A Flame in Hali (47 page)

Dyannis laced her hands in the horse’s mane, feeling the animal’s muscles bunch and surge between her legs. Wind brushed her cheeks and ruffled her hair. She inhaled the horse smell, the sweetness of the grass, and the cool moistness of the coming dawn.

The horse, sensing her mood, bounded forward. For that instant, she felt nothing but the rushing air and the muscled strength beneath her, saw only the milky skies above, the rising gray-green hills. She and the horse became a single creature, plunging between earth and heaven. Together they inhaled fire and breathed it out again, straining at the bounds of flesh. She felt sun and wind, grass and stone, the thrust of bone and muscle.

Run away . . . run far away . . .
pounded through her mind to the rhythm of the horse’s galloping hooves.

She bent low over his neck, as if she could merge with the beast, leaving behind all human thoughts, all memory, all desire. Above her, beyond the brightening sky, the moons swung through a field of stars. Distant creatures fought and mated, swam and danced, howled out their lonely anguish to those same stars. . . .

Dyannis jerked free from her reverie so sharply the horse shied, stung by the abrupt rupture of their bond. The roan plunged sideways, lowering his head as if to buck.

She had heard, no—
felt
something. Only a mind attuned to the natural world could have picked up the faint, far harmonic.

The Ya-men wailing beneath the moons.
Varzil had described hearing them as a boy, but no one believed him then. Their father had thought him fanciful, deluded, and certainly devoid of any respectable
laran.
Varzil had turned out to be the most powerful Keeper on Darkover. Perhaps his story had been true.

By the time she slowed her panting, sweating horse, the great red sun stood above the horizon. The roan pulled at the bit, clearly wanting to keep running. Heat radiated from his body.

Dyannis glanced back the way they had come. They were well up in the hills, beyond the sight of the house. Something inside her relaxed, unfolded. For the first time in longer than she could remember, she was alone, truly alone. She opened her mind and sensed only the simple emotions of beasts—the horse beneath her, rabbit-horns with their new babies hiding in their burrows, a hawk circling, mice and birds, the distant contentment of sheep beyond the ridge of hills. And there, hidden in their fastnesses, the Ya-men and their song.

And she had the
laran
to hear them.

She could not outrun what she was, any more than she could bury herself in the consciousness of a racing horse. Sweetwater was a respite, not a destination.

D
yannis went to gather the
kireseth
for the preparation of
kirian,
accompanied by Harald’s escort. She found the clusters of bell-shaped blossoms, laden with pollen, high in the hills. At her insistence, the men remained at a safe distance. The harvest went without incident, for the day was still, almost windless, and the pollen lay like golden dust upon the petals. She wrapped the flowers carefully, stowed them in a sealed leather satchel, and carried them to the stone-walled still house.

She moved about the room she’d set up as a laboratory, rinsing, measuring, preparing for distilling. With her sleeves rolled up, hair covered with an old scarf, and an apron tied around her waist, she felt like a working
leronis
and not some pampered and useless lady. The work settled her, reminded her of the skills she had trained so hard to acquire.

Dyannis found herself singing, but the tune turned sad, shot through with loss. The more time went by, one tenday melting into the next, the greater was her longing for the life of the Tower. She wished Varzil were there, or Ellimara, or even Rorie, so that she would have someone to talk to and reason things out with. Harald would not understand, and there was no hope for a serious conversation on any topic with Rohanne. Besides, Harald had all the cares of running a large estate to contend with. Dyannis decided it was best to keep her own counsel.

She had only enough pollen for a single bottle of
kirian,
but that would be more than enough to see Lerrys through the worst. Perhaps the boy would have a smooth transition, or need only a little care. Some adolescents learned to manage the milder symptoms of threshold sickness with simple meditation techniques. Dyannis had already begun working with Lerrys, teaching him elementary concentration exercises, when he would permit it. It wasn’t easy to hold his interest; many times, she had to break off a session they’d barely begun when Harald sent for the boy for some chore or other. Lerrys was old enough to be learning the management of the estate that would one day be his.

“I know there’s little for you to do here at the house,” Harald said to Dyannis with unexpected insight. “If you want to do something useful, the wife of one of my tenant farmers, Braulio, is near her time to give birth. Perhaps you could help her, as we have no midwife at this time.”

Dyannis agreed with some hesitation. If she weren’t careful, Harald would plan out her future for her, maybe even marry her off before she was too old.

After a suitable introduction to the husband, she rode out on her favorite roan gelding to meet the pregnant woman. She found Annalise to be an active, pleasant women, her belly hugely rounded with her second child. Their home, a large cottage with three rooms, looked well made, the plot of vegetables bountiful. Annalise looked up from gathering a basket of early summer greens. A sturdy, golden-haired boy of three or four ran after her, laughing.

When Dyannis offered to assist at the birth, the woman blushed and stammered, “Oh, but you’re a grand lady, a
leronis
of Hali. ’Tis not for the likes of me—I mean—”

“I have often tended ordinary people, even beggars, when there was need,” Dyannis told her.

“Old Kyra was still with us when my first babe came,” Annalise said, kicking off her garden clogs as she stepped across the threshold and gestured for Dyannis to enter. “I didn’t think he’d ever be born, he took so long. Now that I know the way of it, I’m not so afeared.” She moved awkwardly about the kitchen area, setting the vegetables in a pan of water.

Dyannis thought of King Carolin’s first wife, who had died in childbirth with their third baby. One successful pregnancy did not guarantee the next, and a laboring woman’s life was always at some risk, but it would be insensitive to say so. Perhaps confidence in her own abilities was a woman’s greatest strength.

She said, “I’d still be happy to keep you company during your time, even if you don’t need me. It’s women’s work, don’t you think?”

At this point, Annalise giggled, “Aye, and best to keep the menfolk well out of it. Old Kyra had to order my Braulio clear out of the house!”

Dyannis sat at the clean-scrubbed table, sipping last fall’s apple cider and watching the toddler play with a stack of beautifully carved wooden blocks.
This is all any woman should want,
she thought.
A good husband, a healthy son, a house of her own, a garden to tend.

Then, as if to answer herself:
I am not any woman. I am Dyannis of Hali.

About a tenday later, Braulio rushed up to the manor house in the middle of the night. Annalise had gone into labor. Dyannis pulled on an old gown of Rella’s, one she would not mind getting soiled, and rode out to the cottage. The first thing she did upon arrival was to order Braulio out of the house.

“Chop wood,” she told him, “boil water, and bring me a lantern. And clean rags! Lots of clean rags!”

Annalise cried out in relief when Dyannis entered the bedroom. The laboring woman was breathing hard and sweating. The night was unusually warm, even for early summer. She’d thrown back her shift and lay half-naked on the bed on a folded, much-patched old quilt. Using both her hands and her
laran,
Dyannis checked the position of the baby. As far as she could tell, for she had assisted at only a couple of births, the baby’s head was almost at the birth canal.

“It won’t be long now,” she told Annalise. “A fine strong daughter.” That much she had been able to easily determine.

“Oh!” Annalise’s body tensed and for a time, she could not talk. “So soon?”

“Yes, it is often so, after the first,” Dyannis said. “Here, let me wipe your face. You must hold my hand when your pains come.” Immediately, Annalise gripped her hand. “Breathe now,” Dyannis urged, “that’s a good girl.”

“I—I want to push!”

Dyannis sensed the shift in energy of the woman’s body, the demanding need to bear down. She held Annalise’s hand and reached out with her
laran
to the baby. The position was good, as best she could tell through the intense pressure of the birth passage. Then, at the peak of the labor pain, Dyannis sensed a ripple, a stutter. It disappeared as the pain eased, as if it had never been. She was sure she had not imagined it. A moment later, Annalise bore down again, straining and holding her breath. Dyannis managed to get both her hands free so she could cradle the taut belly. She used the direct physical contact to reach the baby—

—and felt the heartbeat slow . . . pause . . .

—and speed up, a light pitter-patter, as the tense muscles softened and the laboring mother drew breath.

Even with her
laran
enhanced by touch, Dyannis could not clearly read the baby’s condition. Nothing like this had happened in the births she had attended. Under her hands, the woman’s body tightened.

“Push!” Dyannis cried, trusting to her own instinct to get the baby out as soon as possible. “Push now!”

Behind her, Braulio knocked on the door. “I’ve got the hot water—”

“Later!” Dyannis shouted. “Come on, Annalise, push!”

With a strange, smothered cry, the laboring woman curled forward, grabbing her knees, chin tucked, face congested with effort. She made no further sound for a long moment, but every fiber in her body quivered. Dyannis felt the baby move with agonizing slowness.

“Ah!” Annalise cried. Her head fell back on the bed. Dyannis reached around just in time to cradle the wet little head as it emerged. A heartbeat later, one shoulder followed the other and the newborn slid into her hands. The umbilical cord was wrapped tightly around the baby’s neck. Dyannis pulled it free. The baby lay there, hot and still.

Braulio, who had moved silently into the room, shoved a folded rag at Dyannis. Not knowing what else to do, she rubbed the coarse fabric over the tiny form. Suddenly, the baby gave a convulsive twitch and began to cry. Dyannis felt the sting of tears as she wrapped the little girl in a second cloth and handed her to her mother. Then she stepped back as Braulio embraced his wife and new daughter.

She waited until she was sure both mother and child were doing well. There was little for her to do, besides clean things up. Annalise confidently put the baby to nurse and shortly afterward, both fell asleep.

Braulio thanked Dyannis effusively, as if she had done something wondrous. Dyannis thought the only wonder had been the natural process of birth. In truth, any other woman with a modicum of experience or common sense could have done as well, and Dyannis would not have known what to do had something gone truly wrong.

Dyannis rode back to the manor house, somber and thoughtful. Her horse bobbed its head, knowing the way. He belonged here, as she did not. She could send a relay message across hundreds of leagues, rebuild a stone wall with her mind, conjure a dragon out of thought, or walk the Overworld. Yet now she felt humbled by the birth, by the rolling hills, the distant heights, the solid animal sureness of her mount.

I must be what I am—a
leronis
of Hali.
She would set aside what she had done as under-Keeper. Let some other, more worthy, take that place. There was work enough in the circle where her strength and experience were needed.

As she considered her return to the Tower and the community of Gifted workers, an invisible weight lifted from her shoulders. She arched her back and stretched, inhaling the moist night air. The horse picked up his pace, as if to hurry her on her way.

By the time Dyannis reached the house, she knew she’d made the right decision. She would stay at Sweetwater a little longer, until Lerrys passed the awakening of his
laran.
It would surely be soon, from his increasing irritability. Then she would make the trip back to Hali, perhaps even in time for Midsummer.

Greatly contented, she rode into the yard, stripped the tack from the horse and turned him loose in the paddock. Then she went into the quiet house for a well-earned rest.