Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar Page 12

  “And you think he paid enough attention to you to remember what you look like?” Samira laughed. “The way you dress when you’re working at the temple, I’d be surprised if he noticed you were female. He won’t remember you because he probably didn’t notice you in the first place. Unless he thought you would be useful to him, he wouldn’t have really looked at you.”

  “You said ‘probably’—can we really afford to risk it? Especially if I’m the only one who can do this?”

  “We’ve got a Herald Trainee who comes from a family of Players,” Samira said. “We’ll dress you up, fix your hair, and he and I will teach you how to act highborn. Then we’ll bring you to court and let you encounter Markus and his so-called religion.”

  Maia was a quick study, and Robin, the Herald Trainee, and Samira were good tutors—and Samira actually was highborn, a fact which Maia had not known before. Samira persuaded one of her cousins to sponsor Maia at Court, and two weeks later, Markus encountered her at a musical evening. She was dressed in black, complete with a light veil, and sitting on the sidelines. A lady in mourning could listen to music, but not dance. So when he asked her to dance, she politely refused on the grounds of the recent death of her brother. Markus promptly declared he would sit out the dance in her company, seated himself in the next chair, stared into her eyes—as best he could through the veil—as if he found her fascinating, and then proceeded to talk about himself.

  :Typical of the type,: a disgusted voice sounded in her head.

  :Clyton? Why are you listening in?: Maia was careful to keep her face blank and her eyes on Markus.

  :It’s just a precaution,: Clyton replied. :Samira wouldn’t like it if anything happened to you, and she can’t link to you.:

  He fell silent after that, but Maia could feel his presence. She found it rather comforting, especially since further contact with Markus was bearing out her initial impression that snakes had warmer personalities.

  But now he was touching on the subject that interested her. “Have you had prayers said for your brother?” he asked.

  Maia lowered her head as if in shame and tried to blush, although she couldn’t tell if she was successful or not. “I mean to,” she said softly, “but I haven’t yet. His death was so sudden and such a shock, and then I was ill for a time . . . ” She let her voice trail off hoping that she sounded feeble and not too bright.

  “Perhaps other members of your family—or his friends—had prayers said for him.”

  “He and I were all that was left of our family,” Maia murmured, “and his friends were—um, they died at the same time he did. I’m afraid that my brother was not a very good man,” she added earnestly, “so he could use prayers.”

  Markus picked up his cue and told her all—well, all he wanted her to know—about the Brotherhood of the Bereaved.

  She looked up at Markus from under her lashes. “Could you and your Brotherhood say prayers for my brother? It would be such a comfort to me.”

  “Of course we could,” Markus said promptly. “I would be happy to comfort you.” He paused and continued with feigned awkwardness. “There are expenses: candles, incense, that sort of thing.”

  “I would be happy to make an offering to cover the cost of supplies in return for your prayers.” Maia said. “I’ll send a servant with the money tomorrow. Can you pray for him tomorrow night? I feel horrible for having left it so long . . . .”

  “Tomorrow night,” Markus said in the tones of a solemn promise. “It is a dreadful thing to lose your last family member, especially when it is sudden and you have had no time to become accustomed to the idea. Was it a sudden illness? An accident?”

  “No.” Maia turned her head, as if something across the room had caught her attention, and spoke in an absent-minded voice. “He fell in with a group of bandits, and they were all executed.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught his quickly hidden smile of satisfaction. :Do you think he’ll try to blackmail me with that?: she asked Clyton.

  :Does it snow in Sorrows in the winter?:

  Maia had grown up at the edge of the Forest of Sorrows, where they had been snowed-in at least one each winter. Fortunately she managed to get her handkerchief in front of her face in time to make her choking appear to be sobs of grief, rather than hoots of laughter.

  The next day she sent Robin, dressed as a page for the occasion, to Markus’ house with the promised offering and a note, reminding Markus of his promise to say prayers for her brother than night. The note was dated, both Samira and Robin read it before Robin left, and Maia kept a copy.

  One of the crows followed Robin, and when Markus went out immediately after Robin left, the crow followed Markus. Maia remained in her room watching through the crow’s eyes as Markus moved about town. She noted that he was spending his time going from tavern to tavern with his friends, rather than entering any shop that might sell either candles or incense.

  Of course, that’s not proof, she reminded herself. He could have a supply at home.

  But when he and his friends wove their way back to his house and continued their drinking in the drawing room, she could watch his every move along with the finches. The nearest anyone came to a prayer—before they all passed out—was “Gods, this is good brandy”—as if, she thought, they were sober enough to tell brandy from dishwater.

  She saw Markus at court the next night and asked if he had said the prayers for her brother.

  “Of course,” he replied superciliously, as if insulted that she would even ask.

  “That’s not true,” she said. “I may not be Gifted enough to do anything important, but I do have enough of a Gift to know that you are lying to me.”

  He gripped her forearms hard enough to leave bruises. “You are not going to say that to anyone,” he whispered harshly, “and you are going to continue to make offerings for prayers for your brother.”

  “Why would I do that if you’re not saying the prayers I’m giving you money for?”

  “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell everyone that your brother was executed as a bandit.”

  :What a surprise.: Clyton’s voice in her head was sardonic in the extreme.

  :I’m shocked, simply shocked,: she replied in a similar tone.

  “Do we have an understanding?” Markus snapped.

  “I understand,” Maia replied. But I don’t think you do.

  Pretending to be upset, she fled the room and went out into the gardens. From there it was a simple matter to disappear into the Companions’ Field, where Robin and Samira were waiting with Clyton and Robin’s Companion.

  “One good thing about wearing mourning,” Maia remarked, “it makes it fairly simple to vanish into dark shrubbery.” She tossed back her veil and grinned at Samira. “Sort of the opposite of your Whites.”

  “Whites are useful if you want to vanish into a crowd of Heralds,” Robin quipped.

  “Wait until you have to try to keep them clean,” Samira advised him. “Clyton told us what happened. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll have bruises on my forearms tomorrow,” Maia said, “but other than that, I’m fine.”

  “Will you really?” Samira and Robin exchanged glances.

  Maia shoved back her left sleeve. “See? The skin’s bruising already.”

  “So it is,” Samira said, bending her head to inspect it.

  “You don’t have to sound so delighted.”

  “It’s not that you were injured,” Samira said, “I’m delighted that we’ve got visible evidence. Of course, this means we’ll have to get this on the docket for tomorrow’s court.”

  “Can we get a case heard that quickly?” Maia asked.

  “Not in the City Courts,” Robin said, “and the Court of Justice would be iffy—”

  “And do you think that Markus would be willing to present himself before either of them?” Samira said, mocking the snobbish tones of the worst of the highborn.

  “Not unless you dragged him by the hair,” Maia sa
id. “So what do you have in mind?”

  “The Royal Court,” Samira said. “Markus is already appearing there tomorrow.”

  “He is?” Robin said.

  “That’s right,” Maia suddenly remembered. “He needs royal consent to his betrothal. He was talking about what a stupid nuisance it was.”

  Samira nodded. “I’ll talk to the King’s Own, and make sure that you’re called right before he is.”

  The two girls grinned at each other, and Robin said softly, “I’d pity the guy—if he didn’t so thoroughly deserve this.”

  The next day Maia, dressed in yet another black gown supplied by someone in Samira’s far-flung family, sat quietly off to the side of the audience chamber. The bruises had come up nicely overnight; she had a set of fingerprints on each arm, and the sleeves of the dress were loose enough to slide up to her elbows. Samira was there to support her, too; Maia saw her with a group of Heralds on the other side of the room.

  She had sent a note by one of the crows to the priest who supervised her work at the temple, telling him that she would be gone at least one more day but that she hoped to return after today’s Court. The Brethren at the Temple of Thenoth had been kind to her, and she felt bad about leaving them without her work as long as she had, so she had made it a practice to send a report every few days. She knew the crows had been delivering her messages faithfully, but she was astonished, as she looked around the room, to see the Prior standing quietly near the back, chatting with what appeared to be priests representing several of Haven’s temples.

  The king came in then, and the formal business of the Court began. By the time her name was called, Maia was starting to feel decidedly nervous. She walked forward reminding herself of the pain and terror visited on the charm of finches—and of Samira’s advice, “just stand up straight and tell the truth.”

  As concisely as she could, Maia told her story: that she had paid Markus to say prayers for her dead brother, that he had claimed to have done so when he had not, and how he had threatened and injured her when she confronted him about it.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her,” Markus snapped. “She’s just a low-born liar. Her brother was executed as a bandit!”

  “I am willing to repeat everything I have just said under Truth Spell,” Maia said, looking at the king. “Is he?”

  “Lord Markus?” the king asked.

  “Why should I be put to such indignity?” Markus demanded indignantly. “I’m high-born; does my word of honor mean nothing?”

  “Was that a no?” the king asked, in a tone that strongly suggested that it had better not have been. “I would like to hear your explanation of the bruises on her arms.” He turned to the King’s Own. “Truth Spell, please.”

  Samira had set a Truth Spell on Maia the night before so that Maia would know what to expect. She couldn’t feel anything, but she could see a blue glow over Markus’s head and knew that there was one over her head as well. At the king’s nod Maia repeated her story.

  Markus tried to bluff his way out. “Her brother was executed as a bandit,” he started, and Maia could see that the blue glow remained steady. It was, after all, the truth. “Why should I bother to say prayers for him?” Markus continued. “It’s not as if he deserved them!”

  “Did you say prayers for him?”

  “No!” The blue glow was steady. “What difference does it make, anyway? Does anyone really believe that there are gods or that they care what men do?”

  Maia stared at him wide-eyed. How can he not believe? she wondered. He’s been in the Temple of Thenoth—couldn’t he feel the Peace of the God?

  “So you have taken money for prayers you have not said to gods you do not believe in,” the king said. “Is that what you are telling us?”

  “Really,” Markus sneered. “Who cares?” Then a puzzled look came over his face, and he crumpled to the ground.

  Maia stepped quickly aside as a Healer rushed forward and knelt beside Markus. After a moment he shook his head a looked up at the king. “He’s dead, Your Majesty.”

  The king sighed and rose to his feet. “Court is dismissed for today. We will arrange for restitution to be made from his estate.” He withdrew, and the room erupted into dozens of conversations as soon as the doors closed behind him.

  Samira crossed to Maia. “Are you all right?”

  “I think so,” Maia said unsteadily. “What happened to him?”

  “His heart stopped,” the Healer said. “It’s not the first time this has happened to a young man in his family.”

  “Why does he still have the blue glow?” Maia wondered aloud.

  “I guess he must be truly dead,” the King’s Own said with morbid humor. “Odd. I’ve never heard of anyone dying while Truth Spell was on them; I would have expected the spell to end.” He turned to Maia. “I’ll take it off now.”

  The Prior of the Temple of Thenoth and several of the other priests joined them then.

  “The gods are not mocked,” one of the priests remarked.

  The Prior was more practical. “Are you ready to come home now, Maia?”

  “Oh, yes,” she said fervently.

  Samira came to the temple the next day to return the money that Maia had paid to Markus. “Today seems to be my day to make restitution for Markus; I’ve just returned the diary to its rightful owner.”

  “Good,” Maia said. “Do you think the gods really did strike him down?”

  “Only they know, but if I were you, I’d say prayers for your brother at a real temple.”

  Maia nodded. “The Prior is helping me arrange it.” She grinned suddenly. “We just got a new Novice here. It turns out that the reason Lena was so upset when Aurelia was hurt is that she’s developing Animal Mindspeech. She hid Dexter in her room while I was away at Court, and he convinced her that this was the best place to live in all of Haven.”

  Samira started laughing. “Did her birds come with her, too?”

  “Absolutely. In addition to its storytelling of crows, the Temple of Thenoth now has a charm of finches.”

  Healing In White

  Kristin Schwengel

  Shia felt herself shrinking, trying to be small and unnoticeable on Eodan’s back, the closer they got to the Collegium. Haven by itself was an overwhelming riddle of streets and crowds to one who had spent the whole of her remembered life in the small mountain town of Breyburn. But going to the place of the Heralds, going to be a Herald, was beyond overwhelming.

  :And don’t you say that I’ll be fine,: she grumbled in Mindspeech.

  :I wouldn’t!: the Companion—her Companion—responded in the over-bright voice that made it clear he had been about to do exactly that. :Although I think you’re worrying too much—people are still people, in Haven and in Breyburn. Rain, on the other hand, is very different.:

  Shia almost laughed aloud at the rueful tone of his Mindvoice. Eodan had not cared for the rainy season in Breyburn, for after he had braved the violent storms to reach the village and Choose her, he had been forced to wait the last two months of the season before the roads became passable enough for him to bring her back to Haven. To the Collegium. To—Shia cut off that thought, refusing to probe again the hollowness that threatened to swell up within her at the thought of the last person from Breyburn to have made this ride on a glistening white back. Instead she looked up from her fixed view of Eodan’s neck, and at once regretted it. While she had been lost in her thoughts, Eodan had brought her to the very heart of Haven—the spires of the palace he had shown her in mind-pictures now rose before her in enormous reality.

  :The King’s Own’s Companion knows that we are near, and he will make sure a Herald or a Trainee comes to greet us and help you get settled in.: There was a subtle note of hope and excitement in his Mindvoice, and she knew that he was looking forward to their arrival.

  :What will you do?: she asked. :While I am studying? Where will you be?: A sudden shiver of nervousness gripped her—she, who had been so alone for those year
s after her mother’s death, and yet never felt the pain of loneliness.

  Eodan tossed his head, making his harness-bells jingle loud enough to draw the attention of those around them. :I’ll be part of your training, of course. And when I’m not, I’ll be in Companions’ Field, ready to meet you. After having made you wait so long for me, Chosen, I’m not going to abandon you!:

  As they neared the Collegium’s gates, Shia saw a Companion waiting, a figure in Whites standing beside, and with a sharp pang lancing through her, she knew.

  “Teo,” she whispered, and with the name, the hollow pain flooded in to overwhelm her other thoughts and worries.

  Eodan was silent as she stiffened in the saddle, and she felt a wave of comfort and reassurance from him. He slowed his pace, but as they approached near enough that she could almost make out Teo’s features, sudden panic gripped her.

  :I—I need a moment . . . : Even her Mindvoice seemed faint. Eodan stopped, and the other Companion shifted sideways, drawing Teo’s attention away from the newest Chosen. Shia took the brief opportunity to slide gratefully from Eodan’s back. Her knees wobbled, but somehow it was better to have Eodan’s warm bulk beside her to lean against. Reaching up to knot her fingers in his silky mane, she walked forward.

  :Shield, Chosen,: Eodan reminded her, and she went through the exercise he had taught her in those rainy months in Breyburn, wrapping the calm stillness of her herb room around her as they neared the gate.

  “Eodan! You’re back at last—you’ve been gone for months! How far did you have to go to find your Chosen?” Teo twisted his head to look around the Companion’s body, his eyes meeting hers at last.

  “Breyburn, during the rains,” Shia said with a slight smile. “We had to wait them out.” She took in a slow breath, glad her voice had not quivered.

  Teo stared, stunned, as the silence between them stretched. “Shia?” he managed in a strangled voice, and his Companion nudged against him and snorted.