mother?” asked Rinnie eagerly, staring into the light she held. “Can I make a light like this?”
Seraph smiled. “No. You are Cormorant—Weather Witch. Not everyone knows when a storm is coming, Rinnie.”
“What about Jes and Papa… and Aunt Alinath?” asked Rinnie eagerly. “Lehr is Falcon, and that makes him a hunter, right? What do Falcons and Cormorants get to do if they can’t build fires?”
“Papa and Aunt Alinath aren’t Travelers,” said Lehr.
“We’re only half, and we have Orders,” Rinnie defended herself hotly.
Seraph held up her hand. “Hold a moment. Let’s see. Uhm. Yes. Lehr is right, the Orders belong only to Travelers. Or that’s what I always thought until I met your Papa. Tier is Owl—that means Bard. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, but the only explanation I have is this: the old Raven who was my teacher told me that the Orders cannot be bred for as we breed for certain traits in horses. They attach to someone suitable to their purposes at the moment of birth.” She smiled to herself. Her old teacher, Arvage, would have been outraged at the mere suggestion that an Order would attach itself to someone outside the Traveler clans.
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