Love Never-Ending (11 page)

“Just like that.

“What happens when I walk away? When I leave the valley?”

She hid the crack in her heart and plastered a smile on her
face. “Then I will worry about it when it happens. No need to cross the bridge
until I reach it.”

“And in the meantime, we have a tent thoughtfully provided
by your father. I will never understand this place. Never.”

Suddenly angry at his willful obtuseness, she turned away.
“Do not worry, Bishop. No one will drag you to that
hurka
and demand
that you perform. Your
kzusha
is safe! I release you from your escort
duties! Perhaps you will find someone else to keep you company!”

With that, she jerked her hand from his grasp and walked
away, swallowed up in the jostling crowd.

The sound of clapping hands grabbed his attention and he
turned to find Merlyn leaning against the support post, watching him. “Well?
What are you clapping about?”

“You are a
moron
. After twenty-five years apart, I
really expected you to be smarter.”

Bishop shot him the finger. “Fuck off. At least I don’t have
fourteen children with two more on the way.”

“No, indeed. You have nothing. No children. No wife. And now
you have discarded a lovely young woman who would take you in a second though
you have absolutely nothing to offer. Truly, you are an idiot.” Merlyn shook
his head in amazement. “Ah, well. I suppose it’s a good thing that I’m quite a
rich man here in the valley. Perhaps I can even afford to support you.”

“I don’t need your help!” Bishop shouted.

“No? Well, let me know when you find a useful occupation.”
Merlyn pushed away from the post and leaned closer so that only Bishop could
hear him. “Believe me—or not—but you will never leave this valley. You merely
delay your adaptation to our ways. And now I must go. My mate needs me.”

He stalked away, heading for the bridge in a hurry. Bishop
watched him cross the bridge and take the path to Lost Market. Making a sudden
decision, Bish found his way to the traders’ pavilion. It was time he
discovered a way out of the valley. And for that, he would need weapons and
supplies. In the days he’d spent in the valley he hadn’t been entirely idle. He
knew that he needed leg sheaths and
flicknives
. As he moved past the
women gathered around a table piled high with folded fabric, he compiled his
mental list. Extra clothing. A blanket. A
hurka
…best not think too much
about
hurkas
.

He found a table spread with
flicknives
and picked
one up to inspect the edge on the graceful wavy blade. He tested it with his
thumb, inadvertently slicing the top layer of skin.
Sharp.

“Allow me, Uncle.”

Bishop squinted in thought as he tried to recall which
nephew was offering his help. Red hair.
Hawke
—the quiet one. Hawke
plucked the
flicknife
from his hand and checked it with minute
thoroughness. When he was satisfied, he laid it to one side and chose another
to check. Four knives later, he tapped the small pile. “Put them on the Llewellyn
account, please. And wrap them for my uncle.”

The artisan, who hadn’t said a word, grinned suddenly. “Ah,
Hawke. I will do well today when the news spreads that you found my knives
worthy. I thank you for your patronage. Go! I believe that Asa from Broken Pine
has excellent leatherwork!” He rapidly wrapped the knives in two sheets of
heavy
linual
, scratched a glyph across the top and presented them to
Bishop. “With my compliments.”

“Thank you!” Bishop took the bundle from him and followed
Hawke to a table in the far corner that was doing a brisk business. When they
arrived, the other customers simply moved out of the way. Some ducked their
heads in polite acknowledgement. Bishop heard mutters of
champion
and
Hawke
but thought nothing of it.

Three men moved briskly, serving the crowd of potential
customers. The oldest man immediately presented himself when he saw Hawke. “How
can I be of service today?”

Hawke gestured toward Bish. “This is my uncle, new to the
valley. He needs leg sheaths for his
flicknives
. And a pack. And a
wallet.”

“Ah? Of course. Come, sir, over here where I may measure
you.” The man crooked his finger. “How is your mother, Hawke?”

“She is well. There will be two more babies near Midwinter.”
Hawke leaned against the pavilion post and watched as Asa measured Bish. “You
know, you’d best get him a decent pair of sandals too.”

“As you say.” Asa jotted down numbers on a scrap of
linual
.
“Two more babies, eh? What a man your papa is, to be sure!”

“I believe that I heard today that your daughter is also
pregnant.”

“Yes, yes! From that last bonding storm! We are so blessed
that young Dancer came to the valley. There will be many new babies in the
valley this Midwinter.” Asa pointed to a chair. “If you will sit, I’ll measure
your feet, sir.”

Bishop plopped onto the chair while he listened to their
conversation all the while wondering what a bond storm was and what it had to
do with pregnancies in the valley.

“Yes, indeed. And I heard today that Dancer’s brother has
arrived? Wonderful. May the healers and midwives be busy this coming spring!”
Asa finished measuring Bish’s feet. He went to a pile of sandals and picked
through it until he found two pairs of sandals which he handed to Bishop.
“These should fit. Please try them on.”

By the time Bishop had tried on the sandals that fit him as
though made especially for his feet and had been fitted for his
flicknife
sheaths, a bulging pack and rolled
hurka
were deposited by the chair
where he sat.

Hawke snagged the pack and
hurka
in one hand and
said, “Come with me, Uncle. We are finished here.”

Feeling very much like a child who was being punished,
Bishop followed Hawke as he led the way to the training hall. Inside it was
cool and dark. Hawke lifted a
punchbow
from the wall and proceeded to
demonstrate how it worked. In spite of his uneasy feelings, Bishop was
intrigued by the ingenious adaptations that had been added to a standard
crossbow. Once Hawke had watched him arm it and was comfortable with his skill,
he demonstrated the shoulder sling and helped Bishop adjust the fit.

Before Bishop could remove it, Hawke led him out into the
far field where he dumped the pack and
hurka
at Bishop’s feet, handed
him a rolled piece of
linual
in a red engraved
chinka
tube and
pointed into the distance. “I would suggest that you start there just to the
left of that dark rock. The map will show you everything we have discovered
about the valley. Good luck!” Hawke patted him on the shoulder and walked away.

“What! No trial? No second chance? I’m to be banished, just
like that?” Bishop shouted.

Hawke turned to face him and for the first time, Bishop
realized his young nephew was gripped in a towering rage. “I merely gave you
what you so obviously wanted—freedom and escape. Go. Find your way home.” The
implacable calm Hawke demonstrated was far more frightening than open fury.

Bishop looked down at the pack and
hurka
and then
back at his nephew. “Who made the decision to banish me?”

“I did.”

Inhaling sharply in shock, Bishop just stared at his nephew
for a long moment. “
You
have that authority?”

“I am the
champion
. It is my responsibility to
protect the valley. You endanger the peace of the valley. Go away, Uncle. When
you decide that you want to live here, you may return.”

“What if I decide I don’t want to go?” Bishop yelled. “How
are you going to make me?”

Hawke bowed gracefully. “It will be your decision, of
course. If you refuse to leave I will turn you over to Dai’s tender care.
Believe me. You would rather be on your own.”

Without another word, Hawke left him standing alone. Grimly
determined, Bishop shouldered the pack and
hurka
and walked toward the
dark rock in the far distance.

Bishop’s Banishment

Samara moved blindly through the crowds, instinctively
heading for the
hurka
her father had gifted her with only that morning.
“Running away so soon?” a strange male voice queried.

She whirled to face the man who dared to question her, then
stepped back in shock. He was huge, even by valley standards. She frowned as
she tried to place him. There was a tinge of familiarity about him that she
couldn’t quite grasp. Then he smiled. She knew that smile though she hadn’t
seen it in many years.

“Banisher Ewell! Why are you in Lost Market?”

“I believe it’s called the Midsummer Gathering. Yes…that
must be it.” Ban shoved a stray strand of tawny hair back from his face. “Who
was the outlander?”

“Merlyn’s brother, Bishop.”

“Ah? Not settled in, I think.”

Her face burned with embarrassment. “No.”

“It takes time,” he said gently.

“First, you have to want to settle. He only wants a
garbonhzan
and I have not chosen that path yet!”

Ban took her hand in his big rough paw and led her to a
group of stone benches that lined the riverbank. “Sit. I will tell you what I
think.”

They sat quietly for a few minutes and then Ban said, “First
love is not patient. When I fell in love with Daveen, I wanted everything to
happen quickly, quickly. Daveen wasn’t in a hurry. I grew so frustrated when he
moved so slowly.” Ban slid her a twinkling glance from his bright green eyes.
“Finally, I caught him bathing in the river one day and I seduced him.” Ban
chuckled at the memory. “He still refused the covenant bond for another six
moons. He thought he was too old for me.”

“Then what?”

“When Daveen died, I thought my heart was dead. I didn’t
ever think that I would have another love,” he said soberly.

“Something changed for you,” she guessed. “You met another
man?”

“Not yet. But I’ve seen one that I want to meet. He’s just
not ready yet.”

Samara looked over the milling crowds. Immediately, her eyes
were drawn to the tall dark-haired warrior who was keeping peace outside the
council shelter. “Arturo? Oh, dear.”

“Patience will make the wait worthwhile. I think it is the
same for you. This man of yours—do you love him?”

She snorted impatiently. “Yes. Silly woman that I am, yes!”

“Then you must also practice patience, I think. In the
meantime, we are at the Midsummer Gathering. There is no reason to have a long
face. Come, keep me company and tell me all the news from Lost Market. We will
confound the busybodies by having a good time!”

She just tilted her head back and laughed at him. “You are a
wicked man, Banisher Ewell. It’s a good thing that you’re
garzhan
because otherwise there would be fierce competition among the women for you.”

“No, no. You must shield me from the ladies. I’m saving
myself for Arturo,” he said with mock modesty.

“Only if you come with me to retrieve my food basket. I have
sweet pies and
quoltania
cookies.”

“Do the cookies have
pocco
nuts in them?”

“Of course, are there any other kind?” she teased. “If you
carry the basket, I’ll make sure you get some of them while they’re still
warm.” She led the way to the
hurka
, pleased that Ban was at the
gathering. His presence had already eased some of the sting from Bishop’s
rejection and time would see to the rest, one way or the other.

Not all eyes that followed them were happy but one young man
in particular was both incensed and oddly satisfied with Samara’s apparent good
fortune. From the day his brother Gil had died atop the judgment seat, Jiph had
waited, waited for the day when Samara would pay. Jiph rose from his place on a
large stone on the riverbank and casually followed them as they threaded
through the crowd. Finally, it appeared that Samara had something to lose.

* * * * *

In the council pavilion, Dai stood with Hawke, watching
Bishop’s figure recede into the distance. “Are you sure this was the best way?”
Dai asked with a frown.

“It was the only way. He’s created an entirely new meaning
for the words
stubborn
and
selfish
. Even if he didn’t look like
Papa, I would know that they are related.” Hawke impatiently flicked the braids
brushing his cheek back over his shoulder. “No others have pushed me to such
rage. What is it about them that angers me so?”

Dai smiled at his young companion. “Could it be because you
are so like them in temperament? Are you not also stubborn, Hawke? Do you not
refuse to give up once you’ve begun? How else did you become champion? I think
they anger you because you know they are worthy opponents.”

“At what?”

“Life. Think on that. Bishop might be wrong but he will not
surrender until he proves that to himself. He will not take another’s word. He
will not give up.” Dai tugged on one of Hawke’s braids. “Because you have set
the challenge, you must be the one to guard his back. He is new to the dangers
of the valley.”

Mali and Jonas arrived then, weighed down with packs and
weapons and dumped them at Hawke’s feet. “We thought we would go with you,”
Mali explained in a rush. “Perhaps while we’re wandering around, we can hunt.”

Hawke stared at the stubborn faces of his friends. After a
moment, he agreed, “Perhaps. Thank you for preparing my pack. Am I so
transparent?”

Jonas quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “You would never
banish a beginner without protection. Never. So. We will go with you, eh?”

“Of course. How could I think otherwise?” Hawke snagged his
pack and
punchbow
. “Dai, we will see you when Bishop decides to return
home.”

“Think on what I said, Hawke.”

“I will. If what you say is true I will have plenty of time
to contemplate your words.” With Hawke leading the way, the trio set off across
the field. In Hawke’s judgment, there was no hurry…no hurry at all.

* * * * *

As he stomped across the grassy plain, Bishop quickly
realized that he was not in the physical shape required to go exploring. His
lungs ached, his shoulders chafed and his feet had blisters. On the other hand,
he was just stubborn enough that he refused to turn tail and go back home. No
power on earth was going to make him face that young twerp, Hawke, and admit
that he was wrong.

He stumbled to a stop and dropped his burdens. The blisters
on his feet were breaking open, smearing dirt and blood over tender skin. With
a disgusted snort, he tucked his
sharda
under his butt and sat down on
the ground.
Asshole.
How did he get himself into these messes?

He opened the stuffed pack with hands that shook from
fatigue and nerves.
He was always opening his mouth before he knew the
consequences. Who would have thought the youngster could do something like
this? Boy, did he underestimate the quiet one! What the hell was a champion,
anyway?

The tightly packed contents nearly defeated him. Where was
he to begin? Carefully noting the way the bag was packed, he unpacked it
neatly, examining each item before setting it to the side. His mouth tightened
grimly when he came across the small clay pot of ointment clearly marked in
English “first-aid ointment” in addition to the normal valley glyph. Obviously,
whoever packed the bag was certain he would need it and wanted to make sure he
didn’t overlook it.

He set it aside while he looked for something to clean his
feet. He found four rolled bundles of sheet strips and a stack of sheet
squares. Underneath that stuff was two small washcloths and a small bath sheet.
At that point he decided to finish emptying the pack so that he would have a
clear idea of his supplies. A few minutes later he sat staring down at the
neatly piled stuff. He had to admit that they had done pretty well by him
considering the circumstances.

He selected a pair of socks from the piled clothing and then
repacked everything except two rolled bandages, a washcloth and the ointment.
There was a small waxed jug filled with water. Sparing use with the damp cloth
kept most of it in reserve. He propped his right ankle on his left knee and
cleaned the oozing blisters before smearing them with ointment. The soft
bandage roll felt cool and comforting on his sore feet. After he tied the
bandage ends securely, he slipped on one of the socks, noticing in passing that
it was hand-knitted with very fine yarn. The intricate pattern in dark colors
gave him something to mull over as he cleaned the leather on his sandal and put
it back on before switching so that he could take care of his other foot.

When he was finished, he repacked the ointment, draped the
damp washcloth around one of the straps on the pack and considered his next
steps. It seemed to him that he should take time to examine the map. Surely
water sources would be marked on it if indeed the valley had been explored as
carefully as everyone said. He picked up the
chinka
tube and pulled out
the delicately carved wooden stopper, tucking it in his waist wallet for
safekeeping. The rolled
linual
slid out easily into his hand.

Bishop spread it out on his knees and studied the neat
script and meticulous notations. On the lower left corner was a key with the
various symbols listed. He turned the map until it was oriented in the
direction he was headed. Hah! Hawke’s suggestion would lead him directly to a
small creek. Nearby, a small campsite was marked on the map. He rolled the map
up and returned it to the
chinka
tube, carefully sealing it with the
stopper.

Feeling a little better with his feet bandaged and a little
rest behind him, he climbed to his feet, arranged his belongings over his
shoulders and set off once again toward the dark rock formation in the
distance. He trudged along for quite a while before it occurred to him that the
rock didn’t appear to be getting any closer. Surely he had walked farther than
that?

Reluctantly, he turned to study the field behind him. The
pavilions and hurkas from the Midsummer Gathering were far behind him. He
slowly realized that apparent distance was deceiving in the valley. Bishop
sipped sparingly at his water jug while he considered his options. It wasn’t
likely that he would reach the dark rock formation before dusk. With renewed
determination, he marched onward, keeping an eye on the sun. When the sunlight
began to fade, he would stop and make camp for the night.

To the north of the field, flanking Bishop’s position, Jiph
trotted at a steady, comfortable pace. There was only one possible destination
for the outlander. There were no other sources of water close by. As he jogged,
Jiph thought about the strange man, wondering how difficult he would be to
kill.

He bore no anger toward the man but Samara—Samara must pay.
So, a life for a life.

As the sun fell on the Midsummer Gathering, those who lived
close enough to return to their homes began shepherding their families over the
bridge to Lost Market. The families who had traveled far from home began
organizing evening meals and preparing the children for bed.

Ban offered to accompany Samara so they walked along the
trail in the cool evening shadows as they talked. Samara thought about how much
she’d enjoyed Ban’s company at the gathering. “Thank you for spending the day
with me, Ban.”

“You’re welcome. It was such a hardship,” he teased.

“Surely you could have found someone else to visit with?”

“Who might that be? I’ve been away from Lost Market for a
very long time. I don’t think I actually know more than five or six people in
the village now. For certain, I was surprised at how much the village has grown
and changed since I was here last.”

“Why have you never come home?” she asked quietly.

“Oh, there are many valid reasons but the truth is simply
that I was uncomfortable with my father. He had expectations that I didn’t
meet.” Ban’s simple words left her more puzzled than before.

“Why? Surely Dai didn’t care that you’re
garzhan
. So
what was it?”

“He wished me to be a warrior. I wasn’t interested in
swearing the vows or taking on the responsibilities of a warrior.” Ban
shrugged. “I was a disappointment to him.”

“You’ve been gone more than twenty years. Don’t you think
it’s time to make your peace with him?” she inquired gently. “I know Dai. And I
remember you well. Both of you are very stubborn men. Surely one of you has the
courage to take the first steps?”

They walked along the trail, each concentrating on their own
thoughts and then Ban said, “You make me sound like a foolish child. I will
find my father in the morning and speak to him.”

“Where will you stay tonight?” A small smile tugged at her
lips as she decided to offer him shelter for the night.

“Are you offering a roof over my head?” His teeth glimmered
in the dusky evening when he grinned at the thought.

“I am. There is plenty of room in my living room. And after
a dusty day at the gathering, I suspect that you will enjoy the bathing room
immensely.”

“I will accept your offer just for the opportunity to use
your bathing room,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It was the subject of much
gossip in the valley—even at Talking Wall this last year.”

“What? Why would anyone care about my bathing room?”

“Where shall I begin? It is said the tub is lined with small
tiles and rare
chinka
tiles are among them. I have also heard that
plants fill the space between the tub and the wall so it looks like a garden.”
He stopped when she made a small noise but continued on when she said no more.
“The most amazing story is about your waterfall at one end of the tub. I have
heard that it is so tall that even I could stand beneath it.”

Samara snorted. “Perhaps I should offer tours.”