* * *
The ferry was still on the side of the river where the Triad had left it. The ferryman greeted Kani like an old friend, but had to be bribed with several more coins to make the crossing for one passenger and a horse. The ketch made the rough journey, bucking the river's current with cheerful abandon, dashing spray onto the deck and the passengers. Kani and Tufenk disembarked with relief and hastened on their way, grateful for the sun that soon baked away the river's chill.
It was dusk when he rode a weary and lathered Tufenk into the yard of the Inn of the Three Bows once more. The innkeeper came bustling out, a surprised and somewhat wary smile on his face, but Kani's scowl discouraged questions. "Stabling for my horse for the night," Kani said curtly. "And a light meal for myself."
The innkeeper smiled and bobbed. "And will you also be needing a room, my lord?"
In the stories, Triads were freely given whatever they asked for. He wondered when he would experience this phenomenon. He mentally counted the few coins left in his pouch. "Ah. Yes. How much was that again?"
The innkeeper's smile broadened. "Four brass, good sir, for a private room and a good supper."
"Er…and for the common room?"
The innkeeper's smile wilted. "A bed in the common room is only two brass. With supper."
Kani went over the contents of his pouch again. "Have you anything else?"
The innkeeper shrugged. "A straw pallet on the floor, two bits. Food is extra.”
Kani spent a few of his precious coins to have Tufenk stabled and fed. Three more bought him a hunk of bread, some goat cheese, and a few olives.
A party at a nearby table rose from their places leaving three untouched figs among the scraps, and he pilfered them without shame.
He ate until the worst of his hunger was assuaged, then carefully wrapped the last lump of cheese in a cloth and stashed it in a corner of the satchel he carried over one shoulder, to sustain him on his journey. The figs he saved for his breakfast.
Exhausted though he was, he found it nearly impossible to sleep. Concern for the others kept him awake long after the common room echoed with the snores of other travelers. He lay on his pallet, staring up at the darkness that cloaked the dusty rafters, and wondered what Allysia and Seeker were looking at.
Could Hairy-Fairy be trusted to honor its word and keep them safe? Just how hungry were the little Bis-kit eaters? Would Alyssia's tender flesh, or even Seeker's tough and stringy hide, be too much of a temptation? What of their horses…er, mounts?
He pictured Allysia's face, watching him gravely from the shadows overhead. Seeker would be with her, of course. Were they asleep even now, or lying wakeful and worried, as he was? Were they gazing up at the stars, wondering where he was? Or were they crammed into some underground cell or cave, awaiting their doom?
Or were their severed heads lying on the forest floor, their already sightless eyes staring up at nothing….
No, he could not believe that. He would not. Surely he would know, would feel it. Hadn't he always heard that the bond Triads shared gave them a special awareness of one another?
He rolled onto his side, pulling his cloak tighter, as if he could block out his uneasy thoughts like a cold draft. How could he trust a bond he was not sure existed?
The truth of the matter is that the Gold Triad was Broken when Robert died, and is not yet healed. I am no more than an unwanted traveling companion to the others.
And perhaps it would never heal. So far, Allysia and Seeker had rejected his every overture.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but Allysia's and Seeker's faces kept floating behind his eyelids. To his own surprise, he missed them terribly. They needed him, and he had left them to their fate….
He chided himself, trying to push away the feelings. It was not manly to snivel like a child missing its mother. They were, after all, seasoned heroes. Their safety was as much their own responsibility as his.
The thought rang hollow, empty words that he could not accept, even in the privacy of his own mind. They were only women, after all, and he was the man of the group. They were his responsibility, whether they wanted him or not.
Straw poked against his face, and he sneezed, rolling onto his back, driven as much by a growing uneasiness as by physical discomfort.
All his life he had wanted to be in a Triad. But always, always he had pictured himself in the company of men, mighty warriors whom he could respect and admire, all marked with the color of a great, martial faction like the Red, or perhaps the Blue, or even the White. Black might rouse suspicion and dread in others, but at least it had a reputation for choosing fearsome warriors. Even Burgundy would not have been totally unwelcome….
No, Burgundy's honor was too often in question. As well wish for the mark of the Purple Faction.
But to bear instead the color of scholars and scientists, of poets and philosophers, alchemists and artists…. Kani squirmed, hoping his thoughts were not audible to any Fey. Gold was highly honored, noble and good and worthy, wonderful in all things. But it was not a color for warriors.
But it was his color. The Gold Faction had thought him worthy, and Gold did not choose lightly.
Nearby, a camel drover rolled over, snorting and grunting like one of his own beasts. Kani sat up and looked, but no one else seemed roused by the noise. He lay back down, and immediately Allysia's face hovered once more before his unseeing eyes, the mark on her forehead glowing white and gold against her skin.
White chose great warriors. As the mark on her brow proved, Allysia had been Cavalier for a White Triad before she had been Chosen for the Gold.
The gold triangle on Seeker's forehead obscured whatever other colors had once been there. But the barding on her horse was edged with red tassels. Was that a relic of an allegiance from her younger days?
Hairy-Fairy had called Allysia "The White Lady." He had accused Seeker of "carving a bloody path across Tir na n'Og." Kani should have known their pasts; surely there were songs, stories; there nearly always were, eventually. When he was a child, hadn't he sat at the feet of wandering bards, minstrels, storytellers, in rapturous attention? All his family adored the stories, but hadn't his father always encouraged the telling of Triad tales?
Of course, if he were honest, had he always listened to the ones that featured women? Had he not always preferred the tales of the male Triads, the famous, manly Cavaliers, Rangers, Mystics of days of yore?
Wandering minstrels and the like always catered their telling to their audience. He and his brothers had made no secret of their preferences, and they'd always been able to out-shout their sisters.
He might already have departed on his Pilgrimage by the time stories of the White Lady reached Zirh, of course. But he should have heard of the Seeker. If he had not, the fault was his; obviously, others knew her legends.
Feeling as though he hovered at the edge of a great discovery, Kani tried to imagine just what those glimpses of the past implied about the Cavalier and Mystic to whom he was bound. For the first time, he wondered just how much of his inner doubts about them and the color they served had showed. They were not fools, either of them. Had he been less successful than he wished at hiding his feelings?
But Allysia was the most kind-hearted of souls, and she would have nothing to do with him, was often as scornful as the acid-tongued Seeker. Would it have been different, had he met them in other circumstances?
What other circumstances, fool. For you to be in their Triad, someone they loved had to have died.
Ah, yes, the great and much-lamented Robert. A man he'd never known, except by constant comparisons in which he always came up wanting.
What had the real Robert been like? He had so far felt nothing but impatience for the name and memory of the dead Ranger, but now Kani wondered if perhaps he might have liked his predecessor.
He might resent Robert's memory, but to Allysia and Seeker, the former Ranger was no
t an insubstantial ghost, but someone they had loved as a brother.
Who had died only days before Kani came.
Was it fair to blame them for honoring their dead in the only way they had?
You were so eager to be the Great Ranger, so proud of yourself, you gave them no freedom to mourn. You resented their grief. The inner voice was his mother's, as unexpected as it was scolding.
With a sense of shock, he realized he deserved it. Perhaps Allysia's indifference had not been rejection, but a mask to keep her feelings private. Maybe the coldness in Seeker's eyes had been simply the ashes of her grief. And he had respected neither.
Remorse welled up inside, stinging his eyes with tears. He clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sudden sob. Allah, in His wisdom, had given him understanding, but he was not prepared for the power of the emotions that swept in its wake.
I beg forgiveness, O Divine Light of the World, he prayed silently, lips moving in the dark. If I am permitted to see my Triad again, I will give them the respect they are due, as mourners, as my elders, as the heroes they are. Let me have another chance to prove myself to them, and earn their trust, their love.
As quickly as passion had swept over him, it was gone.
He swallowed and blinked up at the dark. He was tired, that was it. After all, he had hardly slept the night before, and tonight was no more restful. And there was little from which he could draw comfort.
But all was not yet lost. All he had to do was kill one troll.
The thought brought a fresh rush of despair. How was he to defeat a powerful troll in single combat?
Thoughts of defeat would gain him nothing. Trolls had been fought and killed before. He had been raised and trained to hunt, to fight. Surely he was up to the challenge.
He had to be.
Tales from Opa: Three Tales of Tir na n'Og Page 26
