by Sharon Hinck
I wanted to elbow him for his lack of compassion. This wasn’t Brantley, though. I remembered the true man, the one I hoped was still inside. Maybe in time my love could draw him back out.
Jalla smiled. “You be kindly. Worry not. ’Tis healing. Though I’ve missed two convenings.” She squeezed more drops of milk into the baby’s mouth, tracing a finger along the tiny pursed lips. “Missing like that does funny things to one. Makes it seem everyone else is strange. But I know the problem be me.”
“No.” I spoke so sharply that Brantley straightened on his stool, eyes wide. I patted her arm. “Everyone is strange. You are finding the way you’re meant to be. Caring about others. Being connected to others. I see it in the way you welcomed the babe. Please, whatever you do, do not go back to the lake.”
Jalla clutched the baby closer and glanced around, as if fearing spies lurked outside her windows. “I must. We all must. Surely you know that.” Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at the bandage on my leg. “Did you miss a convening? Is that why you be speaking mistakes?”
“I was there. With the green star rain village.”
Jalla leaned forward, a spark of interest lighting her eyes.
Perhaps I’d finally found an ally who wasn’t completely mesmerized by the Gardener. “A man . . . a creature . . . uses the plants and—”
“I’ll be going now.” Brantley’s stool scraped back as he stood. He yawned, clearly bored with my efforts. I eyed the pitcher of goat’s milk and contemplated flinging it in his face. Perhaps that would wake him from this apathy.
Jalla blinked and leaned back. “Yes. You should leave. That’s best. I’ll care for the little one. That is, I’ll do all I can unless they . . .” She shivered.
Brantley’s muscles tensed, some of his old instincts flaring. “Are you in danger?” His voice carried a hint of interest.
I hid a grin. That was definitely the Brantley I recognized—alert to threats and ready to protect the powerless.
Jalla’s shoulders curved in protectively. “As you know, there be little mercy for those who miss convenings. Thankfully no one has paid attention yet. But if someone notices the next time I miss, I’ll be staked out for the vines to consume. At the very least, I’ll be forced to become a remnant.”
“Next time you should ride one of your ponies,” Brantley said, before I could recover from the image her words called up and ask her what she meant by “remnant.”
I shot him a glare, then touched her arm. “Don’t listen to him. Not about the convening.”
The woman gave us both a quizzical frown. “I’d not be allowed to ride. Everyone knows the walk prepares us for the convening. And all be knowing we must attend.”
“Everyone thinks they know. That doesn’t make it true. The convening is harming people. This baby is proof. What evil makes a mother forget her child? And you’re one of the few who can recognize that.”
Jalla’s forehead creased, and her hands shook as she dipped the fabric into the milk again. “You be speaking perilous words. You must go.”
“Come on, Carya.” Brantley crossed to the threshold. “You’re upsetting her. You found someone to take the child. Now leave it be.”
I stood. The woman had the right to ask me to leave her home. My arguing was only causing her agitation. “I won’t trouble you anymore. Just think about what I’ve said.”
She turned away as if my presence carried disease and death into her home.
I ached for her and the confusion she must be feeling. I ached for the baby—and how many other little ones? Snippets of comments returned to me: pretty enough . . . only the strong ones . . . I ached for the unloved children, neglected and forgotten, and for the entire island, suffering under the deception that made the people numb and isolated without them even realizing what their lives could be.
I followed Brantley outside. “I think we should borrow some ponies and go back to the lake. We must confront the Gardener. I’m sure he’s the one that’s preventing our escape.”
“Escape? Why should I? I like this village just fine.”
Of course he did. The people here would appreciate his reckless and aggressive side, and he had none of the burden of responsibility placed upon a leader on Meriel. “We don’t belong here. We have to get home.”
He tugged his leather vest down over the belt that held his longknife, his gaze traveling up the path toward Reeya’s tree home. “Do what you wish. I have somewhere to be.” Once again, he walked away from me.
This time I let my hurt and anger coil into fierce determination. He wasn’t going to brush me off so easily.
“Wait!” Every ounce of my desperation flew across the air between us.
Brantley stopped, his weight still canted forward. All my hopes balanced between his stride. I reached out a hand he couldn’t see, as if that could draw him toward me, and scrambled for a compelling idea.
“Navar.” His purest and most uncomplicated bond. “If you stay, you’ll never see Navar again. And Brianna and Orianna and your mother—all of Windswell. And I have a question.”
He turned, forehead creased. At least I’d grabbed his attention. Now to keep him engaged. “How long can Navar dive? Could she make it to the lake?”
His frown deepened. “Why would you ask that?”
I limped a few steps closer to him. “I’ve seen you call her from the water. If you used your whistle in the lake, would she hear? Could she join you?”
His tousled bangs shifted upward, and he pursed his lips. Now he was definitely interested. “Maybe.”
“I could write a letter and seal it . . . maybe in a jug? We can attach it to Navar’s harness, and she could swim back to Meriel. If Teague sees it, he will let Saltar Kemp know we’re alive.”
Brantley had begun to lean forward, but now he crossed his arms. “And then?”
“Then . . .” My shoulders sank. “I don’t know. I’m not sure what comes next, but if Saltar Kemp knows we’re still alive, she will find a way to keep Meriel in reach. We can return home.”
His smile was as patronizing as the highest high saltar, a sickening sight on his once-familiar face. “Carya, let it go. We’re here now. I like this place. They appreciate my skills. You’d fit in well with the green village. Find your way back there. You need to accept facts. We’ll never again see Meriel.”
The man before me now was callous, distant. And because he spoke with Brantley’s voice, the effect jarred me even more. Still, when he walked away, I followed him. He returned to Reeya’s house and called up to her.
She stepped into the doorway, but a man appeared behind her. She shifted one shoulder. “You left. I’m busy now.”
I breathed a sigh of relief that I wouldn’t have to watch him disappear into her house. Brantley simply shrugged. A distant roar from the combat area pulled his attention. He sketched a careless wave and headed toward the sound.
If I let him walk away again, I’d never get him back to our world.
I limped after him as fast as I could, the pain in my ankle fueling my anger. “Stop!”
He ignored me, and I couldn’t outpace him. Every muscle in my body tensed. Frantic, furious, I didn’t know what to do. I raised my walking stick and flung it at him.
I gasped at the same moment it thudded into his back. What had I done? What had I become?
Brantley spun, every inch the alert warrior. The heat of battle blazed from his eyes, and his head moved sharply as he scanned all directions.
I lifted my arms in apology.
He blinked, then saw the object that had struck him: my walking stick lying benignly in the daygrass. He grabbed it and crossed the distance to me. The anger in his eyes didn’t frighten me as much as the lack of the love that once shone from them. Would I never again see warmth and affection from him?
“You’re lucky you’re so frail.” The curls that framed his face were no longer playful. They looked as wild and threatening as his expression. He thrust the cane at me with a snarl. “Go b
ack to the lake. Maybe the Gardener can grant you some sense.”
I took my stick, vowing never to use it as a weapon again. “Come with me. Please. I know you don’t remember, but the convening changed you. Changed everyone. This isn’t you.”
The battle fury had shaken him from apathy, but already the pulse along his neck slowed, and the fog closed over his expression again. How could I hold his attention? How could I convince him to return to the lake and try to contact Navar?
In the distance, a woman shouted, “New challenge!” Jeers and applause floated through the air.
That was my answer. I stabbed my stick into the ground. “A new challenge. From me!”
Brantley backed away a few steps, squeezing his forehead as if it ached. “You want to fight me? You don’t even know how to hold a longknife.”
“I want to race you.”
His gaze swept my weary form, settling on the bandage supporting my injured ankle.
“You’re touched in the head. Look at yourself.”
His disdain froze the core of my heart, but I raised my chin. It’s not really Brantley. The Maker still loves him. I still love him. He just can’t receive that yet.
“A riding race. We’ll ask the tender for two ponies and race to the lake.”
Interest lit his eyes to the shade of a fresh-washed sky. “And if I win, you’ll stop following me around like a lost kit?”
“If I win, you’ll try to summon Navar.”
He perused the sky. Violet streaks lowered over the homes overhead, and our shadows stretched, one pale and the other dark. “It’ll be dark soon.”
He was right. As desperate as I was to try my plan, I didn’t want to brave the island’s unknown dangers at night. “First light?” I offered my hand.
He grabbed my forearm as if I were a soldier. “Deal.” The distant crowd noise pulled his attention again, and his teeth flashed in a feral grin. “I think I’ll try a few real matches first. See you at primary sunrise.”
This time as he strode away, I stood my ground and squared my jaw. When I was fleeing the Order, we’d traveled together for months, faced cold, hunger, rough terrain, dangerous creatures. Yet he still had no idea how much determination dwelt in the heart of a dancer.
I trudged all the way back to the tender’s home and leaned on the fence. One lively mare tossed her mane. The scent of hay and manure grounded me, reassured me of all things real and normal. Resting my head in my arms, a memory spun through my mind and fed my hope.
Saltar Kemp had taken our class to the village tender as a reward when we graduated from form six. Some of the other novitiates showed little interest in the mangy ponies, but I’d fallen in love. I rode a speckled bay who trotted around the corral. The rhythm of riding was not far different from learning to follow the patterns of the drums. With the saltar’s encouragement, I braced my hands against the withers and pulled my legs under me in one smooth motion. The pony cantered in a fluid gait as I straightened from my crouch, balancing on my feet, absorbing the warmth of his back. Arms wide, I was a bird in flight or a gust of wind sailing past the blur of my classmates’ faces—until a slight buckle of the earth made the pony lurch. I had tumbled off but sprang up laughing.
Now I studied the lines of a white mare. Strong, sound legs—unlike mine. Bright eyes. She’d do. My plan had to work. I limped to Jalla’s door. I wouldn’t be showing off my balance by standing on a pony’s back tomorrow, but at least I could ride. And I would have to ride fast enough to win my wager with Brantley.
Jalla’s eyes lit at my request for ponies for a race. “They be in need of a frolic.”
I asked if I could sleep in the stable, but she hustled me into her cottage instead. “You’ll be holding the babe while I fix us a bit of stew.”
Tiny perfect fingers curled around mine as I emulated the tender’s technique of soaking a cloth with milk and coaxing the baby to suckle. A wash of affection coated my heart, soothing the many wounds of the day. All my years in the Order, I’d foresworn family. Dancers were destined to an exclusive calling that left no room for husband or children. Or so we had been taught.
The baby’s face blurred, and I blinked several times. The Maker had invited me into the freedom He’d always intended, even the freedom of attachments, of love. And I was trapped on an island that erased love.
“Be not worrying. I’ll care for him.” Jalla plunked a bowl in front of me and scooped up the child. “I be thinking I’ll miss another convening. Just to be sure my caring remains.”
“Aren’t you worried that other villagers will hurt you?”
“They need my ponies for the games. And in recent months the creatures be better than ever before. Perhaps I be caring, but perhaps that benefits their mounts. That should be enough for the Every to blind their eyes to my absence. At least for a time.” Her cheeky grin startled a laugh from me. When she settled at the table, I gratefully indulged in the stew to warm my belly while our conversation warmed my soul. She was so normal. Curious, clear-eyed, connecting. After dinner she gladly shared a few sheets of parchment. I wrote a letter to Saltar Kemp, rolled it, and coated it with wax before sealing it in a small jar. I also wrote out the opening pages of the Maker’s letter, explaining His story to Jalla as I worked. His truth was one gift I could leave with her.
She listened, open-mouthed, until the baby whimpered and demanded her attention. When she pushed back from the table, she paused, staring out her door into the darkness. “Seems our world could be using these words,” she said quietly. A tingle skittered across my spine. I’d grown so focused on helping Brantley and finding a way home, I’d forgotten that the Maker might have a larger plan, one that seemed to require far more courage than I had.
“And perhaps I be sharing something of value with you, as well.” Jalla reached for a small container on a top shelf. “Liniment that eases injuries in my ponies. Made from a rare herb and hard to make. I only be having a bit, but may I tend you?”
I unwrapped the bandage around my ankle. The potion had an astringent scent mingled with the sweetness of yellow wildflowers. The instant it touched my skin, a tingling warmth spread over my oozing scar, erasing the pain. A sigh escaped me.
“Helping?” she asked.
“Very much so. Thank you.”
She nodded, pleased, and tucked the remaining liniment into my pack. “Wish I had more to give you, so use it sparingly. Save it for when you be most in need of healing.”
On a borrowed pallet near the hearth, as I drifted in and out of sleep, I tried not to think about where Brantley would shelter for the night. Perhaps he’d get so caught up in the play battles that he wouldn’t seek out some woman’s company. Perhaps he’d get hit on the head enough times that he wouldn’t keep his seat tomorrow. On that satisfying thought, I finally fell into a deep slumber.
The next morning, I rose in the predawn darkness and took myself through a careful dancer warm-up, engaging each muscle, pleased that my ankle, though stiff, wasn’t as inflamed. Jalla agreed to let me use the lively mare I’d admired, and winked as she saddled a heavier old gelding for Brantley. “They be knowing their way home. If you don’t ride them back, just set them loose.”
“Thank you for your help.” I pressed the rolled parchment with the Maker’s words into her hands. “Are you sure you can avoid punishment if you keep missing convenings?”
“Ah, they can’t be bothered with a lowly tender. Worry not for me. Now, you’ll be needing a satchel.” She scurried about gathering supplies for me, invested in my mission. “Her name is Windrider, and she be fleet. But you’ll be wanting carrots and a few persea for her. Puts the pep right back in her stride. I’ll water her light before you go. There be a well halfway to the lake.”
“I remember. I’ll stop there.” Her enthusiasm coaxed a smile to my lips, but it faded quickly. Brantley might not show up. Even if he came, he might outrace me. Even if we contacted Meriel, he might insist on staying. The effects of the Gardener’s spores might never w
ear off. When Jalla offered me a saltcake, I shook my head, stomach twisted in knots.
She pursed her lips. “I’ll put them in your pouch. Takes strength to ride full out.”
I slipped the satchel’s strap across my body and tied my cane across the back of the saddle. Jalla led both ponies out of the corral. I pressed my face against Windrider’s warm neck. “We have to win,” I whispered to her.
The glow of the approaching primary sunrise streaked the sky, and I studied the path from the main cluster of tree homes. Would Brantley appear?
Predawn breezes tugged a strand of my hair, and I tucked it behind my ear while I waited by the stables with Jalla. I’d used my headscarf to wrap Brantley’s thorn-scraped hand our first day here. Now my hair refused to stay in its braid. My leggings were stained, my bandage was tattered again, and my tunic smelled of sweat and needed a good washing. The last few days had taken a toll. At least the pony wouldn’t mind. I ran my fingers through Windrider’s coarse mane and checked the saddle’s girth strap. The sound of footsteps pulled my head up.
“Why be you racing so early?” Morra ambled toward me, tossing an apple from hand to hand. “I’m all for challenge, but this be so early it’s still the backside of night.”
His red-rimmed eyes testified to lack of sleep, and a bruise on one cheek told me he’d tried a few contests. But his cheery smile was a welcome sight. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
He leaned a pudgy arm on the corral fence. “Can’t have a race without a witness to the winner. Brantley told me your wager.” He turned to Jalla. “Can I be having a fast one? I’ll start out now.”
“So Brantley’s coming?” I asked.
“If not, I be having a long ride for no purpose.” Morra laughed, and today his vacuous manner didn’t irritate me. Whatever the outcome of the race, it would help to have a friend of sorts at the finish. If Brantley even followed through.
Jalla quickly selected a mount for Morra, and he took off down the trail toward the lake. “Wait,” I called. “When did you last see Brantley?” But Morra was already out of earshot, his pony galloping with so much enthusiasm the ground sent out ripples that I felt underfoot.
