Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  They tucked Reisil back in, Odiltark patting her shoulder before settling back into his armchair. Elutark stayed beside her, perching on the edge of the bed.

  “I’m so glad to have seen you,” Reisil murmured, her hand in the other woman’s. “I have missed you.”

  “I too, sweetling. I have missed you in my home, prattling on about this and that.” She smiled, taking the sting out of her words. “It sent me down here to my brother for company. He’s a cantankerous old man, but he’s done well with your wounds. Go to sleep now. I’ll sit here with you.”

  Reisil closed her eyes, her hand warm in Elutark’s, Lume’s feline whiskers tickling her ear.

  She woke to the clatter of crockery and the mouthwatering smell of scrambling eggs, frying ham and baking biscuits. She sat up, feeling the tightness beneath her bandages where her skin pulled at the stitches. The ache of her wounds gnawed, but she felt no heat of infection. Reisil set her teeth against the pain. She must learn to be harder, stronger. The road from here would be difficult and painful and she must bear it.

  She thought of Ceriba and the way the man had kicked her. Her spine stiffened. Did Kaval plan to kill Ceriba as Leidiik said the kidnappers must? Her hands balled in the quilt. She thought of the night of Ceriba’s kidnapping, the way she’d lain in her bed longing for Kaval. But he had not been thinking of her at all. He had been in Ceriba’s bedroom committing a crime that could not be forgiven.

  Reisil ground her teeth together, fighting the tears that burned in her eyes. She would not cry for Kaval. He deserved no tears. Ceriba needed her now.

  Kebonsat sat at the table with Sodur. Lume curled in a ball at the foot of Reisil’s bed. He pushed against her hand and she rubbed his ears.

  ~Saljane?

  Sleepy. Red. Hunger. Red.

  ~I’ll get you something to eat, something for the pain.

  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The shirt she wore hung to her thighs. She glanced around for her clothing and saw it on a line by the fire where Odiltark had hung it to dry. She blushed and pulled the quilt from beneath Lume, who clung to the fabric for a moment, then stood and turned about on the sheets before curling back into a ball. Fingers of pain made her breathless and she gentled her movements, wrapping the quilt around her. Elutark was nowhere to be seen. Odiltark muttered and bobbed back and forth, stirring, flipping, salting, tasting.

  “Reisil! Bright morning. How are you feeling?” Sodur swung his leg over the table bench and came to Reisil’s side, accompanied by Odiltark. She smiled and murmured something, clutching the quilt, feeling silly with the bandages swathing her face.

  How bad would they scar? she wondered suddenly. She’d never been one to spend time in front of the mirror, but she had always considered herself attractive. Kaval had certainly thought so, anyhow. For a moment she remembered him in her cottage, hands cupping her face—She shied from the memory, her mouth twisting. As ahalad-kaaslane, she must expect a solitary, wandering life. Scars would make no difference in such a case.

  “Here are your clothes. One of my old jerkins—yours was too torn to fix. You may dress in the next room, but be swift. Breakfast is ready and these men are bottomless stomachs. Off with you now!”

  Odiltark let her into the next room, which contained two beds. A breeze ballooned in the dandelion-yellow curtains. Candles burned on the low table along the same wall, sending scents of meadowsweet and lemon thyme swirling through the room. For aid in sleeping. Reisil approached Saljane, who nested on one bed in a circle of flannel sheets and soft wool. The bird blinked at her.

  Red. Hungry. Red.

  “I know. Me too. I’ll get dressed and see what I can find.”

  Reisil dropped the quilt and tugged off the shirt, unable to smother two or three small moans when she pulled too hard against her stitches, or brushed too closely against her face. Saljane watched her, clicking her beak once or twice. Bending to lace up her boots was almost more than Reisil could manage. She quailed. How was she going to manage riding a horse?

  She gave herself a mental shake.

  “I will have to manage, won’t I? I promised Ceriba’s mother, and I’ve seen what those men have done to her. She’ll need me when we find her, even if Koijots can track them without your help, which he’ll have to do until you can fly. I’ll ask Odiltark for some supplies. A couple of bottles of Elutark’s sleep nectar would be nice. And a tincture for pain. We’ll want some horsetail. The way that man kicked Ceriba, I can’t imagine she doesn’t have broken ribs. And we’ll ask Odiltark for some cat-mint, if he’s got some fresh. That’ll help Kebonsat and whoever else jumped in the river, if they do end up with chest colds.”

  Reisil caught herself.

  “I’m sounding like a tark, aren’t I? First we have to find her, and before that, I’d better get you something to eat and something to ease your pain.”

  She ran her fingers over Saljane’s sleek, feathered head. The bird nipped lightly at her fingers.

  Red. Hunger. Remorse.

  “And I’m sorry I refused you when you came for me.

  If I hadn’t, maybe you wouldn’t have fought me in the water.”

  ~We are learning, ahalad-kaaslane, Reisil said to Saljane, forming the words carefully in her mind. ~I shall not fail you again, and you shall learn you can trust me.

  Reisil gave Saljane’s head another stroke and then returned to the main room of Odiltark’s home. Sodur had brought with him a salmon for Saljane, which he’d fished out of the Sadelema that morning. Reisil smiled thanks and carved it into strips on a trencher and carried to Saljane, who gulped the pink flesh ravenously. Using a wooden straw with one end fashioned into a bowl, Reisil gave her ahalad-kaaslane a dose of the Odiltark’s pain reliever.

  “That should hold you for a while.”

  Reisil then tucked into her own breakfast, having also taken a dose of the pain-relieving tincture.

  “Glevs, Juhrnus, and Upsakes are purchasing horses, picking up supplies, and nosing around to find out what they can about Ceriba’s captors,” Sodur explained.

  “And Koijots is scouting their trail. We should be able to leave within the hour—if you are able?”

  Reisil nodded affirmative to Kebonsat’s question, trying to appear confident. She had seen Ceriba’s captors taking her to the Dume Griste mountains. To catch up, they would need to ride hard. She hoped she would indeed be able.

  “How is Upsakes this morning?” she asked delicately, spooning chokecherry preserves on a flaky, hot biscuit.

  “Back to his old self,” came Sodur’s dry reply.

  Reisil glanced at him sharply, but said nothing more. Back to his old self. The one who disliked her so much? Who resented how she’d become ahalad-kaaslane? The way she’d thrust herself into the middle of things, without “proper” training? Not to mention giving aid to a wizard, or whatever Koijots was.

  Or was it something more? She caught her breath as another possibility struck her. Did he hate her for ruining the perfection of the kidnapping plot? She thought about his weirmart cuddled around her neck in the wagon, keeping her warm. Had that been at Upsakes’s behest? A way to spy on her? Or a friendly gesture?

  Reisil sighed, shoving her plate away and resolving to keep out of Upsakes’s way as much as possible.

  “Right, then. Well, I’d better have a look at your bandages. Come along now.”

  Odiltark herded her into the back room, sitting her down on one bed.

  “Elu has gone to see about a boy with a fever. She wanted to be here to see you off, but she’s better with children than I am. Boy’s been beaten. I’m sure of that. Idiocy. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Now his body’s too weak to fight off the fever. I’d like to bring him back here, but the parents are stubborn. So Elu’s going to stay there, if I know her at all.

  “Ah, these are looking very nice. Let’s just smear a little of this ointment on there, gently now.” His touch was deft but light. “You’ll need to clean these cuts once a day and change
the bandages for clean ones. Now don’t give me that look. I know you’re a tark, but tarks are infamous for neglecting themselves while looking after everyone else. Put yourself first for a few days. I’ve told those two behemoths out there the same thing. Slather on more of this ointment with every change of bandages until you run out. Should last about five days. By then things will be well on their way to healing. You’ll scar, no getting around that. The ointment will do a lot for that, though, if you use it, and keep the wounds clean.”

  Odiltark gave Reisil all the supplies she asked for, waving off her gratitude.

  “When you’re out tramping around, think of me when you run across something special. Seeds, flowers, leaves—what doesn’t grow in these parts. Bring it by when you’re through again.”

  “I shall miss this place,” Reisil said, stopping in the doorway to glance around. “It’s a cozy cottage. It reminds me of . . . my old one,” she said. Not home, as she almost had said. That place wasn’t home anymore. Kallas wasn’t home anymore. The ache of grief swept through her.

  She lifted her chin. No more self-pity. Every moment that passed, Kaval and his cohorts took Ceriba farther away. Pity her. Save her.

  “One last thing,” Odiltark said. “Elu wanted you to have this. She said you’d misplaced yours.” He held up Elu’s silver tree and circle tark’s brooch. Light flickered over the branches of the tree and lit the candle flame in its heart. Reisil’s lips fell open and she stared. Odiltark chuckled, taking her hand and placing the brooch on her palm and closing her fingers about it. “Now don’t go ruining the gift with protests. Elu wants you to have it and I’ll not be the one to gainsay her. I know better. Off with you now, and take care of those wounds.”

  The edges of the brooch dug into Reisil’s tightly fisted palm and she felt a silly grin spread across her face.

  Kebonsat and Sodur waited outside, having been joined by Upsakes, Juhrnus and Glevs with a string of sturdy mountain horses. None were more than fifteen hands high, with steep croups and narrow chests. Hers was a dun gelding with a dark stripe from his black mane to his black tail. He nuzzled her arm softly, whiffling her pockets hopefully. She patted him, rubbing his forehead and ears. He snorted, stretching out his head and closing his eyes in delight.

  Her packs were already tied behind the cantle. A basket containing a nest of sheepskin and carded wool for Saljane had been fixed to the hornless pommel. Kebonsat gave Reisil a leg up. She bit back on a yelp when she swung her right leg over. He helped her find her stirrups, frowning at her.

  “Are you going to manage?”

  “I’m not going to be left behind,” she replied in a harsh tone.

  He flashed her a sharp look that she could not answer, not in front of everyone else. Soon she’d have to find a way to tell Kebonsat what she’d last seen while Saljane was watching Ceriba.

  Odiltark lifted Saljane up to her and she settled the groggy bird into the nest with gentle fingers.

  ~Comfortable? Things will get a bit bumpy. The wool should help cushion you from the worst of it.

  ~It will do.

  Reisil blinked, startled. She hadn’t expected an answer and felt warmed by it. She’d seen the loving connection between Lume and Sodur, had seen how their eyes met in understanding, how Sodur reached out to the lynx as a chosen friend. Had she and Saljane finally begun down such a path? She thought of the long years yawning ahead of her. She feared loneliness, feared the rootless wandering being ahalad-kaaslane entailed. But Saljane would be a constant companion, a friend to share joys and sorrows, fears and discoveries.

  Buoyed by the thought, Reisil straightened in the saddle and pinned the brooch on her collar, uncowed by Upsakes’s glowering looks or Juhrnus’s expression of disgust. We will fledge together. And she was still a tark.

  She said good-bye to Odiltark, thanking him effusively.

  “And tell Elutark I will see her again. Soon as I am able. Nor will I forget to bring you something from my travels.”

  “Bright journey to you. And we will see you when we see you. Sooner rather than later, I hope.”

  Chapter 9

  Odiltark’s cottage nestled on a hillside north of Priede. Ceriba’s trail went south along the river before turning deeper into Patverseme. Between lay the sprawling trading town. It had long ago been a frontier fort in Patverseme’s expansion northward. Now its gates hung open, intermittently guarded by a mix of militia-men in ragged uniforms and guardsmen too decrepit for any other work.

  The group of rescuers passed through the gates with Kebonsat in the lead. Nothing the knights wore revealed their identities. All marks of heraldry had been left behind or packed away. In tall boots, leather breeches, heavy cotton shirts, oilskin cloaks, and plain scabbards, they looked like any other blank shields.

  The streets threaded through a mazelike warren of disreputable shops and apartments boasting furtive doors and sly shutters. Sewage ran in trickles down the sides, dammed here and there in stinking lakes and putrid puddles. Reisil found herself gagging on the stench and pressed her hand over her mouth and nose. Saljane mantled, her head swiveling back and forth. A high, aching sound came from deep in her chest. Reisil laid a reassuring hand along her ahalad-kaaslane’s back.

  The small group proceeded in silence through the warehousing district, an industrial area where the cartwrights, carpenters and smiths plied their trades, on down along the docks where they’d landed the night before and out through an unmanned postern gate, though the gate itself had gone missing. Reisil scanned the river for Voli’s flat-bottomed boat, but he’d already unloaded his cargo and found another. She stroked her fingers over Saljane’s smooth head. Likely she wouldn’t see Voli again.

  A strange, bittersweet smile curved her lips. Her new life was a trade-off. If she hadn’t become ahaladkaaslane, she might never have met him, and she was glad she had. But her life would also bring too many good-byes.

  She glanced down at Saljane, who returned her regard, white brow appearing arched as if asking a question.

  ~How fare you? Reisil queried.

  There was a feeling of disgruntled frustration.

  ~You’ll not fly for a week or more, and then not far. You were brave. Did I tell you so? I am proud of you.

  Reisil found herself grinning at Saljane’s radiating pleasure, that her ahalad-kaaslane recognized her courage, that she took pride in her. She nipped Reisil’s fingers affectionately.

  Beyond Priede was a chessboard of farm and forestland, filled with the soothing twitter of birds and crickets. Reisil found herself relaxing, despite the knotty gait of her mountain horse. She breathed deeply of the mist-dampened air, redolent with mustard and nettle and pine.

  Koijots met them half a league along, stepping out of the bushes. He leaped with liquid grace onto the spare chestnut Glevs had been leading. He reported to Kebonsat in a low voice. Upsakes urged his mount forward, his face a study of concentration, but Kebonsat did nothing to include him. Koijots soon concluded and nudged his mount forward, Kebonsat falling into frowning silence.

  Koijots had tracked the kidnappers’ trail from the river, and by early afternoon they arrived at the place where the captors had cached their horses. The cropped grass, horse droppings and firepit indicated they had waited for several days. The kidnapping had been planned well in advance.

  Sodur helped Reisil down, steadying her. She could hardly stand. Her wounds burned and her legs wobbled. She forced herself to walk off her stiffness, eating the soft cheese and nutty flatbread from Odiltark’s oven standing up.

  “The trail leads west, as expected,” Kebonsat was telling Upsakes, who had his arms crossed over his barrel chest and his blocky chin thrust out.

  “Your pet wizard tells you this, eh?” he sneered.

  “Koijots is no wizard. He does not have any affiliation with the guild. He is a tracker. “Kebonsat kept his voice carefully neutral, but Reisil saw the muscles of his jaws knot.

  “Hmmph. Doesn’t make what he did with that lo
gjam anything else but wizardry. Can’t trust ’em. Minions of Pahe Kurjus, he said, naming the Demonlord.”

  Reisil gasped and glanced furtively over her shoulder. Others did the same. To name the Dark Lord out loud was to call him forth from his netherworld of fire and night, torment and suffering. The wizards were said to worship him, that he was the source of their magic. Reisil thought of Mysane Kosk and believed it.

  Kebonsat turned first white, then red. His fingers flicked toward his sword hilt. He flexed his hand, forcing his hand away with effort.

  “Koijots is my sworn man,” he said in an icy, flat voice. “If he serves the Dark One, then so do I.”

  Upsakes didn’t look away from the unyielding challenge on Kebonsat’s face, his jaw working as if he’d say more. Reisil tensed. At last the square-faced ahaladkaaslane muttered something and looked away. Kebonsat gave a jerky nod and pivoted on his heel, striding over to check his saddle. Resil let go the breath she’d been holding. Glevs glowered at his friend’s back, gripping his own sword with a white-knuckled hand. After a moment he pulled his hand away, then spat, nearly hitting Upsakes’s foot. The ahalad-kaaslane glanced sharply at the Patversemese knight, then deliberately turned his back. Glevs took a step after him, but Koijots caught his arm and led him into the trees.

  Reisil fed Saljane another dose of the sleeping nectar before mounting again. Kebonsat kept the pace slow, for her sake, she knew. But though his face remained expressionless, his bay gelding caught his mood and worked himself into a lather, jolting forward in eager leaps and bursting hops. Yet even with the slow pace, by evening Reisl had rubbed the inside of her knees raw on the saddle. The wounds on her face made it nearly impossible to chew her supper, and the wounds on her ribs allowed only shallow breaths.

  The next morning her companions gave her all the rest they could, saddling the horses and packing the camp while she slept. She ate her cold sausage sandwich breakfast in a blurry haze, her body screaming protest at being back in the saddle.