Season of Sacrifice (32 page)

“Nothing
will
ever be the same,” Maddock agreed, and he closed the distance between them. “Alana, we’ve seen things that none of the People should ever see. We’ll never forget Smithcourt, or the body that we carried out of that city. We survived, though. The Tree is burned, Alana, but it still lives.”

She could not meet his eyes, could not face the raw emotion behind his words. Instead, she forced herself to watch the fruit trembling in his hand. “I am the woodsinger, Maddock. I owe my life to the Tree. It called me before I was wed, and it will not tolerate my taking a man, binding myself to another.”

“The Tree gave you the strength for a joining closer than any words spoken before the Spirit Council.”

Alana felt the blood rush hot in her cheeks, and she turned away from Maddock. For just an instant, she remembered the strength of the Tree in her own body, the force of that white-hot power as she drove her thoughts into Maddock’s, as she felt his body meld with hers. In her heart, she knew that he was right. Still, she hesitated. “Maddock, I won’t be good for you. I remember too much. Choose one of the other girls, one who can be happy and make you laugh.”

“Alana, you know me better than anyone here in the village. By all the Guardians, do you think that I can settle now for some giggling girl? Do you think I can be happy with some woman who’s never seen the world beyond the Headland?”

Alana caught her lip between her teeth. Afraid to answer the warrior, she closed her eyes and reached inside her thoughts for her sisters. “Do you hear him?” she asked.

“Of course, we hear him.”

“The boy speaks reason for the first time in all the years
we’ve
heard him.”

“He’s a good man, sister woodsinger.”

Alana forced herself to ask her question. “But is he a
better
man? I was not willing to go with Landon. How can I take Maddock, instead?”

A handful of the woodsingers laughed, and the sound was like raindrops falling on the Tree’s leaves. “Love is not a contest, woodsinger.”

“Your feelings for Maddock grew, in part, because of Landon. That does not make them wrong. It does not make them evil.”

“The Tree knows your heart, Alana Woodsinger. The Tree will tell.”

Alana steeled herself, knowing what she must do. She reached past her sisters to touch the Tree’s calm, cool rings. She felt the solid wood beneath her mind, deep, smooth, unblemished. She remembered the tremendous force that had drawn her into the Tree’s core, that had sucked her down to its roots. She did not need that sort of depth today, though. She did not need to summon that sort of energy.

For Alana felt her mind enveloped by the Tree, gathered in amid the comforting rings of growth and age and long life. She sensed the Tree’s amusement, like a parent watching an eager child. She sensed the Tree’s acceptance, like a sister welcoming a sibling to the hearth, like a brother offering to share a net of fish. She sensed the Tree’s love.

When she pulled away from the oak’s embrace, she realized that she’d felt nothing of all that the Tree had suffered. The wise old oak had cordoned off its burned parts; it had stowed away the memory of all that it had lost. The Tree had made yet another sacrifice for her. It wanted her to be happy. It wanted her to be with Maddock.

She raised her eyes to the waiting fisherman, scarcely aware of the tears that silvered her cheeks. “I’ll always be bound to the Tree, Maddock.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She forced herself to meet his gaze, and she was startled by the fierce devotion that glinted there. She swallowed hard and reached out for the cluster of black currants. Her fingers brushed against his as she took the fruit, but she did not flinch from the touch. “All right, then. Maddock, I’ll have you, if you’ll have me.”

His grin was washed in the early autumn light. “You won’t be sorry, Alana Woodsinger.”

Before she could respond, a shriek floated up from the beach below. Alana and Maddock moved as one to the cliff’s edge, and she reached out for his strong hand as she gazed down on the beach.

Teresa looked out to sea, staring at the distant horizon, where the fishing fleet could just be seen. Goody Glenna and Jobina were sitting on a sea-carved rock, the healer’s head cradled in the old woman’s lap. Even from this distance, Alana could make out Glenna’s hand, stroking Jobina’s hair, and she imagined she could hear soft crooning words of comfort. The healer did not even look up as another shriek rose up the cliff side.

Alana turned her gaze to the children. Reade had picked up a piece of driftwood, and he brandished it over his head, making large sweeping gestures. Greatheart leaped for the stick, the dog’s entire body shaking with pent excitement.

“
Hevva
!” Reade cried, as if he were huing in all the People’s fishing boats. “
Hevva
!” Maida’s laughter rose in another shriek as she splashed about in the surf, looking for her own driftwood branch.