Мерседес Лэки - Passages

This time, there was no terror-driven race to the Valdemar border, pursued by a nameless clawing something that Rinton dared not look at face-to-face. The Guard kept the South Trade Road clear of snow, and the skies had been calm and fair for most of the days they had been in Karse. Only today, the last day of their travel, had a few slushy flurries turned into a cold rain, slowing them down as they returned to Haven. At first, they had tried to ignore it and press on, since they were barely a half-day’s journey from the city, but with no pressing urgency, they had chosen to take temporary refuge under the trees.

“We’re so close to Haven that there’re no inns nearby, but I think there is a Waystation just a mile or so farther up the road. If the rain doesn’t let up, maybe we can make for that and at least get ourselves warm and dry to finish the last few leagues tomorrow. Winter rains make me feel colder than snow.”

Miri had opened her mouth to assent when Rinton’s Companion stiffened beside them, his legs braced against the ground.

:Hold on.: The words rang between her ears, and she stared, mouth agape, as an inner shock rippled over both Herald and Companion. Rinton’s eyes rolled up behind his lids, and only Miri’s proximity enabled her to grab his limp body, preventing him from being caught under the weight of his Companion, whose legs buckled as he folded into an unconscious white heap. Kiyan launched himself to a nearby branch, his distressed caws barely denting her awareness as she fought to keep her balance.

Miri braced against the weight of the Herald, and she struggled to control Rinton’s slide down her side until he landed in another white heap next to Linx. As soon as the Herald was on the ground, she knelt beside him, one hand reaching under Rinton’s collar to find his pulse while her eyes studied the Companion.

As she watched, a tremor passed under the Companion’s skin, and she saw the deep barrel of his chest rise and fall, rapid breaths as though he had been galloping. Relieved, she focused on the pulse beneath her fingertips, which skittered and jumped but, thankfully, kept beating. The Herald’s breathing was sharp and quick as well, and she took a moment to rearrange his body into a more reclined position, pillowing his head and torso against his Companion’s side.

As soon as she had done so, the breathing of both changed, as though the physical contact calmed them. She found Rinton’s pulse again—though still rapid, it was now steady and more even.

Miri sat back on her heels and stared at the two of them slumped on the cushion of fallen needles. What in Vkandis’ name had just happened? There had been no sound other than Linx’s warning projected into her head. She had felt nothing, not even a whisper of anything, touching the shields around her mind. Whatever it had been, it apparently was targeted to affect only the Heralds and the Companions, which was a terrifying thought. Fear seized her as she thought of Haven, defenseless without its White Riders.

Not defenseless, silly girl, she told herself. What of the Guard? The Army? What of Herald Captain Kerowyn’s Skybolts? Even as she calmed her own breathing, Kiyan dropped from the tree to land beside her, and she gently stroked his glimmering blue-black feathers, working her fingertips underneath to scratch at the base of his skull. If a huge crow could ever be said to purr, Rinton’s “pet” did so, leaning his head into her fingers with a soft chittering sound.

“Well, now what?” she said to the bird. He cocked his head to one side and eyed her with a corvid’s innate curiosity. “Leave them here to go get help I certainly cannot, nor take them anywhere by myself. If— when they wake up, who knows what condition they’ll be in?”

The crow had no response for her, but even as she finished the words, Linx’s ears twitched, and he slowly raised his head, gently turning to look first at Rinton’s body leaning against him and then at Miri.

:Ow.: If she didn’t know otherwise, she wouldn’t have recognized it as the same “voice” she had heard giving the earlier warning. Faint and faded, the mind-voice reminded her of the carefully quiet way people talked when they were suffering the morning-after effects of a night of excessive drinking.

“What just happened?” Although she whispered, the Companion’s eyes flickered in what she could only describe as a wince.

:I’m . . . not sure.: A long silence, as Linx half-closed his eyes in concentration.

“Is it bad?” She assumed he was Mindspeaking with the Companions in Haven, and waited.

:Not . . . bad. Unexpected.:

In her time at the Healers’ Collegium, Miri had heard more than one Herald or Trainee complain about the inscrutability of their Companions. “Speaking” directly to Linx, without Rinton as intermediary, she suddenly understood all of their frustration.

:Rolan says not to panic.:

“Who’s panicking?” Miri looked pointedly from herself to Kiyan to the still unconscious Rinton.

Linx did not deign to respond but began to move, rearranging his legs underneath him. Miri held onto Rinton’s shoulders so that he didn’t flop over as the Companion shifted and resettled. She eased the Herald’s weight back against Linx’s side, pulling one of his legs to a less-awkward bend, then unfastened the stallion’s saddle girth, allowing the saddle to slip off behind his back to land in the thin snow at the edge of the sheltered circle.

“If he is unconscious more than a candlemark or two, I will need to look more closely.” She hoped the Companion would understand what she meant—he was, after all, the first one to identify her Gift as that of Mindhealing.

Linx only nodded his head a little before his neck drooped in a gentle curve, his nose just touching Rinton’s outstretched leg, and he drifted into sleep.

Mirideh blinked. “Not too worried he must be, either,” she muttered to the crow, who chittered back at her. She stood and set about loosening her mare’s saddle girth, pulling out some of her waybread and the last dried berry pocket pie that her grandmother had wrapped up for her. Placing her bedroll against the shaggy tree trunk, she leaned back. “Might as well make myself comfortable, as well.”

As soon as she finished the dry waybread and broke off the first flake of the pocket pie, Kiyan sidled up beside her, bobbing his head and half-mantling his wings.

“Here you go, you greedy thing,” she murmured with a smile, breaking off a small chunk of fruit and pastry and putting it on the ground. “I know Rinton shared the last of his with you already.” The bird snatched up the treat and bolted it down, with a nod of his head by way of a thank you.

Was it her imagination, or had the rain gotten heavier? As if in answer, a few drops snaked their way between the boughs to spatter in the leaf litter around them, and one splashed icy-cold across the top of her head. Miri thought for a moment, then dug in her packs once more to find the small metal dishes she always carried with her, propping them in a low snowbank just outside the tree’s sheltering branches to gather the falling rain. Rainwater sometimes seemed more refreshing than the groundwater with which they filled their waterskins, and if Rinton woke with a headache half as bad as she suspected he would, he’d need every bit of refreshing he could get. She put one bundle of soothing herbs handy in her belt pouch—they would steep well enough even in cold water when Rinton woke.

As more drops filtered through to fall upon the four—no, five—of them, she corrected herself, glancing up to the branches where Kiyan had retreated, she once more went to the saddle packs, this time to pull out the heavy oiled cloaks. She draped one as best as she could over the Herald and huddled under the second herself. Kiyan dropped to the ground again and tucked himself up under one edge of her cloak, and she returned to idly stroking his feathers, lost in considering questions she doubted Linx either could or would answer.