Andre Norton - Ciara's Song

The Aiskeep cats were all of Sulcar breeding, tabbies in differing shades but mainly black or silver. Their heads were broad and their bodies stocky. The kitten’s head was more wedge-shaped, his body longer and leaner even so new born. Ciara thought it likely that fully grown he’d be near twice normal size.

Keelan returned then, agog to admire his cat and her achievement. He gaped at the kitten incredulously.

“It’s huge! Is Shosho all right, will she have enough milk for it? I have the box for them, and the fire’s blazing downstairs.”

Ciara eased her shoulders, “Good. Put them in the box and leave them. Shosho would like a bit of peace and privacy now. Stay away for a couple of hours. You can come down with us and make us something to drink. I’m not as young as I was for this sort of afternoon.”

The kitten thrived. Shosho had milk but the baby turned to meat earlier than usual. He grew fast. In four months, he was as large as any cat at Aiskeep. At the same time he made his choice of human. To Aisling’s pleasure it fell on her.

“I don’t know what to call him, though.” She giggled, “Maybe I should leave it up to him.” She nudged the kitten sprawled on her stomach. “What do you want to be called? Half—a-Horse might be appropriate.”

The kitten sat up with dignity. Into Aisling’s surprised mind came a picture. The kitten whirled in pursuit of a leaf. Spun, leaping high into the air to land with soft paws on the captured prey. Wind ruffled his fur. He leaped at the breeze as it passed, patting out with hopeful paws. Dancing with the stir of air. The girl smiled, touching the soft fur between his ears.

“Wind-Dancer? I’ll call you Dancer for short.” The kitten purred approval.

Ciara watched. She, too, had seen. That was interesting. She could receive some emotions from animals as could her granddaughter. But that had been more, a strong, clear picture in reply to a question. More and more she wondered who or what Shosho had found as mate.

When Dancer was a year old, Aisling’s gift began to wear on her. At the same time Kirion made another attempt to lay hands on his sister. His studies were no longer gray. Now they were black sorcery. He’d discovered ways to power yet he remained cautious. He had also learned too many of the things that might happen to those who were casual.

Ruart, too, had not forgotten Aisling. The girl was seventeen. He’d offered marriage once. Ruart had been ill that winter. For the first time he’d realized that no one lives forever. A man should leave sons behind him. To do that he needed a respectable wife of good family. Aisling would be just right.

To the fury of all at Aiskeep, he renewed his offer. It was rejected firmly. Then two weeks later as Aisling rode alone in the upper valley, two men appeared from the trees. She was seized. In her terror she drew on her gift without restraint. One man died on the spot, the other a day later. But he survived long enough to confirm that Kirion had been his master.

Trovagh called the family together. “I have bad news. Geavon writes that Shandro is favoring Ruart more and more. He has enough influence lately to receive almost anything he asks to have.

“We have just sent word to Ruart that Aisling refuses him. How long before the duke intervenes and insists? Aiskeep can still refuse, will still refuse. But what will Shandro do if he is openly flouted?”

Ciara glanced around. “There is also Kirion. As he has shown us, there are ways into Aiskeep other than the main gates. I doubt many men could enter through the hills as that pair did. But what if we were held in siege at the gates, while others attacked in a steady pattern of twos and threes through the hill tracks? We might not be taken by storm through the gates, but we could be worn down over time.”

Trovagh nodded. “For that reason I plan to fill the lower storerooms again. Trader Takon arrives in three days. Aiskeep has always held siege supplies, but I will double them.”

“We pay with what, my love?” Ciara questioned.

“With horses of the Aiskeep strain. Talron has a Sulcar master who will take them aboard to sell in Es City. If we are besieged, we will be unlikely to sell our beasts, so I am stripping the herd. All trained mounts will go save for one mount for each of us.”

Elanor had been carried down to join them. She was in her nineties but while frail of body, her mind was as keen as ever.

“Sell all the Keep’s ordinary horses, too, Tro,” she said now. “They eat as much as the better beasts. Replace them with the Torgian strain as we train the young ones.”

Trovagh agreed. It was something he had not thought about. The Keep had always used ordinary beasts for the work in harness.

His glance touched Aisling. She’d been so quiet lately, ever since she’d killed the men who would have stolen her. He thought the worst of it for the child was that she had not intended to strike. Now she was afraid to touch or allow the touch of those she loved. Ciara said that the girl alternated between refusing to use her overflowing power until her skin shone with it—or using it over and over until she was dangerously exhausted.

Keelan moved to the table to pour wine. He didn’t like any of this. His brother Kirion was a danger to Aisling. Ruart would be more easily handled. Shandro would sit at Aiskeep’s gates for months, maybe a year. Once he found what a siege cost, he’d think up some reason to save his reputation and leave, and if he didn’t, the merchants would have something to say about it. They wouldn’t appreciate being taxed to pay for Ruart’s choice of wives.

But Kirion would cling on. There’d be more of his creatures slipping into the upper valley. More people dead. Knowing Kirion, it wouldn’t be long before he hit on the idea of hostages. What would that do to Aisling?

If she refused to go to Kirion and people died for that? If she went and Kirion could use her power for himself and his sorceries? How long would it be before Aisling came to a conclusion that her own death would solve everything for those she loved?

She’d been hard hit by the death of two men—men who, Keelan thought, were probably better dead for the sake of others anyhow. The one who’d survived most of a day had talked deliriously. His descriptions of what his master had done with those stolen had almost made Keelan sick. The brute had been Kirion’s supplier and had a lot to tell.

Talron came and went. The lower storerooms bulged with what he left. Dancer had a wonderful time assisting, being shut into every room in turn and bawling to be released, only to be shut in the next and the next. He kept Aisling distracted for several days.

But once the, supplies were in, the horses handed over, Talron and his men left. Now she had time to brood again. Dancer did his best, but Aisling was too unhappy to be distracted.

The truth was that she feared her gift now. She had killed with it. She’d been terrified when she was seized, but she might still have kept the fire under control. Then one of the men had twisted her arm, the pain had sickened her. With the pain she lost control. Her skin had flared with silver light, both men had fallen screaming, one was dead in seconds. The one who had hurt her. The other died before the morning. She intended none of it.

If it came without her willing it there, what of her grandparents? What of Keelan, old Hanion—any of them might touch her. Hanion always liked to throw her up onto her mount if he was by. It was his privilege. He was almost too old to lift her now, but he’d taught her to ride. How could she tell him to stand away from her? Keelan, Grandmother Ciara, Grandfather Tro, Great-Aunt Elanor, they all hugged her often. Was she to thrust them back? Demand they never come too close to her?