Pathways Page 6

  Lia screamed as one arrow glanced off the top of her back and the other lodged in the muscle of her left haunch. Neither hit the boy. Both spurred her into a gallop. She knew she was better and faster than a normal horse. She’d never had a reason to test that until now.

  As Owen pressed himself close to Lia’s neck, he felt an echo of her pain. It was a throb in his left butt and hip as if he was lying on a rock. The pain, while distant, was familiar. The sound of a bow string snapping pushed him into that familiarity. :Run. Run!:

  He’d run like this before, on the back of a horse . . . a Companion . . . who was not Lia. But he knew her into the depths of his soul. They’d fled the enemy, the darkness that had come for them.

  Lia traveled back along that path with him. She’d fled at Owen’s side. Not as a Companion . . . but as his sister.

  The moment of realization lasted a thousand years. They once had been brother and sister. Twins. Chosen by twin Companions. And hunted by demons . . . Killed by monsters. They’d each died alone. Reborn separately. Recast as Chosen and Companion. Reunited at last.

  And hunted once more.

  :No!: The word was a declaration as one.

  Owen pulled Lia’s bridle up, stopping her. The pair fed their current and past loss and fury into the power Owen had used before. Lightning struck all around them. This time, the lightning did not miss Dev. He and his horse died screaming. The scent of charred flesh filled the air.

  Lia reared up, her hooves slashing the air in challenge. The other horse reared and bucked in fear, dumping her passenger. Ernst turned to run, but Owen swept him up in a whirlwind, throwing him into the trees as the bandit’s horse fled.

  :Enough.: A voice intruded.

  :Let the storm take him.: Owen demanded as Lia grounded herself once more.

  Whiteness entered the battleground. A shining whiteness with blue eyes and a familiar gaze. :Enough, younglings. Enough. He’s down. There will be justice.:

  Lia recognized the voice as Herald Sarah. As the same time, another name came to mind: Sorcha. Her Companion from that doomed life. Her Companion who had sacrificed herself in a vain attempt to allow Lia—Milla—to live.

  Owen stared at the pair standing between him and his quarry. The Companion, he knew in the deeps of his soul. “Torin?”

  “Tavin. In this life, he’s Tavin.” Herald Sarah moved closer. “Can you stop the storm? Either of you?”

  At the same time, the young pair realized that Owen had created the storm and Lia fueled it. Owen looked at the dead horse and man to one side, remembered the dead man in the glade, and saw the senseless man behind the Companion he’d once been bonded to. He’d killed men. Just as they’d killed Arvin, Nicholas, and Camlin. He was a murderer. He was no better than the darkness that had hunted them a lifetime ago.

  The rain came again in torrents, the wind whipping about their faces. Lightning flashed close again. Lia neighed wildly, a cry of fear and regret, her eyes rolling. She knew she had played her part in this tragedy. She’d fed his fury, reveled in it. Encouraged it in pain and fear for her Chosen.

  This realization struck them both in a mingled thought as fiercely as the lethal lightning strike: Neither of them deserved the second chance they’d been gifted. All around them, they felt unseen eyes watching and judging them. They were as guilty as Ernst.

  Before they could call the lightning down upon themselves, Sarah and Tavin were there. Sarah embraced Owen as Tavin pressed himself to Lia. :If you go, we go with you.: Sarah’s mental voice was calm and filled with understanding.

  The younglings, tense and filled with the overwhelming realization of who they once were and what they’d just done, resisted. The more they tried to pull away, the tighter Sarah and Tavin held on, until something within the children broke and they relented, keening their fear and sorrow. This only made the older pair hold on all the more, soothing the stricken pair as best they could.

  As the four embraced, Tavin shielded them all from the storm and their raging emotions. The bonded four, once torn asunder, were together again.

  • • •

  Sarah and Tavin stood vigil over the sleeping pair, despite the safety of Lord Briden’s stable and the curious stable hands who sought a look at the newly Chosen noble son. In sleep, both Owen and Lia looked peaceful. The older pair knew otherwise.

  Sarah rubbed her temples as she finished explaining to the King’s Own what had happened on her ambassadorial trip to the new fiefdom. The fact that one of theirs had been immediately Chosen was both a point of pride and consternation. It had taken half the night to convince Lord Briden that the Heralds of Valdemar were not child thieves.

  :I notice you didn’t mention the connection between the four of us.: Tavin’s mental voice was filled with mirth.

  :Of course not, you silly thing. Reincarnation isn’t well known amongst even the Heralds. We only know because of our special circumstance. There is no need to make their training that much harder.: Sarah considered the pair with a troubled frown. :They’re going to have a difficult enough time as it is. I don’t think their reunion was supposed to be like this.:

  After a moment’s pause, Sarah bowed her head. :Do you think what Owen did was magic? Do we have the first Herald-Mage since Vanyel?: She tried to keep the hope out of her thoughts.

  :I don’t know. I truly don’t. It could be a different talent. It probably was a different talent. But even I will admit it could be Mage talent. It’s been twenty-five years since Vanyel’s death. Would the Heralds know how to train a Herald with Mage talent?:

  She shook her head. :I don’t know. Even if it was Mage talent, there’s a good possibility he burned it out of himself in his rage and grief.:

  :True. But what a burden to bear on top of everything else.: Tavin snorted, then nibbled Sarah’s hair :You know what we should do.: The shape of his idea floated between them.

  She looked her Companion in the eye. :Can you do that?:

  :Yes. With your help.:

  Sarah considered the idea longer. :Then we should do it. I’ll write up a report for those who will need to know. In time, when they’ve grown together, when they can control their powers and their emotions, we can reveal it to them once more.:

  The memory block took less time but more energy than they thought it would. For now, Owen and Lia would remember most of what had happened, but not their previous lives. They’d still feel the kinship with Sarah and Tavin with the thought that the older Herald and Companion had rescued them from the bandits . . . and from themselves.

  In time, as all of them grew together, the truth would be revealed. For now, it was time for them to heal, learn, grow, and enjoy this life without the burdens of the previous one.

  • • •

  “Do you think my father will be proud of me?” Owen rode next to Herald Sarah in front of the jail carriage, the ambassadorial carriage, and the accompanying contingent of guardsmen.

  “For being Chosen? I would think so. Only the best and brightest are ever Chosen. You’re a special boy—even without your talent, which can be as useful as it is formidable.”

  “Do we need to tell him about . . . about . . . ?” Owen hesitated.

  :About how we lost ourselves to our fury and need Herald training now more than ever?: Lia supplied.

  :Yeah. I guess.: Owen sighed. He looked up to Sarah.

  The older Herald looked to the horizon. “Tavin believes that you should tell him if you feel he needs to know now. Otherwise, it can wait. I agree.” She glanced at the boy. “However, he is your father. He will have questions. Follow your heart.”

  Owen nodded. “I hope he’s proud of me.”

  “I’m proud of you. Both of you. You were able to pull yourselves back from the brink. This is a hard thing to do in the face of such grief, rage, and destruction.” Sarah clapped him on the shoulder.

  Owen’s fu
rrowed brows did not change. He stroked Lia’s mane. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. “But how can I be a Herald when I’ve killed people?”

  Sarah drew in a long slow breath, searching for the right words. Tavin helped her find them. “Heralds and Companions are not perfect beings. We strive to do our best. That is all we can do. There is only one time in all the history of the Heralds that a Companion repudiated her Chosen . . .”

  :Never!: Lia interrupted.

  This declaration cleared some of the storm clouds in Owen’s face.

  The Herald continued, “ . . . And in the end, even he was given another chance. It was a strange, hard road to walk for the young man.” She paused, musing. “There’s an old and well-regarded bard who could tell you the tale much better than I could. Master Bard Stefan stays close to Haven and the Palace these days. He works closely with us. Someday, he’ll tell you the story of Tylendel.”

  Sarah tapped Owen’s shoulder, forcing him to look at her. “What’s important for the here and now is that you understand what you did and why. That you look deep into yourself and you make sure something like that never happens again. Heralds are not infallible, but they must strive to be.”

  Owen nodded. “I understand. I promise, I’ll never let it happen like that again.” He looked forward at a call from someone up ahead. His grin reappeared. “It’s Edric! One of my father’s men.” He urged Lia forward, waving. “Edric!”

  Sarah watched them go, both pleased and concerned. The young Herald and Companion had a long and strange road before them. She only hoped Stefan would be willing to tell them his whole story when it came time to let Owen and Lia remember their past—as he had before to another young pair who had needed to hear it more than they’d realized.

  For now, she would guide and train them the best she could. It was all a Herald could do.

  The Girl Who Rejected the Ordinary

  Janny Wurts

  Kaysa awakened, groggy and travel sore. The heat on her face carried no whiff of wax to suggest a lit candle. The cot beside hers was empty, without the telltale sound of a sleeper’s breathing. The chatter of grooms from the stable yard outside meant sunrise flooded the room’s only window.

  No mending the shortfall. She had overslept. Her fellow travelers and their Companions would be waiting to depart. Arif’s exclamation drifted upward, the clipped bite to his phrases fuming at the delay.

  Kaysa flung off the quilt with none of last night’s reverence for the quality cloth. The embarrassment burned; she shared the inn’s best, as befitting a Herald in royal service, when in truth she was not Chosen, and the inconvenience of her blindness posed a liability. The mission she accompanied sought to resolve a threat that had already killed one Herald and damaged the mind of his surviving Companion. Today’s inadequacy came a week’s travel from her home and a day’s ride from the main road to Haven. She had spoiled the early start needed to reach the town of Exodus before dark.

  Kaysa’s rushed feet hit the floorboards. Determined hands felt for the wall she required to guide her in the strange room, where she had left her clothing and boots in careful order the evening before.

  Her toe hooked on a footstool that should not have been there. Kaysa crashed to her knees, tears pricking her lids. Not from the pain, though her rapped shin bled. What boneheaded folly led her to believe she could behave as if sighted, or, worse, expect others might handle her disability as smoothly as the family she had left behind?

  Truth heightened her disgrace. Her handicap hampered the Heralds, again.

  She had expected to pull her own weight, sure her duty lay with their urgent need to report to the Queen’s Council at Haven. The murdered Herald’s Companion had been rescued by her intervention. She possibly held some vital detail to solve the mysterious death.

  Right or wrong, inconvenience or worse, she wrestled fresh doubt. Everyone might have been better off if she had stayed in Ropewynd, spinning yarn in her mother’s loft.

  Regret came too late. She could only go on, groping on all fours to recover her orientation, when careful steps and measured use of her senses should have avoided the lame-brained tumble to start with.

  No question of her rank incompetence now. Arif’s curt impatience sent someone’s rushed step up the stairway. Lara’s, by the bang of her heeled boots as she leaped the risers two at a stride.

  Kaysa’s fingertips brushed the wall. She stood just as the hinge squeaked and the door barreled open.

  Silence, not scolding, filled the awkward pause.

  Lara puffed a vexed breath. “You tripped on that foot stool? Oh, Kaysa, I’m so sorry!” Contrition, sprung from the able-bodied embarrassment of forgetting the drawbacks of Kaysa’s condition. The predictable surge of humility followed, as pity strove to amend the lapse. “My thoughtlessness made you late. Here, I’ll help.”

  Kaysa gritted her teeth as her clothes were passed to her like a baby. Haste forced her to accept the demeaning grasp steering her to the wash basin to splash her face. She gave her hair a cursory brush, pride sacrificed for expediency.

  “I’ll skip breakfast,” Kaysa said, at last ready to leave.

  “Nonsense.” Lara dashed to the open casement. “Arif! My stupid mess delayed Kaysa. Could you send word to the kitchen to bring something for her?”

  Arif’s rumbling bass called, “No problem!”

  “Please, no extra trouble.” Kaysa’s cheeks flamed that Lara had shouldered the blame, as if the fault had not been her own for missing the early wake up call.

  “No bother!” Lara seized Kaysa’s hand. “The inn’s reputation won’t let the Queen’s Own go hungry! The landlady’s already packing provender. Honey buns, boiled eggs, and some cheese should do nicely. Lark won’t need the reins. You can snack in the saddle.”

  Because she was guided over the threshold, Kaysa did not have to click to interpret the echoes, or slow to navigate the strange hallway, or inch forward until her foot found the head of the stair. Smell, touch, and sound marked the bounds of her world and honed her awareness to a keen edge.

  Outside, the clear morning’s brisk wind brought the scents of fresh puddles and greenery. Jess’s banter chaffed the lisping groom who delivered the victuals for their journey: hefty portions, by his grunt of effort as he lashed the pack to his saddle rings. Valdemar’s Heralds were often supplied beyond what the realm’s tokens paid an inn’s coffers. As part of their company, Lark was led forward, already saddled and bridled.

  Too rushed to stroke his nose, Kaysa quickly mounted. The boy passed her a slice of hot sesame bread. She left the bridle reins draped on the Companion’s neck, took a bite, and trusted herself to his guidance.

  Jess set off in the lead, whooping over the prank that had Arif wearing his shirt inside out.

  “You’ll check next time you dress in the dark,” Lara chided, not about to draw rein for anyone’s rumpled dignity. “You can set your clothing to rights when we pause, and meantime, your gaudy taste won’t terrify the wildlife.”

  “With luck?” Jess’s chuckle reverberated off the stone pillars of the stable yard gate. “He’ll find himself beating for cover in bushes cropped short by browsing sheep. Forget the wild game. The goose girls’ eyes will be drawn to those colors like a beacon!”

  Lara snorted, amused. “Rub it in, and Arif will toss salt in your beer at Hanniker’s Tavern.”

  “If we reach Hanniker’s,” Arif groused. “We have to clear Pelagiris Forest first. Till then, watch your back. The Shin’a’in stalk beasts in bright clothes as an art form.”

  “Hot air,” Jess dismissed, not to be rattled. His saddle squeaked. Likely, he’d twisted to see whether Kaysa could manage a quicker pace. But the food in her hand held them back, a disappointment Jess hid by heckling his partner.

  “Time aplenty to set you on your rear, Arif, perhaps before we get to Exodus.”

>   Kaysa gulped her last bite and dusted off the crumbs, unable to share the joke behind the current bout of ribbing. Before Arif seized the last word, a mock scuffle broke out to see who could unseat the other.

  “Eyes in front!” Lara snapped, not amused by the horseplay. “We’re not in safe country!”

  That doused the jocularity like cold water and spurred the party to a brisk trot. Surrounded by jingling bridles, Kaysa minded her obligation to keep up. On her own, Lark’s gentler gaits had reassured her. Now, wind in her face and buffeting her ears, she must leave her well-being to luck.

  She diverted her nerves by listening to the Heralds’ speculation, which rehashed Tarron’s unlucky fate. They had already dismissed the commonplace perils to travelers in the deep forest. Freak storms and attacks by dangerous animals could not have damaged Lark’s use of Mindspeech. All had shied from the subject of rogue magic, until Arif slapped a stinging fly on his Companion’s neck and said, “He could have encountered a Change Circle. Truly.”

  Kaysa urged Lark forward. “Not likely. No such dangers lurk near Ropewynd. Though my gran described rare outbreaks of mage storms to scare us children into good behavior, nothing uncanny has troubled the region since before her grandparents’ time.”

  “Not saying your elders were wrong,” Jess responded. “But village folks as a rule don’t venture far into the wood. There might have been a small anomaly hidden in a difficult place.”

  Kaysa allowed that stretches of the ravine were impassable, but if trappers could not surmount the terrain, neither could Lark or his rider. Bloodstains and furrowed scars marred her saddle, still fresh when she had found the Companion entangled in a fallen tree. Something vicious had brought Tarron down. But unless Haven’s healers could restore Lark’s mind, Kaysa possessed the only witnessed details, no matter how insignificant.

  Lark shivered under her. She stroked his silky neck, afraid the discussion in some way distressed him. If only she had been his Chosen! Incapable of responding through a Herald’s bond, Kaysa murmured to calm him.