Lynn Flewelling - The White Road

“Not yet. I just know that he and the tayan’gil are still together.”

Rieser gave him a rare smile. “Thank you for your help, my friend. Without your visions, we would not have come so far so quickly.”

“Thank the Mother,” the witch replied with a grin.

Turmay lay awake after the other ’faie had gone to sleep. The tayan’gil Hâzadriën did not sleep, and the witch suspected that Rieser had ordered it to watch him at night.

Turmay had not lied to Rieser. He just hadn’t told him the whole truth.

Curled up by the fire, he clutched his oo’lu close and silently prayed to the half-moon above.

Beautiful Mother, giver of life and death, shine your face on me and guide me to this white abomination. Guide my hand to kill it before it acts again!

SNOW was falling gently as Alec and the rest reached the mouth of the home valley.

Seregil had tried to describe his home to Alec, but when they finally reached it just before sunset, Alec found it more vast and beautiful than he’d imagined. The lower end of the valley was rolling and broad, with plentiful water from several rivers. Acres of meadow promised lush hay in summer.

The valley was dotted with horse farms that reminded Alec of Watermead, and others raising sheep, goats, and chickens, and still others that looked like they were tilled for grain and vegetables in summer. Farther up, the valley narrowed and the sides grew steeper, but Alec could make out the dark shapes of herds there, too.

Seregil kept his hood up as they neared the final crossroad. His kin and the escort riders greeted friends by name. Four decades weren’t a lot in a ’faie lifetime, and he recognized quite a few people. Some of them were his age, and it was bittersweet to see how young they still looked compared to him.

Though he kept up a cheerful façade, he felt an increasing inner turmoil as they reached the final turn onto the steep road that led up to the town of his birth. To their left he could already hear the roar of the lower river churning in the gorge below. The Bôkthersan clan house and central town lay on the eastern shore of a large mountain lake. The Silver River cascaded down from the peaks to feed it, and then continued down the valley in a rushing torrent.

The sigh of the breeze in the boughs soothed him a little, as it always had, and the deep snow brought back happy memories of snowball fights and ice fishing on the lake, and hot drinks around the bonfires afterward as the feeling came back like pins and needles to cold fingers and toes.

To be riding up this road again was gift enough, but to be in the company of Alec and Micum and his kin brought a lump to his throat.

He wondered if his other two sisters, Shalar and Illina, would be there to greet him. They’d shunned him since his first exile, sending no words of comfort and staying away from Sarikali when he’d been there. According to Adzriel, there were others among his kin and clan who would not welcome him warmly, either.

Nudging his horse up beside Seregil’s, Alec gave him a knowing look as he said quietly, “That’s not a very cheerful expression, talí. Aren’t you happy to be back?”

Seregil forced a smile, not wanting to spoil this first visit for Alec in any way.

Alec’s heart beat faster as they approached the town. The houses here were very like those in Gedre, square and solid with domed colos on top, but built of timber and dressed stone, and decorated with intricate carvings.

The valley was breathtakingly grand, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. The frozen lake was nowhere near as large as the Blackwater, but it was large all the same. There were little islands out there, too, and Alec could imagine camping out on one of them some summer night.

People waved and called greetings as they headed down the main street toward the clan house. Alec was thrilled to see so many green sen’gai in one place. Everyone wore the graceful traditional clothing here; men and women alike wore trousers and boots or slippers. The main difference in the tunics, which were split from hem to belt on either side, was that the women’s were longer. They were made of soft wool, and dyed in every color for everyday use, with patterns of embroidery at the neck and cuffs.

The clan house stood on a hill overlooking both town and water. Beyond it, the forest closed in again, thick and dark. Protected by water and mountains, the rambling clan house sprawled across the high ground, windows glinting and smoke rising from scores of chimneys.

“Welcome home, Haba,” Adzriel said, leaning in the saddle to clap Seregil on the shoulder. Alec was the only one who noticed the brief flash of pain in his lover’s grey eyes before the forced smile appeared again. The closer they came to this place, the more tension Alec felt along the talímenios bond, though Seregil was keeping up a bold front, as usual; he’d said next to nothing about his feelings about coming back here. Even after all this time, Alec had to rely on the bond and intuition. Fortunately he could read Seregil like a scroll. He might not always know the cause, but he knew what Seregil was feeling, especially when he was unhappy or fearful. The latter was a rare occurrence, but that’s what Alec was picking up now. He caught Seregil’s eye again and gave him a reassuring smile. Seregil gave him a nod and a hint of a smile, then turned his face for home.

Word spread and people shouted and waved to their returning khirnari from rooftops and street corners. Adzriel led the way through the central square, where the ancient temple of Aura stood, its walls brilliant white against the darker buildings, its carved lintel painted silver and blue.

As they neared the outer gates of the clan house, it looked to Seregil as if the entire household had turned out to meet them. Adzriel’s husband—tall, plain Säaban—was in the forefront, and another tall man was with him, the sight of whom made Seregil’s heart beat so hard it hurt and his eyes sting. It was his uncle.

Adzriel waved to her husband, eyes bright and cheeks flushed.

“And mind you call him Säaban, and not by his formal name or ‘sir,’ as you did in Sarikali,” he overheard Mydri reminding Alec. “He’s kin.”

“I don’t imagine he liked me dragging you away from home again, sister,” Seregil said to Adzriel, adding with a small grin, “Unless you two are already a settled old married couple.”

“I still know how to cut a switch, Haba,” she retorted without so much as a sidelong glance.

Micum burst out laughing. Seregil actually blushed, but suddenly his heart felt lighter.

Alec let out an ill-concealed snicker and whispered, “Sorry, I was just imagining her chasing the Rhíminee Cat around with a switch.”

“I can count on one hand the times she made good on that threat,” Seregil retorted with a grin.

Adzriel laughed. “I’ve always said I should have beaten you more.”

“You’re probably right.”

To his surprise, old friends and relatives crowded in around his horse as soon as they reined in at the gate. As he’d expected, his other two sisters weren’t among them. But his uncle was, and Akaien smiled and waved to him as if he’d only been gone a few days. He hadn’t changed much. He was tall and dark like Seregil’s father, but with a ready smile and warmth in his grey eyes that Seregil had seldom felt from Korit í Solun.

Kheeta’s mother, Aunt Alira, was the first to embrace him when he dismounted. “It’s about time you came back, you rascal!” she cried, tears rolling down her cheeks. She made a show of feeling his arms and shoulders. “And skinny as ever!”

“You haven’t changed a bit either, Auntie,” he replied, hugging her tight.