Seasons, page 8
However, although the tunnels might have been big enough for adult males and the mules that hauled the wagons of ore, they weren’t exactly Companion-sized.
The four Companions looked ghostly against the hills in the dark gray just before full night. Cyfella’s tail swished.
:Keep yourself safe, my dove,: she said. :And bring the children out safely.:
“I will, dearheart,” Syrriah said fondly.
She and Mieran squeezed between the boards and headed into the tunnel proper. Inside, the farther they went, the blacker the tunnel was, and their lamps felt inadequate. Even in the daytime, she mused, it would be darker than night.
Despite the mine being closed, their passage kicked up dust. Syrriah knew she’d be washing this set of Herald Whites soon. She had heard them described as “Oh, shoot me now,” because they made Heralds easier to spot. Between that and the way dirt showed, she wondered why impractical white had been chosen.
The tunnel curved slightly, one way and then the other, with side tunnels snaking off at regular intervals. The scent of woodsmoke grew, and the darkness seemed less complete.
“Jonquil, Arald!” she called out. “I’m Herald Syrriah. You’re not in any trouble, but your families—and your Companions—are worried about you.”
No reply came.
“Please let us know you’re safe and unharmed.”
Again, no reply.
She sighed, and they kept walking. A few minutes later, around a long, shallow curve, they came up on what looked to be a cave-in, rocks large and small filling the tunnel from floor to ceiling.
In front, a ring of smaller stones held the still-glowing embers of a hastily extinguished fire. Two blankets and several canvas sacks sat to one side.
There were no children in sight.
Syrriah crouched and looked in the sacks. Food, probably hastily grabbed when each children ran. Apples, dried meat, crumbs that indicated the remains of honey oat cakes. Not enough to survive on for very long. Either the mine was intended to be a temporary residence for them, or they hadn’t had much foresight—or, most likely, a combination of both.
“They couldn’t have gone that way,” Mieran said, gesturing with her lamp at the wall of rubble. “And they didn’t sneak past us.”
“They must have come back toward the entrance but ducked into a side tunnel before we passed it on our way in,” Syrriah said. Hands on her hips, she turned and surveyed the way they’d come in. “I don’t know that we have time to search every tunnel, and anyway, if we’re in one, they can duck into another. But none of us have a map to this mine, and eventually someone—or everyone—is going to get lost.”
“Or hurt,” Mieran added. “What do we do?”
They began the trek back. “One of us should stay here in case they come out,” Syrriah said. “The other should go back and organize a search party, ideally made up of people who know the mines.”
“You should go back,” Mieran said. “As Senior Herald—”
Syrriah held up her hand. “Did you hear that?” she whispered.
Ahead, a scuffling noise, then silence again.
The children were ahead of them, probably in the main tunnel.
The Heralds picked up their pace while still moving as quietly as possible.
The tunnel straightened out of a shallow bend, and the entrance came into view, a smear of black slightly lighter than the blackness of the tunnel. Syrriah couldn’t see anyone ahead of them. Her heart sank. The children must have ducked into another side tunnel, and she and Kieran had hurried right past them.
But then, outside, the jingle of bells, a cut-off shriek of surprise, and what sounded like a scuffle of hooves on the pebble-strewn ground.
As one, Syrriah and Kieran broke into a run.
When they burst outside, Syrriah’s concern turned to a laugh that she fought to keep from bubbling out.
The Companions had things well in hand. They had surrounded the two children, preventing their escape. Her Empathic Gift let her clearly feel the children’s frustration, which had temporarily overtaken their fear.
:They don’t dare duck beneath us,: Cefylla said, also sounding amused.
Now, Cefylla and Frind each stepped aside, opening the circle and revealing the children inside.
Dust smeared their faces and clothing, darkened the tips of Arald’s red hair and streaked through Jonquil’s, which was pale yellow and wisping free of its plaits. He had his arm protectively around Jonquil’s shoulders, even though she was a few inches taller than him.
“Hello,” Syrriah said. “You’ve led us on quite a chase. I’m Herald Syrriah, and this is Herald Trainee Mieran. Our Companions are Cefylla and Frind, and the other two I believe you’ve already met.”
The children glanced guiltily at the Companions who had Chosen them.
Then Jonquil raised her chin in a gesture of defiance and widened her stance, causing Arald’s arm to fall from her shoulders. “I’m not going with him,” she said, her eyes flicking back at her Companion. “I’m staying in Malm.”
“I am too,” Arald said, reaching out to grip her hand. “I won’t leave her.”
Syrriah raised her own chin. “Well,” she said, “if that’s your choice, it will be honored. But you owe it to your Companions to explain why you are rejecting them. When a Companion Chooses, a bond is made. To break that bond is like breaking a heart. If you do this, both you and they will be scarred forever.”
Syrriah and Mieran stepped away, as did their Companions, leaving the children to face their own Companions in relative privacy.
Syrriah believed the children would make the right choice. A bond with a Companion was magical, unlike anything else. It was finding a part of yourself you had never known you lacked and a relationship that would support you unconditionally. You would still feel fear and sadness, but you would never be alone with those feelings again.
After a while, the sound of hooves kicking pebbles made her and Mieran turn around.
The children and Companions had stepped forward, each Chosen standing with a hand on their Companion’s shoulder.
Jonquil had been crying; her tears had left pale streaks through the dust on her cheeks. Arald had clearly tried to stay strong, but he was swiping an arm over his own face.
They had obviously chosen to be Chosen.
And now, the truth was finally revealed.
Jonquil feared for her mother’s safety. Her father’s temper meant he frequently shouted at her mother and sometimes hit her; Jonquil didn’t want to leave her mother alone with him. The only other person who knew was Arald, her best friend, who had pledged to defend her and her mother.
So, Jonquil had run away and hidden from Mori in the hopes that he would return to Haven without her. Arald had followed suit.
“I know your mother may feel ashamed, possibly believing it’s her fault,” Syrriah said gently. “But none of it is her fault—that lies with your father. We have laws in place about this, laws that will be enforced. Your mother need never fear your father again.”
* * *
• • •
They rode down to Malm, the Companions surefooted even in the darkness, and went straight to Lord Parr’s manor house. Messages were sent to the children’s parents.
By the time they had their Companions unsaddled, groomed, and fed—Jonquil and Arald both doing a fine job with Syrriah and Kieran’s assistance—all four parents had arrived.
Jonquil’s mother burst into tears and gathered her filthy daughter in her arms. Jonquil’s father stood near them, a hand on his daughter’s back, his expression unreadable. Arald’s parents took turns hugging him, and then his father—who clearly had shared his coloring with Arald—kept ruffling Arald’s hair, sending up little puffs of dust.
Lord Parr’s chatelaine would be displeased with the gray marks smeared on the furniture, too, but it was too late to change that.
Syrriah and Kieran explained how Jonquil and Arald had been Chosen and what that meant for them, just in case they didn’t understand the deep importance. All the parents seemed delighted—even Jonquil’s father said he was proud of her.
Because of the questionable weather ahead, the children would sleep in their homes tonight and would have only the next day to say their goodbyes. The four would leave before dawn the day after that, in order to get through the pass and down to the first hamlet where they could rest for the night.
Before everyone left, however, Lord Parr asked to speak privately with Jonquil and her parents. They went to another room, the door closing behind them.
When they returned, Jonquil’s mother looked shaken and scared, and Jonquil’s father wasn’t with them. Jonquil and her mother left the manor with their arms around one another. Arald gravely thanked Lord Parr before he accompanied his parents home.
* * *
• • •
They took the eastern pass, Malm shrinking behind them as they climbed, then disappearing as they started their descent. The children were alternately excited, nervous, and then silent, although whether they were listening to their Companions or lost in their own thoughts wasn’t clear.
Several days later, they parted ways. The children headed to Haven while Syrriah and Mieran had more places scheduled on their Circuit before they would return for the Midwinter celebrations.
“I wonder if their friendship will grow into something more,” Mieran mused, watching the newly Chosen ride away.
“Does it matter?” Syrriah asked. “There are so many forms of love, and a friendship like the one they have is priceless.”
The Gift of Love
Anthea Sharp
Twang! The unmistakable sound of a gittern string breaking echoed through the Bardic Collegium’s wood-paneled rehearsal room, accompanied by youthful laughter.
Bard Shandara Tem kept her smile on her face despite her exasperation, and she glanced to her left, at the soprano section of the Bardic Trainee Ensemble.
“Would you like assistance tuning, Jaya?” she asked the red-faced girl sitting up front.
“I know how to tune up,” the girl said. “Honestly. I think the string was just weak. But, if you could help me put on a new one?”
Shandara nodded and took the gittern. Like most Bards, she had a solid acquaintance with most instruments, though her main proficiency was on the harp.
Quickly, she restrung the top course of Jaya’s gittern and handed it back to the girl. Already, the babble in the room was growing louder. Too long an interruption, and the two dozen members of the ensemble would veer into cheerful chaos. Many of them were of an age where teasing denoted signs of affection, and with the Vernal Equinox approaching, the intensity of their young emotions was almost overwhelming.
“Trainees!” Shandara pitched her voice to cut through the noise. “Focus, please. We only have a week before the performance.”
She hadn’t chosen to lead the ensemble’s rehearsals, but the Bard who directed the Trainees had been called away on a family emergency.
“You’re best suited to take over,” her mentor, Master Bard Tangeli, had said with a brief, sympathetic smile. “The Trainees have been working hard for their performance at the Spring Fair this month. We can’t disappoint them.”
Or their families, of course. Parents of the Trainees often made a special effort to attend the Fairs and cheer their offspring on. Seeing their students perform was a high point, and it was up to Shandara to make sure the ensemble was at their best.
Given the general disorganization in the rehearsal room, however, Shandara wasn’t sure her charges were equally dedicated to their upcoming performance. The amount of foolery and shenanigans she’d witnessed in the past two weeks was impressive, even for Trainees with an overabundance of romantic longings.
In addition to suspiciously regular incidents of instruments going awry, the tried-and-true practice of switching sections to fool the new director (it hadn’t taken Shandara long to sort them all back out again), and sheet music getting ridiculously shuffled, the sopranos had managed to fall an entire measure behind during the last rehearsal, and the piece had dissolved into giggles.
The main instigator seemed to be a boy named Edwold. The moment Jaya’s string broke, he’d bent over with laughter. With an inward sigh, Shandara turned to him. “Edwold, I think we should go over your solo section.”
In her limited experience, she’d found that nothing was better guaranteed to settle young spirits down than putting them to work. Edwold was one of the two soloists chosen for the performance. His high, clear voice was perfectly suited to the descant lines in the closing ballad of the performance.
The grin fell from his face.
“I don’t feel well, Bard Shandara,” he said, a slight shake in his voice. “Can’t we do it next rehearsal?”
She studied him. He’d gone pale, and though she knew he was a consummate actor, it seemed as though he was telling the truth.
“Very well,” she said. “I’ll hear you tomorrow. Now, everyone, let’s try ‘The Sparrows Aloft.’ Jaya, the first chord, if you will.”
The girl strummed a tuneful chord, the Trainees settled, and soon the strains of the celebratory piece filled the air. Shandara kept a close watch on Edwold, but he remained perfectly well behaved for the rest of the rehearsal.
She had no doubt that on the morrow, however, he’d be back to his mischievous ways.
* * *
• • •
“I don’t know what I’m going to do about Edwold,” Shandara said, taking a thoughtful sip of tea.
She and her friends, Healer Tarek and Trainee Lyssa, had gathered in her rooms for dinner and were companionably seated around her small, round table. A cozy fire crackled in the hearth, taking the cold edge off the air as they finished up their meal.
“He’s just a boy,” Tarek said, mopping up the last bit of sauce on his plate with a hunk of bread. “Probably sweet on that girl Jaya, and worried about embarrassing himself at the Spring Fair. He’ll settle down.”
“I hope that’s the case. But I can’t help feeling it’s something more.”
Lyssa shot her a glance, her sweet face concerned. “My Empathy is getting stronger as my training progresses. If you’d like, I could come listen to the rehearsal tomorrow—and pay special attention to Edwold.”
“Would you? I’d appreciate any insight you might have.” Shandara reached over and squeezed her young friend’s arm.
Lyssa was a Mindhealer, a rare Gift. If anyone could ferret out what was at the heart of Edwold’s troublemaking, it would be her.
“Speaking of the Spring Fair, is there anyone you’re planning on attending with, Lyssa?” Tarek gave her a wink.
The girl made a face. “All the boys my age are silly. A group of us girls are planning to wander about together.”
“Wise,” Tarek said. “I don’t blame you in the least. I was impossible at that age.”
“Only a handful of years ago, as I recall,” Shandara said, teasing him.
Tarek put a hand to his chest. “Me? Never. You’re thinking of my friend Ro. Who, as I’ll remind you, is now happily wed.”
Lyssa cleared her throat and gave Tarek a significant look. “Married. And he’s your age.”
“He finished at Collegium before I did,” Tarek said. “Besides, the expectations are different for lordlings.”
Shandara noted the tips of his ears had reddened. She, too, was a little uncomfortable with Lyssa’s not-so-subtle urgings toward matrimony. While Shandara was very fond of Tarek, they were both young yet—and he was still finding his footing as newly minted Healer. For now, she was content with their relationship. If, in the future, they were ready for more, well, they would face that decision together.
“After the Trainee Ensemble performs, I’ll be free to wander the Fair with you,” Shandara said, glancing at Lyssa and then Tarek.
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt the cooing of you two lovebirds.” Lyssa gave them a smug look. “Besides, Tarek, you’re a lordling, too.”
“I’m a Healer first,” he said, his voice clear with conviction.
Shandara sent him a warm smile. He’d had his own difficult journey, and she was glad to have been able to help along the way. Lyssa, too, had struggled with her Gift.
“Come with us after the concert,” Shandara said, turning to the girl. “Spring Fair is about celebrating all the connections between people, don’t forget. Friends and family count just as much as romantic interests.”
Tarek gestured with his piece of bread. “Absolutely. And speaking of family, you can use us as an excuse to escape yours, any time.”
“Thank you.” Lyssa’s tone turned serious. “You two know you’re my real family here in Haven.”
Shandara leaned over and squeezed the girl’s shoulders. “We know.”
“She’s just angling for us to buy her a half-dozen pocket pies at the Fair,” Tarek said, his grin showing he didn’t mean it.
“Well, of course.” Lyssa blinked innocently at him. “Isn’t that what families are for?”
* * *
• • •
The next afternoon, as promised, Lyssa arrived at the rehearsal room as the Trainee Ensemble was gathering. She took a seat in the far corner and opened a book. A few of the young musicians glanced at her, but since she was clearly there with Shandara’s permission, her presence was noted, then dismissed.
Wondering what the day’s mischief might be, Shandara called the group to order.
“Let’s start with the ‘Ode to a Companion,’” she said. “Are you ready for your solo, Edwold?” Might as well begin with putting the lad in the spotlight and see what happened.
“Yes, Bard Shandara,” Edwold said, jumping up.
