First Of Her Kind (Book 1) (3 page)

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 whatever 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."

"I wonder how Bolin came by him then," Ciara said.

Findley shrugged. "I asked him once. Not meaning to pry, understand. Professional curiosity is all. Said he was gifted to him as a colt, and wouldn't say more. He's a private one, is Bolin. You'd get more answers from a mute."

"He's a good man," Meriol said, looking at Ciara. "We don't need to know more than that."

"To be sure," Findley said around a mouthful of bread. "To be sure."

Meriol changed the subject then, plying Findley with questions about one mare or another. Ciara stopped listening but kept a smile pasted on her face until her cheeks ached. Every now and again she caught Meriol watching her with a tender smile, and it felt as though a fist closed around her heart.

Meriol excused herself after dinner, brushing a feather light kiss atop Ciara’s head. "It is as it should be, child."

Ciara swallowed a bitter retort, and only nodded as Meriol walked away.

"Is there anythin’ you need, miss?" Findley asked.

"Can you turn back time or change the mind of a Goddess?" she said, as she watched Meriol push past the hide covering the door to her room.

"What’s that?" He cocked his head, his face scrunched in puzzlement.

Ciara shook her head. "Nothing, Findley. Thank you."

"If you’re sure, then." He bowed to her and left, head bowed and a slump to his shoulders.

Ciara growled under her breath and shoved her chair away from the table. She should have been the one to ask Findley if he needed anything. He’d been with Meriol longer than Ciara had been alive. Still, like the rest of them, Findley seemed to be in complete accord with the Goddess's infernal will.

The dishes clattered as Ciara collected them off the table and dropped them into the wash tub. She doused them with water from the kettle she’d set over the fire, rolled up her sleeves, and set to scrubbing with more gusto than required.

A plan had crept up on her over the course of making dinner. Admittedly not the most meticulously thought out scheme, but she had to start somewhere and her choices were limited. She could either go to Dryw Hrine peacefully, or have Bolin drag her, kicking and screaming the entire way. In either case, the result would be the same. But if she snuck away well before dawn, while Bolin and Findley still slept, she could make her way to -- well, wherever she chose, which would be far away from devotees of the Goddess. Bolin would, no doubt, come after her once he found her gone, but maybe by then she’d have formed a plan with a little more solidity.

She dried her hands on her skirt and glanced at the sliver of light dancing across the floor from her aunt’s room.

They sat on the bench in the garden, watching a pair of squirrels chase each other around the apple tree. Songbirds trilled from the branches above, and the faint sweetness of honeysuckle blended with the scent of spring roses. The morning promised a beautiful day but for the darkness in Ciara’s heart.

"All of us must one day return to the Goddess’s embrace," Meriol said, her hand firmly around Ciara’s -- the only thing that kept her seated there. "Some sooner than others."

"Visions can be misinterpreted."

Meriol shook her head. "No, dear love, not this one."

"How many times have you told me that no one’s fate is carved in stone? That each moment’s choice changes the next?" Ciara’s grief turned to anger. "You can change this if you truly want."

But Meriol’s resolve held firm. "Ciara, I’m an old woman. It’s my time. Be grateful for the years we’ve had, and know that I will always be looking after you."

"From the arms of the ever-greedy Goddess," Ciara whispered into the stillness of the kitchen as the memory played out.

An old pack hung from a hook just inside the doorway of the small store room, and Ciara gave it a good shake, sneezing as dust and cobwebs went flying. They’d nearly depleted their winter stores but there were still a few pieces of smoked meat and some wrapped cheese. Ciara stuffed them into the pack, along with several handfuls of dried fruit and nuts, and a chunk of bread. That would be enough to get her through several days. She knew how to snare rabbits and harvest spring offerings from the land if she didn't find an inn or farm by the time her supplies ran out.

She climbed the ladder to her room in the loft. The soft glow of a single candle flickered across the sparse furnishings. Not much to miss by way of material possessions. Just as well, Ciara supposed. The lighter she traveled the better. She laid a change of clothing on the bed -- something more suitable for the road; loose britches, a thigh length tunic, cloak, and riding boots. The edge of her long hunting knife, a gift from Findley, glinted silver as she ran her thumb along it before returning it to its plain leather sheath. Plenty sharp if she had need of it.

She chewed her lower lip as she surveyed her meager collection, her fingers idly tracing the intricate design of the pendant at her throat. Her aunt had given it to her that day in the garden. Three silver sigils -- one each for her mother, Meriol, and the Goddess -- twined around one another in an intricate embrace. They were imbued, Meriol had told her, with a little of the magic from each. It warmed to Ciara's touch, as it always did, humming in harmony to her earth magic.

Nothing she had said or done could sway Meriol. No amount of tears or anger got through to her. And try as she might, Ciara couldn’t slow the progression of days. All her thoughts had been consumed by this one event, and she’d never even thought to look beyond it, to what would happen after. Then again, she never would have thought Meriol would send her away -- and to Dryw Hrine of all places.

Ciara scooped the knife and a few other personal belongings into her arms and added it to her pack. She paused at the bottom of the ladder, her hand against the wall. No light filtered from Meriol's room, and the house had fallen into silence. If it would have done any good, Ciara would have raced into her aunt's room and tried one last time to get Meriol to turn her back on the Goddess's plans. She sighed. It would be easier convincing the moon not to rise.

The last rays of the sun painted the leaves with pale, golden light for one brief moment as Ciara headed toward the barn. She refused to look behind her as she walked down the hill. Doing so would have forced her to acknowledge the moon just beginning its inexorable climb over the horizon. She shivered despite the warm breeze, and pulled her collar up around her neck.

The barn stood dark and empty except for the horses lucky enough to be brought in for the night. Ciara lit the lantern that hung by the door and turned up the flame just enough to see Fane tucked into his usual stall at the end of the aisle. Her eyes swept across the other horses and when they landed on the distinctive, dapple-grey hide of Sandeen, Bolin’s stallion, she twisted her mouth into a scowl. Damn Bolin. Of course he had returned before moonrise. He was, as Meriol often pointed out, a man whose word held more worth than all the coin in Guldarech. Which meant Ciara had as much chance of persuading him to abandon Meriol's plan as she did of waking up to find this all a dream.

Fane lifted his head to snuffle the carrot from Ciara’s outstretched palm when she entered his stall. He nosed her to make sure there weren’t more treats hiding in one of her pockets then dropped his nose toward the ground and went back to sleep. Ciara stowed her pack in the corner, covering it with a thick layer of straw. She leaned back against the gelding's shoulder, eyes closed. Oh, to be a horse and have no worries beyond -- well, whatever horses worried about. Likely not much. Not when they had a barn to keep them safe and food to keep their bellies full.

Ciara tried to match her breathing to Fane's and find the peace he had, but images of Meriol danced behind her eyelids. The wave of grief and loneliness that washed over Ciara caught her off guard and she couldn't stop the tears that accompanied it. This time she let them come, sobbing quietly, her face pressed against Fane, her fists clenched as tightly as the hand squeezing her heart. She didn't move until there were no more tears left and she felt totally drained and washed of all emotion.

Only then did she feel the spider-like sensation that flitted across the nape of her neck.

She jerked her head up to find Bolin standing a few stalls down, caressing the nose of one of the mares. Ciara turned her back to him, wiping her sleeve hastily across her face. She grabbed Fane’s front foot and lifted it as though to clean his hoof, and the gelding tossed his head and snorted in surprise.

"Readying him for the road?" Bolin asked. He left the mare and strolled to the open door of Fane's stall. "That would work better with a pick, wouldn't it?"

Fane pulled his foot out of Ciara’s grasp and stretched forward to greet Bolin and Ciara took the opportunity to move to his off side, putting the placid gelding between them.

"We'll leave with the dawn," Bolin said when she didn't answer. "Unless that’s too early for you?"

"Tomorrow?" Ciara had hoped Bolin would wait a day or so, out of respect for her loss if nothing else. "Why so soon?"

"Is there a reason to tarry?"

Ciara's brain scrambled to come up with a reason to delay his plans. "There are things I need to set in order."

"Meriol has already set everything in order."

"So I'm allowed no time to grieve? Or are you so cold you don’t feel the need?"

Bolin caught Fane’s head and ran his hand up the gelding’s long nose to massage his forehead. "I grieve that the people lose a skilled healer, and I a friend. But I rejoice that Meriol will find her peace."

"I hadn’t noticed she wasn’t at peace already." Ciara glared over Fane's back. "In any case, there's no need you to come with me. My aunt had no right to impose that on you."

His smile appeared less than sincere. "It’s no imposition."

It is to me, she thought.

"Some day you'll need to think of someone besides yourself," Bolin said.

Ciara narrowed her eyes at him. He couldn't have possibly heard her unspoken words. Reading someone like that only came with magic and Bolin, as far as she knew, had none. She nudged Fane in the ribs, and the gelding skipped sideways crowding Bolin back and giving her room to slip past him. But Bolin’s fingers wrapped around her upper arm before she could make a clean escape out of the stall.

"You may not see it now," he said, looking sidelong at her, "but Dryw Hrine is the best place for you."

"I don't think I’ll ever see that." Ciara twisted her arm to free herself of his grip without success. "And who are you to say what's best for me?"

Her skin tingled beneath her sleeve where Bolin held it. Ciara licked her lips as her pulse quickened. She stared at the open door, unable to bring herself to look at him. "Let go of me." It came out as a whisper.

"We leave with the dawn," he repeated, and held her a moment longer before sliding his hand from her arm.

Ciara straightened her shoulders and managed to keep her poise long enough to walk to the door. Once out of Bolin's view, however, she hiked up her skirts and bolted up the hill like a frightened rabbit, not stopping until she reached the corner of the house. She leaned against the rain barrel, panting, a hand pressed against the stitch in her side.

The air held the scent of early summer green with the faintest breath of apple blossoms and Ciara sucked it in, holding each breath before slowly releasing it into the night until her heart ceased its assault on her ribs and resumed a normal rhythm. She frowned toward the now darkened barn. Bolin must have doused the lantern after she’d left, but he hadn’t followed her to the house.