Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Reisil stood on the bottom step for a moment, taking several calming breaths. Once again he’d gotten the better of her. When would she figure out how to handle him? Maybe she wouldn’t have to. He would be leaving soon. She had only to wait him out.

  Inside she could hear the clamor of shouting voices. The place must be full to the bursting. Her mouth watered as she smelled the welcoming aromas of rhubarb tarts, honey bread, mori-spice soup and rich kohv blended with thick cream and dusted on top with golden nussa, a tangy-bitter spice harvested on the upper slopes of Suur Hunnik in spring. She’d watched the sun rise as she ate her breakfast on her front porch and she hadn’t eaten since. And from the sound of things, she doubted she’d be eating anytime soon.

  The delectable scents contrasted incongruously against the tumult within. She eyed the polished oak doors, wishing she could return to her cottage, to the quiet tilling of her garden and the tending of her patients, and let the leaders of Kallas work this problem out on their own.

  But she couldn’t. Because with the mantle of tark came leadership, or at least the responsibilities of good counsel, and she must walk up those stairs and prove her abilities.

  What was it Elutark used to tell her when she had doubted herself? You are what you pretend to be. Well, then, she’d pretend to be composed, thoughtful and brave, instead of nervous of her own shadow. Reisil grinned wryly to herself as she smoothed her clothing and then marched up the steps.

  On a normal day, the gaily colored ceiling, the arcaded walls open to a breezy courtyard, and the fragrant rushes strewn over the floors sent her spirits zooming. But today a wall of bodies blocked the entrance as a swarm of townspeople besieged Varitsema, the mayor of Kallas. She could see him above the crowd, standing on a bench in the center of the melee, the expression on his face a mix of anger, frustration and stubbornness.

  Reisil recognized many faces: people she’d treated, people who’d taken her in as a child. But their expressions were closed and harsh like the teeth of the mountains in winter. She shivered at the tangible rage rising from the group.

  Sodur and Upsakes stood quietly with folded arms. Upsakes’s chocolate-furred weirmart coiled about his neck, her long-whiskered nose twitching below his chin, sharp claws clutching into the leather pads on his shoulders. Reisil couldn’t see Sodur’s silver lynx, but it was certain to be close by. Their presence was comforting.

  Varitsema raised his hands. A whispering hush fell, broken here and there by the sounds of coughing, shuffling feet and muttered invectives.

  “You may yell all you like, but the Iisand Samir’s own herald brought the proclamation and there is little to be done about it. I only repeat to you what he said.

  “In fourteen days, a Patversemese envoy arrives in Kallas on his way to sign a permanent treaty in the names of their majesties Karalis Vasalis and Karaliene Pavadone. The Dure Vadonis, his family and entourage, will spend one day and night here. We are commanded to receive them with joy and courtesy and give them all the consideration of our own royal family.”

  An ugly eruption threatened. Varitsema lifted his hand again for silence. When the voices subsided, he said in a cajoling tone, “It means the end of the war. It means we won’t have to send our sons off to die anymore. It means trade and prosperity for us all.” His voice shifted and became commanding. “I know you don’t like it, but hear me! If we should break the truce, fragile as it is, the Iisand has declared that all our lands and homes will be confiscated and we shall be made as homeless as those miserable squatters out there in the copse. We won’t be allowed to take away any more than the clothes on our backs.”

  Stunned silence filled the room. Reisil’s mouth fell open. She looked at Upsakes and Sodur for reassurance. Upsakes stroked his weirmart with a tense hand and Reisil noticed a feverish flush to his face. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Sodur frowned and rubbed his chin.

  Reisil began to shake her head. It was impossible. There must be a mistake.

  “That’s . . . that’s insane! He can’t do that!”

  Reisil didn’t see who spoke, but dozens of voices rose up in support.

  “I’m afraid he can,” Sodur said in a flat voice.

  “You would support this? The ahalad-kaaslane? You’re supposed to protect the people of Kodu Riik!”

  “We would pray to the Blessed Amiya and follow Her guidance as we always do,” Sodur said. “But you must realize that the crown is bound to the Lady as the ahalad-kaaslane are. I doubt Iisand Samir would promise such a possibility if he did not believe She would permit it. I would advise you to take the warning seriously, for your own sakes. Geran Samir is not known to threaten idly.”

  “Is that why you’re here? To make sure we cooperate? So that we let the wolves into our gates?” demanded someone, Reisil could not see who.

  “Peace, friend. We are here sorting out the new crop of ahalad-kaaslane and making arrangements for the squatters. Our presence is mere chance, but I promise you we will stay and aid in whatever manner we may,” Upsakes replied in an easy voice that did much to soothe the angry tension.

  But his next words, delivered like the lashes of a whip, sparked it again.

  “I have no doubt that the Iisand will keep his word and you will all be turned from house and home, penniless and dishonored, should you not receive the ambassador from Patverseme with proper ceremony. With no horses or goats, cattle or sheep, what will you eat? Where will you go? How will you earn a living?”

  For a single moment there was shocked, menacing stillness, like the eye of a tornado. Reisil heard her heart beat, and then a single indrawn breath as the crowd breathed together.

  Shouts shattered the silence. Reisil felt herself wilt away from fury that stormed the room. She took a step back toward the door and then caught herself, annoyed at her own timidity. She stiffened her back and pushed herself forward, squirming through the mass of rigid bodies, clenched fists and jutting elbows. At last she arrived at the edge of the circle surrounding Varitsema, sweat dampening her ribs, her breath rasping in her throat.

  The mayor’s thin face was pale but set. With every sally from the crowd, he reiterated reassuring words of loyalty, peace and prosperity. They had little effect. The people behind Reisil surged forward like stormdriven waves, their angry words tangling into nonsense as they berated him. Sodur and Upsakes had been drawn into little pockets of their own and each spoke fervently to those who surrounded them.

  Reisil didn’t know what to do. If anything, her voice would only add more sound to the fury. Nor could she just stand there. She turned. She almost didn’t recognize the snarling, red faces, mouths sharpedged and glistening like snapping wolves. For a moment Reisil wavered, stunned by the ferocity of the townspeople. Then she caught herself and began to scan the faces before her. She knew these people. Some she had known her entire life.

  “Paber!” she called to a florid butcher on her left. On arriving back in Kallas, she had removed porcupine quills from his son’s leg. He started at the sound of his name and swung his head from side to side like a bull stung by gnats. “Paber,” Reisil said more gently. “Is this such a bad thing? To have peace at last? Think of your sons. Soon they will be of an age to fight. Do you want to see them march off, maybe never to come back?”

  Her words struck home and he swallowed. Beside him, Torm, a maker of glass beads, overheard and his own lips clenched together. Reisil felt a thrill of pride and hope as the two men looked at each other and then away.

  She turned quickly to the next man, a grandfather. She remembered him from her childhood. He used to run logs down the Sadelema until he’d caught his foot in between two spinning trunks. He’d lost the leg, but not his sense of humor. Reisil remembered sitting on his lap on the bank of the river, listening to his outrageous tales of adventure. That was years ago. Before the war.

  She reached out and put a hand on his tanned forearm.

  “Habelik—do you really want the war to go on? You’ve already lost your brother and
two nephews. Do you want to lose your grandsons too?”

  His head snapped around, eyes bulging.

  “That’s why, Reisiltark. A treaty means they’ve won, all those deaths for nothing. Nothing! And what about Mysane Kosk? Do we just let them get away with slaughter?”

  Reisil was aware that a dozen pairs of eyes rested on her in a pocket of silence. She licked her lips. Then she gave a little shrug, spreading her hands.

  “You are right, Habelik. What was done at Mysane Kosk cannot be undone and they will get away with it. They already have.” She paused, letting that sink in.

  “Even if we keep fighting, what happened at Mysane Kosk doesn’t change. All the dead stay dead and Kodu Riik will bury many more. So I ask you again, is that what you want? Is it worth it?” She shook her head. “It’s no easy decision and yet you must decide, you who lost family and friends. But I wonder, will you choose for the rest of Kodu Riik? For the towns and villages that have been burned to the ground, for the men and women and children who fight over moldy crusts like mongrel dogs? You have seen the squatters. Do you think that they would rather eat and heal than die for what cannot be changed? Does not that decision rightfully belong in the hands of Iisand Samir?”

  Her voice cut with a flinty edge and she paused, her green eyes raking over the rigid faces before her. A circle of quiet rippled out from her words as if they were stones splashing into a still pool. She let her voice soften. “I do not disparage your losses. You have a right to your hurt and anger. But I marvel that you would willingly sacrifice any more.”

  “Well spoken,” Varitsema said, resting a long-fingered hand on her shoulder. He was a talented weaver, as Juhrnus’s mother had been, and his fingers were laced with fine white scars and calluses. “Listen to our tark’s wisdom, my friends, even if you will not hear mine. The Iisand Samir has entrusted us with this great task. Let us not fail him. Let us show the Patverseme vermin that we have prospered during this war, that we open our gates because we are strong and unvanquished. Let us welcome them as a Kaj of the first tier welcomes a petitioner, and let them stand in awe of us!”

  His voice rang with charismatic power and Reisil felt her own heart swell in response, relishing his praise and the way he’d said “our tark.”

  Just then, a flickering shadow swept like lightning beneath an arcade arch. Reisil paled as Saljane lighted on one of the carved roof beams, her wings outstretched, looking once again like an avenging spirit, her amber eyes glowing like embers.

  She let out one of her cries, the strident kek-kek-kek-kek echoing in the sudden silence.

  Again.

  Kek-kek-kek-kek.

  Demanding. Haughty. Proud.

  Everyone gazed up at the goshawk in wonder. She screeched again and mantled, shifting back and forth on the beam, the wood splintering in her grip. Beneath the white streak across her brow, amber eyes darted over the assembly below, her beak wide in a silent scream.

  “Sweet Lady! She’s magnificent! And so big!”

  “Blessed Amiya, have you ever seen such a thing!”

  “Look at her eyes! She’s got a head of steam about something. Raim! Have you got something to feed her?”

  At Varitsema’s request, the tall, spiderthin proprietor vanished into his kitchen only to reappear several minutes later with a pan of roasted meat. Behind him came two boys dragging a cadge that they had quickly retrieved from Raim’s cellar storeroom of ahalad-kaaslane equipment. Every kohv-house owner and innkeeper in Kodu Riik kept such a storeroom.

  The portable perch’s crossbar was as big around as Reisil’s leg, and only lightly used. She wondered a little wildly when was the last time Raim had needed it.

  Hoping to avoid Saljane’s notice, she tried to squirm back through the oscillating tide of bodies behind her. They hemmed her in, shoving her forward, eager for a glimpse of the goshawk. Slowly she found herself pushed nearer and nearer. Nearly crying with desperation, she turned and scrabbled at the bodies blocking her.

  Too late.

  Chapter 3

  So close, Reisil could see every fine detail of Saljane’s crisp, slate-gray wing feathers, showing here and there a trace of immature brown. Saljane gave another of her strident cries, and it seemed to Reisil to be an accusation.

  The young tark held herself still, forcing herself to meet Saljane’s fiery gaze, waiting for the bird to reveal her perfidy to the town. Despite her fear, she felt a certain relief and a thin sliver of regret that she experienced nothing of the unbearable intimate connection they’d shared only that morning. Just ashy gray vacancy. Yet spitted on the molten steel of those eyes, Reisil couldn’t help herself. Words rose in her mind, placating and defensive.

  ~Please understand. I am fated to be a tark. I cannot be ahalad-kaaslane. I am not for you and you are not for me.

  There was no sign that Saljane heard or understood her. The goshawk blinked slowly and then a sound caught her attention and she jerked away. Reisil felt herself go limp as relief turned her bones to water.

  Raim set up the cadge and attached a feeding tray amidst the sudden joviality occasioned by Saljane. He piled the meat on the tray and tipped his dark head to the bird, sweat from the heat of the kitchen dampening his brow.

  “Bright morning, Lady of the heavens. Welcome to my kohv-house. May it please you to break your fast with us.” He gave a graceful little bow to the goshawk and gestured to the cadge and meat, and then stepped back, giving Saljane plenty of room to land if she so chose.

  She did.

  Reisil bit back a protest, her momentary relief evaporating like morning mist as Saljane lunged off the beam. The goshawk clutched the wooden crossbar, talons gouging into the oak as her tail flared for balance.

  Kek-kek-kek-kek.

  Saljane swiveled her head, gazing unblinkingly at the hushed crowd. Reisil held her breath, her heart stopping as those fierce eyes skimmed over the room.

  Reisil almost sobbed with relief when Saljane turned to the feeding tray, snatching hungrily at the meat and bolting it down in choking gobs. A wave of muted clapping swept the room and then the murmurings of excited conversations.

  “Upsakes, Sodur—can you say, has she come here for one of us?”

  Sodur eyed the voracious goshawk with a crooked grin. “Undoubtedly. She’s been traveling a long way and not bothering to eat. I would guess she was in a hurry, and now is not. Whoever she’s looking for must be here.”

  Upsakes nodded agreement. “I expect her ahaladkaaslane is very close by.” Reisil stumbled as he thrust past her to view the feeding goshawk more closely. “It won’t be long before Kallas gives Kodu Riik a new ahalad-kaaslane. Three in just this year. The Lady smiles on you all!”

  “It is a sign,” Varitsema pronounced suddenly. He stood back on a bench so all could see him. He spread his thin arms, hands lifted high, his long robes billowing. A broad smile lit his pale, hatchet face. “Can it be a coincidence? The Lady has sent this goshawk to bless this treaty between Kodu Riik and Patverseme. She wishes us to welcome the Dure Vadonis into our walls. We cannot disappoint Her, not after such a token!”

  A rumbling murmur and scattered clapping met his shouted last words. Varitsema nodded, pleased. Now, instead of feeling coerced into welcoming the Patverseme delegation, Kallas would be convinced that is was a celebration of the Lady’s favor. Blessed Amiya indeed.

  Reisil took advantage of the moment to escape, easing her way through the thicket of townspeople. There was nothing else for her to do here and she didn’t want to give Saljane the opportunity to notice her again.

  But first she had a gift for Raim—all the repayment he would take for the meals he had given her over these last months.

  She stood on tiptoe, searching for the kohv-house proprietor. She caught sight of him across the room, propped against the kitchen doorway, intent upon the commotion. Reisil grimaced.

  It would be easier to go out under the arches and return through the kitchen. But jealous of his domain, Raim allowed no one n
onessential to its workings within the inner sanctums of his kitchen. Only Roheline, his wife, did he allow within, and then with strict dictums against touching or interfering. The potboys and scullery staff he suffered from necessity, but he prevented intrusion of the serving maids by passing prepared food through the window between the kitchen and the dining room.

  Reisil edged her way around the inner wall by the enormous fireplace, empty except for an arrangement of dried flowers and brilliantly colored ribbons. Roheline’s handiwork, as were the delicate paintings of flowers, fruits, grains and grasses twining up the pillars and tracing the edges of all the doors and arches. Reisil often came to the kohv-house before dawn to have breakfast and watch the rising sun touch life to the rich hues of Roheline’s paintings.

  Someone lurched into her and she stumbled. Ale splashed the side of her face and trickled down her neck.

  Her face burned hot and her teeth clamped together, hearing Juhrnus snigger beside her.

  She spun around and he held up empty hands.

  “Not my doing, little sister.”

  Anger hardened Reisil’s jaw. Maybe he hadn’t done it, but his pleasure in her embarrassment was galling.

  She raised her chin, green eyes hard as agates. She was not an imposing figure, but neither was she small, and she refused to feel like a mouse to his cat. She faced Juhrnus squarely, her mouth flat, her eyes narrowed.

  “Is there a problem, little sister?” he asked in that sneering tone of his. Reisil gritted her teeth. She was so tired of him getting away with that little sister business! Words boiled up and burst on her lips, searing her tongue, but she closed her teeth on them, refusing to cause a scene by railing at an ahalad-kaaslane. Even Juhrnus.

  Then an idea struck her and she paused. How simple! How had she not thought of it sooner?

  She smiled.

  “Big brother, I must apologize. I have been remiss. I haven’t yet congratulated you.” She gestured at the sisalik, her smile widening at his nonplussed expression. “May the sun shine on you both all your lives.” Until you burn red and your skin peels and splits and your hair falls out and— “I am preparing a gift for you. You will need a medicine pouch for your journeying. I have only to label things carefully so that you will not poison yourself, or give yourself the flux—accidentally.”