by Sharon Hinck
“Shh. Mark, stop it. He won’t abandon me. He gave you the words to say. He knew what I needed to be healed.”
Mark gathered me close with a shuddering sigh, and we hugged each other tightly. He whispered the words again, his face pressed again my hair.
“He restores my soul.”
Chapter
25
Linette spent the night on the couch. With her cultural unease at venturing out after dark, she was more comfortable remaining with us, even when Wade offered to escort her to the songkeepers’ lodge where she had been staying. I think she really wanted to stay close to the Records.
My sleep was deep and dreamless, and I woke surprised by my level of energy. We had a clear plan, I knew my role, and I was eager to get on with it. Time might not have been rushing on at the same pace in our home world, but I worried about our children. I wanted to solve whatever problems I could and get home to them.
“Mark, couldn’t we just pop through the portal for a few minutes to be sure everything is okay back at our house?” I asked him over breakfast.
He choked on his juice.
“It’s not that easy,” he said when he caught his breath. “It’s not like people here go popping through portal stones every day. And please don’t talk about it any more,” he added in a quiet voice, though Linette had left already to change clothes at her lodging. “Very few people know about them. It’s dangerous to talk about them too freely.”
“But at Braide Wood, no one thought it was strange I was from another world.”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean they knew about how you got here. Can you imagine what would happen if someone like Cameron discovered a portal? It was only desperation that led the eldest songkeeper to teach me how to use it. We’ll only use it once more. When we leave here, it will be for good. Promise me you won’t talk about it with anyone?”
“Okay, don’t worry so much. I won’t say anything.” In contrast to my confidence this morning, Mark seemed anxious.
“Susan, we have to talk.” He rubbed his jaw. “You’ve done a great job adjusting to life here, but . . .” He seemed to be struggling to find the right words.
“Out with it. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”
“Well, there’s a lot of protocol involved in conversations with chief councilmembers. I wish I had more time to go over things with you. You can’t just treat these people like . . . well, like your friends back home.”
“Okay. Fill me in.” I tore off a piece of bread and popped it in my mouth.
He smiled, grateful I wasn’t taking offense at his coaching. “Please be respectful no matter how upset you feel about something. The proper title of address is ‘Chief Councilmember,’ with or without the clan name added.” Mark continued to give me a crash course in the rules of Council interaction. I tried to pay attention, but a lot of the policies seemed silly and arbitrary.
“I sent a message this morning to my Rendor friends,” Mark continued. “I asked them to send an official tunic for you. I might be able to get you in based on my status, but it will help if you’re dressed right.” He pushed a piece of fruit around on his plate.
“Mark, settle down. It’ll be fine. You can do all the talking until I’m needed.”
“I haven’t figured out how I should introduce you. I don’t want it known that you are the Restorer. But I may have to tell them to convince them to listen to us.”
“Then tell them.”
“No. If they keep thinking that I’m the Restorer, you’ll be safer.”
“But you won’t be. That idea’s no better. At least I have Restorer gifts. If any Kahlareans come after me, I won’t be easy to kill.” I hoped my bravado would comfort Mark. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure of the extent of my ability to heal, and didn’t plan to test those limits if I could help it.
Mark shook his head. He wanted to protect me from the role as long as possible. As if to confirm his fears, a sudden scuffle outside interrupted us.
Wade burst through the door, dragging a young boy by the back of his collar. “Councilmember Markkel, are you expecting a delivery from Rendor Council? Should I let him in? He has no weapons.” It was clear that Wade was having fun being our house protector.
I hoped he wouldn’t have to ward off anyone more dangerous than the irritated young messenger in his grip.
Mark quickly stepped forward to thank the boy and accept the package, and Wade whisked him back out the door. Mark untied the cloth bundle and shook out a long, rust-colored tunic. It was similar to the one he wore, but his had two short stripes running vertically down from one shoulder, and mine had one. Mark’s mentor had granted him full first-level status on his return. I was being allowed to pose as an apprentice. I’d already tried guardian training. Now I was stepping into a place, albeit a lowly one, on the Council. Perhaps if I stayed here long enough, I’d get to try becoming a songkeeper. That was a calling I’d really enjoy.
I changed into the unfamiliar uniform as if getting costumed for a play. Would I know my lines when the curtain rose?
When I walked back out to the common room, Mark gave me a nod of approval but seemed distracted. He carefully bundled the Records out of sight in a pack to carry with us. Linette arrived a few minutes later, and we set out for the Council offices.
We began with Mark’s mentor, the Rendor Council chief. Several people lingered in his office when we arrived, but Mark led me directly to a tall man in a rust tunic with five stripes at the shoulder. He broke off his conversation and turned to us. Wavy silver hair hung down just past his broad shoulders.
“Chief Councilmember Jorgen, this is my wife, Susan, most recently of Braide Wood clan,” Mark said.
“Greetings,” Jorgen boomed, clasping my right forearm and holding on while he scrutinized me. His weathered face revealed long experience, but his enthusiasm was youthful and contagious.
No wonder Mark had such respect for his mentor. I found myself wanting approval from this man who had been a father figure in Mark’s life. “Thank you for seeing us, Chief Councilmember,” I said, meeting his eyes.
Jorgen seemed satisfied. He released my arm and smiled at Mark. “The One has provided a suitable wife for Markkel, son of the prophecy.”
Mark bowed his head in acknowledgment, but a muscle in his jaw clenched. He beckoned Linette forward and introduced her. Then Mark and Linette explained the Rhusican threat, and the evidence we had gathered that proved their danger. After hearing our story, Jorgen was happy to recite Verses with Linette. No Rhusicans had traveled as far as Rendor, and we found no sign that he was affected. Jorgen was grateful and relieved when Mark handed him the carefully wrapped Rendor copy of the Records.
“My eldest songkeeper was already in Lyric preparing for the Feast when Cameron’s guards showed up in Rendor and took these. But other songkeepers sent me word immediately. I confronted Cameron, and he said the Records would all be safer in a central location, since war is coming.”
“So that’s his lame excuse,” I muttered.
“Cameron holds the loyalty of all the Council guards, so I didn’t want to oppose him directly. I planned to bring this before the whole Council at the session. Thank you for returning these.” The Rendor leader patted Mark’s back, then steered us toward the door. We thanked him again for his time. “It’s good to have you back, Markkel,” he said with genuine affection. Jorgen’s support encouraged us as we set out on our campaign to see the other chief councilmembers.
The day passed in a blur of waiting in outer offices, introductions that made my head spin, and meeting after meeting. Almost all the clans’ Council chiefs agreed to meet us, especially when they heard Markkel was back in Lyric. The official word when he disappeared two years before was that he had been sent as an ambassador to the lost clans beyond Morsal Plains. Only Jorgen and the eldest songkeeper of Lyric knew where he had really gone. Curio
sity about Markkel got us in the door.
Time after time, Mark and Linette explained our concerns about Rhusican poison and asked cooperation to test for its presence. Each time we persuaded a chief councilmember to recite Verses with Linette, I saw swirling visions indicating fear, doubt in the Verses, and a desire for alliances and weapons for protection. We brought the poison thoughts to the surface and saw an instant change. The Braide Wood Council chief shook himself as if waking from a nap and straightened up with clearing eyes, but not everyone appreciated our visit.
Though the majority of Shamgar’s clan had been destroyed when the city was taken by Hazor years before, the clan still had a chief councilmember who represented scattered pockets of people living in the Grey Hills. I was surprised at his hostility. He was clearly gripped by anger toward the other clans because they had not done more for Shamgar. Given Shamgar’s sorry past, I could understand his desperation to create weapons against future Hazorite threats, but I couldn’t help him, because he scoffed at our request to recite Verses and threw us out of his office.
At the end of the afternoon, we could count on five clans that were free of poison. No guarantee they would vote to banish the Rhusicans or to protect Braide Wood, but at least they weren’t being influenced directly by Cameron. We had already known that Lyric was firmly in Cameron’s grasp. From our visits, we learned that Shamgar and Corros Fields were in his pocket as well. That left two chief councilmembers that refused to see us. We had no clear idea where they stood, but we’d done all we could.
Mark followed through on his plan to return each clan’s copy of the Records. Five were placed in the hands of their Council chiefs. That act alone won us a great deal of allegiance. All the councilmembers had been livid at having their clan copy brought to Lyric, but none had been ready to confront Cameron. When we couldn’t see the remaining councilmembers, Linette informed each clan’s eldest songkeeper, and the other five Records were turned over to them.
As we walked out of the building housing the Council offices, Linette and I were mentally drained, Mark was pensive, and I chafed at the long day of following strange and annoying protocols. I tugged at the neck of my tunic. Sitting in our borrowed rooms stewing about our problems wasn’t an inviting prospect.
Wade stretched, loudly cracking a few joints. “Susan, when did you last train?”
I shrugged. “I’m not sure. It was before the attack on Braide Wood. Before Kendra was healed. Oh yeah, I guess the last time was . . .” I caught myself before mentioning Kieran. Though secrecy probably didn’t matter anymore. I’d already told Kendra, Cameron, and Mark about Kieran’s short visit to Braide Wood. “It was the day after the Rhusican attacked me in front of your house, when Tristan worked with me.”
Wade frowned. “You mean you’ve only trained once since I was working with you?” Wade turned to Mark. “One way or another, war is coming. She needs to be training every day.”
Mark looked at me, and I grinned. After a day of arguing with politicians, my hand itched to work with my sword.
“Sounds like a good idea,” Mark told Wade.
Wade was able to get us into the guardian training tower because it was late afternoon and most of the first-years were finished for the day. Mark was as eager as I was to refresh his sword skills, so he came too. He still wore his Council tunic, but I had insisted on changing into my old comfortable clothes.
Wade and I quickly fell into our old routine of sparring and reviewed set patterns with wooden swords borrowed from the racks lining the sides of the practice hall. After some energetic passes, the lingering pain returned to my chest, and I grew short of breath. Mark looked concerned.
I waved him away as I plopped on a bench to rest. “Just out of shape,” I said between gasps.
While I took a break, Wade put Mark through his paces. The skill must have been something like riding a bike, because Mark looked very natural, the blunt blade almost an extension of his arm as he worked through the forms.
I pulled out my true sword and examined it for nicks, admiring the play of light on the blade. After Wade gave Mark some tips and they circled the room a few times in a volley of parries and blocks, I was ready to play again.
Wade lifted his sword in salute to Mark. “Not bad for a councilmember,” he said, grinning. Mark tried to hold a fierce frown, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
I stepped forward, holding my sword at the ready.
“Whoa. Are you sure you want to try that?” Wade asked.
“You said it yourself, Wade. War is coming, and I need to learn to use my real sword.”
“All right, but let’s take it slow.” He grabbed a blunt-edged blade from the wall rack. We reviewed standard patterns again, in slow motion. Gradually picking up the tempo, Wade called out changes as we circled.
My own sword was more comfortable in my hand than any practice weapon. Strength seemed to flow from the steel through my arm. Even my frantic, clumsy sparring with Kieran was stored in my muscle memory, and I found myself blocking with different edges and countering with aggressive strikes.
Wade was impressed. “Tristan’ll be surprised when he sees you next.”
Mark stepped forward. “Want to take me on?” He winked.
“You can always try.” I brushed wisps of hair out of my eyes and grinned.
Wade placed his sword back in the rack. “I’m going to find something to drink.” Then he paused, as if remembering his new role as our house protector.
“Go ahead,” Mark told him.
“I won’t be far,” Wade said. “Call if you need me.”
Hints of anxiety trickled through my confidence. Every time I noticed how hard Wade was working to protect us, it reminded me of all the dangers we needed protection from. I didn’t like that reminder.
“Come on, show me what you’ve learned,” Mark invited, pulling me away from my worries. We started slowly, tracing careful patterns, and pulling our strikes. My sword felt balanced in my hand, and the movements became more effortless. I loved the admiration on Mark’s face. Proving some level of skill in fighting would also ease a little of his worry for my safety.
We were building our tempo and beginning to move around the room when I thought I heard a sound from the hall. I paused to listen but must have imagined it. We resumed, but I was starting to get distracted. Why hadn’t Wade come back yet?
Mark spun and came under my guard at an angle, anticipating my block. My response was sluggish, and he accidentally nicked my shoulder.
I gave an inadvertent yelp.
A dark shape flew past from the hallway behind me. At first I thought it was Wade, mistakenly thinking I needed rescuing. But Wade didn’t move that fast. This man was leaner, and his sword work was lethal. He attacked Mark before I could move and disarmed him in three blows. Mark’s sword flew from his hand, and the stranger grabbed the front of Mark’s tunic and shoved him against the wall, his blade against Mark’s throat.
“Wait!” I shouted, running toward them.
“Who are you?” the man snarled at Mark.
I knew that voice. I swung my weapon down, crashing the flat of the blade with all my power against the man’s sword arm.
He released Mark as his arm dropped, but he didn’t lose his grip on the sword.
“Kieran, stop. This is my husband.”
Kieran pulled back a few steps so he could cover us both with his sword. His travel cloak was splotched with mud; his face was unshaven and flushed. The same feverish look burned in his eyes, but his voice was icy. “You never told me your husband was on the Council. In fact, I seem to recall you went to great lengths to convince me that you didn’t know anyone in this world.”
Great. How could I explain this fast enough to keep his sword at a distance? “This is Mark. He came through a port—”
“I came to rescue her,” Mark cut in. He rubbed his wrist
, which he had wrenched when Kieran knocked his sword from his hand. “We were sparring.”
Kieran eyed the two stripes on Mark’s tunic. “You came to protect her?” He didn’t bother to hide his sneer. He shifted the grip of his sword and turned to me. “Susan, he’s on the Council.”
“I know, but he’s here to help. Really.”
Kieran’s face was unreadable, but he sheathed his sword.
I sighed with relief and slid my weapon into the loop on the baldric he had given me.
“Can you get me into the Council session?” Kieran asked Mark.
Mark studied Kieran’s intense expression and frowned. “Go see your clan’s Council chief. You know the protocol.”
“Tried that. Takes too long to go through channels.” Kieran turned to glare at me. “So all this time, you really were working for the Council.”
Mark didn’t want me talking about the portal or our other world, so how could I explain this? “I didn’t lie to you. It’s hard to explain. I didn’t know Mark was on the Council . . .”
He turned away from me. “Which clan?” he asked Mark.
“Rendor.” Mark tugged his sleeves into place.
Kieran nodded. “And you really have a standing on the Council?” He was stuck on that topic.
I interrupted. “Let’s go somewhere to talk, and I’ll explain everything.”
He continued to ignore me and stare at Mark.
“I have some standing,” Mark answered. “Why do you want to approach the Council?”
Kieran’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You don’t need to know that.”
“Then I can’t help you.” Mark crossed his arms. He was being calmly stubborn in the way that always drove me crazy.
Kieran didn’t look very cheerful either. “You won’t help me?”
“Not without knowing what you’re planning.”
“You really are Susan’s husband?” Kieran clarified once more, confusing me with the change of subject.
Mark glanced at me, and his face softened before he answered. “Yes.”
