“Bring your message then,” Talha shouted. “And then be on your way. You have delayed us. I would know your name so that I may speak to the Patrons of House Kelkott upon my return to Estrelar.”
Lhaurel saw the woman flinch as if struck even though she was still a few dozen spans away.
“A thousand pardons, Honored Sister,” the woman shouted, though her voice was far more subdued than it had been. “I am Elva, of the Kelkott Plantation. I did only as bidden by your Sisters.”
It was only because Lhaurel was standing so close to Talha she saw the muscles in Talha’s jaw firm and the set of her shoulders square off.
“Elva of the Kelkott Plantation, I bid you not to speak further until I have read the message you have brought. Displease me further and there will be consequences. Do not forget to whom you presume to speak.”
The woman bowed her head and sank to her knees in the longboat, causing it to rock. Her red hair draped down over her face as if she were weeping. Perhaps she was.
The captain was far enough back now that he wouldn’t overhear. Only a single priestess of each of theirs remained close. Lhaurel didn’t recognize either of them.
“What’s going on?” Lhaurel whispered to Talha.
“I don’t know.”
The longboat pulled alongside and several sailors threw out a net before clambering down it to the craft below, securing it to the net with some rope.. The woman, Elva, climbed up, Lhaurel looking down over the side of the craft to watch. Talha frowned at her, but Lhaurel didn’t really care. This wasn’t something she’d ever seen before, in either memory. Elva was clad much like the other sailors, in loose pants that clung at the waist and ankles, with a loose greyish shirt tied up the front and flaring at the wrists. However, she also wore a bright purple vest festooned with golden buttons and several curious symbols embroidered into the cloth. She also had a number of necklaces, rings, and earrings adorning her neck, fingers, and ears, respectively. Her nails were painted the same red color as was her hair. And her skin was as pale and soft looking as a newborn lamb’s. Lhaurel felt contempt well up in her as fiercely as she’d ever felt the emotion.
Once on the deck, Elva pulled a small roll of paper tied with twine from her belt and held it up in the air before her on an upraised palm. She kept her eyes downcast, fixed on the wooden board of the deck. Talha gestured and one of her priestesses took the scroll from the woman’s palm and handed over to her with a bow. Talha took it in one hand, then looked over at Elva.
“You are dismissed, woman. Take your boats and return to the ships. If you and yours are not out of my way by the time we are ready to sail again, I will sink your ships where they stand.”
Elva nodded, her red hair cascading down over her face, and bowed so low that her hair touched the wooden deck. She was back over the side and headed down the net in moments. Lhaurel itched to watch her go, part of her wanting to see her topple into the waters below, but Talha was in the process of shaking open the rolled up scroll. The Sister’s eyes darted over the page and her expression darkened perceptibly. After a moment, she crumpled the note in one hand and tossed it over the side of the ship.
“What did you do that for?” Lhaurel said, moving over to the rail. The wadded paper bobbed on the surface for several long moments about twenty feet below her, then the water soaked it and it sank beneath the slowly lapping waves.
Talha ignored her.
“Captain,” she said, voice cracking like a whip. “Make for the shore. If the other ships don’t move out of the way in time, ram them.”
The captain gulped visibly and nodded, his hat a crumpled mess in his hands.
“What’s going on, Talha?” Lhaurel asked.
Talha spun, her staff spinning in her hand. The reddish orb on the end of the staff stopped an inch from Lhaurel’s nose.
“We need to get to Estrelar. Now.”
“There is no clear designation in the histories of this or any other people regarding the emergence of the belief in the renewal of lives and its role in the movement and advancement of magical abilities within our people.”
—From the Discourses on Knowledge, Volume 15, Year 1023
Gavin strode along the rocky path, boots crunching against the loose rock and dirt. Above him in the darkened skies, the moon shone almost full, lighting the pathway enough to see by. He pulled his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and adjusted the ties fastening it closed. Despite initially disliking the heavy garment, he’d grown quite fond of the deep brown cloak. It kept him warm and provided a measure of concealment during dark nights such as these.
Since that first walk on the night after Samsin had been tried, Gavin had made a habit of walking the length of the valley when everyone else had long since slipped into the comforting embrace of sleep. But for Gavin, sleep was elusive at best. There was simply too much on his mind. The long walks helped him sort through his jumbled thoughts and focus on what needed to be done. It was an entirely different problem from what he’d faced in the Oasis and he worried he was inadequate for the task.
He sighed and his breath puffed out before him in a little misty cloud.
Since Brisson had finally relented to the patrols, Gavin had spent the remainder of the day organizing duties with Cobb and Evrouin and making sure they had the right people to go on the patrols with them. Cobb, oddly enough, had been far more difficult to convince to allow women into the patrol groups than Evrouin, but had eventually relented when his wife had pulled him aside and spoken with him. Gavin wasn’t sure what she’d said, but Cobb had been unusually silent ever since.
From there, he’d met with Farah to see what she’d need to start working with the mystics and if she would require more assistance in the eyrie. Farah had been distant over the last few days, but she’d assured him that she had all she needed for both duties she’d been given and would keep him updated if she needed anything. Then she’d kissed him.
His feelings toward her were a jumble of new emotions, which only served to make his thoughts all the more lethargic and he was never entirely certain where their relationship was at or if they even had one at all. Farah did things her own way and in her own time and Gavin was loathe to upset that.
After his talk with Farah, Shallee had volunteered to organize the remainder of the work details. The former outcast was a steady rock upon which Gavin found himself relying more and more. Even with a small babe in her arms practically at all times, she found the time to talk with him and anyone else who came along. She went out of her way to visit Alyson in the medical building and look in on the wounded and frostbitten. She visited the mothers and children of the Rahuli people and, with all that, got less sleep than any of them.
Then there was Darryn. The swarthy man hadn’t been anywhere Gavin or Benji could find once the meeting with Brisson had concluded, nor had Farah been able to find him when she’d gathered the new mystics together for their first meeting since joining Brisson’s people in the valley. Gavin wanted to know what the man had been up to outside the valley, especially after the argument the two of them had a few days previously. It was partly to search for him that Gavin was out walking again, searching the valley.
Gavin worked his way down the path, following the ridgeline of the rocky shelf that bisected the valley. All the main buildings rested up on the higher ridge, an area that stretched back for several miles until it hit the mountains once again where the new eyrie lay. The lower part of the valley, below the ridge, was a rock-strewn strip of land that hugged the side of two mountains for several miles before ending in a box canyon. There was no way in or out, according to Benji, which is why the former slaves kept their herds of cattle and gatheriu—whatever those were—down there. Gavin thought it the perfect place to look for someone who didn’t want to be found.
In truth, that wasn’t the only reason he was walking tonight. Outside of the stress of getting the patrols taken care of, Gavin couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was going to go wrong. He knew, logically, that they were safer now than they’d ever been, but part of him felt as if something else was coming just over the horizon, the feeling that someone was watching him but was gone as soon as he turned around to see who it was.
“Nonsense,” Gavin muttered to himself as he walked. “Everything is fine . . .”
He trailed off.
Something moved in the darkness further down the valley. Cattle perhaps? A light flared up and Gavin heard the distant sound of a striker being used a moment later.
Not cattle.
Gavin dropped a hand to his greatsword, squinting into the darkness. It was clearly a man, but the distance was too great to see who it was. The figure remained swathed in shadow and indistinct light. Thankfully, whoever it was wasn’t moving. The small bubble of light from the lantern remained stationary. Licking his lips, Gavin crept closer.
“You can stop trying to be silent in your movements,” a familiar voice said from behind him. “You make more noise than a bull after a cow in season.”
Gavin spun, but only made it halfway through the turn when a hand reached out and grasped the wrist of his swordhand before he could finish drawing his sword. The hand was like iron.
Gavin looked up into Tadeo’s expressionless face. “What’re you doing out here?” Gavin asked, only partially relaxing. His heart raced and blood pounded in his ears.
“I live here,” Tadeo said, releasing Gavin’s hand and walking around him. “Put the sword away. This thing is not needed.”
Gavin frowned at the man’s accent. It was heavy and thick like the rest of Brisson’s people, but completely different at the same time. And the way he spoke left out common words or else replaced them with others completely.
“You live here?”
The man kept right on walking. A mixture of curiosity and pragmatism drove Gavin after the man.
“You live here?” Gavin asked, catching up.
Tadeo grunted. “Is this not what I just said?”
“I mean,
why
do you live here?”
“This thing is no secret. I am not of the same people as the former slaves from the plantations. They do not like me. For this thing, I live apart.”
Gavin frowned. The light from the lantern ahead of them flickered, the rays now strong enough to touch Tadeo’s scarred, angular face and dance across his beard.
“Wait,” Gavin said. “If you’re here, who lit the lamp?”
Tadeo didn’t answer. Gavin looked away from the man toward where the light originated, noticing the outline of a small hut nestled up against a massive boulder and the silhouettes of several smaller boulders in a half circle around it. The lamp lay in the middle of the cluster of rocks and buildings, like a small, contained fire. The mysterious figure that had originally been outlined in the light was nowhere to be seen.
As they entered the circle of boulders, Gavin noticed signs of a permanent residence. The remnants of a fire lay in a smaller circle of stones next to where the lamp sat on the ground. A pile of firewood lay stacked up against the side of the small hut and the ground around them was well trod, pounded flat and firm by constant use.
“Sit,” Tadeo said, pointing with one thick finger to a spot near the lamp. “There is much to speak about.”
Gavin sat, curiously watching as Tadeo strode to the wood pile, selected an array of logs, and proceeded to make a fire, using the lamp to light it. The wood lit, he doused the lamp.
“Among my people,” Tadeo said, firelight flickering off his deep-set, slightly too-large eyes, “to share a fire with someone is great honor. This thing is a showing of trust. Is making you family.”
Gavin ran a hand over his beard, hiding a frown of confusion. “Thank you?” Gavin said.
Tadeo didn’t shift his steady, appraising eyes. Hard eyes, like Khari’s had been. Like his grandmother’s.
“We are not with my family. This thing is not the same. Still, I am glad you came. I offer you a piece of my fire so that we may talk and learn more of one another.”
Gavin sensed Tadeo was testing him somehow, but didn’t know either the question or the appropriate answer, so he simply nodded. Tadeo gave no sign that Gavin’s response was either appropriate or offensive.
“Brisson has made you leader of patrols outside this valley. You will tell me why he did this thing.” It was not a question.
“He didn’t give me permission,” Gavin said. “I informed him that my people and I would be patrolling. As I recall you once saying, my people are warriors. These former slaves are not.” Gavin grimaced. “Do they even have a name they call themselves?”
Tadeo grunted. “They do not have a name. This thing is reason why they are not warriors, I think. They do not know how to act as one people. They follow a man who has not ever held a sword, nor felt the thrill of protecting his own home. This people follows a man who is afraid. Fear cannot create strength or unity.”
Gavin crossed his legs beneath himself and arched his back, glancing away from the fire and allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness again. At least, as much as they could so close to the fire’s light. Stars glinted in the inky blackness above him.
“I wouldn’t call him afraid,” Gavin said carefully, still looking up in to the night sky. “He’s a man who has no idea what he’s doing and so tries to do it all. I understand a bit of that burden.”
“But you learned that this thing is not right. Brisson does not. You are a better leader of your people. Brisson knows this thing. He fears what his people will see. For this reason he has given you cause to be away from their sight.”
Gavin straightened and looked over at Tadeo. “Why would he have gone through all the trouble of avoiding me if that were true? If he’d wanted me out of the way, why wouldn’t he have just given in early on and let me organize the patrols like I wanted to? It was obvious what I wanted from the start.”
Tadeo retrieved another log for the fire and placed it in the flames where it would catch before answering. Sparks rose into the air in a cascade of red and yellow.
“He cannot appear to be weak,” Tadeo said. “Or agree that you are a good leader. To do this thing as you suggest would have been to show his people that you were better than he, that he needed you. Now, after waiting, this thing will look as if you are helping him.”
“And why would that matter?”
“You are smart man. You know the answer to this thing. You are the Rahuli, the Survivors, the winners of the War of Deliverance. You are legends.”
Gavin frowned. He’d thought only Benji and the other children thought that way about him and his people. None of the others had acted like Gavin was anyone important, not that he recalled anyway. Then Gavin remembered his run-in with the guards the night after Samsin’s trial. Perhaps Tadeo had a point. With some of it, anyway. Gavin didn’t know if he entirely believed the level of forethought and craftiness Tadeo was implying Brisson had. The man was smart, yes, but his actions were those of a tired, frustrated man overworked and under too much responsibility. Wasn’t he? Gavin shook his head and looked over at Tadeo, who was still standing on the other side of the fire. Gavin suddenly felt very foolish sitting while the other man stood.
“Why do you live out here?” Gavin asked. It was more of an attempt to change the topic of conversation than anything else. Gavin glanced back the way he had come, not sure if he should find a way to leave or not. He needed to speak with him about the coming patrols still, but wasn’t sure he wanted to keep talking to the man. The intensity of Tadeo’s gaze made him extremely uncomfortable.
Tadeo glanced around the small space, then back at Gavin. “I am not important, like the Rahuli. I was once a warrior for the Seven Sisters. They fear me, even as they use me. Brisson knows I am a warrior and for this he makes me lead. This thing is alright.”
“You were a Bleeder?” Gavin asked, surprise evident in his voice.
“This thing is true.”
“How did you get here?”
Tadeo shook his head, for the first time showing some measure of emotion as he frowned. “I will not be telling you my story. This thing is personal and we are not friends. We are warriors together but, among my people, that is not the same thing.”
“Your people? You’re not an Orinai then?” Gavin asked. The answer was obvious. With his too-big eyes, angular features, and lithe, wiry build, the man looked nothing like either Samsin or Nikanor, but also bore little resemblance to Brisson’s people and the former slaves.
“My people, the Sensari, are no more,” Tadeo said, eyes shifting skyward. “They have become a part of the Path. They will guide me home one day.”
Gavin ran a hand across his beard again. How many different races were there? Orinai, Rahuli, nameless slave races, and now Tadeo’s people. Gavin wondered how much more was out there that he didn’t even know to ask about, let alone be familiar with.
“Well,” Gavin said, getting to his feet and brushing off his cloak where some dirt and leaves had stuck to it. “It was nice talking to you, but—”
Tadeo held up a hand and Gavin stopped halfway through the act of standing and finishing his sentence.