Raven's Strike (16 page)

“Thanks, Jes,” he said. “I was wondering how I was going to do that.” He followed Lehr up the ladder steps, limping heavily.

Hennea was leaning against the stones of the fireplace—cool now, since there was no fire burning. Her eyes were closed, but he could tell she wasn't sleeping. Rinnie was, though. There hadn't been anything to keep her awake, just the heavy scent of magic that still hung thick in the air.

He left Hennea where she was and scooped up his little sister. As soon as he touched her, he could feel her dreams. She was flying in the night sky, with the land a dark presence far below her, dream-riding the storm winds in body as in reality she did with her mind.

<
Some Cormorants can fly,
> the Guardian told him, then abruptly withdrew.

Jes's hands curled protectively around Rinnie. It bothered him, this knowledge he should not have, that the Guardian should not have. How did he know Cormorants could fly when Rinnie was the only Cormorant they had ever known? But as much as it disturbed him, the Guardian was far more frightened by it. Jes couldn't think of anything else he'd ever encountered that had frightened the Guardian.

He carried Rinnie around the makeshift wall he and Lehr had built yesterday and laid her gently on her bed.

The unearned knowledge was part of the change that was happening, a change that frightened both the Guardian and him. Mother was worried about it, too. He'd always talked to the Guardian, soothing him, easing the constant rage the Guardian lived with. But it wasn't until they'd caged him with the
foundrael
that the Guardian had spoken back.

“She is too young to fly,” Jes muttered softly. “We wouldn't be able to keep her safe.”

The Guardian was silent, and Jes couldn't tell if he was listening, or if he'd closed himself off entirely. The latter was dangerous. When the Guardian emerged from such hibernations, he was gorged with anger, impossible to reason with.

But there was no answer, so Jes went back to put Hennea to bed. She was in a different position than the one in which he'd left her—she'd tried to get up, he thought.

Her hair was dark with sweat, and dark circles ringed her eyes. It looked to him as if she'd lost weight, too, as if the power she'd given Mother had come from her own flesh.

Tenderly, he picked her up into his arms.

<
Ours,
> claimed the Guardian.

“If she chooses,” he told the other firmly, not hiding his relief that the Guardian had not retreated. “Don't push her away.”

“Jes?” she murmured.

“Putting you to bed,” he told her.

Jes felt a wide smile break across his face. “He did.”

The Guardian shared the sweet scent of her skin with him, so he let the Guardian feel how strongly she desired to rest in their arms, safe.

He tucked her into her bed, next to Rinnie's. Like the wall, it was newly made yesterday. She was mostly asleep, and he brushed his hand lightly over her cheek because he could not resist both his desire and the Guardian's.

She opened her eyes, pale and unfocused. “Jes,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Remind me. Tomorrow. Maps and Colossae. It's important. For your father.”

He felt the Guardian swell with . . . some nameless emotion at the sound of the name of the ancient city.

“I'll remind you,” Jes told her as he pushed aside a flashing vision of a city he'd never seen before.

The strange insights frightened the Guardian. Jes could feel that fear rising up and the anger that burned the fear to ash, rage that Jes swallowed and swallowed until it hurt to breathe.

“Jes?”

“We should tell someone,” he muttered quickly.
Maybe someone could help us understand what is happening. Help us
to prepare.
That was it, he thought. The Guardian was afraid of something that was going to happen when he remembered too much. Something bad.

“Tomorrow. We'll tell your mother,” murmured Hennea, misunderstanding what he'd said.

The Guardian had heard him, too. Jes could tell because the other's towering rage dulled to a sullen burn that he could better tolerate.

Hennea subsided into sleep. Jes let himself pet her hair once before he left her to rest beside his sister and wandered out to stand in front of the fireplace.

<
Tell whom?
> asked the Guardian long after Jes had expected a response.

Mother? No, she hurts for us and feels guilty. I don't want that. Papa? Maybe Lehr. He's very smart.
He deliberately didn't mention Hennea. If her worry for him was already keeping her away, he didn't want her to have anything else to worry about.

<
No one for now,
> the Guardian decided. But Jes could tell that the thought of sharing the change with someone made him feel better. <
But we could tell someone if we need to. We might need to.
>

C
HAPTER
7

The Guardian appeased for the moment,
Jes could payattention to the quiet discussion in his parents' loft.

“I thought I'd just ride back to where Benroln left us,” Lehr was saying. “I can track them from there.”

“There might be an easier way,” Tier said. “Your mother said Willon gave you a map before you set out for Taela.”

“I'll get it,” Lehr said.

“I can get the map,” Jes told him. “I know where Mother put it.”

Mother had stored it in the chest where Papa kept some souvenirs from the wars. He took it and scrambled up the ladder.

His mother lay in bed under the covers. Her hair was sweat-darkened, and below her eyes were rings of exhaustion so dark they looked like bruises. Her breathing was shallow, and she made small sounds, like a tired child.

The Guardian came out to see for himself that she was safe. Jes touched the covers just above her feet and felt her in a sleep so deep she didn't even dream.

The Guardian settled down once he was certain every care had been taken for her. Papa sat on his side of the bed and Lehr was cross-legged on the floor; both of them had watched the Guardian and allowed him the time he needed.

There was enough room for Jes on the narrow space between the foot of the bed and the ladder. He handed Papa the map and settled on the floorboards.

“Thanks,” said Papa as he took the map and spread it on the bedding in front of him.

He studied it for a moment, then tapped his finger. “That's where we parted company. This is the road Benroln took.” He let his finger slide down the map toward him.

Jes couldn't read the map upside down, the lettering was too fancy—but the Guardian could.

“Edren,” said Papa. “Upsarian. Colbern.” He hesitated, then tapped his finger on the last city he'd mentioned. “Willon took this lower road back here—” He drew his hand along the lowest of three roads that both ran east and west. “It's a better road for a wagon—there are bridges instead of fords. He passed by Colbern, he said. It's a town about the size of Leheigh. They'd closed their gates to visitors. Plague.”

The Guardian, who had been amusing himself by pointing out the inaccuracies in the map to Jes, abruptly came to the alert.

Papa looked at Lehr. “I've been wondering what disaster called to Benroln when there was a shadow-tainted troll here they could have been fighting instead. A plague would do.”

“Lehr can't go,” the Guardian growled.

Lehr's eyebrows climbed almost to his hairline, but before he could give whatever retort was doubtless on the tip of his tongue, Papa said, “I agree. It's too dangerous.”

Lehr clenched his fists. “I'm not a child. I know how to protect myself from plague. I won't touch anyone. I won't share food or clothing. Mother said to get Brewydd, and that's what I'm going to do.” He got to his feet, and the Guardian rose up with him, blocking him in.

Lehr is right,
Jes told him.
Father needs Brewydd, and Lehr is not stupid. He knows how to protect himself.

He received a picture in his head of someone dying. Their face lay in the shadows so he couldn't tell if it was a man or woman, but he could feel the Guardian's consuming grief.

Brewydd will be there,
he reminded him.

“Jes?” His father's quiet voice penetrated the internal argument.

<
Brewydd will be there,
> agreed the Guardian before withdrawing slowly. Brewydd would not let Lehr get sick.

“Brewydd will be there,” Jes told Papa, and heard Lehr's relieved breath.

“Let me go,” Lehr said to Papa. “I can do this.”

Papa rubbed his face wearily. “All right. All right. Get a good night's rest and go in the morning. Take this map.” He folded it and handed it to Lehr. “You can see the shortest route there.”

Jes got up and began to go down the ladder stairs so Lehr could get past him.

“I want to talk to you, Jes,” Papa said.

Jes nodded and jumped down to the floor, bending his knees so that he hit softly and didn't wake up Hennea or Rinnie.

Lehr, coming down behind him, said, “Thanks,” softly.

Jes nodded and scrambled back up to his parents' loft. “Papa?”

“Close the door and sit down, son.”

Jes shut the door, then took up Lehr's place because, with the door shut, there was no room for him where he'd been sitting.

“Remember the smith we helped on the way back?” he asked. Jes knew it wasn't really a question, but he nodded. “When the Guardian said he scented a mistwight, I asked him how he knew what it was.”

The Guardian didn't like this conversation, and Jes did his best to think soothing thoughts at him.

“You told me you didn't know.”

“I remember,” said Jes. “I didn't know.”

“Did the Guardian?”

It's all right, we were going to talk to Papa about this, remember?
All he got for an answer was a turbulent rush that wasn't quite an answer.

“Jes,” said Papa, with just a hint of power in his voice.

It was enough to pull Jes's attention back to him. “He remembered,” Jes told him. “But we're not sure how. It makes him upset.” He took a breath. “I don't think he wants to remember.”

“Are you sure he doesn't know more?” asked Papa gently. “I asked the Guardian, Jes, and he had you answer me. I think that he might know more about it, and doesn't want you to—”

The Guardian pushed Jes away so far that he never did hear the rest of what Papa wanted to say.

“—know.” Tier paused to adjust to the jumpy feeling that made him want to move away from the man who sat at his feet. Jes was gone, and only the Guardian was left.

“I don't want him frightened,” said the Guardian.

“It's dangerous to keep secrets,” said Tier. “Your mother was worried about you. She told me that it is important that you and Jes stay close to each other.”

The Guardian stood up in a graceful show of strength that reminded Tier of watching an animal you thought was a dog and realizing it was a wolf instead. Jes and the Guardian didn't move anything alike.

“There are some things he doesn't need to know,” said the Guardian.

“He's right,” Tier said in some surprise. “You are afraid.”

The Guardian hissed.

“You can't lie to me,” Tier said, keeping his voice soft though his heart rate had picked up. “Everyone is afraid sometimes. It's all right if Jes is afraid, too. What is not all right is for you to hide things from him. You need to trust him more.”

“You know nothing,” the Guardian snapped. “You are a Bard—blessed, not cursed.”

Tier raised an eyebrow. “You are not cursed. You were just given a rocky field to harrow. Seems to me that you are doing well at it. But you need to work as a team, or you'll not make it, son.”

“I'm not your son,” said the Guardian. “Jes is. I am the demon he is cursed with.”

It was said without a flicker of emotion, but no parent could fail to hear the cry in those words.

“You are
my
son,” said Tier, leaning close enough to the Guardian that his breath turned to frosty mist. “I love you. I worry for you.”

“You worry for Jes,” said the Guardian, turning his head away.

His absolute certainty suddenly reminded Tier of himself as he confronted his father two days before he went to war. His father had turned and left Tier standing with his despairing
cry still echoing.
“You love the bakery more than you love me.”

He considered this volatile young man who was his son, then said the first thing that came into his head. “You remind me of my sister Alinath. No one ever convinced her of anything she didn't want to be convinced of.”

“I am nothing like Alinath.” The Guardian crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels.

“You are. The only times she ever changed her mind was when she stopped arguing and started thinking. So you go think about what I've said—tell Jes what it is you fear. The weight of most problems can be lightened a bit by sharing. Trust Jes.”

The Guardian was swaying slightly from one foot to the next, the way Jes did when he was upset.

“Why don't you go out for a run tonight?” Tier suggested gently. “I sometimes find that exercise and solitude make a lot of things clearer.”

Without a word the Guardian opened the door and slipped out of the room. Tier heard the outside door open and shut quietly, then turned to his sleeping wife.

“I hope that helped him.” He kissed her, then blew out the lantern and settled in for sleep.

When Jes came back to himself he was stretched out on a tree limb with his claws dug firmly into the bark as if the Guardian had been sharpening them.

Jes managed to climb down from the tree before he lost the cat-shape. It was difficult, but so was falling out of trees.

Once again in human form, he bent and stretched, trying to decide how far he'd come. He didn't feel too tired—not with the deep weariness that sometimes hit him when he awoke from the times when the Guardian shut him away. Hopefully, it wouldn't take him too long to walk home.

He wondered what Papa had said to send the Guardian out running into the woods.

<
We need to talk.
> The Guardian seemed subdued.

“All right.” Jes's too-human voice sounded wrong out so deep in the woods. He didn't have to speak aloud—but it helped him keep track of who was saying what.

<
Papa says that I should not hide things from you. Even frightening things.
>

“What frightens you?”

<
I remember things.
>

“I know that.”

Impatience and frustration overwhelmed him for a moment. Jes tossed his head in the vain attempt to shake the feelings away.

“Explain it to me then,” he managed. “Why is remembering so frightening.”

<
I was something else once, something more. Something dangerous that might hurt you.
>

“You've always been dangerous,” Jes said. “That's the point, isn't it? How can we protect them if you're not dangerous?”

The Guardian didn't answer, so Jes started for home. While they'd been talking he'd found landmarks in the moonlit night and had a pretty good idea where he was and how to find the shortest way home.

<
I always assumed I was a part of you, a part held separate by the Order.
>

“You are a part of me.”

Negation swamped him, and Jes stumbled over a dead branch that lay in his path. He stopped.

<
I am a part of the Order,
> the Guardian said. <
But I was something more, once. Now I am a leech that will eventually destroy you.
>

The Guardian's shame brought tears to Jes's eyes.

“You are a part of me,” said Jes. “You help me keep my family safe. Tomorrow we are going to follow Lehr and keep him safe, too. That is what we do.”

<
I make your life miserable.
She
won't see you because of me. Eventually, I will cause you to go mad.
>

“No,” said Jes.

<
I remember. I remember the madness. I will drive you mad as I have driven others mad. I see their faces when I dream. That is the reason Hennea won't take us.
>

“I'm not mad yet,” said Jes. “I don't feel like I'm going to go mad. Maybe I'm different from those others. Mother says that she thinks I am.” He smiled to himself. “She says it might be stubborn
solsenti
blood. She says that if Aunt Alinath is too
obstinate to give in to reason, that I can be too obstinate to give in to madness.”

<
She won't have us because of me.
>

Jes knew who “she” was. He let his smile widen. “Papa says Hennea loves us. Let's give her time to understand we are stronger than she believes.”

He waited for a heartbeat or two, but the Guardian had said all he intended to say.

Tier rested, but he couldn't sleep. Had he said enough to Jes? Or had he said too much? He didn't know as much as he needed to about the Guardian Order—though from what Seraph had told him, neither did anyone else.

He heard Lehr tossing and turning in the room below. He was worried about Lehr, too. Lehr was not reckless; he wouldn't take chances unless there was no other choice. If Lehr were only going off to face a half dozen bandits, Tier would not be half as nervous. Skill and caution were of little use against plague. He'd have to trust to Lehr's Hunter skills to get him safely to Benroln's clan and to Brewydd's skills to keep his son safe from the plague.

It went against his grain to have his son risk his life for him. It seemed the wrong way 'round. A father should be willing to lay down his life to protect his family—he shouldn't have to rely on his son. But he'd had the whole of his stay with the Path, when he thought he'd not live to see home again, to decide that without him, his family was too vulnerable. In five years that would not be so true, but for now his family needed him. And for all Seraph's mending he could tell that he wasn't whole yet.