Fire Hawk (6 page)

“Mine?” She stared. “What in the name of the heavens could I do to help such a man as Kane?”

“You can give him salvation.”

“I? How?”

“He believes himself beyond redemption. You can show him it is not so. But you must be gentle with him.”

“Gentle?” An image of Kane, tall, broad, powerful, rose in her mind. The idea of having to be gentle with him seemed ludicrous. But then, sitting here talking to an illusion was ludicrous. Yet it seemed so very real. . . .

“He has so little faith left, in anything, but most particularly himself. ’Tis like a candle on a windy night, a very fragile light.”

Jenna was becoming confused. And the tiniest bit suspicious. “You guided me here to help my people. Now you speak only of helping Kane.”

“The one will result in the other.”

“Make sense,” she said sharply. “Thus far I have seen no sign that either is about to happen.”

“Did you ever wonder why a warrior like Kane would abandon all and retreat to these mountains?”

“No. I know only that Kane wishes me gone, and has unreservedly refused to help us.”

“He has too many ghosts haunting him, Jenna. He has caused the deaths of many, and they plague him ceaselessly. He has no wish to cause more. He will not fight again.”

“But I want him to
save
lives!”

“And how is he to do that, except by taking other lives?”

“I—” She broke off, unable to counter that unerring logic. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a dream; how could a dream made up of her own imaginings have produced something she had never thought of? She shook her head as the storyteller spoke again.

“You thought only of the needs of you and yours, nothing of what it would cost Kane.”

“But you told me he would help.”

“Do not mistake me, child. I said he was the only one who
could.
”

He had always been annoyingly precise, Jenna thought. Except when he was being so mysterious nothing he said made sense. But he was right. She had only thought of the needs of her people, and nothing of what it would cost Kane. She hadn’t even thought of him as quite real, hadn’t thought of him as a man with any kind of feelings.

Slowly, feeling a bit abashed, she asked, “What am I to do, then? You know that I will do anything, whatever I must. But what? If he is the only one who can help us, but he will not fight . . .”

“He will not, because it would cost him what little remains of his soul.”

Jenna sighed. “That is too much to ask of any man.”

The storyteller looked oddly pleased. Then, almost briskly, he said, “Because he will not fight does not mean he has forgotten how.”

Her brows furrowed. “You are being obscure again.”

The storyteller smiled. “You are a very clever girl, Jenna. You will reason it out.”

Her mouth twisted doubtfully. The fire flared up suddenly, and she looked that way. For a moment she gazed at it as if the answer were hidden somewhere in the dancing flames.

When she looked up again, the storyteller was gone. She had no sense of rousing from a dream, no sudden start of awakening. The fire had returned to normal and he was simply gone. And she was not sure she was any better off than she had been before.

It took her until morning to work out what the storyteller had meant.

KANE BLINKED, squinting against the morning sun as he looked at Tal.

“Aren’t you . . . grayer than you were yesterday?”

Tal looked up quickly. “Grayer?”

“Your hair. ’Tis distinctly grayer.”

Tal’s eyes rolled upward as if he could see his tousled locks. He grasped a strand of hair and pulled it in front of his eyes, fruitlessly since it happened to be a dark strand. At last he reached for the dagger sheathed at his narrow waist, and peered at himself in the polished blade.

“Damnation,” he muttered. “I never could get that right.”

He ran a hand over his hair, brow furrowed as if in great concentration. He repeated the motion. And peered into the blade again. And sighed.

“It will never be as it was again. I should have paid more attention to that lesson.”

Kane stared at his friend, who seemed to suddenly be reminded of his presence. He gave Kane a wary look. His hair, Kane noticed, was back to normal, at least the normal he was used to seeing; raven dark shot with moonlight silver. He said nothing, only looked.

“ ’Twas merely the light,” Tal said.

“Of course,” Kane said.

Tal looked surprised at having his own common phrase turned back on him. After a moment he grinned widely. Despite himself, Kane smiled back. He’d had a more restful night than he would have believed possible; most times when the visions came, it took days for the effect to wear off.

But they’d never hit him when Tal was around before.

“So,” Tal said cheerfully, “do you believe your flame-haired visitor has given up by now?”

“I can but hope,” Kane said wryly.

“She seemed . . . quite determined.”

“She is.”

“What will you do if she is still there when you return?”

Kane sighed. “I don’t know.”

Tal looked thoughtful. “Perhaps you could simply frighten her away. You’re intimidating enough.”

“I don’t intimidate you,” Kane pointed out.

“That’s different. I know you won’t damage me.”

“You do, do you?” Kane said mildly.

“I do.” That certainty again.

“Has anyone ever told you that habit of yours is quite . . . irksome?”

Tal laughed. “Many.”

Kane’s mouth twisted. “And it had little effect, I see.” Tal shrugged. Kane sighed again. “She may be young, but she is no shorter on courage than you, my friend. I doubt she’ll give up easily. Unless I can determine what would frighten her, I fear myself doomed to endless importunings.”

“I leave that to you. I must find Maud. That silly bird has flitted off somewhere, no doubt to wreak havoc on some unsuspecting innocent.”

Kane watched as Tal gathered his few belongings, rolled them up in the blanket Kane had slept in, fastened them with a strap he then slung over his shoulder, and turned to go.

“Tal?”

He looked back.

“Thank you.”

Tal smiled, a gentle smile quite unlike his usual mocking grin. “Good luck, my friend. Whatever you decide to do.”

He vanished into the woods as if they had welcomed him with open arms and the trees had folded around him protectively.

Whatever he decided to do.

What could he do? He could not help her. No matter how she might pester, no matter how tenacious she might be, last night had proven beyond a doubt that he could not take up weapons again. Yet she refused to accept his answer.

So he must find some other way of ridding himself of her.

’Twas too bad; she really was quite lovely.

But she had to go. And he would do whatever it took to see that she did.

Chapter 5

“A BLOODSUCKING gnat could take lessons from you,” Kane muttered wearily. “I have never encountered a more persistent creature. Can you not see my answer is final? Will you not give up?”

“I cannot give up,” Jenna said simply, staring into the fire.

He knew that her persistence was driven by desperation and fed by her love for her people, but he told himself firmly it mattered not to him.

“ ’Tis pointless.”

“Even so,” she said.

He tossed the bone he’d cleaned of meat into the fire. He had returned late this afternoon, knowing he looked like a man who had passed a night in hell. He
had
passed a night in hell, a personal hell of his own making. Jenna had given him a look tinged with an unexpected compassion, a look that made him very wary because of his own equally unexpected response to it. And because he had no idea why she would have the slightest bit of kind feeling for him.

Without speaking, she’d set about preparing a meal of the remaining rabbit. He’d not commented upon her industry, had merely sat and eaten in silence.

She, on the other hand, had used his silence to her advantage, trying once more to persuade him to help her save her people.

“They cannot hide in the village, relying on the glade’s protection forever. Many of our fields are outside the protection. We must plant crops soon, or there will be starvation this winter.”

“Does not your magical forest take care of all your needs?” he asked, a tinge of derision in his tone.

“It helps those who help themselves,” she retorted. “It does not do the work; it merely provides a greater yield from a smaller amount of land.”

“Can they not simply hunt in bands, for protection?”

“We do not hunt. Not with weapons. We have none. We build traps, snares, for the game we need. There was never a need to store more than a winter’s worth. There was always more.”

Kane shook his head. “Helpless flock. No wonder some warlord saw them as easy prey.”

“Only because they have never needed to deal with such things.”

He shrugged. “Leave. Flee to safety.”

“We cannot leave our home place.”

He grimaced. “Life is precious and short. The land is eternal, and cares not that men die for it.”

“But Hawk Glade is a sacred place, the history and very heart of our people resides there.” She saw in his expression what he thought of such foolishness, but she went on doggedly. “But soon they will have to venture out past the safety of Hawk Glade. And when they do they will be slaughtered.”

“I will not fight again. For you, or anyone else.”

She looked at him for a silent moment before she asked, “Even for yourself?”

“Especially for myself.”

She shivered, as if something in his voice had made her feel the coldness he carried with him every day of his life. She turned away from the fire to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “But I cannot give up. The lives of my people depend on me—”

“That is your problem.”

“Yes. And my responsibility. Don’t you see, that is why I must convince you—”

“You will not.” He looked at her. She met his gaze steadily, determinedly. After a moment he shook his head wonderingly. “I will confess, although you are tormenting me to distraction, I admire your tenacity. That you are even here in this place speaks well of you. ’Tis not an easy place to find or reach.”

“I know,” she said ruefully. Then, sliding him a sideways glance, she added, “And I must thank you for your care of me. Feeling as you do, it was most . . . generous.”

It was not hard to follow her thoughts. He could almost see her thinking that surely a man who could be generous about such a thing was not yet lost to humane feeling. Thinking that she could yet convince him to help her.

“ ’Twas necessity,” he said shortly. “The sooner you are healed, the sooner you can leave.”

Jenna sighed.

“If you had thought because I tended your wounds I was . . . amenable, you were wrong. I wish you gone from here. You have invaded my domain and disrupted my peace.”

She flushed slightly, as if chagrined at how easily he seemed to have read her. When she spoke, it was with an edge in her voice, “True peace comes from within, not simply from ignoring chaos.”

Kane laughed coldly. “And what would you know of it? You’re barely more than a child.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince of that; he certainly knew it wasn’t true. As did his body, which responded to the memory of her nudity before he was even aware the image had crept into his mind yet again.

At his words Jenna drew herself up. “I am a woman grown, old enough to hold the sacred Hawk. And I know that you will never find the healing you seek like this.”

Kane’s eyes darkened. “You know nothing of what I seek. An innocent like you could never know.”

“I may be innocent,” Jenna said, “but I am not a fool. Do not mistake the one for the other.”

No, she was not a fool. Despite the foolishness of her errand, he would never have accused her of that. He stared down at his boots; they’d not been new for a long time, but they looked even worse now, after his breakneck race down the mountain last night.

His jaw tightened. He hated that he couldn’t remember what he’d done, that he remembered nothing except the horror that had threatened to suffocate him until the moment he’d come back to himself, sitting in icy water, Tal’s hands on his shoulders. He didn’t know what would have happened if Tal hadn’t been there. Or rather, he knew what would have happened. And he wasn’t sure if he should be glad it hadn’t.

“You will not fight.”

It wasn’t a question, and Kane looked up at Jenna, wondering if at last she had realized he meant what he said.

“I will not fight,” he confirmed.

She took a deep breath, steadied herself. “Then you must teach me how.”

Kane blinked. “What?”

“You must teach me how to fight. And how to teach my people to fight. It is our only hope.”

“Teach you?”

“Yes,” she said her tone brisk, as if that alone would convince him. “You will not fight for us, so I must learn, so I can in turn show my people. And there is no one else to teach me.”

“Teach you,” he repeated, still a little stunned at the turn this had taken.

“You must,” she repeated.

“That is impossible.”

“It is essential,” she insisted. “Of our people, only the storyteller knows anything of war—”

“Then let him teach you.”

“He cannot. He can but tell tales of battles.” A trace of a smile flickered over her lips and was gone. “Very good tales, yes, but only tales. He knows of weapons, and warfare, but only as a watcher. Besides, even though he moves like a youth, he is an old man, his hair as silvered as moonlight. ’Twould be asking too much, even had he firsthand knowledge.”

“It is too much to ask of me, as well,” he said sourly.

“But I am not asking you to fight. Merely to teach.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or to shake her. He doubted the latter would stir any sense in her, so he settled for the former.

“Certainly,” he said grandly. “My sword is merely half your weight, you should be able to wield it with little trouble. And my armor should only drag on the ground, if it does not crush you first.”

“I am not a fool,” she snapped. “Do you think I do not know that? Besides, there is no time for my people to become expert in swordplay. But I find it hard to believe Kane the Warrior cut such a wide swath with only a sword. Was your training so poor then, that you learned only one weapon?”

Kane’s brows rose. She was glaring at him, her vivid blue eyes flashing as if infused with the fire of her hair. He’d told Tal she was not lacking in courage, and she was proving that anew, facing him down as few men would dare. She had wit, too, and it was seemingly sparked easily by anger. No, she was not a fool. The innocent she’d admitted to being, perhaps, but never a fool.

And beautiful. He could no longer deny that; now that she was recovering and no longer an invalid, he could no longer deny she was, as Tal had said, quite striking in appearance. Not a quiet, meek woman as he generally preferred, but a woman any man would have to beware of taking for granted.

“What . . . weapons did you have in mind?”

“Whatever there is that can be learned quickly and made easily. Bows. I’ve heard of men who can shoot arrows a great distance. And of bows of a different kind, that fire bolts instead of arrows, but with much more force. And are there not hammers, that can be thrown with great power—”

“For a peaceful clan, you have an unexpected knowledge of the weapons of war.”

“The storyteller,” she said. “He knows of many things. ’Tis he who sent me here.”

Kane’s brow furrowed; this seemed impossible. “Your storyteller sent you to me?”

“He told me you were not simply a myth, and that you were real, that you were a warrior worthy of the name, and the only one who could help us.”

“So you set off on this journey on the basis of that? An old man’s tales? Does your clan run to such craziness as your storyteller?”

“He is not crazy! He simply . . . sees patterns that others miss.”

Something about her words distracted him for an instant, but he was too intent on something else to let it divert him completely. He wanted an answer to this; he’d let it slide while she was in a weakened state, but she was clearly well enough now. Well enough to stand up to him.

“How,” he said quietly, “did you find me?”

She blinked. “I told you. The storyteller sent me.”

“That is the why. I want the how.”

She looked puzzled. “They are one and the same.”

Kane went still. “This storyteller of yours told you where to find me?”

“Of course. How else would I have known? As it was, I nearly took many wrong turnings. As you said, ’tis not an easy place to find.”

“No,” Kane muttered, “it is not.”

And no one knew where it was. Some had stumbled upon it by accident, but no one seeking him had ever found it by intent. In the beginning there had been some near moments, when he’d thought he would surely be discovered, but he’d managed to avoid any contact with those from below. And after a few years, his reputation had made the turn into legend, then into myth, until most were convinced he’d been an invention all along. The only ones who searched for him now had blood on their minds. And their hands.

And yet this slip of a woman had found him.

And this storyteller of hers had apparently told her how.

“So, when do we begin?”

He ignored her question, still focused on his own. “Tell me of this storyteller.”

She shrugged, then obliged. “He came to us shortly after the attacks started. In fact, he was the first to warn us that the warlord had set his eyes on our forest, as the easiest route to the north, where he planned to expand his territory.”

Again something tugged at his mind, but he had to have the answer to this first.

“He came to you from where?”

“He came out of the forest, but where before that no one knows for certain, except that he passed through lands already bloodied and conquered.”

“His name?”

She looked almost sheepish for a moment. “I . . . we do not know. He is simply the storyteller.”

Kane stared at her. “You are under siege but you have taken him among you, and you do not even know his name?”

“It sounds strange, I know. But there is something about him that makes it seem . . . unnecessary. When you are with him, it does not even occur to you.” Jenna shrugged. “Besides, names are what you make of them.”

Kane felt a shiver arc through him.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “They are.”

“So, when do we begin?” she asked again.

“We do not.”

“But we must. This will not cost you, Kane. You must only teach. Then I shall leave, and you can go back to living as you did before.”

“I can do that much sooner if you leave now.”

“I cannot. I will not.”

He believed her. It was there, the determination, in her refusal to avoid his eyes, in every quivering line of her body as she faced him. She would not leave. She would not give up. She would badger him until he gave in.

“Then perhaps I shall have to simply kill you,” he said.

She held his gaze, never flinching. “Then it will be done,” she said simply. “But I do not think you will. Not if you meant what you said, that you will never fight again.”

“You would not give me much of a fight,” he said wryly, but it was without heat; she was right, he would not kill her. The old Kane might have; he could not.

He could, he supposed, cart her down the mountain himself. Except that she would no doubt find her way back. He could blindfold her and abandon her someplace else on the mountain, he thought. And his reaction to his own idea startled him; the thought of her certain death should he do so bothered him a great deal. She was brave and far more noble than he had ever been, and deserved better than such a fate.

If there was only some way he could confuse her, disorient her somehow, so she would not be able to find her way back. If he could do that, then he could leave her on the road back to her home, and she would have no choice but to take it.

His mouth twisted. Perhaps he should ask Tal for help with that. Kane knew he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the man could do it, could cloud her mind somehow. That he had just thought of asking his only friend to cast a spell for him didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have. What had happened to his certainty that such things as magic and sorcery did not exist? Had it vanished as his nightmare had vanished under Tal’s hands?

He shook his head sharply. Even if it worked, and she went home, what then?

He turned away from the thoughts of what would happen then, of the certainty that if her people died, Jenna would die with them. She would have it no other way.

They deserved no better, he told himself. If they were foolish enough to believe that peace was a gift given instead of a right fought for, they deserved to lose it.

And Jenna? Did she deserve to die for it?

“I will not leave,” she repeated, and he wondered how often she’d said it before he heard it this time, so lost in his contemplation had he been.

“I will not teach you,” he retorted.

“You must. You are the only hope for my people. We are innocent of the ways of war, of killing. But we can learn. We must learn.”

Innocent. That word again. It kept recurring.

I may be innocent
 . . .

. . .
to wreak havoc on some unsuspecting innocent.

Tal’s words came back to him. Although he’d been speaking again of that uncanny bird of his, the phrase sparked a half-formed idea in Kane’s mind.

. . .
she had to go. And he would do whatever it took to see that she did.