Hers to Claim (10 page)

Adonia watched the
worry lines around his eyes and the brackets around his mouth return and deepen. “The glorious city of our history is not the Nyth Uchel we travel to. A dark, empty place locked in seeming endless winter awaits us. My people die of a fading disease and an unknown blight afflicts my land and kills my animals. Nyth Uchel and all that surrounds her is dying or corrupted.” He laid his head back against the boulder and squinted his eyes closed—as if closing his eyes would halt the images running through his mind. Adonia felt his ribs lift and fall in a heavy sigh. “I fear what we combat is not of this world. A skillful sword and careful management cannot overcome it. We must fight this darkness on the metaphysical plane. I just wish I knew how.”

They sat in silence
. Adonia considered Hel’s words and the man who spoke them. She couldn’t imagine the dark thoughts he entertained, the responsibility he shouldered. She started when he spoke again.

“
The stories your father told you were not fables, Nia. I have vowed, before I die, Nyth Uchel and Torre Bianca will be as they once were—the best and brightest of Verdantia. I will
not
be the DeHelios who allows them to fall.”

Adonia
regarded his elegant masculine profile outlined in the soft gold light of the diaman crystals and spoke her heart. “I admire your goal and, of all the men I have ever known, I consider you the most worthy paladin. I would be honored to help you in whatever way...” Her voice died as she heard herself. How pompous and ridiculous she sounded. What could a prince of Verdantia need from an ordinary woman of the Oshtesh? Other than her skills with healing medicinals, she had nothing to offer him but a well-used bow.

He
l didn’t reply but his arms held her tighter and closer as some prowling menace screamed its hunger into the night.

Adonia
shrugged lower into her rain-sodden coat and allowed her mare to follow Hel’s however she would. Their party climbed steadily. From time to time, Hel stopped and surveyed the area as if determining their location. He would find some landmark and their lurching trek would resume. She was tempted to ask if he knew where he was going; they followed no trail or path she could decipher.

Adonia shifted in her saddle
with a squelch. The cold rain that had started as heavy mist that morning now fell steadily, whipped into stinging needles by a blustery wind. The wet mass of her hair dripped frigid water down her neck. Raindrops pelted her face and dribbled off in rivulets. Her nose had lost feeling, and she suspected it ran in an unflattering fashion onto her upper lip. Hopefully, the rain would wash the snot away. Her ears hurt with the cold. The only positive thought amidst all her misery was hope the poor weather had sent any beasts stalking them to their dens.

Hel remained silent. Ramsey and Steffania seemed enveloped in a world that needed no one else, so Adonia suffered
her misery alone. Her mynx coat, bound firmly to the back of her saddle, teased her with its promise of warmth and dryness but she resisted. The cut and design of the coat would not accommodate an equestrian. She would do nothing that might damage the irreplaceable garment. She pulled the saturated lengths of her long coat around her with a convulsive shudder and bent her face away from the pelting rain.

“Nia.” Hel’s voice roused her from her miserable slump. He had pulled his horse up
beside her and held his furred cap in an outstretched hand. “Put this on.”

“Do you have another?” She saw the answer on his face. “No.
You will have nothing.”

He swung off his horse
. Before she knew what had happened, she was standing on the ground facing him as he jammed the fur cap on her head, pulled it down snugly and jerked the strings of the earflaps into a knot under her chin. She yelped when he swept her up and replaced her on her mount.

His
gray gaze stabbed up at her. “It was not a request, Healer.” He remounted, and they resumed their tedious climb.

All right.
She had no memory of ever being handled so effortlessly—as if lifting her bony length over his head was insignificant. A part of her liked it. A part of her liked it very much. 

Sized for a much larger head, the fur cap obscured her vision
. It was also deliciously warm and protected her face and neck from the cold wind-driven rain. Her ears warmed and throbbed painfully but no more frigid water trickled down her neck. As the hours dragged on, she admitted she felt vastly warmer simply having her head, neck and face protected. When her horse stumbled to a stop, she struggled with the ties under her chin and then gave up and shoved the cap back on her head.

They were
at the door of a small stone dwelling. Cheerful light illuminated the windows in a welcoming contrast to the gloomy day, and a lazy lick of gray smoke climbed out of the chimney. A tidy barn rose behind the house, its doors open as if in welcome. Shaggy ponies cropped brown grass in expansive paddocks fenced with raw timber. An orchard of naked fruit trees stretched skeletal fingers to the sky.

A withered
, elderly man poked his head out of the arched entry door and snapped, “I expected you yesterday. Stop dawdling. Stable your animals and get out of the wet.” Then the door slammed closed again.

Hel stiffen
ed in his saddle before shaking his head and motioning them toward the barn.

All four rode
through the open doors of the barn, dismounted, stripped their horses of their tack and turned them in to the empty stalls bedded deep with fresh straw. Ram forked hay to the horses while Hel poured each a measure of grain.

Ramsey shot Hel an appraising
glance. “This is your country, so I suppose you know we are at least twenty miles further east than we should be.”

“I
must speak with the man who lives here. A’rken is a mystic with ‘the sight’. He has powers of foretelling and connects with Her in a way I’ve never comprehended. A’rken foretold the Haarb invasion and other events in the past. Some malevolence attacks our soil and perhaps our Mother, Herself. If anyone has insight into how it may be fought, I hope A’rken will.”

“A mystic? How fascinating
,” Adonia said.

Ramsey snorted.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Healer. ‘Mystic’ is simply a kind way to say the man is a lunatic—bat-shit crazy. We won’t understand one word out of five.”

“
Even lunatic ravings are preferable to listening to you, DeKieran,” Hel muttered and stalked out of the barn toward the house. Adonia ran to catch up to him.

“We are expected?”

Hel sighed. “Not to my knowledge. I decided only last night to seek him out.”

“
How did he know we were coming?”

“I don’t know. He’s a
mystic
,” he snapped.

She
recognized ill-humor when she heard it and shut up.

Adonia followed Hel as he ducked throug
h the door to the snug cottage—and ran right into a bush of low-hanging, dried herbs. Sputtering, she pulled Hel’s hat off her head so she could see where she was going and brought dried vegetation raining down on her. A shriveled bush of some sort followed, and she caught it in her hands. From rafter to ceiling, herbs and shriveled creatures hung by cords—packed together, filling the open attic space. Adonia shuddered at the sightless, beady eyes staring at her, the twisted clawed feet reaching for her, and glanced toward the old man. He hunched over a steaming pot of something. It smelled heavenly. Honestly, at this point, she was hungry enough to gnaw on one of those dead things hanging from the roof.

The door opened to admit Ramsey and
Steffania. They stomped in and began peeling off wet garments that they threw over pegs by the door.

Steffania looked at her and
snorted. “You have green bits stuck all over you.”

Adonia
presented the shrub as if holding a bouquet.

The
aged seer rose from his stool by the steaming pot and shuffled to her. He cocked his head sideways and peered up. Through multiple folds of skin, and masses of wild gray hair, his milky, swamp-green eyes studied her face. “I’ll have the worm-wood back now, miss.” A withered hand extended from his voluminous hooded robe, and she handed him the end of the shrub. He took the proffered plant, but never ceased his intense scrutiny. Adonia shifted her half-frozen feet back and forth in her soggy boots and shoved her hands deep into her cold, clammy coat pockets. Was she supposed to say something?

“
You’ve the look of her, girl. The first one.” The old man tapped his pursed lips with a thick yellow fingernail and nodded to himself. “Could be. Could be.” With a, “Harrumph, careless idgit,” he tossed the dried herbs into a corner of the room and returned to his simmering pot.

She looked toward Hel for help.
He gave her an “I’m-as-clueless-as-you” shrug.

“
A’rken, you said you expected us?” Hel assisted Adonia in stripping out of her water-laden outerwear but studied the old mage as he did. Ramsey and Steffania had pulled chairs up to a rustic table and relaxed, watching their interchange.

A’rken sniffed and cast Hel a withering glare.
“
She,
the
Senzienza
, told me to prepare.
‘The white horse heralds the raven,’
She said.”

Steffania frowned. “A white horse and raven? We ride bays and a black and we have no bird.”

The mystic paused in his stirring and turned. “You, girl.” He pointed a gnarled finger bent by age at Adonia.

“Sir?”
She pointed at her chest. “Me?”

“
Your name?”

“Adonia.”

“Your surname,” he snapped.

“Corvus…Adonia Corvus.”

“Ha!” The old man threw a triumphant look at Steffania and stabbed his finger repeatedly at Adonia as if that explained everything. Steffania shrugged and shook her head.

The old man
grumbled something under his breath. Adonia couldn’t distinguish the words but the tone was unflattering. His clouded eyes, brimming with accusation, sought and held Ramsey’s gaze. “She said nothing about the gryphon and his off-world mate.”

“We
were bored. We decided we needed an outing,” Ramsey drawled.

T
he old man erupted in a cackle of laughter. “An outing, ha! She summons all Her sons and daughters to
war
, gryphon. But this one,” his shaky finger again singled out Adonia, “this one is the key.”

Adonia
stood bewildered. The other three must have been equally perplexed for the only thing accompanying their exchange of glances was silence.

The
mystic jerked upright and muttered, “Food. We must have food.” He scuffled to the hearth and, using multiple folds of his robe, lifted the pot from its hanger and plunked it down in the middle of the table. “Bowls and spoons on the shelf.” He pointed. “There. Bread in the towel next to the spoons. Serve yourself.”

“What do you suppose is in this soup?” Ramsey muttered as
he picked up two bowls.

Hel
glanced at the distorted, desiccated remains of unidentifiable shapes suspended just inches above them. “I don’t really want to know.”

Ramsey followed his glance.
“Point taken.”

All of them filled their bowls
in pregnant silence. When they sat, Hel looked across the table at the mystic and voiced what was on the tip of Adonia’s tongue.

“
A’rken, Adonia is the key to
what
? And what’s this about being called to war?”

The old man
straightened and his gaze became unfocused, farseeing. “When Belarus mates with Cirrus in the northern sky. Stones…stones…written on the stones of the tower. Look to the wisdom of your forefathers. Blackness…death devours our Mother. Only the corvus can call them. The corvus is the key.”

As all at the table sat
aghast, expression faded from the mystic’s face. His head sank toward the table and landed with a wet
plop
in his soup. The bowl tipped and its contents crept in a languid spill across the table. His eyes stared at nothing.

“
Oh, Goddess!” Adonia leapt up and began to blot the spreading liquid with the towel used to wrap the bread.

Hel slammed his spoon down.
“Rouse him, Ramsey. He can’t nod off
now
!”

Ramsey
rolled his eyes and commented to the room at large, “I warned you. Not one word in five.” Ramsey jostled the old man, and then fisted a hank of the mystic’s tangled bangs, lifting his head and peering into the seer’s face. “He’s not going to rouse. I’d say he’s in a trance.” Ram released the old man’s hair. The ancient mystic’s head made a soft
thunk
when it hit the table.

Adonia didn’t blame Hel for the string of invectives that spewed from his lips. She had a few of her own to add. Hel wasn’t the only one with questions
. She cleaned A’rken up as best she could then sat back down as the words began to fly.

“
I figure Ramsey is the gryphon and I am his mate—not difficult as the gryphon is the symbol for House DeKieran. You are the white horse, DeHelios?” Steffania looked at Hel.

“Yes. Our house symbol is a white stallion rampant.”

“So, that makes Adonia the raven?” Steffania’s words trailed off in question.

“In the ancient
Engalian
form, ‘corvus’ means raven,” Hel supplied.

“I never knew c
orvus meant raven. Huh.” Adonia sat perplexed.

Steffania snorted. “Good. I’m not the only one
in the dark at this table.”

“
Well, assuming I
am
the raven, I don’t understand why I’m the key?” Adonia rubbed her head, trying to dispel the feeling that straw had replaced her brains. “From what A’rken said, this dark blight is killing Mother Verdantia. And what did he mean when I came in? ‘You’ve the look of her, girl. The first one.’ I don’t understand that at all. The first one, who?”

Hel shook his head. “I don’t know. ‘
When Belarus mates with Cirrus in the northern sky’ is an astrological arrangement of stars that occurs in late spring. That reference I understand. We have a few months to work this out, apparently.”

“What about the ‘words written
on the stones of the tower’?” Ramsey arched a brow and looked at Hel. “Do you understand that reference?”

Hel scrubbed his face in frustration. “No.
I’ve never seen any inscriptions on Torre Bianca.”

The
ir exchange of one possible theory after another continued deep into the night. All the while, the comatose body of A’rken remained slumped on the table. His eyes stared sightlessly. His lips garbled unintelligible words.