Chapter Sixteen
They had traveled the last two days under leaf, and Meri was the better for it. Though they were not Vanglewood, the trees had been generous to him: the pack he bore grew lighter with every step, the steps themselves firmer and less likely to wander, his woodsense sharpened—it even seemed to him that he felt a bare flutter of kest, far down at the base of his spine, like sap, waiting to rise.
It worried him not a little that he was to meet an Engenium in this powerless state. He had no illusions regarding his ability to resist such a one—Root and branch! A babe in arms could overcome his will! Sian—even the giddy, haphazard Sian he recalled from . . . before—would have no problem binding him.
Why she should want to do so—that remained a puzzle. The ocean had taught the Sea Wise to be cautious with their powers and niggardly in their use, a lesson the High Fey might profit from, as well. And though she had been fostered among the Sea Wise, as he had, himself, Sian was tied by blood to the Queen herself, in Xandurana.
She had demanded that he be waked and sent to her, ensuring that her order would be followed by sending the charm that, depleted as he was, he could feel vibrating from the depths of Ganat's pocket.
That these acts boded well for him, he very much doubted. The girl he had known would have been . . . incapable of forcing him to her will, even had she the means to do so.
The woman who had sent that . . . thing . . . to ensure his obedience . . .
"Let us stop here for a meal and a rest," Ganat said from behind him. "We'll raise Sea Hold by sunset."
Sunset?
Meri turned on a heel and considered his escort. "Shall we fly, then?"
"Near enough," Ganat said, shrugging off his pack and dropping it at the foot of a gnarled elitch.
They had traveled together long enough for Meri to know that Ganat treasured a mystery almost as much as he did a joke. Indeed, the two seemed interchangeable in his happy mind. He also knew that silence would elicit the same response as the direct question that Ganat craved.
On the other hand, he thought, shrugging off his pack, what else did they have to talk about?
He sat down on the moss and leaned his back against another elitch, feeling the tree take quiet note of him.
Is it you, Ranger? The voice in his head was slow and warm.
Now, that was a question, wasn't it? Meri thought privately. And trust an elitch to ask it.
I was once a ranger, Elder, he told the tree, striving for exactness. How may I serve you?
There was no immediate response, nor had he expected one; trees were unhurried beings. Meri reached into his pack for trailbread. A faint creak of leather warned him and he raised his off-hand casually to catch the culdoon Ganat had thrown.
"You are much improved," his companion observed, unwrapping his own rations with a sigh. "It will be a pleasure to stop at Sea Hold and taste something other than waybread."
Meripen sent him a sharp glance, but it appeared that this was a rare moment of seriousness. "I never thought to hear one of the Wood Wise speak ill of trailbread."
"You forget that I have been tainted by my time in training," Ganat said, in a return to lightness.
"True, I had forgot that," Meri said, biting into the fruit.
I think the proper question might be, the tree's voice rustled inside his head, how I may serve you?
Meri choked slightly and swallowed, tart juices starting tears to his eyes.
I can think of no service necessary, he answered, which was true; those things that ailed him were far beyond a tree's power to heal. I thank you for your care, he told the elitch politely. Vanglewood was home to many elitch, and they had drilled him well in courtesy.
He cleared his throat.
"So," he said to Ganat, "when will you summon the giant birds to bear us to Sea Hold? If you wish to arrive for dinner, it had best be soon."
"Giant birds, indeed," the other mumbled around a mouthful of trailbread. "You think small, Meripen Vanglelauf."
"Teach me to think more widely then, O farwalker."
Ganat snorted. "A few paces on there is a shortcut, created and held by Sea Hold."
Meri blinked. Shortcuts were—expensive of power, and because of that, fleeting.
"That's a great deal of trouble to go to for a poor, empty Wood Wise," he said slowly. What in the name of the Vaitura itself did Sian want with him? he thought, panic building in his stomach.
He took a swallow from his water bottle and settled his back more firmly against the tree.
"Well, it would be—but it happens that it's not for you. There was a bit of trouble with the Brethren some while ago and Sea Hold placed the thing for their own ease."
That was understandable, though this news of difficulty with the Brethren was disturbing . . .
"I thought there was a treaty."
"Oh, any number of treaties—as many as you will! And however many you like there will still be some of the Low Fey who feel themselves mistreated by the High, and take exception in ways that are the most trouble for Wood Wise, and disturb the High not at all."
"Except they disturbed the Engenium at Sea Hold enough to create and maintain an extremely expensive bit of artifice—"
"Nay, that's where you're out," Ganat said, dusting crumbs off his fingers and settling back against his tree. "It's not expensive at all."
Meri finished his fruit and wrapped the pit in a fallen elitch leaf before stowing it in his pack. Old habits . . .
"I can see," he said to Ganat, "that there is a great cleverness involved in this that you are bursting to share. Please, don't stint yourself on my account."
Ganat grinned at him. "It draws off the keleigh."
Shock struck him, as Ganat must have expected it would, and it must also have shown on his face, for the other laughed aloud, and shook his head.
"Oh, it's nothing but a trick of geometry! Of course the keleigh is anchored—if it weren't, it would have long drifted free over the Vaitura—and the other place, too. The heroes who constructed it knew better than that! It happens that one of the anchor points is just a short walk out from here, as some clever Book Scholar at the Engenium's House found one day as she was pursuing her studies. She brought it to my lord, my lord brought it to his artificers, they did the calculations, crafted the appropriate permissions and accesses—and there it's been ever since, convenient in times of trouble—or of sloth—and largely ignored otherwise."
"And are we trouble, or merely lazy?" Meri asked, forcing tight muscles to relax. Warmth eased into him from the tree—which was a welcome service, after all—and he relaxed further.
My thanks, Elder.
Ganat shook his head, his eyes serious for the second time in an hour. "That question has troubled me since the chyarch bade me stand your escort," he said. "Can you think of no reason why Sian of Sea Hold requires you now?"
Meripen moved his shoulders, hearing leather scuff across bark. "Sian and I are cousins," he said. "When last I saw her, she was scarcely in control of her powers, and the last of the line I would have looked to find in Velpion's chair."
"Well." Ganat sighed. "By all accounts, she is a puissant and prudent lady. For which I suppose we must thank her time at court."
"Sian was at court?" How long, Meri thought, his stomach tightening, had he been asleep?
Many seasons, if you are in truth the Sea Ranger, the elitch said inside his head. Seedlings have grown into full canopy since last your footfall was heard 'mong the trees in this wood.
Oh. Meri's thought came on a sharp inhalation. Dear.
Elitch matured slowly. If the tree's reckoning was correct—and whose reckoning was more exact?—then there had been time a-plenty for Sian to learn both court-craft and prudence—aye, and to take Sea Hold well in hand.
Unfairly, this realization only made the root question more poignant. If he had indeed slept so long, what possible use was he—to anyone? Even his revenge—the men who had imprisoned and tortured them, defiled Faldana, and slain her—
Ranger, you go unprotected.
Elder, I do. I was . . . sore wounded, and have been . . . long away from the care of trees.
Have you been so long away that you have forgotten the care of trees? You do not walk alone into danger.
There was a sharp snap, and the scent of broken greenwood. A branch struck his shoulder, bounced, and came to rest on his pack.
Thank you for your care, Elder, Meri said.
Came back, when you are stronger, and tell me what went forth.
I will.
"Well," Ganat said, his voice a little too brisk and cheerful. "If you've done, we'd better be getting on."
"I suppose we had better," Meri agreed.
He stood, picked up the branch and slid it into his belt on the side opposite his knife, then slung the pack over his back.
"Lead on," he said to Ganat. "It will not do to be late to the feast."
Ganat nodded at the elitch branch. "It's possible that you tree-bound me and walked away. By the time I was released, you were long on your way to Vanglewood."
Meri laughed. "And a message is sent to the chyarch, who gives her oath that I was empty as a babe, and scarce able to hold my head up, much less amaze and overpower a Wood Wise in his prime, and a healer trained, too."
Ganat flushed, his brown cheeks darkening. "A ruse. It would give you time . . ."
"Aye, it would, at the cost of your dismay. And, do you know, my curiosity almost—almost!—overweighs my concern. If I have been asleep so long, why wake me now? If I have been asleep so long, what use am I?" He turned, jerking his head at the other to take the lead. "No, let us go on, by your leave. I would have the riddle's answer, now."
Ganat hesitated a heartbeat longer, then nodded once, sharply, and stepped forward, taking the lead to the shortcut.
"How far beyond the Bou—your pardon! the keleigh—does your house lie?"
They were in their private parlor at the inn, eating breakfast tete-a-tete. Altimere had opened the window, so that they might have the benefit of the warming breeze. Becca gazed out at unclouded blue sky, wearing a skirt of smudged purple, which was the weird glow of the Boundary.
"It will seem no distance at all, once we have the keleigh behind us," Altimere said, replacing his cup in its saucer with a tiny click of porcelain against porcelain.
"Is it so very wide, then?" Becca asked, pushing her plate aside.
"Sometimes it is very wide. Sometimes, it is scarcely three steps across." He leaned forward slightly, catching her gaze with his, and she shuddered with the weight of his regard.
"Understand me, Miss Beauvelley, the keleigh is a dangerous and uncertain place. Strange things happen there—strange even to those of the Fey. Very often things are lost in the keleigh. I speak not only of possessions, but of those infinitely more precious—memories, small powers. One's name."
Becca blinked. "One's name?"
Altimere smiled. "I said that even the Fey find the keleigh strange, did I not? How much stranger must it seem to you, who have lived all your life among . . . those who are not Fey, to whom the keleigh is merely a pretty curtain of lights?" His smile faded. "To return to the topic—treasure is easily lost in the keleigh. Most often, it is the inexperienced travelers who lose the most. You," he smiled at her and she felt her whole body warm. "You are fortunate in that you travel in company with an experienced guide. Still, it would pain me to find that you had lost any small thing. I will guard you as best I might, but it would perhaps be best, before we cross, if you were to give me your name."
Rebecca paused with her coffee cup halfway to her lips. "Give you my name?" she repeated. "How might I do such a thing?"
"It is very simple," said Altimere. "You merely say, 'Altimere, I give you my name to hold in safekeeping until I ask for its return.' "
Becca laughed. "Forgive me! It seems very cool and civilized," she explained to his raised eyebrow. "However, I have held my name this long. I think that I may hold it a while longer yet. Though if this crossing is as dangerous as you tell me, I fear for Rosamunde—and for your own mount."
"And yet they are in less danger, for they have so much less to lose."
"Surely, their names and their memories are precious to them," Becca said.
"Do you think so? I consider that memory is a burden upon those creatures of a lower order," Altimere said, glancing down to spread jam on his toast.
"Why so?"
He looked up, his amber gaze holding her riveted. "Why, because they are so often at the command of a will that is not their own, and required to perform actions which they might not, for themselves, perform, and which they may even find to be—distressing."
"In fact, you hold that animals are slaves," Becca said slowly. "I had heard that argument when I was in the city. I think, rather, that animals and men are partners in the husbandry of the land."
There was a small pause while Altimere finished his toast and dusted the crumbs from his fingers.
"That is certainly a viewpoint with some merit," he said politely. "We shall have to discuss the matter again, after we are home and settled. In the meantime, child, allow me to braid your hair. The sooner we begin our ride, the sooner it will be done, however wide the keleigh is, this journey."
Altimere's touch on her hair was soothing—too soothing, thought Becca, her eyes drifting shut despite her best efforts.
"Truly, child," Altimere's voice was so low that it seemed to originate inside her skull. "I wish you to sacrifice nothing to the keleigh. Would it not be wise to allow me, your most devoted ally, to hold your name safely for you? Think what might happen, if it were stolen away. Not only would you lose your memories, but also those memories Rosamunde must have entrusted to your keeping, for she has placed her power into your hands, just as you have placed your power into mine. Allow me to protect you, and all that you treasure . . ."
"I . . ." Becca forced her eyes open, and straightened her shoulders. "I think it would be best . . ."
"Yes?"
". . . if I kept watch upon my own name, and Rosamunde's, as well. You are, as you say, our guide and our guard across a strange and dangerous land. It would be churlish of me—and would endanger our entire party—if I were to burden you with that which I can easily bear myself."
"Ah." Altimere finished off the braid and stepped back. "I will fetch our cloaks," he said, and was gone.
Becca blinked, abruptly and entirely awake. Shaking her head, she rose to her feet. Really, what an odd thing, to have been so sleepy when they had just an hour ago arisen! But she was perfectly alert now, and as ready to ride into a strange country as she might ever be.
"Here you are," Altimere draped her cloak tenderly over her shoulders and fastened the brooch, then stood with his hands on her shoulders, looking down into her eyes.
"You are not afraid," he said after a moment. "Excellent."
"Of course I am not afraid," Becca said, smiling up at him. "You will be with me, after all."