Raven's Shadow (13 page)

“Nothing different about you? Isn't there?” asked Seraph softly. “Have you ever come back from a hunt without game, Lehr? Have you ever been lost, my Falcon?”

He stared at her scarcely breathing. “Father taught me how to track, and to remember things so I wouldn't get lost,” he said tightly.

“Did he?” she said. “That's not what he told me.”

“What am I, Mother?” asked Rinnie eagerly, staring into the light she held. “Can I make a light like this?”

Seraph smiled. “No. You are Cormorant—Weather Witch. Not everyone knows when a storm is coming, Rinnie.”

“What about Jes and Papa . . . and Aunt Alinath?” asked Rinnie eagerly. “Lehr is Falcon, and that makes him a hunter, right? What do Falcons and Cormorants get to do if they can't build fires?”

“Papa and Aunt Alinath aren't Travelers,” said Lehr.

“We're only half, and we have Orders,” Rinnie defended herself hotly.

Seraph held up her hand. “Hold a moment. Let's see. Uhm.
Yes. Lehr is right, the Orders belong only to Travelers. Or that's what I always thought until I met your Papa. Tier is Owl—that means Bard. I've thought about it a lot over the years, but the only explanation I have is this: the old Raven who was my teacher told me that the Orders cannot be bred for as we breed for certain traits in horses. They attach to someone suitable to their purposes at the moment of birth.” She smiled to herself. Her old teacher, Arvage, would have been outraged at the mere suggestion that an Order would attach itself to someone outside the Traveler clans.

She cleared her throat and continued, “In the Traveling clans, the Owl is responsible for keeping the history of the clans because one of their talents is for memory. But the Owl holds music, too—and music has always been a part of Tier.

“You had some more questions.” Seraph clucked her tongue to her teeth as she checked her memory. “Falcons track and have some affinity for weaponry. Cormorants can predict—and, if they are careful, control the weather. There are more things, but I don't know them all. Some things vary from person to person; these things you will have to discover for yourself. Others”—she shrugged—“we might eventually have to find someone to teach you.”

“What about Aunt Alinath?” Rinnie asked again.

“Your aunt is exactly what she appears—a
solsenti
baker.”

“What does
solsenti
mean?” asked Jes abruptly.

“Stupid people,” said Rinnie with smug wisdom. “Especially Aunt Alinath.”

Seraph said, “Quit snickering, Lehr. In Traveler's speech
solsenti
means someone who's blind or crippled, but most of us use it to refer to anyone who is not of Traveler blood. Now, what else did you ask, Rinnie?”

“Jes,” said Rinnie.

“Jes is Guardian.”

“And Guardian is furthest from human,” Jes broke in bitterly. “They took the spirit of a demon and bound it to their will. In the night I am this.” He stood up and let his cloak fall so he stood before them all, revealed in the light Rinnie held. For a moment he was as human seeming as any of them, but then his shape flowed and darkened. A panther the size of Gura stood before them, his eyes gold flecked with an eldritch light.

It was the speed of the change that Seraph used to gauge whether what she saw was illusion or real. This time she was pretty certain the panther was solid and not created of her fears.

“The Guardian is the caretaker of the clan,” said Seraph calmly. “Where danger threatens, in the forests, in the darkness, he adapts to protect us. No magic works on him except his own. In the daytime—and I'm not talking about just when the sun is up, but in safety—the Guardian sleeps, taking part of Jes with him.”

Rinnie gave the light back to Lehr and walked all the way around Jes with wide eyes. Seraph could see her son cringe under that steady gaze, though he moved not a hair—but she had more confidence in Rinnie than Jes did.

“You're beautiful,” said her daughter in awe, reaching out to touch the grey-black coat.

Lehr watched the cat narrowly, then laughed. “What, did you expect us all to shriek and run away, Jes? No one raised around Aunt Alinath could be afraid of a mere demon.”

“I don't get to turn into a panther either?” asked Rinnie plaintively as she sat down next to Jes.

“No, only Jes,” replied Seraph.

Lehr frowned. “If I'd known about this, I wouldn't have gotten so mad at you when you took off for the forest all the time,” he said to Jes. “I suspect it'll take a few days for all of us to understand what Mother's told us tonight.” He paused, then said the important thing. “I think you need to know that I'm glad you are my brother, day or night.”

“Don't I even get fangs?” asked Rinnie.

The cat let out a huff of laughter and shifted back into a more familiar form. “No, Rinnie. No fangs for you.” He reached over and ruffled her hair. “But don't worry. If you want me to bite someone for you, I will.”

Jes settled back on his heels, though he didn't relax enough to sit. “Papa told me I should tell all of you, but I didn't want to. I didn't want you to be afraid of me.”

Seraph frowned at him, “You know better than that,” she said. “No matter what they really think, they're going to be a little afraid.” Turning to the rest of them she explained, “Dread is one of the gifts of the Guardian. If he wants to, he can panic horses or wild game. But just his very presence will make
people nervous. It's not that you are afraid of him, but that he triggers your fears.”

Seraph smiled at a sudden clear memory. “My oldest brother was Guardian,” she said. “He had a wicked sense of humor. He used to stalk people through the forest. They'd arrive at our camp panting in fear and trying not to show it, because there had been nothing to be afraid of. My grandfather used to scold him so.” She shook her head in amusement at the memory of the bent old man shaking his finger at her brother, so fierce and large. He could have broken the old man with a single blow, but instead he'd stand there, head bowed as his grandfather chastised him—and a few weeks later another terrified wanderer would approach their camp.

“That's why Olbeck ran,” said Rinnie. “Jes really did frighten him away.”

Seraph nodded. “If it was only the dread, he'll remember that he ran, but not why he was afraid. It'll make him angry. He'll have to prove himself. Be careful.”

“Mother,” said Lehr. “Why are you telling us about the Orders, now?”

“It's that priest the new Sept brought back from Taela,” Seraph said.

“I don't like him,” said Jes abruptly.

“Have you met him?” asked Seraph, surprised; Jes hardly ever went into the city.

“I saw him once riding with the new Sept's hunting party,” he answered. “I don't like him.”

“Good,” she said. “I'd like you all to avoid him if you can. There's something . . . odd about him.”

“What?” asked Lehr with a sudden grin. “Does he turn into panthers or call light out of nothing?”

She smiled back, but shook her head. “He worries me.” She explained what the priest had told her about his beliefs.

Lehr shook his head when she was done. “You mean a whole bunch of
solsenti
—possibly
solsenti
wizards, from the magic they've used to light their temple—have started a religion based on the Travelers' Orders?”

She nodded. “I thought you ought to know the truth of what you are before he managed somehow to corner you and feed you the muddle he and his religion have been brewing.” She
hesitated. “I should have told you sooner—and there's one other thing. I've never worried over it before because Travelers don't believe in fate the way those who live here do.” And because Tier had always made her feel as if no evil could ever befall them. “For generations the Orders have been fading from the Travelers. Yet, from the marriage of Traveler and an Ordered
solsenti,
the first Ordered
solsenti
I've ever heard of, comes three Ordered children? My grandfather said, ‘Where great gifts are given great evils come.' I want you all to be careful.”

Jes flowed to his feet, all of his attention toward home. “Mother, there's someone riding into the farm.”

Even from the vantage point of the knoll behind the
house, Seraph could only pick out vague shadows of horses near the porch, but Jes said, “It's the steward and a man in the Sept's colors—ah, him. I think it's the Sept's huntsman himself, Mother.”

“Well,” she said after a moment, “let's go see what they want.” She led her brood out of the trees and down to the trail that led from field to house.

Gura barked welcome as they neared, and Seraph saw that he'd kept the men from approaching the house too closely. Now that Seraph was nearer to the house she saw the steward's distinctive braid, which he wore to hide the balding spot on the top of his head.

“Hello, Forder,” Seraph said. “Welcome.”

At the sound of her voice Gura quieted, his job done.

“Seraph Tieraganswife,” said the Sept's steward. “Where have you been?” He asked it as if it were her fault he'd been kept waiting, as if he had clan-father rights over her.

Part of her flexed, like a cat testing its claws. So many years in Redern and she still couldn't get used to the way women were treated—as if being a man gave them the right to hold sway over any woman who crossed their paths.

Sensitive to her moods, Gura left the porch, a low growl hovering in his barrel chest. He quieted at her gesture, but stayed on his feet.

“We break ground tomorrow,” Lehr said peaceably, drawing attention away from Seraph so that the steward wouldn't notice her gathering ire. “We took time to walk the fields tonight. Pray accept our apologies for keeping you waiting. We had no idea that you would come again today. If you had sent word we would have awaited your pleasure.”

“No more had I intended to return,” Forder grunted. Ignoring Seraph completely he addressed Lehr. “The Sept's huntsman has found something; I thought you should hear from him as soon as possible. If I'd known you had the habit of walking the forest in the night, I would have waited for a more convenient time.”

If Lehr's hand hadn't tightened on her shoulder, Seraph would have said something rash. It wasn't like her to lose control of her temper so easily, but it was easier to cling to temper than to wonder why the steward, who was a man who enjoyed his comforts, would put himself to the trouble of coming here a second time in two days.

Bad news travels fast.

“Thank you,” said Lehr, though he was enough his mother's son that he didn't apologize again.

“I was out with a pair of my men,” said the huntsman, who upon close inspection was vaguely familiar to Seraph. He lived in Leheigh, where the Sept's keep was, but he'd come down to Redern a number of times to hear Tier sing in the tavern at the edge of the village. “We were up past the falls, tracking a deer that had taken an arrow, when we came upon what must have been a Blighted Place.” He shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

Seraph reached up and took Lehr's hand in a fierce grip.

“I tell you,” the huntsman said with sudden intensity, “I, my own self, have ridden by there a dozen times, and never seen anything untoward, but I can think of nothing else but the old evil left by the Shadowed that could have done what I saw.”

“What was that, sir?” asked Lehr tightly when Seraph said nothing.

“The body of a grey mare,” replied the huntsman. “Her hooves were scorched as if she had been burned in a fire—and
not much left but bones in front and a bit of flesh and hide behind. There was a human skull there, clean and white, and a few bones. I knew that Tier was still out trapping, and one of my men recalled that your husband had just bought a grey horse. We buried the remains where we found them, as is proper for Blight-kill but I brought what was left of the bridle in hope we could identify the man.”

He took a bag from his saddle and withdrew a handful of leather, both scorched and cracked, and the half-melted remains of a copper bit.

When Seraph made no move to take it, Lehr freed himself gently from her hold and took the scraps of leather and the bit. He stared at it a moment, then knelt by the porch. He rearranged the pieces on the wooden boards until he revealed the remains of a bridle with enough of the beaded browband left that Seraph couldn't deny it belonged to her husband.

“It is my father's bridle,” Lehr said. “Frost, the horse he was riding, was dappled grey.”

“I regret bringing you such news,” said the huntsman, as if he meant it.

“My father is usually home much earlier than this,” said Lehr.

“Papa?” said Rinnie.

Her voice broke through the numbness that encased Seraph. She couldn't afford to lose herself in grief; she had children. She took a step toward Rinnie, but Jes was already there, holding her against him. He nodded at Seraph: the Guardian would watch over his sister until Seraph could send the steward on his way.

“Where did you find them? I'd like to bring Tier home,” said Seraph.

The huntsman didn't look at her, instead giving his answer to Lehr. “There was nothing left but a skull, and we buried that,” he said. “Shadowed magic is nothing to play with. I won't lead a boy or a woman there. One man is already dead; there is no need for more.”

“I see,” said Lehr over Seraph's soundless snarl.

“You know, of course, that I should serve you notice”—the steward changed the subject—“since your brother is simple and you are not yet fully of age. But it is too late to bring in
another family to farm, and you are a stout lad. The Sept will give you this year as a trial.”

Lehr bowed his acceptance to Forder, and Seraph bit her tongue. No one else would farm this far into the mountains. If the steward drove them out there would be nothing for the Sept. But she knew Forder, knew that if she antagonized him enough he'd send them away for spite.

“The Sept is generous,” said Lehr. “We will do our best to deserve the chance he gives.”

“Huntsman,” said Seraph, seeing a dim reflection of her own wild grief in his eyes. “Thank you. There are very few who would have the courage to get near a Blighted Place just to identify a dead man. Knowing is better than waiting with false hope.”

Few men as well would have roused the steward to bring the news as soon as it came to him. It had been the huntsman, of course, who had forced Forder to come out at night instead of waiting until tomorrow. Gratitude and grief ripped through years of habit and she sketched a glowing sigil in the air that hung between them briefly.

“Traveler's blessing upon you,” she said, “and upon your house. Good fortune hold by you and yours.”

In the darkness she could see the whites of Forder's eyes, but the huntsman was made of sterner stuff, as befitted a man who braved Blighted Places.

“And to yours,” he said with a quick nod before he mounted his horse.

As soon as the huntsman's foot was in the stirrup, Forder had his own horse in motion. Then they were gone, disappearing into the night, leaving only the lingering sounds of trotting hooves behind them.

Seraph ushered her children into the cabin and lit the fire with a wave of her hand. A corner of her mind noted how easily she shed the cloak of good Rederni wife she'd held to since she married Tier, but she tucked the thought back with her grief as she dealt with the more immediate problem of her children.

The Guardian lurked in the room like a restless spirit, adding fear to the mix of shock and sorrow. Rinnie clung to him,
sobbing heartbrokenly. Lehr was pale and still wore the air of calm he'd donned for the benefit of the steward—but his hands held the remains of Tier's bridle in a white-knuckled grip.

Tier would have known how to ease their sorrow. He would have said something wise and soothing. He would have held Rinnie until she fell asleep. Then he would have talked to his sons until there was a bandage of comfort between them and their grief.

Seraph wanted to scream and rage until she was too tired to feel any more.

“There was nothing,” she said, “that Tier loved more than you three.”

Lehr's face whitened and she went to him and hugged him fiercely. She knew it was the right thing when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her so he could press his forehead to the crook of her neck.

She would keep them safe, she vowed silently, as she had not been able to keep her clan or Tier. And if she cried, only Jes could see.

 

Rinnie fell asleep finally. Jes carried her up the ladder to her half of the loft and rejoined Seraph and Lehr where they sat on a bench in front of the fire.

“She wasn't afraid of me,” he said.

Seraph smiled and patted the space beside her. “She didn't seem to be, did she?”

He didn't sit down. “Everyone is afraid, even you and Papa.”

“And me,” said Lehr with a tired smile that was more in his eyes than on his mouth. “Still, it is just a general unease, isn't it? I'm not really afraid of you, just twitchy.”

Seraph nodded. “She might have felt that, but there are worse things than fear.”

“People don't touch me,” said the Guardian, looking down at his hands as if he missed the weight of Rinnie's warm body.

Lehr looked at him sharply, because Jes almost couldn't bear to be touched most of the time.

“You comforted her,” said Seraph. “You reminded her that she wasn't alone.”

The Guardian looked at her and between one breath and
the next became Jes again. “Oh, Mother,” he whispered, “we are so sad.” He dropped bonelessly to the floor in front of her and began sobbing softly with overwhelming grief.

Seraph started to put a hand on his shoulder, but caught herself. As overwrought as Jes was, he wasn't going to be able to stand her touch at all.

Instead, she got to her feet and opened the front door. “Gura,” she said. “In.”

The big dog gave her an astonished look—though during the day he sometimes came inside, at night he guarded the farm.

“In,” she said again.

Gura padded past her to the fire. As soon as he saw Jes, he flopped out beside him with a sigh. Jes, unable to bear the distraction of human touch, wrapped his arms around the dog and pressed his face against him.

When Seraph sat back down beside Lehr he said, “Why doesn't he like to be touched—when . . .” he hesitated. “This is really confusing. Why didn't it bother him to be touched when he was being Guardian?”

“Jes is sensitive to the touch of others. Many of the Eagles have the gift of empathy. Because he must always keep the Guardian contained, a third person's feelings are just too much.”

“You make it sound like he's two people.”

Seraph nodded. “From what my oldest brother who was also a Guardian told me, it's very much like that. I don't know why the Eagle is so different from other Orders, why it is so much more difficult to bear. My teacher believed that the old wizards were trying to make something quite different—a superior warrior perhaps—and they made some mistakes: mistakes that Jes and those like him have to pay for all of their lives.” She paused and glanced at Jes. He wasn't paying any attention to them, but she lowered her voice before continuing. “Most Eagles die before they reach Jes's age, so my people are very protective of them; we keep them away from strangers when we can, and don't speak of them outside of the clan. The Guardian is both the most dangerous and most vulnerable of all the Orders.”

Seraph crossed her arms over her chest, realizing that his survival was up to her alone now. Lehr put an arm around her shoulder and drew her up next to him. “It will be all right, Mother,” he said.

They stayed there until Jes's tears grew silent and Gura fell into a doze, snoring softly. Seraph wanted to do something, anything—but there was nothing more she could do to help Tier, nothing more she could do to help Jes, Lehr, or Rinnie. Her gaze fell upon the scraps of Tier's bridle.

She picked it up and left the bench for the better light in front of the fire.

“What are you doing, Mother?” asked Lehr.

“I'm going to see what this bridle has to tell me,” said Seraph, sounding much more confident than she felt. She had failed her Order so badly that it seemed wrong that it hadn't failed her. “I told you that within each Order, there is still some variation in abilities. One of the things I could do that my teacher could not was read an object's past.”

“You're going to see what happened to Papa?”

“I'm going to try,” she said.

She took a deep breath and braced herself, because reading objects closely associated with death was painful. Tentatively she rested her fingers on the browband. Delicacy was more important than power in this kind of magic. She let threads of magic drift through her fingers and touch the leather.

Nothing.

Thinking she'd misjudged the necessary power, she opened herself until the ends of her fingers tingled—still nothing. She pulled her fingers away as if they had been burned.

“Lehr, could you find something . . .” Seraph's gaze scanned the room and brushed the corner where Tier's sword hung under Lehr's bow. The sword certainly had enough history for her to read. “The sword. Get the sword for me, please.”

“What's wrong?” asked Lehr as he took the sword down and brought it to her.

Seraph shook her head and took the sword and unsheathed it. “I don't know.” She set the bridle aside and lay the sword on the floor. She had to push Gura to get him out of the way, disturbing Jes, who sat up.

“Papa's sword,” he said.

She nodded absently at him and rubbed her fingers together lightly, waiting until she felt the magic ready and eager—just as it had been when she touched the bridle. She opened herself as widely as she could to the traces time left on objects and touched—death and darkness.

She had a moment of fiery pain as gold light gathered under her fingers, then it was gone. She opened her eyes and had the odd feeling that time had jumped without her noticing. Her ears rang, her elbow felt bruised, and she was lying back with her head on Jes's knee.