Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “You must not make yourself ill. It will serve no good purpose.”

  Reisil waited until she could catch sufficient breath.

  “In our hands we hold the fates of our two countries.” If it’s not too late. “We must regain Ceriba, and we must expose the traitors. For that I will die if I have to.”

  She kept her eyes firmly on the path ahead, not wanting to see his response, especially if it was amusement at her rather extravagant statement. But he said nothing more, maintaining her pace exactly, letting her decide what she could do.

  Soon, however, Reisil’s concentration turned inward. She was forced to trust Kebonsat to make sure that her dun gelding stuck to the path. It was all she could do to keep herself in the saddle, clutching a two-fisted grip on her pommel.

  At the nooning stop, Sodur helped her down, but said nothing, merely checking her wounds. They had not broken open. Odiltark did very good work indeed. Reisil ate and drank standing, though her legs trembled and she could hardly hold her food. If she sat, she’d be too stiff to get on her horse again. She hardly noticed Sodur herd Upsakes and Juhrnus away from her, or Kebonsat and Koijots plant themselves around her as if she were a castle to be guarded. Then Kebonsat helped her mount and they were off again.

  So engrossed was Reisil in handling her pain, in managing not to fall of her horse or slow their pace, that she did not notice when the attack came.

  Suddenly it was as if she had woken up from a dreamless sleep into a waking nightmare. She heard screams, she heard cracking and whirring, she heard thunder and something like a rushing wind, though the air was calm. She saw nothing, not even her hands clenched around her reins, not even Saljane in her basket. Only blank darkness. Her throat closed and sweat sprang up all over her body.

  The gelding lurched, flinging himself forward, and then they were galloping into blank darkness. She heard the air rushing in her ears, and screams, felt underbrush slapping her legs, crackling and crashing as they charged through the forest. She clutched at her saddle, yanking on the reins. But the gelding had the bit and terror spurred him on. Reisil seesawed back and forth on the reins furiously, the leather growing slick with sweat.

  At last the gelding ground to a sudden halt, his haunches dropping, his forelegs thrusting out straight. Reisil was flung up against the pommel, which gouged into her stomach. Her breath left her in a coughing whoosh and for long moments she could not breathe. Pain raveled through her. She listed to the side, her breath coming in gasping whoops as her mount staggered for balance.

  When at last she caught her breath, she heard only silence, but for the panting of her horse. He stood trembling, his skin twitching as though pricked all over by a swarm of stinging flies. His ribs swelled in and out between Reisil’s legs. His head dangled to the ground.

  Fear wrapped Reisil in a cloak of clammy shadow. She reached down with one hand and stroked the gelding’s neck, taking comfort in his warmth.

  “Easy, boy,” she whispered. “Easy. We’re going to be all right.” His skin shuddered and his head shot up, banging into her forehead and nearly knocking her senseless. He jumped into a half rear, settling down as she continued to soothe him, clutching at the saddle for balance. When he stood still again, Reisil stroked her fingers over Saljane, her head pounding from the impact with the horse’s bony head. The goshawk stirred beneath her touch, but did not wake. Relief ran over her like a warm shower. Saljane was still alive.

  Reisil tried to see, but the darkness was complete and irrevocable, as if she stood in a cave of coal. Where was she? Where was the trail? Where were her companions? Why couldn’t she see?

  “Kebonsat?” Reisil called. “Sodur?”

  There was no answer.

  Chapter 10

  Reisil sat thinking, her mouth dry. That she had somehow lost power of sight, she doubted. Aside from the throbbing where she and the horse had cracked heads, there was no pain. Nor would the dun be so frightened if he could see.

  She held up her hand to her face. Nothing. The blanketing darkness was complete. Panic exploded inside her and she fought it. Minutes skipped by, Reisil too stricken to move. Then, slowly, her mind battled back the swamping fear and she came to a decision. Sitting here would do no good.

  Slowly she swung down. She leaned into the gelding’s shoulder, waiting for the pain and dizziness to pass. She felt gently over her forehead with her fingertips and found a lump on her temple. Already her right eye had begun to swell shut.

  “Well, at least seeing isn’t a priority right now,” she muttered, startling the gelding, who let out a groaning neigh. When she felt confident of her equilibrium, she knelt down, keeping a firm grip on the reins. Rocks scraped and rolled beneath her fingers. Gone was the dense leafmeal carpeting that had marked the forest trail. She stood, keeping one hand on the dun and edging around him in a circle, reaching her other arm out to feel for trees or anything to tell her where she might be. Nothing. Only open air, chill, as if the sun had gone down. Or been blown out like a candle, she thought grimly.

  With a certainty she could not justify, she knew that this was wizardry. But what exactly this wizardry might be, she did not know, nor how to counter it. Deep inside she shuddered, The dark filled her mouth and nose, clogging her throat. She struggled for breath.

  “Lady,” she gasped.

  The air seemed to warm and Reisil thought she smelled a hint of green grass and honeysuckle. She breathed slowly, relaxing. But the darkness did not lift.

  Reisil trembled. The power of the ahalad-kaaslane came directly from the Lady. They prayed for aid and she sent it. Reisil was ahalad-kaaslane now. Should not the Lady answer? Or was this a test? Were her companions even now free of this dreadful night, while she must demonstrate her faithfulness? Her worth? Or was it infinitely worse? Was the Lady helpless to respond?

  She swallowed, waiting for an answer. None came. She straightened her shoulders. Test or not, she couldn’t stand there forever.

  “We’ll have to go forward and hope we don’t blunder into a hole or fall off a mountain,” she said, needing the sound of her own voice in the unwavering darkness. “With any luck we’ll find the others and get out of here.”

  The dun started at her voice and reared again before thrusting a trembling nose into Reisil’s outstretched hands. She rubbed the hollows above his eyes and behind his ears. He leaned into her with a sigh that was more a gust of fear. A sudden smile flashed across Reisil’s face. He seemed more like a child in need of comfort than a beast that outweighed her by ten times.

  “It’s going to be all right,” she reassured him, trying to sound like she believed it herself. “I’ll lead the way and you follow behind. Careful how you go. Feel each step before you put your weight down.” The last was for herself, but it still felt better to hear the words out loud.

  Reisil tied the reins to her belt, wanting both hands free. She stretched them out in front of her like a sleep-walker, reaching out her toe like a dancer to feel the way. The gelding hovered close behind, his nose against her ear. The sound of his breath and the musty warmth of it on her neck comforted Reisil. She reached back to pat his head now and then for reassurance.

  She had no idea which direction to take—or which direction was which. She remembered the sounds of the screams as her flight began, but now only the crack and scrape of the gelding’s hooves across stone broke the silence. Once she thought she heard shouts and tried to follow them, but they seemed to jump about—first ahead of her, then behind, then left. At last she stopped.

  “This is getting us nowhere. Better to see if we can’t walk a straight line out of this cursed night,” she told the horse in as brisk a voice as she could manage. You are what you pretend to be. Be not afraid.

  “The straight line is the problem, though. Without landmarks or the sun or the moon, how are we going to keep from going in circles?” She paused for a moment, thinking.

  “We’re on a slope of some sort. We could try following it up or across. Keep the downs
lope to the right. That would mean if we went around in a circle, we’d have to go around the mountains.” Reisil was certain that the horse had made a mad dash out of the forest, or that the attack had come upon their arriving at the Dume Griste foothills. If only she had not been so dazed! But she could remember nothing.

  “Going uphill might be better. It might be that the darkness is only so deep—like a lake. We’d better hope the footing stays solid. I don’t like the thought of ending up in a rockslide. I wish Saljane could fly. She might be able to get above it. But no, she might run into a tree or mountainside on the way. And what if she couldn’t get above it? How would she find us? How would she land?” Reisil shivered at the last.

  Thinking about Saljane made Reisil pause. Concerned that Saljane would panic and try something foolish like flying, Reisil had not woken the bird. But now it occurred to her that Saljane was her ahalad-kaaslane and had a right to know of their trouble. Perhaps she might help. At least she could hear better than Reisil. The sleep nectar should be wearing off soon anyhow.

  She felt her way along the gelding’s neck and shoulder, then reached up to touch Saljane’s warm body.

  ~Saljane. Ahalad-kaaslane. I need you.

  The goshawk woke up slowly, groggily. Confusion, then full-fledged panic coursed through her like a mountain avalanche. Reisil could hardly bear the contact. Pain radiated down to the soles of her feet. She clutched the edges of the basket, trying to reach Saljane with comfort and reassurance.

  ~Saljane! Please! I am here. Listen to me. Saljane! Ahalad-kaaslane!

  The last word seemed to reach the frantic bird.

  ~Ahalad-kaaslane!

  ~Yes. I am here. You are not alone. You are not blind. At least, you can’t see, but that’s because there’s no light. Some sort of wizardry, I think. An attack.

  Reisil kept her mental voice soothing and matter-of-fact. She laid her hand on Saljane’s back and felt her ahalad-kaaslane’s heart racing, pulsing against her hand like a war drum. She sent her the calm she had managed to carve out of the last hours—how many? How long had they been stumbling around in the dark? She refused to consider it. Refused to consider what might have happened to her companions. When she and Saljane managed to get out of this blinding nothingness, then they’d look for them. Until then, they must not worry about what they couldn’t help.

  They. Reisil sent Saljane her relief and joy in her company. Someone she could talk to, and who could talk back.

  Saljane sent back her own pleasure that she had Reisil to share her fears, that Reisil wanted and needed her.

  ~I am learning how much.

  ~Carry me.

  Saljane began to struggle up in the basket and Reisil helped balance her bruised companion as she climbed up Reisil’s outstretched arm and onto the thick padding of her shoulder. Sodur had sewn a patch of leather onto her cloak so that Saljane’s talons would not shred it while she was bedridden in Odiltark’s cottage. He had also provided her with a gauntlet of supple buckskin. It stretched from her right hand to her neck, with straps that ran under both arms and buckled over her chest. It was well padded on the shoulder, with thick oak strips forming a ladder and grip underneath a boiled-hide plate. The same strips also underlay the stiffened and reinforced hide along her forearm, giving Saljane a place to grip and balance without poking holes in her ahalad-kaaslane.

  When Sodur had presented it to her the nooning after leaving Priede, Reisil had been speechless, turning it over in her hands, admiring the craftsmanship.

  “Wherever did you get it?”

  Sodur had given her a satisfied little grin.

  “Odiltark directed me to a falconer who fashions these himself. They are quite unique. Most do not contain the wood—which is replaceable. See how the pockets are fastened? Makes for a better gauntlet, more comfortable for you both, especially since Saljane can really dig in. You could carry her at a full gallop, I should think.”

  “This is marvelous—how much did it cost?” she asked suddenly, thinking that in Kodu Riik, people provided gladly for the ahalad-kaaslane without charge. In Patverseme, however, the ahalad-kaaslane were more likely to be considered enemies.

  “That is no concern of yours,” Sodur said, patting her leg. “You could not continue with that makeshift bit on your arm, and I had the means to help you.”

  Now Reisil lifted her arm so that Saljane could step to her shoulder. Her talons dug in fiercely and for a moment the pressure on Reisil’s shoulder was so intense she gasped. But Saljane relaxed her grip, bending her head to nudge Reisil’s cheek with her beak.

  “I thought we’d try to go up and across,” Reisil said. Her voice sounded tinny and dull. For a moment terror threatened to smother her. She could not convince herself to keep her eyes closed and just pretend the light had not gone out of the world. She felt the darkness like bat wings brushing against her face. Reisil fought for breath, drawing a sobbing gasp of air into her paralyzed lungs, counting to five with every breath in and every breath out. She stroked the gelding’s ears, feeling her fingers shake. She cleared her throat, once, twice.

  “That might get us out of this mess in two directions. Unless you have another idea. Can you tell anything about where we are?” To her ears she sounded almost normal, confident, calm. Thank the Lady for small blessings. Reisil did not want her companions to be infected by her fear. As if it were a cold that I could pass on to them by sneezing, she mocked. But as a tark she’d learned fear could be catching, and right now Saljane and the gelding needed her strength. For if they could catch her fear, then perhaps the same was true for the opposite.

  Saljane swiveled her head.

  ~I see nothing.

  Her tone lacked inflection, but Reisil could feel the tension in her companion; she could still hear her heartbeat racing.

  “Then let us go and see if we can find an end to this mess.” She kept her voice determined. Elutark’s admonishing voice rang in her head: You are what you pretend to be. Reisil lifted her chin. All right then. She was going to pretend to be strong, fearless and confident, and Blessed Lady willing, they would find their way out of this blinding night.

  Reisil had to feel for each step with care. The ground grew rockier and more uneven. Brush and thistles grappled her legs, snagging on her leggings and leaving behind prickly burrs. She had no sense of time. She stopped and drank out of her water bottle, trying not to do more than sip. She didn’t know how long she would need her supply to last. She wasn’t hungry, but she forced herself to eat a hard journeycake from the bottom of her bag. Twice more she stopped to drink, then again finally to rest when she stumbled over a tangle of low-growing weeds and fell heavily onto her shoulder. Saljane screeched and leaped clear, but for a long moment Reisil could neither catch her breath nor move. More than one stitch had popped open and she felt blood seeping beneath her shirt.

  ~Ahalad-kaaslane?

  The worry and verging panic in Saljane’s mindvoice spurred Reisil and she rolled over gingerly, feeling the ground with her hand so that she did not sit on either Saljane or a prickly pear.

  ~I am here, though a bit bruised up, she told Saljane.

  “I think it might be time to rest for a bit,” she said out loud for the gelding’s benefit. She had not lost her grip on the reins in her fall, but he had pulled to the end and no doubt stood splay-footed and white-eyed. She stood up and slipped his bit out, leaving his bridle over his head so he could graze. She returned to her seat on the ground, groaning when a rock bit into her backside. She felt around for the offending rock and tossed it aside, startling both Saljane and the gelding when it rattled loudly in the black stillness.

  “Sorry. We’ll rest here a bit and then keep going.” She reached out and found Saljane by touch and drew the bird closer before lying down. She hoped the bleeding along her side would stop with just the pressure of lying on the wound. Reisil didn’t think she’d sleep, but exhaustion subdued pain and soon she dropped into uneasy slumber.

  She woke with a
start, a jet of panic racing up her spine. Then she caught herself, remembering, and forced herself to relax and breathe. When she had convinced her hands to unclench and calmed her pounding heart, she sat up. Saljane made a protesting sound and spread her wings.

  ~How do you feel? Reisil asked her. Before the wizard night had fallen, they had been three days out of Priede. Odiltark had thought Saljane could make short flights in a week.

  ~Stiff. Not as sore.

  Saljane’s mindvoice held a distinct tone of determination.

  ~Very good. But don’t try to fly before you’re ready. It could damage you so much that you might never be able to fly properly again.

  She put the warning as baldly as she knew how. Saljane wasn’t given to human emotions, though she indeed could feel anger, pleasure and irritation, all of which Reisil had experienced with her. But Saljane had suffered several days of being grounded and Reisil knew how much her ahalad-kaaslane hated it. Not that she could do much right now anyway, Reisil thought. Not without being able to see. So something good was coming out of the wizard night.

  Reisil got up and stretched, her legs and back aching from the brisk pace she’d set during the previous day—a whole day? two? more? less?—the headlong gallop, and then the steady climb up the slope. Her right eye would not open and she expected she looked as if she’d been in a tavern brawl.

  Reisil breakfasted on another journeycake. It was like sawdust in her dry mouth, and she dared not drink more than a swallow of her meager water supply. Saljane, though hungry, was not yet ravenous. Reisil cupped her hands and gave the thirsty gelding a sip of water—not enough. They’d have to find a spring or creek soon. Saljane refused the pain tincture Reisil offered, wanting to be alert.

  “I’m not having any either,” Reisil told her. “Maybe when we’re clear of this mess . . .”

  Clear of this mess. And when would that be? Not until Ceriba was found, not until the war was averted. And it would be. This wizard’s trick wasn’t going to stop her, and it certainly wasn’t going to stop Kebonsat.