White Pagan, page 74
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
“How many?”
Her tone produced an awkward silence before Fraen the Elder cleared his throat. “There’s no accurate count; the Hatuish soldiers were arriving in Ruidoso and quickly disperse to the east…but the report suggests thousands…potentially half of Hatu’s military.”
“Half?” She choked but quickly recovered the sound with a clearing of her throat and a long swallow of wine.
In the corridor, Zerio’s hands trembled so that the bowls on the tray he carried clattered. He forced himself to be calm and thankfully none in the room appeared to hear the sound. Next to Cordash, Hatu currently had the second-largest military in the Sovereignties, men kept at the ready to repel the horde that periodically swarmed from the lands to the south. Thanks to the training provided by the legendary Guthrie McHador and now the oversight of King Gamal Lachlan Harcourt…a man better trained in the art of war and tactics than many of Hatu’s former rulers had been, they were a more efficient, dangerous force than ever. To Zerio it sounded as if the queen had believed the Yellow Sisters would prevent an army from crossing Enesfel, limiting the strength Queen Diona had behind her.
Inness had not, it seemed, put stock in a son’s support of his mother, the mother they shared. Why should she? Though Enesfel-born of Lachlan blood, Gamal had lived in, been trained in, the Hatu courts nine months out of the year from the time he was seven years old, groomed for the role assigned to him in agreement between the rulers of both kingdoms. The previous Hatu king had no heirs and his brother, Prince Espen, refused to consider ruling Hatu while his wife sat on the throne of Enesfel. Neither kingdom desired to place both under the rule of a single monarch, leaving the choice of selecting an heir not of Harcourt blood or selecting one of Espen and Diona’s twin sons as the heir.
The years schooled in a land with a vastly different cultural outlook towards women could have driven a wedge between Gamal and his mother. If it had, it was not enough of a wedge for him to forsake her and the land of his birth in their time of need. Beyond Neth’s reach, Hatu had but one enemy, and for now, that reoccurring enemy was quiet.
“Dispersed? How many were left?” Inness’s initial distress was set aside as the wheels of thought churned through possibilities.
General Fraen looked at those around him, the other men stoically silent, leaving him to bear the wrath of their queen. Thankfully, she did not yet appear as capricious as the de Corrmick kings of olde. She knew she could not indiscriminately do away with the few supporters she had. That was the thing, he believed, that would save his life and help him rise further in power and influence.
“At least one hundred…though by now they too may have been reallocated.”
Inness pursed her lips. Too many. Assuming another one hundred was left at every outpost, village, town, and fortification along the border, the total of Hatu soldiers would number two thousand or more. With Cordash already entrenched alongside Enesfel’s meager, disorganized troops, their total outmatched Neth’s still-forming, ill-trained forces. She could continue the raids, but it would devastate her available military, just as the Yellow Death was beginning to do. The raids provided the troops food and drink and supplies, giving them incentives to continue and sparing the Crown the expense of feeding or outfitting them, but bringing them home meant potentially spreading plague further inland.
If she recalled them, she would have to resort to more expensive means of training.
“Generals, remain with me. The rest of you are dismissed.” It was time to discuss options, though Inness already knew what she had to do. The expense was necessary. She would not leave her son open to death in the overthrow of Neth and the de Corrmick house. She would not leave herself vulnerable either.
Zerio hastened towards the kitchen with the tray, being far enough down the corridor by the time the first advisor stepped out of the Black Room not to appear suspicious. He ground his teeth as he casually continued walking, listening to those in the corridor behind him. He would have preferred to stay, to listen, to have the decision, the plan, spoken so that he could report it to his superiors, but he was confident enough in the final decision to be willing to stake his life on the message he would send. The queen would be wisest to withdraw her raiding parties. No more blood would be spilled in Enesfel…for now.
Zerio’s focus must remain on the tower.
***
Kavan jolted awake, hands at his throat, a pounding and constricting in his chest that strangled him of air as the sensation of unraveling threads of power pulled and faded to the point of snapping, though they were not yet breaking free. He was alone, without even Ágdhállán to comfort him, just as he had awoken every morning for the past several days. It was taking too long, he feared, to regain his strength, and now, as he tried to trace that sensation backward, he worried that this flux in power was the cause. He remembered feeling this creeping sensation before, during the pursuit of Ombhrís through the forest, and again upon waking on the stone dais in the ghís center. He remembered feeling it as the ghís inhabitants watched the dead burn. It was weaker but more noticeable now, as the thread slipped further away as if being pulled out of the fabric of his life. He needed to identify the source before it was too late. Before it killed him.
He could smell the savory taint of roasting fish, a frequent meal in the warm months when the catches were copious. Flocks and herds were culled when the weather turned in preparation for the long winter, the older animals butchered to feed the dhóbhaen, so there were fewer animals to feed when grazing lands were buried beneath snow. While the flocks grew fat and healthy, the sea provided.
Kavan had yet to venture out amongst the villagers, both out of healing exhaustion and the fear that followed the proclamation of miracles. Both Iólán and Audh, who came once or twice each day to visit now that he had awakened, brought reports of the miracles rendered by nothing more than people touching him while he slept.
It was not the first time such healings were attributed to him. Most often he had no proof the rumors were true. As it became more obvious that miraculous occurrences did pass through him at k’Ádhá’s whim, he could not refute the accuracy of such claims. Many of those in Curnydhá who claimed miracles were people Audh, Iólán, and Raebhá knew well, injured, sick, and heartbroken people whose conditions were known before and after. Kavan, again, could not deny their experiences. Thankfully, whenever one of the three spoke of such things, they contained whatever awe and elation they felt, preventing Kavan from withdrawing in distress.
But he was hungry, tired of lying in bed, and knew he could hide no more. Whether he was met with adoration or fear, he wanted to explore the sensations that had awakened him. He wanted to be near Raebhá and their son. They had spoken little during the past days as his waking periods most often came when he was alone. When she was there, and he was aware of it, it had been enough for her to curl up beside him and enjoy the stillness of the other’s companionship.
Or maybe, he thought as he stepped through the door and pinpointed her aura while working his way slowly down the steps stained with his blood, there had been silence because there were too many words that neither wanted to say.
“kydhé.” As Kavan had moved little since falling to the poison, his movements were slow, stiff, and awkward. Iólán and another fellow who happened to pass met him midway down the stairs and supported him the rest of the way down.
“It is good to see you up,” Iólán said with his usual friendly smile.
“Will you dine with us?” asked the other eagerly.
The second man’s tone of expectation caused Kavan’s voice to fail but he nodded, determined to follow his choice through, determined to reach Raebhá’s side. His resolve was tested in the pushing past the greeting stares that followed him across Curnydhá, both fearful and reverent, suspicious and overjoyed in equal measure. Each gave rise to the feeling of awkward unwelcome. Audh had spoken of the increasing support of those no longer fearing him as they had; what Kavan read hinted that the man may have exaggerated his support.
Maybe it was the fact that Kavan was walking among them again. It was easy to be unafraid of a cataleptic man who produced miracles and might be dying. An unconscious man presented no active threat.
What sort of man could survive poison?
It was the way that Raebhá, seated in her customary place in the ghís kelyhag, clutched Ágdhállán to her breast with fierce protectiveness that worried Kavan most. Ephé and Audh sat protectively on either side of her. Ombhrís was no longer a threat, had been given his final rights some nights past, but Kavan could tell she felt threatened, wary enough to demand the proximity of those she trusted. She had hidden it from him when they were alone in her home, but here in the open, it was harder to mask.
The threat was not Ombhrís, he judged, but something he had not seen before. Something new.
Her expression brightened when he entered and she rose to greet him with an overflow of relief that caused many around the cookfires to smile. Audh smiled too and slid sideways on the bench to make room for him. Raebhá did not hesitate to embrace him, showed no reluctance to kiss his mouth, refusing to hide her affection for her son’s father any more than any other dhóbhaen would do. He welcomed her embrace, and though weak, fervently returned it. That told her enough.
The man she had met nearly a year hence would once have shrunk from the display in horror and embarrassment.
“Welcome, kydhé Cliáth.” Éthym smiled as Ephé rose in welcome and brought him food after Iólán settled him on the felled log bench beside Raebhá. The other márbhyndhánis bowed their heads or bowed at the waist in greeting when he continued, “It is good to see the ágdháthé have favored you with good health.”
If any of the márbhyndhánis harbored ill towards him, it was hidden behind well-trained walls of power that Kavan did not have the strength or will to probe. On the surface, they appeared accepting, welcoming, which, he prayed, meant that Raebhá’s efforts to change the course of dhóbhaen history would be met with eventual success.
The old man’s words bore a peculiarity that others noticed. The ágdháthé did not interfere in the lives of the dhóbhaen; when bad things happened, the spirits of the dead were blamed. Good things were attributed to a person’s efforts, a strong constitution, or occasionally the good fortune of the stars’ alignment, if luck followed one often from childhood. To attribute Kavan’s recovery to the favor of the ágdháthé was little different than calling it a miracle. The only ágdhá ever suggested to take interest in, or have a hand in, the lives of men was the one known by Dhágdhuán and his followers as k’Ádhá.
Had Éthym let slip a belief in the heretical or was he acquiescing to Kavan’s personal beliefs?
How might that affect the others seated around them?
“I am blessed,” Kavan agreed. He was no saint, but he was, without argument, blessed. He included Raebhá and Ágdhállán in his list of blessings, more precious to him than his life.
Raebhá smiled and murmured, “You are indeed. We all are.”
Iólán, having wiggled between Kavan and Audh, leaned close, his mouth to Kavan’s ear, and whispered with a chuckle, “You should wed her already, haiágles. There are no more impediments. It is time.”
Choking on the zerphánál he had not yet swallowed, his skin flushed with embarrassment, Kavan stared at the other man, unable to reply. Was that what Raebhá wanted? Expected? He looked at her and was relieved that she, now in conversation with Ephé, appeared not to hear her brother’s words. They had not discussed the future since Ombhrís’ death, both afraid, he supposed, of what their futures held.
Having believed that marriage would never be the hand fate dealt to him, that no woman would ever desire that with him, Kavan could not say which terrified him more…that she might refuse such an offer and prove him correct, or that she might accept.
Amidst a sea of unfamiliar faces, emissaries from nearby suffering ghís, the ritual of storytelling and song began, leaving Kavan to pick at his meal without interruption or the need to address Iólán’s counsel. With Ágdhállán in a padded bed box beside her, Raebhá’s arm hooked around Kavan’s, she raised her gaze to him often, with fondness and adoration and a look that suggested she wanted to verify his reality, his health. In addition to the heat of yearning and joy of affection, he could sense the waiting, the longing, of the whole of Curnydhá for him to play, to sing. When they realized there would be no music from the still weary bard, locals and visitors gradually began to withdraw for the fires of their homes or the temporary structures erected for those displaced by the disaster. The sun settled below the mountainous horizon, an odd sort of extended twilight of mauve, gold, and amber that Kavan found mesmerizing.
Alone at last, with Ágdhállán asleep against Kavan’s shoulder where he tended to settle and fall asleep faster than anywhere else, Raebhá leaned against him and followed his gaze through the open western door, wondering what he saw or if he was looking for anything specific. The wind blew from the heights tonight, pushing the moisture out to sea, bringing with it a drop in temperature. Most of the snow never left those heights and, as Kavan knew, the higher one climbed, the less life could be found. Was he thinking about the passage of time since they had traveled through the snow? About what had happened to him there? Or was he contemplating what they both suspected existed there though he had yet to seek it out?
Maybe he would never search for it. Maybe she could give him reason to never return to Alberni.
“Ombhrís is gone,” she assured him, her hand covering his, her body relaxing more when his fingers curled through hers. “I saw his body myself. Curnydhá is free of him…as are we.”
Kavan heard the question behind the words, the question no one had yet asked. He sighed. “I could not save him. I tried.”
“Tried?” She did not doubt him but found it remarkable that Kavan would try to save the other man’s life, given his desire to protect her. “You saw him?”
“He was too near the edge…slipped. The moss and stone could not anchor him, and my arm…” He rubbed his sore shoulder. “I could not pull him up. He deserved justice.” What justice was, in this case, was not for Kavan to say. He was not the man’s judge or jury and not his executioner. Maybe k’Ádhá had doled out justice without Kavan or the dhóbhaen needing to do so. “But I don’t regret he’s gone.”
Picturing the scene behind her closed lids, the way the moment must have played out, Raebhá nodded and nuzzled his jaw. “Nor do I. You did what you could…what was necessary. Reconditioning does not work for some; it drives them mad, destroys their minds. I dare say he would have been one of those.”
He deserved to die, she thought bitterly. She was satisfied he was gone but would never say so aloud.
“Some are beyond redemption, though k’Ádhá knows I wish it wasn’t so.” Cheek pressed to Ágdhállán’s, Kavan ordered his thoughts and took a breath, judging by the tingling in his belly that the talk of Ombhrís was meant to be a precursor to something else. “Raebhá…” His tongue tripped over her name and he choked on his breath.
Nervous at his tone, she looked into his eyes and waited.
“I know there are…matters…we must address…”
She looked away with a shake of her head, grateful for the break created by the wind bumping the door against the building. There was an omen of bad news in that sound and she felt burdened with enough weight tonight. “Not tonight. I have had too much of business, of troubles. There is time.”
Tugging on his hand, she urged him to his feet and together they passed through the darkness to her home.
“Not tonight.” Kavan could concede to that, as they walked, as the waning threads continued to sap his energy now that he had spent more consecutive hours awake and upright than he had spent that way in days. The inevitable could not be put off indefinitely, but tonight he was content to avoid discussing the future for a few more hours. “But I do want to ask…to know…”
Iólán’s burr had burrowed into his head and refused to give Kavan peace until he dealt with it. Again she looked at him with visible relief that he had agreed to leave unpleasant matters for another time.
The moonlight glimmered in the red of her hair as the breeze tugged it in front of her face. Tentatively, he stopped walking and brushed it back behind her ear as he said, “I believe we should wed, if you will…I mean, I want…Ágdhállán should have…there is no reason preventing us…and you know I have never…will never…you are the only one I shall…”
The more he fumbled for words, the more merriment sparkled in her surprised gaze, once the initial confusion and surprise left her eyes. The more of that amusement he saw, the more Kavan struggled to be clear with his feelings, confident she did not understand, that her expression was perplexed rather than mocking. The question should be an easy one to ask, but fear of her answer made it more awkward than he had expected.
Finally, he stopped with a defeated sigh and an admission he had never thought to make. “I love you with a full heart, my soul, my life, aislé. I desire to be bound to you always…whatever our futures hold…if you will have me.”
They were words she had never thought he would say, feelings she did not think he would ever voice. Hand cupped behind his head, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him into a breathless kiss, Raebhá bought herself time to tame her thoughts and form a response. There were reasons they should not be married, but as many reasons that they should, and having that bond with him, wherever their futures took them, might be the only part of him she could ever hold on to.
“I would have it no other way; if it is your wish, and not a matter of duty and honor,” she whispered, her forehead pressed to his when the kiss broke. Perhaps there would come a day when she would regret this choice but tonight, it was the right, proper, blessed thing to do.
Duty and honor were part of it, things ingrained in him from the days of his earliest memories, deeply influenced by Kóráhm’s writings. His Faith demanded such an act of respect but he could truthfully admit that he would have sought this same union with her without the weight of moral conviction. His soul was too entwined with hers to have longed for anything different.
