Path of Fate

by Diana Pharaoh Francis

  “Guild used to be a balance of two orders, separate but equal. Then the Nethieche decided they wanted more than just half and set about destroying the Whieche. And they were successful. Now that they have full control of the Guild, they mean to have even more.”

  The wagon rumbled to a dusty halt beside the pile of wood. Edelsat’s men and a handful of townspeople milled around, standing well away, as if the dead wizard might carry an infectious disease.

  “Give us hand, Juhrnus. Nothing more we can do here, but I’d like to send this one back to his master.” Juhrnus started and stepped up to the wagon, gaze fixed on the dead man. Flies crawled over his slack cheeks and into his nostrils, clustering in his ruined eye. Juhrnus’s nose flared and his hands curled into fists.

  This was his second death, Reisil thought. But he hadn’t really paid any attention to Glevs. He’d been so caught up in his grief and then joy over Esper. Looking at the wizard’s body, she felt only malice, thinking of Ceriba’s torment. What did Juhrnus feel? Hate? Horror? Fear?

  “The boy’s got a taste of it,” Edelsat murmured to Sodur. “Might be his making.”

  “I hope so. He’s grown up something of a bully, but if he can be turned around, he’ll do all right. He’s made a start in this last week. This journey has shaken him up. It’s a bitter pill to find out the evil men can do, and how much you have to lose.”

  Juhrnus looked up at the two men, his voice strained but steady. “Handy trick, throwing a knife like that. Suppose you could teach me?”

  Edelsat chuckled, and Sodur grinned, slapping Juhrnus on the back.

  “You’ll do, my boy. You’ll do.”

  “How much farther?” Sodur asked.

  Edelsat pointed to the broken hills thrusting up like knucklebones across the northern horizon.

  “Through the Bonelands. The Vorshtar plain lies beyond. It curves like a sickle blade around the top of the Dume Griste mountains, stretching nearly to Kodu Riik. You’ve seen the edges of it near Kallas, where it turns into swampmire and fens before draining into the Urdzina. If we continue this pace, two days to the plain. After that, another day to the Conclave site.”

  Reisil remembered that day in Kallas when the herald had brought news of the treaty. She remembered the smell of the white hellebore wafting up from the stagnant swamps of Patverseme. An ominous odor. Almost she could smell it again.

  Her fingers tightened on the reins and she glanced at Ceriba riding beside her. Kebonsat’s sister looked gaunt and she hugged a shroud of brooding silence around herself. Reisil frowned.

  They had left Praterside after the wizard’s pyre had burned, three days before. Ceriba, her body returned to health and having the situation explained to her, refused to let them wait any longer on her account.

  “I will not be the cause of war,” she declared in a low, vehement voice to Reisil and Kebonsat. “I will not let them win.” The others held their distance, not wanting to frighten her, but were clearly pleased when Kebonsat reported her response. Reisil was impressed by their reaction, given what Kebonsat had told her of the Patversemese treatment of “fallen” women.

  She wondered if Edelsat had spoken to them, for he never wavered in his kindness and consideration for Ceriba, treating her much as he might his own sister. Ceriba hardly seemed to notice. She functioned mechanically, rarely speaking. No one was willing to intrude on her thoughts, isolating her even more. Looking at her now, Reisil resolved to breach that wall of suffering at the evening halt.

  Edelsat’s men treated Reisil with something akin to reverence, a fact that Reisil found disconcerting and annoying.

  “Even Juhrnus has taken to being nauseatingly nice,” she complained to Sodur.

  “You have been touched by the Blessed Lady herself,” explained Sodur, who treated her as he always had. “It is not often that people see the handiwork of the gods so clearly. But you’re right. It is a bit flashy. You could try wearing a hood over your head, if that would make you feel better. But then people would likely still point and stare, though be less kind about it.”

  Reisil found herself chuckling and her mood lightened. Still, when Juhrnus tried to take over the chore of rubbing down her mount that evening, she lost her temper.

  “If I had known, growing up with you bullying me every day, that all it would take to turn you into a gentleman was a pretty picture on my face, I’d have painted it on a long time ago,” she fumed. “I am no different today than I was yesterday, and if you didn’t like me then, then you shouldn’t like me now. So stop it or I swear I’ll put snakes in your bedroll and bees in your boots.”

  She glared at him, hands on her hips. He took a step back, his face turning crimson. Then through gritted teeth he said, “I am trying to be nice.”

  Reisil smiled. “Juhrnus, from you, nice is just letting me be and not teasing me to death. You do that and I will not shout at you again.”

  His lips quirked unwillingly and Reisil found herself looking at the real Juhrnus for the first time since Esper’s near death. Good. He was growing and learning, but becoming another person entirely wasn’t healthy either. She wanted—no, needed—for him to be his infuriating self so that she didn’t forget herself. She did not want to succumb to delusions of grandeur as had Upsakes.

  The Blessed Lady had blessed her with a gift beyond dreams—she couldn’t begin to imagine what she could do, and she had told none of her companions about it. She wasn’t ready to bear the burden of that yet. Enormous power to heal and more. What more? Would she become like the wizards? Everything she knew of them was evil. Was it the power that twisted them? Did none of them do anything good with it? Would she turn into someone like Kvepi Buris, killing just to prove she could? Or would the power consume her so that she felt no guilt in slaughtering an entire town? Reisil trembled, fear prickling the hair on her skin.

  If she were not to fall prey to such a trap, she must be reminded of her failings. Who better to do that than Juhrnus, who had, from the time she was a child, done nothing but?

  “On second thought, Juhrnus, tease me all you want. Just stop treating me like I’m a shadow of the Lady. I am not. Deal?” She held out her hand and Juhrnus looked at it and then back up at her face. His smile widened and he gripped her hand.

  “It’s a deal, little sister. Better hurry up about that horse, though, or you’ll miss dinner. And with your bones poking out of your skin like a scrawny scarecrow, you can hardly afford it.”

  Reisil smiled, glad for the first time in her life to hear him call her little sister. She turned back to her horse, hearing the chuckling of the men around her as they unsaddled and set up camp. Relief swept over her in a wave. Maybe that would put an end to their awestruck deference.

  “And you wondered why the Lady would choose such a one as Juhrnus,” Sodur said to her as he led his horse past. “You need a thorn in your side to remind you of who you are, of the land and people you serve. In time he will grow into a fine man with a temper and passions, but there will always be others who will remind you, as they remind all of us. It is the Blessed Lady’s wisdom.”

  Ceriba endured the trip in silence. She was not used to hard riding, and each night Reisil went quietly through the camp giving healing where she could, beginning with the horses and ending with Ceriba, Saljane ever present on her shoulder.

  “You have done enough for me. Saddle sores and blisters—these are nothing.” Ceriba’s tone was sullen and resentful. Reisil looked at her a long moment and then stretched out her hand to help her up.

  “Come with me. I would speak with you alone.”

  Kebonsat protested for their safety as they departed, but Reisil gave him a quelling look and he subsided.

  The wind whistled among the finger bluffs marking the edge of the long valley. The sound was lonesome and mournful and made Reisil’s skin prickle.

  She led Ceriba on a winding path, well out of earshot of the camp.

  “You have not spoken of your ordeal to me or anyone else,” Reisil b
egan in a crisp voice. She knew Ceriba would not respond well to pity or softness. “I believe that you are making a mistake, one that will destroy your life.”

  “Destroy my life?” Ceriba laughed shrilly. “My life is destroyed. No man will have me, nor will I be received in polite circles. I will be a constant embarrassment to my family.”

  Ceriba spoke bitterly, and Reisil could feel her impotent rage like heat from a fire.

  “So do something different,” she suggested. Ceriba stopped and stared at her as if she had gone insane.

  “Different? There’s nothing different to do. I cannot regain my reputation. I cannot regain my virginity. I must trust your word that I am not with child—for all I know they destroyed my ability to do that, too. Not that it matters.”

  Reisil sat down on a rock and stroked Saljane, who rode on her shoulder.

  “Your life is not over because the path turned from where you thought it would, or should, go. Hear me out,” she said when Ceriba would have interrupted her. “I have not experienced what you have. But I have had my life changed drastically. I had a choice to make also: Embrace the new path or don’t, and live with the consequences. My consequences were you—if I did not embrace Saljane, you would have died, and Kodu Riik and Patverseme would certainly suffer another long, bloody war, with horrors to the lands and people that I do not even care to imagine. I chose Saljane. It has been painful. But I would not have done it differently.

  “You say you have nothing else to do. I have a proposition. You have been roughly used, and though your body has healed, your mind has not. If you go home, I imagine your life will be as you expect and you will become something twisted and bitter, no matter how much your family loves you.

  “But you have another option, a path of purpose and hope. I believe that you must take control of your life from those who love you, even as you must from those who kidnapped you. Only in this way will you save yourself, and I think your family. Watching you suffer would be terrible, and might very well destroy them from within.” She paused. “You are no delicate flower that you cannot flourish in another place, despite what has happened.

  “I suggest you go to my old teacher and mentor—Elutark. She has need of a new student, and what is more, she will help you come to terms with what has happened. In time you will grow strong again. No one turns away a tark; no one snubs or insults a tark. You will walk amongst people with pride again, instead of with your head bowed as you do amongst us. You will help people, and I promise you that it will give you joy. I know it is not the life you would have chosen for yourself, but it is a better choice than the one you foresee, is it not?”

  Reisil stopped, her tongue caught between her teeth. She had rehearsed this speech for days, knowing that Kebonsat would rage at her when he found out. But she believed to the soles of her feet that this was a good choice for Ceriba—one that would allow her to heal and to feel capable and in control again. She was gratified to see that the other woman was thinking about it.

  Ceriba paced away, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She strode back and forth, tears streaming down her face. Reisil waited, knowing this was a decision only Ceriba could make. The minutes ticked back. The other woman’s face contorted and her breath came in short, coughing rasps.

  “I will see my family again, won’t I?” Ceriba’s hands clung together, white knuckled.

  “Of course. They may visit you during your training, and you go where you like after. Training is not prison, and Elutark is a gentle taskmaster.”

  Ceriba licked her lips, scuffing at the dirt with the moccasin-boot Reisil had given her.

  “You think I can do it?”

  Reisil smiled, saddened by the uncertainty and self-doubt in Ceriba’s voice. She remembered such a different woman in Kallas, one who was selfassured and decisive, confident of herself and her world. But that woman had disappeared.

  “I do. I would not suggest it otherwise.”

  “And Elutark will want me?”

  “I think so.”

  Ceriba resumed her pacing, her breath growing steadier. She stopped again in front of Reisil. She licked her lips. She began to speak, but her voice wouldn’t come. She cleared her throat, trying again.

  “I’ll do it.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she pressed her hand to her lips, her chin quivering.

  “Good. Meet me at the gates of Kallas two weeks from the end of this mess, and I will show you the way.”

  “You’re not—How will I get to Kallas?” Ceriba’s voice turned high and frightened. Reisil squeezed her hand.

  “I have to return to Edelsat’s home at all speeds. There is grave illness there. And you must take the first steps yourself. You must learn your own strength and commit to this wholley. Your family will fight your decision and it must be you, not I, who bids them farewell and walks away. It is you who must take the path. I will help you find the way.”

  “I don’t know. . . .”

  Ceriba sank down beside Reisil and Reisil put her arm around the other woman’s shoulder. It was a hard thing to ask, so soon after her awful ordeal. But Ceriba must take those steps herself. Between now and then she would be sorely pressed to remain with her family. There was no doubt in Reisil’s mind that staying would cripple Ceriba forever. Living with Elutark and learning to be a healer would give her the opportunity regain her confidence and sense of independence. But only if Ceriba chose that path.

  “You think about it. I’ll be waiting outside Kallas for you. Now we’d better get back.”

  They encountered Kebonsat halfway. He cast Reisil an inquiring look and she shrugged.

  “I was explaining to your sister that I must heal all hurts—large or small—if we are going to reach Vorshtar in time to do any good. So she will have to put up with my ministrations until then.”

  As Resil left them together and returned to the camp, she averted her head from the prisoners, bound to the wheels of a wagon. The first night of their jouney, Kaval had tried to speak to her. Wanting, she supposed, to explain. As if he could. But just hearing his voice conjured the memory of him grappling with Ceriba, his hands smeared with her blood. The recollection turned Resil’s stomach. She could not see him. Not yet, not without wanting to kill him.

  Two days later, they emerged from the aptly named Bonelands. Before them spread the Vorshtar plain. It filled the horizon north and east, while the proud reaches of the Dume Griste mountains dwindled away to undulating hills in the west. Green and gold grasses rippled in the summery breeze, making the prairie lands resemble nothing more than a vast, verdant ocean.

  “Where to now?” asked Juhrnus.

  Edelsat pointed, shading his squinting eyes with the other hand. “Over there, at the old Conclave site, on the banks of the Trieste River. A long time ago, warlords met there to parley. It was sacred. Clerics would mark off a space and whoever entered was guaranteed safe passage. Their conclaves lasted sometimes for months. Good water, grazing and hunting.” He glanced at Kebonsat and then back to Juhrnus. “See those smudges? Smoke—a lot of fires.”

  “Big armies,” Sodur commented.

  “I didn’t know they could gather so fast,” Reisil said.

  “The troops and horses were well rested from the truce. I doubt much infantry has arrived. These will be cavalry units,” Kebonsat said. “Some of those people will be support staff.”

  “We can’t just walk in. By now they’ll know something went wrong. They’ll be looking for us.”

  Edelsat glanced at the prisoner wagon, guarded by six of his men.

  Reisil followed his gaze and found Kaval staring at her. He’d not tried to speak to her since that first night, but his eyes followed her constantly, pleading. She still carried the scarf he’d given her the day before he left in the bottom of her saddlebags. Every time she touched it, she felt dirty. A reminder that she wasn’t yet done with him. Sooner or later she would have to confront Kaval, to quit him face-to-face.

  “Let’s go closer and ge
t the lay of the land,” Edelsat suggested. “As many of us as there are, and armed, we shouldn’t stand out.”

  “What about them?” Kebonsat gestured at the prisoners.

  “I’ll take care of them. They’ll be no trouble,” Reisil declared flatly, flexing her fingers on her reins. “We’ll just want something to cover them with.”

  “Or my men could knock them out,” Edelsat offered quickly, frowning.

  Reisil shook her head, grateful for his concern for her welfare. “If I put them out, they won’t wake again until I want them to. If you bash them on the head, we won’t be sure.” She shrugged, feeling faintly disgusted with herself that she didn’t particularly care for the harm that might be done to Kaval and his companions if Edelsat’s men cracked their heads. Her only concern was seeing the treaty signed and the war averted.

  “You’re certain? My men wouldn’t mind.”

  Reisil glanced at the grim-faced men guarding the wagon. They had made no secret of their loathing for their charges. Indeed, they would not mind the opportunity to get some revenge on Ceriba’s behalf.

  “No, it’s better this way.”

  Edelsat was unabashed and gave her a friendly grin, which she returned. She liked him. He had an easy way about him, though he commanded quick respect from his men. He was thoughtful, clearheaded and compassionate, though she had no doubt that on the battlefield Edelsat would strike fear into the hearts of his opponents. He and Kebonsat had spent many hours over the last days discussing strategies for what to do next. Listening to them, Reisil learned a great deal about strategy and tactics, about how armies worked and about politics.

  “It’s like a maze—there’s so much to know and so much of it seems silly and arbitrary,” she had complained to Sodur.

  He laughed. “It is why you must go to Koduteel for training. The wheels of power turn on the silly and arbitrary, petty jealousies and bitter grudges.”