White Pagan, page 28
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
“Only if you hurry as promised,” she teased. “Dally and you will find yourself barred from our bed…and I may leave without waiting for your gifts.”
After kissing her mouth, satisfied that she did not suspect his fears, Kjell strode from the room to see to the carriage and gifts…and to again discuss his concerns with General Stone. If trouble was brewing, he hoped his general had been able to ferret out some nugget of evidence to either prove him right or prove him paranoid. The sooner trouble was extinguished, the sooner he could unite with his wife and son in Rhidam, the sooner he would be satisfied for their safety and the security of Neth.
***
Though she had hoped to be instructed in the use of the rynlagne, Kavan took them through it so swiftly that Raebhá barely had time to take a breath and notice the connecting points of light he had spoken of before finding herself in the center of an expansive entry hall of a building that felt older to her than the Alberni estate. The hall was adorned with crimson, cobalt, and amber, the colors Merrek had adopted upon his inheritance of the Fiara estate from his grandfather. She and Kavan stood in the open, upon a blood-red sun of marble inlaid on the floor, not in some small chamber or cupboard where she had come to expect Gates to be.
This was a richer home than Kavan’s. Expensively adorned, richly constructed. Kavan looked at home here, and yet out of place at the same time as they paused to look and listen to the evening sounds around them.
Being just past the hour of the evening meal, there were noises from the dining room and the crackling evidence of a hearth fire to the side beyond a partially open door. There was no one to greet them, no one to surprise with their abrupt appearance in the room, but being suddenly exposed as they were, Raebhá grasped Kavan’s arm with an unexpected rush of anxiety. He glanced at her with a reassuring nod and then led her into the room where the fire burned.
She was there. Kavan knew it. He worried for Gabrielle living alone, now that her grandson resided in Rhidam with his wife and son. Perhaps, Kavan mused as he stepped into the doorway to see her squatting upon the hearth tending the fire, he should invite her to Alberni, or encourage her to join Merrek in Rhidam or Piran on Káliel. The change was likely to do her, and Diona, much good, and seeing her youngest son would likewise be a balm.
He did not speak from the doorway until she realized she was not alone and looked up from the fire to see him in her home where he had not been in many weeks.
“Kavan. This is a surprise.” Her smile faltered when she noted the woman behind him, someone unfamiliar whose hand was wrapped around his arm. Seeing the stranger was less surprising than the anxious handhold that Kavan seemed not to object to.
“I apologize for the late hour,” he said with a bow, stepping away from Raebhá’s hand when he realized Gabrielle had made note of it.
Raebhá side-eyed him curiously.
“You know you never need to apologize for coming here. Owain and Merrek both made you welcome…as do I. And it is not so late. Come. Sit by the fire and warm yourselves.”
It was a tempting invitation, but one Kavan was not comfortable accepting now that he was here. “We have not come to infringe on your hospitality. We need your Gate…but I did not want to use it without visiting first.” She looked weary, older than he thought she should, than she had when he had last seen her weeks before. Teren with Elyri blood were affected differently, some exhibiting strong Elyri traits, others exhibiting none. Gabrielle’s gifts had faded with age, and now Elyri longevity appeared to be failing. “Are you well?”
“Always worrying, Kavan.” Since he had not come into the sitting room, she went to him. “Who is your friend?” The woman had to be a friend, possibly something more, though Gabrielle expected Kavan to deny that if she asked.
“Apologies.” He bowed again, his voice shaky, embarrassed that he had not already made that introduction. “This is Lady di Curnydhá. Raebhá, this is Gabrielle Dilyn-Lachlan, a longtime friend.”
Both women made note of the last name of the other and Kavan shuddered as they visually assessed one another. “My lady,” Raebhá murmured, giving the woman a bow, acknowledging whatever status her name conferred while hiding both the question, and the understanding, of what this woman was, or had been, to Kavan.
“Welcome.”
“I am escorting her home…”
“That requires use of my Gate? Not yours?” His hasty interruption made Gabrielle smile as it supported her suspicion that this was a relationship he did not want to be known, one he was not entirely comfortable with. He was no stranger to passion, he could not be if he had fathered a son, but Gabrielle had seen often how expressions of passion and affection made the bard uncomfortable.
Confirming his embarrassment, Kavan lowered his gaze. “There are…this Gate is one of a few that have access to places that most others do not,” he explained.
“Places beyond the Sovereignties?” She assumed he meant the southern lands, or perhaps somewhere within the great Cíbhóló desert, though the other copper-haired woman did not appear native to the Cíbhóló tribes. But there were cities rumored to be beyond the desert, so she might have come from there, if such places existed.
“Yes.” It was the most he was willing to reveal.
“Surely you have time to share a drink…raisin pudding perhaps? Rooms for the night? It is too dark to travel…”
“It will be dark whatever hour we choose,” Raebhá said without explaining. It was a detail she had not considered relevant before now.
The disclosure made Kavan frown but not as much as when she said, “I would like to try this pudding. Surely we have time?” If home was on the other side of this Gate, a short delay for this visit, another hour or two in Kavan’s company, would be worth sharing the offered hospitality.
Against his better judgment, Kavan sighed. He did not understand the argument of darkness, realized now the awkwardness that being caught between these women would cause, but as it had been his choice to announce their arrival to Gabrielle, it was his burden to honor her hospitality. If he had not considered staying in this house overnight, if the Gate failed, he knew he should have waited to depart Alberni in the morning.
That Gabrielle avoided his questions regarding her welfare was another cause that bid him return to the sitting room and take a place before the fire as she had originally offered, leaving his pack with Raebhá’s at the threshold.
Servants were summoned and returned moments later with bowls of savory bread sweetened with raisins and drenched with sugared cream. Gabrielle added a splash of rum to hers from a bottle kept on the mantle, where Owain had always kept his favorite liquor, but she did not offer any to her guests. Elyri did not drink, and she was confident this stranger was also Elyri.
Raebhá brought the spoon of sweets to her lips, tasted it, and smiled. Kavan smiled too.
“How fares Merrek?” Gabrielle asked, turning the silence to a topic of conversation that Kavan would not avoid.
“He is well, as are Arlana and Lorant. Being regent suits him.”
She smiled. “We knew it would. How could it not? His blood and upbringing guarantee his success.”
“Thank you.” It was a compliment he felt worth acknowledging, though he did not think Merrek’s success would be solely due to the years he had mentored Muir’s son. “He has many good voices to guide him.” He did not need Kavan’s amongst them to succeed.
“Lady Raebhá? Have you come from business in Rhidam?”
The question was innocent on the surface, and not so innocent underneath, and Gabrielle’s smile was neutral and friendly despite Kavan’s scowl. Her intentions rarely slipped past him. Nor did Raebhá misinterpret her interest or intent and Gabrielle could not help but smile more sincerely when the woman replied, “An accident stranded me in Alberni, but I am recovered and fit to travel home.”
“Lord Cliáth’s generosity to those in need is well known. His is the most generous soul in the Sovereignties. You could have found no better benefactor to see to your recovery.”
“He found me,” Raebhá said just as warmly, confident that at one time Lady Dilyn had loved Kavan. Perhaps she still did, although Kavan did not appear to share her affection. He cherished Gabrielle, considered her a dear friend, but Gabrielle was no threat in the way Ombhrís would be if he lived. “I was indeed fortunate, and am all the more so that he is willing to spare me a too-long journey home.”
“You did not travel by Gate then?”
Raebhá shook her head. “That is one skill I have not learned, but I pray he will teach me before we part ways.” She turned her beseeching eyes onto Kavan but quickly looked back at Gabrielle with a more neutral expression.
“He is the best teacher in Enesfel, regardless of the matter.” Gabrielle had seen it with Diona, with Muir, with Merrek, with Yóáná and all of those Kavan had mentored. Amused by his discomfiture, she smiled. “He’ll never admit it, but if anyone can teach you, it is him.” Before he could interrupt, she continued, “Have you brought your harp? Would you be willing to share a song or two before you go?’
The shift from flattery, from the two women talking about him as if he was not in the room, was welcome. “I did. I will play if you wish.” Doing so would prevent further awkward conversation, he hoped, and so he retrieved the red kestrel harp and returned to the cushioned stool where he had been.
Seeing him play in this more intimate setting instead of the oratory or the Great Hall of the Lachlan Castle was a gift Raebhá had longed for since waking to the notes of his harp. This instrument was exquisite too, a replica or duplicate of the black one; the sound of the brass strings was much the same. The notes beneath his fingers were delicate, tender and warm, coming as if of their own choice without thought or planning by the man responsible for them.
With his eyes closed, he surrendered to the muses, giving them, and his deepest thoughts and feelings, a voice that only he could give. His calm serenity, the procession of notes melding one tune seamlessly into another, the underscoring of passion, were things Raebhá felt as well as heard and it birthed a need to give him herself and never withdraw. The tales of a Cliáthan’s quality were well-founded, but this beauty was not created by the harp alone. This beauty that filled her senses so that she was drowning in it was all Kavan’s, and the love and sorrow in her breast swelled until it spilled into tears on her cheeks.
Gabrielle, though keenly aware of the effect Kavan’s music could have, was unprepared for the fire it lit within her, a longing she had not felt since before Owain had fallen too ill to fill it. It did not surprise her to witness the music’s effect on Raebhá, for what listener had not been moved to tears by the notes Kavan offered? Those notes, the realization that the voice of passion and longing was Kavan’s, were an astonishing admission of feelings he could not otherwise confess, and as Gabrielle watched first his face, and then Raebhá’s, she understood. This was a shared, forbidden passion. After so many years of life alone save for the great love he had born Wortham, Kavan had finally found one with whom he could share his soul…but for whatever reason, it was a sharing that could never be fulfilled or sustained. He had lost Wortham. He expected to lose this too.
Gabrielle’s heart broke for him.
That he was able to deliver Raebhá somewhere against his heart’s wishes explained the underlying melancholy that gave rise to the droplets clinging to his lashes. His pain fed hers but Gabrielle stubbornly wiped her tears away with a hand to her damp cheeks. Eventually, she closed her eyes to witness his private pain no longer, except through the notes he played.
Soon, however, she opened them again when a hand covered hers. The music still played, Kavan singlehandedly producing notes while he offered the comfort of his touch, seeking the cause of her sadness, understanding the loss of Owain, the loss of a child, in a way that others might not. She forced a smile as she withdrew her hand but the moment of touch was enough to tell Kavan things she had not said.
There was no illness here, no creeping advance of age, but for the first time in their years of acquaintance, she was accepting that when he left, she might not see him again. He had always come back to her, time after time over the years, but this time felt different. She believed it, and through that belief, Kavan believed it as well.
The music faltered. He stopped playing and stared into the dying fire, both hands unmoving on the strings when Raebhá opened her eyes to look at him. With no knowledge of what had passed between Kavan and Gabrielle, she was still certain that the impending weight of another farewell was crushing his tender spirit.
With the fire nearly out, Gabrielle knew more time had passed in music than Kavan had expected to give. It was nearing midnight she judged, and the servants had collected the empty bowls and taken her glass away without interruption. His music had entranced them all, and despite the sadness she carried, she felt content. It was the sort of parting gift that only the White Bard could give.
***
He remembered tales of this city, tales Kavan had told during their too brief time together, tales of a grandeur outmatched only by the Elyri capital of Clarys where he had yet to go. Though the darkness robbed Rhidam of some of the majestic impressions he might have had of her, the flicker of candlelight behind the colored glass windows of the náós before him was remarkable enough to suggest what the rest of the city must be like. Kavan had found such grandeur cold and unsettling, preferring instead the simplicity of the massive structure Myreth had called home. Since leaving Gorbesh, since traveling the lands in search of the man who had opened his eyes and impacted his soul, Myreth had grown to love the complexities of a world he had never known existed. How could Kavan prefer simplicity to this? How could anyone think that k’Ádhá wanted man to live in poverty, isolation, and simplicity when the world offered so much more?
Why had Qol denied him this for so many years?
In the glow of the full moon, he glanced at the rolled parchment she had given him, reading the directions again though he did not need to. He knew them by heart now, knew where he was to room and await his benefactor’s instructions. Faith had led him here, faith and the certainty that what he was to do was necessary. k'Ádhá would never stand for such an artifact falling into the hands of the unfaithful. He had been charged with securing it, making certain it was delivered to where it would be safeguarded for all time. The prospect of finding the White Bard again, after so many years of near despair in seeking him, lit a fire in Myreth’s soul and turned him away from the náós in search of the establishment known as the Eagle’s Nest. There would be a bed there, a warm meal despite the hour, and money with which to survive until further instruction arrived.
But if Kavan was here, as so many voices on his journey suggested he should be, that was all the payment Myreth needed.
He missed his pale twin too dearly to need anything more than seeing him again.
***
“Do not risk your life heedlessly,” Kavan murmured, he and Raebhá again standing at the center of the crimson sun, the tingle of the Gate’s energy beneath his feet pricking his senses. Both were dressed in every layer of clothing they had brought, though it was not cold enough in Fiara to warrant it, and Gabrielle wondered where they expected to go that required such protection. Kavan read the questions on her face as she handed him an additional bundle of food from her larder, food he hoped he would not need. He would return it to her, if he could, knowing that she, like every other person in Enesfel, was rationing what they had until the dearth was behind them. He would not, however, attempt to answer her questions since he did not understand the need for such protection.
He could have gleaned glimpses of their destination from Raebhá’s mind but he refused to try. The less he knew, the less real the inevitable moment of parting would be.
“They are my people now; Fiara is my home. I do no more than you would, if you were in my place,” Gabrielle responded with a dismissive wave. “Every precaution is being taken, I assure you.”
“I do not want to return and learn that plague has taken you.”
Gabrielle, her most persuasive smile in place, one that had once made Kavan cower and blush with awkward desire, said, “No plague will claim me. I will not permit it. Raebhá, I pray we meet again when we shall have more time to talk.”
Her words, rather than her smile, brought a deeper flush to Kavan’s face. Raebhá grinned, understanding the teasing, and replied, “I welcome that day, Gabrielle. Please, see to your welfare until we meet once more. I shall pray for your health.” Plague was a danger she understood, and if Gabrielle was exposing herself to it for the care of her people, prayers for her safety were necessary, whether the ágdháthé listened or not.
“And I will pray for yours.” She kissed Kavan’s cheek, a lingering kiss of farewell that again caused the bard to lower his gaze. “Thank you, Kavan, for coming tonight.”
“Thank you for welcoming us…and for your amity.” Their long-held friendship, despite its initial awkwardness, was one Kavan would always cherish. So much would have been different without her in his life. Without her, Arlan might not have become king. Without her, there would have been no Wortham. Both Kavan and Enesfel owed her a debt that no evening of music could repay. He prayed that his gratitude was enough for her.
As she smiled and stepped out of the circle of power that was Fiara’s only Gate, Kavan took Raebhá’s hands, his eyes locked on Gabrielle’s, and sent a heartfelt request to Kóráhm that the saint would protect her while Kavan was gone.
He had every intention of seeing her again.
***
A noise, distant and out of place, the sound of boots on stone and the drawing of metal from leather, brought Kjell abruptly awake. The jarring of the bed roused Asta, but before she could question him, he pressed his fingers to her lips. Though he did not hear the sound again, nor any other night sound that was unusual for the castle and the city outside, the heaviness of dread and expectation would not leave him.
