First Of Her Kind (Book 1) Read online

  Bolin shook his head. "The Goddess's plans are beyond my ken."

  "And you don't question them, I suppose?"

  "I do," he said. "Frequently. It gets me nowhere."

  Ciara looked at him in shock. She hadn't expected that answer, not from Bolin.

  "I know it's hard to accept-" he began.

  Ciara gathered Fane's lead rope. "You know nothing of it."

  She shouldered past Bolin, blinking tears from her eyes as she tugged Fane towards the pasture gate. Of course he didn't understand. How could he? He probably adored the Goddess as much as her aunt did.

  In the same, equal measure that Ciara despised her.

  * * *

  Bolin watched Ciara march away, her shoulders back and her boot heels grinding into the dirt with each step. She nearly ran down Findley as the horse master rounded the corner. Ciara muttered what might have been an apology, but never slowed her pace, the hapless Fane plodding along behind her as Findley flattened against the barn to get out of their way.

  The horse master’s frown faded when he turned and caught site of Bolin. "Ha! I thought I saw Sandeen round back. He's a fine horse, that one." Findley winked. "Maybe one day you'll let me use him on my mares, hmm?"

  Bolin hardly heard him. Even after Ciara turned Fane loose in the pasture and went into the barn, the strength of her mood hung heavy in the air like a storm building in the distance. It raised the hairs on Bolin’s arms.

  Findley’s thick brows met in a sharp ‘V’ above his eyes. "You shouldn’t look too harsh on her. She's having a hard go of it these days. Don't say as I blame her. It's hard for all of us."

  "She needs to learn to control her emotions," Bolin said, half to himself. He looked at Findley. "Have there been any more mishaps?"

  The ‘V’ deepened and Findley rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. "No," he drew the word out as he thought. "Not since last fall, if I remember right."

  Bolin hadn’t witnessed the outburst, but a huge oak down near the creek bore a blackened scar where a large limb had once been. No amount of earth magic could do that, though Ciara possessed almost as much of the Goddess’s gift as her aunt. No, something far stronger and much more dangerous caused the damage to that tree -- uncontrolled and fueled by a fit of temper.

  "She’s a good lass, Bolin," Findley said.

  Bolin cocked his head. "I’ve not said otherwise."

  "No." The horse master averted his eyes and shifted from one foot to the other. "But you’re hard on her more often than not. Now’s a time she needs a softer hand, maybe, given the circumstances."

  "Given the circumstances and her inability to manage her temper, perhaps now's a time she needs a stronger hand."

  "This isn't an easy thing for her." Findley’s voice took on a sharpness not usually present. His eyes flashed as he locked gazes with Bolin, but he quickly looked away again. "You know she lost her mum when she was a child, and now her aunt. She’s no family left after that. Not blood, leastwise."

  "Codling's not the answer." And Findley wouldn’t understand the answer, or the reason for it, if Bolin gave them to him.

  How could you explain something as rare as someone possessing two forms of magic, each as powerful as the other, and one more deadly than anyone knew? No one alive could claim as much.

  No one except Ciara.

  * * *

  Bolin found Meriol in the garden behind the house. He watched as she moved among the plants, snipping off herbs and dropping them into the basket slung over her arm. Strands of long, silver hair, pulled loose by the breeze, danced around her face as though in rhythm with the light tune she hummed. Bolin had no fear of death, but he’d never seen anyone accept it with the kind of nonchalance Meriol did. No wonder Ciara found it hard to understand. For Bolin's sake, the Goddess’s plans would forever remain a mystery but perhaps Meriol had a better grasp of them.

  She glanced up as though she felt him watching, a sparkle in her grey eyes when they landed on him. "Bolin!" She crossed the small garden, and embraced him warmly. "I’m glad my message reached you."

  "You’ve not told Ciara," he said, bluntly.

  Meriol’s smile faded. "No."

  "Meriol-"

  "It would be easier for me if you were there," she said. "She’s not going to like it."

  "I’ll not question your reasons."

  "But?"

  "It would help if I understood them."

  Meriol sighed. She hooked her arm through Bolin’s, and turned him toward a low bench beneath a flowering apple tree. "Come, sit with me."

  She put her basket on the ground beside the bench as she sat. Bolin settled next to her, and waited while she worked through what she wanted to say, folding and unfolding her hands in her lap.

  "I’m an old woman, Bolin," she said at last.

  "Not so old as some."

  "You’re being kind." She smiled, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. "I was old seven years ago when Ciara came to me. The Goddess saw fit to give me those years, but now my body is failing, and there is nothing can be done. I’ve prayed to the Goddess, and she has accepted my offering."

  Bolin’s gaze followed hers to the basket and her collection of herbs.

  "I go willingly into her embrace."

  He laid his hand over hers, and squeezed her fingers gently. "Then what is it that troubles you?"

  "I’ve taught Ciara all I can. This other magic she possesses -- this wilding -- I touched upon it once, thinking I could learn its essence and help her control it." Meriol shuddered, and her eyes clouded at the memory. "It terrifies me. I’ve never felt such anger and darkness, and the older Ciara gets, the stronger the wilding seems to become. I’ve warded it the best I can, and forbade her to call on it, but that will only suffice for so long. Ciara can't control this magic."

  "Do you know its origins?" Bolin asked.

  "I can only guess," Meriol replied. "It didn’t come through our lines, I’m sure of that. Our magic is of the Goddess, passed down from mother to daughter through all the generations back. I’m not as versed in other magic as I should be, perhaps. I don’t know if such a thing can happen naturally. If not, then I can only assume it came through her father."

  Bolin tensed and hoped Meriol didn't notice. "Did you know him?"

  "No." Meriol's mouth twisted. "My sister was quite a bit younger than I, and not as sedate in her younger days. Sad to say, even she may not have known who Ciara’s father was."

  "Be certain he knows of her," Bolin muttered.

  "What’s that?" Meriol cocked her head at him.

  For an old woman at the end of her days, her hearing remained sharp. Bolin chose his words carefully. "If Ciara's father is the source of the wilding, then he must be a man of substantial power himself. As such, I would think he would have felt her -- awakening -- when her mother died. You did say that's when this magic first manifested itself?"

  "Yes." Meriol peered at Bolin, her brow furrowed. "She nearly killed that poor healer. Not on purpose, mind you. Ciara would never hurt anyone. She was just beside herself with grief and lashed out without thinking."

  "That’s not changed much."

  Meriol let the comment pass. "Why would her birth father care in any case? His time of claiming was long past."

  "True. But he may not have known she existed until then."

  Meriol's expression hardened. "And he would be interested in her?"

  Bolin hesitated. "Aye."

  "Is he still?"

  "It’s possible."

  Her eyes locked on his and for a long moment she said nothing. Then she sighed, and looked suddenly as old as her years. "Am I doing the right thing, Bolin?"

  "As far as Ciara's future is concerned, yes," he said. He rubbed her hands. "In regard to your own fate, only you can decide that."

  "I've never questioned your comings and goings. You've been a help when you’re here and we miss you when you're not. Why you've chosen the path you take is your concern alone and I'll not pry.
You owe me nothing." She held up her hand when Bolin would have objected. "But I need to ask, will you care for Ciara?" Her voice took on a note of desperation, and Bolin realized she meant more than look out for Ciara and keep her safe. "I know I'm just a foolish old woman, but Ciara is like a daughter to me, and every mother wishes her child well matched. Besides, she's fond of you, I can tell."

  Bolin frowned. "She'd do better to save her fondness for someone closer to her own years."

  "Age means little where the heart's concerned," Meriol said. "Tell me you don't feel a similar fondness for her."

  "My life is not my own, Meriol," he said, and tried to keep the bitterness from the confession. "I'll protect Ciara to the death. I can't promise you more than that."

  "Then I'll not ask you to." Meriol retrieved her basket and stood slowly, wavering a bit as she gained her feet. "I think I'll take some rest before dinner."

  Bolin rose with her and offered his arm, but Meriol waved him off with a fragile smile and walked out of the garden, her shoulders slumped. Goddess's light, he hoped he wasn't as transparent around Ciara. He needed a clear head if he had any hope of getting her to the sisterhood without incident. Many leagues lay between Meriol's farm and Dryw Hrine, and there were those who would sense Ciara's power like a wolf scenting prey.

  And like the wolf, they’d be relentless in their hunt.

  * * *

  A selection of herbs were spread out on the table when Ciara entered the house. Her aunt smiled up at her, and casually gathered them together, depositing a handful into a small pouch, and the rest into a basket.

  "You look troubled," Meriol said.

  Ciara bit her lip to keep the obvious reply to herself. "Can I help you with that?" she asked instead, nodding at Meriol's work.

  "No, all finished."

  "Can I make you some tea, then?" Ciara started toward the cooking fire, but Meriol laid a hand on her arm to stop her.

  "I know how difficult this is for you to understand," she said. "But it's for the best, you must believe that."

  "The best for who?" Ciara took a deep, shaky breath and closed her eyes, fighting for inner calm. She looked down at the floor before sliding her gaze up to meet Meriol's. "What's best for the Goddess seems to never be what's best for me."

  "And why should it be?" Meriol asked. "The Goddess has never promised any of us an easy life designed to our own whims. Can you see the future and know the outcome of her plans?"

  "Yes. I see myself here, alone, without you and your guidance," Ciara said, and her voice broke.

  Meriol's eyes misted, but her expression remained stern. "There are greater things in the world besides this humble house."

  "Not for me."

  "No? You would be content to live out your years here, as a healer?"

  Ciara shrugged. "Such a life has suited you well enough, as it did my mother. Why should I be any different?"

  "Because you are different, Ciara."

  Meriol lowered herself into the nearest chair, as though the outburst had worn her out. Ciara knelt by her side, the cold fingers of fear clutching at her.

  "I've done you an injustice," Meriol said, her voice so soft Ciara had to strain to hear the words. "I thought I was doing right by keeping you here and training you as a healer. I was wrong."

  She reached up to brush the hair from Ciara's forehead, her hand soft and warm -- a healer's touch. Ciara grabbed it in her own, and held it to her mouth, kissing Meriol's knuckles.

  "No," she whispered. "You raised me as your own and taught me much. I couldn't have asked for more. I wouldn't ask for more."

  Meriol smiled, her eyes soft with emotion. "You are as a daughter to me. I thank the Goddess for each year she has given us. But there is a beginning and an end to all things, you know that. My end has come, and for you, a new beginning. You have so much magic in you, Ciara. Magic neither of us understands. It's time you learn how to use it, and how to control it."

  Ciara sat back on her heels, her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

  Meriol drew in a deep breath. "I've made arrangements for you to go to Dryw Hrine. The sisters there know far more than I ever could, and will teach you to use your gifts to their fullest." She paused. "I've asked Bolin to see you safely there."

  The words seemed to hang in the air above Ciara, spinning as she tried to make sense of them. Dryw Hrine? The Goddess’s sisterhood? She stood and stared down at her aunt in disbelief. "You can't mean it?"

  Meriol’s chin tipped up, and she drew her shoulders back, in the way that meant she would hear no arguments. "It's for the best."

  "Without even asking me?"

  "You can't control the wilding."

  Ah, the wilding. It terrified Meriol. She had touched on it once, shortly after Ciara had come to live with her, and the experience had left her shaken for days. It had been lack of control over the wilding that brought Ciara to Meriol's in the first place. In a fit of anger and grief at the healer who hadn’t been able to save her mother, Ciara had drawn on the magic without even knowing she possessed it. Thanks to her step-father, the only thing damaged had been the wall of their home. After that, no one in the small village -- including her step-father -- wanted Ciara anywhere near them.

  More than once since then, Ciara's anger had brought the wilding surging upwards. The old oak down by the creek bore silent testament to the force of it.

  After that, Meriol had forbidden Ciara to call on the wilding -- though Ciara never actually meant to do it -- and for the most part she had acquiesced because it scared her as well. Not enough, however, to make delivering herself into the hands of the sisterhood an appealing option.

  "I'll apply to the Healer's Guild in Guldarech," she said.

  Meriol shook her head. "They've healers aplenty in Guldarech. Even if the Guild were to take you in, you need more than they could offer."

  "Then the Mage School."

  "The Mages wouldn't be able to school you," came Bolin's voice.

  Ciara clenched her jaw and turned to where he stood just inside the doorway. "And what do you know of it?"

  "Ciara." Meriol's quiet voice had an uncharacteristic edge. "It's a long road to Dryw Hrine, and you can't travel it alone. Bolin’s agreed to escort you there."

  "Whether I choose to go or not?"

  "You're Meriol’s ward," Bolin said. "She's obligated to see to your future."

  "I am well into my twentieth year, well beyond the age of needing a ward, and I'm more than capable of making my own decisions." Ciara turned back to Meriol, an angry retort forming, but it dissipated like morning fog when she saw the sadness in her aunt’s eyes. "Why didn’t you talk to me about this before now? How can you honestly think I would just pack up my life and deliver it into the hands of the Goddess, when she's done nothing but take from me all that I love?"

  Meriol drew her mouth into a thin line. "I can't make you love the Goddess as I do. No one can. But she's given you a gift and you've a duty to learn its proper use."

  "Earth magic is of the Goddess," Ciara said. "The wilding is no gift of hers."

  "And what makes you say that?" Bolin asked, and a frown wrinkled the corners of his eyes.

  "You're not a person of power," Ciara said. "You wouldn't understand."

  Something flickered in his expression. "Humor me."

  "It doesn't matter," she said. She didn't want to try to explain to Bolin how the wilding felt. How even now it lay coiled like a huge serpent, surrounded by Meriol's wards, ever watchful, ever ready to spring to her call. Ciara shivered.

  "Ciara, please. The sisters know more of magic than I, and can guide you where I couldn't. Do this for me. For your mother." Meriol’s eyes misted over. Her shoulders slumped, and she looked old and frail. "A dying woman's last request."

  Ciara looked away, and her resolve melted in the tears that spilled down her cheeks. If a promise to do as Meriol wished made her passing easier, where was the harm? All too soon, nothing on this earth would matter to Meriol, and what
ever Ciara did or didn't do would be on her conscience alone.

  She bent and threw her arms around her aunt’s shoulders, buried her face in Meriol's neck, and somehow managed to hold her sobs in check. "I’m sorry," she whispered. "I don't want to argue with you."

  Ciara glanced up from her embrace, and caught Bolin’s unflinching gaze. He would be a problem.

  She pushed gently away from Meriol, wiped her damp cheeks with the back of a sleeve, and placed a soft kiss on her aunt's forehead. "I’ll fix dinner," she whispered, and somehow managed a smile.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Meriol had been adamant there would be no death watch. "If you feel the need to do something," she told Ciara with a smile, throwing her arms wide, "then celebrate."

  There would be no well-wishers or visitors, and Ciara wasn't to treat the evening any differently than any other. When the moon reached its height, and the Goddess’ light shone its brightest, they were to take Meriol's body to the pyre already built within the grove across the creek. She had arranged everything, leaving nothing for Ciara to do but tend to dinner.

  Ciara yelped, and put her burnt knuckle to her mouth to suck on it, glaring at the soup pot as though it were to blame for her inattentiveness.

  "I’ll get it, miss." Findley said from behind her. He brushed past and grabbed a cloth to safely snag the handle of the pot and lift it from its hook above the fire. He glanced back as he set it on the table. "Are you all right?"

  "I’m fine, Findley, thank you." She looked past him towards the doorway. "Is Bolin joining us?"

  "No, miss. He rode off a bit ago." The horse master scooted around the table as Meriol entered the room, pulled out a chair, and held it for her as she sat. "Said not to worry, though, he’d be back by moonrise."

  He cleared his throat then, and patted Meriol awkwardly on the shoulder, frowning as he took his seat opposite her. But if Meriol noticed she didn't say anything.

  Ciara slid into her place and they joined hands as Meriol asked a blessing from the Goddess, and thanked her for their meal.

  "I tell you," Findley said, monopolizing the conversation as Ciara ladled out the thick potato soup. "I'd give three of my best spring foals for the chance to use that stallion of Bolin's just once. That's a fine beast to be sure. Reminds me of the horses I've seen in the Imperial Guard. I'd wager he's worth more than all of Guldarech put together."