Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar Read online

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  The Education of Evita

  Mickey Zucker Reichert

  The forest seemed extraordinarily green to Evita as she danced through the shadows with Bruno, as if some mysterious woodland creature had sprinkled the branches and underbrush with crushed emeralds. She ran toward the familiar babble of the brook, snagging a fallen branch in mid-movement. Seeing it, Bruno chased after her, barking wildly.

  Evita laughed. Bits of leaf and twigs tangled into her mouse-brown locks. Her lanky teenaged legs carried her swiftly along the whisper of a path whose mud revealed its origins: light, cloven-toed deer tracks and the overlapping, crosslike prints left by rabbits. Bruno crashed after her, his clumsy hound’s body bouncing from copses and deadfalls, tripped up by clusters of vines. Saliva drooled from a tongue that flapped in the breeze and hung so long it seemed impossible that the wet, ropey thing ever fit inside his head.

  “Eviiiiiiiitaaaaa!”

  Evita sighed. A clear note of irritation had entered her mother’s tone. She would have to respond soon or risk her mother’s wrath.

  Not that that wrath consisted of anything terrible. A raised voice, a disapproving look, a quiet air of motherly disappointment that would color everything else that evening, and an exasperated, out-loud wondering: “Why do we have to play this silly game? Why can’t you just come the first time I call you?”

  Evita no longer bothered to respond to that query. It didn’t matter what she said; the question was wholly rhetorical and the answer downright obvious. Evita preferred the imagination-provoking wilds of the forest to the confines of the village and the thrill of discovery to the drudgery of chores.

  “Come on, Bruno. Mother’s getting upset.” Evita turned to retrace her steps.

  Bruno did not obey any better than his mistress. He snuffled curiously at a dense copse of swampweed growing on the riverbank.

  Evita hopped back down the deer path, making a game out of dodging hoof marks and Bruno’s massive paw prints in the mud. Within a few steps, she could no longer hear his coarse breathing or the crash of his legs through the undergrowth. She whirled back to where she had left him, seeing no sign of the hound. “Bruno?”

  The dog did not respond.

  Huffing in irritation, Evita headed back toward the river. “Come on, Bruno.” She turned a gentle corner, just enough to take a ledge of tall marsh weeds out of her vision and bring the tiny clearing into focus. Bruno remained exactly where she had left him. Beside him stood a snowy white horse, its silver hooves planted in the muck. It held its triangular head aloft, its mane riffling in a mild breeze, its eyes enormous and cornflower blue. Evita could not recall ever having seen anything so beautiful in her life. “Companion,” she whispered. Joy as pure and sparkling as gold rushed through her.

  Evita ran to the horse. “You came for me. You came for me!”

  Bruno had not made a sound when the Companion had appeared, but he barked at Evita as she rushed the creature.

  :I came for you, Evita,: the Companion confirmed. :My name is Camayo.:

  Evita could not recall clambering or jumping; but a moment later, she found herself safely on Camayo’s back. She settled into a saddle that seemed custom made for her own comfort and took reins that she believed utterly unnecessary. “I’ve had dreams about you.” Day and night, Evita had envisioned herself on a horse as white as the most perfect cloud, soaring skyward on its back, and watching the rest of the world unfurl below them. “I’ve had the most wonderful visions, Camayo. You can run like the wind, can’t you?”

  Amusement brushed Evita’s mind. :I’m fast enough, but a good squall will always get there first.:

  Evita barely listened, too engrossed in studying the animal.

  :What are you looking for?:

  Excited to the point of breathlessness, Evita answered, “Wings.”

  :Sorry to disappoint you, Dear One. I’m strictly ground transportation.:

  Evita laughed. Sitting high on a Companion felt strangely normal and right, as if her life before this moment had existed only to mark time. “Let’s go! Let’s see the world. Let’s have . . . adventures.” She threw her arm fiercely into the air, expecting Camayo to take off like an arrow fired from a hunter’s bow.

  “Evvvvvvvvv-iiiiiiiii-taaaaaaa!” Her mother’s voice sounded worried . . . and hoarse.

  The Companion did not budge. :Don’t you think you should you tell your parents where you’re going so they don’t worry? Shouldn’t you take your dog home and pack a few things?:

  Evita dropped her arm. The mundane had fallen from her thoughts the instant she had spotted the Companion. Bruno would find his way home, but her parents would worry if she just disappeared. Her father worked late into the night, which meant that she would need to wait until morning to give him a proper goodbye and explanation. “You’re right, Camayo, of course.” Impatience stabbed her like a knife, but she had no real choice. “Can you take me home first?”

  Camayo fell silent, mentally and physically. They headed through the forest toward Evita’s home, Bruno trotting at the Companion’s heels and Evita riding tall in the saddle. At least, she had a good excuse for being late.

  Camayo and Evita rode out the next day with a pack of clothing and provisions secured behind the Companion’s saddle. The girl could not stop talking. “I told them special things would come to me. I told them I didn’t need to learn to cook and clean. I didn’t need to patch and mend. There’s so much more to life than sewing clothing and powdering babies. I wasn’t going to be just some man’s wife. I didn’t have to . . . ”

  Camayo had not responded for a very long time, just continued walking, hour after hour in the warm spring sunlight to the sound of Evita’s incessant jabbering.

  Finally, Evita looked down at her Companion. “Camayo?”

  :Yes?:

  “You’ve been awfully quiet.”

  :Yes.:

  “Don’t you have anything to say?”

  :If you wish me to speak, you must give me the opportunity .:

  “The opportunity?” Evita hesitated, uncertain what Camayo meant. The Companion’s “voice” came directly into her mind. “I’m sorry. You should have told me. Is my mind not open enough for you to speak to me?”

  :The problem is not the openness of your mind. It is the openness of your mouth.:

  That silenced Evita for the first time since she had discovered the Companion near the river. “That’s not a very nice thing to say.”

  Camayo did not miss a step. :I apologize if my phraseology displeased you. I can think of a dozen less considerate ways to have elucidated the matter, but I discarded those.:

  Evita could not help taking offense. “Indeed.”

  :For example, I could have told you to shut up your endlessly spewing food hole.:

  Evita gasped. No one had ever spoken to her in that manner. Not a single harsh word had ever passed between her parents, nor had she heard them speak to others callously. At least in her presence, they always kept their tongues wholly civil and hid the occasional criticism amidst heaping amounts of praise.

  :It was only an example of what I might have said, but didn’t.:

  “Yes.” Evita did not know what to do or say. She shifted in the saddle. Her family owned an old pony that Evita had ridden many times, but she had never spent so many hours in one position. Though far smoother than the pony’s, Camayo’s gait still pounded muscles Evita did not realize she had. “I was talking an awful lot, and I’m sorry. I haven’t shown a lot of manners myself. Let’s start with ‘thank you for Choosing me.’ ”

  Camayo lowered and raised his head. :You’re welcome, Dear One. You do have strong potentials in Mindspeech and Empathy. I Chose you for those, in fact. I wanted a compassionate partner with a fully developed voice. I’m afraid I don’t possess the patience for vague feelings and pantomime.:

  Evita tried to make sense of the Companion’s words. “You mean, I can talk into your mind like you do mine? Without . . . ‘spewi
ng words from my foodhole?’ ”

  :With some practice, yes.:

  Evita considered that. It certainly seemed worth trying. As the miles disappeared beneath Camayo’s hooves, Evita turned her focus wholly on this new pursuit. Nudged and shaped by Camayo, the Mindspeech took form until it became nearly as easy as physical speaking. The conversation, however, remained superficial, geared toward the act itself. Sundown came upon them still on the forest pathways, and Camayo came to a sudden stop.

  :I need some rest.:

  Evita slid to the ground. She went to take a step and her legs buckled beneath her. She wobbled on them for several moments, readjusting their balance, and recognized a stiffness that had crept over her as they had traveled. Her thighs and buttocks ached. Her hips felt out of place. Her stomach rumbled painfully, and she suffered a craving for anything foodlike and solid.

  Camayo stripped foliage from a nearby tree, chewing thoughtfully. The decorative reins slid along his neck, and Evita realized they attached to a bitless bridle. She had never been in control of their speed or direction, nor had she thought to worry about it. Now, she unstrapped the package from Camayo’s rump and pulled it to the ground. Opening it, she found some extra clothing and packets of food her mother had lovingly put in place. Evita unwrapped a random packet and stuffed the contents into her mouth. It crumbled delightfully on her tongue; and, only after Evita had chewed for several moments, did she recognize her mother’s buttered black bread. It could have been tree bark for all she worried about the flavor. At the moment, only the sustenance it provided mattered.

  Camayo looked over his shoulder. :Hungry?:

  Evita only nodded. She took several more enormous bites before her hunger receded and she could focus more on what she was eating. Only after she had devoured the entire packet did she feel a wistful stirring. She loved her mother’s black bread and the thin, watery butter she purchased when finances allowed it. :Halfway starved,: Evita finally returned after a long silence.

  :I was wondering how long it would take you to remember you don’t need your mouth to converse with me.:

  Evita swallowed and smiled. :It’s still all so new.: Only then, she finally thought to ask. :Where are we going, Camayo? Where are you taking me?:

  Still stripping the brush, Camayo snorted. :To Valdemar, of course. You need to start your training.:

  Horror stole over Evita. She knew of Valdemar, of course; everyone did, she believed. The Heralds all came from there, trained in mind magic at their Collegium. She knew it all, intellectually, but she had not yet internalized the full understanding of what this must mean for her. The idea of formal schooling, with its rules and regulations, its masters and underlings, its stodgy, stifling confines and customs dismayed her to her core. “No!” she shouted, so suddenly that Camayo stiffened.

  Slowly, the Companion arched his neck, bringing his head in Evita’s direction without actually turning his body. :What happened? Are you hurt?:

  “No.” Evita clarified. “I’m not hurt.” She twined her fingers anxiously. “Well, I’m a bit sore; but, otherwise, I’m not physically hurt.”

  :What’s wrong?: Camayo repeated, a hint of discomfort and suspicion leaking through with the words. :And use your Mindspeech, please.:

  Evita had forgotten. :Yes, of course. It’s just that . . . : Even using Mindspeech, she found it difficult to put her thoughts into relatable concepts. :I don’t want to go to Valdemar.:

  Camayo turned fully to face Evita directly. He lowered his head. :Ever?:

  Evita shook her head, fingers still intertwined. :No, not . . . “not ever.”: She frowned at the double negative. Or was that a triple negative? She tried to make her point more clearly. :I know I have to go eventually.: Secretly, she hoped not. :Right?: She turned Camayo a hopeful look.

  Camayo did not even hint at wiggle room. :Of course. Do you think Heralds know what to do wholly by instinct?:

  Evita knew only that she had no intention of clipping her newfound wings so quickly. :Well . . . I think someone with a reasonable amount of common sense could do a decent job without necessarily having to take classes on it.:

  If possible, Camayo’s huge eyes seemed to grow larger. :Is that so?:

  Evita did not wish to sound offensive. :I suppose a Herald would have to learn mind magic. But, if it’s anything like Mindspeaking, well, I picked that up easily enough.:

  Camayo only stared. If he blinked, Evita did not see it.

  :And, obviously, my horseback riding could stand a lot of practice, but you can give me that without some instructor droning on about balance and grip and knee position.:

  Camayo’s nostrils flared. He huffed out a warm breath. :How’s your weapons work?:

  “Weapons?” Evita repeated aloud with a shiver of revulsion. “Why would I want to know that?”

  :So that if a basilisk attempts to consume you, you can disabuse it of the notion.: Camayo reminded, :And, please, Dear One. Use Mindspeech.:

  Evita switched, :I’ve survived this long without basilisks attempting to eat me.:

  :You’ve been confined to a tiny portion of the world. You requested travel and adventure, and you will get them. But you’ll need to know how to defend yourself.:

  Evita refused to touch a sword, but she saw no reason to argue that point with Camayo. She would save it until she faced an instructor with arms and hands.

  :Do you know how to interact with royalty?:

  :I know how to treat everyone with kindness and respect.: To Evita, that was enough. :Accidents of birth should not be the sole determinant for how you behave toward a stranger.:

  :Agreed.: Camayo stamped a forehoof. :But protocol serves a significant purpose. And you will need to learn history, diplomacy, languages . . . :

  Though safe in open forest, Evita could feel the dull walls of the Collegium closing in on her, squeezing the life from her like a massive and deranged snake. “Details. People are people, Camayo. If you’re good to them, they respond in kind. All it would take to get rid of wars and weapons is for people to treat one another with the kindness and dignity they want for themselves.”

  :Mindspeech,: Camayo reminded. :And your naiveté is charming, but dangerous.:

  Evita bristled at the notion. “Just because I believe there’s good in everyone does not make me naïve! If everyone just gave peace a chance—”

  Camayo breathed a horsey sigh and turned back to grazing.

  Evita did not appreciate the brush-off. “Don’t turn away from me, Camayo. You know it’s true. If everyone just gave peace a chance, we would have nothing but peace.”

  Camayo lowered his head and hesitated before turning back to face his Herald-to-be. :Do you think no one in the history of the world has ever “chosen” peace? Do you imagine that all humans but you slide out of the womb with a sword in hand and destruction at heart? Peace is the normal state of human existence. You see it every day, in every corner of the world.:

  Evita gritted her teeth. She could not believe anyone would dispute such obvious and inarguable points. “Of course, I know that. But in the places that do have war, if they only tried peace . . . ”

  :But isn’t peace merely the absence of war?:

  “Yes, but . . . ”

  :So unless an area has been in an unremitting state of war since the beginning of time, they must have ‘tried peace.’ One has to assume that, for some reason or another, peace proved ineffective.:

  Evita did not appreciate the argument. She did finally realize that she had lost her grip on Mindspeech and attempted to regain it. :It’s just a turn of phrase, Camayo. You’re not supposed to take it literally. I just mean that there are better ways people can work out their differences than by fighting about them. If weapons were not invented, if none of us ever learned how to use them . . . :

  Camayo interrupted, : . . . the strongest, greediest men would take everything. Then others would band together, employing branches and rocks, to overcome them.:

  Evita rolled her eyes. :You
’re a hopeless cynic, aren’t you, Camayo?:

  :One of us,: Camayo said diplomatically, :is not living in the real world.:

  Dreams of entrapment invaded Evita’s sleep. She found herself running from one container, only to find herself hopelessly caught up in another. No matter how hard she tried to escape, she either wound up cornered, shut in, or closed up in dark, musty places that threatened to suffocate all reason. She awoke with a gasp, heart racing, warm against something furry. She smiled, petting what she initially took for Bruno. Then, her eyes snapped open to white hair and a form far more massive than any dog. Camayo lay against her, staring at her through one startlingly blue eye.

  :Are you all right, Dear One?:

  Remembrance came rushing back and, with it, excitement. “I’m fine. Just bad dreams.” Evita leaned more fully against Camayo’s warm body. “Do we have to go to Valdemar?”

  :Of course, Dear One. And use Mindspeech.:

  Dutifully, Evita switched. She wondered if she would ever get used to it. :Can’t we take a . . . longer route?:

  Camayo went utterly silent for so long, Evita worried he had fallen back to sleep. But, when she looked at him, the eye she could see remained wide open. :How much time do you need, Dear One?:

  :Five years?: Evita tried.

  Amusement trickled into Evita’s mind. :I was thinking more like a week.:

  The panic of her dream assailed Evita. Her heart pounded, and she felt as if the trees crushed in on them. :Two years.:

  :A month.:

  Bartering, Evita understood. :Half a year.:

  :One season.:

  It was more than Evita had expected. She could make the most of a season, especially if it stayed as beautiful as the previous day. :Deal.:

  Camayo added conditions. :At the end of which, you go to the Collegium without complaint. And you attend every class and session with an open mind.:

  Evita took offense. :No mind is more open than mine.: