by Cat Bruno
“Let us go now,” she told him.
He said nothing, but trailed behind her as she walked to the inner courtyard where she knew that she would find Jarek and Otieno. Conri had wanted to send Jarek away, yet knew that doing so would cause her to flee as well. Now, he would use Conall, she knew.
When they entered the courtyard, Caryss noticed that Jarek had grown taller, and his arms had grown thicker, although he still was much a boy. He was wearing fitted leggings and a pale tunic that fell just past his elbows. As he swung a curved sword, his tunic rose, nearly tearing with the pull.
We must find him some better-fitting clothes, she thought.
As she got closer, Caryss could see streams of sweat flowing down Otieno’s dark face. Jarek’s pale hair was stuck to his forehead, wet and messy. When she was just steps away from the pair, Otieno paused, just long enough to allow Jarek an opening. With no hesitation, the boy cut through the air, slicing from right to left until the tip of his blade rested in the center of the large Islander’s chest. Jarek held the tip there until Otieno looked back to him, nodding. Both sheathed their swords and wiped at their faces before turning their attention to Caryss and Conall.
Speaking Common, Otieno called, “Is there something you need, leseda?”
With a shrug and a forced smile, she told him, “Conall needs to speak with Jarek.”
When Otieno tipped his head, Jarek stepped forward, his blue eyes bright and shining under the clear sky.
After a long moment of silence, Caryss glanced toward Conall, who watched the boy, and, with no attempt to hide her annoyance, she asked, “Jarek, what has your mother told you of your skills?”
Before he could reply, Otieno asked, “What is the meaning of this? The High Lord has asked him as much already.”
“Conall is interested to know how your blade was able to slay a Crow, Otieno.”
Half-smiling, the Islander replied, “Enyo was a gift to me many moon years ago, but since then, I have learned that she is no ordinary sword, and may be cursed, as you say. She has killed many, and that day with the Crow was no different than anytime before.”
“Who gave you the sword?” Conall asked, his eyes darkening.
“A blacksmith.”
Caryss could see Conall stiffening beside her, but before she could intervene, he threatened, “I will play no games with you. Why my brother has permitted you to stay here makes no sense to me, but you have guest-right, and I must abide by his choice. Make no mistake, though, I know your kind and will not be as easily fooled as the child and the healer seem to be.”
With a shrug, Otieno told him, “I seek to fool none.”
More calmly, Conall asked, “Did you know the boy was an Elemental?”
Nearly black eyes met deep brown ones as the two men stared at one another, silently, until, after a long pause, Otieno answered, “No more than he himself did.”
When she next looked at Conall, Caryss paled. His eyes were black and glistening, as if they were atraglacia. Knowing not what else to do, she quickly stepped in between the two men, placing her hands on Otieno’s chest until he stepped back a few steps. Her eyes met the Islander’s, and she let him see all that was written there, until he dropped his own to the ground.
It had been nearly a moon since they have arrived in the Tribelands, and now the uneasy peace began to unravel.
Turning, she faced Conall and scolded, “Jarek is a child. What madness is this that you fear him?”
“A child? He is a weapon. A Rexterran weapon.”
“Boy,” Conall called, “What do you know of your power?”
Jarek’s voice trilled and squeaked, caught between childhood and adulthood, like the rest of him. Caryss wanted to run to his side, but she let him speak, as she knew she must.
“My eyes might be gold-rimmed like my father’s, but I have never been his son. I am my mother’s child, and it is her blood that runs through me. Blood older than the King’s, older still than Cordisia. Our gods are not your gods, Lord Conall, but neither are they your foes, as they once might have been. I have come with no intentions of harm, and have slept and eaten under your roof.”
Caryss nearly wept at the boy’s words, realizing that he was more than even she had thought. Still, she held her tears, waiting for him to finish.
“My mother did not know her own father, either, and we never had a name for what it was that we could do. I first learned of the Elementals when Caryss visited. We do not call ourselves such, but it is clear that is who my grandfather was although I know nothing of him. But I do know the skies, and I know them better than most. Well enough even to have no fear that I would harm any without intent.”
With his eyes fading, Conall asked, “You time-walk as well?”
“When necessary, yes.”
“What exactly do you know of the past between Tribe and Elemental?”
Jarek kept his hands at his side as he answered, “That we were created by our gods as shields against those who threatened us. That after a great war, my kin fled from here. Lord Conall, I do not even know if any else like me can be found in Cordisia.”
“Can you understand my concerns, Jarek?”
His voice high, Jarek called, “I am not your enemy, sir, nor will I be the enemy of Caryss’s babe.”
Shaking his head, Conall replied, “If you draw forth lightning and we are too near, we could die. Enemy or not, that is not a risk my kin or I would take.”
Conall’s words silenced the others, but, finally, Caryss said, “He will stay, or we all will go. Just as I told the High Lord.”
To Jarek, she asked, “Will you promise to not draw forth lightning when any Tribe is present?”
After a moment, he replied, “If I am in danger, I must use my weapons, Caryss, but if the Tribe means me no harm, then I will promise to control the call of the sky.”
“Conall?” she asked, looking to him for acceptance.
With a shrug, he answered, “It will be for Conri to decide.”
“He has already,” Otieno added, his face etched and angry.
“I must speak to him myself,” Conall told the diauxie.
“Jarek, gather your things and mine as well. We are done for today,” Otieno added.
Once Jarek was far enough from them to hear, Otieno said to Caryss, “For over a moon, we have supped and slept here. I know not why the boy is no longer welcome. Why bring him here? Why have me teach him? Caryss, I had thought it was your goal to make your daughter’s enemies into friends, and I thought it a wise choice.”
“I have not had a change of heart,” she sighed, pointing to Conall. “He is concerned for his kin and wanted to question the boy himself.”
Conall interrupted.
“It is one thing to have the boy here now, but in a moon’s time, when the babe is born, all will change. I need not have to explain how vulnerable the pup will be.”
“Nothing has changed,” Otieno cried in a rare display of emotion. “I would argue that it is even more important now that he stays with us. Treat him as a son and let him be raised as kin to your daughter. It will be one less enemy she will have to face, and he will be a more powerful ally than any she could find. Even me.”
“How can he be ally without the sky?” Conall interrupted, coming near with speed that caused both Otieno and Caryss to pause.
Smiling broadly, Otieno answered, “I will teach the girl how to fight the sky, as I have done, and to win.”
Suddenly, Caryss remembered the night at Nicoline’s farm when he had broken her lightning into pieces, and she exclaimed, “You can teach her to fight as you did that night?”
“I will teach her that and more. She will become even more than me. The Great Mother has willed it so.”
With his final words, Otieno bowed, offering up his hands to the Great Mother, as Caryss had seen him do once before.
Turning toward Conall, she said, “Is that enough? The boy will be well-trained enough to pose no threat.”
Wi
th an elegant shrug, Conall answered, “It is for the High Lord to decide.”
*****
When it came time to leave, Pietro was alone, which was just as well, since only he knew that his Healer Journey would not be what the Masters had expected. Before the sun had fully risen, Pietro had woken and washed. At the eighth bell, he had met with the Master Council, and, after a short discussion, he had been dismissed and allowed to begin his journey. He knew not why it had gone so smoothly, but he suspected that Master Black, disliked yet powerful, had aided him in even this.
He knew enough to not complain and departed from the room with a smile and a bow.
Across his back was a large bag, heavy with extra clothing and blankets. Attached to his waist was his healer’s belt with several pouches hanging full. Until he reached Rexterra, Pietro intended on honoring his Healer Journey, if only for a moon or so. He had spent over ten moons years at the Academy, and without the title of Master, he would have little to show for his time. With or without the dark man’s interference, his journey would not be wasted, and, in a moon year’s time, Pietro planned to return to the Academy to account for his time spent in travel.
Just past midday he walked out of the gates of the Academy, his robe clean and pressed and his smile wide. His sandaled feet poked out of the bottom of his wide-legged pants and left soft tracks in the sandy path as he moved. Through the center of town, he walked, smiling at those who glanced his way, and nodding in greeting to those who shouted out encouragement or waved goodbye. For a moment, he paused outside the doors of The Gull House, where he had spent many nights, often meeting Talia just after her shift ended.
For nearly a moon he had not spoken with her, and so he kept walking, remembering when last he saw her, and what accusations she had thrown at him. Some were true, he thought, yet he cared little enough for her to try to make amends. Louissia, too, no longer spoke to him, confirming to him that she had told her cousin of their time together.
It no longer mattered, he knew, as he walked on, past the clinic where he had spent a moon year in practice for his journey. Near the end of the Litusian Square, he heard his name being called, and turned to look. Even from a distance, he knew who it was from the tall, thin frame and the unkempt hair. Slowing down, Pietro waited for Kennet to reach him, surprised that he had remembered that today was his departure day, yet even more surprised that it mattered that the librarian had remembered.
“Pietro!”
Holding up a hand, he waved, and then smiled as Kennet nearly stumbled into him.
“I had thought I missed you,” the lanky man called, nearly out of breath.
“Nearly so. My final Master Council meeting was this morning. Now that I am beyond the gates, I suppose my journey has begun.”
With a long sigh, Kennet told him, “It will be strange to have both you and Bronwen gone from the Academy.”
Pietro could not believe that he had forgotten to inquire about when last Kennet had heard from Bronwen, and nearly yelped with excitement that he now had another chance.
“Have you received word from her of late? How fares her journey?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
Before he answered, Kennet’s face flushed red, and his lip trembled, yet he managed to reply, “Nearly a moon ago, I had word from her. She is well and seeing places that she had never thought to. More than that I do not know, as her letter was quite brief.”
Pietro suspected that Kennet was lying, and asked, “Did she travel to the North, as most suspected that she would? Or did she head east, knowing that it is where most healing can be found?”
When Kennet did not answer, Pietro’s suspicion was confirmed, and he said, “I mean her no harm, Kennet. We are both soon to be Masters, and our time at the Academy will be only fond memories. Perhaps I will even encounter her along my own journey. It would be a welcome sight to see her, no doubt.”
Kennet only nodded, and Pietro knew that he would get no more information from him.
Bowing his head slightly and offering Kennet a wide smile, Pietro stepped forward and hugged the librarian, who wrapped his long arms around him in return. Just as quickly, Pietro stepped back from him, nodded again, and continued walking. Without looking back, he knew that Kennet watched him. He would watch many healers come and go from the Academy, yet he would never be one of them. If Kennet had not lied to him about Bronwen, he might have felt bad for him, yet now he cared little. No longer a use to him, Kennet was no longer a friend, even if he had been the only one to tell him goodbye.
*****
“Have you received word from the men you sent north?”
“Would it surprise you if I told you that they are finding it difficult to gather information from the Eirrannians?”
“They have learned nothing then?”
Walking through the central courtyard of the Grand Palace, Delwin and Crispin make a striking pair, dark-haired and golden-eyed, both wearing fine clothing and neatly polished boots. Delwin, as usual, donned the silver and blue uniform of the Royal Army, while Crispin wore mostly black, except for a small silver crest sewn across his left chest. Neither had crown or guard, as if they were no more than just brothers.
Adjusting the sword that hung at his hip, Delwin replied, “It is as if she was not there, Crispin, but there is nowhere else in Cordisia that would offer her safety. I have ordered them to keep searching for the next moon, and I opened their purses, which should assist their questioning.”
With a snort, Crispin said, “You think to buy knowledge of the girl? Surely you know the Northerners better than that.”
Shrugging, Delwin answered, “There are always those whose tongues wag for coin. You are fond of the Lower Streets, Cris, and must know that for truth.”
Not wanting to argue, Crispin sighed, “True words, if unfortunate ones.”
“I had thought my men would have found her by now. It has been moons since father was last seen, and word spreads that he is unwell. Soon, we will need to address the rumors, and one of us must be ready to take the crown.”
Finally, he speaks aloud the words, Crispin thought, unsurprised. Even before Caryss had taken Herrin, his brother had wanted their father to relinquish his rule. Though Crispin was the elder of the two, Delwin had never accepted that the throne should go to him next, and, since Herrin had fallen ill, conflict had risen. Without Herrin to formally crown him, Crispin would have less backing from the Circle of Council.
All that Crispin mulled over as he walked next to his brother, yet he only said, “Give your men their time, and, if nothing has been discovered by the end of the moon, then we will talk again.”
“I have heard those same words too often, Crispin. If the Northerners do not give up the girl by then, my men will strike. The time for talk has ceased.”
“Strike?” Crispin grunted, grabbing his brother’s arm, and forcing him to stop marching.
“Eirrannia is sheltering the woman who kidnapped our father!” Delwin barked. “How else are we to see that but as an act of war.”
They had neared the Central Wing, and, around them, guards listened, with eyes downcast. Delwin had shaken free from his grasp and stood gaping at him, eyes aflame with fury.
After a long moment, Crispin said through barely parted lips, “I will have Uncle Derry send word to his kin in the North. Perhaps when they hear of what will come of sheltering the girl, they will reconsider. Until I hear back, do not act, Delwin. This it no time for war, nor the right enemy. Rexterra is not strong nor rich enough to strike so foolishly.”
His last sentence hung heavy with threat. Over the last moon years of Herrin’s reign, gold had become scarce, and the coffers were nearly empty. Rexterra had little resources to wage war, yet his brother cared little for coin, and would offer his men other reward for their risks, an offer that Crispin knew few would turn down. Many would die, and those who survived would be wealthier for it. Yet, the coffers of Rexterra would suffer most.
And there would be those
who would seek to use the Crown’s poverty for their own gain. Like the Mage-Guild, Crispin thought.
“One chance,” Delwin finally conceded. “Either Derry can convince the North to release her or we find her ourselves. If they refuse, I will head North myself to lead the assault.”
Crispin did not reply as he hurried back to his rooms. There was little time. Too little.
*****
Seated cross-legged on the tiled floor, Caryss looked up at Nahla, who was weaving colorful yarn into a blanket. The woman’s fingers moved swiftly and gracefully, humming as they brushed against the small loom.
Sharron and Gregorr were with the King, who had been given a tonic that the fennidi had brewed, a mixture of powdered pumpkin seed and crushed walnut hulls. She had not thought to try the two together, but Gregorr had insisted that both worked well to expel what often could not be seen. Poison, she thought, as she knew he did, too, but neither said it.
Within the day, the King’s bowels would loosen, and for days to follow, he would have to be given water and his underclothes changed often, Gregorr had warned. Caryss had not objected, and Sharron had agreed to sit with him for the first half of the day, releasing Caryss to her room, where Nahla had found her.
Both women had sat silently for most of the morning until Caryss, glancing toward the closed door, said, “Conri has returned.”
With her fingers still moving, Nahla asked, “How can you be certain?”
Rising from the floor, she answered, “I have never been wrong.”
Her words were clipped and short, and she nearly apologized, but Nahla did not seem bothered, so she slipped from the room without further explanation. Her feet were bare, and Caryss wore a healer’s robe that fit tightly across her chest and belly. Beneath it were soft and well-worn cotton pants, tied just below her rounded stomach. As she walked down the hallway, she quickly braided her hair, letting it hang across her left shoulder, appearing as if she was still at the Academy.
Soon, she was opening the glass door to the inner courtyard, where she knew that she would find Otieno, Aldric, and Jarek. Jarek and Otieno were sparring with wooden staffs, while Aldric watched, calling out suggestions to the boy, and causing Caryss to remember that he had spent many years as a soldier after he was exiled from the Mage-Guild. The three were still a strange sight to see, despite the time that they had spent together. As she neared them, Aldric spotted her first and called out her name, causing Otieno and Jarek to drop their weapons.
