“Yes, Jonka, we must.” I was faintly surprised to see Kerovan nod. At times it seemed that ordinary speech—or even simple understanding—lay beyond his control, so fierce was the force gripping him. “Our thanks for all your hospitality. We will never forget you.” I paused, controlling my voice. “Gunnora’s Blessing on all of you.” I drew a sign in the air, saw it take shape, faintly glowing—and some distant part of me marked Nidu’s surprise and felt a wry pleasure that the Shaman had by so much underestimated my Power.
“Our thanks lie with you, Cera Joisan. And with your lord.”
Kerovan turned, seeming like some stick-figure controlled by strings such as children play with, to stare at the distant northeast horizon. Jonka’s eyes narrowed. “I see that you are in some haste, Lady. If you can bide but a moment, I have something that will aid your journeying. Can you tarry?”
I took my lord’s arm, holding him where he was, though I tried to make that gesture appear merely one of affection. “Certainly, Jonka.”
Jonka was swift. Moments later we had been given rations of journeybread and smoked meat left over from the feasting the previous night—how long ago that seemed now! Under my urging Kerovan managed to eat, swallow some fruit juice, while I forced myself to do likewise. When I felt a gentle tug at my pack, I turned, found Valona opening it to thrust therein a good-sized packet. “Food for your travels, Cera Joisan. I will miss you.”
I touched the little girl’s fine dark hair, finding it again difficult to swallow the sobs rising to choke me. “Thank you, dear heart. So will I also miss you.”
For a moment she buried her face against my jerkin, then she was gone. I straightened to find Terlys before me, her husband Rigon beside her. My friend held the bridle of a beautiful chestnut mare. As I looked at her, wondering how I would find the words to bid her farewell, she stepped forward, thrusting the reins into my hand. “Her name is Arren, Joisan. The bravest and most surefooted of our herd.”
I stared at the horse, touched her fine-drawn head, searching for words. “Terlys… my thanks, but I cannot accept—”
“Yes, you can.” She folded her tanned arms across her ample breasts, nodding emphatically. “The Kioga never sell their horses, as you know, but they will give them to those who are worthy. I know there has been no time for a formal Choosing, but the Great Mother will understand. You gave me my son’s life… can I do less when you are in need?”
For a long moment I stared at her, then moved to embrace her, my words of gratitude incoherent. Her arms tightened about me protectively, and her whisper was for my ear alone:
“The Great Mother’s Blessing upon you, Joisan, and upon the child you carry. If you can, return to us…”
“I shall…” I clutched Arren’s reins as though they alone anchored me to the world.
“Cera Joisan!” I turned to see the boy, Guret, leading yet another horse—Nekia, the mount that had carried my lord during the scout. Obred and Jonka stood behind him. I tugged at Kerovan’s sleeve, and slowly, reluctantly, he turned away from the mountains that drew him so. It took long moments for his eyes to focus upon the young man who stood before him, but Guret waited patiently, his own eyes dark and troubled.
My lord’s voice was low and husky with effort, his words for the boy alone. “Guret… I must leave to answer a… summons. I am sorry I won’t…” He drew a deep breath. “Nidu means you ill, I am certain—”
“M’lord—don’t. I know.” The boy spoke as quietly as Kerovan.
“Refuse her, Guret.” Kerovan’s voice was so faint I could barely hear him. “You are strong enough… naysay her. Let none change your mind.”
Jonka stepped forward. “Lord Kerovan, please accept Nekia as my gift. Obred tells me you and she companied well together, and if you ride into peril, you will need a Hood mount. Accept her, along with the Kioga’s promise that always there will be a place in our tents for you and your lady.”
“Thank you, Jonka.” Kerovan’s fingers tightened convulsively on the mare’s reins. With no further word, he swung astride. Guret held Arren, as I hastened to follow him.
“Thank you, Jonka… thank you…” My words, my thanks drifted on the spring wind behind me, answered In the summer warmth of my friends’ farewells. We rode.
Recalled to the present once again, I shifted in my saddle to urge Arren onward. The chestnut mare, lacking the conditioning Nekia had received during the miles traveled on the scout, was flagging. She flicked her ears forward, lengthening her strides in a game effort to keep up with the bay.
“Kerovan!” He did not turn at my hail, frightening me. Had he gone so far already that he was beyond my reaching? I concentrated, summoning him not only with voice, but also with the mind call. “Kerovan!”
This time he did pause, turning to look back at me. “My lord, we must rest! Arren is tiring!” And so am I, I thought, watching his head swing once more toward the northeast. But, to my surprise, he did halt, dismounting from Nekia to wait for me.
Silently we shared food, a few sips from our water-skins, while the horses cropped hungrily at the thick grass. I felt myself growing sleepy… jerked awake, glancing somewhat fearfully at my lord. I needed rest… but if I allowed myself sleep, might I not wake to find him gone?
With sudden decision I fumbled in my saddlebag, bringing forth a tough rawhide thong. “Kerovan. Give me your hand.”
Slowly, so slowly, his eyes broke that stare at the faint shadowing on the horizon marking those distant mountains, to regard me questioningly. Grasping his hand, I tugged until he faced me directly. Not slacking my hold, I carefully threaded my string of hide through the wristband of the Old Ones, looping it also about his flesh for a double precaution. “Give me your knife, Kerovan.”
“Why?” Speech again seemed difficult for him, so great now was the pull. I watched him hesitate, frown, then shake his head as though already he had forgotten my request. With as much of my worn patience as I could summon, I moved closer until we were nearly breast to breast, my fingers seeking the hunting knife at his belt.
Grasping the blade, I jerked it out of scabbard, placing it securely within my own cloak pocket. “Now your sword, Kerovan. Throw it over there.” I pointed by chance to a growth of thorny brush.
“Joisan…” When his fingers fumbled and shook, I lent quick aid. Then I fastened the thong’s other end about my own wrist, leaving only a handspan of slack between us.
“There, my lord. If you would free yourself from me, you must gnaw through this… and that, I think, you will not do without rousing me. I must sleep, Kerovan.” Wearily I dropped to my knees, drawing him after me by that hide bond, then stretched full length upon the ground, pillowing my head on my saddle.
His hand slid into mine, warm and strong. His voice came deeper, more assured, as if I had forced a crack in the wall of his ensorcellment. “I would not leave you, Joisan.”
“I know.” I made answer, but those words were a lie, for that was the fear growing steadily within me. “But I believe I shall rest better so.”
Sleep I did, even while the sun westered in the sky. Yet as I slept, it was not afternoon… No, night held me. Again I was the Other, she who had haunted my dreams so many times…
Once again I walked amid the shadowed bounds of my beloved forest in the valley, feeling the night wind light on my cheek, stirring thick growth on my head that was not—or was not quite—hair…
My senses, my self, were alertly attuned to life around me—and I was troubled. There had been tampering here, there was something awry within the bodies of the woodland inhabitants, both plant and animal. The ripening of fall should have begun, offering promise, through seedpod and carried young, that new life would come with the spring, but here that would not be so. Something had touched all life, a Power outside all natural laws, which disturbed the rhythms of That Which Must Be…