Arrow’s Flight (32 page)

After a covering exchange of pleasantries, Kris climbed the stairs with a worried soul. He found Talia asleep on the bed, and took his towels without waking her.

He lay back in his hot bath to soak, his mind anything but relaxed. If anyone discovered the state Talia was in, not only her reputation would be finished, but the reputation of Heralds as a whole and that of the Collegium would be badly damaged. The faith Heralds themselves had in the Collegium would be shaken if they knew how poorly counseled she’d been.

For that reason, they dared not abort the circuit and head back; that would be the signal of failure certain critics of the system had been waiting for. Nor could Kris himself let any senior Herald know the true state of things and how poorly controlled Talia was—for that would lead to a profound disturbance in the ranks of the Heralds themselves, a disturbance that could only roll ail the way back to Selenay and Elspeth, with ail the attendant problems it would cause them.

It would be up to Kris, and to Talia herself, to get her back to the functional level she had before this whole mess blew up in their faces.

It was with that sobering reflection he finished his bath, and went to get dressed and wake her.

She woke from her nap in a fairly good mood, giggling a little at the way she looked in the outsized garments Tedric had supplied.

“It’s because two-thirds of the Heralds are men, little bird,” Kris replied. “And all the Resupply Stations get the same goods. So most of the clothing stored here will be made to fit men. I expect when he gets a chance to look, he’ll find some things closer to your size. If you think you look silly, look at me!”

The waist of his breeches was a closer fit than hers, but the legs were huge and baggy and much too long, and the sleeves of his shirt fell down far past his fingertips.

“I expect most of what he has is in two categories— large, and ‘tent.’ At any rate, it’s better to have to cut down than try to piece on more fabric.”

They descended the staircase to join their host; Kris barefoot and Talia in her sheepskin slippers, since their boots were so stiff from repeated soaking and drying that it was too much of an effort to try to pull them on. In any case, the dwelling was very well heated, and Kris’ bare feet caused him no discomfort.

They found the old Herald puttering about in a room that seemed to combine the functions of kitchen and common room. He chuckled to see them, looking like two children clothed in their parents’ cast-offs.

“I just took what was nearest to hand” he said apologetically. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“They’re clean, and dry, and warm,” Kris smiled, “And right now, that’s all we care about. I must say that what I smell would have me pleased to come to table in a grain sack, if that’s all there was to wear.”

Tedric looked very flattered, and seemed to have no recollection of Kris’s earlier interrogation. “When one lives alone, one acquires hobbies. Mine is cooking. I hope you don’t find it inferior to what you’re used to.”

Talia laughed. “Sir, what we’re ‘used to’ has been porridge, stew made with dried meat and old roots, half-burned bannocks, and more porridge. I have no doubt after the past month that your meal will taste as wonderful as your bathtub felt!”

Venison with herbs and mushrooms was a definite improvement over the meals they’d been making. A mental check assured them that Tedric had seen to Rolan, Tantris, and the chirras in the same generous fashion. Both the Companions were half-asleep, with filled bellies, drowsing in heated stalls.

When their own hunger was truly satisfied, Kris helped Tedric clear away the remains of the meal while Talia ran back upstairs for My Lady.

“You seemed so interested in which of us was the musician that I thought we’d repay you for your hospitality,” Kris said, taking the harp and beginning to tune her.

“One doesn’t hear a great deal of music out here.” Tedric replied, not troubling to keep the eagerness from his eyes. “I think it’s the one thing that I really miss by being stationed here. When I rode circuit I was always running into Bards.”

The old Herald listened with a face full of quiet happiness as they played and sang. It was quite plain that he had missed the company of other Heralds, and equally evident that he had told the simple truth about missing music out here on the Border. Of course, it was very possible that the traveling Bards had simply not noticed this Station, half-hidden off the road and placed at a bit of a distance from Berrybay. It was just as possible that Tedric’s work kept him so busy during the summer (the only time journeyman Bards were likely to come this way) that he could not spare the time to seek the village when Bards came through. Kris made a mental note to send a few words to that effect when they sent their next reports. Old Tedric should not have to do without song again if he could help it.

When they finally confessed themselves played out, Tedric instantly rose and insisted that they seek their bed.

“I don’t know what possessed me, keeping you up like this,” he said. “After all, I’ll have you here for as long as it takes to outfit you. Perhaps I’ll hide all the needles for a week or two!”

When they rose the next morning—somewhat reluctantly, as the featherbed they’d shared had been warm and soft and hard to leave—they discovered that he had already put their leathers and boots to soak in his vats of bleaching and softening solution. Talia helped him take some of their ruined garments apart to use as patterns, and they began altering the standard stock. Tedric was every bit as good with a needle as he’d claimed. By day’s end they were well on the way to having their wardrobes replenished, and it was not possible to tell that the garments had not been made at the Collegium; by week’s end they were totally re-outfitted.

Once their outfitting was complete, they set about discharging their duties to the populace of Berrybay.

The rest and the tranquillity had been profoundly helpful in enabling Talia to firm up what control she had gotten back over her Gift. She had enough shielding now to hold against the worst of outside pressure on her own; that wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. And she felt her control over her projective ability would hold good unless she were frightened or startled—or attacked. If any of those three eventualities took place, she wasn’t entirely certain what she’d do. But worrying about it wouldn’t accomplish anything.

She almost lost her frail bulwarks when they entered the village. Kris had warned her that the rumors had reached this far north, but the knowledge had not prepared her.

When they set up in the village hall, she caught no few of the inhabitants giving her sidelong, cautious glances. But what was worse, was that the very first petitioners wore charms against dark magic into her presence.

She tried to keep up a pleasant, calm front, but the villagers’ suspicion and even fear battered at her thin shields and made her want to weep with vexation.

Finally it became too much to stand. “Kris—I’ve got to take a walk,” she whispered. He took one look at the lines of pain around her eyes, and nodded. He might not be an Empath, but it didn’t take that Gift to read what the people were thinking when they wore evil-eye talismans around one particular Herald.

“Go—come back when you’re ready, and not until.”

She and Rolan went out past the outskirts of the village. Once away from people, she swore and wept and kicked snow-hummocks until her feet were bruised and her mind exhausted.

Then she returned, and took up the thread of her duties.

By the second day the unease was less. By the third, the evil-eye talismans were gone.

But she wondered what the reaction of the villagers was going to be when they sought out the Weatherwitch on the morning of the fourth.

The depression surrounding the Weatherwitch’s unkempt little cottage was so heavy as to be nearly palpable to Talia, and to move through it was like groping through a dark cloud. The Weatherwitch sat in one cobwebbed, dark, cold corner, crooning to herself and rocking a bedraggled rag doll. She paid no heed at all to the three who stood before her. Tedric whispered that the villagers brought her food and cared for her cottage—that she was scarcely enough aware of her surroundings to know when a meal was placed before her. Kris shook his head in pity, feeling certain that there was little, if anything, that Talia could do for her.

Talia was half-attracted, half-repelled by that shadowed mind. If this encounter had taken place a year ago, she would have had no doubt but that she could have accomplished something, but now?

But having come, and having sensed this for herself, she could not turn away.

She half knelt, and half crouched, just within touching distance, on the dirty wooden floor beside the woman. She let go of her frail barriers with a physical shudder of apprehension, and let herself be drawn in.

Kris was more than a little afraid for her—knowing nothing, really, of how her Gift worked, he feared it would be only too easy for her to be trapped by the madwoman’s mind—and then what would he do? Talia remained in that half-kneeling stance for so long that Kris’ own knees began to ache in sympathy. At length, her breathing began to resume a more normal pace and her eyes slowly opened. When she raised her head, Kris extended his hand to her and helped her to her feet again.

“Well?” Tedric asked, not very hopefully.

“The gypsy family who died of snow-sickness two months ago—the ones in the Domesday Book report; wasn’t there a child left living?” she asked, her eyes still a little glazed.

“A little boy, yes,” Kris answered, as Tedric nodded.

“Who has him?”

“Ifor Smithwright; he wasn’t particularly pleased, but somebody had to take the mite in,” Tedric said.

“Can you bring him here? Would this Smithwright have any objection if you found another home for the child?”

“He wouldn’t object—but here? Forgive me, but that sounds a bit mad.”

“It is a bit mad,” Talia said, slumping with weariness so that Kris couldn’t make out her expression in the shadows, “but it may take madness to cure the mad. Just ... bring him here, would you? We’ll see if my notion works.”

Tedric looked rather doubtful, but rode off and returned less than an hour later with a warmly-wrapped toddler. The child was colicky and crying to himself.

“Now get her out of the house; I don’t care how,” she told Tedric wearily, taking the baby from him and soothing it into quiet. “But make sure that she leaves that doll behind.”

Tedric coaxed the Weatherwitch to follow him out with a bit of sweet, after persuading her to leave her “infant” behind in the cradle by the smokey fire. Talia slipped in when her back was turned. Seconds after that, a baby’s wail penetrated the walls of the cottage, and the madwoman started as if she’d been struck.

It was the most incredible transformation Kris had ever seen. The half-crazed, wild animal look left her eyes, and sense and intelligence flooded back in. In a few seconds, she made the transition from “thing” to human.

“J-Jethry?” she faltered.

The baby cried again, louder this time.

“Jethry!” she cried in answer, and ran through the door.

In the cradle was the child Tedric had brought, perhaps something under a year old, crying lustily. She scooped the child up and held it to her breast, holding it as if it were her own soul given back to her, laughing and weeping at the same time.

No sooner did her hands touch the child, when the last, and perhaps strangest thing of all, happened. It stopped crying immediately, and began cooing back at the woman.

Talia was not even watching; just sagging against the lintel, rubbing her temples. The other two could only watch the transformation in bemusement.

At last the woman took her attention from the baby she held and focused on Talia. She moved toward her hesitantly, and halted when she was a few steps away.

“Herald,” she said with absolute certainty, “you did this—you brought me my baby back. He was dead, but you found him again for me!”

Talia looked up at that, eyes like darker shadows on her face, and shook her head in denial. “Not I, my lady. If anyone brought him back, it was you. And it was you who showed me where to find him.”

The woman reached out to touch Talia’s cheek. Kris made as if to interfere, but Talia motioned him away, signaling him that she was in no danger.

“You will reclaim what was yours,” the Weatherwitch said tonelessly, her eyes focused on something none of them could see, “and no one will ever shake it from you again. You will find your heart’s desire, but not until you have seen the Havens. The Havens will call you, but duty and love will bar you from them. Love will challenge death to reclaim you. Your greatest joy will be preceded by your greatest sorrow, and your fulfillment will not be unshadowed by grief.”

“ ‘There is no joy that has not tasted first of grief,’ “ Talia quoted softly, as if to herself, so softly that Kris could barely hear the words. The woman’s eyes refocused.

“Did I say something? Did I see something?” she asked, confusion evident in her eyes. “Was it the answer you were looking for?”

“It was answer enough,” Talia replied with a smile. “But haven’t you more important things to think of?”

“My Jethry, my little love!” she exclaimed, holding the child closely, her eyes bright with tears. “There’s so much I have to do—to make it up to you. Oh, Herald, how can I ever thank you enough?”