A Journey of the Heart

by Catherine M. Wilson

  What frightened me the most was how often the elders went down into the place of ritual or to the oak grove, where I had more than once found the blood of sacrifice poured out upon the ground. Even the elders -- whose tranquil faces always reassured me that they had seen everything that could happen under the sun -- even the elders were afraid.

  We dreaded the sight of an oxcart coming from the north, bringing us our wounded or our dead. We dreaded the sight of a messenger, though we hurried to the great hall to hear the news he brought. We were careful not to speak about our fear. We kept it to ourselves. To speak of it would make it real.

  One morning when I looked in on the Lady, her haggard look told me she hadn't slept well. Many nights her sleep was troubled. Although she denied it, I suspected that some nights she never slept at all. I made her a tea of chamomile, and into it I put a drop of something stronger, distilled from oil of poppyseed, to ensure that she would get the rest she needed. Then I made her go back to bed.

  Early in the afternoon she woke and asked for me. She was weak and a little groggy, from sleep and from the drug I'd given her, but she insisted on getting out of bed. I helped her dress. Then I took the shutter down and set a chair by the window for her.

  A fragrant breeze was blowing. The clear spring light fell over Merin's arm where it rested in her lap. Her skin was pale against her gown of meadow green, and in its loose folds her body appeared frail and insubstantial. She could have been a queen of the fairy folk, who at any moment might shimmer and vanish into the air.

  I sat down on the foot of her bed.

  "Why haven't you been sleeping well?" I asked her.

  "Dreams," she said. "Cruel dreams."

  She gazed unseeing out the window.

  "Are you having nightmares?"

  "Nightmares? No, not nightmares. Beautiful dreams."

  "If your dreams are so beautiful, why can't you sleep?"

  She turned and looked at me. "If I could sleep and never wake, I would."

  By now I was used to hearing remarks like that from her, and I didn't dignify it with an answer.

  "Tell me about these dreams," I said.

  She shook her head. "I dream what should have been."

  "You can't live there."

  "No," she said. "Not yet."

  I did not intend to allow her to resume a courtship with her death.

  "Not for a long time yet," I told her. "My mother gave you into my care before she left for home, and I refuse to let you break her heart."

  "She left me in your care?"

  I nodded.

  A sly look came into Merin's eyes. "Is that the only reason you take such good care of me?"

  "You know better," I replied.

  A faint blush crept into her cheek. "Still," she said, "it's nice to hear."

  The door flew open. We turned and saw Vintel standing in the doorway.

  Merin got slowly to her feet. "You presume too much," she told Vintel.

  The ice in Merin's voice sent a shiver down my backbone, but Vintel ignored it, nor did she so much as glance in my direction.

  "There is a matter that requires your attention," Vintel said.

  Merin waited. She appeared to rest her hand lightly on the windowsill, but she was using it to steady herself.

  "It should be plain enough by now that the northern tribes have given up hope of a crop this year," Vintel said. "That means the fighting will go on all summer. It's time we sent for help."

  She paused, but she had more to say, and Merin waited for her to say it.

  "A small band of warriors has arrived from my sister's house," Vintel said. "They tell me more can be spared. With your permission, I will send for them."

  "Your sister may keep her warriors," Merin replied. "I sent to Arnet's house for help a week ago."

  The look of surprise on Vintel's face gave Merin a great deal of satisfaction. One corner of her mouth lifted. "Did you think I wasn't paying attention?"

  Vintel was bolder than Merin expected her to be. "I did," she admitted.

  "You were mistaken."

  Vintel came into the room and closed the door behind her.

  "You have been very ill," she said. "You should let others lift the burden of responsibility from your shoulders for a little while, until you're stronger."

  "The burden of responsibility always rests upon my shoulders," Merin said. Then, in a soft voice, she added, "When I'm no longer able to bear it, you may try to take it from me, if you can."

  Vintel looked confused. "I meant no disrespect."

  She sounded petulant, like a child whose clumsy efforts to help are unappreciated.

  Merin's hand on the windowsill trembled, and she sat down. "Was there something else you wished to speak to me about?"

  Vintel shook her head. "No. Nothing else." She turned to go.

  "Perhaps we should call a meeting of the council," Merin said, "so that we can hear the wisdom of those who have lived through other times of trouble."

  Vintel didn't care much for that idea, but she dared not refuse. "Let them meet soon," she said. "I have no time to waste here."

  "We'll meet first thing tomorrow morning then."

  Vintel nodded her assent and left us.

  "Well," said Merin. "That was interesting."

  "It was?"

  I had found the encounter rather frightening, but Merin's dark eyes sparkled, as if she had taken pleasure in sparring with Vintel.

  "She overstepped a bit," said Merin, "and she knew it." She settled back into her chair. "What will Vintel tell me, do you suppose, when a large band of warriors arrives from her sister's house?"

  "Will she send for them anyway?"

  "She has already sent for them."

  "How do you know?"

  "Vintel is clumsy. There's only one reason for her to send to her sister's house for help. Her sister's warriors will be loyal to her, not to me. She sought my permission because she knew that without it, it would appear that she was preparing to challenge my authority. And of course that's exactly what she's doing. That's why I sent to Arnet's house. Arnet's warriors will be loyal to Namet, and through Namet, to me."

  I was surprised to hear her show such confidence in Namet.

  "I thought you and Namet didn't get along," I said.

  "She and I have had our differences, but I trust her loyalty. Don't you?"

  "Of course."

  For a few minutes we were silent. Merin stared out the window, a thoughtful look on her face, while I tried to understand what had just happened between Merin and Vintel.

  "Why did you decide to call a meeting of the council?" I asked her.

  "I want the council to know what Vintel suggested and that I refused her offer."

  "So that when her sister's warriors arrive, the elders will see there's treachery in it?"

  "Something like that," said Merin.

  "Why do you tolerate Vintel?"

  Merin leaned forward in her chair and took my hand. She squeezed it hard enough to make me wince. "I need Vintel." She spoke softly, but a cold fire burned deep in her eyes. "We all need Vintel. In troubled times, warriors like Vintel come into their own. When this troubled time is over, wisdom and cooler heads will prevail, and Vintel will have to step back into her proper place. The danger now is that Vintel's power will grow so great that she cannot be made to step back. It is in times like these that great houses fall."

  "What can we do?"

  "Power always rests in a delicate balance," said Merin, "and power comes from many things, not from strength of arms alone, but from wisdom and experience. We need only hold the balance."

  I was reassured by the strength of purpose I saw in Merin's eyes. "How can Vintel believe that she could challenge your power?"

  "She may not need to. I think Vintel believes I'm going to die."

  "Vintel is wrong."

  "Perhaps." She shrugged and smiled at me, as if it didn't matter.

  "You're not going to die. I'm not going to let yo
u die."

  Merin looked amused. "Has Tamras power over life and death?"

  "No," I said, "but you do."

  "If the Dark Mother should reach for me," she said gently, "how can I resist her?"

  I had meant to scold her, but my eyes filled with tears. "Please," I said. "Don't speak of death as if she is your friend."

  "Friend or not, no one escapes her."

  "But you invite her," I said. "You court her. You challenge her. Someday she may hear you."

  Merin looked long into my eyes. "What would you have me do?"

  "Love your life a little longer."

  I watched her struggle with herself. Then she said, "I'll make a bargain with you. I will love my life for as long as Tamnet lives."

  I would have liked to sit in on the council meeting, but since nothing that would be discussed concerned me, at least officially, I waited in the great hall with Maara and worried about it. The meeting was a long one, and I grew impatient.

  "The elders are long-winded," Maara reminded me.

  At last Namet emerged from the kitchen. Fodla was with her. They spoke together for a few minutes. Then Namet came over to where we were waiting and sat down beside Maara.

  "In a little while, let's go for a walk," she said calmly.

  Maara nodded. We sat silent for a time. I studied Namet's face. It was untroubled, and some of my impatience left me.

  After half an hour, Namet stood up. "Let's go," she said.

  Maara and I followed her out of the great hall. Trying to look like we were only out for a stroll in the spring air, we walked in silence down the hill. Namet took us to the river, where she sat down on the mossy bank. She slipped her shoes off and dangled her feet in the water. Maara and I sat down on either side of her.

  "Merin held her own," said Namet. "She seemed almost her old self today." Namet turned to me. "Is she doing as well as she appears to be?"

  "I believe she is," I said. "She has more good days now than bad ones."

  "How bad are her bad days?"

  "She's often very tired. She doesn't sleep well."

  "Why not? Is something troubling her?"

  "She complains of dreams," I said.

  "I don't wonder."

  I must have looked surprised.

  "Merin keeps a tight grip on her demons," Namet said, "but surely there must be a few of them still lurking under the bed or perched in the rafters out of reach."

  Namet's words drew a picture in my mind of vague, malevolent shapes hovering in the shadows of Merin's room.

  "Are you sure it's only dreams that trouble her?" asked Namet.

  "She tries to hide her disappointment, but I believe she was counting on seeing my mother again this spring."

  Namet made an impatient gesture. "She needs to get that nonsense out of her head."

  "I disagree with you," I said quietly.

  Namet gave me a stern look. "Merin has work to do. She needs to pay attention."

  "She is paying attention," I told her. "I had a long talk with Merin yesterday. She spoke to me about keeping the balance between her power and Vintel's. She understands what Vintel intends, and she has already taken steps to forestall her."

  "But still Vintel's power grows," murmured Namet. "Vintel doesn't have Merin's depth of understanding, but one thing she does understand. She knows what fear does to people."

  Maara made a noise deep in her throat.

  "Vintel will use their fear," Namet said. "She will stand between them and their fear, so that challenging her power will be too terrible for them to contemplate."

  "And when the troubled times are over?" I asked her, remembering what Merin had told me.

  "When will that be?" said Namet. "Vintel's power depends on troubled times."

  We had waited so long for mild weather that Maara and I made a point of going outdoors every evening to enjoy it. Sitting together on the hillside, watching the changing light, we sometimes talked of things that didn't matter, but we seldom felt the need to talk. In silence we took pleasure in the twilight and in each other's company, until the mist, rising from the river, chilled the night air.

  That evening the tranquillity around us couldn't calm our troubled thoughts. Although Maara had said nothing to me about our talk with Namet, I knew she was worrying about it. I thought about how different this year had been from the year before. When had things changed, and why? The weather, of course, had been against us, but I also remembered what Maara told me after the battle on Taia's day. Her prediction had come true. The northerners had returned, both for food to ease their hunger and for blood to ease their hearts, and Vintel had made the most of it.

  A thought popped into my head, and I blurted it out before I took time to think about it. "Did Vintel pursue the northerners last year on purpose?"

  Maara stared at me for a moment, as if she didn't understand my meaning. Then her eyes changed. "You think she intended to provoke them?"

  "Namet said that Vintel's power depends on troubled times."

  Maara lightly brushed my forehead with her fingertips. "What god kissed your brow," she whispered, "to give you such understanding?"

  I smiled with pleasure at her praise, although I wasn't sure I understood it. "It was your words I remembered."

  Maara frowned. "What I don't understand is why. What prompted her to challenge Merin now?"

  That was something that made no sense to me. For years Vintel had been Merin's right hand, a respected leader of warriors, and she had seemed content with her position. When had she first aspired to something more?

  "We know what Vintel doesn't want," said Maara. "She doesn't want you to be the Lady's heir, not because she always wanted that place for herself, but for another reason." Maara put her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her clasped hands. "There is a malice in what Vintel does that baffles me."

  I counted up all the reasons why Vintel hated me. I had refused her, and made a fool of her, though that much was her own fault. And I had chosen for my teacher someone she regarded as an adversary. Vintel's hatred for Maara was easier to understand, because Maara was a threat to her, while I was merely an annoyance. Perhaps she hated me because through me Maara might someday hold a power even greater than Vintel's.

  As if her thoughts had mirrored mine, Maara said, "It's not enough. There's something else. Something we haven't thought of."

  I would have liked to sit longer with Maara, but in the morning Sparrow would leave with Vintel for the frontier, and tonight would be my last opportunity to spend a little time with her. Vintel kept her so busy that I hardly had a chance to exchange a word with her. The night before, she had come to the companions' loft after I had been long asleep. In the middle of the night I awakened to find her arms around me. Remembering how comforting it was to lie in someone's arms, I missed her at that moment more than I had missed her when she was gone.

  After I said good night to Maara, I brewed Merin a bowl of chamomile and took it up to her room. She was in bed, already dozing, so I pinched out her lamp and left her.

  I found Sparrow waiting for me in the companions' loft.

  "Where have you been?" she said impatiently. Before I could answer her, she took me by the hand and led me downstairs and out the back door.

  "Where are we going?"

  "I need to talk to you."

  "Why?"

  "Wait," she said.

  She took me to a favorite place of ours by the river, where a little meadow led down to a strip of sand along the shore. We sat down and leaned back against the water-smoothed trunk of a great tree that lay half buried in the warm sand. The moon was low in the sky behind us, and Sparrow's face was in shadow. I turned to her and tried to make out her expression.

  "What?" I said.

  "Are you ever afraid?" she whispered.

  I felt my heartbeat quicken at her words. "Of course," I replied. I wondered what she had seen on the frontier, to make her say such a thing. "Are we in danger?"

  "In danger?"<
br />
  "From the northerners?"

  "Oh," she said. "The northerners are everywhere this year, and they're not going to go home until the snow falls, but that's not what frightens me."

  "What is it then?"

  "Things here are different."

  "Different? How?"

  "Don't you feel it too?"

  "I suppose so," I admitted. "A little."

  "And you're different," she whispered.

  "I am?"

  She turned and met my eyes. "Are you still my friend?"

  "Of course I am." Her strange talk was making me more afraid.

  "What's the matter?" I said. "What's wrong?"

  Sparrow turned her gaze back to the river. "They say the Lady is unwell."

  "She's mending," I told her.

  "They say you still spend hours with her every day. They say you go to her every afternoon, that you enter her chamber without knocking, that you come and go as you please. I thought you were afraid of her. I thought you disliked her and distrusted her. Now it seems you've become her familiar."

  I sighed. There was so much Sparrow didn't know about what had changed between Merin and me.

  "I'm her healer," I said, thinking that was the simplest explanation.

  "I hear you're more than that."

  "What have you heard?"

  "I hear you're to be named her heir."

  "Who told you that?"

  She turned and looked at me. "Is it true?"

  I nodded, and she looked away.

  "When did you learn the Lady had these plans for you?"

  "Last fall. My mother told me."

  "You never said anything to me." There was more sadness than accusation in Sparrow's voice. "You might have told me that my friend would someday inherit a position of great importance." She gave me a sidelong glance. "Unless my friend found our friendship inconvenient."

  I was too astonished to speak. Sparrow misunderstood my silence. She started to get up.

  "Wait," I said, and took hold of her wrist.