The gathering, p.21
The Gathering, page 21
part #1 of The Cleaved World Series
It sat on its haunches and raised its forepaws, either a greeting or a plea for a treat. Probably the latter. Chibans were friendly, generally, but they weren’t particularly intelligent. Lea had seen a few taken as pets by those who didn’t much mind all their possessions being chewed to the limit of their usefulness and beyond, but she’d never seen one trained to tricks.
“Oh!” Mya gasped again. “What is it?”
“It’s a chiban,” Xian answered. “Though I’ve never seen one like this. Usually, they’re brown, with white bellies. Don’t let its antics fool you. One chiban can eat its way through a whole sack of barley and kill itself with the gluttony while it starves those the grain was meant to feed.”
Mya was unmoved by such a practical complaint. She put her hands to her cheeks. “He’s so pretty! Can I touch?”
Chittering along the side of the road caught the beastlet’s attention, and it scurried away into the foliage.
Lea laughed. “They bound all through the village, Mya. You’ll have your chance to touch a chiban, no doubt. Come, we’re awaited.” She nodded farther ahead on the lane, near the center of the village, where Fair Ones had begun to assemble.
As they neared the group, Erolis, their elected leader, stepped forward. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with the same pale complexion and long, snowy silken hair as all his folk, but a sharper, keener aspect to his features than most. He was cunning, and it showed. He was their leader because there was a shade of darkness inside his light. He knew the limits of patience and tenderness, and could protect them should bad trouble arise.
Lea dismounted and greeted him with a smile and a clasp of arms. “Erolis. I am glad to see you.” She spoke in the Fair speech, a blend of Vraelish and Maerlish the Fair Ones used only among themselves and their friends.
“Rider. It has been too long. You fare well, I hope?”
“Well enough. I will see Nuala while we’re here, for aid with some injury.”
His smile was sly, and Lea held his astute gaze without giving that leering look quarter. She had taken pleasure with Nuala on more than one visit to Fairwen, and Erolis, Nuala’s brother, knew it. That, however, was unlikely this time. Her wounds were not yet healed—moreover, she was not alone.
Erolis changed to Frentung. “You ride with a party. Nuala and Aeren said as much, but I could hardly believe it. Welcome, friends of our friend.” Erolis’s grey-violet eyes landed on Callyn, who was still mounted on little Keela, and locked there. “My sisters told me we would meet another of our kind. But you are not, are you? You are the cause of the stirring.”
Lea wasn’t sure what he meant. But Callyn signed, and Mya spoke for them. Xian had dismounted and put the girl on her feet. Lea saw his hands settle subtly on his daggers.
“’I feel the magic in you that has lain long quiet, and I send out my own in greeting.’”
The cluster of Fair Ones at the center of the village, about a score of them, rustled with surprise. They set long-fingered pale hands on their soft-hued silks, over their bellies, and whispered frantically to each other. Lea fought the impulse to wrap her hand around the grip of her sword. Something was happening, something was coming, but her instincts couldn’t determine whether it was danger.
“Who are you?” Erolis asked—demanded—stepping forward.
Callyn came down from the saddle. They pushed their hood from their head, showing truncated ears and scarred skin. They held out their hands, stretching them wide, showing that each one stopped a knuckle too short. They wanted Erolis to see that they had been tortured.
Then they signed. “’I am Callyn, sibling of Tantaren, eldest offspring of Vesstath and Onvyr. I am the one who showed Tantaren the way of power, and I am the one who rues that day. I was long her captive, and tormented, until the Rider set us free. I am neither Farborn nor Fair One. I am Callyn, and I can put you on the way to your becoming.’”
Lea turned to Mya, who seemed confounded by all the words she’d just spoken. She goggled at Callyn. Xian’s eyes found Lea’s, and they shared similar feelings in the look. Her instincts still quivered with wariness, but she couldn’t see how to act.
Erolis stood in place, frowning fiercely at Callyn. He knew the history of his people, and Lea saw in his eyes that he understood precisely who Callyn was. “You have magic.”
“’I do.’” Callyn looked at Lea and signed more, but Mya didn’t speak those words. They turned to Mya and signed again, and then something more, but Mya shook her head.
“I can’t. It’s not right.”
All at once, Lea knew what Callyn meant to do. She knew it as clearly as if the words had already been said.
It wasn’t a burden Mya should bear, either in telling or holding back. Lea turned to Erolis. “Callyn bears the heart magic of Vraelon. I have known this since the day we freed them from Tantaren’s cage, and I have had no cause to think them other than a comrade. The thing they want you to know, that the girl does not want to say, because she is loyal to me, is that I am a magic-bearer as well, and have always been. I bear the head magic of Saapia.”
Never had she willingly given her secret. Erolis stepped back from her in shock. At her back, Aradros snorted and dropped his head, sensing tension. Xian shifted and gripped his daggers. Lea stood where she was, her hands at her sides.
“There is no other place in Brisira where I would willingly tell my truth, Erolis. In this place I trust in your peace, and in our history together. Though your souls are still, you are more like me than any other folk. More like me than the Farborn. Callyn and I are ghosts of an old world, but we are friends to you in this one.”
Mya spoke for Callyn. “’I am here through the great goodness of the Rider of legend and Xian, a great warrior of Boreld, and Mya, who will come into her greatness soon. I am here by their goodwill, and with my own. I was once Farborn, and I am no friend to those who corrupted my home. I would be your friend, and I am here with a boon I offer to you. With time, I can bring you to your full selves, restore that within you which has died.’”
“You offer us magic?” Erolis asked in a stunned whisper.
“’Yes. You feel it stirring in you now. Not Farborn magic, but the magic that your Fair souls can hold.’”
“We must confer,” Erolis said, and turned to face his folk. “Nuala—take the Rider and see to her injuries. Clyra—take the warrior and the child to the public house and make them comfortable. Talmer—take Callyn to my cottage and stay with them there. Jalis—see to their mounts. I want the council with me at the meeting house.”
“No,” Xian said, stalking forward to face Erolis. The Fair One was taller, but Xian was battle-hardened and heavily muscled. He was also heavily armed. “You do not separate us.”
“We mean you no harm, warrior. The Rider has shown herself to be our friend, and this news does not change who we know. It changes what we know, of her, of the world, and of ourselves and our history, and we must understand amongst ourselves before we will speak with outsiders. You are safe here. I give you my hand in promise.” He held out his hand.
Xian glared at it and turned to Lea.
“It is well, Xian. We are safe here.”
“You may keep your weapons, if I have your hand in promise that you will not use them unprovoked.” Erolis lifted his hand and made a fresh offering.
Xian finally clasped his hand. “I make that promise. But if I am provoked, I will answer.”
Lea put her hand on Aradros’s neck, and he turned to her, setting his nose on her shoulder. “Be at ease, love. Go with the boy in peace. We are safe.”
She believed it to be true. Her instincts were quiet. She hoped it was true.
“I see you more clearly now, coyla,” Nuala said, using the word in Fair speech that meant ‘dear friend.’ She eased Lea’s tunic down her arms, baring her shoulders and back. Lea had worked her small vest off under the tunic, though she supposed the need to keep the owl on her arm covered was less pressing than ever it had been before.
Nuala cut the bandage away and gasped quietly. “Is this improved since yester?”
“It is. The unguent helped. I carried a fever as well, and that has passed. What do you mean, you see me?”
“The strangeness about you. The power you carry, the strength. And the way you hold yourself aloof, even to my touch. I understand it better. You’ve borne a heavy secret for many turnings.”
Nuala drew a feather-soft fingertip over the top of Lea’s shoulder and down her arm, leaving a trail of prickles behind. She leaned forward, her silken hair caressing Lea’s skin, and kissed her neck, just behind her ear.
Lea had been long without physical pleasure, even by her own hand, and she lost hold on a moan that slid softly over her lips.
“Not wholly aloof,” Nuala chuckled.
Lea caught her fingers and closed her own around them. “No. I’m wounded, and I’m wary. I had no readiness for what Callyn said, and forced me to say, and I need to think on it.”
Nuala left off her teasing and tended the denotite wound. Lea felt the last remnants of the metal drawn to the medicine, dragging like claws through her blood, but it was a good pain, a healing ache. Fair Ones still used Farborn recipes in their medicines, and those recipes needed no castings to be potent curatives against magic wounds.
“Can they truly bring us magic?” Nuala asked as she wrapped the wound.
“I don’t know. They’ve not said such a thing before.”
“Could you have brought us magic? All this time?”
“No. My magic is of a different kind. Your soul would be torn apart in the effort to accept it, even if I had enough that I could share it.”
Nuala stood before her now, crossing the binding over her chest to hold it snug. She eyed Lea’s bare breasts, much as Xian had, though he’d tried not to, on his days of helping dress her wounds. But Nuala reached out, cupped Lea’s breasts, brushed her thumbs over her nipples. Sensation made them tight, and Lea moaned again.
“Nuala. The time is wrong.”
“I don’t think it is. Something is coming, coyla. Something wondrous. The time is right to restore and rejoice. I can feel it. It stirs in my blood and makes me swell and throb.” Her pale hands left Lea’s breasts, slid up, over her chest, brushing her throat, cupping her face. “I will see to you, your wounds of body and soul and mind. Rest and let me tend to you in all the ways you need. All the ways I need.”
She set her lips on Lea’s, and Lea gave up wariness and let herself be tended.
17. XIAN
Xian paced restlessly. Each moment he waited inside the walls, wondering what trouble would befall them, or those of his party he couldn’t defend, made his heart throb and his fists clench. Bound by his honor, he could do nothing but stay here with Mya and wait, while a Fair One sat near the door like a gentle guard.
What they waited for, he could not say.
Their accommodations were comfortable, at least. The style of building here in Fairwen—a village he’d never visited before—was light, airy, and colorful. No corner was formed sharply; even the doors and windows had a somewhat oblate shape, and the chairs were all padded with soft cloth and feather fluff. The colors of their structures were like their fabrics—each piece of the rainbow, in tones light and deep both.
This public house was small and quaint, and seemed less public than its name would suggest. This wasn’t an inn, feeding and housing travelers, so much as it was a meeting place for the village, he thought. He couldn’t quite say what gave him that impression of privacy, but it was strong. He doubted the Fair Ones had many visitors to their small village. But it was inviting nonetheless.
The curve-cornered tables in the room were each inlaid with colorful tiles that made up different gaming boards—a few for Mercenarium, a few for Colors and Keys, and others with which he wasn’t familiar.
It was as if the Fair Ones had committed their full existence to peace and comfort. They spoke softly, they lived softly, they created and sold things that gave succor or delight, they surrounded themselves with beauty and comfort and ease.
And yet, Xian felt a threat. Mayhap it wasn’t the Fair Ones who brought the threat, but something happening here, something coming toward them, to this place or from it, would bring them strife. He knew it as well as he knew the feel of his own palms.
“What do they do out there?” he asked the Fair One, whose name he did not remember.
She smiled. “They decide. There is no need for worry. Erolis made his promise, and we will all abide. The Rider has been good help to us in times we had need. We would not see her or hers harmed.”
Xian grunted, appeased and dissatisfied both, and stalked back to the table, where Mya sat and played with her clockwork faiefleur, tapping it along the tiles of a Mercenarium board. The girl seemed unbothered by the situation, and he was glad. In an effort to preserve her innocent calm, Xian grappled his own tumult to quiet and sat beside her.
“Are you hungry, sweetling?” There were two trays on the bar, both mounded with delicious-looking foods, and two large clay pitchers of drink as well.
“A little,” Mya answered.
Xian rose again and made a plate to share with her, and poured two cups of sweet fruit juice. Fair Ones were well known for their orchards, from which they grew a substantial portion of Brisira’s fruits. They also made medicines from those fruits and other ingredients they grew or made here in their village. And the wheat and barley fields of northern Maerland gave them what they needed to make wonderful breads and cakes.
He put the food and drink on the table, and sat with her. Though his sour mood dulled his enjoyment somewhat, Mya’s expression of delight at her first bite of bellpeach made him smile. A stream of juice trickled to her chin, and he reached out and caught it on the tip of his finger. “It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s perfect! I only had dried fruits before we came to Maerland. I cannot understand why people live anywhere else but here. It’s perfect!”
“No place is perfect, Mya. But home is ever the closest thing to it, whatever that home is.”
“Callyn told me something like that, I think. They said home isn’t an easy place to leave.”
“Did they? They’re right. No matter what strife we face, no matter what hardships, home is where we are made, where we are known. Home is where we are rooted.”
Her pretty face went somber, and she set the pulpy stone of her peach on her plate. “I don’t have a home, do I? Where I was with Tantaren can’t be my home, because I was her prisoner. But I don’t know another.”
Xian reached over and cupped her sticky cheek. “We return you to your home next, Mya. There you will grow the roots that have been denied you until now. You will have your home, I promise you.”
She sighed, and Xian felt her sudden disconsolation. It pulsed around her like a shroud.
He took her hand. “All will be well, Mya.”
Her eyes found his. “Do you miss your home?”
“I do. Every moment. I worry for my land and my people. I left to find help for my clan, and I’m eager to return.”
“It’s I who delay you. And Callyn. We take you out of your way.”
It was true, but Xian didn’t want to say so. Instead, he caught her hand in his. “Mya, I am glad to know you. I’m glad to be with you. I regret nothing that brought us into each other’s lives, and I will feel you missing from me when our ways part. I return to Boreld when my way turns in that direction, and not before. I have found my peace with that.”
The girl offered him a sweet, unsteady smile, and he squeezed her hand.
When the time of waiting stretched on, Mya complained that she had personals to attend to, and Xian noticed the same need of his own. He appealed to the Fair One, whose name was Clyra, and she directed them to the back of the public house, where a privy was nestled among the trees. She made to follow them, but Xian spun and put his hands up. “I have made my promise to your leader. You need not follow us now. I will bring her back, and we will wait.”
Not much longer, however. He wasn’t a man who waited easily. The Rider called him reckless, but he was not. Reckless warriors didn’t Rise seven times. He was simply ready to take action when action was required.
Clyra nodded and stayed in the doorway, apparently intending to keep watch from that distance. Xian led Mya to the privy and went in first, checking the room. It was clean and empty, so he ushered her in and waited outside.
The day had aged to twilight. At this time of the turning, approaching the season of rest and cold, the Blood was at her strongest. Though she was a smaller, farther moon than her sister, The Stone, she rose first, and was larger now than any other time of the turning. She cast a rosy glow over the last rays of sunlight. The glass ornaments at the peak of every structure here glinted like tiny suns themselves.
It was a beautiful place, indeed. But too artful for Xian to feel comfortable here. The Fair Ones, and the Farborn exiles before them, had manipulated the natural world to smooth its rough skin and soften its hard edges. They’d even changed the looks of animals to suit their pleasure. His world was the opposite of this—lush and green and vital, but fully entwined with nature as it was. Boreldans did not change the way of their world, because the world had been made of them, and they of it. To change nature was to change oneself.
Thoughts of home, coming hard on the heels of his talk with Mya, abraded his heart. He’d told her true—the girl had become important to him, and he didn’t regret the path they were taking together. His people had been battling back the creeping encroachments of Vraelon for several turnings now; he had faith that they would hold until he brought the Rider to their cause.
In truth, the time Xian had to wander Brisira was itself a cause for consternation. The wall that held the Farborn back was symbolic more than truly obstructive. It was laced with denotite, most of the world’s stores of it, but that kept them only from using magic to tear it down. The wall was guarded, too, but by still-souled folk. Worthy warriors and soldiers, but no match for powerful magic. Assuming that the Farborn’s magic remained strong, when the Dark King wanted to overwhelm the wall and run amok over Brisira again, Xian doubted there would be much to stop him.
