Arrow’s Flight (20 page)

“We don’t need you anymore—no, not even for the usual,” she insisted. “Our own Heralds can take care of any disputes; we get the laws and news at least once every month, and we’re perfectly capable of relaying reports. I want you two out of here before you catch this plague yourselves.”

“But—” Kris protested.

“Out!” she replied. “I’ve had this sort of thing happen to me six times already; this is the seventh. You are not shirking your duty. Loris and Herald Pelsin are going to be staying here until Midwinter; these people are not going to need you! Now go!”

Kris gathered his belongings, acquired some fresh food to supplement the dried—it would stay perfectly sound in the cold—left their reports with the Heralds who had brought the Healers, as well as giving them the written reports on the villages they had already visited to be sent back to the capital.

But Talia did not escape so easily. While Kris was conferring with the other two Heralds, Kerithwyn took her aside just before she was ready to mount Rolan. “Child,” she said bluntly, “Your shields are as full of holes as last week’s target, and if you weren’t exhausted, you’d be projecting everything under the sun! You’re in such a state that if I had any time, I wouldn’t let you leave this place. But I don’t have either the time or the energy to spare. I don’t know what you’ve been doing, or what you think you’re doing, but whatever it is, it’s dead wrong. You’d better get yourself in hand, girl, and quickly, or you’ll be affecting even the unGifted. Now go—and start working on that control.”

With those blunt words she turned on her heel and left; leaving Talia torn between running after her and begging her help, and slitting her wrists on the spot.

In the end, though, she gathered the ragged bits of her courage around her, and headed out the gate after Kris.

Kris consulted the map; Kerithwyn had ordered him to find a layover point where the two of them could take a long rest. He told Talia that he thought he’d found a particularly good Waystation for them to use as their resting-place. Talia nodded, sunk in her own misery; Kris was preoccupied with making certain of their current location, and hadn’t noticed anything—or at least, he hadn’t said anything to her about it. But after what Kerithwyn said ...

Well, she was going to have to be twice as careful as before, that was all.

They were a full half-day from the village now, and well into the Forest of Sorrows itself. Kris had called a halt around midday, so that they could all get a bite to eat while he checked his bearings. There were several narrow roads through Sorrows, and if they had missed theirs, or mistaken the road for a herd-track, they could get into trouble before nightfall.

But they were on the right road, and the Waystation was within easy striking distance.

It was fortunate that it was not too far distant, for just after they had dismounted and taken rations from their packs, the chirras began whuffing, and dancing uneasily.

“Talia, chirras don’t misbehave unless there’s a good reason,” Kris said with a frown of worry, as his jerked the lead rope from his hands for the third time. “Can you tell what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know . . .” she said doubtfully, still shaking from her confrontation with the Healer, and never having done a great deal of work with animals. “I’ll give it a try, though.”

She braced herself, and sent herself into the deep-trance in which she had been able to touch animals’ minds before. The image of what was causing their unhappiness was clear and sharp—and enough to send her flying back to consciousness with speed. “Snow,” she said succinctly, for the image had been crystal clear and highly sharpened by fear. “Lots of it—a big blizzard coming down out of the north. It’ll hit us before dusk.”

Kris swore. “Then we haven’t much time. Let’s get moving.”

The chirras resumed their good behavior, as if they understood that Talia had learned what was troubling them. They all pushed on as quickly as they could, but the icy road made it hard for both chirras and Companions to keep their footing, and the clouds piling up from the north were making it as dark as if it were already dusk. Then a bitter wind began, cutting through the trees with an eerie moan. The road they were following had taken a turn to the north about a furlong back, which put the wind right in their faces. Kris and Talia dismounted and fought against it alongside the Companions and chirras. When the first fat flakes began falling, they were already in difficulty.

Within moments it was no longer possible for either Herald to see more than a few feet ahead, and the wind was strong enough to whip the edges of their cloaks out of their benumbed hands. It howled among the tree branches, and ravened on the ground, shrieking like the damned. The trees groaned and creaked in protest, the thinner branches whipping wildly above their heads. It was so hard to be heard above the storm that neither of them bothered to speak, using only hand signals when there was something that had to be communicated. This was like no storm Talia had ever seen before, and she hoped (when she had any thoughts at all through the numbing cold) that it wasn’t typical for this Sector.

The snow piled up with frightening speed; ankle-deep, then knee-deep. They completely lost track of distance and time in the simple struggle to place one foot in front of the other. Kris and Tantris found the lane that led to the Waystation more by accident than anything else, literally stumbling into it as they probed the bushes at the side of the road.

The lane soon plunged down between two shallow ridges where they were sheltered from the worst of the wind. They let go of the girths they’d clung to and stumbled along in their Companions’ wake, trusting to their mounts’ better senses to guide them all to the Station. By the time they achieved it, they could hardly see the path ahead of them. The bulk of the Station loomed up before them out of the gray-white wall of snow only when they were practically on top of it.

The Station probably hadn’t been visited since the resupply team had last inspected and stocked it during the summer. A quick survey of the woodpile told them that there wasn’t enough stockpiled there to last for as long as they were likely to be snowed in. In frantic haste, they left the chirras tied to the building, removed everything from the packs on their Companions, fastened lead ropes from their own belts to the snaffles on the saddles and went out with axes to look for deadfall.

It was grueling work, especially coming on top of the previous crisis. Talia’s arms and shoulders ached with the unaccustomed work; what didn’t ache, was nearly numb with cold. Her cloak was caked with snow to the point where it creaked and bits of snow fell off when she moved. Her world narrowed to the pain, the axe in her hands, and the deadfall in front of her. More than anything else, she longed to be able to lie down in the soft snow and rest, but she knew that this was the very last thing she should do. Instead, she continued to struggle against pain and the driving snow, using the numbing cold and the ache of overtaxed muscles as a bulwark against despair—the despair that Healer Kerithwyn had evoked with her brusque warning. She drove herself in the gathering gloom until she became aware that she could barely see where her axe was falling. It was nearly night now—true night.

It was time to give up. As Talia and Rolan hauled in the last load while full darkness fell, it was all she could do to cling to his girth as he dragged her and the wood back toward the station. The wind had picked up—something she wouldn’t have believed possible—and it was all but tearing her cloak from her body. Her breath was sobbing in her lungs, sending needles of ice and pain through her throat and chest.

She opened the door of the Station, only to blink in surprise—for there was nothing before her but a gloom-shrouded little room with a door on the opposite wall. After a moment, her fatigue-fogged mind managed to grasp the fact that this Station, unlike any other she had seen previously, had an entranceway to buffer the effect of the outside chill.

She fumbled the second door open, Rolan crowding into the entrance after her. Kris had beaten her to the Station with his final load shortly before, and had fumigated it and started a fire in the fireplace. He unfastened her from Rolan; she stumbled thank--fully toward the yellow beacon of the fire with half-frozen limbs. He led Rolan into the shelter of the Station itself, and as she collapsed next to the warmth of the flames she saw that he had brought in Tantris and the chirras as well. It made things a bit crowded until he got them all settled, but Talia knew that there was no way anything could live long in the howling winds outside.

She peeled off her snow-caked garments and hung them beside Kris’ on pegs above the fireplace. Kris was already taking care of meal preparations, so after she slipped into her woolen shift and old breeches (feeling far too exhausted for a complete change of clothing) she made a nest of the dun-colored blankets from both their bedrolls on top of dry straw in front of the fire. This way they could warm their aching, shivering bodies in comfort while waiting for whatever it was to cook.

She blinked stupidly at the fire, mind and body alike still numb and cold. She held to that numbness, stubbornly, not wanting to face the alternative to numbness. She succeeded; she remained sunk in exhausted apathy long after she normally would have begun to show some signs of life. Kris was standing over her for several minutes before she realized he was there.

“Talia .. .” he began awkwardly, “I know this isn’t the time or the place, but there isn’t likely to be a better one. I have to talk to you.”

Without really realizing it, she rose slowly to her still-benumbed feet, feeling a cold that had nothing to do with the blizzard outside. “Ab-b-b-out what?” she stuttered, fearing the worst.

“Kerithwyn had some words with me before we left,” he said, as the despair she’d been holding off with the last of her strength came down on her with the same overwhelming power as storm—and with it, oddly enough, a hopeless kind of rage. “Hell, Talia— she told me you’ve been holding back on me; that your Gift is totally out of control!”

Something within her shattered, letting loose the storm she’d held pent up for so long.

Kris was expecting anger, denial—but not this! He was battered by alternating waves of suicidal despair, and killing rage; the shock of it literally sent him to his knees. His eyes filmed with a red mist. There was a roaring in his ears, behind which he could dimly hear the squeal of an angry horse and the clatter of hooves on stone.

That was what brought him out, before he grabbed a weapon and killed himself, her, or both of them. He built up the strongest shield he could, fought his way to his feet, and rushed her, literally slamming her into the wall behind her with enough force to make his own teeth rattle.

“Stop it!” he shouted at the wild, inhuman thing struggling beneath his hands. ‘‘Damn you, Stop it! Look what you’re doing to us!” He wrenched her around violently, so that she could see for herself the unbelievable sight of Rolan backing Tantris into a corner, teeth bared and eyes wild and red-rimmed. “Look what you’re doing to them!”

She stared—and collapsed so suddenly he didn’t even have time to catch her, for she fell right through his hands. She fell and curled into a limp ball on the cold stone floor of the Station, sobbing as if she had lost everything she ever held dear.

And the storm within the Station walls faded away to nothing.

He went to his knees beside her, and gathered her against his shoulder. She didn’t resist—didn’t even seem to know he was there. He held her while she cried, horrible, tearing sobs that seemed to be ripping her apart inside, while the fire he’d started burned lower and lower, and the storm outside echoed her heartbroken weeping.

Finally, when it seemed possible that the fire might die altogether, he picked her up and put her in the nest of blankets and hay. She curled up, facing away from him and still crying, while he built up the fire, finished the tasks he’d left undone, and returned to her.

He got in beside her, chilled to the bone, and took her equally cold body into his arms again. The violence of her grief seemed to have worn itself out; he shook her a little. “Come on—” he said, feeling more than awkward. “Talk to me, lady—”

“I-I—” she sobbed “I want to die!”

“Why? Because your Gift got out of control? What kind of attitude is that for a Herald?”

“I’m no kind of Herald.”

“Like bloody hell!” he interrupted. “Who says?”

“Everyone—you told me—”

“Oh, hell.. . ,” Now he realized what it was that triggered this whole mess in the first place—himself, telling her the rumors about her. Gods—he knew she hadn’t a high level of self-esteem—what he’d said back at the start of this trip must have hit her like a punch in the kidneys. He must have started her on a round of self-examination and self-doubt that turned into a downturning spiral she hadn’t the power to stop. Her Gift was the sort of thing that would feed on doubt and make it reality—which in turn would feed her doubts, reinforcing them as her loss of control turned rumor into truth.

And this was the result. A fully developed Gift without any controls on it whatsoever, and a young woman ready to kill herself the minute he turned his back.

“Listen to me—dammit Talia, listen!” He shook her again. “If things were that bad, Rolan would have left you. He’d have repudiated anybody not worthy of her Whites. Has he made any move like that at all?”

“N-n-n-no . ..”

“Has he even warned you?”