Nothing… nothing in me but the knowledge of where the pull came from. But there was no drawing as a part of that now.
It’s gone!” I turned to Joisan, grasped her shoulders in my relief, “Gone, Joisan!” I pulled her to me, hugging her exultantly. “Powerful magic have you worked tonight, my lady wife! I had not thought you could summon such.”
She raised her head, her eyes bright in the moonlight. “It you had not aided with your strength, I could not have, Kerovan. I am so glad you are free at last.”
Her lips were soft, alive under mine as I kissed her. Then, as I drew back, thinking how long it had been since we had been one, realizing that now there was nothing to keep us apart, she sighed deeply and sagged in my arms, limp.
Alarmed, I swung her up, carried her over to the bedroll.
As I laid her on it her eyes fluttered open again, and she spoke, her voice as faint as though she were far distant instead of inches away. “Summoning and controlling the Power… ’tis heavy work.”
“Are you… all right?”
Her eyes closed. “Must… rest. Sleep…”
I studied her anxiously but soon realized that she was indeed asleep. Pulling the blanket up, I sat beside her, watching the moon set and the faint flush that precedes true dawn lighten the eastern sky.
It was midmorning before Joisan awoke, and we set off again after a hasty breakfast. I felt so light, so free, not having to fight the summoning from the mountains, that the slope before us seemed the most inconsequential of barriers.
Still keeping to the south and west, we crossed the foothills and by midafternoon had descended onto a huge flat plain of rolling grassland which extended as far as I could see.
There were no tracks, no road, no traces at all that people abode in this plainsland—just scattered signs of. wildlife.
We had stopped for a rest, sharing some of the Wise-woman’s dried fruit, when we heard a faint sound. Joisan glanced around. “What was that?”
I was already standing, peering westward. “I don’t know. It came from that direction.” I pointed.
“It sounded like something in pain, Kerovan.”
We shouldered our packs, moved toward a ridge of trees and denser brush that must mark a stream or river. Halfway there, we heard the sound again, more distinct now. Joisan began to run.
Shouting to her to take care, I pounded after her, but she had the lead and had gone some distance before I could catch up. I nearly ran into her, for she had stopped to look intently at a dark form on the ground before her.
A horse. It lay on its side, stomach distended, so still that for a moment I thought it dead. Then the flanks heaved, shiny and rippled with sweat, and the legs thrashed again.
A mare,” Joisan said, moving toward her. “And trying to foal, by the look of her.”
We moved closer. Joisan was right, I saw; the mare was in labor, and in trouble. Horses foal very quickly, if all goes well, but from the torn-up sod surrounding this one, it was evident she had been struggling for some time. Her coat was very dark, true black (which is rare among horses), and the mare’s small, fine head showed clearly that this was a valuable, blooded animal.
My lady knelt by that head. “Poor girl, will you let me help you?” The mare’s large, dark eyes, white-rimmed with pain, opened as Joisan stroked her muzzle and neck. “Easy, easy. Kerovan”—she looked up—“stay by her head while I feel how the foal lies. We must lose no time, or she will die.”
Soothing the horse, I watched as Joisan rolled up her sleeves and made a quick inspection of the birth canal. “One of the foal’s forelegs is caught, Kerovan, and I can not loose it.” The mare thrashed, and I held her head pressed against the ground. Then Joisan was beside me, one hand pulling loose an amulet she wore beneath her mail.
“I will sing her into a painless state, if I can. You must try and free the foal, yours is the longer reach and greater strength. Have you done such before?”
“When I was a boy I used to follow Riwal, the Wiseman, when he tended the farm animals. I have seen him do so once or twice.”
“Even small knowledge will have to do. Reach downward toward the mare’s belly, and find the foreleg. Pull it up so it rests beside the other.”
I pulled off my mail, stripping also quickly to the waist, as Joisan began to sing. When the mare’s eyes closed attain, she nodded, and I began.
It was an awkward business because I had to lie nearly prone. Each labor contraction squeezed my arm, but I persisted between them, until finally I located the snagged foreleg. Bringing it up toward the birth canal, I pulled, feeling the foal’s nose resting on top of my hand.
The mare groaned and shuddered, and suddenly the foal slid out, still clad in its protective sac. Joisan smiled at me. “Well done, my lord. I shall call upon you as a midwife more often!”
I ripped loose the whitish, translucent covering and began massaging the foal’s ribs. It took a deep, gasping breath. The mare climbed to her feet, then delivered the afterbirth. Busy with the foal, I heard Joisan exclaim as the mare lay down once more. “Kerovan, she—”
Suddenly the mare heaved again, and a second foal was born! I hastily pulled the first to one side, and together Joisan and I tended the second.
The second foal was much the smaller, though both were fillies, greyish in color, with darker manes, tails, and legs. Soon the mare stood again to deliver the second afterbirth. Joisan cared for her, giving her water from the stream into which she poured a strengthening cordial.
Some time later, nickering softly, the mare nosed the larger of the two foals, licking, then prodding at it gently until it climbed to its unsteady legs and finally began to nurse. But when the other foal also gained its feet, the mare laid back her ears and nipped viciously at it, warning it away.
“I was afraid this would happen.” I frowned, studying the rejected filly. “When twins are born, most times the mare casts off one—usually the smaller and weaker of the two.”
“But…” Joisan stroked the tiny castoff. “If she doesn’t feed soon, she will die…”
“We can try milking the mare,” I said, knowing that sometimes—only sometimes—one could save rejected young in this way.
“Every half hour?” Joisan bit her lip, putting a protective charm around the foal’s neck. “And for how many days weeks? We have little in the way of supplies, Kerovan.”
“I know… Perhaps the mare’s owners will seek her out. They may be better equipped than we to raise the foal. If not…” I took out my knife, watching the lowering sun flash red on the blade. “Perhaps it would be kinder to take the foal’s life cleanly rather than be forced to leave it to suffer when we must move on.”
Joisan shook her head, her eyes very solemn. “You do not understand, my lord. I am a healer, sworn to practice my Craft on any and all creatures needing my aid. I must do whatever I can to save this foal, even if it means staying here to tend it.”
I stared at her, then at the mountains I could no longer see, but which I knew still lay in wait for me. Joisan’s protection—how long could it be expected to last? “Hut, my lady, what if your spell-guarding does not hold? My deliverance lies in distancing myself from those mountains…”
I know.” She looked back up at me. “But I cannot let her die, Kerovan! I am oath-bound to healcraft!” Joisan’s cry was so vehement that the filly started.
“But…” I gestured, feeling helpless, then ruffled the little castoffs fuzzy mane. “This is a hard thing, I know, but I can think of no answer save for me to leave and you to stay.”
3
Joisan
“But there must be!” I cast a desperate glance at the black mare, contentedly licking her first foal, while my fingers absently stroked the other baby’s muzzle. It lipped at them with toothless gums, trying to suck. Kerovan’s amber eyes caught and held mine. The chilling distance that had lain in their depths when he fought the pull from the mountains was gone. Replacing it was such sadness that I quickly laid a comforting hand on his arm.