by Pati Nagle
“Yes.”
The Small Sleeper stood well apart from the Ebons, jutting up from the plain in the distance, not as high but nearly as striking as its larger fellow. It was between those two peaks that Dejharin had taken his army, having brought them across the Ebons at Twisted Pine Pass. Eliani peered at the steep, broken slopes they must have descended to reach the plain, and her respect for Dejharin increased.
Vanorin started forward again, and Eliani followed slowly, her gaze still drawn to the looming mountain. The sun was near the horizon now, and a filmy haze began to dim its brightness once more. Fog clung in hollows of the cliffs below, ready to spread across the mountains again when evening fell.
Kobalen dwelt in those lands, but they were not the only danger there. The alben also dwelt west of the Ebons. They had a city, Kelevon had said—and a leader who had sent him to deceive the Ælven Council.
A sudden cry rang out from behind Eliani, echoing against the rocks as a rumbling, sliding sound followed. She turned and watched in horror as the trail collapsed beneath one of the horses toward the rear of the party, a frightened guardian sliding after it down the slope.
Shouts of alarm filled the air. Vanorin brushed past her. Eliani handed her reins to Ghithlaran, then followed the captain back along the trail, hastening past horses and guardians. She came near to losing her own footing in her haste to reach the collapse. Vanorin stood beside another Greenglen male—Sunahran—and called down the mountainside.
“Verashi!”
Sunahran peered down, frowning. “Do you see her?”
A frightened whinny rose from below, setting up a nervous answer among the rest of the horses. Eliani reached the collapse and leaned forward to stare down into the dust and shadow of the slope.
Hands caught her arms and pulled her back. She turned her head and saw it was Luruthin, his face pale and his brow furrowed with dismay.
Vanorin called out again. “Verashi!”
“Here.”
The response was faint. Vanorin dropped to his knees beside the trail, peering down through the gathering dusk.
“Are you hurt?”
“A l-little. I turned my ankle.”
“Do not move. We will lower a rope.”
He stood and took a rope from the saddle of the nearest horse. With Sunahran’s help he tied it to the saddle, then made a sling to send down to Verashi.
Eliani looked up at the trail beyond the collapse, where three guardians stood with their horses, staring helplessly back at her and their other companions. She glanced at the sun and saw its lower edge now flattened. She had never seen such a thing before, and it took her a moment to realize the sun was starting to pass below the western horizon. She turned to call to the guardians cut off by the collapse.
“Gælvanin, you three go back to Althill! Tell them what happened. Tell them Ghithlaran is safe. He will come with us and return by the North Road.”
Gælvanin hesitated, looking at the two others with him, one a Greenglen and the other a Stonereach like himself. He took a step toward Eliani, and the ground a short way before him gave, sending another slide of pebbles and dirt down the mountain. All three hastily moved back. Looking unhappy, Gælvanin made a stiff bow.
“Yes, my lady.”
She watched them turn away. Vanorin put a hand on her arm. She looked up at him and saw his brow knit with concern.
“I must ask you to move forward on the trail. The ground here is still unstable.”
“Yes.” She looked at Luruthin and the others crowded near. “All of us should move.”
She led the party northward, slowly bringing the nervous horses away from the slide. When she reached Ghithlaran, she found him looking pale and alarmed.
“Did someone die?”
“No, no. The trail collapsed and one guardian fell, but Vanorin will bring her up again.”
She said nothing of the horse, which most likely would have to be abandoned, killed out of mercy whether or not it was injured. Verashi would have to do it once she was secured with the rope.
“You are trapped with us for a little longer, I fear.” She smiled at Ghithlaran, hoping to distract him. “Are we far from the crest of the pass?”
He shook his head. “Not far at all. See that crag where the two pines stand?”
Eliani nodded, though “stand” was not the word she would have used. The two trees were large, so they must be old, but they seemed to cling tenuously to the rocks, their limbs twisted back by years of punishing wind.
“Lead on, then. Show me these springs you promised. I hope they are hot.”
“Very hot, mistress.”
The glint in Ghithlaran’s eyes and his sudden grin showed she had succeeded in distracting his thoughts. Young rogue. He was probably imagining her unclad.
When they reached the two pines, she looked west once more, in time to see the last misty glint of the sun sink below the strange, flat horizon. The trail had curved, and she could now see Vanorin and Sunahran slowly hauling Verashi up the slope.
The fallen guardian looked rather battered, covered with dust and a dark smear of blood here and there. Her saddle packs and fodder net were slung over her shoulders, and she used one foot and her free hand to steady herself against the slope, the other foot hanging limply as she held it away from anything that might touch it.
Eliani held her breath until Verashi was up, hauled the last armspan by the two males reaching down to grab her. They pulled her upright, and Verashi winced as her injured foot touched the ground.
A cheer rose up from the watching escort, but Eliani quickly hushed it. “Noise might set more of the slope to collapsing. Come, let us make room for them.”
Vanorin and Sunahran lifted Verashi onto the waiting horse, then started forward to join the party. Breathing relief, Eliani turned away and stepped between the two gnarled pines.
Tall rocks closed in about her, cutting off the wind. The air was thin and cold, and with night falling she saw her breath misting before her.
The trail grew level, then began to descend. The narrow valley through which they walked opened out, and trees began to appear, pines standing tall, as they should, untroubled by the vicious winds to the west.
Ghithlaran looked back over his shoulder. “Not far now, mistress. There is a good camp near the springs.”
Stars were glinting between the treetops by the time he led them into a large clearing against a wall of gray rock surrounded by forest. A trickle of running water sounded nearby. Eliani spied a small cascade, no more than a rod high, falling down the face of the rock.
Ghithlaran pointed northward along the foot of the bluff. “The hot springs are that way. A short walk.”
“How many will they hold at once?”
“Oh, a good ten, mistress. Shall I lead you there?”
Eliani saw Vanorin coming toward her. “In a little while. Take some of the others first.”
Vanorin looked worried as he stopped before her. “Will you come and look at Verashi’s injuries?”
“Of course. She has more than one?”
“A few scrapes. It is the foot that concerns me. I fear it may be broken.”
Eliani winced then nodded. Vanorin led her toward the waterfall. Verashi was sitting beside the small pool at its base, her back against the rock, huddled in her dusty cloak with her legs stretched out before her. Sunahran was nearby, building a fire from a scatter of kindling and pine cones.
Eliani knelt before the injured guardian, peering at her face. One cheek was scraped, and her hair was tangled and smeared with blood.
“You gave us a fright, Verashi.”
Verashi smiled weakly. “Myself, also.”
“I am sorry about your horse.”
The guardian frowned and gulped, and sudden tears slid down her cheeks. She looked down, blinking.
“I do not know why I should be so upset. Its legs were broken; it would not have survived.”
Eliani reached out a hand to grasp Verashi’s
left shoulder. Warmth leapt up within her palm. Verashi drew a shuddering breath, then grew calmer.
“May I look at your ankle?”
Verashi nodded and drew her left leg up out of the way, leaving the right lying limp along the ground. “It twisted when I fell. I cannot put weight on it.”
Eliani folded her legs beneath her and peered at the injured ankle. It was swollen enough to make the soft leather of Verashi’s boot taut. A bad sign.
Feeling awkward, Eliani held her hands out above the ankle, not touching it for fear of hurting Verashi. She might have a gift, but she had no training in the healer’s art, which involved knowledge of the flesh as much as application of khi.
Spirits, help me. Give me guidance.
She lowered her hands to within a handspan of Verashi’s foot, and heat bloomed in her palms. In her mind a phantom image of the foot began to take shape. Dull red surrounded it, with dark shards of pain leaping up at any small movement. Eliani’s instinct was to draw away, but instead she shifted her attention past the darkness, closer to the flesh.
She sensed throbbing in Verashi’s khi, a heartbeat with which the pain swelled and ebbed. The khi that moved through her own hands was steady, golden and warm. She watched it spread around the foot and begin to dissipate the cloud of pain.
Closer still, her attention focused down into the flesh itself, exploring structure, seeking damage. Eliani did not see so much as sense the swollen tissue, the strained tendon, and the bruised muscle. Bones seemed like pearly sculpture, columns and arches and other wondrous shapes, beautiful in their fragile strength. Those in the ankle were sound, but an angry red spike of trouble rose from one of the long bones in the foot.
Eliani focused her attention there and perceived a crack marring the ivory length of bone nearest the outside of the foot. She directed khi to it and saw the red soften.
She stayed there, observing as the khi that flowed through her hands blended with Verashi’s khi, smoothing it, dissolving pain, easing fear. At length her hands grew cool again. She withdrew them and opened her eyes, blinking.
Golden firelight flickered against the stone cliff, glinting in the falling water and on the ripples of the pool. Eliani sat back, surprised at the stiffness in her shoulders and legs. She had been at this longer than she had realized.
“I think you have cracked a bone, just here.” Eliani gestured to the outer side of Verashi’s foot. “You will have to ride henceforth. One of the packhorses can carry you.”
Verashi sighed and nodded. “Thank you, my lady.”
“Please, not ‘my lady.’ Vanorin is spreading bad habits.”
A chuckle behind her made her turn. Beyond the fire Vanorin sat watching, along with Sunahran, who appeared highly amused. His smile faded to seriousness under Eliani’s gaze.
“Thank you, Eliani.” Vanorin nodded gravely as he spoke.
She became aware of the others in the glen. It was fully dark now, but the stars glimmered in a clear sky. Two other fires had been built, and the guardians were gathered around them, talking in quiet voices, sharing food. A spit over one fire held a skinned coney, and several guardians had speared apples—the parting gift of Althill’s folk—on sharpened twigs and propped them over the flames.
Eliani ignored her stomach’s growl in response to the tang of roasting apples, for she had noticed that some of the guardians around the fires had wet hair. Thus reminded of the hot spring, she turned back to Verashi with a brisk smile.
“Well, now. You will feel better yet after bathing. Vanorin, perhaps you and Sunahran could help her to the springs? I believe it is not far.”
Sunahran stood. “Not far at all. I walked up to see. I would be happy to help Verashi go there.”
“And I will help you bathe.”
Verashi glanced doubtfully at her injured foot. “I do not think I can get the boot off.”
Eliani nodded. “It will have to be cut.”
“I can fashion a lacing to bind it back together.”
Sunahran’s offer made Verashi smile. He and Vanorin together helped her stand and hop one-footed toward the springs. Eliani brought Verashi’s saddle pack and also a pot of soap and a spare tunic and legs from her own pack.
Wisps of steam rose from the broad, shallow pool. Several guardians were relaxing there, but they moved to make room for the newcomers. Eliani smiled her thanks, then directed Vanorin and Sunahran to ease Verashi down beside the pool.
Vanorin drew a small knife, with which he made a long cut down the outside of Verashi’s boot; then he carefully removed it from the injured foot. Verashi winced and gripped Sunahran’s supporting arms rather fiercely but made no cry. Eliani shooed the males away and helped Verashi undress, then shucked her own leathers and clothes and carefully eased Verashi into the pool.
Verashi hissed as her foot went into the hot water, then gave a long sigh. “Thank you, my—Eliani.”
Eliani smiled, reaching for the pot of soap she had left at the pool’s edge. “You are welcome. Let me wash the dust out of your hair.”
Dust and matted blood. Eliani eased her fingers through the tangles and gently sought for cuts as she rubbed the herbal soap into Verashi’s scalp. She found one small one—Verashi winced when she touched it—but most of the guardian’s injuries seemed to be bruises. Eliani was silently thankful it was not worse.
She looked across the pool, where Vanorin, Sunahran, and Luruthin all sat in the water, pretending not to watch. She called to them.
“I think it would be best if Verashi returned to Althill with Ghithlaran.”
Verashi seemed relieved. “Yes. I fear I would not be of much use to you now.”
“You will be of considerable use to me by going with Ghithlaran. Keep him out of mischief, see him home.”
An injured guardian was not ideal protection for a youth of thirty, but Verashi could at least talk him out of doing anything idiotic. She was pretty enough that Ghithlaran probably would listen. He might even be inspired to a mood of protectiveness.
Eliani looked at Vanorin almost as an afterthought. “If this meets your approval, Captain.”
“And if it does not?”
Eliani felt herself blushing but held on to her dignity. “I would hear your alternative suggestion, of course.”
Vanorin chuckled. “I do approve.”
Relieved, Eliani washed her own hair, then emerged from the water, quickly dressing. She helped Verashi out of the pool and into her clothes, then bundled the guardian’s cloak around her. This time again it was Sunahran who supported Verashi, and he had found a branch for her to use as a crutch. By the time they reached camp, the two of them were talking in soft voices.
Eliani watched Sunahran tenderly help Verashi sit down by one of the fires. It was clear that the injured guardian would not lack a comforting embrace tonight.
Suddenly lonely, Eliani turned away and saw Luruthin also watching the two Greenglens, his damp hair loose about his shoulders. He met her gaze and smiled in commiseration. He was bound, too, and also far from his love.
Eliani went to her saddle pack to put away her jar of soap. A cloth-wrapped bundle, small and slim, caught her eye. She hesitated, then took it out and carried it to the nearest fire. Sitting across from Luruthin, she untied the ribbon and carefully unwrapped the blue cloth from a small reed flute.
“Turisan gave you that.”
Eliani nodded as she draped the cloth around her shoulders to keep the cold air off her neck. The flute had been a gift on the day of her confirmation, when she had been acknowledged not only as a full adult but as nextkin to her father and governor-elect of Alpinon. It was for that occasion that Turisan had first come to Highstone, representing Governor Jharan, who had sent with him a rich gift for Eliani of a brooch in the shape of two stags, gilt and set with jewels in Stonereach colors.
The brooch was back in Glenhallow with the rest of her finery. The flute had been Turisan’s own gift. She treasured it more, though she had not yet played it beyond t
rying a note or two.
She held it in her hands, feeling the quiet glow of khi within it. Turisan had made it, she knew. His khi suffused it. Once that had frightened her; now it was a comfort.
She raised the flute to her lips, knowing its smooth surface had rested on his own lips. Closing her eyes, she blew a note, low and soft. It seemed mournful.
She let a melody rise, her fingers moving without conscious thought, following something her heart wanted to say for which there were no words. She filled her lungs and breathed her love and loneliness into the flute. She had hope, which softened the song and kept it from becoming bitter. She had courage, drawn in part from Turisan and her awareness of his love. She let the tune build upon that, rise and become stronger, the clear notes ringing in the night air.
Behind them the little waterfall played counterpoint, quiet and constant. The last note of the melody seemed to hang in the air, ringing softly until it faded into the trees.
And Turisan was there. She felt him and offered a wordless welcome. His love enfolded her in return.
I heard your song, my love. It was beautiful.
She smiled softly and opened her eyes. Luruthin was watching, his expression tender. So were all the others, she saw. Dark eyes and green eyes gazed at her in silence. The only sounds were the water’s murmur and the crackling of the fires.
She lowered the flute to her lap. As if released by her movement, the others looked away, began to speak in quiet tones, reached for cups, and wrapped their cloaks closer. Luruthin smiled at her, then glanced at the fire, picking up a twig to toy with the coals.
How is it that you heard?
I do not know. Perhaps because the music came from your heart.
Her fingers tightened on the flute. I miss you.
And I you, love. Did you reach the pass?
Oh. Yes, after a slight misadventure.
She told him of the trail’s collapse, of Verashi’s fall and her decision to send the guardian back to Althill. Somewhat shyly, she added a brief description of her effort to heal Verashi’s injury and how she had sensed the damaged bone.
She wrapped the flute up again, tying it with the violet ribbon, wondering why she had chosen to cover it in Stonereach colors. Clinging to her past, perhaps? Or claiming Turisan’s handiwork as her own?
