Pathways Page 11

  Emil stepped back as he started putting some very terrible pieces together. “And Ferris?”

  “He was horrified when they burned the bodies. Argued with Shea, and then he . . . just wasn’t here anymore. Shea said the Sunpriests took him, so it was time to cull the rest of them.”

  “And?”

  “No one’s seen a priest in a while. Sorry about your son . . . I’m sure he wanted to help them, and they killed him.”

  Emil doubted that very much. In fact, he was pretty sure he knew where his son was. “Drum—”

  :I found Syr!:

  He stopped in midsentence and put his hand to his temple. :And Ferris?:

  :I’m coming to get you. Meet me at the front gate!:

  “Are you feeling well, Emil?”

  “Yes, yes I’m fine. I think I’m going to rest before tonight’s performance. Please . . . do come to the inn tonight?”

  “I will. I enjoyed what you did before.”

  With the vial in his hand, Emil left the House of Healing and headed straight for the gate, making sure he kept close to the village walls and their shadows, so no one could see him. Once he was with Nythil, they rode like the wind southeast of Lisle.

  • • •

  At first, Emil thought Nythil was wrong as she trotted through a dense area of the forest and then stopped along a brook. The low branches blocked out most of the sun, creating a twinkling effect overhead. Flowers grew in abundance, tickling Emil’s nose as he dismounted and took a look around, hands on his hips. “I’m not really sure . . .” he whispered.

  “Father!”

  The sound of Ferris’ voice banished all doubt and sadness from his heart. He turned to see his son standing beside a tree—no, he was leaning heavily against it!

  Emil ran to his son and caught him before he fell forward. Ferris was warm in his arms—too warm. He was feverish and shaking. “Ferris? What’s wrong? Did the Sunpriests hurt you?”

  “Sun . . .” Ferris’s dark brows drew together over his bright blue eyes, now dulled with fever. “The Sunpriests?” Then he laughed. “There aren’t any Sunpriests. Not here. There never were.”

  “I’m . . . I don’t understand.”

  There was a movement beside him and Emil looked up to see Syr come into view. She looked a bit worn herself, her coat not as shiny and white. Worry swirled in her indigo eyes, and she dipped her head, nudging Ferris’s foot. His Whites were soiled and showed wear and tear.

  “What’s going on?” Emil asked. “Why are you ill?”

  “My malady isn’t as life threatening as theirs, Father.” He swallowed and made an attempt to stand on his own. He managed it after two tries and then reached out for the tree once again. “In the cave there, are . . . were . . . three families. All escaped from Karse, coming from Menmellith. They started with fifteen in their group, hoping to come to Valdemar for a new life.”

  “Magic?”

  “Was . . . of the families, two possessed Gifts. One had the ability to Heal to a much greater extent than me. The other, the oldest of the three fathers, had just a bit of Fetching. Not very strong, but enough to pull or push a cart out of the way when he really tried. Of course, the effort exhausted him. Smaller things were easier. I can only retell the tale I was given, I’m afraid. They are both dead.” Ferris put his hand on his Companion’s nose as she nuzzled his side. His dark hair was in disarray and hung over his brow. “Poisoned.”

  Immediately Emil thought of Drum. “The innkeeper, a woman named Shea—”

  “Merridens,” Ferris finished the name with a sneer. “Insisted there were Sunpriests raiding them. They stole things—attacked townspeople. I know. That’s why I was sent here, remember?” He coughed and gave his father a smile. “They were starving and came to ask for food. They met with the local Healer first, who told them to speak with Merridens. But she denied them anything. She recognized their clothing, knew they were from Karse, and sent them away.”

  “That’s . . . when they started stealing.”

  “Small things at first, yes. To survive. Halided, the father with Fetching, was good at remaining unseen as he pulled and pushed things to his children. He made a game of it, to cheer them up. They took materials from a few of the merchants, the ones who routinely ripped up surplus, and from Merridens’ inn. They didn’t steal her pantry stuffs, Father. They stole what she left out.” He closed his eyes. “Until they started getting sick.”

  Emil tightened his jaw.

  “The children succumbed first, and the Healer could mend or fix physical breaks. But not internal illnesses, not like that. Shortness of breath, sweats, lack of appetite. They couldn’t eat or drink water . . . they needed medicine.”

  “So they stole from Drum.”

  “Aye. They were able to take some before one of them was caught. He was only twenty, with no magic and no intent to harm, only to help. He was killed and buried in the woods by some of the villagers; Shea told them he was a Sunpriest. But then Shea’s daughter became ill, and she brought her to see Drum. Drum gave her medicine . . . but she died within twenty-four hours.” He sighed. “I came too late . . .” Ferris looked at his father, the rims of his eyes red. “All of this had occurred, and I only had what Drum and Shea said. That the Sunpriests had brought their demons with them and her child had died.”

  :You know the truth, don’t you?: Nythil said.

  Emil nodded. “She wasn’t wrong . . . but she wasn’t right, was she?”

  Ferris looked away. “When Tikal, the young man who made the last run for the medicine, took what he thought he needed, he . . . messed up Drum’s order. Drum can’t see that well . . .”

  “And he had his vials set out to make his potion.”

  Ferris nodded.

  Emil reached into his robes and retrieved the vial. “This is what he made the medicine with.”

  Ferris took the vial and looked at the marking. “Yes, but . . . where did you get this?”

  “It was on Drum’s shelf, and it wasn’t where it should be.”

  “Then she’s still doing it!” Ferris hissed.

  Emil touched his son’s arm. “Son . . .”

  “She’s poisoned them, don’t you see? Shea was poisoning the scraps, knowing these people were taking them. When I saw that vial and read the contents, I started asking questions. I found out they only took medicine after Shea realized they were stealing from her . . . stealing refuse!” He took his father’s arm. “I found dead animals in the woods, Father. Animals that had also fed from the tossed food. She poisoned them, and they came looking for medicine that should have been freely given.”

  Emil closed his eyes. :And inadvertently caused the accidental poisoning of Shea’s own daughter by moving Drum’s medicine around.:

  :Yes.:

  It was a tragedy within a tragedy, and if Emil had the gift of writing a song he would. He doubted he could put into words the sorrow he felt. The uselessness of what had happened.

  “Does Shea even know why her daughter died?”

  “I tried to tell her,” Ferris said. “After I found them here and heard their story. But she wouldn’t listen to me. She gave me fresh water for them and refused to believe me. Told me I was no longer welcome if I was going to help the Sunpriests.” He shook his head. “I’m such a trusting fool, Father. She poisoned the food . . .”

  Emil’s eyes widened. He shifted onto his knees and took his son by the shoulders. “She put something in the water?”

  “Yes. Luckily only I drank it. I poured it out when I noticed the taste, but not before I’d had enough to take hold. I know the poison, I know what she combined. The remedy is with Drum. But I haven’t the strength to ride into town and fight for it.”

  “Well, I do.” Emil stood and helped his son to his feet. “You’ll ride with me on Nythil. Syr can follow behind—”

  “No, F
ather. I can’t leave them.”

  Emil looked around when his son nodded to something behind him. There, standing only a few feet away, were four children, ranging in ages from twelve to perhaps seven. The youngest had her finger in her mouth, her other hand clutching the hand of a boy who was probably her brother. Emil gasped and looked back at his son, understanding everything now. “They’re . . . they’re all that’s left?”

  Ferris nodded. “I was able to take just enough medicine to heal only a few. They voted to save the children.”

  Emil looked at the children. How long had it been since they had bathed, or had a decent meal? “I’ll be back with medicine and food, Ferris. You’ll get well, and then we’ll take the children and leave this place. I have to tell the Queen what’s happened.”

  “The Queen has more pressing troubles now, Father.” Ferris smiled. “As Herald, I have the power to address this grievance myself and to right it. These children, and their parents, were not priests. They were just refugees, fighting to survive.” He looked at the children. “Abandoned and forgotten.”

  A plan, a decision was made in Emil’s mind, and approved by his Companion. He wasn’t sure how much of it was his and how much was Nythil’s. Either way, he needed to get back to Lisle. The sun was setting, and it would be dark by the time he arrived.

  He gave his son a hug, then gave him what few supplies he had, including a few apples he’d been saving for Nythil. “Rest, be ready.” With a last look at the children, he tousled the hair on the oldest and mounted Nythil.

  • • •

  The waning moon was high when Emil came into the side gate of Lisle. The guard there seemed happy to see him, explaining that Merridens had been looking for him and wanted a report the moment he returned.

  “Did she say why?”

  “I assumed because the tavern’s crowded—they really want you to play. I think everyone in town is there.”

  Emil cursed in his mind.

  :You could use this to your advantage.:

  He looked at his Companion. :Oh? Do tell?:

  After Nythil explained the advantage, Emil smiled and put a hand on the guard’s arm. “Yes, I am indeed to play for your wonderful town. But I do need a few favors beforehand—think of it as a surprise. Do you think you could help me?”

  “I’d be honored—but shouldn’t I tell Miss Merridens?”

  “Oh, no, no. That would ruin the surprise!” Emil gave the guard a list of things he needed, and the guard assured him he could have everything in a half-hour. Emil made plans to meet him back at the gate at that time.

  Nythil remained outside the gate, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, which could be difficult for a bright white Companion. Emil headed to the Healing House and found the powders his son needed. Once he had everything neatly and securely packed into a canvas bag, he returned to the gate.

  The guard showed up just before time, with two packs in tow. Emil checked the contents. “And you’re sure these did not come from the inn? Wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

  “Positive.”

  “Good man.” Emil strapped the packs and the medicine to Nythil’s back and kissed her neck. :Be careful.:

  :You as well. I have the easy part in this.: And she took off into the night.

  “Did your horse just run away?” The guard looked and sounded surprised.

  “No. She’s finishing an errand. Now,” he patted the guard’s back. “I have a performance to give.”

  • • •

  “Where were you?” Shea asked in a low whisper after Emil entered the tavern to cheers and raised tankards. He’d changed into his performance clothing. His graying hair, held back in its silver band, added to the colors that made his blue eyes stand out.

  “I went looking for my son,” he said as he removed his lute from its wrapping. More cheers.

  “And?” Her eyes widened.

  “Listen and learn,” he said as he waved at the crowd.

  Emil sat on a stool set out by the hearth and tuned quickly before he jumped right into his old repertoire of bawdy tavern songs. The mood in the room joined in raucous laughter and cheer, in camaraderie and happiness. When he was done with the list, he could feel them united, their prejudices and petty differences put away. They were ready. Primed.

  Even Shea Merridens, whose previous apprehension seemed to have dissolved.

  “Now, if you will all indulge me,” he returned quickly as he spoke. “I have an old song—the first one I learned when I started my lessons at the Collegium. Many of the songs we’re taught there are in themselves parables. Teaching songs. Stories set to rhythm and verse. Since it’s been . . .” he rolled his eyes, “a very long time since I played,” laughter from the audience, “I’d like to play it once again.”

  “What’s it called?” said one of the patrons.

  “A Herald’s Duty.” Emil began picking the strings with his fingers and then closed his eyes as the tune flowed from his heart, to his fingers, and through the music.

  The song spoke of an injured man on the road, his clothing filthy, his body covered in sores and festering wounds. Those traveling the road recognized him as a thief and moved away from him.

  Several travelers saw him and refused to help. First was a merchant whose wares this man had taken. The second, an innkeeper whose food he had stolen. And the third a Healer whose medicines he’d removed.

  There was a fourth man, a Herald, who also recognized the man as someone who’d stolen his lute. His emotions at the loss of his most valuable possession ran high, but as a Herald, the Queen had tasked him with the highest of priorities. The Kingdom and her subjects, first. Know and exhibit kindness, forgiveness, and charity.

  So the Herald turned back and helped the man—and thus learned the truth.

  The man had a family, deep in the woods, but had no job, no means of making the coin to provide. So he’d stolen the merchant’s cast off fabrics so his wife could sew their daughter clothing to keep warm. He took the scraps thrown out by the innkeeper to feed his wife and child. And when his daughter became sick from the rotting scraps, he stole medicine from the Healer to make her well.

  “‘And what of my lute?’ the Herald asked.” Emil sang to an enraptured audience. He looked up to see the door open behind Shea. The innkeeper stepped aside as Ferris, pale and slow-moving, but already looking better, guided the four children into the tavern.

  The audience looked in puzzlement at the children and then back at Emil, who finished: “‘I took the lute so my child could sing.’” He ran through an emotional riff of notes before he looked at them all and said, “Before you stands what is left of the alleged Sunpriests, people of Lisle.”

  Ferris stepped forward, and to Emil’s surprise, Drum stood and joined him as he addressed the people. Ferris told of the plight of three families, their need addressed to the innkeeper, the merchant, and the Healer. Of how their parents stole to protect their families.

  And how the food taken from the inn was poisoned.

  All the while Emil played his lute, keeping the emotions even as revelation could sometimes be volatile.

  And when Ferris was done, and Emil ended the song, the people stood and surrounded the children. They spoke to them, hugged them, and then as a group, took them away from the inn until all that was left was Shea, and Drum.

  Emil put his lute away and joined his son, giving him a hug.

  “I—I didn’t know . . .” Shea said, her voice faint and shaken. “I was so angry at my daughter’s death . . .”

  Did she understand her true role in her daughter’s end? Emil didn’t know. He made the decision to leave things as they were now and guided his son out of the inn. Drum followed them, and together they walked into the House of Healing.

  But it would take much more than what the Heralds could do for the village of Lisle.

>   It would take compassion, forgiveness, and time.

  Woven Threads of Love and Honor

  Dayle A. Dermatis

  Her boots crunching with every step, Syrriah carefully picked her way across the hard-packed snow covering the path between the stables and Heralds’ Collegium. It was cold enough to snatch her breath away. The heavy wool coat she wore over her Trainee Grays protected her from the worst of the chill, along with the knit cap pulled low on her head, the scarf wound around her neck and face, and the fur-lined deerskin gloves.

  Yesterday the weather had warmed slightly, and then the temperature had dropped again last night, leaving everything covered with a slick sheen. After weeks of gray skies, the sun had come out today, and she squinted, half-blinded, against the glittering world of white while carefully placing each foot before moving forward.

  At her age, a fall would take time to recover from. Not that she was old, exactly, but nearing fifty years meant her body just didn’t heal as fast from injuries, and her hip was already bothering her anyway. Still, in less than a year since she’d been Chosen, her body had changed, thanks to the physical practice required of a Herald Trainee. She’d always been active, although in her previous life as the lady of a manor holding, she hadn’t had much need for intense physical labor. The challenges here had brought her to a new level, and she’d become more toned, gained more stamina and strength. The new curve of muscle at the back of each arm was a revelation.

  The winter air was crisp and clear, carrying murmurs and occasional shouts from the students streaming in from different directions: the dormitories, the stables, the salle. Syrriah could still smell the warm, comforting, horsey scent of her Companion, Cefylla. (Not that Cefylla would ever stand for being referred to as a horse; Companions might be horse-shaped, but they were so very much more.) She’d lingered too long with Cefylla, making sure her mash had been warmed, running the currycomb over her coat, and just . . . being.

  With Cefylla, she never felt lonely.

  Ahead, Syrriah saw her daughter Natalli, her head tucked so close to her friend Keliana’s that their hair seemed to mingle, blond curls with short, dark brown waves. Her son Benlan was also there, striding without fear of slipping in a group of three other boys, laughing. She resisted the urge to call out to them. They would always and forever be her children, but here they were fellow Herald-Trainees.