Rift (14 page)

“Thank you.” Ember gulped the cool water, grateful that she was able to breathe steadily again.

Barrow watched as she took a few more ladlefuls of water. When Ember straightened, unnerved that she’d been leaning all her weight against Barrow for several minutes, he simply nodded at her. “Are you well again?”

“Yes,” she said, though her legs were a bit shaky. “I think so.” She didn’t object when Barrow pulled the stool away from the forge and eased her down onto it.

His gaze returned to Morag.

“What did ye see, Ember?” she asked the girl.

Ember’s mouth twisted as she wondered what she was supposed to see. Her vision didn’t make sense, and as she tried to describe it, she felt foolish.

“I saw the moon,” she said.

“What sort of moon?” Morag asked, seemingly unsurprised by Ember’s words.

“First it was a full moon,” Ember said. “Then the full moon was covered in shadow, leaving only its crescent form.”

“Was there anything else?” Morag’s eyes had grown thoughtful.

“It . . .” Ember glanced at Barrow, who, like Morag, appeared nonplussed by the strange vision. “It cried tears of blood.”

Barrow’s brow went up, which sent heat running up Ember’s cheeks. It was a silly thing to say.

Morag laughed. “Well, then. There was no mistake in your calling.”

Ember looked at her, startled.

Barrow shifted his stance, his speculative gaze giving way to a pensive one. “I had no doubts.”

“I never suggested
you
did,” Morag said. “But there was talk.”

“Too much,” Barrow said. “Foolish and dangerous.”

Ember knew he was defending her against the sort of gossip she’d always hated and wanted to thank him, but her mind was still fixed on the bleeding moon and what it could mean.

“Soon, lass.” Morag smiled at Ember, taking in her puzzled expression. “I’ll devote a night and day to this. Come back to me on the morrow.”

“Are we done then?” Barrow’s mood had soured.

“Aye,” she said.

“You have our thanks.” He looked at Ember. “The day is still young. Is your head clear enough for work?”

She sprang up, happy that she didn’t stumble despite the fact that her vision blurred at the sudden movement. “Of course.”

Barrow was already weaving his way through the maze of forges and clouds of sparks. Ember kept her eyes on his back, still needing a point of focus. The heady incense lingered, muddying her senses.

Ember blinked in the bright light of day as they emerged from the cave-like smithy.

Barrow eyed her carefully. “We’ll get you some water before training.”

She thought about protesting, wanting to deny any weakness, but realized how foolhardy that lie would be. “Thank you.”

As he led the way up the slow incline toward the barracks, Ember cast a sidelong glance at the tall knight.

“What did you see when you looked into the fire?”

He grimaced, and she wondered if perhaps the question was too personal. Her desire to know how unusual her vision had been made her wait rather than retract the query.

Readjusting the sword at his waist, Barrow glanced at her. “I saw a lion crouched in the darkness. When it struck, its claws became a single curved blade.”

“That must have been frightening.” Ember’s eyes moved over the saber that he always carried.

Following her gaze, Barrow said, “It was more than frightening. When I came out of the vision, I’d gained a long, bleeding gash across my chest.”

“How is that possible?” Ember asked.

“You’ll find the impossible to be possible more often than not the longer you’re with us,” Barrow told her. He paused for a moment before saying, “My blade is known as a shamshir. It’s a weapon of the Persians, and its name means ‘curved like a lion’s claw.’”

Ember found it difficult to suppress her disbelief at Barrow’s story. Her skepticism must have shown on her face because Barrow stopped walking and turned to face her. Without giving explanation, he unbuckled his sword belt, handing it to her. The blade was surprisingly light in her hands. Even more shocking was the sight of Barrow stripping off his tabard and undershirt to reveal his bare chest.

His fingers traced the single diagonal gash that stretched from just below his right shoulder to his left lower abdomen. Heat prickled along her skin, but she knew it wasn’t from the smithy. The image of Barrow’s torso etched into her mind. The contours of his body could have been carved from stone. The dark scar slashing across his flesh reminded Ember that this was a man before her, built of muscle, bone, and blood. Her fingers twitched, full of the desire to trace the deep crimson line and linger on his skin. The vivid thoughts startled Ember and she pulled her gaze off him.

“I will never lie to you, Ember.” He didn’t wait for her to answer, but she heard the rustle of fabric as he quickly dressed again. She handed over his sword belt but remained quiet, her mind awash with questions. His words made her blush as much as the memory of his bare chest.

“No two visions are the same. The weapons are crafted precisely for the one who will wield them.” Barrow buckled the belt low on his hips. “We’ll see what Morag has for you tomorrow. But it’s not only a weapon that you’ll need.”

She tilted her head, watching him curiously.

His smile broadened. “Come with me, lass.”

NINE

AS THEY CROSSED
the courtyard, passing the manor and moving in the direction of the barracks, Ember struggled with Barrow’s taciturn manner. Would it be so difficult to simply explain to her where they were going and what the shape of her day would be? Making it worse, the tall knight seemed to take some perverse delight in watching her puzzle over her new life. She was beginning to look forward to the opportunity to spar with him, no matter how much of a novice she’d be on the training field. Giving Barrow one good knock with a mace would be worth it.

Ember was playing out this imagined confrontation, in which she managed to kick Barrow in the chest and send him sprawling, when the real Barrow’s voice intruded on her musing.

“We’re not going to the barracks, Ember.”

She hadn’t noticed that he’d abruptly changed direction, walking away from the barracks’ entrance toward the far end of the courtyard. Her blood went icy when she realized he was heading toward the practice fields where she’d spotted him sparring with Kael. Her daydream took a wicked turn, where suddenly she imagined Barrow drawing his sword and smiling cruelly at her.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He raised the wickedly curved blade.

“Ember!” Barrow was suddenly standing in front of her, both of his hands resting on her shoulders.

She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Is your brain still addled by Morag’s incense?” He searched her face with concern. “If you need water or rest, you must tell me.”

“No.” She pulled out of his grip. “I’m fine. Lead on.”

His eyes were doubtful, and Ember swore silently that she’d keep her overactive mind in check.

“Very well.” He took her past the barracks but bypassed the practice fields as well, to which Ember’s emotions had a lurching reaction of disappointment edged with relief.

“Ho, Barrow!” A lanky boy was waving at her companion. The boy set aside his pitchfork and came to meet them.

“Well met, Ian.” Barrow clapped him on the shoulder. “How’s their mood this morning?”

Ian laughed. “Restless. The spring air puts the spark of life in ’em like nothing else.”

“Glad to hear it,” Barrow said. He gestured to Ember. “Ian, this is Lady Morrow. She’s just joined our ranks.”

Ian gave her a lopsided grin. “So I’ve heard. Welcome, my lady.”

“Ian is apprenticed to the master of the stables,” Barrow told her. “Which means he’s here day and night, should you need anything.”

“It’s true that I’m a slave to these beasts.” Ian bowed his head, but Ember saw him grinning.

“These beasts are better than most men.” Barrow laughed.

“That they are,” Ian said. “That they are.”

Barrow led Ember into the stable while Ian returned to forking through a mound of hay. The stables were spacious and airy. Sweet and musty scents mingled in each breath Ember drew. As they walked the wide path between the stalls, snorts and whickers sounded. Heads stretched over the stall doors and large eyes kept watch over them. A sudden banging against wood accompanied by a bellow made Ember jump.

The bellow came again.

“I see you, Toshach,” Barrow called. “Have patience.”

Ember saw a finely shaped head with ears flicking back and forth reaching over the barrier. The animal resembled a living shadow. In the dim light of the stable its black coat revealed a violet undertone. The horse tossed its mane and snorted, fixing them with a startlingly intelligent gaze.

Barrow glanced at her. “I suppose introductions are in order.”

Ember followed him to where the horse continued to bow its strong neck, straining to be free of its confines.

“Easy.” Barrow went to the horse confidently. The dark creature blew into Barrow’s outstretched hand and bent forward when the knight reached up to scratch behind the horse’s ears.

“Ember, meet a dear friend,” Barrow said. “He’s called Toshach.”

She edged forward, looking up at the horse’s large head. “He’s yours?”

At the sound of her voice, Toshach abandoned the bliss of having his ears scratched and snorted. The giant head moved toward her. Ember turned up her palms and let the horse take in her scent. He mouthed at her fingers playfully and then tossed his head, not finding a treat hidden for him within her grasp.

Barrow nodded his approval. “He likes you. And to answer your question, I could hardly call a creature with this one’s spirit mine. But we fight together. I owe him my life many times over.”

Ember watched as Barrow returned to greeting the horse. Having satisfied his curiosity over who this new visitor was, Toshach gave his full attention to the knight, pressing his huge head against Barrow’s shoulder. The horse banged against the stall door again.

“All in good time, my friend.” Barrow laughed. “We must find Ember a suitable mount first.”

Ember’s heart seemed to flip in her chest. Of course she’d expected she’d ride, but she’d never had a horse of her own. Her sister, Agnes, was afraid of horses, and Ember had endured the effects of that fear by spending far too much time in carriages that kept Agnes at a distance from the huge beasts.

“Take a walk to the far end of the stables,” Barrow said, nodding toward the long stall-lined building she had yet to explore. “All the claimed horses are here, but those without riders have stalls in the back of the building. I’ll find you shortly.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked.

Barrow’s attention was focused on Toshach, who had made a game of trying to steal the knight’s cloak.

He didn’t look at her when he said, “It will become clear to you as it happens.”

Ember almost stomped her foot as she turned to walk away from her teacher, but she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Barrow’s idea of instruction apparently pivoted on frustrating her and forcing her to figure everything out for herself. Stewing in her own temper, she was vaguely aware of horses watching her as she moved down the long hall, feeling aimless. Perhaps she’d be better off finding Ian and asking him what she was supposed to do. She was about to turn around to seek out the stable hand when a brief, high-pitched whinny sounded so close it made Ember trip over her own feet.

Regaining her balance, Ember whirled to see liquid brown eyes fixed on her. The horse’s gaze was sharp and bright; its head was tilted and bobbed as it watched her. The horse snorted and chomped its teeth. Ember couldn’t shake the sense that it was laughing at her.

With her hands on her hips, Ember faced the horse.

“You think it’s funny to frighten someone?” she asked, somewhat surprised she was speaking to the horse. “What if I’d fallen?”

The horse flicked its ears at her and suddenly bowed its head. Ember laughed, taking a few steps toward it. The horse glanced at her, then made a deeper bow, straining down over the door of its stall. When Ember was close enough, the horse blew out a long breath, pushing its velvet-soft nose against the back of her hand.

“Very well,” Ember said, and began to stroke the horse’s nose. “You’re forgiven.”

The horse lifted its head and looked directly into her eyes. Its coat had been groomed to a burnished gleam, an ocher that resembled Ember’s own fiery tresses. The horse had no markings that she could see, just this rich shade, deep as a sunset, coloring the beast from head to tail.

“You’re a lovely one, eh?” she whispered, taking the horse’s face between her hands. The horse stood very still, happily accepting Ember’s light fingers on its nose, ears, and neck. “Do you have a name?”

“It’s Caber.”

Ember jumped back at the sound of Barrow’s voice. He’d approached quietly, not drawing her notice. Now he was watching her, a look of surprise and interest playing over his face.

A sharp snort drew Ember’s gaze back to the horse. Caber glared at Barrow for a moment and then threw a pleading look at Ember. Without thinking, Ember went to the horse and resumed stroking its soft nose. Caber whickered his pleasure, sparing Barrow a stern glance before pressing his head against Ember.