The same lectures from Mother about still being single.
She dropped her panniers into their corner, and frowned, feeling a sullen anger well up in her again. Back in Errold’s Grove she had fought it down, but now she allowed herself to admit it. I wanted so badly to tell her exactly what I thought. What was so bad about not being married? It wasn’t as if she was the only one in the family expected to produce grandchildren - there were already two squalling infants bearing the Alder name and features, one each from her two oldest brothers. What on earth could she do as a married woman - besides produce legitimate grandchildren - that she couldn’t do as a single one? Could she be any more valued? Would she have any higher rank?
If she doesn’t stop giving me the “you’ll grow old, lonely, and abandoned” lecture every time I’m ready to leave, I swear, I’m going to stop visiting her, Keisha thought sullenly. What’s more, I’ll let everyone in the village knoiv why I stopped visiting her!
She wouldn’t and she knew it, but the idea was very, very tempting. As she walked into the outer room with its comfortable furnishings of woven branches and overstuffed beige cushions, its walls of soft cream, and tiled floor, she took her first completely free breath since she’d left. This was home, from the mask and decorated gryphon-feather hanging on the wall, gifts from Firesong and Silverfox, to the flowering vines around the skylight of the bathing room.
I’m stale, that’s what it is. All I ever see these days are farm animals, idiot men as dumb as farm animals, women as stubborn as farm animals, pregnant mothers-to-be, cuts and scrapes, and the occasional sniffle. It wasn’t that she wanted Errold’s Grove to suffer a disaster. Nothing of the sort could be farther from her mind! But she didn’t even get to see the interesting diseases the Northern tribes brought down with them anymore. The Sanctuary Healers got all of those. All she was left with were the all-too-ordinary problems.
Havens, people are taking such care these days that I never even see an infected puncture anymore!
She dropped all of her soiled clothing from the trip into the basket-hamper they kept for the purpose just outside the bathing-room door. She stripped off the tunic and trews she wore, and added them to the pile, then entered the bathing room. In the echoing room, tiled floor-to-ceiling, she knelt beside the square tub sunken into the floor and drew herself a bath. They had hot water now, although it came from a tank perched up in a tree, shared by several other ekele and heated by the sun rather than by magic.
Maybe we’ll get that, too, in a few years, though it seems a pity to waste the sun’s heat when it costs us nothing. She was no mage, but she was acutely sensitive to the cost in magical energies of every act of magic. Living here in a new Vale as much as living with Darian had made her very aware of such things. Darian was in superb physical shape, even to a Healer’s eyes, and when she saw the physical exhaustion he bore after some of his lessons, she had no doubts remaining about magic’s costs.
When the tub was full, she added herbs and scented salts, and soothing fragrance rose in the steam that condensed on the leaves of the vines planted in boxes around the skylight above her. She eased into the tub, to just over her breasts, and soaked for a good long time, allowing herself to run through all of the emotions she had repressed. Nightwind had told her that holding them in did no good and much harm, so she let them run their course. Disappointment led to anger, which gave way in turn to a seething despair.
What am I doing with myself? Nothing, that’s what! Is Mother right? Am I going to die a cross old maid, lonely and abandoned? How long is it going to be before this makes me sour, and Darian gets tired of me and starts looking for a prettier girl? It was going to happen; she was just sure of it. Then what?
Then, I suppose, I’ll go back to my little house in the village. Eventually they’ll start to treat me the way they treated Justyn. . . .
A hard lump of self-pity rose in her throat, a sob that she choked down lest one of the hertasi was about. If they caught her in this mood, they’d be upset and concerned, and entirely sure it was their fault that she was unhappy.
The hertasi like me anyway. . . .
She couldn’t get herself out of this mood; it felt as if she had fallen into a pit and was too tired to climb out. She squeezed out a few bitter tears, a distillation of it all, and then, suddenly, felt much better. It was as if those few tears had taken all of her self-pity with them.
Not that crying had changed anything.
But with the tears out, she started to think past them, realizing how silly she would have sounded to anyone else, and in a moment, she laughed weakly at her own absurd thoughts. In the very worst case, it’s not as if I would lose everything! Even if Darian gets tired of me, we’ll still be friends, I’d still be a full Healer, and I’m entitled to ask to be sent wherever I want. And Shandi is coming back, so how bad can things be, really? Darian gave no hint that he had lost interest in her, anyway - so why was she borrowing trouble?
Worry about that when the time comes, if it ever happens at all. And if it does - well, there’s no reason why I can’t exchange positions with one of the Sanctuary Healers, is there? I’ll bet one of them would be willing to take over the village for a few months’ rest! Or even longer - there’s no telling how any of those Trainees are going to turn out, and if any of them turns out like old Gil Jarred, with a weak Gift, then Errold’s Grove is the right place for him and I can take his place in the Sanctuary permanently. That will give me plenty of excitement! The very fact that she had come up with an alternative to moldering in the village cheered her up immensely.
So what if Darian has more and more duties - and Firesong keeps heaping him with more complicated lessons. I might end up being sent off by the Healer’s Circle, too - things happen. Crying about them before they’ve happened isn’t going to stop them.
She stopped herself before she could step off the edge again, and fall into that pit of depression. I think I’d better talk to Nightwind.
She scrubbed off the sweat and dirt of the journey, feeling as if she was scrubbing away all her frustrations as well. She washed her hair, then ran more clean water for a thorough rinse. Sometimes it seemed like water was her best friend of all; it was nearly impossible to feel too badly when in a refreshing soak or a warm rain. When she emerged from the bathing room, cleansed and wrapped in thick towels, she found that one of the hertasi had been in the bedroom before her, and had laid out - a garment she didn’t recognize.
What - Havens, what is this?
She lifted one sleeve of the dress that had been put out for her to don. A springlike leaf green, it was absolutely charming - of light Tayledras-made silk with billowing sleeves caught into long cuffs, and a high collar. Both collar and cuffs were ornamented with silver embroidery, and there was a second, sleeveless gown of a slightly heavier weight in a darker green to wear over it. This sleeveless gown had a beautiful embroidery of silver-thread vines, leaves, and flowers running from the left shoulder to the hem, and all around the bottom.
This was not the simple green tunic-and-trews she had expected. She did not recall that there had been anything special planned for her return.
But next to the dress was a note attached to a new hair ornament - one of Aya’s sparkling white tail-feathers with green crystal beadwork ornamenting the shaft. She picked it up and read it.
You are invited to share a small celebration in honor of Darian Firkin k’Vala k’Valdemar on the occasion of his attaining the rank of Master Mage, follow the firebird feathers. And there was a postscript, in a rougher hand. We decided to postpone this until you came home; it wouldn’t be a proper celebration without you. She didn’t need a signature to recognize Darian’s handwriting on the postscript, and only the elegant Silverfox could have penned the invitation.
She forgot her anger completely. Surprise was followed immediately by such a rush of cheer that she might as well have downed an entire beaker of wine by herself.
She dropped her towels on the floor and hurr
ied into the lovely gown, fastening the hair clasp into her damp hair. The feather trailed down along the side of her face, brushing her cheek in a graceful curve. Although the feather ceased to drip false sparks once it was no longer attached to Aya, it did retain the ability to sparkle as if it had been dusted with minute particles of gemstones.
With her skirts caught up in one hand, she ran out the front door and caught sight of the first of the firebird feathers. This was a smaller, body-feather; it hung from a strand of beads fastened to the lamp-standard marking the beginning of the lefthand path, fluttering and twisting in the light breeze.
The feathers were easy enough to spot - each one was within sight of another - and she soon met someone else following the same trail.
Wintersky’s current partner, a Tayledras scout called Ravenwing, waved to Keisha just as Keisha caught sight of her. She, too, was dressed for a celebration, in tunic of gold deerskin and trews of black silk. The tunic had beading in black and metallic gold across the shoulders and around the collar, with fringes along the sleeves and bottom hem that cascaded past her knees. Her bondbird, a handsome little cooperihawk, perched on a light gauntlet she wore on her left hand.
“Heyla!” Ravenwing called cheerfully. “Have you any idea what’s been planned? I got out of my bath to find an invitation next to my clothing!”
Keisha shook her head, admiring Ravenwing’s new hair patterns. Many of the Tayledras had snow-white hair by their early twenties at least, simply because they lived within a place where extremely powerful mage-energies were a part of everyday life, but the scouts often had their hair dyed in camouflage colors so that they blended in with their surroundings. Ravenwing’s patterns were brand new, the colors and edges crisp and unfaded - and it was obvious to Keisha’s experienced eyes that the reason she’d been in the bath was because she had been washing out the excess dyes.
“I love your new patterns!” she exclaimed - for Ravenwing’s hair had been dyed to resemble the wings of the enormous brown-eye butterflies that thronged the Vale. It was still camouflage, but it was anything but drab.
“You do? Thank you!” Ravenwing looked pleased, and ran her fingers through her loose hair with obvious pleasure. “I just got so tired of looking like I had a nest of old leaves on my head!”
“Once the others see it, they’ll want to copy it,” Keisha assured her. “It looks wonderful!”
Ravenwing caught her up on the news as they followed the trail of beaded feathers at a brisk walk. Keisha learned that she hadn’t missed much, other than Darian attaining Master status. “Everybody’s too caught up in getting ready for the Heralds to arrive,” Ravenwing concluded, and looked curiously at Keisha. “Is it true that one of them is your sister?”
“So they tell me! I’ll be glad to see her. Until she was Chosen, she was my best friend besides being my sister.” Keisha fingered the feather in her hair thoughtfully. “I hope she hasn’t forgotten that.”
“How could she? Don’t be silly.” Ravenwing seemed very sure of that. “She’ll be just as happy to see you as you are to see her. And if she’s anything like you, I can’t wait to meet her. There aren’t enough girls our age around this Vale, not nearly enough to get into the kind of trouble we used to cause back in k’Vala!”
Ravenwing’s eyes sparkled with amusement as she said that, and Keisha had to laugh. The Tayledras girl had been very free with her tales of the scrapes she and her gang of friends had perpetrated, and Keisha had, more than once, wished she had gotten a chance to join in the mischief. “Believe me, Shandi can cause enough trouble for three! If she hasn’t gone all sober on us now that she’s a Herald, we’ll have a fine time - oh, look - ” She interrupted herself. “That must be where the party is!”
Meeren, her own hertasi, stood beside the path, holding aside a curtain of vines for someone who had come from the opposite direction. He saw them, and beckoned them on; they hurried their steps and he grinned, showing all his teeth, as they reached him.
“Ah, the final pair!” Meeren exclaimed. “With you, we are ready to begin the celebration at last!”
Keisha ducked under the slant of vines, and was seized from behind by a pair of strong arms. “Keisha!” Darian crowed, spinning her around and around until she was dizzy. “You found my presents!”
“What? The dress? The feather?” she asked, trying to catch her breath, her head swimming as he finally stopped whirling her around. “Never mind, thank you for both - oh, Darian, congratulations! This is - wonderful!”
She cupped both her hands around his chin and pulled his head down for a long, heartfelt kiss. She heard the others whooping behind her, and for once, was not embarrassed by their rowdy attentions. She was wholeheartedly proud of him, and happy for his achievement, and she wanted him to know it beyond a shadow of a doubt. His arms closed around her as he drew her close, and for a time the cheers and hoots faded into a faint murmur as her ears filled with the pounding of both their hearts.
Then he let her go, and she took a step backward, smiling breathlessly up into his wide grin. She hadn’t even gotten her scattered wits together when he seized her hand and led her ceremoniously to a seat on the far side of a little clearing, where two enormous cushions had been braced against backrests placed on the ground. “My lady,” he said, gesturing broadly as he bowed to her, his grin as wide as ever, “if you will choose your seat, we can begin.”
She took the seat to the right; he dropped onto the cushion at the left, and a steady stream of hertasi moved into the clearing, each carrying a platter. As was usual at these casual celebrations, the hertasi carried each platter around the circle of diners, and they helped themselves. If the platters still had anything left on them, they made the rounds a second time. Hertasi then returned bearing drink, pouring each cup full of a light spiced wine. There was very little alcohol in this wine; Tayledras drank it for the taste, not with the purpose of intoxication. That was one of the things that Keisha liked so much about living among the Tayledras. Celebrations in the village inevitably ended in drunks staggering about and making themselves nuisances, and the morning after inevitably brought a parade of hung-over sufferers to her door. But the rare intoxicated Hawkbrother took himself away to sleep it off as soon as he or his friends realized the extent of his intoxication, and he either found his own hangover remedy or quietly suffered the punishment for his overindulgence.
Every morsel was delicious - even though most of it wasn’t special “feast” food. She quickly gathered that this was not a formal celebration, probably to spare the hertasi from any more extra work. The few special dishes could very well have been culled from the ones already in progress for the Heralds’ welcome. That made her feel easier; like Darian, she knew how hard the hertasi worked, and like him, she had not grown up accustomed to having them around. Putting any extra burden on them made her feel guilty.
As the dinner proceeded, each of Darian’s friends in turn voiced a wish for the new Master, and when it came time for Keisha to give hers, she knew precisely what she wanted to say.
“I salute our own Darian,” she said. “May he always be properly recognized for his accomplishments, and may he never regret a moment spent in achieving them.”
She raised her glass, and the others joined her. Now, if this had been the kind of celebration one would find in Errold’s Grove, now would be the time that Darian made a speech. But the Hawkbrothers didn’t have that particular tradition, and Keisha was just as glad; Darian didn’t much care for making speeches, and he already had plenty he was going to have to produce when the Heralds arrived.
Instead, those of the participants who cared to took turns entertaining the rest. About half of the population of this Vale were amateur musicians, and three of Darian’s guests had brought their chosen instruments with them - Silverfox being one, blindingly quick-fingered with a hand drum. One scout got up to teach a sculptor a step, and in no time at all, impromptu dancing had started. Keisha began to tap her fingers in time to the infect
ious beat, and Darian’s left foot did the same, until Darian could bear inactivity no longer.
“Come on!” Darian urged her, jumping to his feet and holding out his hand to her. She loved dancing, and did not hesitate a moment in allowing him to help her to her feet, and joining him in the circle.
They danced until the musicians were tired of playing, pausing only for cold drinks and a moment to catch their breath. She had danced with every male at the celebration, including Firesong (in a striking mask made of Aya’s feathers and polished quartz beads), and was just about out of energy. By that time, it was late enough that everyone agreed it was time to bring the party to an end. A final round of iced teas and juices - the ice cut during the winter and stored deep in hertasi-dug caves during the warmer months - allowed the heated dancers to cool down.
Keisha leaned against Darian’s shoulder, tired, permitting herself the luxury of forgetting all about the duties of a Healer, and giving herself up completely to the pleasure of the moment. And the moment was glorious; glimpses of a sky full of stars appeared as the great tree above them moved its branches in a light wind. The air, perfumed faintly with night-blooming flowers, had cooled just a trifle since sundown but was still perfectly comfortable. Now that the musicians were done in, the murmur of conversation and the song of insect and bird provided another sort of melody.
“So, Keisha, how was your visit?” Darian asked, shifting just a little so that she could settle more comfortably against his shoulder, and putting one arm around her to hold her steady.
She groaned. “Mother managed to get me into a corner again. Other than that, it was the usual, nothing of any great urgency. I think they don’t need me so much as the potions I bring with me.”
“We could always send your medicines over with the Council members,” he suggested. “You could cut your visits to every other week or so, instead of going once a week.”
The idea was tempting. “Perhaps after Rana Trilvy’s baby comes. I wouldn’t care to upset a first-time mother.” Darian’s shoulder was warm, and his arm around her comforting. She shoved all of her doubts and misgivings into a corner of her mind and shut a door on them. “This was lovely; thank you for waiting for me.”
Owlknight Page 7
