The coach was sturdy and well padded, but Ammey couldn’t help fretting over the amount Richard was being jostled. “Are you certain this won’t hurt him?” she asked the physic, the only other occupant in the coach. Everyone else, more than a hundred men, accompanied the coach on horseback.
“I do not believe it will,” the physic replied. He was perhaps twenty-five years of age, a man by the name of Gregory Owens.
Despite his words, he seemed anything but certain. “We’re going home, Richard,” Ammey said as she adjusted the blankets over him. “We’re finally going home.” She settled back against the seat and looked out the window, wishing she could shake the melancholy that had engulfed her. If only she could step back in time, she thought wistfully. Perhaps back to the last day she’d visited Thender—that fateful day her closest friend Julia had been so savagely murdered. An image of Julia riding and laughing flashed in Ammey’s mind. I’ve never felt so free, Julia had called. How strange that she’d said that. If only they’d been allowed to keep going, to keep riding.
Saren, Julia’s brother, must have experienced that same thought countless times before he met with his untimely end. Knowing him, he would have suffered such grief and remorse. After all, it was he that had caught up with them and forced Julia to turn back. Ammey, too, had suffered her share of guilt and remorse. What if she hadn’t gone to Thender that day? What if she’d refused to let Julia sneak away to the Forge? It was foolish to torture herself with these thoughts, and yet the regret was always there. How did anyone get beyond it?
“Ammey,” Kidder called from alongside the coach.
Ammey pulled back the curtain, blinking at the brightness of the day. “Yes?”
“Your father’s agreed for us to take Richard into Vihlae.”
She drew back in surprise. Earlier, he had nixed the idea.
“All but a few of us are going on to the Forge,” Kidder continued. “Do you want to go?”
“Into Vihlae Forest? Yes!”
Kidder smiled and nodded. “I thought you might.”
“Vihlae forest?” the physic stammered, shocked by the notion.
She nodded. “To visit the council of Elpis,” she explained.
His eyes grew large. “The witches?”
She could recall a time when she’d spoken those very words. “They don’t call themselves witches.”
He gawked in astonishment. “Have you been there?”
“I have. And they’re very gracious.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
“Do they possess the power to heal?”
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t surprise me. They have gifts. They know things,” she said significantly.
“I suppose I would like to see that,” he admitted reluctantly. He was a plain man with hazel eyes and a reddish tint to his fair hair. He had been a quiet companion, which she was glad of, but he was friendly enough once engaged. She was most grateful that he had asked no questions of her. She was so desperately tired of making explanations.
Outside the coach, Kidder gave Vincent a discreet wink and was rewarded by a gratified grin.
Forzenay rode in between the men. “I won’t be going with you.”
“Why not?” Vincent asked.
“I need to go into Draven.”
“Ah,” Kidder said quietly. “To see Xavier and Ulima about the riders sent to the Forge. The ones who never made it there.”
“One of them was her nephew,” Forzenay said, looking burdened.
“We met him,” Vincent said quietly. “I think she only has the one. Had,” he corrected himself.
“Yes,” Forzenay agreed. “She needs to know. Stripe’s going with me.”
So it only will be Vincent, myself, Ammey and the physician going into Vihlae,” Kidder said. “Besides Richard, of course.”
“Tom McKeaf is going as well,” Forzenay replied.
“Alright.”
“Farewell,” Forzenay said.
“And you,” Vincent returned. “Pass on our condolences to Ulima?”
Forzenay nodded and directed his horse westward. “See you back at the Forge,” he called.
From the coach, Ammey watched Forzenay and Stripe break off and ride away. Other riders were also splintering off in different directions, headed toward their own towns and villages. Her kith and kin and a division of volunteers would continue southward to Stonewater Forge, their purpose two-fold. First, there was much to be restored, and, secondly, her father was not convinced the war was truly over.
Dusk was dark in the density of Vihlae Forest. Kidder stood in the place of entry, but felt no invitation.
“We should build a fire and settle in,” Vincent suggested. The evening was cold and the night would be colder still. “Perhaps on the morrow.”
Tom directed an impatient frown at Kidder. “You have been here before, haven’t you?”
“We have,” Kidder replied.
“Let’s collect wood,” Vincent said.
The physic glanced nervously at Ammey who was standing next to him by the coach. “What is the problem, do you think? Does he not know the way?”
“It’s not that. The seidh have to approach us,” she explained. “If they do not, we will not see them.”
“And will we be able to find our way out?”
“Yes,” she assured him.
He still felt uneasy. This was a strange, ancient forest, and it felt like they were intruders here. He went to help collect firewood, staying as close to the others as possible.
Once a fire was built, the small group gathered around to warm themselves. Gregory Owens had thought the light of the fire would be a relief, but the flames made the towering trees around them seem animated. He was blowing into his cupped hands when another fire suddenly burst out on the far side of the camp. A squeak escaped him and he pointed frantically.
Tom could only gawk at the circle of fires that had sprung from nothing. He’d assumed they were lost and that Kidder and Vincent did not want to admit it, but the fires! They emanated from the earth itself, the flames an unnatural silver-white. Not only that, but in the center of the fires, was a table with food. He was no believer in magic, but there was no plausible explanation for this. He noticed that Kidder and Vincent looked relieved. Ammey seemed pleased, but poor Gregory Owens looked beside himself. As for himself, he felt only slightly more awe than fear.
“Wonderful,” Kidder remarked, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s eat. And thank you,” he said loudly enough that it echoed around them, apparently frightening off some birds, given the burst of fluttering wings above their heads.
“But how?” Gregory Owens stammered. “How is this possible?”
No one supplied an answer, having been distracted by the food. Tom and the physician were the last to move closer and take a seat at the table, but the others’ lack of reticence made it seem foolish not to partake of the supper provided. Ammey was pouring a golden liquid into wooden goblets and passing them around. Tom accepted one, but watched the others drink before he lifted it toward his mouth.
“It’s good,” Ammey assured him.
He sipped the juice of strongly fermented fruit. He could not discern which fruit, but he felt the immediate effect of the fermentation. “And strong,” he added.
“This really is quite something,” Gregory commented, scooting closer to the others. “Isn’t it? H-how many times have you been here?” he asked, glancing at Vincent as he selected some chunks of smoked fish.
“Five,” Vincent replied.
“Six, for me,” Kidder said.
“And what are they like?” Gregory Owens asked. “The seidh?”
“They’re . . . unique,” Vincent replied.
“Serene,” Ammey added.
“And lovely,” Kidder said. “The kind of beauty that’s as much inside as out. Like Ammey. Or me.”
Vincent guffawed, and then locked eyes with Ammey. She was smiling, having been momentarily entertained by Kidder. When was the last time he’d seen her smile?
Tom got busy eating. The food was simple and yet well prepared, seasoned with spices he had never tasted.
“It’s wonderful,” Gregory commented. He shoved a hunk of soft oat bread into his mouth and chewed with delight. “We should move Richard out here after we eat,” he said when he’d swallowed. “I thought he would be better left in the coach, but their fires have eradicated the chill.”
“Funny the effect food has on people,” Kidder said. “We’re suddenly all more cheerful.”
Vincent glanced at Ammey, thinking he would not go quite so far with the description. He took the liberty of filling her cup again, and then Kidder’s. Tom pushed his closer, not wanting to miss out on a refill and Gregory Owens did the same. “You needn’t worry. There’s plenty,” Vincent told them.
“One pitcher,” Tom said wryly. He could have gone through a pitcher all by himself.
“Ah, but look in it,” Kidder said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
Tom raised a brow, but hoisted himself up and looked into the wooden pitcher. Surprisingly, it was full. He sat back down. “I see.”
He did not look as calm as he tried to sound and the occupants of the table burst into laughter.
In the middle of the night, Ammey woke abruptly and looked around, certain that someone had called her name. The fires still burned and several of the seidh were gathered around one. She felt an eerie tug of recognition, especially as she noticed the colorful wisps that circulated around the women like magical, earthbound clouds.
All of her party still slept. At least two of them were snoring soundly. She threw back her fur, got to her feet and moved toward the seidh. Her chest constricted to see Milainah, the seidhkona, leader of the seidh. The seidhkona had appeared to her when she was being marked with Corin’s symbol and lent the necessary strength to endure the torture. The seidhkona’s long, dark hair, which fell past her knees, had a streak of white in it now; otherwise, she looked exactly the same. “Milainah—”
“I am heartened to see you,” Milainah said with a soft smile as Ammey reached her. “You were told that you would embark on a journey that would change many lives, and so you have.”
“Was I right in the choices I made, then?”
“The choices presented to you are yours and yours alone to make.”
Ammey felt sorely disappointed by the response. After all she’d endured? And it made so sense. Was she not part of a prophecy? And did that not mean certain paths were preordained? “But I thought . . . all this time, I thought I was doing what I must to—”
“To what?”
Ammey shook her head in a struggle for the right words. “Fulfill my duty.”
Milainah did not immediately respond. “I once told you that our mission is balance.”
Ammey nodded, remembering it well.
“There is no balance at present,” Milainah continued. “A man has aligned himself with a powerful, dark force, and this alliance threatens everything and everyone.”
Ammey had heard the warning before. At that time, she had thought the man to be Marko Corin, but she now knew better. The villain was Nafino Zephyr. But why was Milainah looking at her so, as if more was expected of her. She looked deeply into Milainah’s gray eyes, silently beseeching, knowing she was not strong enough for another quest.
“You will feel stronger in time,” Milainah assured her. “When you are called, you will be ready.”
Ammey wanted to contest the point, but a wisp swirled closer, its soft pink color becoming many colors. She fought a moment of vertigo as the wisp took form and the form was that of a person—a woman dancing. It was Julia! But she wasn’t dancing; she was trying to work her way to her. It was as if she was swimming through a haze. “Julia!”
Julia smiled and relaxed at the recognition, and their surroundings cleared. They were in a magnificent pasture in the hazy daylight of late spring. There were many other people about, but the only one Ammey recognized was Saren, Julia’s brother. He was smiling his same old cavalier smile she had known so well.
“Ammey,” Tom called from somewhere behind her.
Confused, Ammey turned and jerked awake, temporarily blinded by the brightness of morning.
“You were dreaming,” Tom said, having shaken her awake. “When there’s good reason to be awake.” Smiling, he backed off and she was overwhelmed by the sight of Richard, sitting up, supported by Gregory Owens. She threw off her fur, went to him and threw her arms around him.
“I dreamed, too,” Richard said, his voice weak from prolonged disuse.
She pulled back. “You’re awake!”
“Here you go, Richard,” Kidder said, moving in with a filled cup.
Gregory Owens took it and helped Richard to drink.
“You ready for one, Ammey?” Kidder asked.
She shook her head, unable to tear her eyes away from Richard. His color was off and there was no vigor about him, but he was back. Apparently, the seidh had healed him.
“You were dreaming of Julia?” Tom asked Ammey tenderly.
She looked at him and saw everyone watching her. “Yes.” She looked back at Richard. “What did you dream of?”
“Women. One with long, dark hair.”
“And silver eyes?” Kidder guessed.
Richard looked at him in puzzlement. “Yes.”
“How’s your head feel?” Ammey asked, taking hold of his cool, rather limp hand.
“Where’s my head again?” Richard asked sluggishly.
Tom grinned. “Don’t worry. It’s still on your shoulders. Handsome as ever.” He looked at Vincent. “He got my mother’s looks.”
Ammey squeezed Richard’s hand. Thank you, she thought.
“Yes, thank you,” Vincent murmured from across the camp. Watching Ammey, he had known exactly what she was feeling.
Kidder nodded and smiled.
“I thank you, as well,” Gregory called out in a thin voice.
Richard peered at his brother. “Who are they talking to?” It came out in a husky whisper.
“It’s a long story,” Tom replied. “One of several you’ve yet to hear.”