Kevisson closed his eyes, then opened them again with an expression of shock. “That blasted beast has got shields!” He tossed the branch back into the fire and sank down on his heels, watching her closely.
Dropping the mangled ebari at her feet, the silsha rolled over on its back and pawed gently at her hands with its huge feet. Come away! it said. Now!
She laughed and grabbed one paw, wrestling with it.
The Searcher’s eyes never left the pair. “What is that damn thing?”
Haemas looked up at him through the tumbled curtain of fair hair over her face. “A silsha.”
“But it’s so big. I’ve heard of them before, seen a few pelts, but . . .” His voice trailed away and he shook his head. “Only people can learn to shield, and then only Kashi, not even chierras. Animals can’t be trained in the mind disciplines.”
The silsha sat up, its yellow eyes slitted. Leave this one, it said insistently, studying the crouching man. Come to the pool!
Not now, she told it. Not in the dark. She leaned against the solid black shoulder. “He won’t hurt you—unless you try to force me back to Tal’ayn.”
Kevisson steepled his fingers under his chin. “Isn’t it time you think this through? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life down here in the Lowlands, living in some tree, while Jarid lives in your House, running your lands?”
The future . . . She buried her face against the smooth black fur, inhaling the clean musky scent. It had been forever since she’d thought about more than the next ten minutes. She tried to see herself going home, walking again in the vaulted stone halls of Tal’ayn, seeing her father’s hand everywhere . . . knowing what she had done. Panic welled up from deep in her mind.
“I know what you think you did.” Kevisson’s quiet voice barely carried above the hiss and pop of the fire. “But your father was still very much alive when I left the Highlands and that was several days after you ran away.”
“Are you saying I should believe you instead of my own eyes?” Her face suddenly felt hot.
Kevisson stirred the dying embers and threw on a handful of twigs. “Wouldn’t you like to go home?”
Home . . . in her mind she saw the chierra servants who had been her real family, her secluded personal garden dug into the side of the cliff behind Tal’ayn, the striated gray rock softened by luxuriant greenery and warmed by steaming thermal pools.
Then she tried to imagine her father’s stern face, healthy and alive . . .
She shuddered.
Kevisson pondered the flames for a moment. “Well, then look at it this way—do you want this Jarid to take your rightful place?”
Her arms tightened around the silsha’s powerful neck. The only problem with that question, she thought, was that the answer was—no.
* * *
Supporting himself against the rough bark of a tree at the forest’s edge, Jarid closed his eyes and reached out with his mind to check again. The simple, undefended thought patterns he’d detected were definitely closer this time. Someone was approaching.
He still had a few minutes, though. Taking a deep breath, he tried to center down so he could deal with this abysmal headache. Every time he blocked off one sense though, the rustling of the leaves intruded, or the painful lump of a stone under his foot. Finally, sweating and miserable, he gave up. It had to be that wretched knot on the back of his skull. He winced as his head began to pound even harder.
He was going to make sure that little skivit and her band of brigands suffered with exquisite slowness for every indignity inflicted upon him, just as soon as he’d appropriated some supplies and another mount. He heard the faint sound of hoofbeats on the road, then grimaced when his hand dropped automatically to the empty scabbard at his side. They had made off with his sword, his horse, everything he’d had of any value, down to the gold chain around his neck.
The slow, rhythmic hoofbeats grew louder and finally he glimpsed a youngish, plump woman riding a gaunt ebari, her gray homespun skirts hitched above her chubby knees. Stepping out where she could see him, Jarid reached for her mind.
“May the Mother cradle you in Her hand, stranger.” The woman reined in the ebari and looked down at him with deep-set dark eyes. “Are you hurt, like?”
Jarid strained to reach her mind. He could feel her before him, hear her boring chierra thought-tracings, but he could get no more hold on her mind than he could a handful of air. His face broke out in a cold sweat.
She was waiting, her hands piled on the saddle before her, watching him closely with those shrewd chierra eyes. “Have you been robbed then?”
It must be that damned head injury, he thought. He simply couldn’t believe this fat stupid peasant could resist him unless something were wrong. “I—need assistance.” He steadied himself against the ebari’s shaggy shoulder with one hand, feeling ridiculously weak.
“Bandits, I suppose.” She sighed. “Well, you’d best come along with me to the Mother’s house.” She swung her leg over the ebari’s back and slid down its washboard-ribs to the ground. “The Sisters will be glad to care for you until you’re fit to travel.”
He put his foot in the stirrup, then hesitated. “I have no money.”
“Of course not!” She grinned at him, revealing a crooked front tooth. “That’s why they calls them ‘thieves!’”
Lord of Light! he thought, staring at her plain tan face, this peasant actually thought she was being witty. He pulled himself up into the worn, patched saddle, and sat there, his mind too clouded with pain to worry much about where she was taking him. A little rest, he thought, and he would be able to pull himself together.
Then they would see what he could do. Everyone would see.
* * *
The girl lay asleep with her pale-gold head pillowed on the midnight-black of the silsha’s shoulder, the animal’s wickedly-clawed legs stretched out on either side of her. Kevisson watched them both through the fire’s shifting shadows.
He still couldn’t believe it: the damned beast had shields. How in the world did an animal learn to shield? And, as if that weren’t enough, apparently the blasted thing could pick up his thoughts as easily as he could its.
Taking Haemas Tal back to the Highlands would be impossible now unless he could convince her to go willingly—or he killed the silsha. Unfortunately he wasn’t sure exactly how one went about killing a six hundred pound beast that was sure to be faster than pure thought and would know the instant he decided to do it in.
He took a last sip of the tea in his mug and made a face; it was cold and tasteless. Tossing the dregs onto the fire, he watched the hissing droplets skitter over the glowing embers. There was so much more going on than he had bargained for.
He settled himself against the ummit saddle and relaxed his muscles. Then he counted each slow breath as he exhaled, focusing in his mind on the blue and orange Andiine pattern laid into Ellirt’s floor before the hearth.
For a long time he drifted, building the intricate design line by line in his mind until he could see every whorl . . . every line . . .
Kevisson!
Yes, Master. He hesitated, hating to reveal his incompetence.
He felt Ellirt’s amusement. Don’t be so stiff-backed, boy. Haven’t you learned anything in the time since you first came to us?
Kevisson gave a mental sigh, then loosened his shields, integrating the link between them more fully. I know, I’m overcompensating again.
It’s still something for you to work on, at any rate. Ellirt’s calm sensibility warmed him. But let’s get to the point. You’ve found the Tal girl?
Yes, Kevisson admitted, but I’ve run into another Kashi Searching the girl. He’s nearly taken her twice now, but all I can find out is that his name is ‘Jarid,’and he means somehow to place himself on the Council.
Damnation!
Kevisson c
ould picture Ellirt’s angry face.
That must be old Tal’s nephew, Jarid Tal Ketral. I don’t suppose that delinquent girl has explained anything.
Well, that’s another problem. Kevisson wondered exactly how to explain this. She seems to be injured in some way; she can’t shield and grows hysterical when I attempt to probe any deeper than just surface thoughts. You don’t buy this story that she attacked her father, do you? She doesn’t seem the type.
I was afraid this matter might turn out to be another one of the Council’s never-ending scandals. Ellirt paused. I don’t know what I believe about this wretched business, but we’ll never get to the truth as long as the girl stays down there. Just bring her back here as soon as possible so we can be done with the whole mess. Let her father deal with all of this.
Kevisson winced. I’m afraid she’s under the misapprehension that her father is dead. She’s terrified to come back.
Dead? Ellirt’s surprise was apparent. I did find the old coot a little weak yet, although his young snippet of a wife would have everyone think he was departing for the next life any minute. Wishful thinking on her part, I’m sure.
Not dead. Kevisson let relief wash over him. The girl had seemed so certain.
Just throw the young baggage over your saddle and get back to Shael’donn immediately.
I had meant to do that, Master . . .
But? insisted the old Andiine.
Kevisson felt ridiculous. But she’s—taken up with a huge black silsha, and I can’t get within ten feet of her.
There was a long, embarrassing pause. Assuming you haven’t suddenly become an imbecile, there must be a logical reason why you don’t simply send the beast away.
I can’t control it. Kevisson knew it sounded stupid. It’s impossible, but the creature seems to have—shields.
A black silsha, you say?
Yes, Master.
Are you aware that the black silsha is not only extremely rare, but also sacred to the chierra Mother cult?
Kevisson felt weariness dragging upon him; the distance to Shael’donn was great. No.
Well, think about it anyway, and I shall mull over the whole mess too. You may find the Mother’s Children are mixed up in this some way.
Kevisson could barely make out Ellirt’s words. Who, Master?
Walk toward the Light, Kevisson Monma . . .
He lost the link with Shael’donn as his energy reserve gave out. He’d pushed himself hard the last few days. Opening his eyes, he glanced at the other side of the dying fire; Haemas and the silsha slept peacefully. She looked very young and helpless in the fading light, her slim arms twined around the beast’s neck, her moon-gold hair strewn across the black fur.
He stirred himself enough to rummage in the saddlebag for the last of Cynnalee Kochigian’s plain but nutritious food, then lay back on the saddle, munching cheese-and-berry sweetcake.
Ellirt had offered no real advice. It seemed he was on his own, for the present.
* * *
Summerstone let the night wind blow her high above the trees. Despair seeped through her, cell by cell. She still will not come with the shadowfoot.
Windsign answered her from the ground. He is clever for his kind, but cannot speak plainly enough. Although she has affection for him, she simply does not understand.
Summerstone thinned until she felt part of the dank, chill wind, until her body streamed with it through the night. Then call him back to us. Perhaps she will follow.
Windsign trailed her hand in the water. Concentric rings rippled outwards. Perhaps.
* * *
Lealla stood looking down at the stranger’s pale face as he slept on a cot in the guest quarters. Dark circles shadowed his closed eyes, but his breathing seemed clear and easy. More exhausted than anything else, she thought.
She turned to Esleann’s plump face. “You’re sure you felt his power in your mind?”
The acolyte sister nodded, her eyes fixed on the sleeping Kashi face. “Yes, Sister. If I had not already been committed into the Mother’s hands, I don’t know what would have happened.”
Well, that settled the matter. Lealla’s mouth settled into a worried line. “All the younger girls must go to the shrine at Litinhem.” Her mind raced, working out the details.
Esleann sighed. “I’ll have them pack immediately, Sister.”
Lealla bent over to draw the blanket more snugly over the sleeping man. “Pick out one of the young savoks to send with them for slaughter, then turn the rest out into the forest. And send a full measure of cracked grain as well. I’ve no idea how long they’ll have to stay.”
“Do you want me to call a shadowfoot?” Esleann asked.
“No.” Lealla folded her hands. “Once the young ones are out of the way, the rest of us should be safe enough. Now hurry. I gave him a sleeping draught, but we can’t risk any of the young ones still being here when he wakes.”
Esleann bowed her dark-haired head in obedience and left, closing the door softly behind her. Picking up a piece of mending, the older woman settled into a chair beside the narrow bed and picked up where she had left off when Esleann had arrived with such troubling company.
Very strange, she thought as her silvery needle flashed in and out around the ragged tear. She’d never seen one of them travel alone this deep into the Lowlands before, although there were rumors that the Lords could disguise their appearance.
Well, she reminded herself briskly, it was true that trouble took advantage of the unwary, but the Mother taught her children to always be prepared.
DERVLIN TAL squinted irritably at the leather-bound book in his hands. Every time he was almost able to force the rebellious black print to come into focus, it blurred hopelessly again. He snapped the book shut and heaved it to the foot of the bed. Darkness and damnation, he wasn’t ready to die yet! He tugged at the black silk pull beside his bed.
Jayna’s gray head peered around the door. “Yes, your Lordship?”
Dervlin scowled at her. “Don’t just stand there, woman. Send for the healer at once. I can’t read a single word in this damned book!”
The old chierra shut the massive door, then folded her work-roughened hands before her. “Begging your pardon, your Lordship, but Healer Sithnal did say that—”
“—I meant a real healer, of course, not that incompetent nit!”
Jayna bowed her head and continued in a determined voice. “Healer Sithnal did say that your Lordship’s brain had received a terrible shock and it would be some time before you could expect complete recovery.” Her brown eyes, deep as two wells, glanced up from the floor. “He said you was lucky to be alive at all.”
“Lucky!” Dervlin snorted, then sagged wearily against the pillows heaped behind his back. These days, even a brief fit of temper left him weak. He swallowed; the back of his mouth tasted of burnt iron. “I want my own healer.”
“Now, your Lordship . . .” Jayna ventured close enough to punch up the pillows to support his aching head. “Your old healer be dead, as you very well know. Healer Sennay died a full three weeks before you had your—your accident.”
“Accident, bah!” He rubbed at the throbbing spot over his ear. “Attempted murder is not an accident!”
“I won’t never believe the Lady Haemas tried to kill you,” she said over her shoulder.
Dervlin watched her bend stiffly before the hearth, tugging a log into place to stoke the faltering fire. Although he would never have admitted it, he found a curious comfort in her presence. An age ago, they had played together here at Tal’ayn when he was a callow, untrained lad and she the youngest child of his mother’s maidservant. “Well,” he said, “I’m amazed the little skivit even had the guts to try.” He started to laugh, but as usual, it only made him cough.
She poured a tumbler of cool water, then fitted his trembling fingers around
it. “You just lie back here and rest, your Lordship. Don’t you think about nothing at all.”
After sipping a mouthful, he rolled his head restlessly over the pillows. Rest? He had forgotten how. A painful brightness simmered behind his eyes whenever he tried to sleep. He felt burned, used up and useless, unable even to remember the night his pale-eyed daughter had assaulted him. “Still can’t believe she . . . tried,” he mumbled, as sleep dragged at him. “Must be more of me in . . . than I thought . . .”
* * *
Warm, slanting rays of sunlight danced over her face. Haemas opened her eyes and stretched. The orange sun hung just above the trees bounding the clearing. Glancing at the sleeping Searcher, she put a hand behind her and felt through the damp grass and leaves.
The silsha was gone.
Pushing her tangled hair out of her face, she scrambled onto her knees and looked anxiously around. There was no sign of her huge protector.
Her breath puffed white in the chill spring morning air, and her shoulder ached bone-deep from sleeping on the cold hard ground. How long had the silsha been gone? Why hadn’t she felt him go? She cast her mind out through the trees, but only picked up the brief thought-traces of skivits and barrets, lightwings and nits, nothing else. He was hunting, she told herself, an animal that size needed a lot of food. He would come back.
On the far side of the clearing, propped against the saddle, Kevisson mumbled something in his sleep. He turned over and his head slipped off onto the ground. “What’s—wrong?” He blinked at her with dazed red-rimmed eyes.
“What did you do to the silsha?” She stood over his long, lanky form, both hands clenched.
“I didn’t do anything, but not for lack of trying.” He sat up and kneaded his forehead with the heel of his hand. “Sorry, I have a bit of a headache. I overextended myself last night.”
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