Huntress (3 page)
The intensity in Fin’s tone was sobering, and Kaede said, “I will.”
She stepped back, lifting her arm, and threw the knife again and again, until all she could hear was the iron ringing as it flew through the air, the sharp strike as it hit the wall, and behind her, the rising-and-falling groan of the sea.
T
aisin saw Kaede arrive late at the dining hall for the evening meal, and she knew it meant that Kaede had just come from Maire Morighan’s chambers. They did not speak, for all meals were taken in silence, but they looked at each other from their opposite corners of the sixth-form students’ table. There was a new sense of intention in Kaede’s demeanor, and Taisin was certain that Kaede would be coming on the journey. It made her nervous all over, anxiety and anticipation prickling across her skin.
After the meal, a servant was waiting for her in the corridor with a message: Sister Ailan wished to see her in her study. Taisin went immediately, hoping to avoid Kaede for as long as possible. She didn’t know what to say to her; she didn’t know what she
could
say to her.
She had barely knocked on Sister Ailan’s door before it opened. Her teacher ushered her into a beautifully appointed room lit with two globe-shaped oil lamps, one on the desk, one resting on a dark wooden stand carved with lotus flowers. One wall of the rectangular room was lined with windows, but umber-colored curtains were pulled across them to block out the night. Beside the windows, two simple, elegant armchairs faced each other across a low round table on which a tea tray rested. A black earthenware pot of tea steamed there, and Sister Ailan gestured to Taisin to take a seat while she poured the tea.
“Tomorrow morning, you will depart,” Sister Ailan said.
Taisin lifted the warm teacup in her hands, inhaling the scent of jasmine flowers. It had been many months since she had smelled such fragrance; the jasmine, these days, was reserved for special occasions.
“I have one item to give to you before you go,” her teacher said, and she went to retrieve something from top drawer of her desk. She placed it on the table before Taisin: the wooden box that had come from the Fairy Queen. “Go ahead and open it.”
Taisin set down her teacup and leaned forward to look at the box. The carving was exquisite; the lid looked exactly like a chrysanthemum. She had never touched anything made by the Xi before. Until the King’s arrival she had never thought the Xi would come into her life at all, except through the pages of history books. The idea of going to their land was strange and wonderful—and frightening, if her vision was true.
As Maire Morighan had done, Taisin placed her fingertip in the center of the carved chrysanthemum and felt the wood give slightly, like a bed of moss. She lifted her hand away and the petals folded back smoothly. Within the box she saw the scroll and a black velvet pouch.
“That is the medallion,” said Sister Ailan. “Take it out.”
Taisin emptied the pouch into her hand, and the medallion tumbled into her palm. The links of the chain gleamed in the lamplight. There were faint colors in it: slight streaks of azure and emerald coiling through the silver. The same colors were repeated, though faintly, like a watercolor, in the silver metal that held the stone, and symbols were engraved around the rim. When she touched the symbols, the stone seemed to shimmer as if there were something living within its depths. “What do these symbols mean?” she asked in a hushed voice.
“We are not sure. It is not the language of the Xi—or if it is, it is something more ancient than we can read. But you shall take it with you.”
Taisin was surprised. “Me?”
“Yes. It will be entrusted to you. It may be a talisman of some sort—to mark you as a proper guest of the Xi.”
Taisin slid the chain around her neck, and when it touched her skin it was cold for only an instant, and then it felt as though she had always worn it. She cupped her hand around it in astonishment, and looked at her teacher. “It feels like it’s mine.”
Sister Ailan’s brow wrinkled just slightly. “You must keep it safe, Taisin.”
“I will.”
Sister Ailan sat back in her chair, lifting her own teacup. As her right arm rose, the dark green silk of her robe’s wide sleeve fell back, exposing the sage’s mark on her forearm. Every sage who took the vows was given a mark just above her wrist: a stylized symbol slightly larger than a gold coin. Though it was tattooed in black ink, Taisin had always seen colors in it, as she did now in the lamplight—shadow colors, as indistinct and shifting as dusk over the sea.
She had looked forward to receiving the sage’s mark on her own skin since she was a child, but remembering her vision, her face burned. “Teacher,” she began in a hesitant voice, “I must ask you something.” When she had first told Sister Ailan about her vision, she omitted the feelings that had been so upsetting, fearing they were a sign of weakness or inexperience. But they had come back to her again and again, and now she could not ignore them.
Sister Ailan regarded her gravely. “Yes?”
“In my vision, I felt something.” Taisin clutched the teacup with both hands, as if that might hide her self-consciousness, but she was afraid it was written plainly on her face.
“What did you feel?”
“I felt—I think that I”—she looked away, biting her lip, and finally she blurted it out quickly—“I think that I was in love with Kaede. In my vision. But that is—that can’t happen, can it? I want to be a sage, and I know that all sages take vows of—of celibacy. Does this mean that I—that I will never become a sage?”
Sister Ailan heard the anxiety in Taisin’s voice. She answered carefully: “Your vision is not the same as a fortune foretold by a traveling mystic. It is not a prediction of the future, Taisin.”
“No, but visions—the one I had—isn’t it a glimpse of the truth? A truth that exists already within the energies of the world? Everything I do—everything that Kaede does—will bring those energies into the form they took in my vision. Isn’t that what you taught me?”
“You are thinking about this too analytically. Your vision is the truth, but it is not the future. It may be that you don’t yet understand what you saw.”
Taisin put down the teacup, curling her fingers into fists. “Teacher, I want to be a sage more than anything I’ve ever wanted in this world. I don’t want to jeopardize that by falling in love with anyone.”
Sister Ailan considered Taisin’s flushed face, her renitent posture. She asked, “How did it make you feel, this… love?”
Taisin was taken aback by the question. “I—I have been trying to forget it.”
“Why?”
“Because it can’t happen,” she said miserably. “It can’t. If Kaede comes on this journey—if my vision comes true—then—” She broke off, remembering the dreadful fear roiling in the pit of her stomach when she saw Kaede leaving the beach behind. At last she said, “I don’t want her to die.”
Sister Ailan leaned forward and took Taisin’s hands in her own, curving her warm, dry fingers over Taisin’s fists. She looked into her student’s dark brown eyes. “Love is not what you fear, is it? You fear the loss of it.”
Taisin’s eyes filled with tears; she was mortally embarrassed. She should not cry in front of her teacher. She wanted to pull her hands away, but Sister Ailan held them fast.
“It is true,” her teacher said in a low voice, “that sages take a vow of celibacy. If you wish to be a sage, you will have to walk that path alone. It is a wondrous path, Taisin, and I know that you wish to follow it. That is a choice you will make later, when you are ready. You are not a full sage yet. Now you have a different path to take. Don’t let your fear of the future overshadow your decisions in the present. You must remember that.”
She let go of Taisin’s hands, and Taisin folded her arms across her stomach, looking uncertain. “What should I tell Kaede, then?” she asked in a small voice. “How can I tell her what I felt?”
“Why do you need to tell her?”
Taisin shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought—she is the only other person in my vision. Shouldn’t she know?”
Sister Ailan leaned back in her chair, running her hands along the armrests. “Taisin, sometimes it is better for others to not know what we have seen in our visions. You see how much it has distracted you. Think of how much it will distract Kaede.”
“Then you think I should not tell her?”
“You must determine that on your own. Just know that whatever is meant to happen will happen, whether she knows what you saw or not. It might be better for her to make her decisions without the additional… suggestions that your vision would give her.”
Taisin nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” Sister Ailan gave her a rare smile. “Then shall we continue? I have a few other things to tell you.”
“All right.” Taisin listened as Sister Ailan gave her instructions on what she would need to do when she reached Cathair, but beneath it all she felt an upwelling of emotions that threatened to engulf her. How could she keep her feelings secret? Was there any way to prevent what she had seen from happening?
She resolved, at least, to try.
A tree grows on the mountain.
The wild goose flies near:
It seeks the flat branch.
—
Book of Changes
T
he next morning, the King’s ship came to ferry Kaede, Taisin, the King, and his Chancellor to Seatown. Kaede remained out on the deck for the three-hour crossing, preferring the salty sting of the wind in her face to the cramped warmth down below. The spray soaked through her cloak, but she didn’t mind. She wanted to remember this day: when she left behind the life her parents had built for her. She watched the Academy diminishing as they sailed away until it was only a small gray speck, indistinguishable from the vast dark sea.
In Seatown, a contingent of the King’s Guard was waiting to escort them through the crowded, noisy wharves. It stank of fish and seawater, but all Kaede saw were the black uniforms of the guards around her, their thick leather boots splashing through slimy puddles. They soon arrived at two black carriages, their doors emblazoned with the mark of the King, and Kaede and Taisin were quickly ushered into the second one. The carriage lurched as it turned away from the wharves and began the ascent up the steep road into Seatown proper.
Kaede watched out the window as they drove past an open-air kitchen with an old woman ladling out steaming broth to a line of young men—sailors, with their hair tightly plaited in single braids. They passed long brick walls dividing the compounds of Seatown’s wealthy traders from the common folk who did the work of the city. And soon enough, they left Seatown behind and struck out onto the King’s Highway.
The journey to Cathair would take a little over a week, and every mile of it was carefully scripted. Every place they stayed was first secured by the King’s Guard, and every meal they ate was first tasted by the King’s chief taster to ensure that the food was not poisoned. Kaede and Taisin rode in the fifth black coach in a line of eight. Lord Raiden and the King rode separately in the third and fourth carriages; two were reserved for the King’s servants and were loaded with his wardrobe trunks; and they were all preceded and followed by guards.
Neither Kaede nor Taisin had traveled with the King before, and at first all of it was strange and overwhelming: the guards who rode with their hands on their swords; the rituals of greeting each evening when their hosts prostrated themselves before the King, holding their empty hands out to him for his blessing. And they ate better than they had in years, for no landlord would serve the King anything less than his finest offerings, even if that meant butchering a tenant farmer’s last suckling pig. The King, who wore a different silk robe to each meal, ate it all with gusto, but Kaede, who had grown accustomed to the simpler food at the Academy, found all the rich sauces and succulent meats to be excessive. The King’s appetite turned her stomach.
During the day, she and Taisin sat mostly in silence within the cushioned confines of their carriage, each staring out her window at the countryside. They passed a farmhouse burned to the ground, its roof about to collapse. They drove through a village that was empty but for a few hollow-eyed beggars lurking in the abandoned market street. And they passed many people in torn cloaks walking down the side of the road toward Cathair. Sometimes the travelers ran after the coaches for a short distance, but the caravan stopped for no one.
“Where are they going?” Kaede wondered aloud.
“To search for food,” Taisin answered, startling Kaede. Taisin rarely spoke, and Kaede had not yet determined whether it was because she was disinterested in conversation or merely shy.
“How do you know?” Kaede watched Taisin struggle to contain some kind of emotion, fidgeting with the edges of her cloak.
“It has been a difficult year. Two difficult years. My family’s farm—we have done better than some. My family has received travelers for some time now, seeking food. We send them on to Cathair, for we have heard that there are provisions there for the needy.”
“Your family has a farm?”
Pink crept up the curve of Taisin’s cheeks. “Yes.”
Kaede realized that Taisin was self-conscious about it, and that made Kaede feel tactless, clumsy. She changed the subject awkwardly. “Do you have any brothers or sisters? I have three brothers. They’re all older than me.”
Taisin seemed surprised by the question. “I have a younger sister, Suri. She is twelve.”
“Is she as gifted as you are?”
Taisin turned red, the color streaking across her throat and face, and she stammered, “M-my sister is gifted in her own way.”
Kaede was taken aback by Taisin’s reaction. She wanted to tell her she hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but her classmate had turned away to stare out the window, her eyes fixed on the changing landscape. Kaede didn’t understand why Taisin seemed so uncomfortable around her. Had she done something wrong? She tried to find something to distract herself in the carriage, but there was nothing new to see in that small, dark space. She suppressed a sigh. It might be a very long journey indeed.
On the fourth day, it rained. It was a heavy, unwelcome downpour that turned the dirt road into a muddy mess. At a crossroads that had seen better days, the caravan had to stop entirely while the drivers climbed down and dug the first carriage out of a rut that had trapped the wheels in several inches of sludge. Taisin had almost nodded off to sleep in her seat, the sound of the rain soothing away the bumpy discomfort of the King’s Highway. When Kaede cried out in alarm, Taisin jerked awake, her head knocking against the window.
There against the glass was a man’s angry face, his mouth open as he shouted at them, raising his fist to bang against the door.
Taisin screamed; she scrambled back as the force of his blows caused the coach to sway. Her shoulder slammed against Kaede, who was also pushing herself away from the door. In their haste they tumbled onto the floor, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space between the seats.
The man outside raised his hand again, and this time there was a rock in it, and it smashed against the glass so hard that it cracked. But before he could strike again, a guard grabbed him, pulling him away with a force that yanked his shoulder back at an unnatural angle. Another guard joined the first, who pinned the struggling man’s head in the crook of his leather-armored elbow, and the second guard struck him full in the face, blood flying out as the man’s nose was crushed. A third guard appeared, and the man, who was thin and weak from hunger, had no chance at all. One of the guards drew his sword, and before the man could take another breath, the guard slit his throat. He doubled over, his life spilling down his chest, mingling with the rain that still fell, unceasingly, from the sky.
It was a crime punishable by death to attack the King, and the royal mark was painted on every one of the coaches in that caravan.
Inside the battered carriage, huddled on the floor, Taisin felt her heart pound from shock. Kaede was crowded so close to her that Taisin could feel the other girl’s muscles as tense as a drawn bowstring. Suddenly the door was wrenched open, and Kaede’s father was standing outside, the rain running down his face. He hadn’t bothered to put on a cloak. “Are you all right?” His voice was rough with panic. Behind him three guards stood with their swords drawn, and beyond them the body of the attacker was slumped on the muddy road.
“We’re fine,” Kaede said, her voice shaking.
“Blasted idiots!” Lord Raiden shouted, and spun toward the guards. “You paid no attention!” he snarled. “This cannot happen again. Next time it will be one of you who is dead.” He slammed the door of the carriage shut, and the cracked glass shattered completely, letting in the rain. Lord Raiden threw up his hands and ordered, “Fix this!”
Kaede began to get up, and Taisin realized that she was gripping Kaede’s hand with white fingers. Heat rushed through her and she dropped Kaede’s hand as if it were a live coal. Kaede turned to her, a strange look on her face, and then the guards came to sweep the glass out of the carriage. Taisin pulled herself onto her seat, avoiding Kaede’s eyes. A man had just been killed scarcely ten feet away, and yet all she could think of was the jolt that went through her when she felt Kaede’s hand in hers. She had reached for her without any awareness of what she was doing. Was it already happening? Was her vision already coming true?
Taisin set her jaw stubbornly to prevent it from trembling. She deliberately gazed out the broken window, where the guards were carrying the body of the dead man toward the side of the road. Others approached with shovels, and they began to dig a grave in the soft ground. None of them had any idea who he was, and they would never find out. After the guards rolled him into the earth, they marked the grave with a circle of stones, and the caravan departed.
Eight days after they left the Academy, the road widened and flat paving stones replaced hard-packed dirt. The coaches picked up their pace, and the King’s guards were able to relax just slightly. After the attack, there had been repercussions all around. The guards had been ordered to increase their vigilance, and now no one was allowed to leave the caravan unprotected. Kaede and Taisin were sent off with two female guards if they needed to stop at the side of the road, and though the guards turned their backs, Taisin especially chafed at the indignity of it. Kaede, who was more accustomed to being followed by servants, still had never experienced this level of interference in her daily life. She did her best to pretend as though it was entirely ordinary: traveling with the King, being surrounded by armed guards at every moment, riding in a carriage with a window covered by an oilcloth where it had been broken by a starving bandit. If she paused to think about it too closely, the significance of it all frightened her, and she would rather go blindly forward than dwell on what it all meant.
By the time they saw the stone walls of Cathair in the distance, Kaede had almost convinced herself that this new existence was normal. After all, the crenellated guard towers of the city were as tall and warlike as ever. Nothing had disturbed them, so far. But then they encountered a sight that she had not anticipated: a growing collection of tents pitched on the barren fields on either side of the road. As they drew closer to the city walls, the tents appeared more and more like permanent fixtures, the canvas walls dirtied with grime from fires burning in hastily dug pits. Kaede realized that the people camped closest to Cathair had been there the longest. They stood up as the King’s caravan passed, but though some children ran toward the coaches, most remained still, gaunt as specters, knowing that nothing would come their way.
The sight of all these desperate people overwhelmed Kaede. The world had changed so much since she had last been outside the Academy walls six months ago. She hardly recognized this city that she had grown up in. The streets were thick with guards, and all the guards carried weapons. Half the shops seemed closed; the ones that remained open had new bars over their windows. When the carriage rolled to a halt outside her family’s compound, Kaede was absurdly relieved to see that her home was the same as ever—red gates and dark red tiled roofs rising behind the wall.
Taisin was continuing on to the palace, where she would stay until they departed a week from now. Kaede looked back at her before she exited the carriage, feeling oddly reluctant to leave her. She said, “You can send word if you need anything.”