First Rider's Call (32 page)

Mara reached out to shake Karigan’s shoulder, but her hand passed right through her into a cold, cold space. Mara gasped and stepped back. This was
not
how Karigan’s ability was supposed to work.

“Karigan,” Mara said. “I can hear you, and I can see you. Come back to us—drop the fading. Drop it
now.
”

Her eyes finally flickered in recognition.
“Now? Is this the right time? I’ve traveled so far . . .”

Her words were nonsense to Mara. “Yes,” she said firmly, “this is the right time. Drop it
now.
”

Karigan sighed so unlike a ghost that Mara felt some relief. Karigan passed her hand over her brooch. It was a weary gesture. Her ghostly form solidified and immediately she dropped her face into her hand and groaned.

Mara and Fastion exchanged worried glances. “What is it?” Mara asked.

“My head—it hurts. The brooch.” Her hand muffled her words.

“The use of magic has that effect on her,” Mara explained to Fastion.

Karigan looked up at them. The lamp cast half moon shadows beneath her eyes. Her flesh was bone white.

“It’s never hurt so much.”

“How did you find this place?” Fastion asked.

“The light. I followed it.” She pressed back a loose tendril of hair with a trembling hand. “I heard the call, and I followed the light. And I saw . . .”

“Saw what?” Mara was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“The captain, but she wasn’t the captain yet. And King Agates, but he was dead. Then I saw the whisperers.”

“That explains things,” Mara muttered. She did not feel as cavalier as she sounded, however. She cleared her throat and squatted beside Karigan, scrunching her nose against the odor of her damp wool greatcoat. “Have you been hurt?”

Karigan shook her head and grimaced at what the motion did to her headache.

Mara touched Karigan’s cheek, then drew away in shock. “You’re cold!” She was stone cold, far colder than sitting damp in an old castle on a rainy day warranted.

“Cold. Yes.”

Mara removed her own greatcoat and wrapped it around Karigan’s shoulders. She passed her hand over her brooch. She did not experience the strange things Karigan did, but like every Green Rider, she possessed an ability with magic. She first discovered its form during a message errand when she fell through the thin ice of a pond. She pulled herself out, but would have frozen to death had it not been for her ability.

She summoned thoughts of warmth of flame, of campfires and hearths. Heat rushed through her body and enfolded her like a blanket. She focused it on her upraised palm. Blue flame rose flickering from her fingers as though they were on fire. They
were
on fire.

Yates had once suggested that this particular ability would best suit Captain Mapstone because of her red hair and temper. Captain Mapstone had overheard the remark and Yates earned a month’s worth of stall muck ing duty. Mara smiled at the memory; she smiled at the flames dancing on her palm.

She kept calling on her ability until those blue flames turned to a steady orange-gold. The heat radiated against her own face, and great joy flooded her heart at the manifestation of her ability; a joy she knew several Riders, like Karigan, never experienced.

The flames worked best on her right hand, as though the stubs of her missing fingers let them burn unhindered and more intensely.

With the warmth, the deathly pallor of Karigan’s cheeks gave way to a faint pink blush. She watched the flames on Mara’s hand in wonder, this uncommon display not lost on her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Mara had never demonstrated her ability to the others. They knew about it, but there had never been a legitimate reason to simply call on the flames. It was too powerful a thing to use lightly. It
was
powerful, but even she could not imagine its depth. Sometimes she felt like some great well from which power could flow unquenchable.

“Fastion,” Mara said, “we should get Karigan someplace warm.”

“Of course.”

Mara had to admire his discipline. It was not often one witnessed raw magic. She guessed it would take a visit by the gods to shake him from his rock-solid foundation, and even then she had her doubts.

“Does it hurt?” he asked her.

Mara chuckled that his curiosity overrode that discipline. “No, but if I started off a campfire, then reached into the flames of it, it would burn me as any fire would you.”

“I see.”

They assisted Karigan to her feet. She seemed all right, if a little unsteady, and her features were drawn with the pain of her headache. Mara felt fortunate that the worst aftereffect of using her own ability was a mild fever. She extinguished the flames with a thought, and they left the chamber at a slow walk.

CASTLE TOP

Karigan awoke in a strange bed. She was buried beneath a pile of blankets, with a bunch of hard, warm lumps settled against her side. Rocks? She felt around herself. Yes, rocks. Stove-warmed rocks to stave off a winter’s chill.
Winter?
Had she somehow slept through the last of summer and autumn?

With a pang of fear, she realized it might not be, the memory of her journey to the past—and future—just returning. Maybe she’d been drawn too far into the future and had lost months of her life to the traveling. What if it really was winter?

And those thoughts brought a flurry of memories of the traveling, and of Fastion and Mara flaring like beings of light, drawing her out of the dark. She had been so very cold. She remembered Fastion leading the way through dark passages, or did this belong to some older memory? In any case, she recalled little else after they had found her.

Now here she was, in a strange bed. Drapes were drawn across a small window, leaving the chamber in a gray light that dimpled across the grainy texture of stone walls.

Stone walls—maybe she’d been trapped in time after all. What was this place?

She fought the layers of blankets, which shifted the rocks, making them clink together.

Her right arm stabbed with pain at her fussing. The left was oddly stiff and cold. She laid back, breathing hard.

If she had been in as bad shape as she felt when Mara and Fastion found her, it wasn’t likely they’d have dragged her all the way back to Rider barracks. It would have been easier to leave her at the castle. She sniffed the air, and caught a whiff of the herby scent that usually pervaded the mending wing. It made sense.

She nestled down into the blankets, calmer now, grimacing at a rock that had wedged itself uncomfortably into the small of her back. She didn’t feel too bad, though there was the lingering residue of a monster headache, and her gnawing stomach, not to mention a growing desire to use the chamber pot. The pull of sleep, however, proved stronger. She was so tired, drained to the core.

She began to drift off, her eyes drooping, when she saw a tiny flutter of light at the foot of her bed. She blinked, but saw nothing, and so began to sink into sleep again.

—
hold them together.

“Hunh?” Karigan dreamed she opened her eyes and saw the ghostly figure of Lil Ambrioth standing at the foot of her bed. An otherworldly phosphorescence defined small details of her features—the curve of her lips, a tendril of tawny hair, the glow of a golden brooch, but the gray light of the chamber absorbed far more of her than was revealed.

Lil was speaking to her, but few of the words were able to pass whatever barrier existed between the living and the dead.

—
always in bed,
Lil said, with what sounded like a note of exasperation. Dreams were funny that way, causing the characters within the dream to do and say things that made little sense.

The door will close shortly,
Lil continued.
—must be quick. The Riders are—You must hold them together.

When Karigan did not respond, Lil began sweeping back and forth across the room in agitation, a luminous blur. She spoke rapidly, and Karigan could not understand any of it. Moments later, like a candleflame blown out, Lil faded away.

Some final words emerged from nothingness:
Hold them together, hey?

The dream ended, and Karigan closed her eyes, falling asleep for real this time.

 

Sometime later, Karigan awoke again, overheated and sweating from all the blankets piled on her. Her need to use the chamber pot was overwhelming her. She kicked off the blankets and attended to her needs.

Afterward, she padded about the room checking out her surroundings. A more golden light suffused the drapes now. She threw them open, squinting her eyes at the day, wondering exactly what day it was. At least it wasn’t winter! Whatever the answer, the rainstorm was long gone, and had left behind a brilliant blue sky.

The window looked out upon the north castle grounds. Down below were the kennels, more stables, and out-buildings. Guards moved upon the wall that surrounded the castle grounds, and beyond on the horizon, the Green Cloak Forest rose up on rounded hills and tucked into deep green folds of valleys.

Someone had dressed her in a short, rough gown, and she plucked at it with distaste. She felt fine, though hungry, and she wanted to get on with her day. Maybe it was the blue sky outside her window pulling at her.

She searched the tiny chamber for her uniform, but it was nowhere to be found. There was a stand with a pitcher, washbowl, and towel, and after splashing her face with water, she went to the door and flung it open.

Standing there in the doorway with his hand poised to knock was a young man in the pale blue smock of a mender, a journeyman’s knot on his shoulder. He goggled at her in bewilderment, clearly not expecting her to be up and about.

“Where are my clothes?” Karigan demanded. “It’s time I got ready to leave.”

Hand still upraised, the mender said, “Um, sorry. Wrong room, I think. Wrong patient.”

He reached for the door to close it, but she grabbed his wrist. He glanced at her hand in surprise.

“I am
not
a patient,” Karigan said, “and I want my clothes.”

“I can’t—I’m not allowed—”

“I don’t care,” Karigan said. “Just show me where my clothes are.”

“Now, now, what have we here?” The voice belonged to Master Mender Destarion. He ambled up the corridor, appraising the scene with narrowed eyes. The young journeyman stepped away from the doorway with obvious relief.

“Rider G’ladheon, there is no reason for you to trounce on poor Ben here. He is only newly made a journeyman and on his first rounds today. Furthermore, you
are
a patient here, and you may not leave without my permission.”

Karigan thought up an angry retort, but took a deep breath to suppress it. “When will you give me permission to leave?”

“That is not known until I have had a chance to examine you.”

“But—” Destarion’s stern look made her clamp her mouth shut.

“Now, Ben,” the master mender said to the journeyman, “you need to hold your ground, hmm? You cannot let troublesome patients have the upper hand.”

“Yes, sir,” Ben said.

“Troublesome!” Karigan sputtered.

“Green Riders are notoriously troublesome,” Destarion continued, as though lecturing a class. “They come in injured and mangled, we put them back together, then they stand in
my
halls making demands. A thankless lot to be sure.”

Karigan’s cheeks heated with outrage. “But I’m not mangled!”

Destarion ignored her outburst. “And our most notorious patient is that captain of yours.”

Karigan blinked in surprise, and nearly burst out laughing. Destarion, noting the change in her attitude, smiled warmly.

“Ben,” he said, “see if you can find Rider G’ladheon here biscuits and broth, and a pot of tea.”

“Yes, sir.” The young man hastened off.

Destarion gestured for Karigan to return to her chamber and followed her in. “What I’ve asked Ben to do is an apprentice’s duty—fetch and carry—but I don’t suppose he’ll mind just this once.”

After giving Karigan a cursory exam, he said, “You certainly seem in fine fettle, considering yesterday. How does your arm feel?”

Karigan tried to flex her right arm. Threads of pain shot through her elbow, but it wasn’t the dagger-grinding pain of before. “Getting better, I suppose.”

“Actually, I was wondering about the other arm.”

“My other—?”

Destarion nodded. “When you were brought in yesterday, you had the body temperature of one who had been caught in a blizzard. Your left arm showed signs of frost-bite. I am not even going to hazard a guess as to how you got into such a condition in the midst of summer.” He rolled his eyes. “I’ll leave
that
to your captain.”

“It—it feels fine.”

Destarion looked her arm over critically. “So it is.” He pronounced her fit, but would not allow her to leave till she finished off the broth and biscuits Ben brought.