Songs of the Earth (55 page)

‘And you, my father. I shall come home as soon as I can, I promise.’

Good. I know Ailric is anxious to see you again
.

‘No doubt he is.’

Have you thought more on his proposal?

‘Papa, I have no need for a husband yet, and no want for one, either.’ She was too weary to face that subject again.

He would be an asset to our House, husband you well
.

‘He would bring us nothing but his ambition. Ailric has eyes for the High Seat and sees me as his stepladder.’

You judge him too harshly, Tanith. Please: at least consider his request for your hand. I cannot bear to think of you lonely when I am gone
.

She tried not to sigh, for she hated to see hurt in his eyes, even smoky illusions of them.

‘Very well, I will consider it, but please say no more to him than that. I mean to choose my own husband when the time comes.’

Her father’s image shifted as if he was uncomfortable.
Our blood grows thin, Tanith. It must be conserved carefully. I would not see yours spent profligately on an impure union
.

‘And our inheritance passes on the distaff side. No child of mine should be barred from the White Court on the basis of who sired her,’ she said. Her sharpness made him flinch and she gentled her tone. ‘Be at peace. When the time comes, I shall see to it that Astolan seed bears fruit on Astolan soil.’

That time should come soon, Daughter. We must think to the next generation whilst there is still a chance for a harvest
.

‘I know my duty,’ she reassured him. ‘Soon, I promise. Now I must sleep, Papa. I need rest before I can Heal him again. The shield I have placed in his mind will need renewing soon. He is remembering things that should be suppressed until he is strong enough to withstand them.’

I understand. Until I see you with my own eyes again, be well
.

‘And you, Papa. I miss you.’

The smoky image smiled and then became only smoke again. The yarra-root was spent, shrivelled and black. Tanith closed her eyes and took the last deep breath of its loamy scent, drawing it down into her lungs as far as she could. So much for her meditation. She still felt soul-sore and unsettled, but she did not dare risk another shaving. Too much yarra-root would leave her thick-witted in the morning and she could not afford to be less than sure of herself when she stepped into Gair’s mind. There was far too much at stake now, perhaps more than even Alderan knew.

Gair knew he had dreamed again, though when he woke he had no clear recollections, only a nebulous sense of foreboding that dimmed the splash of spring sunshine across his bed, made the
sparrows’ chatter in the garden outside a little more strident. That apart, he felt stronger than he had the day before.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position with only a twinge or two from his wounds. Encouraged, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and eased himself onto his feet. He over-balanced immediately and had to sit down again, but a second attempt, holding the bed-post and the edge of the nightstand for support, was more successful.

The scar on his neck remained taut and tender, but the ones on his arm and thigh had faded to pale lines. Even his bruises had yellowed; they would be gone in another day. A draught from the window over the bed made him cast around for something to wear. There was no sign of his clothes, but the closet did yield a plain linen robe. He was tying the sash round his waist when he heard the door open behind him and turned around.

Tanith stood in the doorway with a covered tray in her hands. ‘I didn’t expect to see you on your feet,’ she said, setting the tray on the nightstand.

‘I nearly wasn’t. It took me a moment to remember what they were for.’ Gair made his way carefully back to the bed and sat down.

Tanith tilted his head away from the light to examine his neck, her touch cool, precise. ‘This is healing well.’

‘How bad does it look?’

‘Not too bad. There will always be a scar, but not much. You’ll hardly notice it once you get rid of all this.’ She scuffed her fingertips through his beard.

Gair scratched his chin. ‘I can’t wait. It itches.’

‘I’ll bring you a razor later. Now have your breakfast. You need your strength.’ She opened the door to let herself out.

‘Tanith?’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry about last night. If I sounded ungrateful. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

‘Don’t apologise. You’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Even so, I feel better for saying it. And thank you.’

The Healer smiled, her tawny eyes shining like sunlight on river stones. ‘You’re welcome,’ she said with a dip of her head, then closed the door quietly behind her.

As good as her word, after breakfast Tanith brought Gair clean clothes, hot water and his shaving kit. Once she was satisfied that his hands were not shaking so much that he’d cut his own throat with the razor, she left him to wash in peace.

Gair took his time dressing. Although he felt much better, and better yet for something to eat, he was not quite as steady on his legs as he would have liked. The clothes Tanith had brought were sized to fit him, but not a stitch had come from his closet. The tunic and trousers were good dark green wool and the linen shirt was finer than anything he had ever had, even for a feast-day, with silver embroidery at the neck and cuffs. Even the smallclothes were new. Only the boots were his, and they had been oiled and buffed until they glowed.

He was shaving the tricky bit under his nose when he became aware of someone watching him. At first he thought Tanith or one of the other Healers had slipped into the room, but when he looked over his shoulder, he was alone. Strange. He shrugged the feeling off and continued with his shave, but the sense of presence would not go away. It nagged at him like an itch at the back of his brain all the way down his other cheek and along his jaw, growing more and more persistent.

Sparrows chattered in alarm outside, and small shadows whirred past the window. The garden fell silent. Gair looked out over the top of the mirror. A kestrel perched in the birch tree outside, fixing him with a fierce golden eye.

Kiek kiek kiek kiek!
Beak agape, it bobbed its head with each cry.
Kiek kiek kiek!
In a flurry of speckled feathers, it was gone.

Gair cleaned his razor, then rinsed and dried his face. As he lifted the shirt over his head, he heard scrabbling at the window. When he turned round, there was the kestrel on the window-ledge.

Kiek kiek kiek!

He tucked his shirt in and reached for the latch. As soon as the window opened far enough, the kestrel swooped in to land on the bed. There its shape stretched into a cinnamon-skinned crop-haired woman in faded breeches and shirtsleeves. Her sea-blue eyes flashed anxiety and frustration in equal measure.

‘Are you deaf or just ignoring me?’ she demanded. ‘I’ve been calling you for an hour!’

‘I didn’t know who it was.’
Saaron’s chickadee?

‘Who did you think it would be, you great lump?’

Her arms wound around him and pulled him down beside her. Off-balance, he half-fell, half-sat on the bed. She took his face in her hands and kissed him hard.

‘They would not let me see you,’ she said. ‘I thought you were dying.’

‘I nearly did, from what they tell me.’

Who was she? She knew him, and knew him well – saints, that kiss! – but her name was lost somewhere in the storm clouds in his mind. Yet he knew her, he was sure of it. Knew her face, her perfume, the shape of her body against his. She peered anxiously up at him and the clouds surged, a memory pushing through them as slow and unstoppable as a ripening bud. It burst open with a silent concussion, and Gair saw a kestrel take his talons in its grasp and tumble with him through warm, clear air.

‘Aysha,’ he said, smiling.

The memories did not stop with her name. Wolves raced and wrestled in moonlit snows. Eagles soared. Lovers sweated to a shuddering, breathless communion. More and still more memories poured out and he was there in every one of them. Suddenly dizzy, he clung to Aysha’s shoulder.

‘What is it? Gair, what’s wrong?’

Too many memories, too vivid: whirling shards of stained glass pierced his brain. A thousand fragments of time, disconnected and without structure, struck him with the sting of hailstones on bare
skin, and burst across his consciousness like a raindrop. He shut his eyes. Oh Goddess, he was going to throw up.

‘You’re sweating. I’ll fetch Saaron.’

She made to rise, but he clung onto her. He would fall if he let go. ‘No, don’t. Please.’ Nausea climbed Gair’s throat, filling his mouth with saliva. He swallowed it down again and again as the flood of memory continued to hurl him from moment to moment, emotion to emotion. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but endure.

When it finally dwindled and he was able to open his eyes, Aysha was cradling him in her arms and stroking his hair. Worry clouded her face as he sat up.

‘You scared me.’ Abruptly she punched his shoulder. ‘Don’t do it again.’

‘Sorry.’ Gair kneaded his temples.

‘What happened? Was it him?’

‘No. The memories came back so suddenly. I recognised you, but I didn’t remember your name. Then I remembered everything all at once.’

‘What in all hells did he do to you?’

Gair let out a long breath and rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Tanith called it a reiving – like a cattle raid, but inside my head. She says it will heal in time.’

‘You should have let me fetch a Healer.’

‘I’m all right.’

‘You’re not all right!’ Aysha burst out. She dashed a hand across her eyes, not quite fast enough to prevent him seeing the sparkle in her lashes. ‘I talked to them, Leahn. They said you were dying. They said that even if you survived, you might be damaged, you might not remember anything at all. How could you let him catch you like that? How?’ She punctuated her words with more blows, flailing her fists at his shoulders. Her face twisted into a sob. ‘How could you let him hurt you?’

‘I’m sorry, Aysha.’ Gair caught hold of her and pulled her to
him. He planted kisses on her silky hair, rubbed her back. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I had no idea he was out there, or that he would even recognise me in another shape. I had no idea he was so strong.’

She pressed her face into his new shirt and took deep, shaky breaths. ‘When I could not find your colours, when you didn’t answer when I called, I feared the worst.’ Her voice was thick with unshed tears.

‘I’m still here.’

‘Only because you have the Nameless’ own luck. I should kill you myself for the trouble you cause me.’

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen, Aysha.’

‘I know … I just thought I’d lost you.’ Quickly she wiped her face, blew out her cheeks and scrubbed her fingers through her hair. Then she flashed him something like her old smile.

‘That shirt looks well on you, even better than I expected,’ she said brightly. ‘The silver brings out the colour of your eyes.’

‘You had this made for me?’

‘I was saving it for your St Winifrae’s gift, but you needed some new clothes for when you woke up, so I had the tailor send it all down early.’

‘It’s the finest shirt I’ve ever had. Thank you.’ He kissed her forehead.

She lifted her hands to his face and touched him with her Song. What she found made her pull a face as she released him. ‘They’ve shielded you,’ she said. ‘That’s why I couldn’t find you – it masks your colours. It also cuts you off from the Song.’

He reached for it, and found only silence. It was there, he could sense it in the same way that he always had, but he could not hear it at all. The clouds were massed around it. Strange how accustomed he had become to just reaching for it and having that liquid power fill him. Without it he felt vaguely bereft.

‘How badly did he hurt you?’ Aysha asked.

‘Nothing that won’t heal,’ Gair said. He pulled his shirt away from his neck. ‘This was the worst.’

She touched the scar gently. ‘Does it hurt?’

‘Not any more.’

‘What about your memories? Are they damaged?’