“What, my lord,” said Owain. “Are you away so early?”
“You would be welcome in Harlech, Eaomod,” said Lord Lannaslech. “Our home and hearth will always be yours for the kindness you showed Tormay. Your swords strengthened our fortunes when we thought all was lost.”
“These are glad words,” said the prince. “You hearten me, for though this battle is ours, all my kinsmen lie dead on the field and I alone am left. And although I would be son to all of Tormay, I am my father’s son first of all, and must return to his court. I disobeyed his word and now I must go and make amends.”
“No!” said Declan, stricken by his words and by his own memory of the stern king of Harth. “Surely there is time for you to tarry here in the north.”
“I’ve been away long enough,” said Eaomod quietly. “I did not leave Harth with my lord father’s blessing, so I must return to hear his will.”
They followed him as he walked his horse out into the yard. He swung up into the saddle.
“You will wait,” said Owain, “at least, until I have you provisioned for your journey.”
He turned aside and spoke with a Guardsman, sending him running to the kitchen in the tower. The soldier did not return, but Giverny came in his place, bearing a leather bag full of food. She handed it up to the prince.
“Lady,” he said, bowing from the saddle, “I am honored to have seen one such as you with my own eyes. May you be blessed. May you wander in safety all your days and guard us against the designs of the Dark. Do not forget Harth, even though we have only the sands and stone and the barren desert.”
“I will not forget,” she said gravely.
“Is the boy well?” the prince said, somewhat hesitantly.
Giverny said nothing, though a breeze sprang up around her, stirring her hair into disarray as if it was anxious to know her answer as well. The sun shone and the clouds were gone. Light flooded the sky so that it was nearer to white than blue. The prince of Harth turned his face to the sky and it seemed that his face was eager, as if he were hungry for the light and heat of the southern sun.
“We have all come from dust, have we not?” he said. “And so we shall return.”
And then he bid them treat his dead peacefully, that they would be laid in the ground side by side with the dead of the other duchies, and so honor the old blood that all of Tormay held in common. This they promised, and he then turned his horse and rode away. His steed picked his way through the rubble of the city wall and then across the battlefield. They stood and watched him go until horse and rider were a tiny black shape on the landscape that wavered and then disappeared entirely in the shimmering light of the afternoon sun.
Owain turned and saw Jute slowly descending the steps of the guard tower. Others saw him then also. A great cheer went up, unbidden and unprompted. Jute smiled, but his face was thin and white. He walked between them, limping as if his side still pained him. Many of the soldiers knelt when he drew near, and the braver ones took his hand as he passed by. Jute walked on and disappeared from sight down a street heading toward Fishgate.
“I’d follow him, if I were you,” said Giverny.
She was standing beside her brother. Declan looked at her, startled.
“He has lost a great friend,” said Giverny. “Let him know that he still has others. Besides, I think he’s going down to the sea.” She smiled.
And that was where Declan found him. Declan did not go alone, of course, but Severan and the ghost came along with him. The city streets were quiet, and the stench of smoke and fire no longer fouled the sky. Instead, the sweet scent of selia blossoms filled the air. The sun shone down and the sea sparkled before them.
“There he is,” said Severan.
Jute stood at the end of the pier, staring out to sea. He turned at the sound of their footsteps on the planking.
“I used to come here all the time when I was a boy,” he said. “I would sit here and dream about other lands. Dream about being a hero and fighting battles and saving a princess along the way.” He sighed. “All I can dream about now is going home. But I’m not sure where that’ll ever be. Or even what that really means. Hearne certainly isn’t my home anymore.”
“Hearne’s just a city,” said Declan.
“I’ve never been fond of cities myself,” mumbled the ghost. "Too many people."
“You’re always welcome to come home to Harlech with me,” said Severan.
“Thank you,” said Jute gravely.
He opened his hand. A black feather lay there.
“It’s a little thing, isn’t it. But it almost killed me. I almost wish it had.”
“Don’t say that,” said Severan.
Jute smiled, though there were sudden tears in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I am the wind, yes, but the heart of the wind is peace. Anbeorun means stillpoint, and that is what stands in the midst of even the worst storm. The silence and stillness of peace. The peace is stronger than the storm. I think I finally understand that now. I hope I never forget.”
The four friends stared out at the sea in silence. Even the ghost had nothing to say. After a while, Jute stirred and glanced at Declan.
“She’s released you,” he said. “You know that, don’t you?”
“I know,” said Declan quietly.
The wind blew across the harbor, kicking the wave tops into foam. Seagulls flew up into the sky. Declan sat down on the end of the pier and stared out at the water. After a while, the others left and he was alone. He took out the pearl and rolled it around in his hand. It shone there, blue and serene.
“Thank you.”
Declan looked up, startled. Liss sat next to him, her legs dangling over the edge of the pier. She smiled at him. Her eyes were the same color as the pearl, blue and serene. The sunlight fell across her hair and the line of her face. The light seemed to blur through her. Declan could not speak.
“You are true, Declan Farrow. You are true in your heart and with your courage that you have freely spent for others. True to your word, this land, and your friends. I’m sorry, perhaps, for how I have used you, for now I think you would’ve made the same choices without my compulsion. You’ve done well, and I am gladdened, for even the sea has her own heart, as cold and as remote as it is.” She smiled somewhat ruefully. “Keep the pearl. That story is not over yet.”
“Will I see you again?” he said, finally managing words.
Liss did not answer, but she reached out and gently closed his fingers over the pearl. Her touch was as light as seafoam on his calloused hand. They looked out at the sea together in silence. The waves rolled in slow and sure confidence beneath the pier. The sunlight flashed on the water. The next time he glanced over, she was gone.
Jute left that afternoon. The Guard were drawn up in ranks on either side of the city gate. A great crowd of cityfolk filled the square, hushed and waiting. Flags snapped in the wind. Arodilac Bridd stood before the tower, looking uncomfortable in unaccustomed finery and with a thin silver circlet on his brow. The dukes and all the nobility of Hearne were gathered about him, but Owain Gawinn stood at his right hand.
“The city of Hearne is forever in your debt,” said Arodilac loudly, holding himself stiff and wondering whether he was saying the right thing. He nervously eyed Owain, but the man’s face was impassive. “From the days of Dol Cynehad, in the time of our forefathers, down to our own age, Tormay is beholden to the graciousness and care of the anbeorun. Though I serve the people as regent, I also serve you, my lord wind. Hearne and the regency are yours to command. I, uh, well, what I mean to say—”
“Just say thank you,” muttered Owain quietly. “We don’t need to hear all the other stuff. If you weren’t the regent, I’d put you on guard duty.”
“Thanks very much,” said Arodilac, stammering a bit. He grinned and shook Jute’s hand. “I’m afraid it’s going to take a while to figure out this regent thing. I hope I don’t make a hash of it like my uncle did. I’d much rather be on guard duty, but it can’
t be helped.”
“Some things can’t be helped,” said Jute.
Some things can’t be helped, whether we like them or not. We make our choices and the house of dreams directs our path. All of you chose well. You chose to fight and die. This is your land, just as much as it ever will be mine. Tormay belongs to us all, as we belong to her. And the house of dreams watches us, men and anbeorun alike. But the Dark watches as well. It watches and dreams and waits.
But Jute said none of this out loud. He only smiled as best as he could and nodded and shook hands with the dukes as they gathered about to wish him well. Finally, Jute took the reins of a horse from a waiting groom. Someone gave him a leg up and he settled into the saddle. Severan urged his own horse alongside.
“They don’t expect me to fly,” Jute said quietly to the old man, “do they?”
“Even the wind can ride a horse once in a while,” said Severan.
“I was once bitten by a horse,” said the ghost from inside a saddlebag. “It was a dreadful experience. Wait. Are you telling me we’re riding horses?”
A row of trumpeters brought up their horns with a flourish. A sharp, clear blast echoed through the air. The crowd cheered. The horses set out with a jingle of bridles. A larger troop of horsemen waited for them outside the city gate. Declan sat on a tall bay at the front of the troop.
“You didn’t think I’d let you lot gallivant off by yourself, did you?” he said.
They rode north through the day. The horsemen were all from Harlech, and the duke’s son, Rane, rode with them as well. From time to time, the wind blew along their path, though it was mostly quiet, for that was how Jute felt. The wound in his side was almost healed, but it still pained him. He rode with the black feather clutched in one hand.
“Things are so much simpler now, Severan,” he said.
“Aye,” said the old man, smiling. “That they are.”
“At least for a while,” said Jute. “Tell me again about your house.”
And Severan told him. It was the third time since they had left Hearne, but Severan did not mind. Even the ghost remained interested, despite a tendency to lecture them about architecture.
“It’s more of a cottage than a house,” said Severan, “though I can’t rightly say what the distinction is between a house and a cottage. You’ll know when you see it. My grandfather built it for his wife, for she was from the islands and was homesick for the sight of them. My father would have given it to my brother Lannaslech, but he would not take it. He knew I loved the place. The cottage sits at the top of a cliff overlooking the sea. Built sturdy and stout enough of stone that even the wind thinks twice before taking a blow at it. It’s a cheerful thing during the winter nights to have a fire burning on the hearth. But the cottage is lonely and without any of your bustle and excitement of Hearne. And once you’ve grown accustomed to the sound of the wind and the sea below on the rocks, it’s a silent place.”
“Oh, I won’t mind that,” said Jute. He stirred restlessly in his saddle. His hand crept to his side and Severan saw a shadow of pain cross his face.
“Silence is nothing to be concerned about,” said the ghost, who clearly was no longer paying much attention to the conversation. “I’m always happy to fill the little gaps. Why, you haven’t even heard any of my celebrated lectures on cooking with magic. You’ll be fascinated. There’s nothing quite like roasting goat with a judicious sprinkling of powdered lightning.”
“Powdered lightning!” snorted Severan. “Cooking with magic! I’ve heard quite a few from you, ghost, but this beats ‘em all. Are you really sure you were Staer Gemyndes?”
“I’ll have you know that lightning can be powdered,” said the ghost. “You merely, well, you merely. . . er. . .”
“You see?” said Severan.
Jute did not say anything, and the ghost looked at him anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?” said the ghost in a low voice. “I can’t help myself. It’s just who I am. I’m a ghost, even if I once was Staer Gemyndes. I have to talk, otherwise I’ll forget I exist and that’ll be the end of me. I suppose I could just leave, if you want me to,” continued the ghost miserably. “I should, shouldn’t I? I’m just a ghost. You’re going to have a real home now, and you don’t need a ghost cluttering up the place. I might as well tell you how to make me leave. It’s simple. All you have to do is—”
“No, don’t tell me,” said Jute. “I don’t want to know. I like having you about. We’re friends, don’t you see?”
“Friends?” said the ghost, sounding as if it were about to burst into tears. “Friends? Do you mean it? Oh, blessed day!”
And, with that, to everyone’s great surprise, the ghost was silent for a long time. It had not had a friend in hundreds of years and the thought was almost too much to bear. Besides, a happy ghost does not need to talk all the time.
They did not stop in Lastane but camped beyond the town in a hollow shielded by trees. The company built a fire and put up tents for the night. Several of them threw out baited lines in the stream that ran through the valley, and soon fish were baking in the fire. While they were eating their supper, Maernes, the duke of Hull, rode up out of the night and joined them.
“The land still tells me of visitors, when it will,” he said.
He did not reproach them for avoiding his hospitality in Lastane, but sat by the fire, trading stories with the other men. Jute drowsed with a cloak wrapped around him. He fell asleep and then awoke later with a start, sure that all were gone and even Severan had left him, but the others were still sitting around the fire, talking in low voices, and he fell back asleep.
They crossed the northern fork of the Ciele River and passed on into Thule. The land grew wilder as they went. Hills interrupted the expanse of the plain, and then sudden valleys dropped down into the early shadows of afternoon. They topped a rise and before them lay the bay of Averlay. The little town shone in the late sunlight further along the curve of the shore.
“The fishermen sail from here to the Flessoray Islands,” said Declan. He sat on his horse, staring down at the bay shining below them. He touched the pearl at his neck. “It takes about eight hours with a good wind.”
“Let’s stop here for the night,” said Severan. “There’s an excellent inn down by the pier. Fresh bread, fish, and featherbeds.”
“I’d rather not,” said Jute. “There’ll be people and whispers and staring faces. I don’t think I can stand much more of that.”
“No, lad. We’re near the border of Harlech. Folks don’t ask questions up here. They won’t know your face. Besides, a loaf of bread and some hot fish stew—who can turn that down?”
And so Jute agreed. To be honest, though, he was more interested in a featherbed than the food. The thought of rest, of a very long sleep, was particularly appealing.
He looked to the east and it seemed as if he could see a great distance, all the way to the Mountains of Morn themselves. They were dark and full of shadows that grew and deepened as the sun slanted further away into the west. He shivered.
“It'll always seek to return,” he said, not realizing he spoke out loud. “It won't rest.”
“What’s that?” said Severan.
“Nothing,” said Jute. “I was just thinking. It’s not important. At least, not now.” He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the sweet heather scent in the air. “The hawk loved these skies. I remember now. The further north we went, the happier he was.”
Severan said nothing, for this was the first time Jute had mentioned the hawk in days. He glanced over at the boy, but Jute’s face was serene.
“He said the sky was deeper here,” continued the boy. “I never knew what he meant, and he never bothered to explain, but I understand now.”
They left Averlay early that next morning. The air was cold and clean. After a while, they topped a rise. The road angled along the top of a ridge of weathered granite, pine trees, and heather. The land stretched out in a vast sweep of purple and green and
gray. Far below them, the sea shone and trembled with life.
Rane nudged his horse alongside them. “Look. Off to the west where the headlands rise up. That’s where we’re going. We’ll have you there before nightfall.”
“Home,” said Severan.
“Home,” said the ghost happily.
“Home,” said Jute.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ENDINGS
Arodilac Bridd settled reluctantly into the job of ruling Hearne. He was wise enough to listen to Owain Gawinn, and on his counsel, he married the youngest daughter of the duke of Thule. She was pretty, with the dark green eyes and brown hair that mark so many of those from Thule, and could ride a horse better than Arodilac. More importantly, she had a sharp mind and did not suffer fools gladly. With such a bride, Arodilac quickly settled down to marriage and ruling a city. He did well at both, but this was just as much his wife’s due as it was his.
Owain Gawinn had stern words with his children when he got home the night after the battle. Secretly, however, he was very proud of them. They were Gawinns, through and through, even Fen. Sibb, of course, had her own words with her husband about trying to get himself killed for the second time in one week, but this was in the privacy of their bedroom. Such arguments rarely lasted long between those two and usually ended in laughter.
Owain resumed the old duties that had been carried out by every Gawinn before him. He set about building the wreckage of the Guard back into full strength. More young men would come forward to learn the arts of war and peace under his tutelage. It was during the last years of his life that a tower was constructed at the Rennet Gap, from whose heights watchmen would forevermore gaze east to wait for that which might come again someday.
Declan Farrow wandered about Tormay and found himself back in Hearne. He spent several weeks there, urged to stay by the new regent, who seemed to have forgotten all about the girl named Liss Galnes. Owain Gawinn, however, did not say anything in this matter. He, probably more than any other, wished to see Declan’s sword and knowledge stay in the service of the city, but he also understood the restlessness in the man and could not bring himself to speak a single word in persuasion.
The Wicked Day Page 43
