With the coming of the warmth again, Cynan was stronger. His muscles moved more smoothly, but the knowledge of his death was still there. Each season from now on would be his last for him. Still, he often forgot as he hunted with the child, raced her along the beach, horses pounding through the sand.
Spring began to shift into early summer. His larder was filled with meat both dried and smoked. His bins were full of fruit and nuts, and the gathered greens the hills provided. At last he spoke.
“The trails are dry. It is time you left.”
Eleeri nodded. “Next week.”
“No.” His head shook firmly. “That you said last week and the week before. Let you spend tomorrow with me, the next day preparing. Ride out the day after that. It is time.” His hand stretched out to touch hers. “Child, child, to all things there comes a time. This is yours—to go. It is mine also, that you know but we will not speak of it.” He eyed her sternly and nodded as he saw acceptance. It was well. He stood and yawned. “I’m for my bed, and you, too, youngling. In the morning I will show you I can yet run you into exhaustion.”
She made a small jeering noise and headed for her own bedding. “I’ll sleep eagerly to see that.”
All the next day they spent together. They talked, strolling about the upper rooms of the hold as he told her of how it had been. They picked berries, sweet and sun-warmed, laughing like children together. They waded at the river’s edge, spearing small fish. These were a wonderful evening meal spiced only with the sea salt and herbs from the hill’s bounty.
The following day they readied the horses. Eleeri would have left him the strongest, quietest beast, but Cynan refused.
“I have no need of a horse. I never needed one before they came, I do not require one when they can leave with you. Sell two of them, trade one for supplies, I care not. But they are of no use to me.” His real reason was unspoken but understood by both.
The girl said no more. Quietly she filled her pack with articles she might need. The stirrups she bound high on the two beasts she would not ride. Her chosen mount was a sturdy dun, black of mane and tail, with legs dappled high in that same shade. A good horse in hills, surefooted and sensible, with hues that allowed him to fade into the landscape.
She studied the other two. Both were more showy, one chestnut, the other gray. Both wore polished mended gear and should fetch good prices if she chose to sell. Finally she ran out of things to do and returned inside. There she blinked in surprise. From somewhere Cynan had found a large cloth. This had been placed over the huge old table. Somehow he had moved that toward the fireplace and decorated it with branches and berries. Candles spread puddles of light across the feast that lay there.
Within the doorway Cynan bowed ceremoniously. “Be welcome to my house, Eleeri, Daughter of the House of Far Traveler. Feast with me before you take your road again.” He took her hand, drawing it through his arm as he conducted her to a seat.
She ate with determined appetite, laughing at his jests and storing all this in her mind. When they were done he stood.
“Long ago I had a thing made. It was to have gone to a daughter of my House. Her gift was friendship with beasts, and I deemed this which I had made to be right for her name day. But the turning came and she rode out to fight.” For a moment his eyes held ancient pain. “She never returned, nor could they bring her body back to me. She lies somewhere in these hills, holding still her watch against the enemy. Now I would give this gift to you, if you do not count it unlucky.” From under a leaf he produced the small gleaming casket and handed it to Eleeri.
The girl gasped. “It’s so beautiful.”
Cynan laughed. “The casket is not the gift, girl, that lies within. Open it and see.”
He watched as she gently lifted the carved lid. Her eyes lit with wonder as she twined fingers in the cord to lift the pendant free. It dangled from her hand, carved from some black stone with bright ruby eyes inset in the tiny arrogant head. A loop of silver was attached to a lock of flowing mane and through that the plaited cord Eleeri twisted in her fingers. It was a horse, and yet not quite a horse: there was something in the stance that betrayed intelligence. The eyes seemed to hold a life of their own and to look boldly up at her.
“Cynan, it’s wonderful. Where did it come from?”
“From these hills. I say that I had it made, but that is not correct. I had the loop attached, the cord plaited, the casket carved. The beast itself I found. Before the hills turned, there was a place of the Old Ones near here, perhaps an hour’s ride away. After my wife died, I went there often for the peace and comfort it brought me. One day I found that. I took it up and it seemed as if it was a gift of the Old Ones. I thanked them for it. Promised that she who would wear it was one of some power and would cherish it with respect.” He smiled. “I swear that it grew warm then in my hand. I took that as a sign it was truly right I should take it. Now it comes to you.”
Her hand closed around it tightly. “It’s the best present I’ve ever had. I’ll never part with it, Cynan, and I’ll always remember you when I see it.” She placed the cord about her neck and shifted the tiny horse to hang in front. “Now—I have something for you, too.”
She trotted away to return with a bundle clutched in her arms. “Here, shirt and breeches of deerskin and a fur cloak. You know how you feel the cold. And look, I made you moccasins to keep your feet warm. They have fur lining and triple soles.” She giggled. “Go and try them on. I want to be sure I got the sizes right.”
Cynan came down the stairs several minutes later. In the firelight she could almost believe him a warrior of the Nemunuh. His face broke into a happy grin as he advanced across the floor. He turned slowly.
“You have no need to worry. They fit well and they are warmer than any clothing I have had for more years than I would wish to number.” He straightened. “I will wear them to bid you farewell tomorrow. For now let us sleep; it is best to take the road early. That way you waste none of the day.”
It may have been a gift of the gods . . . they slept well and soundly that last night. Both had feared a wakeful night knowing this was good-bye. But their sleep was swift and their dreams kind. At first light both woke. Together they ate and drank in silence. Then Eleeri brought the horses and mounted. Beside her Cynan was dressed in the clothing she had made for him. She leaned down to take his hand.
“I will always remember you.” Her vision was blurred by tears. “I love you.” Her hand lifted. “For the feast you gave me, fair thanks. For the welcome of your gate, gratitude. To the ruler of this hold, all good fortune, and bright sun in the days to come.”
Cynan moved forward and as she leaned down, he reached up to hug her hard. “Ride in strength, warrior. May your weapons never fail and may Ka-dih bring you at last to a place befitting his daughter.” He slapped the pony firmly on its hindquarters and it started down the trail. As long as the road lay straight, Eleeri turned to watch him. At the bend, she lifted her hand and heard his final call echoing after her.
“Farewell, child. My love go with you.”
She rode on, tear-blinded, knowing she would never see or hear him again. Ahead lay an unknown future. Thus far she had prospered. What would her tomorrows bring?
4
She rode steadily while daylight lasted. By now she had learned minor spells, and with them she set up a secure camp. Gunnora was very similar to one prayed to by the Nemunuh, and Eleeri felt at home with the amber amulets and the lady. Holding her amber, she marched from corner to corner of her small encampment invoking the protection of Gunnora. The Place of the Old Ones might have vanished in the turning, but she now had her four pebbles from the ruins, a valued gift. In the half-light they glowed a soft comforting blue and she placed them with care.