A Journey of the Heart (5 page)

"But your welfare is her responsibility."

Tears of frustration stung my eyes. "Why are you taking her side?"

"I'm not," she said, "but I want you to see her side. I want you to understand why she does what she does."

"I think she doesn't like to lose," I said bitterly. "I think she wants everyone to do what she wants them to do. I think she's angry with me for choosing for myself."

"Do you truly believe the Lady is that petty?"

I didn't know what to believe.

"Tell me what you believe," I said.

"I believe it all," she replied. "I believe the Lady doesn't like to lose. I believe she wants to be obeyed. I believe she can be petty. And I believe she wants what's best for you. I believe she cares very much for your mother's good opinion. I believe it all."

"It can't all be true," I said.

"Perhaps it can. People may have many reasons for what they do."

I spoke my worst fear out loud. "What good reason could she have for wanting to break my apprenticeship to you?"

"I can think of many," Maara said. "She may fear that I will make you too different from the others. Your choice of weapon has already set you apart. So will other things. My experience has been different from hers and from the experience of the other warriors here. Because of that, I intend to teach you things they won't understand, but I would be wrong not to teach you those things, because I think they're important."

Maara leaned forward and gazed down into the river. I watched her face reflected in the moving water.

"And that's not all," she said. "The Lady may still mistrust me. She would be foolish to trust me as she trusts her own. For all she knows I may make off with you and go back to where I came from."

I laughed at that.

"Or she may think that you're going too much your own way. You have the right to choose your own way in life, but you also have responsibilities to others. She may worry that you've tipped the balance too far in one direction."

"She's wrong," I said. "And what she did today was wrong."

"No one does the wrong thing believing that it's wrong. The Lady believes that what she does is right and necessary."

"How can I show her she's mistaken?"

"You can't."

"Then there's nothing I can do?"

"You have a choice," she said. "You can oppose her. You can resist her at every turn. And if you do that, you'll make her believe all the more that what she fears is true, and she'll try all the harder to control you. And if you challenge her openly, she will defeat you, because she's much more powerful than you are."

Her words filled me with despair. "Are you saying that I must always give in to her?"

"No," she said. "But instead of making her your adversary, you can try to understand her. You can listen to her with respect, believing she has your best interests at heart. Think over what she says until you understand why she said it. Let her know you understand. Then do what seems right to you."

"There's only one thing wrong with doing that," I said.

"What's that?"

"What if she cares nothing for me, but only for having her own way?"

"Whether she's right or wrong, whether she means you well or ill, what have you to gain by treating her as your enemy? What have you to lose by treating her as your friend?"

It was almost dark. Maara picked up a handful of pebbles from the riverbank and began tossing them one by one into the river. I watched each one send circles of silver across the black surface of the water. I felt my anger fade.

"After the Lady left me today," I said, "I wanted to apologize to her, but I didn't know why."

"How do you feel about it now?"

"What would I say to her?"

Maara tossed the rest of the pebbles into the river, and the surface of the water sparkled as if she had cast into it a handful of stars.

"Do you remember when Vintel tried to take your brooch?"

"Of course I remember."

"You said you knew that giving it to her would appease her, but you couldn't do it, because your anger prevented you. Do you remember what I told you then, that you were right to pay attention to your anger and that giving her the brooch would have been a sign of weakness to Vintel?"

I nodded.

"I also told you that sometimes making such a gesture could be a sign of strength. I think this is the time to make a gesture to the Lady, and I think that doing so will make you stronger."

The house was quiet when we got home. A light still burned in the Lady's chamber. Her door stood open. She was sitting by the window, looking out at the night. I waited in the doorway until she saw me.

"Come in," she said.

Her voice was cool and distant. She looked tired, and her dark eyes glittered in her pale face like the eyes of a hungry child.

"Sit down," she said.

I sat down on the edge of her bed.

"I owe you an apology," I said.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I spoke to you with disrespect today," I said. "I was angry with you, because I believed you disapproved of my teacher, but I thought over what you said to me, and I spoke to Maara about it. She agrees that I should take up the sword again, although she still expects me to master the bow."

The Lady hardly knew what to say to me. She sat looking at me for a while, then rose and came to sit beside me on the bed.

"What brought about this change of heart?" she asked.

"When you left me today," I said, "I wanted to run after you, to tell you I was sorry. I didn't understand why I felt that way. I had to take some time to think about it, but I didn't want this day to end before I'd made things right between us."

"I see. Does your warrior mind that I spoke with you about your training?"

"No, Lady. Not at all."

"And have you forgiven me for interfering?"

"I'm here to ask for your forgiveness, Lady."

"You have it if I have yours," she said. "Do I?"

I nodded.

Gently she took my hand. "I'm glad you came to see me. You've been in my thoughts all day." She clasped my hand between both of hers and held it tight. "I've been trying to understand how to end the estrangement between us."

It was my turn to be surprised.

"I've made mistakes with you," she said. "I realize that, and I've tried to make it up to you. I wish I could discover how. It seems that everything I do only increases your distrust of me."

I wanted to protest that I didn't distrust her, but it would have been a lie, so I kept silent.

"I see your mother in you," she said. "I see many of the things I loved in her, and I also see her stubbornness and her pride and her insistence that she was always right." The Lady smiled at some private memory. "I have loved you for your mother's sake, but perhaps I was mistaken to look for so much of her in you, because you are your own person. I should have spent more time learning to know you, not as your mother's daughter, but as yourself."

More than her words, her eyes persuaded me. Instead of the keen look I was used to, the look she gave me was soft and questioning.

"Is it too late?" she asked.

I didn't know how to answer her. Although I was unsure of what she wanted, for the first time I felt that she was not trying to put into my heart the feelings that would suit her purposes. She was asking me an honest question.

Before I could think of a reply, she spoke again. "I wish I had told you long ago that many of the things I admire in you have nothing to do with my regard for your mother, but I said nothing, because much of what I admire has also been a source of pain to me."

"I don't understand," I said.

"For one thing," she said, "I admire your loyalty. I see your loyalty to Maara, and I envy her, because I wish you could be as loyal to me. I also admire your ability to see the good in others. That's something I can seldom afford to do, because for the safety of us all I must be looking for their darker side. If I miss the good in someone, no harm is done, but if I fail to see the evil, it may someday overwhelm us."

I put that idea away to ponder later. I wasn't certain I agreed with her.

"It's late," she said, "and I'm very tired. I've probably said too much, but it means a great deal to me that you came to see me tonight."

"I'm glad I did," I told her.

I had never felt toward her as I did then. The truth was in her voice and in her eyes. Ever since she had shown me her own darker side, whenever I was with her a part of myself would stand aside and watch, waiting for her to reveal herself. This time I knew it wasn't necessary.

"Do you believe I care for you?" the Lady asked me.

"Yes," I said, and at that moment I did believe it.

"We made a bad start, you and I. I would like it if we could wipe out the past and start again, from this moment. Do you think we can?"

"We already have," I said.

The Lady gave me a tender smile and gazed into my eyes. It seemed that her eyes were open windows, and I looked into them and saw the one who dwelt within the house. Then the Lady stood up and went to stand at the window, to gaze out at the night.

"Look," she said.

I rose and went to stand beside her. The window was barely wide enough for the two of us to stand side by side. The Lady clutched the windowsill with both hands. She looked like a child who keeps watch, awaiting the homecoming of someone she loves.

I didn't know what she wanted me to look at. There was no moon, and clouds hid the stars. My eyes refused to see anything but vague shapes. They soon gave up the effort and saw only the velvet softness of the dark. The smell of rain lingered in the air.

"The night is full of ghosts," she said.

I saw nothing that she might have mistaken for a ghost, but as I stood beside her, with my shoulder against hers, I felt envelop me a wave of sadness that brought tears into my eyes. It took a few moments for me to understand that this sadness wasn't mine, but hers. It flowed from her body like blood from a dreadful wound, and soon I was awash in it. Deep in my breast I felt my heart break.

Late as it was, I knew I wouldn't sleep, and I didn't want to go alone to the companions' loft. If Sparrow had been there I would have taken refuge in her arms. Instead I went to Maara's room, hoping she was still awake. I found her sitting up in bed. Namet was with her, sitting just as my mother had sat on the edge of my bed when she came to tuck me in at night. When I came into the room, Namet got up.

"I'm sorry, Mother," I said. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Nonsense," said Namet. "It's long past my bedtime. Maara has been worried about you. Sit down and set her mind to rest."

She turned back to Maara, bent over her, and kissed her brow. Even in the lamplight, I saw the color come into Maara's cheeks. Namet turned to me and pretended to whisper, though she spoke loud enough for Maara to overhear.

"Eramet wouldn't let me kiss her good night after the age of twelve," she said, "but don't tell Maara that."

That made me smile, but at the same time I couldn't keep a tear from rolling down my cheek. It was impossible to hide anything from Namet's sharp eyes. She took my chin in her hand and turned my face to the light.

"What is it, child?" she said.

I couldn't speak. The feeling that came over me when I stood beside the Lady had faded, but my heart still ached with it.

"Close your eyes," she said.

When I did, she set the palm of her hand against my breastbone. A warm glow began in the center of my chest. When she took her hand away, my heart felt lighter.

"We'll talk tomorrow," she said. Then she left us.

I sat down at the foot of Maara's bed. If she understood what Namet had done, she gave no sign of it.

"Did you make your peace with the Lady?" she asked me.

"I think so."

"Good," she said.

Another tear escaped and ran down my cheek. I turned away from the light and brushed it away. When I looked back at her, I saw Maara's eyes turn dark.

"Did Merin hurt you?"

"No," I replied. "I'm fine. I think I'm just tired."

My own words surprised me. I never hid anything from Maara. This time I wanted to think about what had happened before I spoke to anyone about it.

As if she'd heard my thoughts, Maara said, "Is there something you want to talk to me about?"

I shook my head. "Not tonight."

"All right." She hesitated. Then she said, "Just tell me if all is well between you and the Lady."

"The Lady and I have agreed to start over with each other," I said. "All is well."

Maara's body relaxed, as if she had been guarding herself against a blow she feared might fall. "That's all I need to know."

"Namet said you were worried."

"I shouldn't have been," she said. "I should have trusted that you would make the right gesture."

"My mother should have trusted me to climb trees, but she never did."

Maara laughed. "I'm glad you understand. Now go to bed. Tomorrow you and I are going with Namet to a special place."

A ripple of excitement went through me. Of course I badgered her to tell me where we were going, and of course she only smiled and said, "You'll see." And at last, feeling much better, I went off to bed.

We walked for half the morning, high up into the hills to the east of Merin's house. The higher we climbed, the more difficult the trail became. Maara led the way. I followed a few paces behind her. Namet followed me, and more than once I turned to give her a hand over a rough place only to find her right behind me.

When we left Merin's house at dawn, great black clouds filled the eastern sky, but Namet assured us that we would have fair weather, and by midmorning the clouds had blown by.

Although we had eaten an enormous breakfast, I was soon hungry again, and I was anticipating the good things to eat that Namet had packed for our lunch -- a joint of mutton, a wheel of cheese, sweet plums, and a whole loaf of bread, baked that morning. I sometimes caught a whiff of it that made my mouth water.

We had been following a cattle trail that wound through the hills. Then Maara left the trail and scrambled up a steep embankment. I followed her up the embankment and into a dense thicket where there was a faint, though overgrown, trail. People must have made it, because cattle would not have taken so difficult a way.