Path of Fate (19 page)

“I didn’t want it,” Reisil confessed, needing to explain herself to someone. Sodur’s calm, companionable voice warmed her and she felt herself wanting to open up to him. “I told her to go away. More than once. Told her to choose someone else. I am—I was—a tark. She was angry.”>

Sodur nodded. “She seemed so, hanging about Kallas. It was confusing.”

“Then the kidnapping happened and I didn’t have any choice anymore. Maybe I never did.”

“When the Lady chooses us, everything else disappears,” he said. “No matter how much we resist.”

Reisil looked at him, surprised, and he chuckled again.

“Oh, no. You are not the first to try to escape the Blessed Lady’s net. Nor will you be the last. The life of the
ahalad-kaaslane
is difficult, the road narrow and steep, with few opportunities to rest. Though the bards’ tales and songs glorify us, a wise person sees past the stories to the difficult reality. Unfortunately, the road is made more difficult by resistance. Under ordinary circumstances, we would have prepared you for
Randaja
—the spirit journey to the Vale of the Blessed Lady. She would have spoken to you and helped you understand Her purpose for you. But now, even if we had time, it’s no longer possible. Before She will see you now, you must prove yourself worthy, committed.” He smiled, a bittersweet smile, his attention turned inward as if he remembered something.

“Until then, you must fumble your way with Saljane on your own.” He patted her leg again and stood. Lume sat up with a groan and a yawn, pink tongue curling. “When the god Vaprus first gave Senjoor fire, Senjoor found the gift precious and dangerous. He held in his hands the means to save countless lives in that dreadful, unending winter, or kill many more. In the end he died by fire, though it saved his people. I don’t think he ever regretted the gift, however much it cost him personally.”

“I could do a lot of good as a tark,” Reisil said rebelliously.

“You could. You
will
do a great deal of good as
ahalad-kaaslane.
Your tark training will not go to waste.”

Reisil leaned back and stared up at the blue sky, hearing Sodur’s steps fading along the deck. The river smelled of fish and weeping willows. The sound of waves lapping at the hull lulled her and the sun warmed her face.

~
Saljane?

~Ahalad-kaaslane.

Again that knife-blade edge to their contact. Reisil hesitated.

~
How fares Ceriba?
she asked finally.

~
They ride.

No pictures, nothing.

Reisil hesitated again and she could feel Saljane’s impatience.

~
How fare you?

Silence. Reisil waited, but there was no reply. She pushed again.

~
Do you . . . do you remember my name?

~Ahalad-kaaslane.

Was that reproach?

~
No, my name.

Silence. Then, ~Ahalad-kaaslane.

Flat. Denial.

Did that mean Saljane would not use her name? Was she reminding her of their bond and Reisil’s repudiation of it? Reisil blinked at the sky, feeling a stone growing in her chest. There was a closeness between Upsakes and his weirmart, Sodur and Lume, even Juhrnus and his sisalik. An aura of love and sharing. Would that ever happen with Saljane? Or had she destroyed it?

The river flowed and Reisil’s head pounded. She dozed, her dreams filled with images of Kaval and Saljane. Of Ceriba, on the ground, being kicked. Only this time Kaval kicked her and Saljane screamed and screamed.

She woke with a jerk, rubbing her gritty eyes, her mouth dry and tasting of copper. Her stomach grumbled and she fumbled in the pocket of her cloak for a plum. It had been squashed, but tasted sunny and sweet. The juice ran down her chin and she caught it on her fingers, licking them clean.

She became aware that the boat was no longer moving along the river, but swung in a half circle, so that the prow was facing upstream. She stood and saw Voli with her companions clustered around him. She approached, hanging back at the edge to hear.

“Most times,” Voli was saying, “they sort themselves out in a few days. Water’s high and the current’s fast. Breaks ’em apart. Can’t hold. Or folks from downriver come and tear ’em loose, get them going again.”

“We don’t have a few days,” Upsakes declared, his blocky forehead shiny.

Voli shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing else to do. Tie up to the bank so’s we don’t get bashed against the jam and wait. Can’t port around, not enough of us and too many trees. Wouldn’t get through.” Several of his crew nodded vigorously.

Reisil looked out onto the river and saw what it was they were talking about. A tangle of logs blocked their passage on the river. Constructed mostly from cut logs with the limbs stripped off, mixed with a few snags—trees tumbled into the river from storm or weakened roots—the logjam formed an impassible barrier across the river.

“Be a storm in a day or so up in the mountains. Flood surge should wash it out. It won’t hold long,” Voli determined.

“How far to Priede?” Upsakes asked. “We’ll go ashore here and go by foot.”

Voli shook his head with a grimace. “Can’t. Closer to the Kodu Riik side; have to put the boat up there. No bridges or towns for leagues either. Right bank’s steep. Too dangerous to swim across even if you could get yourselves out—bad currents.”

“Then we’ll cross on the logjam itself. It looks sturdy enough.”

Voli scratched his jaw. “Wouldn’t recommend it. Could go at any moment. Slippery too, and always shifting—end up bilged on your own anchor. Be as doomed as if Squire Ketch himself had aholt of you.”

Upsakes looked defeated and Kebonsat furious.

Reisil wondered if Voli’s excuses were true, or just a means to slow them down. Could he be working with the kidnappers? She looked at the logjam. It cracked and snapped together, rising up and down on the water like a breathing thing. She shivered. To get a hand or leg caught between any of them—Bones would be crushed. A four-foot-diameter log broke free and the current battered it back against the pile. One end caught and the water drove it under, flipping the other end high in the air. It held for a long moment, dripping, ponderous; then the sunken end was released. The log shot up into the air and fell whistling, splashing into the river and sending waves washing over Reisil’s feet.

Voli raised his hands. “See? Time of year for it. Have to wait.”

“They didn’t come down more than a day ahead of us. How did their boat get through?” Kebonsat demanded.

“Magic?” Juhrnus suggested.

Upsakes made a guttural sound, his eyes bulging, his hands reaching and straining as if he wanted to strangle something.

Before he could say anything, Voli spoke. “Could be. Likely not. Fact is, it happens. Loggers cut as fast as they can this time of year. Take advantage of the snowmelt. Drought will make more of these as the river drops. Less profit.”

He began giving orders to his crew, who poled the boat closer to the Kodu Riik bank. One crewman stood on the upstream rail and made a high, arcing dive into the water. He carried a line tied about his waist, and when he rose to the surface, already the current had swept him to the middle of the boat. He kicked hard, his powerful strokes drawing him to the bank. He jerked as the line caught him just before the jam. He was forced to swim upstream, following the span of the rope. At last he clambered up the rocky edge, deep panting breaths moving his ribs like bellows. He untied the rope around his waist and secured it to a tree. Thick welts circled his waist, following the grip of the rope, and blood ran down his legs and arms where he’d kicked and scraped against the rocks along the bank.

The towline secure, the anchor was hauled up and Voli and his men hauled the boat closer to the bank. A second line was thrown to the waiting man and he secured it to another tree ten paces downstream from the first. The two lines held the boat away from the rocks on the shore with the aid of the hungry current and the anchor, which once again had been dropped, this time tossed as far as possible toward the opposite bank.

“You’ve done this before,” commented Sodur.

“Hardest part now is to keep from getting hit. Best to pull her out of the water, but too many rocks and too steep. Pikemen on the stern will shove off stray logs. Won’t be long, though. River’s rising—natural dam. Get a few more logs hitting—you can figure on tomorrow evening. Be in Priede before you know it.”

Sodur gave Upsakes a frowning look and Reisil knew he was thinking of the Dure Vadonis. Ceriba’s father had said at best he could hold off three or four days before notifying Karalis Vasalis and Iisand Samir of Ceriba’s kidnapping—if the envoy from Koduteel cooperated. If the logjam held until the next evening, two days would be gone. And Ceriba would be two days farther away. Reisil’s mouth went dry. War. There would be more war. More death and more lost friends, lost brothers, lost hands and feet and legs and eyes. Another Mysane Kosk. What was Kaval thinking? There was no patriotism in this. None at all.

The man who’d braved the currents to secure the mooring lines to the trees came back aboard, kicking his legs in the water as he drew himself hand over hand along a taut line. Reisil applied a salve to the rock abrasions and the rope welts around his waist and ribs, giving him willow bark to chew.

“No need for all this trouble,” he said, brown eyes cast down as she gently rubbed the salve into his bruised and broken skin. “It’ll heal up good. Don’t need to bother
ahalad-kaaslane
with it.”

“I want to be bothered,” she replied with asperity. “Besides, why shouldn’t I see to your injuries? It was a brave thing you did for us.”

Color seeped into his gaunt brown cheeks and he twisted his ragged hair, burying his chin in his hunched shoulders. “Just my turn is all.”

“Well, you served us well and we are grateful.”

Reisil left him there to sleep in the narrow shade of the long storage box that housed the pikes. At the stern of the boat the crewmen laughed and shouted as a log barreled past and rammed the jam with a thundering crack. The tangle shuddered and held, the newest arrival rasping sideways to nudge and thump against its brethren.

Upsakes, Sodur and Juhrnus ate lunch from their stores, and Reisil realized that her own stomach was grumbling again. She drew bread and cheese from her pack and sat apart from her fellow
ahalad-kaaslane
. Sodur had been kind and she appreciated his amity, but she did not relish the company of Juhrnus or Upsakes. The latter man was clearly angry with her and resented her inclusion on this journey.

She shrugged and found a spot at the bow of the boat, dangling her feet off the edge below the rail. She wanted to be making this journey as little as Upsakes wanted her to be. But that did not change her obligation to Ceriba. To the Lady. Despite her reluctance to accept becoming
ahalad-kaaslane,
when at last Reisil had shouldered the burden, she had done so willingly. Just as she had taken up the burden of finding Ceriba—a more personal mission now that she knew Kaval had a hand in the kidnapping. She would not lay those burdens down for anyone.

She ate slowly, her back to her companions, watching the waters of the river slide by, sending bits of flotsam and jetsam into the harbors of the rock teeth, pushed there on waves of foam. That was her, she thought. Torn from her home, carried on a current not of her own making, bouncing against rocks, searching for a save haven.

Kebonsat knelt beside her. His face was a polite mask. Not even the muscles in his jaws clenched to give away the fury and frustration he must feel. Somewhere in his young life he’d been taught unrelenting control. But Reisil saw it in his eyes. That and desperation. She remembered the smile he’d exchanged with Ceriba, the affection and joy they had shared together. She had no doubt that there was no limit to what he’d do to regain his sister.

“I have need,” he said. “If you are willing.”

His peculiar emphasis on
if
made her cautious.

“What can I do?”

“Call back your bird.”

She stared at him in surprise. He made a sound low in his throat and thumped a fist against the rail, his control cracking. “Damn it! I don’t want to leave her alone with those bastards. But with your bird’s help, we can break the jam. We can’t afford to lose days. Even with your bird showing us the way, they could decide to kill her anytime. Or worse.”

Reisil didn’t want to think about “or worse.”

“What do you want of Saljane?”

Kebonsat hesitated. “Koijots is not a wizard.”

Reisil frowned. Not a wizard. Why would Kebonsat bother to tell her that? She waited for him to continue.

“He is not a wizard,” he repeated, “but he does have some magical abilities. He might actually have become quite powerful, but he would have had to join the Guild—” Kebonsat paused again as if choosing his words. “He would have suicided before that. So instead my father made him a tracker. His loyalty and skills have served my family well. What he does now . . . it’s a risk for him if it’s revealed to the Guild.” He waved a hand at the crew and
ahalad-kaaslane
. “But he’s willing to risk it, for Ceriba’s sake.”

“What would you need of Saljane?” Reisil asked. Except for Kvepi Buris, she’d never been close to the making of magic. And now Kebonsat wanted her, wanted Saljane, to aid in a spell. She gripped her hands together to keep them from trembling.

“Nothing dangerous,” he said reassuringly. “Koijots’s spell won’t work unless it’s carried over to the logjam. She’ll have to place it where he says and that’s all.”

Reisil nodded, deciding. Time was running out. “I’ll ask her.”

Reisil closed her eyes, feeling a crawling along her spine. They were watching her, the other
ahaladkaaslane,
curious about what Kebonsat was up to with her.

~
Saljane?