Seasons, page 16
They exchanged a few glances, but it didn’t take longer than the space of a few breaths for them to comply. Once they were disarmed, Paxia continued.
“We came for the Herald.” Paxia would have been more delicate with her language, but she had no time for such pleasantries. Each second she lingered, her skin continued to crawl.
“What do you want with the Herald?” one of the younger men challenged.
She walked over to the man, carrying her hammer at her side in one hand. The hunter nudged his horse forward, taking the position of leader with the recklessness of untested youth. He even went so far as to pull his shoulders back as she stood at his knee. She looked up at him, waiting for him to speak. When he opened his mouth, she reached up, grabbing his jerkin and yanking him out of the saddle. She threw him into the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs and cause his horse to scamper sideways. Paxia picked up her hammer and dropped the weight of it on his chest. His entire body jerked from the impact, but the weight of the weapon kept his torso pinned.
He reached up to the hammer, so she kicked his arm away and pushed down on the haft. When he continued to squirm, she lifted it off his chest and dropped it back down. The thud of it made the other villagers wince, but she made sure not to crack his chest with the blow. She hoped the demonstration would be sufficient. She didn’t want to do any lasting harm, but this youngster could probably use a lesson in humility.
“Anyone else want to question me?”
Only the hoot of an owl answered her.
“Get off your horses and go stand by that tree,” she gestured to where Lark stood with a bundle of rope.
Paxia stepped off the young man, lifting her weapon so he could get up. One of the other village hunters came over to help him up. He yanked a dagger from his belt and lunged at Paxia. She lifted a hand between them, fingers splayed, and his weapon struck an unseen barrier before deflecting to the side. His eyes widened and he dropped the dagger into the dirt before shuffling back to his companions. None offered any more resistance as they went to Lark and allowed her to restrain them.
By then, Paxia, Brathe, and six others mounted the horses, leaving a small number of their company behind to stand watch. Not that it would be necessary. The villagers still stared at Paxia with wide eyes and held their breath if she so much as glanced in their direction. They might not understand what happened, but they knew when they were outmatched.
The group rode back to the village on the stolen horses, taking the trail the original hunting party had followed. Before it came into sight, Paxia caught the scent of woodsmoke. The bonfire had to be well on its way. She had fond memories of Sovvan-night, but now the wariness of the dark would be given flesh. With her cloak flapping wild behind her as she rode, she imagined she could pass for one of the spirits the villagers feared.
As they approached the village, she heard the music and saw the silhouettes of people moving around the bonfire, preparing for the feast. The people gave them no notice with the darkening skies. After all, they anticipated the return of their own hunting party.
Standing in the center of it, overseeing the entire ceremony, was the silhouette of a man and his horse. Even with the light behind them, there was no mistaking the Companion for an ordinary beast of burden. The animal had a magnificence in shape and form, standing with a pride and confidence not even the best warhorse could imitate.
Seeing the Companion made Paxia’s lip curl, and she spurred her horse faster. The others followed suit, maintaining their formation as best they could as they ran toward the village. Despite their best efforts, they fell behind. It was as if the horse underneath her could sense Paxia’s urgency and rage.
The Companion was the first to react to their charge. Its head came up and around, and Paxia felt the creature’s stare even through the constant weight of the Vrondi. Paxia let the hammer drop a bit, sliding her hand to the bottom of the haft and holding it next to the horse’s side. She might only get one opportunity.
She was still several strides away when the screams and shouts started. The people scattered, running away from the oncoming cavalry. The Herald rushed to his Companion, grabbing the saddle and jumping into it in a smooth, practiced motion.
And then Paxia was on him. She swung her hammer in a big sweeping arc as she charged past, aiming for the Companion. The animal dropped to the ground on its side, making her weapon clip its shoulder rather than crushing its neck. The Herald cried out as the Companion’s full weight crushed the side of his leg, but the animal sprang up before he had a chance to fall out of the saddle. The Companion stumbled, blood trailing from its front shoulder, stark against the pristine white coat.
Paxia whirled around, fighting her mount to come back for another attack. In that pause she got a good look at the Herald. His head was shaved, and he was athletic without having the toned muscles of a fighter or laborer. He carried a Healer’s pouch and brandished a thin blade in her direction.
“Adouin.” Paxia shook her head. “I told you I’d come back when you banished me!”
She kicked the sides of her mount hard, making it jump forward. She had to reach down and grab the saddle, but still managed a hammer swipe. The Companion sidestepped, but she wasn’t aiming for her. The head of her weapon slammed into Adouin’s sword, ringing out as the two pieces of steel struck each other. He held on to his weapon, whipping it back around to keep the point on her, but winced as he rolled his shoulder.
By now the rest of her company rode into the square.
“Brathe!” she barked out as he turned toward the tavern.
His attention snapped back to her and the Herald.
“Right. You remember the command,” he shouted at the others.
His reminder held them on course and they spread out to surround the center clearing. The Herald paused for a moment, eyes unfocusing as he listened to a voice no one else could hear.
“You didn’t come for them,” he whispered, looking around the group working their way around.
“Take him!” Paxia screamed.
The others rushed forward with as much order as one would expect from novice riders on mounts they never rode before. In comparison, the Companion and Herald moved as a coordinated team, slipping through the gaps and getting to the outside of the circle without so much as breaking a sweat. Once they were on the outside, they fled, taking off at a full sprint.
Growling at Brathe, Paxia charged after the Companion. Her mount heaved and panted, foaming around the bit as she continued to urge it forward. She didn’t want to lose sight of the Herald. The Companion couldn’t maintain this pace forever.
“This is madness!” Brathe shouted when he caught up to her, the wind whipping around them and drowning out most of his voice. “It’ll be full dark soon, and we can’t catch a bloody Companion!”
The pressure in Paxia’s head mounted as hundreds of judging eyes weighed on her, measuring her failure. She lashed out with her hammer, smacking Brathe in the shoulder. The blow glanced off, but he twisted in the saddle and sucked in air through his teeth.
“We’re not letting them get away! Not after the years they stole from me! The Companion’s injured. She can’t run long.”
She glared at him, eyes wide and burning with fury. Brathe ducked his head and dropped back, forming up with the rest of the pursuers and not offering further challenge. He rubbed at his shoulder, wincing as he did so.
The road they followed seemed familiar, something about it itching at the back of Paxia’s memory, but the invisible eyes buried it too far to recover. The unseen judges were always there, pressing down on her until all she wanted to do was scream. She couldn’t remember a time before them, when they weren’t around. The only thought piercing through the haze was that the Companions were to blame. They did this to her, and nothing mattered beyond getting her vengeance.
The sky darkened to the point where pushing the horses was dangerous, almost impossible, but still she rode on. As she crested the next hill, she saw a flickering blaze on the horizon. They traveled far enough to reach the next village, and the glow had to be their own Sovvan-night celebration. The Companion must’ve taken refuge there. It was the only trace of civilization around for hours, even at this pace.
She headed for the beacon, leaning forward until her chest touched the horse’s neck. The heat radiating off it made Paxia sweat, but she remained in position. The animal panted and snorted with every flying step. It wouldn’t last much longer, but it didn’t need to, and soon it would all be worth it.
The glow might have originated from the bonfire, but it had spread to engulf a two-story building lining a city center that made her face scrunch in confusion. People formed a line to the river as best they could, ferrying buckets of water in a vain attempt to douse the blaze. A young man charged at the doorway, stumbling back as a fresh gout of flame blossomed forth.
The weight on her continued to press against her skull, letting her know her quarry was close.
A man ran up to her, forcing her to lift her hammer and prepare to strike. He held up his hands in a surrendering gesture and then pointed at the burning building behind him.
“Please, would you help? Someone’s trapped inside!” He looked strong and healthy, and something about him was familiar, but his stubbled face didn’t cut through her singular rage-induced focus.
“Have you seen a Herald ride through here? Answer me!”
“Paxia?” he whispered.
The use of her name made her pause. She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to force her mind to obey. Flashes of memory came tumbling through. The forge . . . An eager assistant . . .
“Reynaud?”
“It is you! Please! Tessa’s trapped inside the trading house.”
The rest of her group pounded up behind her, stopping at the edge of the city center. The horses snorted and panted, exhausted from their sprint. Paxia smelled their sweaty stench heavy on the air.
The Companion had to be close. The pressure bearing down on her was proof of that. This was her best, and possibly only, chance.
But she remembered Tessa. The young girl who came to her forge and watched from the wall. The one who listened to her stories with wide eyes and a disarming smile.
The pounding in her head continued, making it difficult to sort through it all.
“Please. For Tessa!” Reynaud called out as he rushed back to the line and picked up a bucket to join in the line.
Paxia leaped off her mount, taking long strides to the front entrance of the trading house. Seeing her destination, the other members of her company hesitated, glancing at each other before settling on Brathe. Paxia lost sight of them as she stepped through the entryway, pushing back the flames with a force she didn’t understand.
The heat still reached her, and she imagined she dropped into a cooling bath in a forge, complete with red-hot worked steel. A timber above cracked and dropped from the ceiling in a shower of orange sparks. Paxia lifted her hands, catching the beam and deflecting it to the side, the force of the blow dropping her to her knees even though her hands never touched the wood. Forcing herself to her feet, she passed deeper into the trading house.
The heat waves played with her vision, making shapes waver and become indistinct. It did nothing to help her memory, which scrambled to sort through what she saw. Reaching up, she wiped her sleeve across her brow, but salty water still dripped into her eyes. Her cloak caught on something and she had to jerk it free, ripping the fabric around the clasp in her rush to remove it.
“Help!”
The shout came from farther inside the main room, punctuated with several coughs. Paxia used it as her guide, as the smoke killed any visibility. Flames licked at her skin, making it blister and filling the air with the acrid scent of burning hair.
When she saw a small figure crouched under a counter, Paxia reached out and grabbed the child’s wrist. The girl wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, but the grip was weak, more like the arms were put in place than any attempt to hold on. Paxia ran toward the entrance, stumbling in her blindness.
She needed a path. Somehow she needed to see where to go, but flames and thick smoke choked off the air in every direction. Calling forth reserves she didn’t understand, Paxia thrust her hand out and screamed at the flames. It was a shout of pure unbridled rage and anger, too raw to be given words.
The flame and smoke swirled and billowed out through the entrance, creating a path. Paxia glimpsed the outside world. She ran forward, holding Tessa tightly to keep the child pinned to her side.
When they broke out into the night, Paxia fell to the ground. She heaved and coughed, her lungs full of soot no matter how much she tried to expel it.
The townsfolk rushed forward, checking on Tessa. They moved to give the same courtesy to Paxia, but her companions held them at bay with their presence.
Brathe snatched a pail of water from one of the townsfolk and handed it over to Paxia. She scooped up handfuls, swallowing the first few before dunking her entire face in the bucket. When she came up, her lungs still burned, but the heat faded from her face.
“You saved her. You came back and you saved her,” Reynaud said.
He stepped forward, crouching down into a squat while he was still a few strides away. He looked up at Brathe, the bandit grinning as his fingers danced over the hilt of his blade. If Reynaud considered coming closer, he reconsidered.
Paxia took a few breaths, experimenting to see how deep she could breathe before the coughing resumed. She lifted an arm, and one of her companions helped her stand up. She turned away from Reynaud, walking toward her exhausted, stolen mount.
“Wait! Please, stay!” Reynaud stood up and reached out.
Brathe stepped into the man’s path.
Paxia paused and twisted her head so she could address Reynaud without looking at the young man.
“You should forget about me.”
“But, Paxia . . .”
Paxia turned and walked away. She squinted her eyes against the mounting pressure in her mind. She needed to get out of Valdemar. She didn’t know why, but she knew it was the only thing that would help. The Companions would have to wait.
The villagers stood and watched as Paxia and her companions mounted, riding out of the village at an easy pace compared to their arrival. The weight of their eyes was meaningless compared to the other pressures Paxia experienced.
Brathe came up next to her. “Gave up the Herald for a girl? Don’t seem like good business. Troops’ll be pissed.”
“It was the right call,” Paxia snapped.
She would not be like them. She would not give up on others’ lives because doing otherwise was inconvenient.
No matter how far she was willing to go, some prices were still too high to pay.
Cloudwalker
Michele Lang
Life is not about the calm, it is about the storm.
Sparrow found it hard to remember this essential truth, sometimes. Or, even, to accept it. After all, she was lucky enough to live with her family, her beloved heartmate, the Herald Cloudbrother, and their son, Thistle. Together, they had made their home in the beautiful oasis of K’Valdemar Vale, where storms appeared to be more of an illusion than a reality.
In the Vale, Sparrow could almost pretend that storms and sorrow had become a fable of distant legend, rather than an unavoidable aspect of life itself.
Almost.
But times like the Summer Gathering drew her out of her personal paradise and back into the larger world of Valdemar. And Sparrow knew a great reckoning was waiting for her outside the safety of the Vale.
Summer in the Vale was, if anything, even more lush than in all the rest of the year. After the intense growth spurts of spring, the Vale settled into a glorious sequence of blooming, flowering, fruiting, repeating. Sparrow had grown up in the stony northern village of Longfall, her childhood punctuated by ice storms and heavy snows. Now, she marveled at the temperate bubble that was K’Valdemar Vale.
The Vale’s heat and abundance, so easy and overflowing, thrilled Sparrow every summer. Intoxicated by the heavy floral perfume of the multicolored canopy blooming overhead, waking to the rising chorus of exotic, intensely plumed birds, warmed by the languid heat, she walked more slowly, smiled more often, took naps in a hammock out back in the heat of the afternoons.
The Vale was her home. But while Sparrow much preferred the peace of her calm and anonymous life in the Vale, the storms of the world outside her ekele reminded her how precious her life with her family was, how fragile.
She turned her mind away from such huge, overbearing thoughts, and instead concentrated on setting things to rights in her own sphere of being. Her comfy ekele, snug at ground level, seemed too small of late. Mostly because of her rapidly growing son Thistle, who was undergoing his own intense growth spurt.
At the moment, Sparrow concentrated on polishing her best serving bowls. She sat in the shade outside her front door on a wrinkled old blanket as she scrubbed away, the beaten copper of the largest one singing under her fingers. A gentle, cooling breeze caressed the back of her neck.
After the Gathering, she expected at least a few members of her heartmate’s clan, the Cloudwalkers, to stay in the Vale with them for an extended visit.
First, they had to get through the Gathering. But Sparrow had to keep her thoughts close to the ground, snug and safe in her nest.
It had been years since Cloudbrother’s adopted family had ventured so far south, and Sparrow welcomed the opportunity to offer hospitality to the people who had saved her heartmate’s life long ago, when he was a lost, desperately ill little boy.
Even smaller than her son Thistle was now.
Thistle was six going on seven. The baby smell at the base of the back of his neck had faded, and instead when she grabbed him to hug him, Sparrow gratefully inhaled his salty and peppery scent, just as intoxicating in its own little boy way.
