by Ru Emerson
“Do you.” Spoken so softly she could barely hear him above the noise of the river. Silence. Armsmen walked past them, clattering on the boards, a group of giggling children tore across the other direction. Galdan turned his head, gazed at her profile for some moments. Turned back to his contemplation of the water.
“I was tired,” Ylia whispered, more to herself than to him. “And that kind of tired—physical and inner—can distort what one sees and feels. But not—not that much.” Another, even longer silence. This one stretched uncomfortably. “I wasn't wrong, was I?” She stared out across the trees, watching as a hawk soared from pine to pine and vanished in the direction of the Aresada. She felt rather than saw his shoulders slump, the faint shake of his head. “You did that?” And now she looked full at him.
He'd gone pale; sweat beaded his upper lip. Ylia touched his arm; he jumped. “I did that,” he finally whispered in reply.
“Lel'san's threads, how?”
“I don't know. I—can we not talk about it?” He made an attempt at a smile that only served to intensify the frightened look in his eyes. Moved by a sudden impulse, she caught his hand, held it.
“I'm sorry.”
“You're sorry?” He shook his head. “Why?”
“I can see what it's done to you, a little. I know I'd be upset by it, and I've always had the Power, if not so much of it as I now have.” Silence. “And I'm sorry because it's partly my fault.”
“Not yours. Your blade.”
“Mine. She warned me, not to let you touch it—”
“She? Nisana?”
She hesitated. “Another time. Who is not important. What is important is that I should have warned you, should have been more careful with it.”
“And your Swordmaster would be dead,” Galdan said bluntly. Ylia closed her eyes. Tears welled up under the lashes, coursed down her cheeks. He reached, gently brushed them away.
“I'm sorry,” she said finally.
“Don't say it, you needn't be sorry—with me or for me. All right?”
“I—it was just—when Brendan died—”
“I know. Brelian and Golsat told me, awhile since. Well, Marhan's not. Because I had a sudden urge to cross blades with you for luck,” he laughed shortly and with little humor, “and came into something that's—something you can explain to me,” he finished abruptly. He turned back to the river. “Someone has to. I feel like I'm going mad.”
“I—”
“Don't say you understand it,” he overrode her sharply. His shoulders sagged again. Sorry.”
“I wasn't going to. I can't. I've told you before about ‘Betha. How coming north through the mountains, for a while she could hear Nisana or me.”
“So?” He cast her an irritated glance.
“She was only in our small company and in the mountains for a few 5-days. She didn't spend year after year in the Foessa, like you have.” Silence. “There was something about you almost the first time I saw you. The call for aid that reached me: An ordinary Plainsman could never have reached my thought like that. You wouldn't acknowledge it, though, and I didn't have the right to look for it.”
“I never thought of it as Power,” Galdan said plaintively. “It was just something useful I could do, finding my horse or starting a fire when the wood was wet.” He shrugged. “When one day blends into the next and you begin to judge time by seasons, you don't think much about things like that, you just do them. I certainly didn't think of it as something like yours or Queen Scythia's.”
“It's not. Not exactly. Ours was granted by the Nasath—”
“—for aid in battle, I've heard the tales.”
“Yours is native. Wild Power.” He stared at her. “The Foessa have been bleeding it into you. The Mothers only know what my sword set free.”
He stared at his hands, turned them palm up. Moved his fingers thoughtfully. “I couldn't hear Nisana last night. I know she was trying to say something, I could feel it all around me, the effort of what she was doing. I couldn't hear her. I—I don't think I could hear you.”
“Try, if you like,” she said. He closed his eyes, rested his forehead on his hands. Shook his head finally. “That doesn't mean much. It's there. What it does, how much you can make of it, what things you can do—I'm sorry, I don't know. It's not enough like AEldra that even Nisana can tell I know less than she does about it. I can tell you, though, that I was blocked until partway through the mountains. Because I wasn't full AEldra. You're not even half AEldra.” She sighed faintly. “Under normal circumstance, I'd say it was nearly impossible for you to use Power at all, except that you have. You do. She said you were clever and resourceful, that you could work around the barriers to use it.” He shook his head, confused. “I could barely muster the far vision, back in Koderra. I could use at most a spark of Baelfyr. I couldn't find a way around it. You have a block that won't let you do things even a half-AEldra can, but you've manipulated it.”
“I start campfires, avoid bears and track my horse over rock,” he said faintly. She nodded. He let his head fall back onto his hands. “I could tell what you did, last night. When you healed,” he whispered. “I could tell who needed you the worst, when you would need my strength.” He swallowed, brought his head up and stared across the fields. His eyes were noticeably wet. “I knew before you did that—that was Marhan.”
“Gods and Mothers.”
“I knew how it hurt you, because I could feel it, and I couldn't bear it. I—” He stared down at his hands. “So I tried.” He made a tremendous effort, managed to dredge up a smile. “It's changed. My safe little odd thing that let me eat hot meat on damp nights, suddenly it's not safe anymore. Suddenly it scares me green, and I don't know what to do about it.”
“I wish I knew what to tell you.” She walked along by the railing, turned down the path to the River's edge. Galdan followed. “If I were Nisana, I'd say learn how to use your Power, to bring it out, to hone it. Study what it does, how far it goes, so that you're in control. But that's how Nisana think. I resented her bullying for too many years to offer you that course. And if you don't want it—”
“I don't know. He picked up a handful of pebbles, tossed them into the roiled, muddy water, one at a time. “But not wanting it doesn't matter, not if it's mine. Even so, to do what I did last night—” He threw the rest of the pebbles. “No man has the right to do that I'm—if I did that, who's to say what else I could do? And whether it would be good? If I could save a life, then maybe I could kill.” He clasped his hands together to stop them shaking. “Maybe I'd—”
“Maybe anything,” she said flatly. “Power is. I used to think, like most AEldra do, that there's good Power and evil. I don't believe that anymore, I've seen too much of it, too many wielders of too many varied kinds. Power is. It's good or bad only because of the person using it: It can be something to delight the eye and fill the inner being with joy. It can heal, it can protect. It can kill. It can save a friend or—I almost had to kill one, once, to save him a worst death.”
“Brendan?” The name came out flatly. She gave him a startled look.
“Bren? No. I never had a chance to do anything for him, anything at all. I wish that wasn't what I had to remember him by, because it hurts.” She drew a deep breath, let it out in a rush. “It was Brel's friend, Faric. When we hauled Corlin out of the fire, the Tehlatt had him. That was nearly all the choice he had.”
“You would have—”
“I'd have loathed myself, Galdan, but I'd have done it. It's a two-edged blade, the Power. You never forget that, once you have it. Anything you do with it could dangerously drain your strength.”
“I know. I've seen you.”
“Not just things like the healing. Even something like seeing in the dark, sensing things around you, using mind-speech. Even that can be a burden. Almost anything you do with it can be turned against someone or something.” She swallowed. “Another thing, something I've only just found. The bond you form with the Power, it does something to you. When
I healed Marckl—I carry something of the man in me now, because of that bond.” Something of you, she thought uncomfortably.
“I know that, I know things about Marhan nobody should know. Except Marhan.” He shook himself, forced a smile. “You're making me sorrier for myself than I was. You can stop listing drawbacks, please.”
He turned back to the River; she watched his back for some moments. “You're not going to become another Lyiadd,” Ylia said finally. “If that's what you fear.”
“You don't know that.”
“I know you.”
“Do you?”
“I think I do. Well enough.” She managed a faint smile. Better than Marckl, in some ways. “Besides, you can't. Erken wouldn't stand for it.”
That broke the tension. Galdan let his head fall back and he laughed. “So he wouldn't, and he's no man to cross, my father! Do you know,” he added with an almost normal smile, “I've always wondered how Queen Scythia balanced all those colored balls, the time she came north for Mid-Winter. I still remember that! Show me that, will you?”
“Mother's trick? I think I can do that, I haven't tried for a long time. But—” She concentrated briefly. “Ah. On demand.” Four large iridescent bubbles hovered just above her fingers. Galdan reached gingerly. One of them transferred to his hand. And a second. “Light touch,” she warned, “or they'll break. It's largely will, once you create them.” Galdan gazed at the fragile things. As he stared at them, they quivered, burst in a shower of colors.
“Too hard. Next time, perhaps—” He stooped to gather another handful of pebbles, began tossing them into the water. “I have to think about this. So I'd like your leave, if you'll give it.”
“Yours.” She wasn't really surprised. She'd expected him to go before this. But his next words did surprise her.
“We need someone to ride a wide circuit around the valley. I can do that, be useful while I'm trying to put my mind back in order again.”
“You'd—return then?”
He nodded. “I took House Oath, didn't I? As I recall, that's good until I die, and I plan to put that off awhile yet, Lady. And I'm one of Brelian's two supports for when Lisabetha claims him, tenth of Fruiting.”
“I didn't know. I should have.”
“You've had other things to think of. So you don't get rid of me so easily as that, Lady.” He stood back to let her climb up to the bridge before him, sketched her a salute and strode back toward the town. She stood where he left her and watched him out of sight.
Humans have the oddest habits, but none are more curious, than the rituals they create to sanctify mating. As though the public display can intensify or alter what is in the heart and mind! As though the gods might bless them in no other way!
32
The rest of Storm Clouds passed uneventfully: There were no more raids. The border guard remained strong, the guard on the herds remained heavy, and the council passed a mandate that all children of ten summers and above learn bow. There was no resistance, and for the first time girl-children took their places at the marks next to their brothers.
Golsat and Ylia met with Grewl, and not long after most of the outland Chosen began bow lessons. Levren was too busy training young armsmen and women—even if he had been able to withstand the strain of being surrounded by so many foreigners. But Golsat's status among the Chosen—indeed among the Nedaoans as a whole—was no less than the Bowmaster's.
The Women's Elite Guard, under the Queen's tutelage and banner, doubled by summer's end.
The second grain crop was harvested, the valley was thick with smoke from the field burning for several days, and casks of unaged ale were sent down-river. Wine and spices came back in exchange. Ber'Sordes brought an offer of raw flax for cloth and plants; the Koderran Council—Brandt's men, Corlin, Marckl and Ifney, Lisabetha and Lossana—wrangled for three nights running over whether the unpleasant-smelling stuff could be worked into cloth anyone would wear. Lossana finally made up a pattern piece of it and overrode them all, proclaiming it an odd fiber but a tough cloth, and one they could use. The Narrans examined her swatch, exclaimed over her color and pattern, and offered to buy all she had to spare.
Ylia sat on the southern balcony, where she could catch both the last rays of a late afternoon sun and the first cooling breeze from the River. It was blessedly quiet down here: even though the City Council was meeting and all the windows were open, she couldn't hear the shouting. Occasionally she could catch the sound of Lisabetha and Annes giggling down in their rooms, one of the other women singing, noises from below, the last of the market stalls closing for the evening, and the guard riding out.
Compared to the session with her council earlier, it was quiet indeed on the southern balcony.
And from here she could see the road. She knew full well why her eyes strayed that direction so often. Galdan—damn the man, she missed him. Odd, since he irritated her more often than not when he was around. Well, she missed his cooling presence at the council table, too: Levren and Golsat were good at it, but Galdan was better.
She drew her dagger from its forearm sheath, stared absently at the copper shift, the copper wrapping. Ran her finger lightly over the guard. Brendan. Bren. She didn't think about him much, of late, and when she did it was with an odd sense of guilt. But I haven't forgotten him. If he hadn't died like that. If there had been more time. It might have been that by now, we'd be friends, armsmates. Nothing else. It happens to people. If Lyiadd hadn't known how best to hurt her, by taking what she loved most...
She restored the dagger to its sheath, turned back to her study of the River, the fields beyond them, the heavy stand of forest with the road vanishing into its shadow. She could almost see the high ranks of the Foessa through the trees: they'd be snow-tipped already, those to the south. I wonder where he is, and what he's thinking.
Erken had questioned her, the night Galdan left, and she hadn't known what to say, since Galdan had clearly not told him much. Erken was visibly unhappy—he thinks something he said or did, and he worries—though he asked nothing else. But as the days passed, he, too, spent considerable time gazing off to the south or west, and she knew his thought was the same as hers.
Marhan—to all outward appearance, his ordeal hadn't affected him at all, but now and again she wondered. Something about the look of him, People didn't remember a healing, but this—Whatever he knew, remembered, felt, he kept very much to himself, and Ylia knew better than to ask.
The Month of Fruiting came with its crisp mornings, hot days and chill nights, and Lisabetha and Brelian's wedding drew near. Tension was high in Lord Corry's house, and ‘Betha was strung tight, for Galdan and Golsat were to stand for Brelian in place of his parents, to speak for him at the joining. “If it goes wrong, if he doesn't come, I'll die, I'll just die!”
“He'll come,” Brelian assured her. But he didn't look as certain as he sounded. Golsat finally went in search, but returned on the sixth, late, and alone.
“If anyone could track him,” he grumbled, “I should be able to! There's no trace of him, anywhere nearby, The man's half bear.”
Ylia finally attempted a search of her own, but with no better luck. Whether he shielded himself consciously or unconsciously, she was able to find trace of him—but not Galdan himself. She was more relieved than not: If she'd found him, what would she have done, dragged him back unwilling? He'd promised. She doubted he'd let his friend down.
And so she was not particularly surprised when, on the evening of the eighth, he wandered into the council meeting as though he'd never been gone, save that he'd a new change of the Narran fashion. But he would not meet her eyes or his father's, and he, Golsat and Brelian strode arm in arm from the chamber immediately upon adjournment.
Ylia swore under her breath, started as Erken chuckled in her ear. “I didn't know you knew such words! Tch, Lady! But you speak for me. I think he's been visiting young Ang'Har's tailor, did you ever see such colors?”
“Hah. Peacock,” she huffe
d.
“No, I saw one of those once, they're blue and green. This, if my eyes still work, was red and gold, right down to the legs. Of course,” Erken went on, “he has got the legs for such frippery.”
“A plague on him and his parti-colored hose.”
“I think,” Erken grinned, “I'll go find him, and see what he's up to. I know that look and I don't like it much.”
“Two plagues on him,” Ylia replied shortly and dropped back into her chair as Erken left.
Tenth of Fruiting: At Lisabetha's insistence, they were reviving the ancient custom of Sword Swearing, adding it to the Chosen ceremony. Ylia stood with her and Brel in the middle of a high platform that had been set up in the center of the Square. The couple were resplendent in silver and white, the platform itself was covered in cloth of sky blue, hemmed in gold. Ylia held their two swords—a little awkwardly, for the hilts were bound with silver ribbon and white blossoms. While most of Nedao stood and watched, Lisabetha took her blade and extended it hilts first to Brelian. He took it; and in a voice that quavered slightly—he forgot the words once, and Golsat had to prompt him—he swore aid, protection and fealty to her. He then held his sword to her, while she repeated the oath. Ylia bound the blades together with blue and gold ribbons. People cheered.
Then Grewl spoke the Chosen rites: Corlin and Lossana came forward to stand with their daughter, Galdan and Golsat with their friend.
Ylia was finding it hard to keep her eyes off the two men behind the radiantly happy Brelian: Galdan wore blue and white with gold—Queen's colors—in the Narran fashion, down to the parti-colored hose. Her House arms were worked prominently on the cloak. And Golsat! She had never seen Golsat in anything but common armsman's brown. And there he stood, resplendent in full Narran garb, deep green touched with yellow. Conservative, by standards such as Galdan's, but astonishing on Golsat.
The Chosen ceremony was short; she dutifully inclined her head as Grewl turned to the people and invoked the blessing of the One, and then it was over. Grewl turned back to set Lisabetha's hand in Brelian's; Galdan moved forward to hug them both, hard, planted a kiss on Lisabetha's face and jumped down into the crowd. Golsat caught them both by the arm, smiled and followed.
