me to mount, please."
She felt the pressure about her waist, and a moment later was settling into the saddle, the neat split riding skirt seeming a frivolous affectation in comparison to Sian's spare elegance.
"It is well," the Engenium said. "We take our leave now." Brume turned and moved out of the courtyard.
"Follow, please," Becca whispered into Rosamunde's ear. "We must do as she says until we can think of another way to keep ourselves safe, and together."
Meri finished his bread and cheese, washed his hands in the pool, and walked out to the center of the grove, his arms wide and his face turned up toward the leaf-shrouded sky. His chest was tight, his meager kest rising to cast dancing shadows among the lower plants. It had been many seasons since he had offered himself formally to a forest. Even after his long sleep, the trees had known him, welcoming him by name, respectful of his diminished power.
This wood, though . . . It was not merely that this wood did not know him . It was as if this wood knew nothing ; as if it had dreamed itself out of the Vaitura entirely, leaving behind only empty trunks.
"I am," he said, his voice solemn, as befit this venerable and subdued place, "Meripen Vanglelauf, Wood Wise and Ranger. My purpose is to uphold the ancient covenant. Of my own will, I seek the trees. Of my own heart, I serve them."
His words rang for a moment against the air, then faded, as if swallowed by the forest's dream.
Meri took a breath, lowered his arms slowly, and stood, head bent. Disdained, his kest fell. He shivered in the absence of its warmth.
Sighing, he crossed to the pool, drank, and stood. He felt the veriest sprout, roundly ignored by his elders, and laughed wryly, recalling Jamie Moore's hot assertion that the trees spoke to him—and his wilting when Jack Wood had pointed out that the trees did not share their pain with him.
His thought snagged on that, and he frowned, frozen in the act of reaching for his pack.
The trees near the homestead had not only spoken to him, they had known him. Indeed, now that he cast his mind back, there had been tree chatter and a sense of regard this morning as he had walked out with Jack Wood, until—
Until they had come upon the larches, cloaked in their uncanny stillness. He must have been more distressed than he had understood, but yes, now that he thought, it was precisely as if the larches had marked a boundary between forests, as sharp and distinct as a wall between rooms.
Meri shook himself, grabbing up his pack and his bow.
All very well to pinpoint where the problem began. It was, he allowed, a step. However, his duty lay in the direction of discovering what the problem was , and doing his utmost to repair it.
Well.
Meri swung the pack up and settled it across his shoulders. Whatever it was that made this wood so strange and dreamy, it lay ahead of him. That, too, was a step.
"Steps enough," he sing-songed for his own amusement, "a journey do make."
He shook his head and moved off, with a Ranger's ground-eating stride, one more silence among many.
Nancy settled on Becca's shoulder, one tiny hand wound in the hair over her ear, pulling uncomfortably. Becca began to speak—then stopped, suddenly aware that her maid was trembling violently, her spasms increasing as they came nearer the arched shrubbery that marked the end of Altimere's garden.
Ahead of them, Sian and Brume passed through the arch. Nancy's grip became excruciating; Becca gasped, and bit her lip.
Rosamunde passed under the shrubbery. Becca took a hard breath, tasting the lemony scent in the back of her throat, and Nancy—
Nancy screamed .
Becca started, jerking the reins, Rosamunde danced, steadied as her rider made a brief recover, then skittered as Becca sagged, her shoulder abruptly ground beneath an appalling weight.
Nancy's scream went on, high and hopeless, ragged with agony. Becca pulled on the reins, and screamed herself as the banshee on her shoulder
She felt the pressure about her waist, and a moment later was settling into the saddle, the neat split riding skirt seeming a frivolous affectation in comparison to Sian's spare elegance.
"It is well," the Engenium said. "We take our leave now." Brume turned and moved out of the courtyard.
"Follow, please," Becca whispered into Rosamunde's ear. "We must do as she says until we can think of another way to keep ourselves safe, and together."
Meri finished his bread and cheese, washed his hands in the pool, and walked out to the center of the grove, his arms wide and his face turned up toward the leaf-shrouded sky. His chest was tight, his meager kest rising to cast dancing shadows among the lower plants. It had been many seasons since he had offered himself formally to a forest. Even after his long sleep, the trees had known him, welcoming him by name, respectful of his diminished power.
This wood, though . . . It was not merely that this wood did not know him . It was as if this wood knew nothing ; as if it had dreamed itself out of the Vaitura entirely, leaving behind only empty trunks.
"I am," he said, his voice solemn, as befit this venerable and subdued place, "Meripen Vanglelauf, Wood Wise and Ranger. My purpose is to uphold the ancient covenant. Of my own will, I seek the trees. Of my own heart, I serve them."
His words rang for a moment against the air, then faded, as if swallowed by the forest's dream.
Meri took a breath, lowered his arms slowly, and stood, head bent. Disdained, his kest fell. He shivered in the absence of its warmth.
Sighing, he crossed to the pool, drank, and stood. He felt the veriest sprout, roundly ignored by his elders, and laughed wryly, recalling Jamie Moore's hot assertion that the trees spoke to him—and his wilting when Jack Wood had pointed out that the trees did not share their pain with him.
His thought snagged on that, and he frowned, frozen in the act of reaching for his pack.
The trees near the homestead had not only spoken to him, they had known him. Indeed, now that he cast his mind back, there had been tree chatter and a sense of regard this morning as he had walked out with Jack Wood, until—
Until they had come upon the larches, cloaked in their uncanny stillness. He must have been more distressed than he had understood, but yes, now that he thought, it was precisely as if the larches had marked a boundary between forests, as sharp and distinct as a wall between rooms.
Meri shook himself, grabbing up his pack and his bow.
All very well to pinpoint where the problem began. It was, he allowed, a step. However, his duty lay in the direction of discovering what the problem was , and doing his utmost to repair it.
Well.
Meri swung the pack up and settled it across his shoulders. Whatever it was that made this wood so strange and dreamy, it lay ahead of him. That, too, was a step.
"Steps enough," he sing-songed for his own amusement, "a journey do make."
He shook his head and moved off, with a Ranger's ground-eating stride, one more silence among many.
Nancy settled on Becca's shoulder, one tiny hand wound in the hair over her ear, pulling uncomfortably. Becca began to speak—then stopped, suddenly aware that her maid was trembling violently, her spasms increasing as they came nearer the arched shrubbery that marked the end of Altimere's garden.
Ahead of them, Sian and Brume passed through the arch. Nancy's grip became excruciating; Becca gasped, and bit her lip.
Rosamunde passed under the shrubbery. Becca took a hard breath, tasting the lemony scent in the back of her throat, and Nancy—
Nancy screamed .
Becca started, jerking the reins, Rosamunde danced, steadied as her rider made a brief recover, then skittered as Becca sagged, her shoulder abruptly ground beneath an appalling weight.
Nancy's scream went on, high and hopeless, ragged with agony. Becca pulled on the reins, and screamed herself as the banshee on her shoulder
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