Lark Rising (Guardians of Tarnec) (20 page)

He’d not said a word of the touch that sparked my
awakening. He’d said nothing of the connection he’d so bitterly acknowledged that night in the garden. He was not awkward and blushing, so it seemed necessary to ignore it as he did. I busied myself with my portion—nutty and sweet, and richly filling after the long ride. But it was soon finished, and I was still acutely self-conscious.

“Great nourishment before battle, this,” Gharain was saying. “It travels well.” There was a long silence while I kneeled on my corner of the blanket and he lay stretched, an arm pillowing his head. I heard my own heart beating. Gharain’s horse made a little clinking noise with his bridle.

Gharain looked over at me. “It is safer that we stay together.” After another moment he added, “It is also easier to sleep lying down. You might try.”

I nodded, shifting to lie on my back as he did. Side by side, a hand’s width of separation. I took a breath, willing myself calm, and wondered if this pretense of ease would suffice an entire night.

Gharain chuckled. “You’ll find no rest tangled as you are.” He reached to draw my hair out from where it had bunched at my shoulders. His fingers brushed the side of my neck, an accidental touch, and we both flinched. I caught Gharain’s look.

“You blush easily,” he murmured.

“Perhaps,” I whispered back, half-truthful, “I am not used to your friendship.”

“Friendship?” he asked, as if he’d not chosen the word.

Gharain pulled away, but left his arm stretched out above my head, and we let the silence fall heavy around us. He forced
his attention to Tarnec, I could tell, while I watched the stars, savoring his nearness, his warmth like some heady drink.

“Ilone,” I said, sensing his thoughts, and asked, “Your sister will be all right, won’t she?”

“She is strong.” Gharain sighed. “I suppose I must thank you for drawing the swifts away when you did, foolish as it was.”

I smiled a bit at that, then shuddered. “That terrible whine—”

“You heard them, then? From far away?” Gharain was quiet for a time after I nodded. “We cannot. But something beyond hearing—some vibration of the creatures’ pitch, maybe, or how their wings beat the air—can drive a Healer mad. The closer they are, the longer it lasts.…”

“I wish I’d understood. I didn’t know what it was. I thought the mountains hummed or … I don’t know.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “I was stupid. I could have warned Ilone, warned all of you. I learn by mistake.”

I thought he’d agree, but Gharain turned on his side suddenly to face me, curious, eager. “Do you see it differently as a Guardian, this Nature around us? How is it that you can see people’s histories, or know that an attack by Breeders is nigh? What is this Sight?”

I stared, taken aback by the barrage of questions. “I—I’m not sure if it is different as a Guardian. But … if you ask me what
I
know, then I will say that it isn’t only having visions, or reading people’s energies. The Sight means
seeing
, through all my senses. It—it means I see, as in I am aware.”

“Then, Lark, what do
you
see?”

Gharain was truly curious, asking what others had simply allowed. His gaze held mine, strong enough that I could not look away. I hesitated—how could I describe what was so personal, so intangible? Finally I said softly, “You ask about the things I consider the dark parts of the Sight. Yes, I can read a person, especially upon first meeting, and it is frightening because emotions are wildly unpredictable and stories sometimes brutal. I know little of violence, but when something powerful is imminent, an ugly sensation invades my surroundings, pricks at my hair, or runs through my body.…” I stopped. “There are dreams and visions too, which are warnings.” I thought of the visions of Merith under attack and the Life amulet being suffocated by hukon—things that were yet to be.

Gharain’s gaze was boring into me. “You suffer all this?”

Maybe it was the pleasure of sharing this night with him that made
suffer
seem too harsh a word, for once. “It is not all dark, Gharain. There is another part of the Sight that is … wondrous.” I turned to look up into the starlight. “To see this dance of stars across the sky, to feel the stone beneath us vibrate with its tiny hum, and taste night on the air. To hear the trees breathe and the sky shimmer with each exhale, to smell the Earth growing, changing. It’s all I’ve known, this awareness. Earth fills me—all the things that surround us pulse with life, and they … they pour into me like music.” I was quiet for a moment. “The king said that the amulets speak to their Guardians, but I think they sing. Life sings to me.”

I’d said more than I ever had about the Sight, more than I should have. I waited for a response. Gharain faced me, watched me, but said nothing while the night surrounded and hung poised on a collective breath of anticipation. I felt a stirring in my chest, and in his, as if a flame burned bright between us. And then it was necessary to change the subject, for the silence was too great and his gaze too deep. “And the Riders?” I asked in return to break the spell. “What do they sense?”

“Danger,” he answered simply after a moment, and rolled onto his back. “We are keen to the imbalance of things.”

I couldn’t help it; I grinned, remembering. “When I first heard of the Riders, I thought you to be very old.”

Gharain snorted. “Very old would hardly do. We are the strongest of Keepers, and the best horsemen. Many volunteer, but only twelve are selected.”

“And you are Riders forever?”

He laughed first: “Until we are very old.” Then sobered: “Or …” There was a brief, grim silence. Then he said proudly, “We protect Tarnec. It is a sacrifice we gladly make.”

Sacrifice
. That cursed word again. Maybe Gharain sensed my unease, for he added, “Not to worry. We’re a tough lot.”

“I wonder why you chose so dangerous a path when you are in line to be king.”

He said very firmly, ending the subject: “I am not the right one to lead.”

We were quiet then. Gharain would have fallen asleep. I was tired too, though I watched for a time the stars wheeling
high above, listened to Gharain’s steady breathing, and thought about his beautiful smile. I wished it were enough, this closeness in sleep.

Just before I drifted off, I heard him say very softly, “Lark?”

I closed my eyes. And dreamed.

Daylight was filling the window of my attic room in our cottage. The sheets were tucked into my bed tightly enough so that I had to struggle to push them back. I rose in slow motion, feet hardly touching the floor, and fought my way through aching lethargy to the window, looking out at green grass and brilliant sun. A lark shot up from the earth like a spray of bronzed water and swept across the sky above the field. I smiled and looked down then, to the little stone path that led from our cottage through the cutting gardens. Evie was there, attended by Gharain. They walked along the path away from the house, their backs to me. So close they were to one another—I’d never even seen her stand so close to Raif—their arms brushed from time to time as they moved. I remember how the sunlight caught her fair hair as she paused and turned to him. She was speaking; he was listening. I heard no sound, but even from my distance I understood the look on his face, and how she leaned slightly toward him. Gharain’s expression turned from earnest to joyful as he took in her words, his thrill visible in his posture. And then he reached out and pulled her into his arms. Evie’s arms went around him; she looked up, smiling so beautifully, and he bent his face to hers—

I dropped to the floor of my chamber.

It was before dawn, the first fingers of light attempting to pierce the veil of dark. I lay hovering half in, half out of my body, aware of myself as one of two figures on the blanket. I was rolled into Gharain’s chest with his arm draped over my waist. We’d lain like that for a long time, it seemed—with his breath close enough to ruffle my hair, his warmth deeply comforting. The silence was softened by the faint hum of the earth; the rock we lay upon cradled us. And if I looked up, his mouth would be near enough to touch mine—

I shut my eyes against the need. Cruel taunt! Even in this brief moment between sleep and wakefulness, I could not pretend I didn’t know what my dream meant: that touch was not mine to have.
Choose for me, Lark
, she’d said.
Choose the one I will love. You have the Sight.… You will know
. And I’d promised her I would.

I’d promised.

Brutal, honest Sight. It had made its choice—or not even a choice, simply an answer.
You will know
. Her words came back to me, and bitter tears smarted suddenly behind my eyelids. Unfair—this hateful awareness that I’d only just described to Gharain as
wondrous
. Wondrous! I wanted to spit the word now. This dream, this new, unhappy knowledge, burned at me from inside. Unfair: Life Guardian, bearer of the Sight—kinship with all of Earth and her creatures but the one I wanted most. I lay completely still for a time, wishing I could undo my sleep, my dream, my life.

But it was done. I could not change what I’d seen. Worse,
I could not change that I’d promised. I meant to be happy for Evie; I wanted to be happy for her. Instead, I buried my face in Gharain’s shoulder one last time and breathed in his delicious scent, swallowing the terrible pang of envy that I could not help but feel for my cousin, my closest friend.

I’m sorry, Evie
, I was whispering.
I’m sorry.…

And Gharain said, “Who is Evie?”

His question startled me; I didn’t know I’d spoken aloud. I pulled away and sat up abruptly so that his arm fell back. “Evie is my sister—my cousin, really. You will meet her when we reach Merith.” I said that fiercely, brushing away sleep. “I was dreaming,” I added for protection, and looked down at him. His eyes watched mine; he’d made no move to draw from his place, too close, still, to me.

“So was I,” he said. And then he said a little more softly, “I’ve seen many emotions haunt your face, but not this one. You look sad.”

We watched each other, and I was unable to tell if he knew what I’d dreamed, or maybe even shared it. Then Gharain’s eyes flicked away.

Unfair. Unfair.

But Gharain spoke first. “We should go.”

IT WAS A long day returning to Bren Clearing. The hills of Tarnec marched a downward course in an endless display of rock edges, soaring pine, and eucalyptus. The horses’ hooves mashed the bed of pine needles in a dulled progression of steps. I wondered how Gharain knew his horse was going true. It appeared the same—the straight, tall trunks, the sharply mingled smells, and the brown carpet.

The monotony did not matter. We were making progress; we’d catch up with the Riders and be on our way to Merith. And … I was with Gharain. Guiltily, that was all I thought of. I watched him with both need and resistance so acute that Rune felt the tension in my body and every so often would shake his head as if to stir me awake and have me focus on descent.

That I was not alone in this tension did not help—it hummed between us, and I sensed Gharain’s gaze forced away
more than once. I wrestled with my conscience, shamed myself for my desire.
He’s meant for Evie; he’s meant for Evie
, I repeated over and over in my head. If only I’d not dreamed.

If only I’d not promised.

I was aware as well that Gharain’s sword stayed snug in its hilt. “Do you not worry for Troths?” I asked him.

“Not here,” he replied, pulling up a little on his reins as his horse stepped over a hillock. “The smells are too potent here for them, and daytime too harsh.”

“But you said the hills of Tarnec have been breached.”

“They have. With the amulets in their grasp, the Breeders are bold. The Troths are sent—to divert our attention, maybe keep our focus from seeking or,” with a nod at me, “protecting the Guardians. Still, this forest is an almost lethal venture for those creatures. They would not stay here long. Most are likely too far away to sense us now.”

Troths, worming their way into other territories, compelled to kill at the beckon of Chaos … I thought then of the swifts. “Are there many creatures conjured or dominated by the Breeders?” I asked. “More than what I’ve seen?”