Duainfey (27 page)

Meri felt anger flicker through his bewilderment. "And do what, noble Engenium?"

Sian smiled. "I'll think of something," she said, and waggled her fingers at him. "Go. Think."

They caught up to the wounded boar at twilight, deep into the rocky badlands at the edge of the
keleigh
's influence. Conditions favored animal over hunter, except that the animal was ill and exhausted and a danger to herself and everything in the Vaitura. She had already savaged a Low Fey hamlet, leaving several badly mangled; and had gone on to gore Indella Lachenlauf, the Wood Wise summoned by the Brethren to deal with the problem. From Indella, the charge had gone to Faldana Camlauf, roused from the arms of Meripen Longeye to take the message.

"Heading toward the rocklands," she said, looking worried, which was only sensible. Boars were chancy at the best of times, and a threat even to Rangers. A wounded boar could do incalculable harm. A wounded boar in the badlands, on its choice of terrain? Not something a single Ranger wished to face alone, no matter how seasoned or skilled.

Two Rangers would scarcely be sufficient to bring such a creature down, Meri thought, arms crossed behind his head as he lay in their mossy nest, looking up into Faldana's face as she considered the situation once more.

He did not offer to go with her—Faldana was a canny and competent Ranger, and the charge had come to her. It was not his place to offer advice or assistance. She would ask for what she needed, and of whom.

"It's in bad shape," she said, holding up the bit of tusk that constituted the physical part of the charge. "Blackened fur along its left side, and something . . . unfortunate going on with the rear legs."

"Sounds as if the poor beastie was caught in the lightning and hail a few days ago," Meri offered. Faldana nodded.

"If a tree came down on those hindquarters . . ."

Meri understood. It took a lot to hurt a boar; even if it had taken its death-wound, it would linger overlong. Had already lingered overlong.

"I'll go at once," Faldana said, raising her head to give him a rueful, tender smile. "It's hardly the sort of sharing we had envisioned, love, but—I would like it, if you would hunt with me."

"Of course I'll come," he said, sitting up and reaching for his shirt. He felt a pang for the lovingly constructed nest, and the thorough sharing they had promised each other. The Wood Wise, especially those who followed the Ranger's calling, tended to be solitary, meeting seldom and in small groups to drink and tell tales, make love and share
kest
. He had met Faldana Camlauf at one such seldom gathering, and had taken note of her, as she of him. They had shared then, and several times after; then their paths had diverged.

Four seasons passed before their wandering feet brought them along the same path again, and each had immediately felt the old bond rekindle. Thus, they had agreed to meet, and renew their relationship.

They pledged each other that
this
sharing would be deep, complete; and had taken the time to construct the moss nest.

Meri shook his head, giving Faldana a wry grin, which she returned.

"The Wood waits for no one," she quoted.

"A boar," he answered with a quote from his Sea Wise mother, "is the most inconvenient creature alive."

"
Inconvenient
is not the word I would have chosen," Faldana remarked. She pulled on her shirt and reached for her vest.

Meri grinned and extended a single finger to trace the line of her cheek. "Nor I."

Faldana leaned forward and kissed him, lingering somewhat longer than a Ranger on charge ought, then stepped back.

"Come. We should find it before it does more damage."

They had at least managed that much, sending those Brethren who were willing ahead of the beast with warn-aways and cautions. Still, and among plentiful signs that the animal was weakening, they had not been able to close with it. It almost seemed, Meri thought, as if the boar knew it was being followed and was hurrying to advantageous ground before its strength wholly failed.

And so it had been.

"I don't like this at all," he muttered. He went down on one knee and ran his fingers over the stony ground, feeling the boar's hitching walk, and the depth of her rage, fright, and hatred. They were close, for him to pick up so much.

Faldana stood a little ahead of him, nearly invisible in the dusk and among the scant growth. "Meri, what is that?"

He was at her side in a heartbeat, sighting along her pointing finger. There was a . . . shimmer at the very edge of his left eye.

"Surely, it's an aurora," Faldana said, but there was a thread of doubt in her voice.

And she was wise to doubt it. An aurora was transparent to the eye; it did not thicken the air upon which it danced, nor belch sickly green flame toward the milky sky.

"The
keleigh,
" he murmured.

"I . . . hadn't realized that we were so . . . very . . . close . . ." Faldana shook herself. "The boar—could it have been bred—
here
?" She sounded profoundly troubled, nor did Meri blame her.

Boars tended to range wide, and to return to their home ground in times of stress. And every Wood Wise knew that animals which had been born inside the
keleigh
's influence were . . . strange. Odd.

Wrong.

"As if a wounded boar weren't bad enough . . ." he muttered.

"We have to go in after it," Faldana said firmly. Meri thought she might be saying it for herself as much as for him. And she was of course correct.

A wounded boar was dangerous, and this one had already killed. If it . . . shared something of the nature of the
keleigh
 . . . 

"Under other circumstances," Meri said, trying for a light tone, "I would have counseled waiting until the morning gave us better light."

Faldana nodded. "We dare not wait," she said, and threw a tight smile at him over her shoulder before ghosting forward into the dusk.

Following the boar to ground.

* * * 

The rocks grew larger, and more numerous. There were no trees. Ahead, the
keleigh
belched and danced, soaking the landscape with its unhealthful glare. Meri squinted, trying to make sense out of their surroundings, piecing the jagged outline of a rock fall out of the weird light.

He held up a hand. Faldana paused, looking at him worriedly.

"We cannot go back."

"We cannot go forward much longer. Happily, I think I see where it has gone to ground. Take your bow to the top of yon boulder, and I will take mine to that. You are the better archer, so I will shoot first, to flush it. You, I depend upon to bring it down."

She tipped her head, considering—then nodded and turned without a word to the boulder he had indicated.

Meri vaulted to the top of his chosen rock, drew an arrow and set it. He lifted his hand and moved the patch from his right eye to his left.

The blasted, unnatural landscape leapt into focus so sharp he winced, and closed both eyes. Two breaths to steady himself, and to recall that they sought a boar.

He opened his eye. The landscape blurred dizzyingly, bile rose in his throat, and there—there was the quarry, belly down on the stones. Its burned flank was peeled and raw, the ugly wounds weeping, and he could
feel
the effort it made, simply to breathe. It was dying—and yet it could not finish.

His focus still on the suffering animal, Meri carefully raised his bow.

More often than not, longsight created more problems than it solved. On the one hand, it was possible to see what was desired, many furlongs distant. However, it was damnably difficult to
know
how far the desired thing lay from the seeker's physical presence. It was also all but impossible to know
where
it was, for the longeye focused tight, and any attempt to gain context or a sense of near surroundings usually resulted in a loss of focus and a debilitating headache for the seeker.

Meri had learned through hard lessons to use his longeye sparingly. Indeed, this particular situation—where they were near enough to the creature they sought that they needed no context—was one of the few where his gift was exactly as useful as it ought to be.

The animal in his sight shuddered where it lay, and Meri paused, wondering if he witnessed its death, after all.

But, no—it abided. In misery. But it abided.

Meri pulled the arrow back. He had told Faldana that he intended to startle the beast into running toward her position. In truth he would do his best to kill it where it rested; he hardly had the heart to force it to rise again.

Back came the arrow. The boar lifted her heavy head.

Meri released.

The arrow sped true—and buried itself to the fletching in one enormous eye.

The animal roared, hurtling to its feet. Meri brought another arrow across the bowstring . . . 

And the boar crashed to the stony ground, shaking the boulder Meri crouched upon.

Faldana slit its throat, to be certain, and straightened with a tired smile.

"We should have thought of that sooner," she said.

Meri shook his head, and gazed around him with his left eye. "It had to be here. We were near enough, and she had put her back against a wall. Startled, she could
only
bolt toward us."

Faldana nodded, absently, her eyes lifting to the ghastly display of the
keleigh
against the obscured, starless sky.

"Have you ever wondered?" she said softly. "What they're like—the Newmen?"

Meri shrugged. "So long as they remain on their side of the
keleigh
and we on ours, there's no need to wonder."

She looked back to him, her body taut against the unnatural sky. "What if the
keleigh
falls? What if time and place reassert themselves and thrust them into the Vaitura
with
us? Should we at least not scout them out and learn what sort of folk they are?"

"Since we're so close?" Meri frowned. "What brings this to you now?"

"We
are
so close," Faldana pointed out. "And it is our charge, to scout ahead, to be certain that the land is safe for travel, that no boars lie in wait to savage the innocent, that the trees are cared for, and the covenant upheld."

Faldana stepped closer and put her hand on his arm. He felt her
kest
rising, and his stirred in answer. Indeed, it was their charge, but even more than that, to cross the
keleigh
, to spy out the Newmen in their natural habitat—what an adventure it would be, at the side of a companion his equal in craft and spirit. . . . 

"I would like it," Faldana whispered, "if you would hunt with me, Meri."

The morning was pleasant—as were all mornings in this place—giving the lie to the horror of her dreams. What could happen here, that was less than fair or beautiful? And yet, such a dream . . .  Becca shuddered under sun's caress and hurried to the stables.

Rosamunde whickered from her stall, and Drisco snorted. Altimere's black stallion gave no sign that he had even noticed her presence.

"Elyd?" Becca called. "Elyd, are you here?"

The only reply was the sound of Rosamunde's hoof striking the floor of her stall—firmly.

Becca bit her lip. "Elyd!" she called again, voice shrill, chest squeezed with the memory of the dark dream.

Not even Rosamunde answered this time.

"No," Becca whispered, hearing her breath rasping. "It can't have been
true.
 . . ." She tried to slow her breathing; tried to
think
. Elyd could simply be—somewhere else. Surely, duty called him to other segments of the estate from time to time. Perhaps—Perhaps Altimere had given him the day off. Perhaps—

Becca moved to Rosamunde's stall, which looked as if it had just been cleaned and reprovisioned, and the other stalls, as well.

"Well, then," she said briskly, though the pressure in her chest was no less. "He can't have gone far."

She turned, ignoring Rosamunde's offended snort, and moved to a door set in the right wall. That Elyd's room lay beyond it, she knew. She had seen it once—if one did not count the dream—a modest bed with a straw mattress, and clothes hung carefully on hooks. There was another door that opened out into the courtyard.

The door she had entered. In the dream.

Biting her lip, Becca pushed the interior door open—and stood staring at the tidy storeroom: buckets, sacks, rakes, and spare tack all neat and orderly. There was no bed, no clean, tattered clothing hung up off the floor.

No sign that Elyd had ever been here.

Becca felt a stab of pain, tasted blood, turned and bolted, the door banging shut behind her and Rosamunde's whinny shaking in her head long after she had run past the water garden, shoved the gates open and pelted into the elitch garden.

Panting, she collapsed onto the bench, pulling her feet up and leaning into the tree's firm, warm trunk.

"Oh, Scythe! Oh, Scythe . . ." she moaned, and dropped her head to her knees.

It was true. She had—she had taken cruel advantage of her friend, had gloried in his terror, and reft him—reft him of life.

"How . . ." she cried, shivering in self-loathing.

The necklace. She raised her hand and touched it, hard and hot around her throat. Altimere had given her the necklace, and she had suddenly felt—different. Abandoned. Powerful. And she had gone to Elyd—but the dream, or the memory, did not provide her with a reason for his seduction. She had simply—acted, with no more thought or choosing than if she had been a gleeman's doll, responding to twitches along her wires . . . 

And then! He had died—died under her, in the midst of their debauch, and she had tried to help him—she had!—only then to rise, thoughtless again, walking naked out into the night, returning . . . 

 . . . to Altimere, who kissed her and petted her and told that her she had done well!

"I'm mad," she whispered, rubbing her wet face against her skirt. "How could such a thing happen? How could he think it
right
? How could I—"

She stood suddenly, and turned toward the gate. A low branch caught at her sleeve, as if the elitch sought to detain her, but she shrugged it off without a glance, walking briskly down the path, letting the gate fall closed behind her.