"She's at peace," he said.
Ciara pulled away from him. "Why does everyone keep saying that? Why wasn’t she at peace here?"
The heat of the blaze drove them back and Ciara watched for a moment longer, before she turned and walked away. Findley called after her, but she ignored him, stumbling along the path, the night a blur behind tear filled eyes.
Out of the grove and the embrace of the fire the air had gone damp and chill. A mist rose off the creek, spreading ghostly grey tendrils across the fields. Ciara hugged her arms around herself and quickened her pace as her teeth began to chatter. She'd be well on her way before sunrise.
Before Bolin had a chance to stop her.
CHAPTER FOUR
The soft light from a single candle flickered in Ciara’s room as she changed her clothes. She didn’t dare give herself more light than that. If Bolin or Findley had followed her, she preferred they think she'd gone to sleep with her grief. She moved quickly, taking one last look around the small house to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Her aunt’s shawl caught her eye as she started out the door, and Ciara sucked in a sharp breath.
The shepherd’s wife had made the wrap for Meriol -- a gift of gratitude for her skills as a healer. Ciara lifted it from where it hung over the back of the chair beside the fireplace. The fibers were soft and fine, and dyed a beautiful, deep green. She buried her face in it and inhaled deeply. The faint scent of rose hips tickled her nose, bringing with it a memory of the last time she and Meriol had gathered them.
If she had only known it would truly be the last time.
Ciara widened her eyes to keep the tears from falling. She'd done enough crying. Nothing could be undone with tears. She tucked the shawl over her arm and left the house, her hand lingering on the latch as she pulled the door shut. It belonged to Findley now, all of it, and Ciara doubted she would ever return. She silently wished the horse master good fortune and a long, happy life Which would be more likely if he kept the Goddess out of it.
Beyond the creek, the orange glow of the funeral fire shone like a small sun amidst the trees. Ciara rubbed her nose to try and remove the scent of burning cedar from her nostrils. She could only hope Bolin and Findley would remain in the grove. There'd be no way for her to explain her actions, especially to Bolin.
Ciara hurried to the barn moving from one shadow to another, always under cover of the trees and away from the scattered patches of moonlight. No light showed through the cracks between the rough barn boards, but that didn't necessarily mean Findley hadn't returned, or that Purt -- the stable boy -- hadn't decided to sleep in the loft. Ciara steadied her breathing, called up a small bit of her earth magic, and let it spread out ahead of her.
Meriol had taught her how to cast for people when a toddler from the nearby village had wandered off. Her aunt had likened it to a fisherman spreading his net in the water, only this net found people instead of fish. And this time it thankfully came up empty.
Ciara leaned her shoulder against the door and shoved. The hinges groaned and she froze, holding her breath. One of the horses inside whickered softly.
The night around her remained silent.
She gave the door another shove, and grit her teeth as the hinges squealed in protest. "By all the unholies." She'd never heard the hinges make so much noise during the day. She would have drawn less notice standing on the roof and announcing her plans to the world.
Using only the moonlight filtering through the door, and the holes in the roof Findley had yet to patch, Ciara gathered Fane’s tack and woke him from his slumber. He blinked sleepily and snuffled at her, always on the look-out for treats. Ciara slipped the bit into his mouth instead, and tugged the bridle over his ears. Her hands shook as she did the buckles. Part way through cinching up the girth she froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
Ciara twisted around, her heart racing. But instead of finding Bolin, she found only Sandeen, who watched her from over his stall door, his ears pricked forward. Ciara made a face at the grey stallion. It wouldn't due to have him making a fuss when she left with Fane. Ciara crossed the aisle and held her open palm under his nose. Sandeen dipped his head and lipped at her fingers, and she reached up with her other hand to caress the side of his face.
"Hush now, silly," she cooed to him. She let her earth magic trail from her fingertips and thread itself through her words. "You should be sleeping." She massaged the little swirl of hair between his eyes. "Sleep, my pretty boy."
Sandeen tossed his head, fighting the spell, and Ciara strengthened the suggestion, drawing up a bit more magic until his eyelids started to droop. Stubborn, just like his rider.
"That’s it." She backed slowly away, taking Fane by the bridle and leading him toward the door. "Back to sleep, now."
Outside the barn, Ciara double-checked Fane’s girth, and climbed into the saddle. With one last look over her shoulder at the flames of the pyre still visible through the trees, Ciara turned her back on it and coaxed Fane into a trot.
She planned to ride east in the hope Bolin might consider the direction of Dryw Hrine to be the last one she would take. There had to be some village along the Eastern Road, one that could use a skilled healer. Of course, Ciara had to find the road in the first place. Which had nothing to due with lack of light. Even edging toward the horizon, the moon provided a pale compromise to daylight. Unfortunately, Ciara had never journeyed towards the east. The nearest village, Harradell, took no more than an hour's walk south. Guldarech, to the west, meant a half day's ride. Those were the extent of her travels but Findley's dinner time tales led Ciara to believe if she headed mostly east, with a slight bend to the south, she would find the road in less than a day. So, she put the moon over her right shoulder, and guided Fane across the open fields.
* * *
Ciara jerked her head up and blinked, surprised to find herself still in the saddle. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. The first blush of dawn touched the sky, casting an eerie half-light on the low shrubs and clusters of trees surrounding them which, given Fane's high-headed appraisal, held every scary creature imaginable. He shied suddenly, and Ciara grabbed at the pommel to keep her seat.
"Unholies!" she cursed. She patted Fane's neck, and jumped when he twitched. His nerves were contagious. "I think we need a rest."
A narrow creek wound between the trees to their right, and Ciara turned Fane towards it. She found a spot where the bank melted into a small, gravel landing, and climbed out of the saddle with a groan. Fane dipped his head to get a drink, slurping noisily while Ciara worked the stiffness out of her limbs before kneeling beside him to splash cold water on her face. She sat back on her heels, shivering as the water trickled under her tunic.
Fane lifted his head, and flicked his ears forward, his attention on the opposite side of the creek. The bushes swayed though no breeze touched them. Ciara stood slowly. She reached over for the reins without taking her eyes off the far bank. Fane snorted and tossed his head, backing out of her reach.
"Goddess’s light!" Ciara cooed nonsense to the gelding who stood, quivering, just out of her reach, his head high, and the whites of his eyes showing. "Come now, silly one, it’s probably just a rabbit. Easy now . . ."
Rabbit or feral beast, it crashed out of the brush behind her and Fane reared. Ciara dodged out of the way of his hooves as he spun on his haunches and bolted.
"Fane, no! Wait!" Ciara lunged, but the gelding ran as if all the demons of the underworld were after him.
Gravel crunched behind her, and Ciara froze. It definitely sounded larger than a rabbit. She pivoted slowly, ready to light out after Fane should it prove to be something with fangs. Her pulse pounded in her ears, and her mouth had gone dry -- went even drier when she slid her hand to her belt and realized that her knife, along with her pack, had left with the crazed gelding.
A form coalesced out of the shadows -- all long, spindly legs, and huge eyes. Ciara’s relief came out in a short laugh, and the fawn
startled, then flipped its tail up and dove back into the underbrush with a scrambling of tiny hooves.
Relief, however, proved short-lived. Fane had vanished from sight, and Ciara had a good idea where he'd head: Straight for home and the safety of his stall, with all her earthly possessions tied to his back.
"Argh!" She kicked at a rock, balled her fists on her hips and glared -- first in the direction Fane had gone, then across the creek where the fawn had stood. As plans went, this one left a lot to be desired.
* * *
Ciara had never claimed to possess any tracking skills, but Fane made it easy. His hooves had thrown up clods of dirt in his panic-stricken haste, and the distance between them told her he hadn't even considered slowing down. And then there were the contents of her pack, strewn for nearly half a league. She gathered them as she walked; salvaging what she could of the food and bundling everything in her cloak until she came across the pack itself, dangling from the branches of a low bush.
By the time the sun cleared the horizon, Ciara's mood had grown from simply irritated to vehemently mad. When she heard a horse snort behind her she whirled around, prepared to give Fane a sound tongue-lashing for his complete lack of loyalty and bravery. But her mouth snapped shut when she found Sandeen instead of Fane, a very irate Bolin on his back.
"Out for an early morning walk, were you?" River ice had more warmth. Bolin slipped his foot out of the stirrup, and reached a hand down toward Ciara. "Get on."
Ciara shifted her pack across her shoulder. "I need to find Fane."
"Fane is with Findley. Neither of whom are happy. I'd imagine by now they're back at the barn. Get on."
"I’ll walk, thank you just the same."
She made to suite actions to words but didn’t get more than a few steps before Sandeen blocked her. Bolin cocked his head, and the chords in his neck tightened. "Get. On."
Ciara suspected few people argued with that tone. He narrowed his eyes.
"Ciara." His voice came as close to a growl as she figured a human could get.
"I told you yesterday, there's no reason for you to come with me."
"There are plenty of reasons," he replied. "We’ll stick with the most simple; your aunt’s wishes."
"My aunt’s wishes and mine aren't necessarily the same. I thought I'd go to Guldarech." A small lie. "My aunt has many friends there; they should know she's passed on."
"Guldarech?" Bolin nodded and rubbed his chin. He looked over his shoulder, back the way Ciara had come. "You do know you were going the wrong way, then?"
Of course she knew she was going the wrong way, damn him. Sandeen stepped sideways, and Ciara skipped back to avoid getting her toes mashed under his hooves. Bolin arched a brow, and extended his hand once again.
Ciara drew her mouth into a thin, tight line. "I’m not going to Dry Hrine," she said, but reached up and locked forearms with him.
Her toes barely touched the stirrup when Bolin yanked her off the ground. She threw her leg over Sandeen, and grabbed for Bolin as the stallion hopped forward before she could even settle. Bolin sat Sandeen’s smooth canter with an ease that belied the angry tension in his back. Ciara loosened her hold on his mid-section, and tried to convince herself her own anger, not his nearness, caused her palms to sweat and heart to triple its rhythm. Something which became increasingly difficult the longer they rode, because she found it hard not to notice the width of his shoulders, how -- even though he had changed out of the previous night's finery -- he still carried the scent of smoke and cedar.
She inhaled, and it caught in her throat. The smell brought with it the image of Meriol lying on her pyre, the flames licking all around her, and Ciara’s racing heart collapsed in on itself. She fought past a ragged gasp, but the grief she'd worked so hard to ignore slammed into her with the force of a thunderbolt, and her wall shattered. Ciara buried her face against Bolin's back, throwing pride to the wind, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. Bolin didn’t slow Sandeen, but she felt the anger go out of him in a deep sigh and he rested his hand across hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
* * *
Sandeen slowed to a halt and Ciara pulled her head up. She’d been dozing, the exhaustion taking over when the tears stopped. She glanced around, surprised to find they were in the stable yard already.
Bolin swung his leg over the front of the saddle and dropped to the ground, turning to offer Ciara a hand down. She blinked, wiping grit from her eyes. "You need some rest."
Ciara looked down at him -- numb, and completely empty of anything save a seething anger. "No." She slid from Sandeen without his help. "I need my horse and some fresh supplies."
She headed toward the barn, her spine rigid, hands clenched at her sides. She wouldn’t stay here any longer than she needed. Meriol had wanted her to leave, Bolin wanted her to honor her aunt’s wishes -- so be it.
"Ciara-"
She whirled on him. "If my aunt has decreed I can’t remain here, I’ll find someplace that needs a healer. You’ve no right to keep me from going where I want."
Bolin’s mouth twitched but not with mirth. "Seems to me, you managed that all on your own."
Ciara growled her frustration at him, her cheeks burning with the sudden flare of temper. "Leave me alone, Bolin."
She veered away from the barn. There’d be no getting past him now. She needed time alone with her thoughts. The wooden planks of the bridge echoed hollowly with the force of her boot heels striking them as she made her way to the grove among the trees.
Damn the Goddess and her demands. Damn her to the most unholy of hells. There had been no reason to take her aunt any more than there had been to taking her mother. Both had served her with nothing but blind loyalty all the years they had walked the earth, and both had been taken by her. For what purpose?
None you can understand, child, a voice whispered on the breeze -- or possibly just in her head.
"Try me," Ciara shot back.
Nothing remained of Meriol's pyre but a smoldering pile of ash. Someone had tended the fire to its bitter end, letting it burn in on itself until the flames could find nothing more to eat. Ciara paced the grove from end to end, her fingers curling and uncurling at her sides, like a cat springing its claws. Her breath came hard and fast, fury building within her. She stopped at the edge of the burn and stared at the ashes until the edges of her vision dimmed as her focus drew inward.
Ciara didn’t intend to reach past the quiet embrace of her earth magic to where the wilding lay coiled like some giant serpent. She never did mean to do it. It just happened. This time, however, it happened with surprising clarity.
She pulled in a long, deep breath and felt it flood her with calm. "I want to talk to my aunt." She sent the cold demand into the beyond, to the Goddess herself.
A breath of wind rippled through the grove.
"Now," Ciara demanded.
Ashes twisted upward in a sudden gust; laughter, or a taunt.
"I have the right."
Rights are to be earned.
"Why did you take her?" Branches rustled overhead and Ciara clenched her jaw against the urge to scream. "Why?"
Funnels of grey swirled around her as the ashes danced skyward, and tendrils of hair whipped across her face, stinging her eyes. Ciara stood fast. Her earth magic hummed through her veins; a natural thing, like the ground she stood on and the trees that surrounded her Nothing at all like the wilding -- the magic Meriol forbade her from using.
The magic she reached for it now in grief edged with ice cold anger.
And the wilding came, a dark and eager specter, pushing against the circle of earth magic that held it bound.
The trees around the grove bent and swayed, fallen leaves mingled with the ash whorls that enveloped Ciara but did not touch her. Ciara didn't notice. The maelstrom couldn't compete with the internal battle. The wilding rose expectantly to her call, blackness shot through with shades of red and flashes of light. Longing and hunger drove it. A desire for freedom. V
oices rode the raging wind, uttering words she didn't know, in a language that felt older than the Goddess herself.
A sense of completeness swept through Ciara. Here existed magic older than earth magic, more powerful, right in the ways of all things ancient. Right in the way the pale Mother Goddess had never made her feel. It flowed through her bones, through every fiber of her being, and called her to follow. She need only speak the words to bring it forth full strength, and set it free.
"I don't know them," she told it, her own longing making it a desperate plea.
She flinched from the light touch against her cheek. A vision from her childhood hovered before her, a woman with auburn hair, deep brown eyes and soft features.
Ciara gasped. "Mother!"
"Don’t listen to them, Ciara." The familiar voice wavered, as though it came over a great distance and with much effort. "Your grief drives you."
Ciara lifted a hand towards the vision, fingers outstretched. A roar unlike anything she’d ever heard ripped past her as the wilding slammed against the wall of earth magic that held it in, shattering the image of her mother. Again the wilding hit that wall, and again, like a fist against ice, trying to break through, and Ciara could neither help nor hinder it.
She started to shake. Another image appeared before her eyes, this one of more substance. Bolin’s visage, dark hair whipping in the wind, light eyes locked onto hers with a mixture of anger and fear. Not fear for himself, Ciara realized, but fear for her. His fingers dug into her arms as he shook her. His mouth moved but Ciara couldn't hear the words. Within her the wilding raged. How dare he lay hands on us? Kill him.
But Ciara's earth magic tightened its hold, spinning around her to hem the wilding in. The brightness of it filled her vision. Ciara struggled to push through. The wilding urged her on, past the pounding of her heart and a growing terror. Her mother's image, Bolin's, the light of the Goddess -- whirled ceaselessly around her.
First Of Her Kind (Book 1) Page 4
