Trine Rising

by C. K. Donnelly

  As Teague cleaned the boy’s forearm, she sat in the chair by the cot. She reached out to grasp his good arm in greeting. “Ben dië. My name is Mirana. What is your name?”

  The wounded thief batted her hand away and locked a moan of pain behind gritted teeth. “You’re a Pinal. All of you in the Pinal family have those eyes. The silver eyes that will take away my soul.”

  She folded her hands in her lap. “Don’t be silly. The Aspected don’t take away souls.”

  “Your family is cursed.” The boy curled the hand of his uninjured arm into a fist.

  After more than twelve hundred summers, Fal’kin and Unaspected alike still looked at her family with a certain amount of mistrust. By the Light, she did not want to continue Jasal Pinal’s sins. Then again, some Unaspected were beginning to look at anyone with powers with mistrust.

  “I only want to help you.” She tried to send soothing thoughts into him, but that was harder to do if he wouldn’t let her touch him.

  “Help?” The youth swung his feet off the cot. “What do you know of help? Help might have saved my mother and father when the Ken’nar overran our farm. Where were the Fal’kin and their saving amulets then? If there were no racking Fal’kin, there would be no racking Ken’nar to fight them, there would be no racking war, and my parents would still be alive!”

  She started to speak but, instead, blew out her words through pursed lips. He was wrong. Very. Her father hadn’t been home since before the Reckoning had turned, putting his own life in danger to prevent tragedies exactly like this. Then again, would she feel any different if a Ken’nar amulet had reduced him to ash? Or if a grynwen had torn out his throat? She willed the thought away.

  “I shouldn’t have come here.” The young thief rose from the cot. He groaned in pain and swayed when his legs wouldn’t hold him.

  Teague caught him before he could fall to the floor. Mirana helped ease the injured boy back down to sit on the cot and sent a calming intent to his mind. The boy’s breathing now came in pants. Maybe she should call Matrua Niah after all.

  “If you leave now, that wound could fester,” Teague said. “You could lose your arm.”

  “I will leave if you want me to,” she added, “but at least let Teague put a clean bandage on you.”

  The thief’s gaze flicked between the two of them as he sat hunched over, guarding the wounded limb.

  Teague sat back in his chair. “Look, I trust her with my life.” His gaze now drifted to her. “I would do anything for her. As I know she would for me.”

  Her cheeks flushed. That was indeed true, but so much more existed behind his words the youth could not perceive. Only she could.

  The boy hesitated a moment more, then nodded and fell back on the cot.

  “Give me the numbweed, Mirana.” She passed the jar to Teague and he slathered some on his patient’s forearm with a thin, metal spatula. The youth flinched as the salve touched his wound.

  “Give it a moment. It will help lessen your pain,” she said. She threaded a thin filament of catgut through a fine needle and some silk through another slightly larger one, and handed both to Teague. Reaching for the jar of numbweed, she pretended to scoop out a dab of the salve. She moved to sit behind the boy’s head and placed her fingers on his temples. He winced.

  “I promise I won’t hurt you.” Her Healing Aspect rose in earnest in response to the boy’s wound. She brought him into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he would believe his slumber was due to the anesthetic effects of the numbweed. Or, rather, she hoped he would. Everyone else whose pain she dampened had come to that conclusion. What if he knew it was her, though? She bit her lip again.

  Was this all really worth the risk? To the boy and perhaps letting her secret out? She glanced up at the rafters. They were up there, the Aspects Above, somewhere far beyond the ceiling, the clouds, and the sun. Maybe if she kept doing good things like helping to heal people, the divine entity would lift her curse from her.

  Ai, it was worth the risk.

  The boy tensed as she massaged his temples, but at least he didn’t pull away this time.

  And she could always tell Niah and her own mother she didn’t heal anything, merely controlled some pain and used her Sight to predict an immediate-future prognosis. Ai, that would work if it came to that.

  Wouldn’t it?

  Teague washed the blood away from the wound and treated it with the honey and allium. He thought her name, ready for her help. She closed her eyes, centered herself, and pushed away any distractions.

  Wrongness. Muscles laid bare. Bleeding. Blood vessels cut. Bleeding. Raw flesh bleeds.

  The shrill notes of the boy’s laceration scraped at her mind as she struggled to diminish his pain with her Healing Aspect. She clamped her jaw as the boy’s deep ache pulsated through her before fading. His breathing calmed as his body relaxed under her fingers. She opened herself more fully to her Healing power and sent the youth into a deeper state of unconsciousness.

  “Is everything all right over there?” Niah called from the apothecary.

  Mirana froze at the sound of the healer’s voice. Teague replied to his mother with a confident answer, but the alarmed emotion she caught from him matched her own. To lose concentration now would put the boy in even greater pain. The pungent, camphor-like scent of the numbweed burned her nose as he applied more salve into his patient’s wound. A moment later, his thoughts bade her to continue. She pulled from within herself and coaxed the boy’s nerves to remain quiet, fighting against the strain.

  A new note, a dissonant chord separate from the street boy’s painful music, rang out. Soft at first, the shrill sense grew sharply louder. A burning sensation centered itself in her chest. Images of the youth’s injuries began to shift. What was happening? A vision from her Seeing Aspect superimposed itself over her Healing Aspect and into her awareness.

  “Miri,” Teague whispered, “could you try to—”

  Water rushes over rock. Two stone bridges span river chasms. Lightning flashes. Thousands of riders, hazy with the insubstantiality of a time yet to come. They pound across a narrow bit of land and surge through an outpost of tents. The landscape plunges into darkness. The all-consuming bloodlust of the riders remains. Fighters rise to meet the riders. Amulets fire. Burning, burning. Death. Massive wolf-like creatures leap high, their fangs fastening on throats. Death. Power grows within her, burning, building, consuming. Her chest burns. Lightning flashes again. The rivers and the riders disappear. Jasal’s Keep. Her chest burns. Burning, burning. The watchtower stands entombed in white light. Rage. Desolation. Agony. Death. Thousands. Light. Exploding.

  “—because I’m awfully close to a nerve.”

  “I can’t,” she gasped, attempting to keep her shaking fingers locked on the boy’s temples.

  “It’s all right. It’s all right. I just need to close him up,” he replied. “Keep him asleep a little bit longer.” He reached for the numbweed jar again.

  She nodded and closed her eyes once more as she fought to catch her breath. Beads of sweat rolled down her face.

  Long moments later, he thought a clear notion of relief. “I’m done. You can let him go now.”

  Mirana slipped out of the youth’s mind and removed her hands from his temples as Teague spread more of the analgesic salve on the wound. A row of tiny, meticulous stitches now closed the gash in the boy’s forearm.

  Moments later, the youth blinked and slowly sat up. He looked down at his arm. “What happened?”

  “You fell asleep. Our numbweed is, um, very strong,” Teague replied. “I just need to put this bandage on you. You should be good as new in a few sevendays.” He took a clean strip of linen and wound it around the youth’s limb.

  When he had finished, the street boy touched the bandage, his brows drawn together. “I was talking, and then I just fell asleep.” His words sounded more like a question. Mirana certainly had questions of her own at the moment.

  She wiped her forehead with the back of her
hand, still shaking. She peered behind her. The other herbsfolk had left. The apprentice herbsgirl, however, gave her a curious look, pausing in the middle of stuffing a pillow in a case. Mirana feigned a nauseated grimace and gestured to the wounded youth with a tilt of her head. The other girl smiled and nodded in understanding, and finished making the bed.

  “That happens.” Teague now stared at her with a questioning scowl.

  The young thief looked back down at his arm. “I don’t know what to say.”

  She took a slow breath. “You are starving. Find your way to the kitchens.”

  Teague nodded. “Tell them Healer Niah said you could have as much as you want. They might need some help, too. If your family had a farm, you probably know good produce when you see it. Maybe you can assist Quartermaster Lasen with choosing provisions?”

  The youth rose from the bed and started to leave. When he reached the door, he paused. “My name is Maark. Maark Bedane. Gratas Oë.” He nodded at Mirana. “Both of you.”

  She nodded absently and watched Maark leave the hostel.

  Dear Light Above, what had she just seen?

  Teague blew out an exhale. “That was a close one. What the bloody hell happened? I thought he was going to come back around before we were done.”

  She remained in the chair and didn’t answer.

  Like any seer, disturbing visions came unbidden on occasion. This one terrified her. A wave of thousands upon thousands of riders, more than she had ever seen, swelled across Two Rivers Ford. It had to be the Ford. She had learned in her primary lessons the stone bridge complex spanned the confluence of the Garnath and Anarath Rivers, joining three provinces. Were all those riders Ken’nar? It was impossible to tell. In the vision, it was nighttime, and she could only see between flashes of lightning. Was it truly a vision or was it a memory of the boy’s? A nightmare of his? Of hers? It happened so fast. She rubbed her chest where the burning sensation still stung.

  “Miri?” He nudged her with his elbow.

  “What? Ai. I’m fine.”

  He rinsed the blood from his hands in the basin. The blood. The riders. Death. She gasped and squeezed her eyes shut.

  “You don’t look so good. Are you all right?”

  To make light of her reaction, she waved him off and tried to laugh. It sounded fake even to her.

  Glancing at the apothecary where his mother worked, he stepped close to her. “Did you see something?”

  In a rush, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his chest. He stroked her hair. “Maybe. I don’t know—” She gasped and pulled back from him.

  Matrua Niah walked into the convalescence room. “Done already?”

  “Ai,” he said, nodding as he rubbed his suddenly empty hands on his breeches. “It, ah, wasn’t as bad as it looked after I cleaned him up. He finally told us his name was Maark Bedane.”

  “He left?”

  “He was famished,” Mirana said. “We sent him to the kitchens. I think if we waited any longer, he would have eaten the numbweed.”

  Teague avoided his mother’s gaze, pointedly so, and busied himself with gathering the medical supplies. “He should be fine.”

  “I wanted to inspect your sutures. How am I supposed to tell how well you’re doing if you don’t show me?” the healer woman said, but she kept her eyes fixed on Mirana.

  Mirana glanced over at Teague. He looked just as pale as she felt.

  “Mother, I’ll bring Maark back. You can inspect my sutures. If you think they’re sloppy, it’s because I don’t have your, well, your skills.”

  Matrua Niah rounded her mouth into her reassuring smile. “You are very skilled, but I must check your progress.”

  He turned to face his mother. His shoulders and fists tensed, readied for the struggle he combatted so often. Mirana fought the urge to hold him. “If I’m as skilled as you say, why do you need to check on my progress?”

  “You are very talented, but you are still an apprentice—”

  “You think Mirana distracts me, don’t you? Don’t take your disappointment in me out on her.”

  The healer woman stepped closed and held her son’s face, her own full of pride and pain. “I am not disappointed in you, Ama. Ever.” Her gaze moved to Mirana. “And I never said she was a distraction. I’m just not so sure she’s letting you practice your herbsman’s skills on your own.”

  Mirana’s shoulders sank, wounded by Niah’s words. Did his mother really think she would ever prevent him from caring for a patient? He was everything to her. He held her deepest confidences, her deepest fears. He held her heart. But hadn’t she, in fact, interrupted his treatment at a critical moment? She nearly lost her hold on the boy’s pain when that vision or whatever it was stormed its way into her mind. He had to calm her and treat Maark at the same time. What if she hadn’t been able to regain control? Maybe it was time to put an end to this ridiculous attempt to heal in secret.

  She shook her head. “Please, don’t, Teague. I never meant to be a distraction to you. I thought I was helping you. Your mother is right. I didn’t realize my, well, using my Seeing Aspect in front of you was like flaunting it and making it more difficult for you to concentrate.”

  He held her, ignoring his mother. “You are not a distraction. Ever. I’ve never felt that you were using your Aspect to make me feel bad. You know that. I know that’s not what you’re doing.”

  Matrua Niah folded her arms. “That injury should have taken two jars of numbweed, yet neither of you returned for more. I know something is going on here.”

  He released Mirana. “Mother, I—”

  The healer held up her hand, silencing him, and turned to Mirana. “Teague’s father and I have noticed far less use of numbweed when you help. Ai, all Aspected have some ability to heal minor injuries and lessen pain, but that is only within themselves. Not others. How do you explain what’s been happening?”

  She looked away from Niah’s penetrating deep-brown eyes. “I just wanted to help. That’s all.” That would be enough. That would be everything. “I should go. I’ve probably been here too long anyway.” She turned to leave.

  “Miri, wait,” Teague pleaded.

  Before the healer woman could search her thoughts further, another mind brushed her consciousness.

  “Shouldn’t you be helping your mother?”

  Mirana whirled around. “Paithe! You’re home!” She flew into his arms. He was soaked to the skin from the rain. Mud and blood stained his white uniform. His chain mail bore great rents. Fatigue roiled off him like storm clouds. But he was alive!

  He held her tightly, pressing his lips to the top of her head. ... Ai, biraena, I am ... Because of you ...

  CHAPTER 5

  “I, at last, beheld my child.”

  —The Codex of Jasal the Great

  Kaarl lay next to Desde, drowsing in the stillness of their chamber. Thick raindrops pattered against the window, punctuated by the occasional tap of sleet. Oh, to be out of the elements at last and in a warm bed next to his warm wife. For long moments, he simply breathed her in, clinging to her as she held on to him. He laid his cheek on her breast and listened to her heartbeat. He was so inexpressibly grateful to hear and to feel her living presence again after so much death. He could not remember anything as fragrant as his wife’s skin. Nor anything as soft. Nor could he imagine anyone as beautiful as she. Hair like summer wheat shimmering in the sun, eyes like burnished wood. Her body gave life back to him after the Ken’nar had left only death in their wake.

  His hand followed the sinuous curves of her body up from her hip to rest on her arm. ... Why do I ever leave you? ...

  She brushed her lips on his head. ... Because you are a fool ... She entwined her long legs around his.

  ... Ai, I am a fool ...

  “The bravest, most brilliant fool the Aspects Above ever chose to defend us.”

  “In that, you are very much mistaken.” He raised himself on one elbow and kissed her, again drinking in
her love.

  She pulled back from his mouth. ... What happened in Kana-Akün, Ëi ama? ...

  He did not return her call this time. He slid his body over hers, pouring more passion into his kisses.

  She gently pushed him back from her. “Kaarl. What happened?”

  He rested his forehead against her collarbone and sighed. He rolled off her and sat up, the coverlet sliding down his bare chest to his waist. He studied his hands in his lap, the scars, old and new. If his body was still as lean and strong as it ever was, why did he feel so powerless? Her fingers brushed at his hair and traced down his neck to a healing wound on the back of his shoulder.

  “Kaarl?” she asked again.

  He shook his head, dismissing the question as he peeled off the blankets and rose from the bed. He slipped his arms through a tunic and went over to the fireplace. He stoked the embers back into a comfortable blaze to ward off the deep night’s chill.

  The Defending Aspect flowed through his veins. He once wondered if, when the Aspects Above created the Aspected, they made defenders first. So wedded to the ideal of protecting Kinderra and her people were defenders, maybe it made some sense to the deity to create fighters ahead of seers or even healers. Now, he wondered if making defenders at all had been a mistake.

  He held his deep-red garnet. Ai, he was blessed with calling forth amulet fire. Yet, his blessing had failed one of his defenders entirely. He let his amulet fall back to his chest.

  “They were,” he paused, “they are all so young. Even Morgan has seen only thirty summers.”

  “They are also very skilled and highly trained, and they are led by the best defender Kinderra has.”

  He laughed in derision at her comment.

  Just past fifty summers he had lived, and most of those had been spent in combat with the Ken’nar. Fifteen of those summers he had served as the commander of the il’Kin and fought as a defender in its ranks longer still.

  Long summers ago, the renowned strike force unit comprising the finest Fal’kin in the nine provinces of Kinderra numbered one hundred amulets. When the snows had melted last spring, he rode out with thirty defenders. It was spring again, and he had marched home with eighteen. Never had so many fallen under his command in so short a time as in these last months.