Edge of Darkness ~ A Darkness & Light Novel Book Three Page 11

  "Most of the morning. It's not quite midday."

  Her tongue stuck in her mouth and she looked about for the water skin, immediately regretting the decision to move her head.

  "Are you unwell?"

  "No. I just need a moment to wake up." Fragments of the dream continued to bob to the surface like bits of flotsam in a river. Others vanished as soon as Ciara turned their way.

  Ferris tipped his head to catch her eye. "You've been pressed with worry not your own, and many things have changed for you. I've no doubt more will. It's only natural your thoughts should trouble your rest. But they're phantoms of disquiet, nothing more."

  Ciara sucked in a deep breath. The conviction in Ferris's words helped dispel the last shreds of terror the dream had wrought. She swung her legs to the edge of the low mattress and started to her feet, and Ferris immediately reached to help her.

  She arched an eyebrow at him. "I'm not a delicate flower, Ferris."

  He quirked a smile at her. "It's my opinion all women are delicate flowers, m'lady."

  "You really don't need to keep calling me that, you know. I'm not actually a lady."

  "It's my understanding you are. By virtue of your birth, as well as your position as chieene to Lord Bolin."

  "Keen? What's that?"

  "Key-en," he corrected, giving the end of the word a breathy upswing. "It's a hard word to translate. Cearnease is more a language of feeling and emotion than literal interpretation. The closest I can come is 'beloved of the soul', but that hardly does it justice. It's a far deeper thing."

  Ciara's cheeks warmed. "Well, it sounds better than consort, at any rate."

  Ferris laughed. "You've yet to find the title comfortable?"

  "I've yet to find the whole Lady of the Empire thing comfortable," Ciara said. "It's a lot to get used to."

  "It'll come with time."

  "Provided I'm not beheaded first."

  "Lord Bolin would never allow such a thing," Ferris said. "Nor would Her Ladyship."

  Ciara rolled her lips against one another to keep back her response. Before Ariadne's comment about doing what was best for the empire, Ciara would never have questioned the intentions of the Emperor's sister. Now, she wasn't so sure.

  A 'V' formed in the middle of Ferris's forehead. "You doubt that?"

  "I don't know. I haven't known Ariadne very long. She's never been anything but nice, but I think her loyalties lay with the empire, not with me."

  Ferris nodded. He kept silent so long Ciara feared he'd taken offense.

  "I suppose you'd be right," he said at last. "She'll do what she must to ensure the well-being of the empire. She can do nothing less. She's bound by blood to the land and its people. Still, unless you proved to be a great threat, she would never allow your head on the block. And, although there's a bit of a chaotic nature about you and your gy'lafrei, I just can't see that ever being the case."

  "A chaotic nature?"

  The twisted smile returned, lighting up his eyes as well. "Aye." He held the hide flap to the side and bowed Ciara out of the shelter, into the relative warmth of a sunlight day. "It's a trait I likely appreciate more than some."

  "Like Bolin?"

  That got her a throaty chuckle. "I'll wager you've greatly tested His Lordship's patience in that regard."

  "To be honest, I'm surprised he puts up with me at all."

  "There are likely many more amazed that you put up with him."

  ***

  After a quick meal they were back in the saddle. They rode the rest of that day in silence. Partly due to the insistent pounding in Ciara's skull, which had started up again about the same time they'd finished eating. Mostly, however, due to the fact the Sciath continued to lead them cross country on narrow trails that twined through the trees, forcing them to ride nose to tail. On those occasions when the trail widened, Ferris set the pace at a canter, breaking into a gallop when conditions permitted. It made any attempt at conversation a futile one.

  Ciara believed herself to be a good rider, but as she watched Ferris she began to feel a bit like a bungling oaf. He rode with a casual grace, as though he and his horse were of one mind. The loose manner in which he held the reins gathered in one hand, gave the impression he had no real need of them. He kept his attention on their surroundings, with frequent glances back. Each time he caught Ciara's eye, he flashed her a reassuring smile. Every now and again it was accompanied by the lift a brow in an unspoken query as to how she faired. Ciara answered with a nod or a smile of her own.

  The sky remained overcast, threatening of rain but not delivering, and though the wind lessened, it still held a bite. They stopped once, just long enough to eat a bit of cheese and dried meat while the horses slurped noisily from a narrow creek, and then Ferris had them back on the road. Dusk came and went, and still the Sciath pressed on. He rose up in the stirrups every now and again, looking around as though trying to get his bearings. After one such time he shook his head and muttered something under his breath before turning them sharply to the left. Ciara hoped he wasn't lost, because what she could see of the landscape around them was a blur of sameness, and with the sun set, and no stars above the interlaced boughs, she had lost all sense of direction.

  As the trees grew thicker, they were forced to a slow walk. Not long after, Ciara's eyes grew heavy and she found herself fighting to stay awake. She caught herself, more than once, making a desperate grab at the saddle to keep from sliding off her horse's back as she dozed.

  She yawned and arched her back to stretch her spine, wondering how much farther Ferris intended on traveling, and trying to decide if she should ask him if they could stop. A few moments later he reined in, swung his leg over his horse's neck, and dropped lightly to the ground. Ciara followed suit with far less grace and a stifled groan.

  She ducked under a low branch as she led her horse after Ferris, emerging into a ring of huge standing stones overgrown with moss and creeping vines. A large tree, its wide branches arcing over the ring to form a rustling roof, jutted up between two of the stones, thrusting them away from it at awkward angles. Opposite the tree, a flat slab, split in two and toppled on its edge, rested against one of the rocks. A sense of tranquility washed over Ciara as soon as she entered the ring.

  A bit of reverence crept into her voice as she asked, "What is this place?"

  "It was once a temple of sorts," Ferris replied. "The people who used to live 'round here believed nature had its own deities. They built such places as this to honor those spirits."

  "Hedge witches?"

  "More than that. Though history often paints them as something less."

  He stripped the packs from the horses and set them down against the trunk of the tree before taking the reins from Ciara and leading both mounts to the edge of the circle. They split the chores again, Ferris tending to the horses, Ciara building the fire. She found plenty of sticks and small downed branches without needing to venture outside the ring of stone, and soon had a cheery blaze crackling away.

  By the time Ferris rejoined her, Ciara had prepared a modest meal of cheese and re-warmed meat pies she found in one of the packs. They ate in silence, exhaustion pushing at Ciara. The branches swayed lazily overhead, dancing above the fire in appreciation of its warmth. Ciara let her mind drift, leaning against one of the stones, eyes closed. When she opened them again she found Ferris staring fixedly at her, a smile on his face. It took her a moment to realize she could see him quite clearly in the glow that filled their campsite. Another moment still, to realize her earth magic was the cause.

  "I --" Ciara jerked upright, and pulled the magic back in until only the flickering fire lit their little campsite once again. "I didn't mean to do that."

  "It's this place," Ferris said. He looked around, tipping his head back and inhaling deeply. "There's old magic lingering here. Strong and natural. Enough like your earth magic that it heard the call of it."

  "But I didn't do anything."

  "You didn't need to."
His eyes glittered as he studied her across the flames. "Magic always calls to its own. Can you not feel the power of this place, then? The pulsing of its heart through the ground? The warmth of it in the heat of the stones?"

  "I feel… something," Ciara said, shrugging. "But it's very vague."

  "I sometimes forget how it is for others. For me, this ring is alive. It's like drinking honey wine. You can feel it, smooth and cool in your mouth. Can taste the sweetness on your tongue, the heat of it flowing through your veins. The scent of the spice fills your nose. If you close your eyes, you can see the amber glow of it…" He blew out a sigh, lifting his hands in a shrug-like gesture. "That hardly does it justice. I've never been good at putting it into words. It's a bit like trying to describe colors to a blind man."

  "It was a beautiful description," Ciara said, and then a thought occurred to her. "What do you see when you look at me?"

  "Beauty. Strength. Gentleness."

  Ciara was thankful he couldn't see the blush creep across her cheeks. "No. I mean, do you see my magic?"

  "Of course. It's impossible for me not to."

  "What does it look like?"

  "Ah." Ferris rubbed the tip his chin with his thumb. "It's a waver of air surrounding you. Like silvery blue moonlight dancing on the water, swirled with obsidian."

  "Does Bolin see it the same way?"

  "I can't say for certain. Something similar, I'd guess. But his gifts far surpass mine, so I can only imagine his vision is somewhat different."

  "So, you can divert magic, but you can't use it like he can?"

  "Aye."

  "How do you do it? I mean, I can't even seem to figure out how to use my own magic most days, let alone deal with anyone else's."

  "How do you walk, or breathe, or see?" he asked. "It's as natural for me as that. I've always been good at it, too. Quicker than most full-blooded Sciath, or so I'm told. Most Sciath, even a few of the na Duinne, can't feel magic until its drawn from the ethereal. I can sense when someone first reaches for it, whether they actually draw it forth or not."

  "And then you just--" she thrust out with her hands. "Push it away?"

  "Not exactly. I need to draw it in first, channel it through my own, and then…" He backhanded a wave, and smiled.

  "And you can do that with any magic?"

  "For the most part. I have to be careful not to take in too much, too quickly, though. If I can't expel it fast enough, it becomes trapped. Think of it as drawing in a deep breath and then blowing it out again. All well and good unless you inhale, say, a lungful of smoke. You can't breathe then. It chokes you. The same can happen if I take in more than I can handle. More than one Sciath died that way in the wars, when up against enemies more powerful than they."

  "Have you ever taken in too much?"

  "A few times. Only once seriously enough to threaten my life. It's not pleasant."

  Ciara settled more comfortably against the stone, drawing her legs up and wrapping her cloak around them. The ring of stones proved to be a better shelter than it appeared, blocking most of the wind, and holding in the warmth of their small fire.

  "Can I ask you another question, Ferris?"

  He chuckled. "Just one, then? I've a feeling you're fairly bursting with them."

  "Oh, I am. I'm just too tired for more than that. You said you were Ariadne's man, but the crest on your breastplate is Bolin's, isn't it?"

  "Aye."

  Ciara waited for him to go on, frowning across the fire when he did nothing more than prod it and feed another log into the flames.

  "Let me rephrase my question," she said. "Why is it you wear Bolin's crest, when you're Ariadne's man?"

  "Ah. Because he is Lord of Cearne, and that's my home." He touched his chest. "This is the Knot of Cearne. Ultimately, I owe my allegiance to the lord of that land."

  "Oh." A jaw-popping yawn forced its way out, and Ciara snuggled deeper into the warmth of her cloak. "So, are you and Bolin related?"

  "You've used more than your one question, m'lady," Ferris said, but not unkindly. "It's probably best you get some rest now. We'll be moving with the dawn. If all goes well, we'll reach High House by tomorrow night."

  Ciara's apology came out mumbled as a sudden irresistible desire to close her eyes overwhelmed her. She blinked at the fire, wondering when she had lain down. She thought for a moment something lingered just outside the ring of stones, someone watching her through the darkness. Then Ferris's boots obscured her view and a thick fur settled over her. Moments later sleep pulled her under.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Imperial messenger horses were bred for speed and endurance, conditioned to cover a lot of ground for days on end without any ill effects. Even leaving Nisair late morning, Berk and Sully came to within only a handful of leagues from Broadhead by nightfall. A trip that normally took the better part of two days at a normal pace. Unfortunately, late afternoon brought with it a bitter wind out of the north, which would have been bad enough without driving a freezing rain ahead of it.

  Halfway between the Twisted Oak Inn and Broadhead, they were forced to bring their horses to a walk or risk injury on the increasingly slick road. Shortly after, with the wind picking up in ferocity, Sully led the way off the road until they found a dense copse of pine trees. The outside branches grew thick and lush, but between the trunks the sparse growth created a sheltered clearing large enough for both the men and their horses. And though the wind and rain managed to creep through, it did so with far less vehemence.

  They still had to settle for cold rations and no fire. Huddled in his cloak and extra blanket, under his full uniform of tunic, padded gambeson, mail shirt, and tabard, Berk still couldn't work the chill out of his bones.

  "As soon as this lets up, we'll make for Broadhead," Sully said, flicking his hood to shake the sleet from it.

  Berk nodded, though part of him dreaded the thought of spending more time in the garrison city than he had to. If there were ghosts haunting him in Nisair, there'd be even more in Broadhead.

  "Unless you'd rather spend all night shivering out here," Sully said, accurately reading Berk's silence.

  "No."

  Berk glanced in his friend's direction. He could feel the weight of Sully's stare even if he couldn't see his expression beneath the shadow of his hood. Sully never pressed him. He'd just wait until Berk felt like getting it off his chest. Listen. Give his sage advice. Then put it to rest. It seemed so easy for him. It seemed easy for everyone besides Berk. Even Salek appeared to have made his peace with the events of the past month or so, and if he occasionally had to bolster that peace with a few extra mugs at Mol's, no one thought any worse of him.

  Sully shifted, reaching beneath his cloak to draw out a flask. He took a long swallow then held it out for Berk. Berk took a drink, shuddering as the harsh brandy hit the back of his throat, warming him from the inside out. He passed it back, and Sully took another drink before tucking it away.

  A sudden gust of wind battered the pines, shaking down a cascade of water.

  "You ever see ghosts, Sul?" Berk asked, resting his arms across his drawn up knees.

  "Any man who lives by the sword and claims he doesn't is a liar."

  "When you're awake, I mean. Not in a dreams."

  Nothing but the branches moaning answered him for so long, Berk thought Sully was trying to come up with a nice way to tell him he'd finally cracked.

  "You remember that uprising along the Hedgeron about ten years past?" Sully finally asked. "There was an old beggar that got caught up in the fray and took an arrow to the leg. Remember that? We got forced from the road and he came stumbling out, got himself under the horses and trampled?"

  Berk nodded. "That was the first time I saw action."

  "Right. Well, there wasn't anything to be done for that beggar afterwards save hasten his passing. He reminded me of an old uncle, so I did it for him." The flask reappeared. "To this day, I can't go past that spot without seeing him sitting there, wrapped in his
grimy robes, dirty hands clutching that broken bowl. There's times I think I see him in Nisair, or Guldarech, other places as well." The flask tipped again. Longer this time. "He wasn't as old as he looked."

  "How come I didn't know about that?" Berk asked.

  "It's hard to notice anything but yourself the first time you find yourself looking down the wrong end of a blade." Sully took another pull from the flask and passed it to Berk. "There's a few others, but that beggar's the worst for some reason."

  Berk picked at a fraying piece of leather on the flask until Sully nudged his elbow. "That doesn't need nursing."

  "It's empty," Berk said, waggling it for emphasis.

  "Good thing I have another." Sully shrugged his shoulders to resettle his cloak, wrapping it closer. "There's a reason you asked."

  Berk nodded, trying to work up the courage to put it into words. It should have made it easier, knowing Sully wouldn't think him crazy.

  "I saw Kort." The words finally tumbled from him, and once they were out, the rest chased after in a disjointed confession. "I couldn't sleep so I took a walk. It was on the wall. The thing from Broadhead that killed Duff. Still had my bolts in its chest. It looked like Kort, and sounded like him. I told myself it wasn't real, but I kept waiting for it to reach out and kill me. I couldn't do anything to stop it. He wanted to know… it asked why I killed it. Said we were brothers. But it wasn't Kort. I know that. I want to know that." His voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "I want to believe it."

  "They're memories, Berk. Nothing more. Sharp reminders of our past that, for some reason or another, we can't let go like all the rest. The Goddess alone knows why, and, if we're lucky, she'll tell us when we sit in the Halls. Or, like as not, it won't matter anymore."

  "I feel like I'm losing my mind, Sul. Like there's something lurking. Something ready to pounce and swallow me whole. I try to remember how it felt before all this happened, but I can't work my way back there, and I'm terrified I'm going to wind up like Sergeant Drea. Remember him? Muttering and half-mad, until I throw myself off the wall."