White Pagan, page 31
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
“Everyone? Surely there are some who never leave their villages, who do not brave the wilderness?” He flipped over the morsel of cheese in his hands to continue warming it.
“We often travel between ghísaer…for trade, for family, for festivals. Life is too long to remain confined to one place.”
The corners of Kavan’s mouth twisted in amusement. The majority of Elyri rarely traveled beyond the village, town, or city of their birth unless marriage compelled them. Some traveled to the major urban centers such as Clarys, or to neighboring centers of inhabitation, for trade or festivals, as Raebhá said, but they were a relatively small percentage of the population. Paths through their kingdom were ancient and well worn. Bandits were practically unheard of and assault by animals was equally rare. Few would brave those paths, however, preferring the comforts of civilization and familiar neighbors.
It was another reason why there was so little travel for Elyri across the Llaethlágárá. It was safer, easier, to stay home.
Perhaps after having journeyed so far to reach that new land, the desire to never travel again had become deeply ingrained in those ancient settlers who were their ancestors, and subsequent generations had taken the sedentary life to heart.
“You underwent the trial?” He handed her half of the meal and began to eat his own.
“Of course. Men undertake it in their twentieth year…women between their twentieth and thirtieth…when fertility begins. There are rituals beyond the test, measures to try our readiness to join the world of our elders. It’s complicated, dangerous and stressful…but every year we look forward to the new initiates…to welcoming those who can provide into the embrace of adulthood.”
“What if someone does not pass?
“Assuming they do not perish or aren’t badly injured, they may undertake it the next year, and every year after until they do. The most tests I ever heard of were five. Most of us complete it on the first try as we are prepared for it from the time we stop being children.” Seated across from him, legs outstretched so that her feet pressed against his knees, she took a bite and asked, “You don’t have such challenges?”
One hand on her boot, an absent gesture of amity, he shook his head. “Children are taught to read, write, and count, to know history, from the age of six or seven; it usually lasts about seven years or until they enter an apprenticeship for a craft. Some become apprentices earlier and stop studying. Some continue to study for much longer.”
“Do all children learn to use the power?” Dhóri and Sóbhán obviously had, but of the other Elyri she had met, she did not know if any but the healers had trained.
“Most are taught the basics; it’s considered too dangerous not to be marginally trained. To remain untrained is considered a grave threat to others, although some refuse to train their children. It starts as we begin learning to read and write and count. Training can last as few as three years but most continue until they cease formal education. Some are fortunate to continue training as long as they wish, even past the age of needing their parents’ permission.”
Kavan, she presumed, was one of those fortunate few. “You had your parents’ permission to…”
“My parents were lost when I was an infant…fire and plague. My aunt and uncle, Ártur’s parents, served as guardians until I was old enough to take guardianship of myself. I trained and studied until there was nothing more for the bhydáni to teach me.”
Thinking that meant his teacher had been of limited knowledge, not knowing how old he had been at that time and the alternative being too amazing to consider, she nodded. “Now you are the teacher, the scholar, a minstrel and advisor to the queen, and a duke.”
Kavan started to speak and then scowled. “The last not by choice, but it affords me the freedom from worry about hunger or shelter for myself and my family.”
“You’re a man of many talents.” Raebhá grinned, warmed by his embarrassment, and shifted to lie beside him, her belly satisfied with the meager meal. “We should sleep if we’re to go on in the morning.”
Was it night now? Would it be morning when they started again?
He had only her word to judge by.
He hesitated to lay beside her, her proximity unsettling now that his blush had settled low in his body. But the sharing of heat would make survival more certain; he had no desire to die here or to allow her to do so. He settled back, his pack beneath his head, and although he flinched when she snuggled closer, one arm over his stomach, he did not retreat. The comfort and welcome of her nearness, her offered warmth, were stronger than his awkwardness, and so with one arm, he pulled her closer while the other pushed beneath her until she was wrapped in his embrace where his heart felt certain she belonged.
Chapter 16
Saul Peado, a man of the sword who had come to serve Hes á Redh as protector to Rhidam’s only Elyri gdhededhá, had remained on in the Faith, as had his fellow bodyguard Edward, to become gdhededhá themselves under Tusánt’s leadership. With Rankin serving as primary dedhá now that Tusánt had been elevated to k’gdhededhá of all Enesfel, and a recently initiated gdhededhá named Caldar Cates, the Faith in Rhidam had thrived since the cessation of Coryllien violence. Many had come to serve as adjuncts, a need that increased as the onset of hunger brought misery to everyone in the kingdom. Together, Saul and Edward oversaw the choir and the management of festival Gatherings while Rankin managed the coffers and scheduled visits to sick parishioners throughout the náós’ sphere of influence. It left Tusánt to the day-to-day running’s, the business of Faith, and the relationships with other sees, particularly the one in Clarys with whom he struggled to find a bond, a door, for reunification.
But k’gdhededhá Tumm had no desire for reconciliation without concessions made by the Teren Faithful, the first among them being the expulsion of the White Bard from the Teren Faith. Tusánt could not, in good conscience, agree to that, but he continued to seek a way around that stipulation, believing that a unified Faith was best for all of the Sovereignties.
Many Faith leaders in Clarys were less convinced that this was so.
Saul and others stood behind their leader and few in Enesfel thought ill of the man fairly elected by a near-unanimous vote to lead them, and like the others who served in Rhidam, none found fault with Lord Cliáth. The man had given too much of himself to the Faith, and to the Lachlans to deserve excommunication.
The morning service was over, leaving the Gathering Hall to be swept, the benches to be polished, the candles in the sconces to be replaced by a trio of adjuncts while Saul cleaned the holy chalice and refilled the sacred serbháló in preparation for the next Gathering. The sounds of the others working were comforting, normal and familiar, and he noticed at once when another set of footsteps joined the cacophony of chatter, moving benches, and shuffling feet. He closed the cabinet door and turned as the stranger, a blonde fellow carrying a large box covered with a cloth, reached the altar steps. His smile expressed no threat.
“Good day, dedhá. Might I have a word with k’dedhá Tusánt? I’m told he serves here still?”
“He does, but he is occupied. May I ask your name and purpose?”
“Cedric O’Grady…son of the late duke and brother of the current one,” the stranger said with a bow made awkward by the item he carried. “Not that they know I’m here or care aught of my travels. My business is a private matter for the k’gdhededhá so I can wait for him. Do you think he’ll be long?”
“I’ll ask. Please, sit if you wish, Mr. O’Grady.”
“Thank you.” Cedric bowed.
When Saul returned several minutes later, he was not surprised to find the blonde standing where he had left him. Saul smiled and motioned for him to follow into the thóres. They passed several closed doors, wooden and plain in construction compared to the Gathering Hall they had left, all bearing locks that were deemed necessary in response to the violence of the Persecution. When they stopped before a partially open door, the sounds of movement behind it ceased as Saul raised his hand to announce his return.
“No need for that,” the Elyri called with a chuckle before the knock came. “Please…come in.”
Saul pushed the door with one hand but did not enter as he motioned Cedric through. Cedric passed, murmured his thanks, and cocked his head at the surprise of the door closing behind him. With so many anti-persecution precautions in place, he had not expected to be left alone in the room with the k’gdhededhá. After the martyrdom of Jermyn Tythilius, he had not expected to be trusted here.
No one had yet asked what he carried.
“Do you wish to sit, Mr. O’Grady? Saul says you have business?”
Tall and thin, the k’dedhá’s face looked barely older than a boy’s, with only his eyes revealing his age, wisdom, and a guarded sense of wariness as he adjusted the robe he had changed into and smoothed down his hair with one hand while studying his visitor and the covered box he carried. Cedric bowed at the question and nodded.
“I’m to deliver this to Alberni, to Lord Cliáth if he’ll have it, or to St. Kóráhm’s if he will not. I wish to pay my respects to the queen while I am here and believe Hes á Redh is the safest place to keep this while I do.” He offered the covered box to the other man, holding it as if it was the most fragile, beloved item he possessed.
“What is it? May I?”
Cedric nodded and Tusánt lifted the cloth to peek beneath it. The box was glass on all sides except the bottom, its edges bound with gold seaming, the lid latched with a heavy iron lock. Inside, folded into multiple layers, was a charcoal gray bundle of fabric that looked of little import. It showed scorch marks along some of its edges, as if it had escaped a fire, and Tusánt guessed that there was other evidence of damage he could not see. There were no visible markings of identification, leaving Tusánt puzzled as to why the cloth was being treated with such caution.
“You are skeptical. I don’t blame you. I was skeptical when I was asked to deliver this to Lord Cliáth. The fellow assured me of its authenticity, and with the miracles that have followed on my journey here from the desert, I believe this to be as claimed.”
“A relic?” Making no effort to read the glass, Tusánt turned the box from side to side and raised it to look at the bottom.
“Healing mostly…water brought up from the rocks in a place that had not seen groundwater in years…the calming of a wild horse that crippled several who attempted to break it. I saw many of these things with my own eyes. There’s no other explanation for them save miracles…and Lord Cliáth was nowhere nearby to have been the cause of such things. If anything were to cause such wonders, surely the mantle of Saint Kóráhm would.”
Tusánt gaped. Stories of the Heretic-Saint’s martyrdom told of his escape from the pyre on which he had been set alight. His followers had saved the mantle from the flames and spirited it, and his body, away. No one had seen the mantle, or the saint, again, although rumors of its existence and location had persisted. If anyone could verify its authenticity, it would surely be the man most closely associated with the Heretic-Saint.
“Lord Cliáth is not here,” he whispered. His hands began to tremble so he put the box on his desk so he would not drop it.
“In Rhidam? Yes, I thought as much. I expect to find him in Alberni after I pay respects to the queen…”
“I am told Kavan is away on business of an indefinite nature…I do not know when he will return. But k’gdhededhá Khwílen will certainly keep it secure in the interim. I’m told there are many precious relics housed in St. Kóráhm’s. Does anyone know what you…?”
Cedric shook his head with a grin, satisfied to be believed. “I’ve told no one as I’ve had no desire to create a pilgrimage of followers all the way to Alberni. Nor could I risk it being damaged or stolen.”
“Indeed. I swear to you I will secure it while you call upon the queen, if that is your wish.”
He wondered if he dared take it to Clarys for authentication. Given k’gdhededhá Tumm’s opinions of Kavan and his patron, Tusánt thought it best not to. The mantle would likely be seized and then hidden away in one of Clarys’ many vaults or else destroyed.
No, the best place for it, for now, was St. Kóráhm’s.
“We can take it there this evening if you wish.”
Patting the pipe at his hip, Cedric grinned and said, “I hope my visit will not be as short as that. I could use the coin.”
That the man was a bard, and the son of a duke, explained his acquaintance with Kavan. He was not so acquainted, however, as to know about Gates. “Then I wish you good fortune, my lord. This will remain safe until your return.”
No one except the laundress came into his room unannounced, and she had served Hes á Redh for so long that there was no reason to mistrust her. Tusánt put the box upon his dresser, covered it with the embroidered cloth that had shielded it before, and followed Cedric out, making sure to lock his door on the way. Just because he trusted those he lived with did not mean Tusánt was willing to risk such an artifact. If it was genuine, it was the most precious piece of his Faith he had ever encountered. He wanted to take no chance with its safety.
***
Raebhá claimed it was morning but Kavan could not be certain with the continued absence of sunlight when they emerged from their shelter and began their ascent once more. Only the position of the stars had changed, but the increasing cover of blowing snow and clouds that the howling wind drove in from the east obscured them. By the time the storm peaked, it was too late to return to their previous cover, and since limited visibility made each step more treacherous, they kept watch for viable shelter as Kavan followed the psychic beacon that pulsed brighter despite the foul weather. They often traveled hand in hand, or hand to back, assisting each other up the narrow pass, and made no stop to eat or rest.
If the wind and clouds brought a blizzard, they might be lost in the snow forever.
The world was white, devoid of smell save for his breath into the fabric protecting his face, devoid of most sounds except the whistling wind and the snow crunch beneath their boots.
It was impossible to judge the passage of time without the movement of the stars to guide them.
Sometime after the faint glow of noon brightened the snow-blown white horizon and faded again, they reached what they judged to be the crest of the pass and paused for the first time to catch their breath and gain their bearings. The source of that power signature was nearer, should be within Kavan’s line of sight, but he could see only the wind-driven snow. Using his inner senses instead of his eyes, he turned his face, and then his body, in the direction of the power, thinking it the direction they should travel.
The shift of his weight on the uneven, icy ground pulled a foot out from under him. Instinctively, his hand sought Raebhá’s to steady himself. She slipped from his grasp and he careened down the northern slope, his pack clutched to his chest with one hand to avoid losing it as he fell. Raebhá’s squawk as she jerked from his unexpected reach unbalanced her and she too tumbled down the incline. A barrier of stone, flat and smooth as if eroded after part of the mountain sheared away, broke their descent. His surprise at the abrupt stop was cut short when Raebhá rolled into him. Her dropped pack came behind, the steepness of the incline enough to deposit the bundle beside her rather than leaving it somewhere back up the path.
He met her gaze, asking if she was good without words, and she nodded that she was as he fought to his feet and helped her up, pausing to brush snow from her lashes. Satisfied with her welfare, confident of his own, forehead touched briefly to hers to convey his relief, he turned to inspect the stone surface that had broken their descent.
This was it. He knew it before he pressed his hand to the stone. Even with the thick layers of leather and cloth and knitted woolen mittens between his skin and the rock, there was a strong enough shock of power, a jolt of the sort he recognized now that he was near enough to touch it. There was an entrance here, warded and sealed, not with physical locks but with the energy of an ancient and powerful source. The ward and lock system was similar to what he used to protect the contents of St. Kóráhm’s hidden vaults. Such a thing should not exist here. Few Elyri could create, manipulate, or destroy such wards; Kavan knew of only one other who could do so, one of Bhryell’s bhydáni whom Tíbhyan had coerced into teaching the skill to Kavan. It was both surprising and amazing and one of the last things he expected to encounter so far up amongst these craggy peaks.
Excited, he ripped off his gloves, exposing his hands not just to the cold but to the power in the stone despite Raebhá’s inhaled breath of concern and confusion. Kavan was surprised she did not feel it too. If he could find the entrance, if he could break the wards, it would gain them a secure shelter in which to wait out the moaning wind.
If they were lucky, there might be a Gate inside.
Raebhá watched through the blowing snow as Kavan moved along the wall, following so as not to lose sight of him, following to prevent him from falling again. They might each be able to survive the mountains alone, keep themselves warm, but eventually, even his power would wane and the loss of visibility and shelter would result in freezing to death or a fall more harmful than this last one had been.
To Kavan, the wards were less sophisticated than those he had created in St. Kóráhm’s and thus he found them easy to dismantle. He located the power pressure points, untangled the threads that wove through them, pulled back the pin of power that bound them, and then swallowed hard as the energy flashed back into him like a shockwave. His lids fluttered as tremors rumbled beneath his hands and under their feet and then the stone began to groan as the slab retracted into the mountain on one side just far enough for them to enter one at a time. The movement of stone and earth brought with it a collapse of snow from above that was thankfully not enough to bury them.
