White Pagan, page 75
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
His heart thundered in his ears and his chest ached. It hurt as if it would burst, but he had never felt more elated. “My heart is yours, aeslag, from now until I breathe no more. I want us to be…”
Within Kavan’s center where his power resided, he felt the tearing again and an flare of power that caused him to cry out and double over, almost falling on the steps. Raebhá caught him, Kept him upright, and in that touch she felt what he felt, power and pain, something bleeding in from far away, beyond the reach of her abilities.
“Kavan!”
In his head, in his soul, only one word existed, the cause of the fading he had been aware of for days.
Tíbhyan.
Chapter 40
Raebhá recognized the word to be a name, though she did not know who the individual was when Kavan collapsed. Someone dear to him that she had not met, she deduced, as she supported him, stumbling, back to her home and the cot where he had spent the last several days. He was shaking as if in shock, his skin covered with a damp sheen that was rare amongst dhóbhaen and Elyri alike. If not for what she read in him as she helped him inside and closed the door, if not for the utterance of that name, she would have thought him to suffer from poison lingering in his blood.
This was no illness. This had no link to the question he had just asked her, the promises they had just made. This was the suffering of a man losing someone he loved, someone he was deeply attached to.
Someone far away in the place he had left behind. For her.
She wiped tears from her eyes, grateful that Kavan’s condition did not disturb Ágdhállán when she placed him in his bed box. For a moment, the proposal, his profession of love, had made her hope that his choice was to stay with her, build a life in Curnydhá. But this death, if that was what it was, was a harsh reminder that he could not stay. It was a reminder of the choices she faced, to remain here and fight for her people or leave the dhóbhaen in the thrall of millennia of tradition and indoctrination that no longer had a place. Kavan’s coming here might herald further contact with their distant kin, if Raebhá could pave the way, but she had no intention of inviting anyone here that might be outcast or killed for their differences.
Lost in her thoughts as she rubbed his cold hands and listened to his breathing, it took several minutes to realize that Kavan had lifted his face to look at her. His eyes were bleary, bloodshot, bearing the pain of a broken heart and it brought her to tears.
He pressed her hand to her cheek, a pleading gesture without words to express what he wanted to say.
She kissed his palm. “Kavan…whoever this is…you should go…”
“I cannot…”
“You must. I have duties to the ghísaer…I cannot leave them and I will not bind you here…” If his promise to her held him back, she would release him from it if she had to, if it was the only way for him to do what needed to be done.
“aeslag.” He kissed her, wrestling with himself as he examined that fluctuating power again. Tíbhyan was not dead, but he was fading and Kavan had no idea how long an Elyri could exist in that state. There was so little known about the kylldhysag in Elyria, and Kavan had hoped for the opportunity to remain amongst the dhóbhaen long enough to gain a better understanding of that particular rite of passage. Raebhá was right that he should be with his mentor, his earliest and dearest friend, the man to whom he owed his evolution as ágdháni, as a man. But tonight, he could not go anywhere.
“I’m too weak; my control is not as it should be. Even if I could find and reach a Gate tonight…it took five márbhyndhánis to send you through and I am but one man. At full strength, perhaps I might…”
“You said it took five because they sent me where there was….”
“Perhaps. I don’t know. I won’t until I find it. But not tonight.” By morning, he sighed morosely, it might be too late. “Besides, there is Ágdhállán’s safety, and yours, and we are to marry…”
Turning her face so that her tear-stained cheeks brushed over his hand, she kissed his palm again. “Some things take precedence.”
“Nothing takes precedence over promises to family.”
Such promises, however, had sealed his future, for he had told Dhóri, Sóbhán, and Ártur that he would return, a promise made to others he considered to be family as well even though they did not share the bonds of blood. He had promised to remain until he believed her safe. He had promised that he would love her always. To always be with her. No matter the miles that might separate them, they would never be truly apart. His offer of marriage was such a promise and would, in his eyes, bind him to her until one of them died.
“Your duty…sacred and just…to give your people the rights that only a few possess, as well as the permission to believe as their hearts call them to…those things should not be withdrawn. You have opened doors for them and only you can lead them through. I know…”
His fingers trailed down her throat. “It will not allow you to follow me…at least not yet.” Shuddering, he closed his eyes against the tears welling there. “Things will change. Someday there will be peace here…freedom…and I will bless that day and the gift of you making it happen. When it does, we will be together again…if not before.”
He attempted a weak smile. His duty in Alberni, in Enesfel, might end before Dhóbhaen’s day arrived, his responsibilities given to others who could shoulder them without him, and on that day, Kavan would be free to return to Curnydhá, to Raebhá and their child, and remain at her side. He had every intention of doing so.
“But I will not leave you unable to defend yourself and our son.”
“Kavan…” Her voice cracked as she looked at the sleeping boy.
“There are ways. I can teach you. I will teach you. If I cannot be here to protect you both, I will be certain you can…”
“If…when you go,” she corrected with a croaking sound breaking at the back of her throat, “you will take Ágdhállán with you.”
It was a choice born from much thought, a choice she believed to be the right one despite the pain it created.
He had expected protest and argument but never those words. Drawing her around to face him, grasping her chin, he sought her sincerity, sought confirmation that he had heard her correctly. “You are his mother. He needs you.”
“He needs someone to keep him safe, who can devote time and attention to his upbringing, his education, his training. If he remains here, and they discover what he is, what he can already do, because of all you have done, there is a chance, even if I succeed, other márbhyndhánis throughout Dhóbhaen may seek to Recondition him. They might destroy his potential rather than see him become what you are. Even if they don’t, if he’s selected as márbhyndhánis, I fear his potential will be limited, wasted.” She felt a swell of pride despite her heartache. “Here he’ll never reach the fullness of his gifts. Others will fear him. Whatever those gifts are, beyond the Sight, no one is better suited to teach him than you.”
Kavan could not argue those points and did not try. He had taught Dhóri and Sóbhán what Tíbhyan could not and could do the same for this child. Despairingly, he had been prepared to miss out on his son’s upbringing to leave Raebhá the right to him. How could he take Ágdhállán and leave her alone?
“Besides,” she kissed his mouth and covered his hand on her cheek with hers, trying to still his arguments before he made them, “you may not see it, but I do. He cries less when with you. When you were poisoned, suffering, when you awoke…he responds. He’s bound to you with dáni in a way that I think will cause lasting damage if he is separated from you. When he is older, more centered, able to understand such things, he will come back to me, as you will. I’ll be consumed with what must be done here…and it will not be easy…”
The danger she faced as she challenged tradition, custom, and faith remained unspoken but understood. Kavan was reluctant to take the child from her, however. “We do not need to decide tonight. Tomorrow I will teach you…we will wed when you are ready to do so…and when I am stronger, we can seek the Gate together.”
The talk of separation might be for naught if he could not manipulate the Gate alone or find a familiar point close to home. Perhaps the márbhyndhánis would help him, but he could not expect them to take that risk. Even if he chose to sail west, a journey that would take a year or more to complete, Kavan might awaken in the morn choosing to stay, to never leave her side.
“And Tíbhyan?”
He frowned, toying with strands of her red hair, contemplating her question. He would either leave in time to bid his mentor farewell, or the man would pass from the world before he could. Kavan had no control over the man’s fate, or his own, and tonight he did not have the strength to follow the power threads backward to touch the ancient man’s thoughts for one last moment of reassurance and connection. “I…that will take care of itself,” he whispered.
He stretched his thoughts as far as he could, begging the bhydáni to wait, begging Kóráhm to help him find his way. Kavan had little hope that either attempt would succeed.
***
“I’ve finished tending your garden, bhydáni.” Bhen wiped his hands on his trousers as he entered through the rear door of the man’s home to see that Tíbhyan had not moved in the chair where he had been when Bhen arrived. With his stooped shoulders, glassy eyes, and skeletal hands resting on his equally thin legs, the bhydáni looked more dead than alive, but Bhen put his hand on the frail shoulder and Tíbhyan lifted his head to make eye contact with a thin smile.
Despite the work that devoured most hours of his day, Bhen made time each week to tend the man’s flower garden as he had for more than twenty years. In exchange, Tíbhyan had taught him the ways of power, just as he had taught Sóbhán, Dhóri, Chethá, Yóáná, and any other young ones Kavan brought to him. The last student, besides Bhen, had stopped coming when Yóáná had graduated from apprentice to full healer, a day that coincided, in Bhen’s opinion, with the steady decline of Tíbhyan’s health and mental acuity. He had been declining physically for more than a century, but the decline had become more noticeable over the past year, without Kavan having come to see him. He had taken a steep turn for the worse after whatever event had knocked him off his feet and left him incapacitated by a broken hip that, while healed, no longer supported his weight as it should. Bhen had been the one to find him on the floor, eyes blood-shot, blood around his ears as if he had struck his head in that fall, lying in his own waste without the ability to rise, unable to eat or drink.
Many in Bhryell had thought he would die then and had come to pay respects and offer prayers, doubtless hoping for some bequest for their generous visits. But the ancient sage clung to life. Bhen knew that death would come soon, for Tíbhyan had no strength to go into the wild the way some Elyri did, walking away from their lives never to return. Unable to walk, spending his time in his chair staring at the fountain in the square or the flowers in his garden, Bhen imagined it was where Tíbhyan would be found dead, hoping for something that could not be. Bhen came every day since the man’s fall, caring for him the way he knew Kavan would if the bard could be here.
Tíbhyan rarely spoke and when he did it was cryptic words and Kavan’s name, snippets that made no sense to anyone but him.
Maybe they made no sense to him either.
Today Sóbhán was with them, the opportunity of a day free of duty to Prince Lorant spent tidying the bhydáni’s home. There was little to tidy since the sage did not move on his own and several in the Cliáth and MacLyr households came when they could to launder his clothes, bring meals he rarely ate, and clean the platters and cups used to feed him. The dust from the outside foot traffic that accumulated through the always-open windows needed to be wiped away, and when it rained, the stain of it was left on the sills to dry. Sóbhán read to him every visit, or shared whatever gossip had sprung up in Bhryell. He was not the gossip Bhen was, but as he heard all of the details from Bhen, sharing them with Tíbhyan seemed like a fair means of keeping the man an informed part of the community.
Sóbhán came out of the kitchen with the bread and honey he had intended to feed the ailing man but Tíbhyan’s chin had already dropped to his chest. A light snoring rattle resonated within struggling lungs. Sighing, Sóbhán offered the plate to Bhen who had worked up enough of an appetite in the garden to gratefully accept it.
“He spoke of bhydhá again,” Sóbhán murmured. “It feels like he is waiting for his return. I tried to tell him that bhydhá will understand, that he cannot be here…”
Bhen nodded. “I tell him as well, but still he stares at the fountain as if…”
The fountain was a tribute to the Cliáths who had been Bhryell’s founders, with a more recent monument added to its center in honor of the White Bard. Sometimes when Bhen or Sóbhán opened the door, his face brightened as if seeing his favorite student again, only for the look to fade when he realized Kavan was not entering his home.
“Wonder if he knows something we don’t or if he’s just obstinate.”
“Can’t blame him for not wanting to go without a farewell.” Kavan was the nearest thing to family Tíbhyan had. Not a religious man, perhaps he feared death and wanted Kavan’s reassurance but Sóbhán believed it was something more. “I think someone should stay with him. It will be a great shame if he passes alone…bhydhá will never forgive himself. I will talk to Chethá and return this evening, with Prince Lorant if necessary.”
“It would be the kind and decent thing to do,” Bhen agreed. “We’ll alternate…and I’ll ask for the same from dedhá Bhílári so that he and others from Hes Índári can sit with him…so he is never alone. I’ll fetch one of them now…if you will stay until someone comes?”
A glance at the window allowed Sóbhán to judge the hour and he nodded. There was time before he was due home for the evening meal with his wife and the prince, for the discussion that would follow.
Thankfully, Tíbhyan had been spared the Bhryell plague.
“I’ll wait.” He drew the blanket from Tíbhyan’s lap and tucked it around his shoulders as the day was cool and the bhydáni was directly in line with the window. Bhen clasped his shoulder; there were a few footsteps on the wooden floor, then the front door opened and closed.
With a jerky movement, Tíbhyan caught Sóbhán’s wrist, and though his eyes did not open, he croaked, “He’ll come; you’ll see.”
Sóbhán gaped but did not argue. Tíbhyan was asleep again, his hands slack on his lap. It seemed an unlikely thing to hope for, a desperate thing to believe.
But maybe the bhydáni was right.
***
Given little choice, Inness ordered the withdrawal of her raiding troops, summoning them to an area south of the city of Mawr where they could train and yet contain the threat of plague to a relatively small area. Those deemed healthiest were brought to Glevum, but all were kept far from the eyes of either the menacing troops on the southern border or the blockade of ships in Glevum’s harbor. No public comments were made, no words of capitulation sent to Rhidam. It would eventually be noticed that the raids had ceased, and gradually the watchful border troops would grow lax and decide that Neth was no longer a threat. She was counting on Gamal and King Govert recalling their troops and by that time she intended Neth’s army to be better prepared for battle. She would recruit, she would train, and when the time came, Neth would reclaim what was hers.
Inness closed the heavy drapes against the bright morning sun and retired to her bed, the night’s vigil in the Black Room with General Stone and the newly appointed General Fraen having stretched too long through interruptions by her too-fussy son and the incoming reports of her troops’ activities. The order was in place, the recalls had begun and the prince finally slept.
It was time for Inness to do likewise.
***
When Iólán arrived at dawn to inquire about Kavan’s health, the revelation of their intent to wed divided Kavan from Raebhá in unanticipated ways. Having been wed previously, even if it had been an unconsummated sham dissolved by violence and deceit, and wanting to remain at Kavan’s side as his departure grew more imminent, Raebhá’s effort to forgo custom was thwarted by her brother with every protest she made. The changes to custom she hoped to bring to Curnydhá, to the dhóbhaen, would be difficult enough to birth. Changing an eternity of wedding practice when it was unnecessary to do so would introduce additional unrest. Despite his openness to change, there were some conventions Iólán was not willing to overlook, not when he might lose his sister to the land from which her soon-to-be husband hailed.
Raebhá and Ágdhállán were shuffled off to Ephé’s home. Kavan was likewise prompted to vacate Raebhá’s home for a bed in Iólán’s to ensure a customary separation before the couple wed. Typically, the separation lasted two full weeks but Raebhá would not permit it. Kavan’s dying mentor might not have two weeks. Five days was all she was able to arrange, the five-day minimum necessary to make preparations and allow Kavan time to regain his core power while she continued to negotiate aid for her people spread along Gálínphel’s suffering coast, five days she hoped could be spared. If Kavan came to her and claimed to be out of time, she swore she would marry him in the privacy of her home with Iólán and Audh as officiants, without the public display or her brother's approval.
It was that impending deadline that kept her from following custom to the letter, kept her from avoiding him. The necessity of learning to protect herself, of allowing Kavan to see his son, meant breaking the rules. Thanks to Kavan, however, no one was aware the custom was being broken. When the ghís slept, he stole from Iólán’s home, certain the other man would not wake, and after making certain Raebhá’s hosts would likewise sleep, she would steal away with him, Ágdhállán in her arms, to follow him into the forest where hours were spent in the ways of power and knowledge that few dhóbhaen were allowed to pursue. The skills she learned, to protect her body, her mind, her life, her home, would need to be continually practiced, as mastery would take time, but it was time that Kavan did not have and so he pushed her to learn the basics of each skill until he was certain she understood them. He fretted that his efforts would not be enough but was forced to trust that they would be.
