“No!” Gilly’s cheeks flushed hot, as if she had been caught spying on someone’s bedchamber.
“Are you able to see your family’s thoughts, too? Your friends? Even strangers?”
She shook her head. “No, just Erovians, and only when you are thinking of me. Oh, that means Mayla must have been thinking of me the moment she died. Why? I was as far from her as you.”
“Perhaps she was calling to you for help,” Lord Jarrod said in a sorrowful tone. “Lady Saira-Gilly,” he took her hands, “perhaps she was trying to warn you that danger stalks you too. I understand your stay here has been unpleasant but I wish you would remain with us a little longer. You are safer inside Erov than outside it.”
“I wish that, too, but convincing Anna to end her journey here will not be easy. I will ask her, Lord Jarrod.”
“Call me Jarrod.” He lightly squeezed her fingers. “I am not your lord. I hope I am your friend.”
“Then I am Gilly,” she said with a smile.
“Calling you Gilly, my lady,” he said with a slight smile, “will be harder for me, than for you to call me Jarrod.”
“I cannot imagine why. You, sir, are the Chief Councilor of Erov, while I am a goat herder who is terribly missing her goats.”
“You, my lady, were born to save our world, while I was born merely to record your inspiring quest. I am more certain of that now than ever.”
She shook her head at his fanciful words. “Jarrod, with expectations as unrealistic as that, I fear you may have been born merely to be disappointed.”
His smile was indulgent as he released her.
She felt bereft of his touch. He had a comforting feel for such a young man. “I cannot believe your faith in me remains unshaken after the tragedy I brought to your father and Mayla.”
“They have moved to another plane of Light.” He glanced toward where Mayla lay and a shadow of grief passed over his face. When he again met her gaze, his sorrow was contained, replaced by resolve. “None of this is your fault.”
Gilly was not so sure. Death seemed to stalk her and her family from Nadym to Erov. First Vyan had been murdered, then Aton, and now Mayla. Anna would be quick to point out that Tom had been with them the whole time. Staying in Erov with him would be akin to inviting the wolf into the fold. The idea of sending Tom away brought a pain to Gilly’s chest, one as hurtful as the thought of saying goodbye to her family.
She firmly took a step away from Jarrod. “I suspect we shall leave at dawn. Though I fear the horsemen will not be far behind us. They are likely to have caught up to us by now.”
Jarrod’s eyes lit with mischief. “I have a surprise.”
“What is it?”
“Speak to your sister first and if she insists on leaving, then I shall tell you all on the morrow. Promise you will not go without seeing me first?”
“Of course, Jarrod.”
“Good. Well, if this is to be your last day, I have preparations to make. While I am busy, will you do my people the honor of meeting with them?”
Gilly covered her hot cheeks with her cool palms. She simply didn’t understand Jarrod or his people. After the trouble she’d brought them, however, the least she could do was grant his wish. “It would be my pleasure, Jarrod. May I bring Anna and her family along?”
“Please do, and the pleasure will be ours.” Jarrod offered her an expansive bow before he bid her goodbye.
With a nod, Gilly hurried away. As she turned the corner, she gasped as sorrow as deep as a well overwhelmed her. She halted and slowly peeked back around to where she had left Jarrod.
He was staring into the tent where his bride-to-be lay. Finally, now everyone had left him, his tears flowed and his young shoulders shook with his silent cries. He took a step inside and the room’s curtain closed behind him.
Gilly stood there in shock. I can read an Erovian’s emotions even when he is not thinking of me.
Chapter 8
As Gilly and her family set out on their promised tour of Erov, she viewed the vast tent city and its inhabitants as a panorama of colors. The enclosures were constructed of bright blue, green and purple material. People wore clothing in shades of mainly gold or amber. Once they met a man dressed all in white. When questioned, their guide said that he was a city elder approaching ascension to merge with the Light.
Gilly took that to mean he was near death. For Light was not only the source of all magic, but where souls returned after death, to replenish the Light.
Every dark skinned Erovian they met was astonishingly friendly. The men shook arms with Marton and bowed to Anna, Gilly and the children. One young woman asked about Nadym’s progress and details of its inhabitants as if she were intimately familiar with the village, yet Gilly who had lived in Nadym all of her adult life, had never met her. Wares were proudly displayed, from books and scrolls to fanciful writing implements and even toys. One vendor offered a curly, black-haired doll as a gift to Skye and a hand puppet for Bevan.
Most disconcerting of all, however, was their behavior toward Gilly. In whichever direction she turned, a path would open. People flung colorful scarves before her feet. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a chance to touch her. With each gentle brush, came a shower of emotions. A sense of joy, deep sadness, shudder of fear or a breathtaking burst of happiness. Most often, however, she sensed hope.
As if they expect me to save them from catastrophe. What could I possibly do, that Jarrod could not do better?
* * *
At sunrise the next day, with enough food packed in their bags to last a week, and all the herbal medicine Gilly could have wished for, a guide escorted her party to the outskirts of Erov. The desert stretched ahead as far as the eye could see. On their right rose the Makakala range. The tall tents behind them likely hid the copse of trees where they had camped when they first encountered Erov. A large crowd had come to see them off.
Marton adjusted Bevan and Skye on the white stallion’s back while Talus and Cullen were beside their horses, checking equipment.
“Why have we not left yet?” Anna asked Gilly. “Marton says you asked him to delay our departure.”
“We’re waiting for Lord Jarrod.” Gilly looked for the Chief Councilor’s tall figure in the crowd.
Tom stood a little to her left, looking off in the opposite direction, toward the desert. He seemed worried. Probably wondering if he was strong enough to keep up on foot. The question bothered her as well but he was so proud, she dared not suggest he ride with the children.
Then she spotted Jarrod hurrying toward her carrying several objects. Happy to see him, she waved both her arms.
“He cannot miss you,” Tom said in a quiet voice.
Gilly self-consciously dropped her arms.
“Thank the Light, you are still here.” Jarrod arrived at her side and immediately dropped all but one book and a fancy quill. A scroll rolled over until it bumped against Tom’s boots.
Gilly hid her grin as she and Tom bent to retrieve the Chief Councilor’s fallen items. Their hands touched and a shiver ran up Gilly’s arm. She dropped the scroll she had picked up and Tom scooped it up.
“I was looking everywhere for a map of Perm’s streets and alleyways and another with some little used routes from Perm to Tibor,” Jarrod said, and took a deep breath. “Then I couldn’t find the record book I wanted to give you. I’m glad you didn’t leave without saying goodbye, my lady. I mean Gilly.”
“On friendlier terms now, are you?” Tom whispered in her ear before they stood.
“Thank you for going to so much trouble for us, Jarrod,” Gilly said, with a bright smile that hid her confusion. Is Tom jealous? “The maps especially will be useful. What is this about a record book?”
Jarrod gave her the leather bound book and quill and taking the scrolls from Tom, he led her aside. The quill was brown with gray markings. From a desert bird?
“Do you write, Gilly?” Jarrod asked once out of earshot.
“Mam taught me. She felt it was
an important lesson for all her children to master.” Her elder sister and young brother had not lived long enough to put that talent to good use. The reminder dropped a dollop of sorrow into this bright new day.
“Your mam was a wise woman. I would like you to use this book to record all that passes on your upcoming journey.”
“I will diligently record our adventure to Tibor, Jarrod. I promise.”
“Thank you. I give you these gifts for another reason. If at any time you need my aid, write my name in the book with that quill and I will know.”
Gilly stared at him in silence. This was his first solid admission that he practiced magic.
The Chief Councilor of Erov returned her unspoken question with a bland look.
“I am honored that you trust me,” she said.
“You are the Defender of the Light. Who else would I trust in these dangerous times?”
Gilly’s attention perked. He had called her that once before, at the start of the Truth Telling Ceremony. Pieces of a puzzle began to fit into place. Could he and his people believe she was the defender of magic in Ryca?
Jarrod tucked one of the scrolls under his arms and unrolled the other. He indicated where Erov was now located and Gilly caught her breath in shock. This city was leagues north of where they had last camped. This must be his surprise. If so, Erov truly was a magical wandering city!
By whisking them leagues from where the horsemen might be searching for them, he had literally saved their lives. “Thank you, Jarrod.”
He nodded and then accompanied her back to her friends and spread the map on the floor for them to study.
Cullen was the first to speak. “We should travel down this pathway,” he said, pointing with confidence to the southern border of the desert. “Then if we go due north, in a day shy of a sennight, we will be at Perm’s gates.”
Gilly and Jarrod shared a private glance and she shivered at what they must now reveal. Swallowing past a throat swollen, with trepidation she pointed a forefinger far to the north of where Cullen said was their starting point. “We are currently here, at the northern edge of the Kocheya basin. So this route will take us to Perm in two days.”
“That’s correct,” Jarrod said.
“That’s impossible,” Cullen said.
Gilly insisted he must be mistaken about how far he’d traveled before joining them. Surprisingly, Anna backed her up. Marton gave Anna a worried look but receiving her firm nod, he sided with his wife.
Talus shrugged. “I had not been keeping careful track of my movements.” A slight twitch of his lips suggested the astute King’s Warrior was well aware magic might be at play here but chose to give it a pass. Why?
Whatever his motivation, Gilly breathed a sigh of relief at that monumental favor. She was starting to like Talus more every day. Tom had been unconscious during their trip to Erov, so he could offer no corroboration to Cullen.
Alone in his dissension, Cullen finally gave in. Talus offered to ride ahead to find a camping spot for them for the coming night. He asked Cullen along, saying, “Two heads are obviously better than one at gauging distances.”
The minstrel seemed reluctant to split off, but finally agreed and the two men rode off.
Gilly breathed a sigh of relief to be left alone with her family and Tom. They waved goodbye to the observing Erovians and set off to cheers of well wishes.
Before they left, Jarrod held Gilly back and then as Tom reluctantly left her side to follow her family, the Chief Councilor of Erov gave her an unexpected goodbye hug. “Stay safe, Gilly.”
Touched by his concern, she tentatively hugged him back and received a strange sensation, as if she were embracing a hot desert wind. Light whirled about her, a whirlwind of magical energy that enveloped her as if welcoming home an old friend. Then he was solid again within her arms. She blinked in surprise. Had the ethereal moment been real?
Then she became lost in an entirely different sensation of being held tight by someone who genuinely cared about her. For a goat herder who had lived alone most of her life, having lost all but one family member, and then having her sister despise her, this physical closeness was an extraordinary experience.
Tears sprang to Gilly’s eyes as memories returned of a time when hugs were an everyday occurrence. Hugs from her father and mother, from her brother and sister, and even from friends and servants. I had servants? Her cheeks flushed hot with remembered joy, followed by a sense of profound loss.
“Thank you,” she whispered and gently pulled away. Wiping away her tears, she turned and ran to catch up with her party. In no time, she was huffing, and her left leg was protesting. When she reached Tom, she stopped. At least her run gave her an excuse for her flushed cheeks. Marton and Anna were a few steps further ahead with the stallion carrying the children.
Tom did not acknowledge her arrival. His coldness was back, restoring her racing thoughts and emotions to a calm normalcy. This estrangement with Tom, from everyone, she understood. This was her life. Her pulse slowed and she glanced down with saddened resignation.
“Maybe you should have stayed with Lord Jarrod,” Tom said, in a hard tone. “Since leaving him makes you sad.”
Gilly did not know how to answer so she let silence intrude like a wall between them. Though words were lost to her, her emotions refused to be still. A gaping hole grew inside her with each step she took away from Erov and Jarrod. She quietly acknowledged that leaving the kind, funny and gentle Chief Councilor of Erov was indeed hard, but staying in Erov would not assist her goal to keep Anna and her family safe. She glanced sideways at Tom and admitted that harder still was the idea of leaving Tom, despite his bad mood since his recovery.
She took a deep breath and released it slowly as a new startling realization settled. As much as she wanted to protect her family, Gilly also did not wish to be parted from Tom.
How long had she had this attachment for this man? She had known him most of her life but they had hardly conversed. Yet, when he was in danger in Nadym, she refused to leave without rescuing him. At every turn, she had acted to protect him as fiercely as she would Anna and the children and Marton. It was as if her fondness for Tom had snuck up on her, unaware. Did she truly know him?
The Truth Telling Ceremony had revealed that he was not the village drunkard Anna labeled him. Or even the beaten up dairy farmer Gilly stitched up in Nadym. Tom had been present when Prince Keegan was killed. Most astonishing of all, in all likelihood he was the son of a King’s Warrior, one groomed to become a King’s Bodyguard.
Talus, too, must have noted that possibility, for before he left, he had looked Tom eye-to-eye and seemed to stand a little taller, as if he were in the presence of an equal or better.
Tom had looked away first, and Gilly had spotted shame. She wanted to tell him the prince’s death was not his fault. Young Tomas the Brave had been prey to a spell. How could she do that without admitting to knowing how spells worked? After hiding her true self for decades, words to explain who she was clogged her throat.
The material around her neck was suddenly tight and she absently adjusted it. On advice from their Erovian guide, they all wore thin see-through cloths about their necks for use when the wind picked up. Even the stallion had a see-through cloth wrapped around his head to protect eyes and nose. An hour into their journey, she was grateful for that forethought as sand swirled, stirring a fine layering of dust.
Marton ordered the children to make use of their neck cloths. Gilly’s eyes were a little sore from the attack two nights ago, so she, too, slipped on her mask.
Two hours into their trek, Gilly’s left hip was aching and each lift of her foot off the shifting sands took more effort than the previous. Thoughts of rubbing a soothing ointment on her aching limb come nightfall kept her trudging onward.
If she were having this much trouble, Tom must be in agony. “Do you need me to attend to any of your wounds?” she asked, finally finding her voice. “Has any sand worked its way under a dressing
?”
“I’m fine.” He slowed his pace so that within three strides, he was behind her, a lone sentinel at her back.
Gilly’s heart squeezed with pain at that rejection. She quickened her steps until she was beside Anna.
Marton pointed to a lone bush where two branches were bent side by side. “Talus’s mark.”
A comforting sight that signaled they were on the right path in this vast barren landscape.
Once the wind died, Marton lowered his mask and entertained his children with stories about their destination, Perm.
Situated at a crossroads and nestled into a mountain, Perm was located at the northwestern edge of the Makakala Range and noted for being a hive of activity during the summer trading season. On any given day, hundreds of mud-splattered merchants’ tents flanked the city’s walls. Perm was also reputed to be the home of the Rycan Warriors.
“Are they like King’s Warriors, Papa?” Bevan asked. “Like Talus? Do they wear chainmaille and carry swords?”
Marton gave his son’s blond hair a fond ruffle. “Rycan Warriors are nothing like King’s Warriors. In fact, if we cross their path, Talus is likely to lop off their heads.”
“Marton,” Anna said in a warning tone.
“Oooh,” Bevan said. “I want to do that too.”
“That’s barbaric,” Skye said. “And wrong. Isn’t it, Mama?”
“Yes, it is, Skye,” Anna said with an approving smile.
“It would be better to put a spell on them,” the young girl said, “so they’re so weak they can’t lift their sword to strike.”
“Skye.” Anna gave Gilly a worried glance. “Where did you learn about magic?”
Gilly glanced down, thinking about that string she had tied around the children’s ankles.
Bevan made a face at Skye and then swung his right arm in an arc. “Better to lop off their heads.”
“No heads need fall,” Marton broke in. “These Rycan Warriors aren’t looking for a fight, they’re searching for the true rulers of Ryca.”
“The princess and her children that Lord Jarrod spoke about?” Skye asked.
Hidden: Tales of Ryca, Book 1 Page 11
