Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  Reisil completed her preparations and then felt gingerly under her shirt. She found her bandages stiff with dried blood.

  “The bleeding has stopped.” Reisil said aloud. “All right then. If we’re all ready, I think we should get moving.”

  She lifted Saljane to her shoulder and gave the gelding a pat on the neck before beginning again the arduous process of feeling her way over the rocky slope.

  The temperature dropped steadily, though Reisil found herself sweating as she inched her way along. She racked her shins against an outcropping of rock, yelping with pain. Her voice echoed back at her and she froze in place.

  A breeze threaded ghostly fingers through her hair. It gusted hard, keening mournfully like an unbound wraith. There were no other sounds but for the breathing of the gelding and the scraping of his hoof on stone as he pawed at the ground.

  In that moment, Reisil felt how alone, how lost they were. She had continued on, natural optimism telling her that they must come out of the wizard night eventually. But now, hearing the wind’s bleak voice, she began to doubt. Hopelessness rose up in her throat and she opened her mouth in a wordless cry.

  Before panic could take her, she felt Saljane in her mind, solid as the slope beneath her feet. There was the image she’d shown Reisil once before. She saw the Blessed Lady with her honey colored hair bound around in leaves, vines and flowers, a silver leaf circlet around her brow. She whispered to Saljane, then flung her up into flight. For a moment as Reisil watched, the Lady seemed to look straight at her, the moss-green filling Her knowing eyes from corner to corner. She seemed to measure Reisil. One eyebrow flicked up as if in challenge. Then there came a smile. It invited Reisil to be daring, to be bold.

  Reisil blinked and shook her head as she abruptly returned to the present, to the dense darkness. The warmth and glow of the Lady’s glade still held her like an embrace and that smile taunted her fears. She straightened her shoulders.

  “Best keep going,” she said. “Standing here won’t see us free of this wizard trick.”

  And so she began again and minutes slipped away, puddling into hours. Reisil kept going, slowly, cautiously, relentless, obstinate.

  In that lifted brow had been a gentle rebuke, a reminder of who she was, what she’d become.

  Ahalad-kaaslane. Reisiltark.

  Elutark said they were blessings from both hands of the Lady. She would not turn her back again on those gifts.

  You are what you pretend to be. Then so be it. I am tired and hungry and I am going to find a way out of this cursed darkness.

  All at once the unending ocean of unnatural night ended and she stepped into blinding light.

  Reisil stood still as the stone mountains facing her in the brilliant sunshine, her hair clinging damply to her forehead and neck. She blinked her unswollen eye. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Saljane gave a scream of triumph. The gelding neighed his own relief and shook himself from head to toe like a wet dog.

  They stood on the shoulder of a bluff. A few yards away the edge dropped away into a steepsided canyon. A sparkling blue river trimmed with green trees and red willows snaked along its bottom. Beyond, the Dume Griste mountains towered, snowy peaks wreathed around by wispy white clouds.

  “Thank the Lady,” Reisil whispered. A few steps more and she might have led them right over the precipice. She shuddered, her mouth dry as she looked down into the canyon. Brown specks moved across one of the meadows. Reisil drew a deep, steadying breath, curling her shaking fingers around her thumbs. Those brown specks were wapati—red mountain deer.

  Reisil spun around, turning her back on the spectacular view and that sickening drop into yawning space. Behind her the curtain of night had vanished. The bluff rolled away in a long, brushy slope broken by brown and white outcroppings. The forest below looked like a shadowy ocean lapping up against a mountain shore. A gust of wind swept across the bluff, keening through the clumps of sage and thornapple. Reisil shivered as her sweat turned icy with the wind’s breath.

  “We can’t stay up here. We have to find water. And then the others.”

  Reisil took a tentative step forward, half expecting the wizard night to close about them again.

  But the sun continued to shine brilliantly. A determined smile curved her lips. “Well, then, let’s see if we can find our way down to the river.”

  She didn’t mount the gelding. His head drooped and his eyes looked dull. He twitched his tail listlessly at the deerflies that bit at his flanks and belly. Reisil brushed them away.

  “It’s going to be all right. We’ll find you some water and good grass and you’ll feel better.” He lifted his head and nipped at Reisil’s sleeve. She laughed and patted his withers. Her blood felt fizzy with being alive and free, with the joy of the sun’s caress, with the sounds and smells that rushed back with the light. The clacking sounds of grasshoppers, the sough of the wind, the twittering of larks and sparrows twined together into a symphony, brilliant as the sunshine.

  They ambled their way down the slope, the gelding pausing here and there to crop at a sparse bit of grass fringing a boulder. Reisil did not push him, knowing that the toll on his mind and spirits had been heavy, made worse by hunger and thirst. She wondered what had broken the spell, and hoped it had broken for the others as it had for her, if indeed they had been caught up in the spell.

  Finding the entrance to the river canyon was more difficult than Reisil expected. It took a sharp twist and snaked away at a right angle from the bluff, forcing them to drop down into the valley and circle the steep mountain slopes.

  Reisil feared that in turning south to search for the river, she was putting a greater distance between herself and her missing companions. But in all truth, she had no idea where she’d left them or how far away, and the need for water was a more pressing concern.

  More than once exhaustion and growing weakness made her stumble over the hummocks of stone and weeds. Saljane was heavy on her shoulder and the sun hot on her head. She wished for her floppy straw hat, left behind in her cottage. Her cloak with its deep hood was too heavy to wear and she tied it behind her cantle. If this kept up much longer, she’d have to ask Saljane to perch on the saddle instead. But Reisil rebelled against the thought. Saljane was hers to care for. Putting her on the saddle smacked of surrender, of cowardice. She kept walking.

  At last the mountains’ smoky blue shadows lengthened, extending their cooling protection over the weary trio. But those same shadows signaled the fast-approaching dusk. Reisil increased their pace. Before long the gelding’s head came up and his ears pricked forward. He whinnied, dragging against the reins. Reisil jogged to keep up, chewing her lips against the streaking pain in her neck and side. Saljane clutched deeper on the padded wooden perch on Reisil’s shoulder, raising her wings for balance.

  The gelding led them up a wash through a notch between the folds of the hills. They followed a game track packed dry and hard, picking their way around the litter of tumbled rocks and scrub. Reisil’s legs and ankles ached with the strain of the climb as they scrabbled up a steep incline. They came to the top and entered a narrow passage like a corridor through the crest of the hill. Reisil could not fit beside the gelding and instead led the way, hearing her saddle scraping the gray rock walls. The passage ended abruptly after forty paces and they stepped out onto a gentle slope that rolled down to the river. The gelding let out an eager neigh and tugged at the reins. Reisil hurried, unwilling to turn him loose, fearing he’d wander off.

  She set up her small camp in a grassy space bounded by trees on three sides with the river on the fourth. After the gelding had drunk his fill, she picketed him out in the tall grass and set about catching her dinner. She caught two trout, each the length of her forearm. These she cleaned, stuffing them with watercress, wild onions and mushrooms she found growing along the bank. She packed them in a coating of mud and moss before setting them in the coals of her crackling fire. She then returned to her line, catching four more fish in quick ord
er.

  ~Eat what you like, she told Saljane when she tossed the first flopping trout to the bank. Catching fish has never been so easy. I could probably pull them out with my hands.

  Like the gelding, Saljane set to eating with gusto. Reisil marveled at the clean, economical way the bird ate. Finally Saljane was sated and Reisil told her to go to sleep in the basket.

  Reisil washed herself in the frigid shallows of the river, her body blue with goose bumps. Her fingers touched the pendant hanging around her neck, low between her breasts. In all that had happened, she’d forgotten it. She ran her fingers over it, feeling its weight, wondering why Nurema had given it to her, how it had stopped the wizard’s attack the night of Ceriba’s kidnapping. The amber eyes of the gryphon glowed in the dying sunlight like rich, dark honey. They seemed knowing, watchful. Reisil looked away, dropping the pendant and resuming her chilly bath.

  She carefully pulled free the bandages on her side, yelping when they stuck. She washed her wounds, pleased to see that they were closing nicely despite her fall. She rubbed on some of Odiltark’s ointment and rebound them.

  By this time her supper was ready and she cracked open the mud cocoon on her first fish. She gobbled greedily, burning her fingers, lips and tongue. She ate both, then filleted the remaining fish and laid them over a rack of twigs she bound together with tough blades of the green grass. She raked out the coals into a little trench she dug beside the fire and set the rack carefully over them. She built up the fire again and then sat back, enjoying the crisp mountain night, her mind wandering over the past days like fingers over harpstrings, thinking ahead to finding her companions and resuming the search for Ceriba.

  Saljane would soon be able to take short flights, which would aid their search greatly. Koijots was a good tracker, but with Saljane they could look much farther, faster. Not only that, she might be able to warn them of traps or ambushes.

  Reisil’s mind scudded on to Ceriba. How was she? What had they done to her?

  Kaval’s face rose up in her mind’s eye and grief squeezed her heart. For a moment she could almost feel his urgent grip on her hips, his lips pressing against hers. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She shivered. She wasn’t naï̈ve or stupid. She knew what men could do to a woman, especially if they planned to kill her anyway. Did Kaval even now grip Ceriba’s waist with the same urgency he’d gripped Reisil’s? Did he press his lips to Ceriba’s, choking off her cries? Reisil bit back a sob.

  She didn’t want to think Kaval capable of such a thing. She didn’t want to think she could have cared so for such a man. But still a knot turned tighter in her stomach and she remembered the bruises on Ceriba’s beautiful face. Oh, Lady, what has Kaval done?

  Reisil stumbled down the riverbank away from the camp as her sobs broke loose and tore open her throat. She sank down under a cottonwood, head on her knees, her tears coming in guttural, choking cries.

  ~What grieves you?

  Reisil started and sat up, her chest heaving as she wiped away her tears. Saljane stood awkwardly on the ground, her talons curling into the black river soil.

  ~I’ll be fine.

  ~You grieve, Saljane insisted.

  Reisil said nothing and Saljane hopped forward, her amber eyes sparking red in the light of the setting sun. Reisil thought of the talisman around her neck.

  ~We are ahalad-kaaslane.

  ~I know.

  ~You think telling me of your grief will hurt me?

  ~Yes.

  Saljane tilted her head, thinking, and Reisil marveled at how easy this silent speaking had become. As if she were born to it. The smile that touched her lips was bittersweet.

  ~We are ahalad-kaaslane, Saljane finally said in her mind. We cannot hide from each other. Strength together, weak apart. The Lady wills it.

  Reisil hesitated, then nodded. Only by sharing themselves—bad or good—could they strengthen their bond. Keeping secrets would only weaken the goshawk’s faith in Reisil. Saljane would know she was not trusted.

  Reisil reached out her arm and Saljane climbed onto its unprotected length, careful not to dig her talons into Reisil’s flesh. Bracing her arm across her knees, Reisil brought Saljane up so that she could look into the goshawk’s eyes, her throat knotting as she searched for the right words.

  ~It’s complicated for me. I have chosen to follow the path the Lady has set for me, and I don’t want to turn back. I don’t. But I miss my home, and I miss being a tark. I dread seeing Kaval. I cared so much for him—I still do. What kind of person does that make me, knowing what he’s done?

  Reisil felt Saljane’s steel touch in her mind. She forced herself to relax, to let her ahalad-kaaslane see her memories and feel her emotions. Would her Saljane understand the knotted guilt, betrayal, joy and loss she felt?

  Finally the bird withdrew.

  ~This does not hurt me. You grieve for what is past. But we are ahalad-kaaslane now.

  ~And Kaval?

  ~Sometimes the egg rots in the nest, though it looks the same as the others, was Saljane’s terse reply.

  In that Reisil understood that whatever confusion and grief she felt for what she’d lost, for how stupid she’d been, for how easy she’d been to deceive, Saljane understood and forgave—even though Reisil could not yet forgive herself. Her tears began again, this time healing tears. That someone knew and forgave—it lent her peace. And more.

  The tie forged between them would be lifelong, and whatever she’d lost—or rather, whatever she had left behind—she had gained something greater. Without her bond with Saljane, Reisil would not be here searching for Ceriba. No one would. The kidnappers would have spirited her away without hardly a trace. Sodur was right. As a tark Reisil could make a difference to a few, to Kallas. But as an ahalad-kaaslane and a tark, she could prevent a war. Blessed Lady willing.

  Reisil sniffed and wiped her eyes, touching the gryphon pendant through the material of her shirt. Its essence was the fierce life of the animal world, Saljane’s indomitable will and strength, the heartbeat of the mountains and trees, the rivers and oceans. Blessed Amiya herself.

  “Lady, lead me straight and true,” she murmured. “I will follow whatever path you set for me with all my strength and heart. And I’ll not let my feelings for Kaval stop me from what I must do.” She looked at the bird.

  ~Let’s get some sleep. We’ve had a difficult journey, and tomorrow we begin again.

  Chapter 11

  “Koijots is dead.” Reisil blinked at Glevs, unable to grasp the meaning of his blunt declaration. She glanced at Upsakes, who had sat down on a rock to tighten the laces of his boots. His weirmart crouched on her belly in the thin grass. Both men were streaked with dirt, their clothes torn, hands and faces crosshatched with scores from thorns and thistles. Upsakes had lost his horse, and Glevs’s mare hopped awkwardly along on three legs, carrying her left forefoot off the ground.

  “How?” Reisil asked finally.

  She had encountered Upsakes and Glevs shortly before noon, having returned to the forest and trailed around its edge. After several hours she had ridden up onto a slope, hoping that Saljane might spy something from that advantage.

  The two men emerged out of the trees into the brilliant mountain sunshine a league away. She yelled and waved, but they did not see her, and instead turned away and began picking their way north. She rode after them as fast as she dared, but the pain tincture she’d swallowed that morning was swiftly wearing off and she could not bear too much jostling. Nor did she want to risk the gelding losing his footing on the rocky slope.

  She overtook them as the shadows lengthened to fill the rolling space between the foothills and the forest. Glevs called a greeting to her in a glad voice, then delivered his bad news.

  “Koijots is dead.”

  “How?”

  “Tumbled into a ravine,” Upsakes answered. “Right when that foul darkness let up. Startled him, maybe. He’d wandered up to the edge of it—he was leading us along—and then the light came back and he
went down. Lucky we didn’t follow him in. Broke his back. Nothing we could do for him.”

  Upsakes spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing what to eat for breakfast. The tone chilled Reisil. She’d have felt better with a hint of the hatred she knew he felt for wizards.

  “We’re without a tracker or horses. Ellini help us, for if she doesn’t, I don’t know how we’ll find Ceriba now.” Glevs sounded weary and bleak as he called upon the Patversemese deity of luck and war. Though he did not voice the words, Reisil knew what he was thinking: that they might not find Ceriba in time.

  “We will find her without your wizard,” Upsakes declared with a haughty wave of his hand. “We likely have a better chance without him. My guess is that his spell on the boat warned them, led them right to us. So to my mind, the bastard got what he deserved. You can bet good money I won’t be stopped by tawdry wizard tricks. I am ahalad-kaaslane and it will take more than a bit of darkness to put me off the trail.”

  Upsakes’s had stood up and his face had turned a mottled red, his lips twisting. He looked as he had on the boat when he’d attacked her, Reisil realized uneasily. And he was spoiling for a fight.

  He got one in Glevs. The Patversemese knight moved more quickly than Reisil could have expected in his condition. In a blink he’d closed on Upsakes and slammed his fist into the other man’s jaw, knocking him back. The crack of the blow echoed against the hills. Glevs drove his other fist into Upsakes’s gut. The other man doubled over, then charged into the knight, driving his shoulder into his gut with the bellowing grunt of a bull.

  Then they were rolling on the ground, pummeling each other as Upsakes’s weirmart chirped her distress, racing back and forth in the grass.

  Reisil could do nothing to stop them. Shouting did no good. She doubted they even heard her. The dun snorted and tossed his head, edging away from the scrabbling men, and she let him. She wasn’t going to try to break them up. She wasn’t going to get knocked about, tearing open her stitches for such schoolboy nonsense.