Telai gripped her chair beneath the table, fighting to control herself. She respected Ressolc too much to vent her wrath on him. “When it comes to who passes or fails, or who becomes a scribe, then yes, you are in charge. But no one is going to tell me who I can or cannot confront on a personal basis. Either bring him here, or I will march right down there and make a scene where everyone can hear it!”
Ressolc set his cold stare on her; then he snatched up his cane and stalked out the door.
The minutes passed like hours as Telai waited, leaning her head in her hands, hoping desperately that her last chance for happiness wasn’t slipping from her grasp.
First Tenlar, now Caleb. What is it with you men? Heads full of nothing but duty and honor!
The click of a latch and the hesitant scuffle of feet announced the arrival of the accused. She never changed position, struggling for the strength to speak, to keep her voice from exploding as she had threatened to do with Ressolc.
She could only manage one word, its tone heavy with years of bottled-up resentment. “Why?”
There was no answer, and she lifted her eyes. Caleb stood halfway from the closed door, straight and rigid like a statue, and nearly as pale. It was clear by the stark look in his face that he had been dreading this moment for some time, perhaps days.
She rose slowly, like a judge ready to pronounce sentence. “Seems I was wrong. There
hasn’t
been a mistake.”
Caleb shook his head. “No.”
“Then answer my question.” Still he hesitated, and she clenched her fists. “If you have one courageous bone in your body, Caleb, you will
answer my question!”
He took a quick step forward. “I didn’t see … I thought … ” He closed his eyes tight for a second, then squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Telai. But everywhere I go I keep running into the same thing—
there goes the Falling Man
. I am so tired of it! The only way I’m ever going to overcome it is to do something that proves my loyalty.” He shrugged helplessly. “If that doesn’t work, nothing will.”
Telai blinked. “That’s it? You’re worried about what people think of you?”
“Not just me!” he blurted, stepping forward again. “It’s Warren, too. I’m really not that concerned about myself, I can handle it. But Warren—he already suffers from too many disadvantages. I’ll be damned if I let prejudice stand in his way, too. If I can do some honorable deed, demonstrate my loyalty, at least he’ll have a chance.”
She put all her strength into a withering stare. But she couldn’t keep it up. She turned her back on him, eyes stinging with the first onslaught of grief.
“Telai,” he whispered. “Don’t turn away. Please.”
A long minute passed before she faced him again. She was amazed to see tears running down his cheeks, tears somehow readier to fall than her own. But it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t get past the harsh, cold reality that the man standing before her now was about to repeat Tenlar’s crime.
She rounded the table and advanced. For one moment he looked ready to dash out the door, but he stood his ground—which only infuriated her all the more. She wanted to shout at him, humiliate him, to watch him fall to his knees for forgiveness.
“Do you realize how close I was to saying
yes
, Caleb?” she uttered. “I didn’t even know I was still hurting over Tenlar until you came along. You gave me a chance to let go of that, to—” She clamped her lips, fighting with every ounce of strength not to give in, but her anger was too deep. “I don’t give a filthy damn what people think of me!” she yelled. “And neither should you!”
“Telai—”
She waved an arm at him. “Go. You got what you wanted: the Grand Loremaster’s official sanction to throw your life away!”
His cheeks regained their color. “What about Warren?”
“Warren? What are you talking about?”
“I’ve heard him talk in his sleep. He needs you, Telai. He needs someone like you in his life.”
“Well, you pretty much just ruined that for him, didn’t you?”
“No I didn’t! Just because you won’t join the Raéni doesn’t mean you can’t still be with him.” He reached for her hands, but she yanked them away. “Telai,” he said softly. “If you don’t want to see me again … I won’t lie, that’s going to hurt.” He wiped his tears, flinging them away as if they were only a distraction. “But he’s all I’ve got. Please don’t cut him off. You can take him on those boat rides he likes. Maybe even teach him a few words.” He shook his head. “I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to get through to him. You can.”
Another minute passed as she struggled for a way not to give in to his request, to salvage her pride. “Damn you,” she muttered.
“You’ll let him visit, then? It doesn’t need to be that often.”
“For him, I will.”
Caleb sighed. “Thank you. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
“Apparently not enough to keep you from taking the Oath!”
He lowered his stare, trembling with either suppressed anger or grief. “Now is probably not the best time for this, but—there’s something I’d like to give you.”
“I don’t want anything—”
“It’s not really mine,” he said. “I just thought it might help Warren if he saw you wearing it.”
Caleb reached in his pocket and lifted out a tiny sculpture hanging by a gold necklace. It was in the rough shape of a human figure, with several flat stones stacked on one another, arms stretching to either side. He did not hand it to her at once, but stood looking upon it, his eyes deep wells of memory.
“It belonged to … to Warren’s mother. Her grandmother made it for her. It’s a small replica of the ancient monuments her ancestors used to build. They relied on them to navigate their way home or mark the best hunting grounds.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I was gone a lot in those days, and she always wore it until I returned. She said it was her way of guiding me back home.”
He held out the necklace, eyes still lowered, his arm shaking as the little stone man swung from his fingers like a pendulum. She watched as it slowed, and slowed, each beat weaker than the one before, ticking away the last few moments of life. Her hand shot out almost before she realized it. She cupped the little statue in her palm, like Caleb gazing upon it for some time, and wondered if the woman who once wore it could ever have known how far the man she loved would one day travel.
When she looked up, Caleb was gone. She never heard him leave.
8
Returning Warrior
Swords and politics are quarrelsome bedfellows.
- Manré, 2
nd
Overseer of Ada
A DISTANT PLUME
of dust on the road announced the approach of another rider. It was the month of Geloté, the hottest of the year, and Soren wiped the sweat from his brow as he peered into the shimmering haze of the valley. His horse, a buckskin mare who had seen her younger days, plodded along with a drooped head, her hide twitching and tail swishing at the flies biting her flanks.
“Angle to the right, Tellahur. Time for a rest.”
A rain barrel stood in the shade of a large hickory. Tellahur stopped, and her master slid from the saddle and pried the lid from the barrel to let her drink. He wrested a canteen from the baggage, refilled it, then slumped down against the shaggy trunk with a groan.
The rider had quickened his pace: Corinn, the Chief Scout, the busiest Raén in Ada during the autumn raids. He was a tall man, with a face full of humor even the summer heat couldn’t suppress.
His white gelding drew up beside Tellahur for a drink, and he dropped to the ground. “A real scorcher, my lord.”
“Such perception amazes me. What brings you out in it?”
“A citizen of Ekendoré has decided to take the Oath of the Raéni,” Corinn answered. “It is his wish, as well as the Overseer’s, for the Master Raén of Ada to be a witness.”
“Indeed! Must be someone important.” He waited. “Well? Speak, man! Who is it?”
Still he hesitated. “The Falling Man, my lord. Caleb Stenger.”
Soren rose to his feet. “This had better not be another one of your jokes, Corinn.”
“No, my lord,” he answered quickly. “Caleb Stenger has begun more advanced studies under Ressolc—that is, until you returned to discuss the matter with the Overseer.”
“Does Garda remember I can veto his decision?”
Corinn spread his hands to either side. “I’m sure she knows the law as well as you do, my lord.”
Soren pointed a finger at him. “She’s trying to corner me into accepting him!”
“Be that as it may,” Corinn said wearily, “you are to report to her as soon as you are housed and refreshed.”
The old man’s hands twitched. “Not Falling Man now, but Falling
Raén,
I suppose,” he muttered.
They mounted their horses and headed for the city. The miles passed, and evening gathered. Krengliné, the Old Wall, stretched from mountainside to mountainside, a bulwark defending the valley beyond.
“That,” Soren remarked, “is where
I
took the Oath. If this Caleb Stenger understands the importance of his decision, which I doubt, he will choose a place just like it.”
“It is his right,” Corinn said.
“And his responsibility.”
The sun touched the mountains beyond, and the massive white masonry soared high, dimmed now by its own lengthening shadow. Thick iron gates stood open where the road plunged through a deep arch. As the rays of the sun slanted through and reddened the dust of their passing, the Master Raén felt dwarfed, as he always did, by the sense of incredible weight over his head. Krengliné seemed a thing alive, defiant, as unbreakable as the mountains themselves.
Yet when they rode through, and Soren looked back upon the sunlit side of the wall, he realized that time was its greatest enemy. Corners had crumbled away, with stone faces cracked and pitted from frost; grass grew in the widening joints and over the mounds of brittle, white flakes that had fallen in generations past.
The last of the twilight was fading as they rode up the steep ramp and through the south gate at Sonién. They followed the main thoroughfare as it curved around the southern end of the lake. Soren, after he gave Tellahur to his companion to take to the stables, kept straight on until he stood beneath Wsaytchen’s tall doors.
He grumbled as he pulled on the cord. Derré was used to his moods, however, and when she opened the door and saw the grim look on his face, she merely bowed and led the way. He despised such protocol, save where it concerned the Raéni, and hated worse the circumstances that demanded it. But as the Supreme Raén he was capable of etiquette when required, and by the time he reached Garda’s study the last trace of his irritation had vanished.
Derré swung the doors wide, and the Overseer glanced up from her seat behind a cluttered desk in the left-hand corner. “Soren!”
“My lady,” he said, and walked into the dim chamber. Tall windows looked out onto a moonlit garden, and cabinets filled with books lined the walls. The gloss of wood and an occasional, well-worn binding reflected the lamplight like specters in the gloom.
She eyed him critically as Derré left. “You must have met Corinn in the valley. Perhaps he misinterpreted the message I gave him.”
“My lady?”
“You wear the dust and sweat of a hundred miles. Didn’t I ask you to be housed and refreshed first?”
“I assumed your words were a kindness, and not a command.”
“Why not both?” She gestured at a chair on the other side of the table, and spoke to the guard at the door. “Bring the Master Raén a cup of yrgona.”
Soren perched on the edge of the chair as the guard left. “This latest news troubles me.”
“I knew it would. But the Council of Nine officially accepted him as an Adaian. He has the same right to take the Oath as any other citizen.”
“A right to
petition
, my lady. And I’ve asked the Council many times to introduce a law requiring at least two years of citizenship.”
“Why? You have the legal authority to enact your own equivalent.”
“Would you object if I did?”
“Very much so. I’ve always known you to be a suspicious man, Soren, but there must be a reason in this case.”
The servant returned with the drink. Soren rose to accept it, and took a few paces toward the dark windows, all pretense of etiquette forgotten. “I sense a vague threat about this man.”
“I sensed something, too. But you don’t have my gift of insight, unless you’ve been deceiving me all these years. You know how the Judgment works.”
“Of course,” he said, facing her. “Might I know what you discovered?”
She leaned back and shook her head. “I gave my word.”
“It was that dark a secret? Why did you admit him?”
A tense silence fell. Soren caught the look in the Overseer’s eyes, and stiffened. “Because,” she said as she rose from her chair, “it was not dark, as I first supposed, but personally distressing for him. I respected his privacy, and his honesty. Or do you find a flaw in my discretion?”
He bowed. “Forgive me. When will the ceremony take place?”
“That’s between you and Caleb Stenger. He requested your presence at the ceremony before I did—for the
Fet’anidaré
, no less.”
“Indeed!”
“Why not? You are the first of the Raéni he ever met.”
The Master Raén stared at her, then emptied his flask in a long, fierce draught.
She pursed her lips. “Soren, I won’t be so imperious as to undermine your authority. Use your own judgment as always. Yet find some room to be diplomatic. The Treth still haven’t forgiven your rejection of one of their best candidates, when you already knew how vital their seafaring trade is to us. If you reject this man, do so with a clean conscience.”
“I seldom refuse a candidate with such surety as you demand. I reserve my confidence for those I accept—the Oath demands no less.”
She sighed and resumed her seat. “I have no doubt you will make him aware of that. At least consider postponing your decision—and be
civil
about it. You may go.”