Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  With the serving arrangements well under way, she returned to Raim. He sent her on a flurry of errands. When the city bells rang, signaling the arrival of the Dure Vadonis and his entourage, Reisil was outside the walls in the woods, where pits had been dug days before, and roasted two steers, four pigs, six goats and a bevy of chickens.

  “So it begins,” muttered Taimeoli, whom Raim had put in charge of overseeing the roasting pits. Reisil eyed him, wondering if he felt as Kaval did.

  “Do you know,” Taimeoli continued, “that my brother and two cousins went to fight in the war? Killed they were. All three together at Mysane Kosk. Or at least we haven’t seen them since.” He sighed, his square face set in hard lines. His lame foot explained why he had not gone with his brother and cousins to fight.

  “I didn’t know,” Reisil said. “It is a great loss.”

  Tameoli frowned. “I didn’t care for my cousins much. But I do miss Aare. He was one of the Lady’s bright lights. The Patversemese have a lot to answer for.” At Reisil’s sharp look Taimeoli held up his hands. “I’m not the one to ask for such answers. But don’t look for me tonight. I’ll not welcome them to Kallas. My family died to keep them out. Where’s the justice of it?”

  Reisil thought of Roheline, Shorin and Saljane.

  Changing lives. No choices. New challenges.

  The Iisand Samir had given Kallas no choice but to welcome the entourage from Patverseme. Taimeoli had had no choice but to let his brother and cousins go off without him. They had had no choice but to die at Mysane Kosk. She wasn’t giving Roheline much choice with the dye. Shorin had had no choice but to leave her home and beg. The challenge in all of it was to keep going, to keep building their lives.

  And then there was Saljane.

  “They’ll be gone in two days,” Reisil said. “It’s not long.”

  “No. The wizards razed Mysane Kosk in two days. It’s not long at all.”

  Feeling unsettled, Reisil returned to Raim to report the progress of the roasting meat. Flour dusted his hair and colorful spatters patterned his long apron. He waved her inside, nodding as she reported.

  “Ah, good! I need you. Come here and ice these tarts. Like so.” He showed her how to squeeze the thin honeycream icing onto the trays of fruit-filled tarts that lined the tables of the kohv-house. “Good. Exactly. There is plenty more when you run out,” he said, pointing to an enormous copper bowl at the end of the board. He washed the sticky icing from his hands, watching her critically. “There are meatrolls, wine and fruit here when you are hungry.”

  With that he trotted off into the kitchen, leaving Reisil in the relative peace of the kohv-house dining room. She donned a smock and apron and set to work. She had completed nearly half the trays when a man and woman wandered through the courtyard, under the blue-and-white-striped awning. They stopped, uncertain, eyeing the trays of tarts lining every flat surface in sight.

  “Is there no service today?”

  Reisil started at the sound of Kebonsat’s voice, turning around warily. With the back of her hand, she brushed a stray hair from her face.

  “Not to speak of, no. But there is plain fare, if you’d like. I can get that for you.”

  Kebonsat exchanged a look with the girl who’d accompanied him. Though not as tall, she bore an uncanny resemblance to him. She shared the same high cheek-bones, aquiline nose and firm jaw. Her dark hair was caught up in a series of braids and combs to create a tousled, cascading effect that was quite striking. She wore a light summer gown that swept the floor in soft, delicate folds. Sapphires twinkled in her ears. She nodded at Kebonsat. He turned back to Reisil.

  “Thank you. We would be grateful.” He said the words formally, but the coolness of the tone contradicted completely the meaning of the words.

  Reisil gave him a sharp look and then waved to the tile-topped tables beneath the awning. “You’ll have to sit out there. I’ll get you something. No choices, I’m afraid.”

  The words continued to ring in Reisil’s ears as the two Patversemese went to sit.

  No choices.

  I’m afraid.

  No choices. I’m afraid.

  I’m afraid. No choices.

  She piled a platter with cold meat rolls, apples, pears and plums. She added a bowl of radishes, plates, napkins and forks, and a jug of lightly spiced wine.

  “Can I help?”

  Reisil jumped at the girl’s musical voice close behind her.

  “The gruff Kebonsat is my brother. My name is Ceriba. Can I carry anything?”

  “I am Reisil,” she answered, handing Ceriba the jug of wine and two cups. “I can manage the rest.” She followed Ceriba back to the table where Kebonsat sat stiffly, frowning at his sister with undisguised disapproval.

  Reisil waited for Ceriba to sit before setting down the platter.

  “I’ve heard this kohv-house serves the best food in Kallas,” Ceriba said, breaking the silence.

  Kebonsat picked up a meat roll and turned it over in his hand. “Doesn’t look like much.” Ceriba gave him a Look and Reisil thought she might have kicked him beneath the table.

  “You’ll get a better taste of it tonight. Raim’s preparing the feast in honor of your arrival.”

  “So you don’t own the kohv-house?”

  Kebonsat laughed. “She is a tark, Ceriba.”

  Again that Look.

  “Won’t you join us for a few minutes?” she asked Reisil. Reisil was tempted, just to annoy her brother, who sat there looking absolutely aghast at the prospect. But she shook her head.

  “There’s a lot of work yet to be done. But I thank you. Enjoy your meal.”

  Reisil returned to glazing the tarts, keeping her back turned to the two young Patversemese. Her stomach grumbled and she thought longingly of the meat rolls and fruit, but she did not want to have to share a meal with Kebonsat. His rudeness would sour the food in her stomach.

  The two finished their meal about the same time that Reisil completed the tarts. She wiped her hands on her apron and turned around, only to bump into Kebonsat standing behind her. Ceriba was stacking the dishes on the platter and returning them to the board.

  “How much do we owe you?” Kebonsat queried abruptly. Reisil bridled at his curtness.

  “I’ll tell you what. I wouldn’t want you to have to pay for bad food, so why don’t you just leave Raim whatever you think his food is worth, if anything at all.” He had the grace to look embarrassed, but Reisil didn’t bend. She lifted her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

  “It was passable,” Kebonsat said grudgingly. Ceriba came to stand beside him.

  “Nonsense. The food was delicious. I don’t know what your cook did to give the meat such wonderful flavor, but you, my brother, ate them so fast I feared for my fingers.”

  “I was hungry,” he said stiffly.

  “Hunger will make a body eat anything,” Reisil agreed, her green eyes narrowing as her temper heated. “Slugs, bugs, carrion. Myself, I’m fond of Raim’s cooking, even just plain meat rolls. But I’m just a common tark with common tastes. What do I know about good food like noble folks eat? Now if you will excuse me, I really must be going. There is yet a great deal to be done before tonight’s festivities. Though I wouldn’t hold out much hope for the food,” she said tartly.

  With that she gathered up her glazing utensils and returned them to the kitchen, adding them to the piles of dishes waiting their turn to be washed, mumbling angrily beneath her breath.

  Behind her, Ceriba laughed. Caught by the richness and joy in the sound, Reisil stopped just inside the kitchen door to listen.

  “I don’t think you’ve made a good impression on her at all, my brother.”

  “I wasn’t trying to.” Reisil could almost smile at the truculence in his tone.

  “I noticed. She noticed. Don’t you think you ought to try harder to get along with the Kodu Riikian people? After all, Father has told us again and again how important this treaty is. Patverseme can’t afford a war here a
nymore, not with Scallas arming.”

  “You can say that? After losing our uncle? After they murdered our cousin Keris and his sons?”

  “You are so young sometimes, Kebonsat. It wasn’t murder. It was war. They’ve lost a lot of friends and family too. I’m not going to forget our uncle or cousins, but I want peace. I’m tired of war. I pray Scallas will rethink its interest in us once this treaty is signed. If our attention is not divided between two enemies, they may decide we’re too difficult a nut to crack. So stop acting like such a prig and try to get along. Father is trusting you not to sabotage his efforts.”

  Reisil peeked out through the crack between the swinging doors.

  Kebonsat gazed down at his sister. Affection softened his exasperated expression. Ceriba returned his look, hands on her hips.

  “I’ll make a better effort,” he said finally.

  “Good. See that you do. Have you paid for our meal?”

  He shook his head and dug in his purse. Reisil started and pushed back inside. With a quick gesture she untied her apron and lifted it over head, followed by the smock. She glanced up at last, effecting surprise to see the two of them still there.

  Ceriba gasped and clapped her hands.

  “What lovely colors! Wherever did you get such cloth?”

  Relieved that they had not noticed her eavesdropping, Reisil smiled and smoothed her tunic. “It’s a new dye.”

  “It’s beautiful. I must tell Mother about it. She has long desired a true purple dye.”

  “I believe we still owe for our meal,” Kebonsat interrupted, returning to his curt manner. “This should cover it.” He dropped some coins into Reisil’s hand. She closed her fingers without looking at them.

  “I’m sure it’s fair,” she said, challenge threading through her voice. His lips tightened, but he did not respond to the dig.

  “Will we see you this evening?” asked Ceriba.

  “I shall attend.”

  “Then we shall see you there.”

  “If we get back before Mother finds I’ve taken you wandering. Otherwise she may chain you to your bed.” Kebonsat flashed a quick grin at his sister. It was an infectious grin, relieving his face of that stiff, superior expression. Reisil found herself smiling with them. She returned Ceriba’s merry wave as the two Patversemese departed.

  The rest of the afternoon flew by and by dusk Reisil was exhausted, but all was in readiness. Fireflies sparkled in the evening air as if conjured. Roheline had turned the square into a magical bower of flowers, light, crystal, color and melody. Musicians sang with lutes and lyres in one corner. The serving tables groaned beneath the weight of Raim’s preparations. The delectable aromas of roasted meats, sweet puddings, fresh breads, broiled fish, herbed vegetables, and so much more drifted enticingly through the air. Varitsema and the city council escorted the Patversemese entourage to the square, followed by the townspeople. There was room and food for all.

  Reisil watched them arrive from a corner table. The Dure Vadonis and his wife looked regal and smiling. She had unexpected ginger hair, while he had the same dark looks as Kebonsat and Ceriba. Those two followed after, seating themselves to the left of their mother. To the Dure Vadonis’s right sat another man. This one had a foul, cunning look. He wore long robes of scarlet, and a queer, twisted piece of silver with three points pinned to his collar. His hair and beard hung long and silky black. He stooped somewhat, giving an impression of fragility. Reisil didn’t believe it. There was something steel-like about him, something sinister and hungry, like hunting eyes in the night.

  The rest of the Dure Vadonis’s retinue were seated at other tables, while Varitsema and the council took up the rest of the head table. Reisil noted that a group of ten ahalad-kaaslane took up one table, their animals close by. They had filtered into Kallas over the last weeks, aiding with preparations and helping to situate the squatters in their new village. Among them was Juhrnus, his sisalik sprawled across his shoulders. It blinked slowly at the furor of activity.

  Varitsema waited until the townspeople had filled out the rest of the tables and there were no more seats to be had. At the last moment Kaval arrived, squeezing in beside his father.

  The mayor of Kallas was in his element. He began his speech with an extravagant welcome to the assembled crowd and the Dure Vadonis. He praised the treaty. He then went into raptures about the beauties and wonders of Kodu Riik, finishing with a dissertation on Kallas. He spun on for fifteen minutes and then turned the floor over to the Dure Vadonis with a flourish and a bow. The Dure waited for the applause following Varitsema’s speech to end, then stood, looking to Reisil like an older Kebonsat. Silver dusted his temples and his close-cropped beard.

  “Many thanks for your warm welcome,” he began. “Our countries have long been at war and it lightens my heart to be given such a reception. I have great hopes for a future of amity and friendship between Patverseme and Kodu Riik. It will not be an easy task for either side. We have all lost much in this war.”

  He looked over the silent crowd gravely. Reisil found herself nodding. So he, at least, recognized the obstacles to peace. He hadn’t said forgive or forget. Just put it aside. Too much blood under the bridge to do more. She thought of Taimeoli and his dead brother and cousins.

  “It is my hope that today we begin to build a trust. A trust that will carry Kodu Riik and Patverseme into a long lasting peace. That we can find ways to build a trust so that our children will have to worry only about raising crops, fishing, building homes and living their lives in harmony and tranquillity.”

  A spattering of clapping met his last words and he appeared satisfied as he sat down. He might not have hoped for any applause at all, Reisil thought. And no one threw anything or heckled him or tried to cast him out on his ear. It probably counted as a successful speech.

  With the conclusion of the speeches came the food. Boys and girls from most every family in town had been conscripted into service and now carried platter after platter down the table rows. Others followed with pitchers of ale and flagons of wine. Raim scurried back and forth in a frenzy of command. Reisil soon found herself with a plate piled so high she hardly knew where to begin. She hadn’t eaten half when her stomach began to protest and yet the food was so good, she could not convince herself to stop.

  Covertly she eyed Kebonsat and took smug pleasure in his obvious appreciation of Raim’s food. Passable indeed. Ceriba kept up a running patter, her smile quick and ready. Reisil couldn’t help but like her. The other man beside the Dure Vadonis said little except to mutter occasionally at the Dure. He had been introduced as Kvepi Buris—one of Patverseme’s wizards. More than one person had hissed at him, to which he responded with a mocking smile.

  He glanced up, his yellow gaze snaring hers. The rest of the world faded. Sound, color, smell, touch, taste: Reisil felt as if she were in a hollow vastness, floating, a fist closing around her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her mouth fell open; her ribs compressed. She heard them creak, could feel them rubbing against each other, but she could do nothing. She could not draw a breath. Panic made her scrabble at the tablecloth and overturn her trencher and cup.

  Unbidden, her hand rose with leaden speed to grasp the talisman at her throat, which had worked itself out of her tunic sometime during the day. She clutched at it, feeling the edges biting into her palm. Heat flared in her fist and suddenly the invisible pressure exploded and she felt the hard bench below her, the chattering of the townspeople, the aroma of Raim’s food. A red haze blotched her vision and her blood thundered in her ears.

  Reisil gasped, her breath coming in raw sobs. Someone pounded on her back, thinking she had choked. At last she waved her helper off. Her eyes shot over to Kvepi Buris, whose face was flushed, his lips shining red. He tipped his glass to her and drank, his expression wintry as arctic ice.

  Reisil turned away, tucking the pendant back down into her shirt. The metal had lost its heat and hung cool between her breasts. Her hand ached and she touched the
bloody welts where the edges had cut into her palm.

  She stared dumbly down at the table as hands cleaned her place and put down more food and a full cup of ale. Her mind drifted, torpid with shock. Fear scuttled along her nerves on twitching spider legs. The wizard had attacked her. Why? And how? Sodur had said wizard magic wasn’t supposed to work in Kodu Riik. Except it had in Mysane Kosk, she reminded herself. She looked at her palm. The Lady’s talisman had stopped the attack. She had no doubt of it. But it hadn’t prevented it. And if the wizard could work his magic in Kallas, what could he do farther inside Kodu Riik?

  Reisil gave a startled cry and nearly spilled her ale again when an arm reached across her for a basket of bread. Someone patted her shoulder.

  The rest of the feast passed in a blur. She smiled at jokes and pretended to listen to stories, picking at the delicious food. But her mind spun, losing its lethargy, tangling in unanswerable questions. Why did the wizard attack her? What was he planning next? How did the talisman protect her? What should she do now?

  Reisil hardly remembered anything of the next two hours. It wasn’t until the tables were being cleared that she came to herself, dragging herself from the depths of fear and confusion.

  She gathered her dinner dishes and carried them to the makeshift scullery, where scullions attacked the towers of dirty crockery with vigor. The angry tension that had continued to twist Kallas tighter over the last days seemed to have relaxed as the townspeople enjoyed the fruits of their labors. It helped that the Dure Vadonis spoke quietly and gave obvious deference to Varitsema and the members of the city council. What would they do if she told them what the Kvepi Buris had done?