The Lesser Kindred

by Elizabeth Kerner

  Lanen

  I had never objected to deer meat before, but I couldn’t eat it even when Jamie had managed to cut some small and cook it quickly on a skewer in the fire Rella had set going. It smelled good, but at least for the moment I couldn’t get rid of the echoes of that cry in my mind. I found myself hoping that vegetables didn’t scream as I bit into a carrot, one of the winter store we’d brought from Hadronsstead. My gut was in a terrible state and the very idea of meat turned my stomach. Even the carrot tasted terrible.

  “What’s up with you, my girl?” asked Jamie, when I refused the deer. “It’s well cooked and we all need hot food.”

  “I’m sorry, Jamie,” I said. I couldn’t face explaining what was only a guess. He’d had enough trouble believing in truespeech between people. I wasn’t sure I could ever tell him. Maybe it would just go away. “I’m not hungry. I can’t face food just now.”

  He looked closely at me for a moment, then shrugged. “Suit yourself. We should cook as much as we can, though the cold will keep it fresh enough for a few days.” He smiled at me. “If you’re not hungry you’re the very one I’m looking for. Keep an eye on the rest of this lot while I set up camp.”

  He left me to tend skewers of small chunks of deer cooking over the fire while he untied his bedroll and mine from our saddles. “Thank the Lady those poor bastards were in such a hurry to get you they left our horses alone,” he said after a time. “I’d rather ride than walk.”

  “Ride where?” asked Rella, kneeling on the cold ground as she cleared a space for her bedroll near the fire. “We never did decide exactly where we’re going.” Her voice hardened. “I still vote for Sorún. I have my suspicions but I want to know for certain who hired those poor buggers.”

  “Are you suspecting anybody I know?” I asked, half a smile tugging at my lips despite myself.

  “Not unless you’ve heard the name Berys, no.”

  I frowned. It seem familiar, somehow, though I couldn’t be sure—and then I heard Jamie hiss, “Berys.” His voice was so deep and intense I turned to stare at him. He had stopped what he was doing and knew nothing beyond Rella’s words.

  I had to concentrate hard to hear anything. My mind was suddenly filled with voices again, louder than before. I tried desperately to ignore them. Something Jamie said had raised a memory, something I’d heard him say once and couldn’t quite remember. It was hard to think with all the noise.

  “I know him,” he said. “Do you?”

  “Yes, and I wish I didn’t,” she answered. “He’s been watched for years now and none of the news is good.”

  “It never has been,” said Jamie, almost in a trance. “I’ve known him for the last twenty-five years and I’ve hated him ever since I first heard his voice.”

  “Ah, you’re a man after my own heart, Jamie.” Rella took in Jamie’s stance and voice and came to a decision. “I suspect I could be dismissed from the Service for telling you this but I think you need to know. He’s now the Archimage of the College of Mages in Verfaren, where the best of the young Healers go to learn their art and better their skills. It’s still a good place, by all accounts, but he’s rotten to the core and as far as we can tell always has been. Rumour has it the place has started to stink of demons.”

  “At least for the last twenty-five years,” said Jamie. His voice shook me and made Rella turn to look at him even more closely. He stood there in the winter wood, his pack dangling unheeded from one hand, his other on his sword hilt, and he was hot with fury decades old. The voices in my head were a little quieter now.

  “Lady guard us, what did he do to you?” asked Rella, her eyes wide with surprise.

  “Tried to kill Maran and me with demons,” Jamie said, the words rough in his throat, “but that’s by the by.” And I remembered with a shock, as if it were the day before, Jamie telling me of a demon master linked with Marik. But that was before I was born, a quarter of a century since, and Berys had not been young even then by Jamie’s account. Jamie had told me that this Berys had killed an innocent to create the Farseer, a globe that allowed the owner to see whatever they desired, no matter the distance: The Farseer for which Marik’s first child had been the promised price—me, yet unsuspected in my mother’s womb, the unborn child of Marik of Gundar.

  “I made a vow to kill him with my own hands and now I have the chance to do it,” said Jamie. “He’s at Verfaren, you say?”

  “I know what you’re thinking and it can’t be done, Master. He’s the head of the College of Mages! Untouchable. Nearly everyone believes he is what he claims, a kindly servant of the Lady who oversees the training of the young Healers with a very powerful benevolence. The Silent Service knows better and obviously so do you.” She flashed a quick grin at me. “Ah, well. Guess we’re not going to Sorún. We can make straight for Kaibar and cross the river there, that’s the fastest way to Verfaren from here.”

  Jamie dropped his pack and knelt beside her. “Mistress,” he said fervently, laying his hand lightly on her arm, “this is not your fight. I go into danger to fulfill an old vow. Lanen and Varien go where the Lady and their destiny lead them. You do not need to come.”

  “Is that so, Jamie Horsemaster?” said Rella, gently removing his hand and drawing out an extra blanket from the depths of her own pack. “You don’t listen very well, do you? I’m on duty, remember.”

  I was going to ask her what kind of duty she was talking about when I heard Shikrar’s voice clearly saying my name.

  “Wake up, girl!” Rella’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “If you burn that deer meat you’ll eat it yourself.”

  I managed to save most of it and was laying it by on a stone to cool when Jamie said, “Where’s that man of yours?”

  “He’s not far,” I said. “I heard him just now.” Silently thanking the Lady for truespeech, I bespoke him. “Varien? Where are youlare you well?”

  Varien

  I was not so squeamish as Lanen and ate well of the deer that Jamie had killed. I had occasionally heard the death cry of creatures I killed for food—certainly I saw their faces.

  It is a hard truth of life that we live, all, on death. We of the Kantri give thanks to the Winds for the lives that sustain our own and ask forgiveness of the creatures we must kill, but we cannot live only on the fruits of the earth. Indeed, one of the Kantri tried it when I was young—Kretissh, it was. He ate only roots and the fruit of the trees, and though lan fruit is sustaining for a time, eventually he grew weak and then ill. It was Shikrar, my old friend, who came roaring into his chambers with a great fish he had caught. Crafty soul, he knew Kretissh was partial to fish. Shikrar was not Eldest then but he had taught Kretissh along with most of the rest of us, and when he ordered Kretissh to eat, he ate. He could only take a little flesh at first, but as he grew stronger he returned to himself. As Idai once said, how do we know that the fruits do not feel pain and cry out in their own silent tongue when we eat them?

  I found my thoughts turning more and more to my old friends and my heart grew heavy. So far away, my people. I had almost forgotten that I had the means to bespeak them. I drew out from my pack the rough gold circlet Shikrar had made to hold my soulgem. I did not put it on immediately but held it in my hands and gazed at it.

  How shall I explain it to you? A soulgem is not an ornament dug from the ground, it is a part of us, part of our bodies, as much as wing and talon, blood and bone. I still missed my wings, though the wonder of being human delighted me, but the absence of my soulgem was a constant sorrow. It was as though a human had lost all but the least of hearing and sight, and yet could hold the loss in their hands. The Kantri can sense emotions and hear truespeech. It is the way we are made—without truespeech, how should we speak one to another, up in the high air riding upon the winds, and with at least two wings’ distance between us? Lanen was the only child of the Gedri who had ever been known to have truespeech.

  I raised the circlet and put it on. My head began to ache immediately but I did not c
are, I so desperately longed to hear the voices of my kindred. “Shikrar, soulfriend, canst hear me?”

  “Akhorishaan!” came the response, immediate, delighted. “Ah, blessed be the Winds, I hear you! And I must call you Varien, of course. Your voice is welcome as summer in winter, my friend How fare you?”

  I wrapped my arms around me, hugging his voice to myself. It was Shikrar, speaking to me mind to mind as of old, the lifelong friendship between us deep and strong as the sea. “All the better to hear your voice, my friend The winter is long, and life among the Gedri is not always simple.”

  “Life is never simple, Kantri or Gedri,” he replied. Now that I was past the first joy of hearing his voice again, I caught undertones of concern in his voice. “Much has happened of late, Varien. Have you time for speech?”

  “As well now as later,” I replied. “Come, Shikrar, how fare you? Since you reply so swiftly I must assume the Weh has released you.”

  “I am recovered, I thank you. How keep you and your lady?”

  “We are as well as may be, though trouble has sought us out of late. I am learning hard truths about my new people, Shikrar.”

  “Truth hath ever sharp edges, as you know of old. Keep you in good heart despite what you learn?”

  “Good heart enough. Lanen is ever the delight of my eyes and the wings of my soul—ah, forgive me, Shikrar! We are but new mated and I am wont to speak of my delight.”

  I could feel his joy, tinged as it was with regret. “Akhorishaan, long years have I waited to hear you speak thus. I rejoice for you, my friend, though in all truth my heart would be lighter had thy brave-souled dearling become one of the Kantri instead. Still, the Winds blow over all, and we must trust they will blow us to safety in the end.”

  “Great heart, I so believe as well, though now I pray to the Lady of the Gedrishakrim as well as to the Winds. Surely the Winds and the Lady between them can well look after us all! But enough of that. Shikrar, speak to me. How fare the Kantrishakrim? What of my people?”

  “All is well with us, Varien. It is not thy people that should concern thee, but the land upon which we live. Terash Vor swells with fire again and the earthshakes wakened me from my Weh sleep.”

  “Shikrar!”

  “I am healed enough. It is our home I fear for, Akhorishaan. It is not Terash Vor alone that breathes fire. There are others—even Lashti and Kil-lashti are alight.”

  “Name of the Winds,” I swore softly. “Shikrar, have you called a Council?”

  “It will take place less than two moons hence—if we are given so long. I fear we will not be. There is something in the air, Akhor, a high sound on the edge of hearing that grows louder and softer but does not stop. I do not know what it means, but it is—unsettling, to say the least.”

  “Would that I were with you!” I cried in frustration.

  “You are better where you are, my friend,” said Shikrar dryly. “If we must leave here, we have only one place to go. We will need all the friends we can find to speak for us.”

  A thought occurred to me, belatedly. “Have you spoken with the Ancestors? Surely the Kin-Summoning—”

  “Kedra helps me prepare. It must take place at the dark of the moon, as you know, but that is upon us now and I require time to prepare. I will have to wait until the moon is dark again, but I do not hold out much hope. If ever this island had been so violent before, we surely would have heard of it.”

  My head was beginning to pound with pain. “My friend, forgive me, but I must go. Truespeech is painful for me now, alas! Know that I am with you in spirit, and I pray you, bespeak me again when the Council begins. I will listen as long as I can.”

  “I shall do so. Be well, Akhor, and send my true regard to thy lady Lanen,” said Shikrar, sending me as he left a benison that washed over my weary mind. I returned the same and removed the circlet. Almost at the same moment I heard Lanen bespeak me, asking where I was. I turned and walked slowly back to the camp, reassuring her as best I could while I told her Shikrar’s news, and deeply relieved that truespeech with her did not require me to wear my soulgem crown.

  We were to make for Verfaren.

  vii

  Salera

  Salera saw I first in fire—

  Sorrow sealed her, lone child and lost.

  Frienship’s flame burned fierce between us—

  Dear as daughter, she fixed my fate.

  Will

  I’ve always thought there should be more to that—a whole song maybe—but I’m no bard. Still, that much appeared without being called and no more came to mend it, so perhaps that’s all it is meant to be.

  I came across her nine years ago. I was on my way home from gathering the tiny blue salerian blossoms. Salerian grows only in the hills, I’ve tried cuttings and seeds and all sorts but it just won’t take and grow in a garden. Still, as it’s the best remedy known for maladies that make the head ache, it’s worth the trip. The plant is a large one, more a bush than anything else, but the flowers are small and at their best and strongest in the early spring. It was no more than three weeks after the Spring Balance-day, all those years ago. I’d gone gathering early in the day, before the rain came. I was on my way back home with my bag full, racing a big black cloud, when I smelled smoke.

  It was cold enough for a fire, true, but I lived deeper in the wooded hills above Verfaren than any other and my cottage was a good two miles away. I knew of no charcoal burners thereabouts and, well, yes, I was curious and followed my nose.

  I hadn’t far to go, but even in that little time I knew fine I would find no ordinary fire. The smell was not of wood smoke. There was a wildness to it, a tinge of something I didn’t know at all, but under and over all as I drew nearer was the scent of burning flesh. I slowed as I drew near, for it was well off the path and I did not care to lose myself in the trackless wood. Even so, I gasped when I peered round a great oak and saw her.

  She was walking in the midst of a raging fire, nosing about in the very flames like a dog seeking a scent, making the most pitiful noises. As I watched, spellbound, she threw back her head and screamed.

  The sound hit me like a blow. This was not the voice of a beast, a lost dog abandoned by an owner, nor was it her death-agony. It was not physical pain at all. There was not the slightest doubt in my mind that this was grief, and that the creature before me suffered terribly in the full knowledge of what it had lost.

  I had never seen a dragon so close, and never imagined that they were more than beasts. I had also thought they were larger. This was no more than the size of a big dog.

  Oh, Lady keep the poor soul, I thought, as I realised I could see now the vague outline of where the fire was—or had been, for it was dying rapidly. A much larger shape, indeed, lay traced on the rough ground in ashes. I had heard any number of reasons why no dragon carcases were ever found, and before me was the explanation that made the most sense. Seems that when they died they burned, fire to fire, leaving nor tails nor scales nor wing-tips, only ash and a few small hunks of charred bone.

  The little dragon cried out again, its eyes tight closed, all its teeth bared and its nose pointing to heaven, for all the world like any human soul in pain. The world’s fool I was and am, for I couldn’t help myself, I moved to comfort it as I would do for any man or beast. I’m no Healer, but even a herbalist has a need to lessen pain if it can be done, and my sister Lyra always said my heart was as soft as my head. Still, it was not as foolish as it might seem, for I’m a good size and strong enough in myself to deal with most things.

  The creature was suddenly aware of me and hissed a warning, like a great snake. It bared its teeth, watched me through eyes now become mere slits, head low to the ground.

  For some reason best known to the Lady, I spoke to it.

  “Now then, now then, no need to worry, I’ll not harm you,” I said calmly and quietly, as I’d speak to a child or a hurt dog. And let us keep it that way on both sides, shall we? I thought to myself. “What’s brought you
to this pass, eh, little one? For you are that, aren’t you? Just a kitling who’s lost yer mam and got nowhere to run and hide. Don’t you worry, Willem’s here, I’ll help you if I can.”

  My voice seemed to be soothing it—at least it relaxed enough to open its eyes some bit wider, and I got another surprise. Its eyes were brilliant blue, the very blue of the salerian flowers I’d been gathering. “Salera,” I said aloud. “That’ll do you for a name, unless you’ve one already. Salera. Don’t know if you’re lad or lass, but it don’t matter much.” I had been very slowly drawing nigh it, moving smoothly as one does with unknown animals. I stopped just before it shied away and kept talking as I knelt down with one hand outstretched. “Nah, then, Salera, what are we to do, eh? I’ll wager your mam’s been ill some while, hasn’t she? I can count your ribs, ye poor thing. And now she’s left you without wanting to or meaning to, but you’re left all the same.”

  It was warily coming a tiny bit closer, stretching out its neck, sniffing at my hand. At any rate it’s got something else to think about now, I thought, and that’s all to the good. I didn’t know if I could bear to hear that scream again.

  It moved its attention in a moment from my hand to my pouch and started sniffing at my salerian flowers, and before I could move or think, I give you my word, that creature tore open my bag and ate up in a few quick mouthfuls what I’d spent hours collecting. I just sat back and watched. Maybe it knew the flowers by the scent for their healing powers, maybe it was just attracted by them, maybe it was just so weary with grief and pain it didn’t care—but it had been in need and had taken food with my scent on it. It grew braver then, or had lost any fear of what could be worse than had already happened to it. I kept still on my knees while it came and carefully sniffed me all over. It smelled warm and somehow spicy, like cinnamon, but with a sharp tang under all of fire and danger.