A Journey of the Heart (29 page)

"Did she?" Merin sounded neither surprised nor very interested. I had intended to tell her about my conversation with Taia. Before I could speak, she said, "I spent the afternoon remembering."

Wisely I held my tongue and waited for her to go on.

"The young make such terrible mistakes," she said. She gazed up through the window at the sky. "When we're young, we feel things so intensely, and our elders never think to teach us how to contend with our feelings, because they have forgotten their own."

She spoke as if she and I were of an age, and that night perhaps we were, as she returned in memory to a time that was more real to her than yesterday.

"You haven't forgotten," I said.

"No." She sighed. "I knew better even then. I knew she had to go. I knew that nothing I could say would keep her here. In time we might have found a way not to lose each other altogether, but I made that impossible. I said things that couldn't be unsaid and did things that couldn't be undone. And I paid the price for it."

My mother too, I thought, had paid that price. "What did you do or say that was more than someone who loved you could forgive?"

"I couldn't let her go," she said. "I knew how her mother's grief weighed on her heart, but still I kept her here. I found one excuse after another. The weather was unsettled. It threatened rain. Traveling alone was dangerous. Then the weather turned fine, and a band of warriors stopped by on their way south and asked to stay the night. Tamnet arranged to travel with them in the morning. Before dawn I sent them on their way, telling them that she had changed her mind.

"She didn't discover what I'd done for several days. Then, on the morning of the spring festival, she accused me. I denied it at first. When she got the truth out of me at last, she was furious. She insisted on leaving right away, even if she had to go alone. I was desperate. I used every argument I could think of. Nothing moved her, so I told her that if she left me, on that day of all days, how could I believe she'd ever loved me? She never said another word to me that day. She closed her heart and walked away. I watched her go from this window. I didn't understand what I had done until long afterward."

"What had you done?"

"I called her love a lie."

"You spoke in anger."

She nodded. "I did, but I should have taken those words back. I couldn't do it." Merin frowned. An echo of her anger burned in her dark eyes. "She was the air I breathed. How could I have failed to fight for my last breath of life? I would have done anything to keep her here. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help myself."

"Why couldn't you have told her that?"

"I didn't understand it myself then. I fought to put her out of my heart, to close my heart against her. She who once made my life worth living had made it unbearable. She became my enemy. I'll never understand how love can turn so quickly into something else. It was bad enough to call her love for me a lie. It was unforgivable that I denied my love for her, even to myself."

"I can't imagine the pain of such a parting," I said. "I don't know how either of you could have borne it, but I see no blame in what you did. My mother used to tell me that the mind will play tricks on itself, in order to bear the unbearable."

Now I understood where my mother's words had come from.

Merin too understood. "What tricks did she play, I wonder?" She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Why is it that wisdom comes to us too late to do us any good?"

"It's not too late."

She opened her eyes and looked at me.

"You're both still living," I said. "And you're still friends."

"Friends," echoed Merin. "Friends, and nothing more."

"Have you asked for more?"

"I meant to once," she said. "Time went by, and it didn't hurt so much to think about her. I thought about her more and more, and at last I went to see her. I don't know what I had in mind. I might have asked her for reason to hope. I found her married and big with child. That was my answer."

"You never asked the question?"

She shook her head.

"You need to," I told her.

I don't think she heard me.

The bonfire had burned down. Only the moon brightened the world outside the window. Its pale light fell on Merin's face. She looked frail, and very tired.

"You should rest now," I said. "Come get into bed."

For a few moments more, Merin didn't move. Then she stood up and turned toward the window.

"I used to believe that if she had stayed just one more night, I could have let her go," she said. "Now I know better. Your mother was wise to leave me when she did. Once we had joined together under the moon, I would never have let her go."

Merin untied the ribbon that fastened the bodice of her gown. She shrugged her shoulders, and the gown fell to the floor around her feet. Her small breasts were as shapely as a maiden's. It was plain to see that her slender waist and narrow hips had never cradled a child. As I watched her standing in the moonlight, untouched by time, her terrible beauty a sign that life had never used her, a wave of sadness swept over me.

Merin shivered in the night air. Her sleeping gown lay folded on her pillow. I took it to her and slipped it over her head. Then I turned down the bedclothes for her and helped her into bed.

"Don't leave me," she whispered.

I sat down on the edge of the bed beside her.

She took my hand. "You'll tell her, won't you?"

"Someday you'll tell her yourself."

"Promise," she demanded.

"I'll tell her."

Merin gave me a shy smile. "I used to make her tell me all the time. I lived in fear that she would stop loving me. I used to make her tell me, over and over again. She never seemed to mind, but she must have found it tiresome. It was different, though, when I saw her this time. This time it didn't matter whether she loved me back or not. I only wanted her to hold still for a little while, and not to mind that I loved her."

Merin closed her eyes. After a few minutes I thought she had fallen asleep. When I started to get up, to go to my own bed, her fingers tightened around mine.

"She took me by surprise this time," she whispered. "You were away at the frontier. I told her you weren't expected back anytime soon. I thought she would go home, but she decided to wait a while. She waited more than a week. She didn't seem at all impatient.

"It was wonderful to have her here. She had been changed so little by the years. She still delighted in doing the things we used to do together. We took long walks around the countryside. I've never been fond of walking, but while I was with her, I didn't mind it. Every day she was here, I woke with a light heart. I could almost believe that the years of loneliness had been no more than a cruel dream. She stayed just long enough to bring it all back to me."

I thought that might be what my mother had intended, but I didn't presume to say so to Merin.

Merin's eyes grew sad. "What an unkind thing for her to do."

"But you said she made you happy."

"She did," said Merin. "I had forgotten what happiness felt like. I wish I'd never remembered."

Merin's brow furrowed with pain. Her eyes met mine for a moment. Then she looked past my shoulder, into the dark. "Something always interferes. Our heart's desire comes within our grasp for just a moment, only to be snatched away again."

Merin's gaze was fixed on something in the shadows. I remembered what Namet had said about Merin's demons. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I resisted the urge to glance over my shoulder. What demons lurked here still?

Now I understood that it was my mother's visit that sent Merin on her journey of the heart. Merin had opened the door to some dark and secret place, and all her demons had flown out of it at once. Many she had come to terms with, but there were others she had yet to face.

Merin reached up and with her fingertips lightly touched my brow. For a moment her palm cradled my cheek. Then her fingers fluttered across my temple and down the side of my face.

"Love's wings," she murmured.

Her gentle touch made me smile, and her words warmed my heart.

"Love is a bird of prey," she said. "While her feathers caress your face, her talons tear at your heart."

When I woke at dawn, I was lying across the foot of Merin's bed. Merin was still asleep. I got up carefully so as not to wake her and managed to slip out the door without making the hinges creak.

I had intended to go to the companions' loft, but when I passed the hallway that led to the warriors' rooms, I thought of Maara. I had no fear for her. I knew that Namet would have kept her safe. Nevertheless, something drew me down the hallway to her room. Outside her door I stopped to listen. I heard no voices. Thinking she must be asleep, I turned to go, but my feet refused to move until I had looked in, to make sure she was still there.

When I lifted the curtain, I saw Namet, sleeping sitting up at the head of Maara's bed. Maara lay beside her, her head nestled against Namet's side, her arm lying across Namet's lap.

I should have let the curtain fall. I should have found nothing disturbing in the sight of them together. Instead I stood looking at Maara, at the exposed curve of her neck and shoulder, and at Namet's fingers, tangled in her hair. For a moment all I felt was jealousy, that she could show herself to Namet in a way she had never shown herself to me.

Namet opened her eyes and looked at me. Slowly she brought one finger to her lips. I nodded and closed the curtain. Then I tiptoed back to the companions' loft.

The bright, warm days of spring had their effect on Merin, making her more cheerful and less apt to brood about the past. I still sat with her for hours every day, and I was growing restless with inactivity. Maara and I would go outside the earthworks in the evening to watch the sunset, and sometimes we would take a short walk along the riverbank. I wished I had an excuse to go out with her into the countryside, as we used to do.

One morning I found Namet and Maara in the kitchen, packing food into a basket.

"We're going to the council stones," said Namet. "Would you like to come along?"

I had not yet looked in on Merin. "Can you wait a few minutes? I'll ask the Lady if she can spare me today."

"Of course," Namet replied.

Merin saw my eagerness to go.

"I'm doing very well," she said. "Go and enjoy the day."

I had forgotten what a strenuous hike it was. My legs would be sore in the morning, but it was delightful to be out of doors. Namet led us a little out of our way, taking a shady path through a wood where birdsong filled the air. From time to time Namet stopped to listen. I was glad to have a chance to catch my breath.

Namet regarded me with amusement. "Tamras is panting so loudly I can hardly hear the birds," she said.

I felt the blood rush to my face, and I wiped my brow with my sleeve, to hide my embarrassment.

"You have no reason to be ashamed," said Namet kindly. "Your care of Merin has taken up your time. Now that she's so much better, your warrior should reassert her claim to you. It's time you resumed your training."

I was grateful to Namet for saying so. I had found it difficult to ask Maara to spend time with me. As her apprentice I had gone to her as a matter of course, but after I became Merin's healer, Maara let go of me. I was surprised to realize that I resented her for it.

"Tomorrow morning we could go hunting," Maara suggested.

My resentment vanished.

Now that I knew where to find the council stones, I wouldn't have bothered treading the spiral path, but Namet insisted.

"Just because you know the way doesn't excuse you from approaching the place properly," said Namet.

"Properly?"

"One cannot approach a mystery directly," she said.

Perhaps the council stones were something more than a place to picnic.

"Let Maara lead us this time," I said.

Namet nodded, and Maara studied the ground until she found the way. This time the path felt different. The first time I walked it, I was paying close attention, watching for the small stones that marked the winding path. Now, following in Maara's footsteps, I had nothing to think about, and my mind wandered. Disconnected thoughts came into my head, but before I could take hold of them, they faded and were gone.

We ate our lunch in silence. I had thought that we might take advantage of the opportunity to talk over our situation, but neither Namet nor Maara seemed to be concerned about anything but enjoyment of the present moment.

The people of Merin's house were more at ease. The lovely weather calmed our fears about the harvest. In any case, there was nothing we could do now but wait and see. The news from the frontier was good. The northerners had found our warriors more formidable than they expected and had taken to raiding farther west, among tribes little known to us. Even so, our warriors weren't yet confident enough to come home.

Best of all Merin grew stronger every day. When the time came for her to match her strength against Vintel's, I was certain she would prove as capable as ever. Then my adoption could be spoken of.

In the meantime it seemed like borrowing trouble to talk of all the bad things that might happen. I lay back in the grass and listened to the songs of insects and the sighing of the breeze. When I dozed a little, images came into my mind of something that had happened when I was a child.

My mother used to take me out among our sheep when I was barely tall enough to see over their backs. They frightened me, and I would cry and reach out my arms to her, begging to be carried. As I grew, my mother more often left me to find my own way.

One day we came across a lamb lying in the grass asleep. I sat down beside it and stroked its wool, soft as thistledown and warm with sunshine. I laid my head down on its wooly back, and there I fell asleep. I woke not knowing where I was and cried out for my mother. She didn't answer me. I got to my feet and looked for her. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere.

People were sitting on the hillside not far away. Perhaps they knew where she was. I made my way toward them through the jostling sheep. When I reached them, there was my mother, sitting and talking with the others. I was so relieved to see her that I ran into her arms. As I sat in her lap and listened to the grown-up talk I didn't understand, I realized that she had been there all along. She had been there, and I hadn't seen her.