White Pagan, page 30
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
“It is…”
“The northland ghísaer know darkness most of the winter. The sun shows over the horizon near midday for an hour or so and then sinks again. The moon is out; it and the stars will guide us when you’re ready to travel.” Raebhá pressed her hand to his forehead as if seeking a fever; he fought to rise but found that, while his core was stronger, his body was not. “What happened?”
“llánec.”
“llán…you mean llónec.” She blinked and fell back to sit on the ground. “You are a Seer?”
“I…” He disliked being called that, but there were few other appropriate words to use. He made note of the variation in the word before speaking again. “I am sometimes shown things…know them before they happen, or as they happen…the way I knew I would find you at the lake. Someone is injured…” He fingered his stomach through his many layers of clothing. “I don’t know who…whether it was here…or there…I do not know if it was a fatal wound…but I felt as if it happened to me. That often implies the other individual is someone I know…someone I am close to.”
Once it had been Arlan whose injuries he had felt. It could now be Prince Merrek or the queen. Or perhaps Ártur. Speculation, however, was not going to help. He did not know. He had to hope, assume, that whoever it had been, they lived.
He looked at her, expecting disbelief or the sort of awe and reverence that often came when others learned how different Kavan was. Instead, her fingers followed his, testing the soundness of his flesh, seeking bleeding she did not find. He shivered and caught her hand, holding it there rather than removing it.
“You seem whole,” she murmured, relieved to find him so, relieved that he seemed to have no memory of the night spent in her arms. Whatever he had experienced, it had left no physical trace. “How will you know…will you need to return…to help…?”
“I am no healer; there will be nothing I can do.” Enough time had passed that if the injury had happened at the same time he had felt it, if it had been a fatal one, the recipient was beyond his help.
“You want to be there, to know.” She would want it if she was in his place. “When you are ready, we will go, find a Gate and…”
“Are we near your home?”
She shook her head. “We’re too far north. By the stars, I think we’ll have to go north to find the nearest ghís; north should be the shortest path out of the mountains. When we reach the coast, we’ll find a vessel to take us south to Gálínphel, unless you find another Gate.”
Dreading the thought of a sea journey more than a trek through the cold and snow, Kavan closed his eyes, focused on the power inside, and reached outward, seeking any point that might indicate a Gate. What he found, after many minutes of concentration, did not feel like the signature power of a Gate but it was power nonetheless. He could not be certain of the source, but it would serve as a beacon to guide them north, using the hope that power also meant civilization.
“There is something…northeast of us. I don’t believe it is a Gate, but it might be of use…might be a dwelling and people.” It might be the one they had recently traveled through, as he remembered little of their arrival except for pain.
“Northeast.” She scowled. He did likewise. Offering her hand as she stood, she murmured, “Come. See.”
With her assistance, Kavan made it to his feet and stiffly trudged to the edge of their sheltered outcropping. The wind was biting cold and he impulsively wrapped his arms around himself. Turning in the direction of the power source revealed a foreboding peak that stretched several hundred feet above them. Slowly he turned his head, then his body, drawing his senses in an arc to study where they were.
Like the Llaethlágárá that served as the border separating Elyria from Enesfel and Neth, these crags, the ones on three sides of them and the range that spread east and south as far as he could see in the moonlight, were sharp, uneven, unfriendly, the sort not easily passed on foot and impossible to pass with a wagon or most pack animals. The bowl upon whose edge they stood spread to the east and looked to be the only direction they could travel without climbing gear.
“Where did we…?”
Raebhá pointed into the snowy bowl; he followed the direction with outstretched power but detected nothing there. If there had been a Gate there before, it was there no longer. How that could be possible was a mystery he did not have the time to investigate.
Survival meant getting out of the mountains. Mysteries of power would have to wait.
“Can you fly?”
After a moment of deciphering his intention, she shook her head. She had only ever taken the shape of a wolf. “I have never tried…and my reserves were spent keeping you warm.” The last was added sheepishly and she did not look at him as she said it.
“I can warm myself…”
“You were in no state to do anything last night.”
From what Kavan recalled of the emergence through the Gate, of stumbling through snow, and from the general weakness of his body, he knew she spoke the truth. If he was honest, flight would not yet be easy for him either. He would have to regain strength before he could consider flight to be an option.
“Then we eat…and walk.” They could wait here until he recovered, but that could be many hours away and Kavan preferred to reach that power source before the weather turned foul. He had never been in a place as cold as where he stood, had never imagined a place where the sun failed to shine, where there was no day. What kind of world did she live in, he mused, digging through the pack Gabrielle had given them to present now-frozen bread and cheese?
He cupped first the bread, and then the cheese, in his palms, warming the meal until it was soft enough to break and eat, and then gave portions to her and took some for himself.
What kind of world was this that the k’elyryhánag had been forced to leave behind?
He conserved strength by not speaking, and when they had eaten enough to dull the pangs of hunger, they began the awkward hike over the frozen snow towards the bowl’s edge. It was not a difficult trek thus far, but Kavan suspected the journey would grow more treacherous, more dangerous, when they were forced to climb, up or down, to proceed.
Kóráhm, stay with us, he thought, wrapping the scarf around his face as Raebhá had done and studying the stars as he followed her. It would do him well to memorize their positions if he was to rely on them for direction and the telling of time. Should anything happen to Raebhá before they were free of these mountains, Kavan would have to find their way on his own.
***
“Come, Jerit.” Asta slid off the horse and caught her son as he dropped sleepily into her arms. They were still dressed in their nightclothes and were barefoot beneath the cloaks both had been wise enough to grab when the commotion descended on the de Corrmick castle. They had no coin, only the horse and Asta’s sword. The horse might provide enough bartering wealth to purchase clothes and have money for a few meals, but they would need the animal if they were to reach Fiara. It was too far from Gorea to walk.
Giving up their only means of protection was out of the question.
The seaside city’s sleepy streets had yet to stir, but the hopes that they would find someone who could help kept Asta moving, guiding the horse with one hand on its reins, the other arm around Jerit’s shoulders. Keen eyes, use to the clues of the street, sought details that could keep them safe, and in time, as they trudged, she found the tavern she sought, the golden light of a fire and the aroma of baking bread spilling into the pre-dawn street.
The North Star.
The Association frequented here.
“We’re not open,” called the woman behind the counter without looking up from her early morning duties.
“Please…my son needs somewhere to sit by the warmth of a fire…we have ridden all night…may we…?”
The pale, round woman, her hair as pasty as her complexion, looked up, took stock of what little they wore, and scowled. She seemed disinclined to allow them to enter, until she caught Asta’s discreet hand gesture that prompted her to open the door. “Ethenae, no one should travel at night like that,” she said, making a show of her words and actions in case anyone nearby questioned her generosity. “Come…to the fire with you both.”
She shooed them towards the center of the room where a fire pit provided warmth. They sat on the raised stone hearth where Asta could keep an eye on the tethered horse, and several minutes later, the woman brought bread on a thin metal plate stained and dented from extensive use and warm tea in equally battered metal cups.
“Looking for the Three-Eyed Urchin,” Asta murmured.
“Not in yet…but might be later. What happened?”
“Trouble…in Glevum.” It was true enough, while vague, to suffice as an answer.
Thankfully, she did not seem to recognize Asta, nor the prince, nor their royal status, only the Association signals and codes she used, which Asta decided was a blessing. If the de Corrmicks were at risk, it was wise to remain anonymous. Within the ranks of the Association, so long as one did not double-cross or betray another member, Asta expected to be safe.
She had contacts in Glevum but there had not been time to seek any of them, not when it had been necessary to get as far from the castle as she could before they were discovered. Asta shrugged, her expression wary, and their hostess decided not to push for details.
Asta knew Neth’s history. Anyone storming the castle was after the king and his heirs. Unless his supporters, his soldiers, had repelled the attack, Kjell was dead, or soon would be. Most often when a Nethite king was deposed, his family was slaughtered to prevent a challenging claim to the throne and an attack on the usurper in return. She did not know of any others with valid claims, but that did not mean someone would not try to make one.
Her heart tried to seize in her breast and she fought to keep breathing as the worry for her family crowded around her more rational thoughts. It took all of her willpower to resist curling into a ball and giving in to distraught weeping.
She could not do that. Not with Jerit to protect. It was not her way.
She had to believe Kjell’s forces were strong enough to protect him. If, by some horrible stroke of fate, they were not, Asta would find Oska and do whatever it took to put him on the throne in his father’s place. She would do likewise for Jerit if that was her only option, if the traitors had gotten to Oska too.
Too tired to devour the offered meal, they nibbled and sipped, Jerit fighting to stay awake while Asta watched the early morning patrons trickle in. The weather had been kinder to Neth than to Enesfel, and so food had continued to be plentiful enough to send grain to aid the cities of northern Enesfel. It meant the people who came to eat were not yet lacking food and there was abundance enough to serve them.
Asta was grateful for that.
Most people ignored them, others looked at them with curiosity or suspicion, some with pity or loathing and some, thinking them beggars, left coins on the hearth between them. Though tempted to return the offerings, feeling above such charity, Asta decided not to. If the Association could not help them and they continued to hide their identities, they would need those coins to reach Fiara.
A balding man with scarred features and three fingers missing on his left hand dropped coins between them and put his hand on Asta’s shoulder. When she met his gaze, she realized who he was with a start. He pulled her up by the arm, a show for the guests who would surely think the fellow was buying her services. She managed to scoop up the coins and Jerit snatched both the sword and food she left behind. The man pushed her down at an empty corner table and by the time Jerit reached them, the balding man had dropped onto the bench opposite her with the table between them.
“Wallace…you got my message.”
“Didn’t expect a Dugan in a place like this…especially you,” he muttered in a quiet voice. “What you doing here?” He looked her over, aware that her sword was aimed at his belly beneath the table. She had asked to see him, not the other way around, but he supposed being manhandled to the table was enough to make her cautious.
Wallace had served as one of her contacts sporadically during her years in Neth, bringing word, as a fence, of illegal merchandise, typically slaves, animals, or poisons, being smuggled in and out of Neth. Originally from Cordash, the man’s career brought him to Glevum early in life and he had stayed for the opportunities it afforded. With both Gorea and Glevum being port cities, he spent a fair deal of time traveling between the two, wherever the demand for his talents, or the requests of Onea Pantel, took him.
When in Gorea, the North Star was his haven.
“We need clothes…a fresh horse…supplies to reach Fiara. Can you help us?”
He continued to study them and bobbed his head at the portly woman who came to serve him, a different woman than the one who had brought Asta and Jerit inside. He shooed her away after putting coins in her plump palm and smiled.
“Wallace,” she growled.
“Yes, yes, I can do that. You a place to stay while I prepare?”
“No, this is an unexpected turn.”
“So I see.” He bobbed his head. “Need to get word to Glevum?”
“I need clothes, somewhere to sleep, provisions, and a horse,” she hissed. She trusted him more than she trusted most other Association contacts, believed he would not betray her, but Wallace had never been the most punctual, straightforward of fellows. As an afterthought, not wanting to discourage any generosity he might provide, her expression and tone softened. “It has been a long, difficult night. If you can get me word from Glevum…let me know how things are there…”
Whether she wanted anyone to know she and Jerit were alive and safe would depend on the state of affairs in the castle.
“I’ll send a runner. You can rest till they’re back.” He drank the watery ale he had ordered directly from the pitcher in several noisy gulps and then staggered to his feet, motioning for Asta to follow. “I know a place…not here, too many have seen you, but close.”
If there was trouble in Glevum, she would want to stay hidden. The Association might be loyal to the Dugan name, but if anyone recognized her, one wrong word to one wrong person would mean trouble. Going underground was her best chance. “Come.” The sun had risen and it was time to get out of sight. Wallace knew the place.
***
In a world of perpetual night, unsure of how long he had slept, Kavan’s internal clock had no sense of how much time had passed. The trail the stars made across the sky, assuming they traveled at the same speed he was accustomed to, suggested the passage of the better part of a day. The moon had been visible when they started but disappeared not long after, just as the sun had done at the midday hour. It created a peculiar mauve and amber glow that faded directly into an orange and azure twilight before the world settled into black again.
As striking as the vision was, as fond as he was of the night, Kavan did not think he could get used to a world without a day.
He wondered what Wortham would have thought of this place.
Wortham should be here with him.
He and Raebhá journeyed east, leaving a trudging trail in the snow of the mountain bowl, until she pointed to a pass between peaks that looked as if it could lead them over the rim in the direction they wanted to go. They paused at the base of the pass to eat, to drink snow water melted in their hands, during that short period of partial daylight, and then they began their ascent, doing their best to ignore the painful ache of blisters and cramping muscles. Raebhá led, following the stars and Kavan’s directions towards the source of distant power in the hopes that it would be a promising destination.
More familiar with this sort of travel than he was, she paused often, expecting to give him the chance to catch up to her relentless pace. But he was always close behind, more sure-footed than she expected, nearly matching her agility over rocks and snow. His determination compensated for his lack of familiarity with the terrain, and her show of high spirits encouraged him to press on, but after his recent collapse, she believed if he continued to push himself, he would be susceptible to another one.
They had to find shelter.
She smiled behind the scarf as her feet slipped and he caught her, offering a helpful hand. Alone, their chances of survival were slim. Together, she believed they could accomplish anything. He would continue with her until they found a Gate, or found civilization, until she was safe, and maybe even after that. She should encourage him to return to whoever had been hurt enough to cause him physical torment. She should encourage him to leave her. Someone needed him.
But as they struggled together through the snow up the steep, incline, she was grateful he was with her and admitted that, promises or no, his company was preferable to solitude and kept her thoughts focused forward instead of behind. Someone needed him, but she needed him too.
Fatigue and the strain of the unfamiliar altitude caught up to them and when she found a tunneled-out cave in the snow, still a long way from the summit of the pass, they took shelter within it. The wind blew harder, the sound it made as it pushed past the cave entrance was like an extended moan of pain and made them both shudder.
Kavan sank to the ground with a groan, pulled down the scarf, and rubbed his face to encourage feeling in his cheeks and forehead.
“You know these mountains?” They had not spoken since the hike began, had communicated via touch and hand gestures. Now he wanted to talk, to fill the intimate silence with something other than the longing to hold her.
How else was he to learn of this place if he did not ask?
Removing food from her pack, she handed it to him for thawing and then shoved her pack into place beside his. The bow clattered against the stones, unused thus far, as they had seen no animals. “Not this far north, but yes. Each of us, except the physically or mentally unable, undergoes a survival test when we come of age. The land is wild, the forests and mountains filled with beasts and other dangers; the knowledge to survive is needed if we are to prosper.”
