Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar (14 page)

And I did not disabuse them of the notion. Guilt assailed Evita, and she found herself so struck with dizziness she sank to the ground.
:Camayo, are you sure?:

:I wasn’t,:
the Companion sent.
:Until I saw them.:
He tipped his head suddenly toward a distant hill.

Evita craned her neck. Nevertheless, it took several moments before the scene came into view. Riding at full gallop over the rise came a dozen ghostly figures. They rode in perfect symmetry, the riders bedecked in white moving in rhythm to milky steeds. They moved with such grace and confidence, Evita could do nothing more than stare.
:Heralds.:

:Heralds,:
Camayo confirmed.
:And not due in these parts for months.:

Real Heralds. They took Evita’s breath away. She could only stare as they grew larger in the distance, so regal, so strong, so obviously in command. They moved in unison with their mounts, like human and shadow, bonded more powerfully than any human relationship could define. The mantle of Evita’s competence fell away to reveal nothing beneath it. She felt as if she was awakening from a long, strange dream. What have I done?

Evita grabbed Camayo
. :It’s my fault they’re here? Isn’t it?:
She moved into the shadows. If she had to face those Heralds, she would die from humiliation and embarrassment. If those did not kill her, she would take her life with her own hand.

Apparently, Camayo could Mindspeak over a bit of distance, because he came back to her with an answer he could only have learned from the Heralds or, more likely, their Companions.
:Firisainians infiltrated an Arrani birthday party. They slaughtered everyone, including twenty children. The Arranis are fighting to regain control.:

Horror froze Evita, already sitting on the ground. The world had always seemed so simple; Evita thought she had all the answers. If people only treated one another with respect, with tolerance, they could all live in the same immense utopia. Tears streamed down Evita’s face. Her body lost all of its tone, and she collapsed into a heap.

Camayo caught her against his body, cradling her head against his warm, furry side.

:
I might just as well have murdered those children with my own hands.:
Evita could not live with that knowledge. Had she a bit of strength left, she would have cast herself from the highest mountain.

:No, Dear One. No.:
Camayo would not accept those words.
:I Chose you, and the Companions of Valdemar do not make mistakes. I saw in you great potential. I see it still. I only had to find a way to break down that wall you built with the bricks of good intentions and the mortar of ignorance.:

Evita could only sob. She could imagine only the shining, gentle faces of those children, the potential she had stolen from them and from the world. She gritted her teeth so hard that pain shot through her cheeks, and her jaw felt as if it might snap from the pressure.
:I killed them.:

:As many optimists have done before you.:
Camayo nuzzled the back of Evita’s neck.
:The fault is mine, Dear One, not yours. The blood is on my hooves. It was my job, my obligation, to bring you directly to Valdemar.:

:You could not have stopped me. Many Companions have carried their Chosen directly to Valdemar, kicking and screaming all the way.:
He huddled closer, until Evita felt almost squashed by his great love and presence.
:But I knew you needed more. A mug of ice water in the face, perhaps. A sword flat to the back of the head. A massive dose of reality before you would open your mind to the Collegium.:

Evita could scarcely believe what she was hearing.
:So you encouraged me to . . . to murder twenty children.:

Evita could feel Camayo cringing against her. He clearly felt as bad about the situation as she did.
:I expected the Firisainians to cause mayhem. I did not anticipate they would slaughter children.:

A fresh round of tears stung Evita’s eyes.

It suddenly occurred to Evita that Camayo needed her as much as she needed him. She managed to raise an arm and flop it around him
. :I want to die,:
she said
. :Take me home and Choose another. I clearly can’t handle the responsibilities.:

Concern seeped through the contact.
:Not yet. But, once you’re trained, you will. Evita, you’re stronger than you think. And while you need to temper your compassion with knowledge, it will serve all of us well for all the many years of your life to come. You’re exactly the type of companion I needed. And, once trained, you will make a fine Herald:

Evita could barely contemplate the past. A moment ago, she would not have believed she had a future
. :I don’t deserve to live, let alone be rewarded for the evil I’ve done. Please, Camayo. Just let me go.:
The bare suggestion pained her nearly as much as her previous thoughts. She had not known Camayo long, but he had already become an integral part of her. Losing him would be like amputating half her body and all the limbs and organs that entailed.

Camayo nudged Evita so hard, she toppled like a rag doll. :
Suicide is not the answer, Dear One. Nor depriving yourself or the world of a Herald. There is only one way to atone for this.:

Evita had to know. She could not go on much longer with the guilt of those young lives on her conscience.
:How?:

Evita had never loved anyone as much as Camayo at that moment. She wondered if every situation she faced, if everything she did, could ever come close to the value of those twenty lives lost. Nevertheless, a new sense of purpose filled her. She would do as Camayo said, throw her entire being into the knowledge, the classes, the learning, to glean every detail Collegium could furnish and become the most devoted and competent Herald ever to grace Valdemar.

With purpose came strength. Evita clambered to her feet and looked off toward Arran and Firisain
. :Can we help them?:

Camayo also stood, shaking his head until his reins and bridle snapped in the wind.
:Let the trained Heralds sort them out. That will give us a head start to Valdemar.:

Evita supposed they would need one. She had no idea how the Collegium would punish her, but she felt certain they would do so. Both she and Camayo deserved it. She also realized that they needed it. Without some disciplinary action for their crime, they would have to live with the burden of shame and responsibility forever. She would rather die than live a life running from the guilt. She suddenly understood why people sometimes turned to drink to escape something horrible they had done. Fuzzy minds did not have to deal with reality. That realization triggered something else. “Stelkaw and Larram.”

Camayo looked at Evita, and she thought she saw a deep hope, bordering on excitement, in the one eye he focused directly upon her.
:What about them, Dear One?:

Evita cringed. She had thought herself compassionate in her decision at Bonarme; and yet, she had left Stelkaw fully unpunished for his theft. In fact, she had rewarded it.
:Is it too much to hope that Larram became a more charitable man? That, overwhelmed by his neighbor’s generosity, Stelkaw became a hardworking father who now shelters those less fortunate?:

Camayo lowered his head, his fine neck sagging.
:Do you really want to know?:

:I have to.:
Evita realized it was true. She did not know where Camayo got his information, but she trusted it and him.

Camayo sighed.
:The more well-to-do in Bonarme became besieged by clamoring hordes of poorer neighbors demanding daily handouts. Soon, they had little left for themselves or those who came to them for sustenance. Since they gave their animals and crops to the likes of Stelkaw, they had no money left for the causes they had previously championed, such as the orphanage and local widows. With their charities no longer chosen from the goodness of their hearts, but forced upon them, they came to despise giving. Those who never liked work saw no reason to continue, instead getting their sustenance from those who still had money for as long as they still . . . had money.:

Evita groaned.

Evita did not know what to say. At least, her decision had not killed anyone in Bonarme as it had in Arran.
:So . . . what can I do to fix that mistake?:

Camayo shook his head, repeating the exact words he had used earlier
. :I’ve found that when one allows people to act wholly within their natures, they usually get exactly what they deserve.:

This time, Evita allowed herself to explore Camayo’s meaning.
:You’re saying to leave them alone. In new places, they’re no longer bound by my words. Those willing to work hard will regain their fortunes and restore their faith in charity.:
Evita thought she had it.
:While those who prefer to gripe, whine, and steal rather than try will find the same low place in society no matter how much we give them.:

Evita winced, not liking the direction the world seemed determined to take her.
:So there’s no place for compassion? No room for assistance? Are you saying those things make no difference?:

Camayo snorted
. :Even the most brutish don’t believe that. Compassion, charity, aid. Some of the most wonderful concepts in all the world; but, like all things, knowing when and how to use them is the key.:

What she once dreaded, Evita could scarcely wait to start
. :What are you waiting for, Camayo? On to Valdemar!:
She clambered onto his back.

Camayo broke into a ground-swallowing gallop. They could not possibly arrive too soon.

A Charm of Finches

 

 

 

Maia was working in the mews of the Temple of Thenoth, the Lord of the Beasts. The birds were all out in the weathering yard, which gave her the chance to make some improvements to their quarters. She had been a fletcher before coming to Haven, and she had Animal Mindspeech as well, so she was familiar with birds, although she was more accustomed to wild birds than tame ones. In fact, when she had moved to the city of Haven, some of the wild crows from home had chosen to come with her and Dexter, her raccoon friend.

But even a tame bird could become incoherent if badly upset, and something had upset the owner of the new voice she suddenly heard in her head.
:No! . . . sharp . . . hard . . . hurt!:
Maia set down her tools and headed toward the voice, meeting the novice who had been sent to fetch her on the way.

He led her to the infirmary, where Sara, a young Healer Trainee, was attempting to hold a finch in place so she could Heal it. Maia couldn’t see the full extent of its injuries from the doorway, but she could see a miniature dagger stuck in one wing. The bird, which was a combination of colors (gold, purple, red, and blue) not commonly found together in nature, thrashed about mindlessly, and the confusion was made worse by a girl of about ten who was sobbing hysterically. She was being restrained by a man who was probably her brother; the resemblance was strong, but he didn’t look old enough to be her father. He also looked extremely annoyed.

“Maia!” Sara looked up in relief. “Can you get through to the bird? I can’t do anything to help it if it won’t hold still!”

“May I suggest that we start by clearing the room?”

The young man scowled at Maia. “I’m not leaving without my dagger.”

“You’ll get it back much faster if you wait for it outside,” Maia said calmly. “The sooner the room is quiet, the sooner we can remove it from the bird’s wing.”

He promptly left, dragging his sister with him. By the hair.

Once the door had been closed and the girl’s crying was at least muffled, Maia moved to stand at the shoulder of the Healer Trainee and mentally reached out to the bird.
:Be still, little one.:
The bird stopped thrashing, looked at her, and cocked its head, obviously trying to puzzle out what sort of bird Maia was. She held the link with it while Sara removed the dagger and worked her Gift on the wing. Now that the bird had stopped fighting, it didn’t take long.

“All done,” Sara said with relief, placing the bird gently in a cage at the side of the room. “It was a lucky hit—”

“It must have been well-nigh miraculous to hit a moving target that small!”

“No, I meant lucky from the bird’s point of view. It didn’t hit anything vital, nothing broke, and the wing should heal cleanly with no loss of flying ability.”

“That’s good news.” Maia picked up the dagger and studied its jeweled hilt, frowning. “I’ll return this to its owner, shall I?”

Sara sighed. “I wish I could confiscate it.”

“I sympathize, but I don’t think you have grounds for that,” Maia pointed out. “But we can keep the bird, at least for a while, if you express enough concern for its recovery.”

That got a grim nod in reply. “That, I can do.”