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The hubbub on the green told Bryar they were back. Bruised, filthy, and sweaty – and chilled as a result, because the temperature had dipped to close-to-freezing levels – he watched the excitement swirling around Quinn and Willow from the top of the slope forming the amphitheater.
He spotted Mari in the scrum, clinging to her mother. Quinn did her best to ease herself free; the first chance she got, she’d bolt for the Scribes’ lodge.
Arwen hovered a distance from the small crowd. The woman missed nothing, and Quinn was growing more and more like her.
“That’s a relief.” Joss stood behind him, pulling his shirt over his head. “You want a part of that? I’m heading for a bath.”
“No, I’ll catch up later.” Today’s workout had been strenuous and unusually intentional, for both of them. Bryar suspected the underlying tension of Willow’s and Quinn’s imminent arrival, and maybe of his own departure, was on both their minds. He smiled and clapped the other man’s shoulder; Joss had got the worse of it this time. He turned away, heading toward the Bards’ lodge.
When he got there, he found a summons. Arwen’s workroom. As soon as he could get there. Please. The polite word clearly an afterthought.
Well, he expected nothing else from Arwen. But he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d eased his aching muscles in a heated bath.
Midafternoon, when he presented himself at Arwen’s door, she gestured him into a seat and wasted no time on niceties.
“You’re ready?” Her brusque tone reflected her usual efficiency, but with an overlay of fatigue. Arwen, he realized with a jolt, was aging. She was no longer the dynamo who kept them in line when they were teenagers.
“Yes.” He matched her terseness with his own.
“And you accept that this is not a suicide mission?”
Bryar’s eyes widened. Had they thought he’d...?
“There’s Mari to consider, and others,” he snapped. “Suicide never crossed my mind.”
Arwen stared at him, as if she could delve right into his deepest, most private self.
“By the Aura.” He was offended and let her see it. “No. Not even those first days.”
His outrage failed to penetrate her calm. “Good. You leave tomorrow. We’ve been monitoring the energy the cell leaks into the ground. Almost every member of earth clan helped to refine Ezra’s positioning, and we believe we have a reasonably accurate location.” She slid a scrap of paper across the table to him. “The waymarks are here. You’ll need four or five days past Stanstead, toward the northwest but primarily on well-used tracks. Can you travel as a Bard? If not, you’ll still be recognized, so we’ll develop a cover story.”
He shook his head. “Without the Aura, I’d find it hard to produce a decent performance, and I haven’t practiced in a nine-day or more.”
“Say you’re returning to your home village. Perhaps an illness or death? What works best for you?”
He mulled it over. “A father’s death would work. In the Northlands, men’s lives carry more value than women’s.”
“So it is, then. When you return, go to Ezra’s. There’s a route that doesn’t pass through the Motherhouse.”
Bryar studied the paper. “Through the landslide.”
“He says it’s stable now.”
“It was stable then.”
Arwen shrugged. “This route’s the best option. I don’t want that thing anywhere near here. And obviously, shield it. Fill your pack with dirt, whatever it takes. Otherwise we’ll endure the loss of the Aura until you get it to Ezra. Those tracks are rougher, so probably six or seven days. There are Healers out there, Bryar. More than the other guilds, they need the Aura.”
Her urgency puzzled him. “You think I don’t know that?”
Arwen’s mouth twitched, a minor sign of contrition. “Sorry. A couple of Weavers are in the healing rooms now, some new virus. The treatments aren’t going that well.”
“Heard about that.” He was on the verge of telling Arwen to keep the kids away, but bit his tongue in time. She’d be insulted. For all that the children residing at the Motherhouse imagined they lived a life of comparative freedom, they were closely guarded, even cosseted.
“Memorize the waypoints. The cell’s been stable for a while, so we’re confident Kiril won’t shift it in the next nine-day. Reasonably confident.”
“If I can’t find it?”
“Ask around. Locate Kiril. Make him tell you.”
“I’d almost like that.” His fingers rolled into fists. Fair or not, he, along with everyone else, blamed Kiril for the Auric disruptions.
Arwen’s smile was grim. “Good luck.”
Willow waited in the lobby when he emerged. She looked exhausted, a little gaunt, in need of a bath... and the most beautiful thing, other than Mari, he’d seen all winter. Wordlessly they locked arms around each other, her face nestling in his neck, her body molded to his. Even blocked from the Aura, even with Tai’s disappearance and probable death, and the overkill training – because locating and returning the power cell sounded straightforward – he knew where he belonged and what mattered.
She stepped back, her touch so familiar as her fingers rested on his biceps. “Quinn says you’re going tomorrow. There’s so much to share, but when?”
“This evening, the three of us?”
“Over supper? I expect to be in bed soon after.”
He fingered the soiled green cape she wore. “It’s lovely.”
“It was a gift. Borgonnians adore fine things for their own sakes, not for utility, although this is practical as well. I must go. I promised Mari, and then Arwen... you know Arwen.”
“And there went your afternoon, when you’d be better off napping.”
“Yes. I suppose you can’t tell that my connection is restored. I’m whole again, Bryar.” Her hands cupped his face; her gaze conveyed wonder, and worry.
“Don’t concern yourself about me.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “It’s temporary.”
“Or so we hope. Quinn told me.”
“May I join you this afternoon? Together, you, Mari, and me.”
“Mari would be happy. I need a bath first.”
Bryar watched Willow walk toward the Healers’ lodge, the green cape swishing around her ankles, then turned to the dining hall. He could use the time to study the waypoints on Arwen’s scrap of paper.
~~
WILLOW TIDIED HER ROOM and enacted her morning invocation there, rather than in the herb garden. She’d managed the first few days at the Motherhouse. What she hadn’t been able to do was get enough rest, or sufficient time to herself to sort out the conflicting memories and emotions doing battle inside her.
Gauvain and Joss. The long walk with Quinn. Bryar leaving to who knew where, facing unknown risk. Orlan, the men who had attacked her, magic, Healing... Idly she formed a weave from one of Gauvain’s teachings. Its utility was limited, extracting water from the air but in a restricted way that wouldn’t affect the weather... Perhaps she could modify it to hasten the drying of clothing caught in the rain? An idle musing, but the idea tickled her.
She delayed her breakfast until most people had left the dining hall, then gathered a bowl of porridge with dried abricoes and settled into a corner.
Home.
Traveling, when she set out once again, would ground her. She just needed more time. Anyone who had experienced all she had must feel the same, her mind a jumble, incapable of focus or rest.
Bryar should be near the power cell by now. Was he all right? She had never worried before. Two or three seasons might pass without their seeing each other. But this was different. This wasn’t traveling.
Gauvain. Did he miss her? Leo implied as much. While her winter in the tower had been challenging, maybe he had done his best to make it pleasant. The fine clothing, the plant in her room, his determination to improve her Auric skills... his offer of himself.
The pain and nausea, the fatigue. The disdain that followed her every attempt at template work.
Leo. The apprentices, refusing to let Gauvain suck the youth from them.
So much to remember. She closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, Joss was pulling out the chair across from her, his plate of scrambled eggs already on the table along with two mugs of caff.
Wordlessly, they studied each other for a moment. Then he sat. “I wanted to wait until some of the flurry had died down. You had enough to contend with.”
“How are you, Joss?” She heard the slight quaver in her voice.
He nodded. “Doing good. But I think Arwen’s trying to squeeze years of training into six months. My mind’s more tired than my body. It’s worse than cramming for exams back on Terra.”
She smiled; her mood, which had become heavy with memories, lightened. “Must it be six months? Could you stay longer?”
“I suppose. I work in the village most days. We’re building a new barn, and the animals always need something. Lambing’s just started, and a couple of cows are ready to drop. And the chickens – the less said the better. Bunch of gossips.”
She laughed. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Biddies, the lot of them.” He grinned when she did, then attacked the eggs. After a while he put the spoon on his plate and said, more seriously, “It keeps me fit, and it’s valuable training. When I’m done, I’ll be useful in a team of agriculturists.” His face took on a boyish mien. “And look.” He squinted in concentration, and a glow appeared on his open palm. “Is that magic or what? Arwen says I’ll never produce a proper globe like you do, but heck, even this little bit is a wonder.” He dismissed the luminance and returned to his breakfast.
Willow pushed her empty bowl aside and picked up her mug. “Where will you go? Do you plan on walking the Midland to find where you belong?”
He shook his head, swallowed, and said, “If you’re agreeable, I’m heading back to Hallan. It’s small, but it feels right. The men’s lodge is comfortable, and they need an extra hand, especially when the tourists come.”
As if she minded. Having Joss close – how close?
“Stay in my cabin. You are welcome, whether or not I’m there.”
“Willow...” He turned red and twisted his big body so his back was to the room. “Thing is, that’s still a long way in the future. Since you’re home... I’d like to see you before then.”
He didn’t mean going for walks with her, sharing meals. Or not only.
Denying Gauvain had been worth it.
She covered his hand with her own, then lifted it to his cheek. Newly shaved.
“You never liked having a beard.”
“Still don’t.”
“Join me for supper. There are rooms in the guest lodge-”
“I have a suite.”
Of course he did. Arwen might be a slave driver, but council took care of its own.
Oh, she wanted this man. With time and distance, she had almost allowed the memory to fade. Not the connection, but the flare of desire.
But Arwen and Quinn awaited her, expecting her to allow them to uncover every crumb of information and technique from her brain. “This evening. It’s good to be with you again.”
“For me, too.” He consumed the last of his eggs, then drank the small mug of caff in one swallow. “Since Arwen’s tied up with you this morning, I have work to do in the barns.”
“See you later,” she said, glad for a commitment to the future. In this case, the near future.
He gathered his cutlery, plate, and mug, and hurried away, leaving her to contemplate yet another exhausting session with Quinn and Arwen.