"I wonder how Bolin came by him then," Ciara said.
Findley shrugged. "I asked him once. Not meaning to pry, understand. Professional curiosity is all. Said he was gifted to him as a colt, and wouldn't say more. He's a private one, is Bolin. You'd get more answers from a mute."
"He's a good man," Meriol said, looking at Ciara. "We don't need to know more than that."
"To be sure," Findley said around a mouthful of bread. "To be sure."
Meriol changed the subject then, plying Findley with questions about one mare or another. Ciara stopped listening but kept a smile pasted on her face until her cheeks ached. Every now and again she caught Meriol watching her with a tender smile, and it felt as though a fist closed around her heart.
Meriol excused herself after dinner, brushing a feather light kiss atop Ciara’s head. "It is as it should be, child."
Ciara swallowed a bitter retort, and only nodded as Meriol walked away.
"Is there anythin’ you need, miss?" Findley asked.
"Can you turn back time or change the mind of a Goddess?" she said, as she watched Meriol push past the hide covering the door to her room.
"What’s that?" He cocked his head, his face scrunched in puzzlement.
Ciara shook her head. "Nothing, Findley. Thank you."
"If you’re sure, then." He bowed to her and left, head bowed and a slump to his shoulders.
Ciara growled under her breath and shoved her chair away from the table. She should have been the one to ask Findley if he needed anything. He’d been with Meriol longer than Ciara had been alive. Still, like the rest of them, Findley seemed to be in complete accord with the Goddess's infernal will.
The dishes clattered as Ciara collected them off the table and dropped them into the wash tub. She doused them with water from the kettle she’d set over the fire, rolled up her sleeves, and set to scrubbing with more gusto than required.
A plan had crept up on her over the course of making dinner. Admittedly not the most meticulously thought out scheme, but she had to start somewhere and her choices were limited. She could either go to Dryw Hrine peacefully, or have Bolin drag her, kicking and screaming the entire way. In either case, the result would be the same. But if she snuck away well before dawn, while Bolin and Findley still slept, she could make her way to -- well, wherever she chose, which would be far away from devotees of the Goddess. Bolin would, no doubt, come after her once he found her gone, but maybe by then she’d have formed a plan with a little more solidity.
She dried her hands on her skirt and glanced at the sliver of light dancing across the floor from her aunt’s room.
They sat on the bench in the garden, watching a pair of squirrels chase each other around the apple tree. Songbirds trilled from the branches above, and the faint sweetness of honeysuckle blended with the scent of spring roses. The morning promised a beautiful day but for the darkness in Ciara’s heart.
"All of us must one day return to the Goddess’s embrace," Meriol said, her hand firmly around Ciara’s -- the only thing that kept her seated there. "Some sooner than others."
"Visions can be misinterpreted."
Meriol shook her head. "No, dear love, not this one."
"How many times have you told me that no one’s fate is carved in stone? That each moment’s choice changes the next?" Ciara’s grief turned to anger. "You can change this if you truly want."
But Meriol’s resolve held firm. "Ciara, I’m an old woman. It’s my time. Be grateful for the years we’ve had, and know that I will always be looking after you."
"From the arms of the ever-greedy Goddess," Ciara whispered into the stillness of the kitchen as the memory played out.
An old pack hung from a hook just inside the doorway of the small store room, and Ciara gave it a good shake, sneezing as dust and cobwebs went flying. They’d nearly depleted their winter stores but there were still a few pieces of smoked meat and some wrapped cheese. Ciara stuffed them into the pack, along with several handfuls of dried fruit and nuts, and a chunk of bread. That would be enough to get her through several days. She knew how to snare rabbits and harvest spring offerings from the land if she didn't find an inn or farm by the time her supplies ran out.
She climbed the ladder to her room in the loft. The soft glow of a single candle flickered across the sparse furnishings. Not much to miss by way of material possessions. Just as well, Ciara supposed. The lighter she traveled the better. She laid a change of clothing on the bed -- something more suitable for the road; loose britches, a thigh length tunic, cloak, and riding boots. The edge of her long hunting knife, a gift from Findley, glinted silver as she ran her thumb along it before returning it to its plain leather sheath. Plenty sharp if she had need of it.
She chewed her lower lip as she surveyed her meager collection, her fingers idly tracing the intricate design of the pendant at her throat. Her aunt had given it to her that day in the garden. Three silver sigils -- one each for her mother, Meriol, and the Goddess -- twined around one another in an intricate embrace. They were imbued, Meriol had told her, with a little of the magic from each. It warmed to Ciara's touch, as it always did, humming in harmony to her earth magic.
Nothing she had said or done could sway Meriol. No amount of tears or anger got through to her. And try as she might, Ciara couldn’t slow the progression of days. All her thoughts had been consumed by this one event, and she’d never even thought to look beyond it, to what would happen after. Then again, she never would have thought Meriol would send her away -- and to Dryw Hrine of all places.
Ciara scooped the knife and a few other personal belongings into her arms and added it to her pack. She paused at the bottom of the ladder, her hand against the wall. No light filtered from Meriol's room, and the house had fallen into silence. If it would have done any good, Ciara would have raced into her aunt's room and tried one last time to get Meriol to turn her back on the Goddess's plans. She sighed. It would be easier convincing the moon not to rise.
The last rays of the sun painted the leaves with pale, golden light for one brief moment as Ciara headed toward the barn. She refused to look behind her as she walked down the hill. Doing so would have forced her to acknowledge the moon just beginning its inexorable climb over the horizon. She shivered despite the warm breeze, and pulled her collar up around her neck.
The barn stood dark and empty except for the horses lucky enough to be brought in for the night. Ciara lit the lantern that hung by the door and turned up the flame just enough to see Fane tucked into his usual stall at the end of the aisle. Her eyes swept across the other horses and when they landed on the distinctive, dapple-grey hide of Sandeen, Bolin’s stallion, she twisted her mouth into a scowl. Damn Bolin. Of course he had returned before moonrise. He was, as Meriol often pointed out, a man whose word held more worth than all the coin in Guldarech. Which meant Ciara had as much chance of persuading him to abandon Meriol's plan as she did of waking up to find this all a dream.
Fane lifted his head to snuffle the carrot from Ciara’s outstretched palm when she entered his stall. He nosed her to make sure there weren’t more treats hiding in one of her pockets then dropped his nose toward the ground and went back to sleep. Ciara stowed her pack in the corner, covering it with a thick layer of straw. She leaned back against the gelding's shoulder, eyes closed. Oh, to be a horse and have no worries beyond -- well, whatever horses worried about. Likely not much. Not when they had a barn to keep them safe and food to keep their bellies full.
Ciara tried to match her breathing to Fane's and find the peace he had, but images of Meriol danced behind her eyelids. The wave of grief and loneliness that washed over Ciara caught her off guard and she couldn't stop the tears that accompanied it. This time she let them come, sobbing quietly, her face pressed against Fane, her fists clenched as tightly as the hand squeezing her heart. She didn't move until there were no more tears left and she felt totally drained and washed of all emotion.
Only then did she feel the spider-like
sensation that flitted across the nape of her neck.
She jerked her head up to find Bolin standing a few stalls down, caressing the nose of one of the mares. Ciara turned her back to him, wiping her sleeve hastily across her face. She grabbed Fane’s front foot and lifted it as though to clean his hoof, and the gelding tossed his head and snorted in surprise.
"Readying him for the road?" Bolin asked. He left the mare and strolled to the open door of Fane's stall. "That would work better with a pick, wouldn't it?"
Fane pulled his foot out of Ciara’s grasp and stretched forward to greet Bolin and Ciara took the opportunity to move to his off side, putting the placid gelding between them.
"We'll leave with the dawn," Bolin said when she didn't answer. "Unless that’s too early for you?"
"Tomorrow?" Ciara had hoped Bolin would wait a day or so, out of respect for her loss if nothing else. "Why so soon?"
"Is there a reason to tarry?"
Ciara's brain scrambled to come up with a reason to delay his plans. "There are things I need to set in order."
"Meriol has already set everything in order."
"So I'm allowed no time to grieve? Or are you so cold you don’t feel the need?"
Bolin caught Fane’s head and ran his hand up the gelding’s long nose to massage his forehead. "I grieve that the people lose a skilled healer, and I a friend. But I rejoice that Meriol will find her peace."
"I hadn’t noticed she wasn’t at peace already." Ciara glared over Fane's back. "In any case, there's no need you to come with me. My aunt had no right to impose that on you."
His smile appeared less than sincere. "It’s no imposition."
It is to me, she thought.
"Some day you'll need to think of someone besides yourself," Bolin said.
Ciara narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn't have possibly heard her unspoken words. Reading someone like that only came with magic and Bolin, as far as she knew, had none. She nudged Fane in the ribs, and the gelding skipped sideways crowding Bolin back and giving her room to slip past him. But Bolin’s fingers wrapped around her upper arm before she could make a clean escape out of the stall.
"You may not see it now," he said, looking sidelong at her, "but Dryw Hrine is the best place for you."
"I don't think I’ll ever see that." Ciara twisted her arm to free herself of his grip without success. "And who are you to say what's best for me?"
Her skin tingled beneath her sleeve where Bolin held it. Ciara licked her lips as her pulse quickened. She stared at the open door, unable to bring herself to look at him. "Let go of me." It came out as a whisper.
"We leave with the dawn," he repeated, and held her a moment longer before sliding his hand from her arm.
Ciara straightened her shoulders and managed to keep her poise long enough to walk to the door. Once out of Bolin's view, however, she hiked up her skirts and bolted up the hill like a frightened rabbit, not stopping until she reached the corner of the house. She leaned against the rain barrel, panting, a hand pressed against the stitch in her side.
The air held the scent of early summer green with the faintest breath of apple blossoms and Ciara sucked it in, holding each breath before slowly releasing it into the night until her heart ceased its assault on her ribs and resumed a normal rhythm. She frowned toward the now darkened barn. Bolin must have doused the lantern after she’d left, but he hadn’t followed her to the house.
Goddess's light, why did she let the man unnerve her so easily? Of course, the fact she’d helped Meriol nurse him back to health three winters past, and so had seen more of him than he probably realized, didn’t make things any easier. Even now, her lips curved upwards and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks at the thought of his lean, tight build. Not that Ciara hadn’t attended Meriol with more than one patient, just none of them had drawn her eye like Bolin did. Something about him at once enticed and unsettled her. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have minded the prospect of traveling with him.
But these weren’t normal circumstances.
And for his part, Bolin had never given Ciara any indication he saw her as anything other than a child.
The frown returned and she pushed away from the side of the house. Best to make a clean break of things -- away from him and this place.
A clean break and a fresh start.
* * *
Ciara’s knees shook as she pushed aside the stitched hide covering Meriol's doorway and stepped inside the darkened room. Healers saw death often enough, even guiding some to find it when they had no other recourse, but it didn't belong here. Not when she’d no way to stop it from taking the last bit of family she had left.
She rolled her lips tight against one another as she approached the bed where her aunt laid. Meriol’s hands rose and fell where they rested on her breast and Ciara flicked a glance toward the window. The moonlight slanted past the open shutters and danced along the silken strands of Meriol’s hair like a river. It sparkled off the soft silver robe -- the same ceremonial garb Meriol wore at the spring blessing, embroidered down the front in rich shades of burgundy and green intertwined with strands of gold.
Ciara reached out and brushed her aunt’s cheek with the back of her hand. Her soft skin felt cool as every breath took a bit more of the life from her, and Ciara drew back, her chin beginning to quiver as her eyes filled with tears. "Please," she whispered. "Don't go."
But this fate had been carved in stone and there would be no turning away from it.
Ciara swallowed against the hollowness in her chest and went to sit by the window. She drew her knees up, hugging them to her chest as she watched the slow progression of the moon across the star flecked sky.
Her thoughts turned inward, and the night blurred in her vision. She had never been able to understand the blind servitude her aunt and mother lavished upon a deity who gave little in return. They claimed earth magic to be a gift of the Goddess, but who knew for sure? There were many kinds of magic in the world, not all of which belonged to the Goddess. Like the wilding, which remained a mystery even to her.
Ciara’s gaze strayed upward and she shivered as though the icy hand of deep winter caressed her soul. The moon sat directly overhead. She had no need to turn. She felt Meriol's last breath leave her body as if it were her own, and whether by some trick of her mind or a strange coincidence the moon seemed to brighten for just an instant. It left her with nothing but an overwhelming emptiness where her aunt’s presence had always nestled, warm and steady.
Ciara squeezed her eyes shut, and bit her lip to hold back a sob. Even knowing for a fortnight this night would come, she hadn't allowed the reality of it to sink in. She had convinced herself it wouldn't happen. Rather that than acknowledge she would never see Meriol’s smile again, or the twinkle in her grey eyes. Only the memories would remain, and those would fade with each day that passed.
She turned, tears cooling on her cheeks, and startled to see Bolin beside the bed. Her forehead creased as the moonlight glinted off his shoulders. She looked closer and realized he wore a mail shirt beneath a tabard of deep blue, trimmed in silver, a hawk -- wings outstretched, and a snake clutched in its talons -- emblazoned across the chest. Polished boots of supple leather hugged his calves to the knee, and his leggings were the same dark blue as the tabard. His sword hung at his hip, the leather scabbard tipped in silver with a single, deep blue stone set near the top.
His eyes were soft when they met Ciara's. He placed his hand on his chest and bowed his head to her. "She sleeps in the Goddess's embrace now. Are you ready?"
Ciara shook her head. She wanted more time. Wanted not to feel as though someone had reached through her chest and squeezed her heart into a hard knot that ached with each thudding beat. She had nowhere to go when Bolin came towards her, and no way to hide the pain as she looked up at him. He laid his hand on her arm.
"If it could have been any other way, she would not have left you," he said, a tenderness in his voice Ciara had never heard
before. He turned, lifted Meriol’s body from the bed, and nestled her head against his shoulder, carrying her from the room as though she weighed nothing at all.
Findley waited by the door, his eyes red-rimmed and moist. He nodded at Ciara as he fell into step beside her.
The night had gone still, with not even the whisper of a breeze stirring the leaves. The small procession had no need of torches as they made their way around the paddock and across the footbridge over the creek. The moon's colorless glow illuminated their path with a surreal light as though daylight had been covered by the same cloud that wrapped around Ciara's heart.
Bolin's long, steady strides never faltered. When they reached the grove, he laid Meriol's body on the pyre, and arranged her gown and hair as though those acts were the most important things on the face of the earth. He folded her hands across her chest and placed a flower between them, then brushed a light kiss on her forehead.
"Safe journey, daughter of the moon," he whispered, and bowed low, as he had to Ciara, his hand on his heart.
Findley's clear, strong voice lifted in the strains of the song of rebirth. Ciara wished she had words to say, but the only thing that came were curses upon the Goddess. She could feel Bolin’s eyes on her and this time refused to meet them.
Findley's song rose up into the night as Bolin lit one of the torches lying nearby. He touched it to the dry wood of the pyre and the flames leapt across it. Ciara gasped. She lurched forward, hands outstretched, but Findley caught her around the waist and held her back.
"It is as it should be, lass," he said.
"No," Ciara cried. "It's not as it should be. It's as the Goddess wants it."
The fire reached toward the silver heart lying in its center, and danced around Meriol's body as though it dared not touch her. Overhead, the branches began to sway, their leaves rustling in the draft of the flames. A ragged sob tore from Ciara as the fire brightened and Findley patted her on the shoulder, one arm still holding her.
First Of Her Kind (Book 1) Page 3
