Patricia Briggs (6 page)

“The whole valley's flooded, mistress.”

Her face whitened, but she nodded and led him out to the main room, by tucking her arm under his and ushering him to a bench near the fire. She brought him a tankard of dark ale and, in his hearing, sent her boy to fetch Merewich and then see to the airing of a chamber.

When the old man came, he sat down across from Wandel and braced a hand under his chin. “So, harper. Tell me about Beresford.”

Wandel shrugged. “The earthquake must have dammed the river and flooded the valley. There doesn't seem to be a Beresford anymore.”

“Did you see any sign of the people?”

The harper shook his head. “No, but I think they'd have had enough time to get out. A valley that size would take a while to fill. Since they haven't shown up here, I guess they headed out to Auberg by some goat trail. It's impossible to tell for certain, since the King's Highway to Auberg is blocked.”

“Ah.” Merewich nodded and took a sip of the harper's ale. “There's an old trail over Hob's Mountain to Auberg. Kith knows it. I showed it to him myself when he was a lad and his father sent him to help with the sheep. He's not busy with farming, like most of the other men.” He paused, not mentioning Kith's missing arm—the reason Kith wasn't helping with the plowing. “It would do him good to take the trip.”

“Hob's Mountain?” said Wandel.

Merewich nodded. “No thornbush there. Only mountain in these parts that doesn't have it. There's a shorter trail between Carn and Harvest—they're the mountains just south and west of Silvertooth, but you can't take a horse through it.”

“You think Kith would take me to Auberg?” Wandel's tone was reflective. “I'm not so certain.”

Merewich sighed and shook his head. “Wandel, the folk here who aren't related to someone in Beresford are married to someone who is. Kith will take you over and bring us back news—regardless of what lies between you. Perhaps someone there will know what has happened to the Beresforders. All we ask is that you agree to come back next year and tell us what's happening.”

I'd never known that there was something between Kith and Wandel. I would have spent more time wondering what it was, but the vision would no more let me waste time fretting over it than it would give me time to mourn for Beresford.

“You think there is something in the tale the girl told, then, that the earthquake was just a minor part of what has happened?” Wandel took his tankard back and drank deeply.

“Hmm.” Merewich rubbed his hand on the table. “I know her grandmother was a witch. She saved my oldest boy. He'd fallen and hit his head on a rock. Four years old and the joy of my life. I took him to her, but I knew it was too late—there was a soft place on his temple that shouldn't have been there. She looked at him, then she looked at me. Without saying a word, she took him and set him on her dining table. She laid her hands on that soft spot and closed her eyes. When she took her hands away, his skull was whole again. Forty-two years ago, and you're the first soul I ever told that to. I'd thank you not to repeat it.”

He drank from Wandel's tankard again. “Do I believe her to be mageborn? Yes. Do I think she believes what she says is true? Yes.” He looked the harper in the eye. “Her grandmother showed me that mageblood doesn't make a person evil.”

Wandel pursed his lips. “Today I saw a cobble knocked askew on the King's Highway.”

“Eh?” said Merewich softly. “I'll tell Albrin we'll be borrowing Kith for a few days.”

A
DAY OR TWO AFTER THIS CONVERSATION
I
AWOKE
stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard earth and stared into the darkness around me. Over the past few days, either I'd grown used to magic or the magic had faded, but I couldn't feel it humming in my bones anymore. The dirt in the cellar was just dirt, cool and dry. Best of all, no visions clouded my mind.

I hadn't changed clothes since I'd put on Caulem's tunic and trousers, and it struck me that he'd never have let them get this dirty. The cellar stank of sweat and sloth.

I bowed my head and bit my lip, wondering what Daryn would think if he could see me huddled in the corner of the basement. And I could almost see Gram, shaking her finger at me.

“You just get up now, Missy, and clean yourself. Then you start planning what you can do to help these people. For the fear and ignorance of a few, you will not let the rest suffer. They will need you soon, and you will be there for them, as I was and my father before me.”

I couldn't be certain if it was my imagination or the
sight
, but Gram's words hit home. Cantier had carried me to rest in his house though he had no love of the bloodmages. Kith had been there for me when I needed him…as had the priest, for that matter, and I barely knew him—he'd been in the village less than a season.

“With this gift,” I said, quoting Gram's favorite lecture out loud in a voice harsh with disuse, “comes great responsibility. We are caretakers. The bloodmages have forgotten that in their search for greater power. They don't care that they are destroying themselves and those around them by what they do. Death magic is evil, and no good can come of it.”

“Responsibility,” I grumped, but I got to my feet just the same. Without the incapacitating visions I lacked an excuse to cower in the darkness any longer.

I found a change of clothes (more of Caulem's), an old blanket partially torn up for rags and a bar of sweet-smelling soap before leaving the house.

Daylight almost blinded me; I had to stand on the porch a moment before I could see. There were still a few chickens scratching in the dirt in front of the barn. Seeing the barn reminded me of the dead cow that had been rotting in there for the better part of a week. Somehow I was going to have to get her out.

Soul's Creek was icy cold, and I removed only my boots before stepping in. I scrubbed my face and hands first, while I still had the nerve, then set about washing clothes as quickly as I could. My hair took longer, but at last the dark strands were shiny and free of dirt and oil.

When I was clean and dry, I began tidying the cottage, setting right what I could and sorting through the rest. Some things were so damaged I broke them up for firewood. Others I set aside for repairs. When I finished, I got a bucket from the cellar and headed for the creek again to get water to wash the dirt off the floors.

Whether it was some fading of the long bottled-up magic, or merely the effect of working instead of sitting in the dark trying not to think of anything, I hadn't had a vision all day. It was enough to make me almost cheerful.

The afternoon sun was warm and the air was heavy with the scent of growing things. In the few days I'd spent in self-imposed exile, the world had bloomed. Yellowbells nodded in the gentle breeze where Ma and I had planted them around the house. Wildflowers were scattered shyly along the path to the barn and in the grass of the field where—Daryn's big sorrel gelding grazed.

He must have gotten free and come home.

I set down my bucket and walked past the barn to the field beyond. Daryn had left the gate open the morning he left. I closed it behind me as I stepped into the pasture, more out of habit than anything else. The sound of the hinges caught the horse's attention and he faced me, pricking his ears for a moment before trotting briskly to me, whickering.

He stopped a few feet away and snorted, tossing his head once before shoving it into my midsection and rubbing it against me. Since he was still wearing the remains of his working headstall, the rubbing hurt. I slapped him lightly on the neck.

“See here, sir,” I said catching the shanks of the bit. “Stop that, Ducky.” Daryn had originally called the horse Fire Hawk, or some such romantic name, but Caulem called him Duck instead, and that was the name which stuck.

I stripped the bridle off—from the looks of it, it hadn't been off since the raiders had stolen him. Sweat darkened his coat under the leather and there were several places where the hair had rubbed away, leaving small bare patches of pink skin. The reins, once long enough to drive him with, were a little shorter than my arms.

“Someone tied you by the reins, eh? Not too smart.”

I continued to mutter soft nonsense to him as I opened his mouth to see if he'd hurt himself when he broke free. He put up with it for a moment, then stretched his nose in the air and forced me to release him. He forgave me for the indignity as soon as my hands were off his nose, and pushed his head forward to be scratched some more. Someone had pulled his shoes, perhaps to make it harder to track him.

“Well,” I said, “I was wondering how I was going to get that cow out of the barn—now I just need something to use as a harness. Maybe Kith will loan me something.”

The practical words didn't hide the tears, but I wiped them away briskly. Stupid to cry over a horse's return, but for some reason I didn't feel nearly as alone as I had this morning.

I left him in the pasture, set the bridle aside for mending, and continued with my chores. The cow could wait until tomorrow. I whistled a little tune as I scrubbed the cottage, but it echoed and made the house more empty, so I stopped. I'd done my weeping in the darkness of the cellar, and in Duck's mane; time to be done with it.

When the house was clean, I caught the five remaining chickens and put them in the coop, where they would be protected from predators. While I was measuring grain for the fowl, I heard the sound of hooves on hard-packed earth.

My heart leaped to my throat, but it was only one horse. It wasn't likely that a raider would ride out alone, at least I hoped not. Still, I stayed in the slight protection of the barn until Kith's red hair came into sight around the bend in the road.

He rode at a brisk trot, his back straight from years of military experience and Albrin's teaching—I rode that way myself. Torch, his yellow dun, was hammerheaded and thin-necked, but his strong legs were straight and heavy-boned. There was a spring to his step that would never let him be ugly while he was moving. He was big for a riding horse, though still a couple of handspans shorter than Duck.

There was no hesitation in Kith's movement as he swung off Torch and turned to face me, but I thought I glimpsed uncertainty in his eyes before he hid it behind the wall that kept him separate from others.

For an instant I
saw
a much younger Kith running at top speed with Quilliar tearing after him, wild glee lighting both of their faces. It hurt me afresh that the free-spirited boy I'd grown up with had turned into this reserved, dour stranger.

I smiled politely at him, glad he hadn't come the day before and caught me wallowing in self-pity or writhing madly under the effects of the
sight
. With the first humor I'd felt for a long time, I gave him the formality his demeanor asked for. “Greetings and well-seeming, Kith.”

He gave me a suspicious glance, and I remembered his support when I stood before the elders. Softening my teasing with more warmth, I said, “What brings you here?”

His jaw clenched, causing his pale skin to flush under his cheekbones. “Beresford valley is flooded.”

All humor left me, and I stepped forward to grip his arm—I had friends and kin there, too. “I know, I
saw
.”

Kith nodded, as though it was something he expected, but then Moresh's bloodmage traveled with the army, so perhaps he was used to magic. “The harper rode up Wedding Pass yesterday; he says the whole valley is underwater. Nobody from Beresford has come this way, so we think they must have left for Auberg when they realized that the water was going to cover the village.” He looked at me, and I shook my head. I hadn't seen the Beresforders, hadn't tried to see them.

He continued after a brief hesitation. “Wandel and I are going on the old trail over Hob's Mountain to see if any villagers made it out.”

I kept my hand on his arm, knowing there must have been a reason he'd come to see me before they went.

“Aren?” He looked away from my gaze. “Would you see if you can tell what happened to Danci? If she's all right?”

“Danci?” I repeated. She was a widow living in Beresford who had begun a campaign of courting Kith that must have been rather more successful than anyone had suspected, if it had caused Kith to come to me.

“Do you know what happened to her?” he asked. “If she's not in Auberg, I'd like to have some idea of where she's gone.”

I gave him a wry smile. “I can try, but you saw what happened when I tried to see Cantier's scar—all I got was faces of dead men, most of whom I didn't even know. I've been having visions like mad ever since Silvertooth fell, but I don't have any control over them.”