Path of Fate Read online

  “I’m afraid I must desert you,” she said to Kaval, disentangling herself. “There’s much to be done yet. Thank you for the scarf.”

  “Bide a moment. I must return to help my father anyway. I shall walk with you.”

  Kaval nodded to the two knights and Varitsema and collected up the reins of his horse. He put his hand on the small of Reisil’s back as they walked away.

  They had not gone four steps before Kaval began grilling Reisil on the events of the last two weeks.

  “How could Iisand Samir agree to this!” he exclaimed. “If you could see what it’s like in the rest of Kodu Riik. People are starving, and worse. Men without hands, without eyes, without feet. The Patversemese have no honor; they cannot be trusted to keep any treaty. And what about Mysane Kosk? Can we just forget that? We still don’t know all that happened there. Those wizards left no one alive to tell the tale, and no one who goes there now comes out alive.”

  His bitter vehemence shocked Reisil and she eyed him askance. Her entire acquaintance with Kaval had been one of gentleness and comfort. As a child, she’d followed him about like a lost puppy. Older than she by two years, he’d always been patient and kind, always defending her against Juhrnus, always ready with a joke or a sweet. Grown into a man, he topped her by six inches. Broad-shouldered and athletic, with shortcropped brown hair and blunt features, he always had a ready smile, a contagious laugh. Upon her return to Kallas, he’d welcomed her with a warm embrace and flattering admiration. They were together in every spare moment they could manage.

  The ruthless fury on his normally handsome face made him look ugly, and Reisil hardly recognized him. He’d never spoken so of Mysane Kosk to her, had never spoken of it at all.

  “To threaten us—Iisand Samir must be insane! And for what? For a treaty that those soulless bastards will break as soon as they have the chance. They should all be put to the blade.”

  Before Reisil could reply, a shadow swooped down at them. She felt the rush of air across her head and flinched away. Saljane’s strident kek-kek-kek-kek echoed down the street.

  “What was that?”

  Once again, Reisil’s reply was cut off. Pori ran into the street from his shop.

  “Kaval!” The excited coopersmith grasped Kaval’s hand and began pumping it up and down. “Congratulations, my boy. Knew it had to be you. And here you’re back and she comes right for you. Saw the whole thing. Dived right out of the sky like she was going after a rabbit. Magnificent! Never saw anything so wonderful.”

  “Pori! Pori! Stop. What are you talking about?” A bewildered Kaval pulled his hand out of the other man’s grasp.

  “Why, the goshawk. She’s ahalad-kaaslane, come in search. Been here nearly two weeks and hasn’t made a choice.” Pori had begun to look confused. “Didn’t she choose you?”

  Kaval shook his head. “If so, she didn’t tell me about it.”

  “Why . . . but why not? Why hasn’t she made her choice?” Pori’s face had fallen and he looked forlorn. It might have been funny if Reisil didn’t know the truth. Because of her, this good man was humiliating himself.

  “I don’t know.” Kaval shrugged regretfully and grasped the other man’s shoulder. “Thank you, old friend, for the kind wishes and hopes. It would be a great honor to be chosen by such a bird. I am flattered you would think I could be ahalad-kaaslane.”

  Hearing the reverence in his voice, Reisil bit her cheeks and studied the ground. They left Pori shaking his head and muttering. Reisil was too caught up in her own worries to hear much of Kaval’s continuing tirade against the Iisand and the Patversemese. She left him when they reached the wide courtyard hubbing Kaval’s father’s warehouses.

  “I had better be on my way.”

  He smiled at her, that same lopsided grin that always made her heart race. “I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?”

  “I’m going to be helping Raim with the preparations for the feast.”

  “Oh, right, the feast.” His voice hardened again.

  “Will you be there?”

  “I expect so. If only to see you.” He waved at the bustle of activity within the courtyard. “There is much to do here and my father intends me for another trip at the end of the month. He is so pleased with the success of my journey that he has agreed at last to let me take on more of the business. It means a lot more time here, so I won’t be able to come visit you very soon.” He gave a diffident shrug. “So if you will be at the feast, then there is where I must be as well.”

  Reisil nodded, feeling a thrill of tingling pleasure and sharp disappointment at his words. Pleasure, disappointment—and relief. Much as she wanted to touch him, to snuggle in his arms, she did not want him to visit her in her cottage. Not with Saljane hanging around.

  “Thank you for the scarf,” she murmured, stroking it with soft fingers. “It’s lovely.”

  “No more so than you,” he replied, taking her hand in his warm grasp and kissing her. “I will see you tomorrow.”

  Reisil watched him walk away, his stride purposeful, as if he forgot her as soon as he turned away. He approached his father, who was marking figures on a list as the wagons were unloaded. Kaval grasped Rikutud’s arm and drew him aside, his hands chopping at the air. She knew he brought the news of the treaty. Rikutud had heard already, of course. He had returned from a short trading trip days after the meeting at Raim’s. He grasped Kaval’s arm and handed his list to one of his men before drawing his son into the rear of his home. Reisil sighed. All her words to the contrary, she wasn’t so sure that the treaty was a good idea either, but the war being over, that was very good. If it meant hosting the Patversemese for a night, then so be it.

  She thought about Iisand Samir’s threats. Reisil didn’t doubt that he would make good on the confiscation of everyone’s property, turning the townspeople out. Including her. She’d lose her cottage and become a wandering tark after all.

  But no one would be so stupid and reckless as to chance that, she comforted herself. Kaval and Rikutud might be angry now. But it was often said that Rikutud would rather have kohv with the Demonlord than put a penny in the poor plate. No, he would never risk his business. Kallas would do the right thing, and the Dure Vadonis would be duly impressed by the town’s hospitality, and then he would travel on to Koduteel and sign the treaty.

  As usual, Saljane awaited Reisil at home, perching on the eave above the door. Silhouetted in the shadows, she looked like a malevolent wraith.

  Reisil scowled up at her, shivering as the ember eye sparked in the depths of the bird’s ebon form. She made a sound like a growl and strode onto her porch, shoving her door open with a bang.

  Reisil had taken to closing her shutters during the day so that the bird could not enter while she wasn’t home. It made the cottage stuffy and hot. She thrust each of them open, muttering as she banged her forehead on the window’s edge.

  She lit the lamps and gently draped the scarf Kaval had given her over her bed, caressing the fabric with soft fingers. Then she set about preparing her supper. Behind her she heard a flapping of wings and a thump. Turning, she found Saljane clutching the back of a chair, wings raised for balance. She eyed Reisil defiantly, beak open in a soundless cry.

  “This pestering isn’t going to work, you know,” Reisil said, leaning back against the counter as she peeled a potato, her fingers trembling slightly. “I am what I am and that’s just the way it is.”

  ~Belong. With. You.

  Reisil started, not expecting the communication, and jabbed herself with the knife.

  “No.”

  Saljane said nothing more, but merely stared. She watched as Reisil ate her hearty supper, as she washed the supper dishes, as she set the cottage to rights, as she took a hip bath, as she crawled into bed, blowing out the lamp and pulling the covers tight around her neck.

  Despite her calm demeanor, Reisil did not fall asleep quickly. She could almost taste Saljane’s voice, metallic and bitter. Who would want such a bonding? There we
re songs about the love between the ahalad-kaaslane. She couldn’t imagine it. She wanted the love of a flesh-and-blood man. Kaval.

  Her fingers touched the scarf and she coiled her fingers in its length, her lips curling into a smile.

  Reisil woke the next morning with gritty eyes and a gummy mouth. She groaned as she lumbered up out of bed and stretched, her spine cracking. Her head felt thick and her stomach grumbled.

  She stirred the fire to life, adding wood until it popped merrily. While she waited for her tea to boil, she combed out her hair and rebraided it. She dressed herself in soft cotton trousers the color of faded violets. The full legs tapered down her leg to a twoinch cuff of a rich, dark purple that she’d embroidered with leaves and flowers. The overtunic was of the same purple as the trouser’s cuffs and came down to her knees, with splits up the sides to allow free movement. She tied a ribbon about her neck to match the faded violet color of her trousers, then laced on her sandals. When she was through, she glanced down at herself, pleased. She’d made the dye for the outfit herself by boiling the shells of tiny freshwater clams. It had taken her several years of experimenting before she’d hit on the shells as a source of the pigment, then another year to figure out a proper mordant.

  Reisil had thought to bring a gift back to Kallas to repay the town for its care of her. She’d not yet shown anyone the fruits of her labor and smiled to think of Roheline’s excitement at obtaining the pigment for her paints. Nor would she be the only one eager to make use of Reisil’s discovery.

  After a moment’s debate, Reisil tucked the scarf Kaval had given her into her pack along with a long apron. She didn’t know what Raim had in mind for her today, but she doubted he’d give her a chance to come home and change before the festivities began and she didn’t want to get too filthy. Whatever did find its way onto her clothing, she’d be able to hide much of it with the scarf.

  The cool morning breeze stroked her cheeks. There a light mist rose from the river and the scent of growing things filled the air. A bubble of happiness burbled up inside Reisil. She thought of Raim’s wonderful food, the delight on Roheline’s face when she saw the purple of Reisil’s clothes, of Kaval’s possessive arm curled about her shoulders. She ran a few steps and dropped back to a walk, laughing out loud.

  To her surprise, Teemart waited for her outside the gates. He wore heavy boots and a battered straw hat that he tore from his head and crushed in his fist at her approach. He smiled shyly at her and avoided meeting her eyes.

  “Bright morning,” Reisil said, curiosity coloring her voice.

  “Ma sent me to give this to you,” he said abruptly, holding out a small object. “She said she’ll not take it back. It’s for you and only you.”

  “How are you feeling?” Reisil asked, taking the small, cloth-wrapped package, turning it over in her fingers. It was hard and had a flat shape covered with bumps. A gift of gratitude for her care of Teemart, she supposed.

  He lifted one shoulder and kicked at the dirt. “Fit enough. Been mending walls and cutting sod.”

  “Don’t overdo it,” Reisil cautioned.

  “No, ma’am. I wouldn’t do that,” Teemart replied, still looking at Reisil’s feet.

  “Are you coming to the feast?”

  “I can’t say. Ma will do what she’ll do.”

  “Well, I hope to see you both there,” Reisil said. “Tell your mother thank-you. I’ll come ’round and thank her myself when the commotion of the Dure Vadonis’s visit is over.” She turned to leave but Teemart’s rough hand on her sleeve stopped her, his face flushing darkly.

  “Ma wanted me to tell you something else. She said to say that she knows all about it and that you’d better stop—” He broke off and rubbed a hand across his mouth. His eyes flickered up to hers for a second, then back to her feet.

  “Go on.”

  “You know how Ma is. But she said to tell you, so . . .”

  “It’s all right.” But it wasn’t. A fist of foreboding closed around Reisil’s throat.

  Teemart licked his lips. “Well, she said that she knows all about it and you’d better stop being a fool and take up what’s yours. She said you ought to know better and not to be such a coward.”

  At the last Teemart’s voice dropped into a whisper. He didn’t wait for Reisil to reply, but jogged off along the road home, his head jerking up and down with his awkward gait.

  Reisil stood rooted to the ground, mouth open, Nurema’s gift clutched in her hand. The message had to refer to Saljane. But how did the old woman know? Had she seen the goshawk flying over, following Reisil, and made the connection? She was a keen-witted old woman, for certain. But if she knew, then who else?

  Her sense of joyous well-being drained away, leaving her trembling. Slowly she unwrapped Nurema’s gift. Inside the cloth was a silver talisman of the Blessed Lady.

  Reisil gasped.

  The workmanship of the pendant was exquisite. It showed a gryphon in flight, a moon and sun clutched in its talons, a streamer of ivy dangling from its beak. The eye of the gryphon burned red, reminding her uncomfortably of Saljane’s eyes. Reisil could see every feather on the gryphon, every hair of its fur. Where had Nurema gotten it? It was too fine a thing to have come from Kallas. Too expensive for her to just give away.

  Reisil turned the pendant over in her hand. The back was as finely worked as the front. That Nurema meant the pendant as a reinforcement of her message, Reisil did not doubt. But she was no more inclined to be pushed into becoming ahalad-kaaslane by the old woman than by Saljane. She’d return the thing in the morning and that would be the end of it.

  To keep it safe until then Reisil slipped the talisman onto the ribbon about her neck and retied it so that the cold metal fell between her breasts, hidden from sight.

  She passed through the gates with an absent wave at the gatekeeper and made her way to Raim’s kohv-house. The pendant lay chill and heavy against her breast, its rough edges chafing her tender skin. It never seemed to warm with the heat of her skin, but remained a cold reminder of Nurema’s admonishment.

  Raim greeted her with a cheery wave as she entered his kohv-house, hardly glancing up from his sheaf of lists.

  “Bright morning! Sit down. Have some breakfast. You’re going to need a good meal for what I’ve in mind for you. Something better than porridge and dried fruit.” A boy brought her a plate of eggs, smoked fish, crisp buttercakes and grilled squash, and a cup of creamy hot kohv with a dash of nussa spice. As Reisil began her meal, Raim glanced up, noticing her at last.

  “Ah! What beautiful color!” He clapped his hands together in his extravagant way. “My Roheline will be envious. You will get no rest until she has some of this wonderful purple.”

  Reisil smiled at him, sipping at the hot brew.

  “I will gladly give her some of my dye, and hope she takes pity on my poor cottage. It’s so dark and dreary.”

  Raim chuckled.

  “It is no hard bargain,” he said. “You could charge much more and she would pay. But now I must return to my kitchen. The Dure Vadonis will arrive today and all must be ready. Varitsema is like a nervous mother. He will not forgive me if the food is undone.” He pushed through the swinging doors, calling over his shoulder, “When you are through, let me know and I will set you to work.”

  So busy did Raim keep her that Reisil missed the arrival of the Dure Vadonis and his entourage. So busy did he keep her that she almost could forget Nurema’s message and the talisman around her neck.

  Almost.

  She began her morning overseeing the arrangement of the tables and seating arrangements. Roheline, who was making lavish decorations with candles, blown-glass lamps, cartloads of flowers, ribbons, banners, silvertoned chimes and gleaming metal ornaments, went into raptures over her outfit. Reisil promised her some of the dye, for which Roheline pledged to come begin painting in the cottage as soon as she was able.

  She stroked the sleeve of Reisil’s tunic with covetous fingers. “Don’t give o
ut the formula too quickly,” she cautioned Reisil after a moment. “It will make anyone’s fortune.”

  “I am here to serve Kallas, not make a profit,” Reisil protested.

  “As is correct for any tark. But trust in me, there are those who will see nothing but profit in your dye. Rikutud, for instance. He’s a wily one, and eats and breathes money. He will not wish to share with all of Kallas. But all could benefit from the dye if you arrange it so.”

  Reisil grinned wickedly.

  “All right. I’ll give you the formulas for the dye and the mordant, and you can handle the rest.”

  “Me! Oh, no! I have much too much to do,” Roheline exclaimed. “I could not do such a thing.” But her eyes sparkled.

  “But it’s your idea. And I know just the woman who could help you.” During this season of spring cleaning and sprucing up, Reisil had been able to find odd jobs for Shorin, the starving mother who’d accosted her in the street. But those jobs would dry up quickly now. A dye works would set her up permanently. Though the ahalad-kaaslane had already begun moving the squatters to a new village along the river twelve leagues to the north, Shorin would have an easier time in Kallas. And Roheline already liked Shorin, admired her dry humor, hard work and devotion to her children.

  Grinning with satisfaction, Reisil gave Roheline a wink. “I’d better get on with preparations. I can’t have Raim angry with me.” Reisil gave the other woman a sunny wave and departed. As she left, she could see Roheline’s mind clicking away at the problem. The dye could become an enormous business, Reisil knew. In taking it on, Roheline might not have time to paint. Yet despite her words to the contrary, she seemed willing to make that sacrifice, at least for now. But what happens later? Reisil asked herself. What happens when she wants her life back?

  She scanned the nearby rooftops and sky for the ever-present Saljane. She was nowhere to be seen.

  The bird wanted Reisil to sacrifice her life for a new one, a new challenge. But she wasn’t like Roheline. She wasn’t interested in that new challenge. She wanted to be Kallas’s tark. She wanted to explore her burgeoning feelings for Kaval. Ahalad-kaaslane were forbidden such attachments. They must keep free of all biases, which meant constant travel and few true friends. She did not want to be ahalad-kaaslane with the goshawk, with a lynx, with a bear or a mouse. She did not want to be ahalad-kaaslane at all.