Ravenheart (28 page)

Kaelin moved to the chest at the far wall and took out a thick double-shouldered hunting shirt of oiled doeskin and a pair of buckskin trews. Discarding his clothes, he dressed and pulled on a knee-length pair of moccasins and strapped on a belt containing a powder horn, a pouch of lead shot, and a nine-inch hunting knife. Retrieving the Emburleys, he loaded them and placed them in his belt.

If any Beetlebacks were patrolling the mountain roads, he would be arrested and hanged for sure.

From a drawer in the dresser he pulled clear a gray blanket, which he folded and rolled before draping it over his shoulder and walking downstairs.

Senlic Carpenter was waiting in the main room. Beside him was a canvas shoulder sack.

“There’s some food in here,” said the old man. “Muslin-wrapped cheese, oats, and some salt beef. You’ll find streams aplenty for water. I’ve put a tinderbox and an old pot in there, too. Watch where you camp. There’s few wolves left in the mountains now, but there’s bears. Some of them can be right grumpy at this time of year.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to do this,” said the old man, rising from his chair. The words were said without conviction.

“Always good to do something new on your birthday,” said Kaelin.

“Birthday, is it? How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen?”

“Fifteen,” Kaelin told him.

Senlic was surprised. “I thought you older. Damnit, Kaelin, don’t do this! If Call Jace knew you were not of majority, it would make a difference.”

“I am of majority from today. If I don’t return, tell Jaim Grymauch what happened. Will you do that?”

“I will. Were you there when he fought the Varlish champion?”

“Yes. It was a grand battle.”

Senlic smiled. “We heard of it. Wished I’d seen it.”

“It was a sight,” agreed Kaelin, hoisting the shoulder sack and slipping his blanket underneath the strap.

“Take care, Kaelin. And stand tall. Call Jace admires a man who does that.”

Kaelin Ring left the stone farmhouse and walked out. The other men were standing some distance away. No one spoke, and Kaelin did not look at them.

He journeyed west for several hours, the ground steadily rising. His headache cleared by noon, and truth to tell, he was starting to enjoy the walk. He had not realized quite how stultifying farm life had become with the endless writing in ledgers, the collecting and storing of coin, the checking of supplies. Out there in the open he felt free of such obligations. He thought of Alterith Shaddler. Without the man’s teaching he would not have been able to keep Maev’s books in order. The man might have known little about the Rigante, but he knew how to teach sums. And how to use a cane, thought Kaelin. He smiled at the memory of the man. It reminded him of Old Hills and a time without fear.

There was only one road west, and Kaelin held to it, always listening and watching for riders. Occasionally he saw men in the far distance, some herding cattle, others working, repairing sod roofs, or tilling the earth.

The land was growing more rugged now, outcroppings of rock piercing the shallow earth, stands of pine silhouetted against the clear blue sky. Kaelin paused, admiring the green against the blue. It seemed to him then that these were the colors of life. It was as if he were seeing pines against the sky for the first time. His heart soared. Surely it was this grand sight that had inspired the blue and green Rigante cloak.

The wind was strong and easterly, cold from flowing over the snow-topped peaks. It was bracing, and Kaelin enjoyed it. Every now and again he would remember why he was making this trek, but even the grim prospect of the Black Rigante could not dent his mood in this high, mighty country.

High overhead two golden eagles banked and flew off toward the west.

Kaelin walked on. Toward dusk he left the road, climbing to a rocky outcrop where a stream tipped over pale stones in a series of tiny waterfalls. Filling his small copper pot, he added a handful of oats and set a fire beneath a spreading pine. The camp could not be seen from the road, and the thin smoke would be dispersed by the branches.

When the fire had been going for a little while, enough for coals to form, he laid his pot upon it, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. The air was filled with the scent of pines and woodsmoke, and Kaelin felt free for the first time in months.

With the porridge bubbling, he took two large sticks and lifted the pot from the fire, setting it on a rock to cool.

When I get back, he thought, I will write to Aunt Maev asking if Banny can join me. He would like it here. No one need know of his mixed blood. Not that it would matter, he realized, since Banny was a southerner like himself and would largely be ignored. Kaelin smiled. Banny had always wished to be treated like a clansman. Here he would be accepted as such and treated the same, anyway.

After a while he ate the oats, enjoying the deep warmth in his belly. Then he chewed on some salt beef, drank from the stream, and settled down beside his fire. Lying on his back, he looked up at the stars. And fell asleep.

The sleep was dreamless and good.

A noise awoke him just after dawn. It was the sound of snuffling and tearing. Lying very still, he opened his eyes. A large brown bear was ripping at his food sack.

Kaelin stayed motionless. The bear pushed his head into the bag, then shook it. The oats spilled out, followed by the salt beef and the cheese. Kaelin considered discharging one of his pistols to frighten the beast away, but there was little point now. The sack was ruined, the food spread over the ground. It did not take the bear long to devour Kaelin’s supplies. It padded around the campsite, then ambled toward where he lay. Kaelin closed his eyes. He felt the bear’s nose brush against his cheek and smelled the musty odor of its fur.

Then it swung away and padded off into the pines.

Kaelin waited until it was gone from sight, then rose. The sound of soft, contemptuous laughter came to him. Whipping his knife from its sheath, he spun toward the sound—to see the redheaded girl who had been with Call Jace sitting on a broad branch ten feet above the edge of his campsite. She no longer wore the bonnet cap, and her hair hung free, framing her face.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked, aware of the foolishness of the question even as he spoke it.

“Do you learn nothing in the south?” she countered. “What kind of a fool sets his camp alongside the tracks of a bear? Could you not see that this is where old Shabba comes to drink in the morning?”

“Obviously not,” he replied, reddening.

Sheathing his knife, he moved to the canvas sack, which was ruined, and retrieved the tinderbox, the cooking pot, and the spoon.

“It will be a hungry day for you,” she said, reaching into a pouch hanging from her belt and pulling clear an oatcake, which she began to eat.

“I’m surprised you didn’t slit my throat while I slept,” said Kaelin.

“Bael will do that,” she said. “Would not be fair to rob him of his fun.”

“I take it I’ll get dinner first,” he said.

“Of course. We are not barbarians.” Rising, she walked lithely along the branch and began to climb down the trunk. Reaching the ground, she strolled over to him. Kaelin looked into her green eyes and felt lost for words. “Now you are gawping again,” she said. “Did you not get into enough trouble for that last time?”

“Gawping?”

“You were staring at me. It made my father angry, which is why he spoke as he did. Do you learn no manners in the south?”

“Obviously there is much we do not learn in the south,” he said, anger rising.

“I didn’t think you would come,” she said, moving away from him to the stream. Squatting down, she cupped her hands and drank. “You are not a wise man, Kaelin Ring.”

The sound of his name from her lips was like music. Returning to the center of the camp, she also sat down. “My father likes those pistols. Perhaps if you gave them to him, he would forgive you.”

“What is your name?”

“Chara.”

His face registered his shock. She was surprised at his reaction. “You do not like the name?” she asked.

“It is a good name,” he said sadly.

“Then what is wrong?”

“Nothing.” He pushed himself to his feet. “Let us be on our way.”

Chara Jace had not been truthful with the young southerner. She
had
expected him to agree to her father’s invitation. In fact, she had pressed her father to offer it. Chara tried to convince herself it was so she could watch the arrogant boy being humiliated. That was not so.

As she walked alongside him, she could not stop herself from occasionally glancing at him. He was handsome, his face strong, his movements graceful. His handling of the situation with the bear had impressed her. Many men, upon waking, would have reacted with sudden shock. They might have shouted or leapt up. He had lain still and calm even as old Shabba had nuzzled his face. Yet this same calm young man had reacted with cold and terrifying violence when struck by Bael. He had not lashed back. He had walked back into his house and emerged with two silver pistols. It was a miracle that Bael was still alive.

Bael had recovered his senses after an hour and had been able to walk unaided. He had talked in camp that night of returning and killing the southerner. Call Jace would have none
of it. “I allowed the matter to get out of hand,” he said. “I should not have insulted him. He may be Varlish-tainted, but he is still Rigante. By heaven, he showed that!”

“The brat shot me!” said Bael. “I cannot allow it to pass. And you had every right to insult him. Hell’s teeth, Father, he all but stripped Chara with his eyes.”

“I know.” Call had turned to Chara then. “What do you think we should do, lass?”

“I don’t care, Father.”

“I didn’t ask if you cared. How would you deal with this situation?”

“He did not pay the tribute, so he has broken the agreement made by his aunt. We should take all his cattle from the high pasture, drive them south, and sell them.”

“Aye, that’s a good thought. But what of the man himself? You think he should die?”

Chara had thought about this, recalling the dark-eyed young man and how she had felt with those eyes upon her. “I’ll need to think on it further,” she said.

“Good. Decisions about life and death should never be made in a hurry,” he said.

The following day Finbarr Ustal had arrived with the tribute and the message from Kaelin Ring. “I am welcome at his house?” said Call Jace.

“That’s what he said, lord,” replied Finbarr.

“And nothing else?”

“Not a word. I asked him if he wanted me to apologize on his behalf, and he said no.”

Call swung to Chara. “Any further thoughts, lass?”

“Aye, Father. Invite him to visit. If you are welcome at his house, then he should be welcome at yours.”

“I like that plan,” said Bael. “My head will ache the less when I’ve cut him a little.”

“You will stay the night, Finbarr, and enjoy our hospitality,” said Call Jace. “Then tomorrow you will go home and pass on my invitation to the southerner.”

“Yes, lord.”

Toward noon Chara led Kaelin away from the road and down to the shores of a small lake. The sun was bright in a clear blue sky, the air fresh and cool. “Do you swim, southerner?” she asked him.

“Not well.”

“This is Crystal Tears Lake. It is said to have been blessed by the Seidh a thousand years ago. If you dive deep, you can see into the past.”

“How can anyone see into the past?”

“Swim with me and I’ll show you.”

“Why not?” said Kaelin Ring.

Chara pulled off her green woolen shirt and leggings and shoes and waded out naked into the cold water. Kaelin stood for a moment watching her. She looked around. “Are you going to stand there gawping again, or are you going to swim?”

Sitting down, Kaelin tugged off his moccasins, undressed, and followed her. She dived below the surface. Taking a deep breath, he followed. The water was clear, and Kaelin saw an old pike dart behind some rocks. Chara was just ahead. She paused in her swim and pointed at what at first seemed to be a pillar of rock. Kaelin swam closer. It was the head of a colossal statue half-buried in the earth. The head was fully twenty feet high. It was of a man with a heavily curled beard. He was wearing a crown. Kaelin’s lungs were straining, and he kicked out for the surface.

Chara came up alongside him, and they trod water. “Who is it? Connavar? Bane?” asked Kaelin.

“The Dweller says it is far older than Rigante history,” she told him. “Farther on there are drowned houses of white stone and many more statues. I found a small square of gold there once. It had engravings on it. The Dweller told me it was a coin in ancient times, used by a race now vanished from the world.” She looked at him closely. “Your lips are turning blue with cold. You need to get out of the water.”

Together they swam for the shore. Kaelin was shivering as
he waded to the bank. Chara ran past him and sat down, draping her woolen shirt over her shoulders.

“Be so good as to dress,” he said, not looking at her.

“I’d like to dry off first.”

Kaelin struggled into his trews and donned the buckskin shirt.

“I’ll wager that feels uncomfortable,” she said. “All that water dripping on your skin.”

“Aye, it is,” he agreed, buckling his belt.

“Why does my nakedness bother you?”

“It is not seemly.”

She laughed. “That is a Varlish concept, Kaelin Ring. How many more of their ways have you drawn into your heart?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, finally turning toward her.

“The Keltoi have never been ashamed of their bodies. But the Varlish teach of the evil of nakedness.”

He sat down and looked away toward the lake. Then he sighed. “I think you are right,” he said. “We live among them, and we absorb their ways without even knowing it. We think we are holding to our culture, but it is an illusion. Clan children are now born and no one gives them soul-names. We buy our clothes from Varlish stores, we learn in Varlish schools, and we no longer speak the language of our ancestors. They are stealing our souls, and we do not notice.” He fell silent for a while. Then he glanced at her and smiled. He looked suddenly young, she thought, almost vulnerable. “I am sorry I spoke like a Varlish. You are very beautiful. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”