Chapter 25: Twists and Turns

Chapter 25: Twists and Turns

Ber, Day 16 of Melia

Winking Moons

Year 602

A different tone, another word choice,

and I might have laid happily

in the palm of your curled hand.

But you have clapped violently,

and scared the wild animal

of my heart away.

—Beloved Poems of Urda

It was the first pull of the day, and she loved it.

Farax faced the row of targets by the treeline and shook out her hands and arms, limbering them.

The day was gorgeous, sunny but cool, and the fresh green of the leaves almost sparkled with luminance.

Then she stooped to pick up her bow, already strung, and fit an arrow notch to the tight gut, sizing up the distance from where she stood to the farthest target. She took a breath, glorying in the feel of her filled lungs, and then released it at the same time she let her arrow fly. It struck true, close to the center, and she gave a whoop of triumph.

A little way off, she heard someone laughing, and her finely tuned ears discerned it was a man.

She whirled—moving toward her was a familiar shape—

Bricot. It was Bricot.

Farax huffed in relief and dropped her bow once more, shielding her eyes from the sun so she could see him better. He was loaded down with a traveling pack and strolling easily down the road toward the village and away from the school.

She hadn’t spoken to him since his suspension, and had wondered to herself how he’d taken it. Not well, from the looks of things.

“Are you leaving?” she yelled at him, surprising herself with her own insensitivity. Belatedly, she glanced about to see if she’d embarrassed him in front of anyone else.

But there was no one near them, and he waved and yelled something back at her.

“What?” she shouted.

Camdetch laughed again and held up his hands, indicating she should wait for him to get closer. A moment or two later, he answered, “Just for a while.”

“Why?” she asked, without thinking.

He reached her and dropped his pack to the ground, seeming relieved to relinquish the weight for now. “I’m not earning my keep for the next four months, so I thought I would take the opportunity to travel. Make the best of it.”

She raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Good for you.”

He nodded by way of reply, suddenly finding something very interesting toward the edge of the horizon and squinting off in that direction.

“Where will you go?” she asked more gently.

Bricot looked back at her. “I’m from Boradîn,” he began. “I have family there. My mother isn’t all that well, and I’d like to visit before—before too long. It would be nice to see Tengue, where I went to university—though that’s a bit far from my parents’ home. We’ll see.”

Farax was nodding. “Are they letting you take the Facerum with you?”

For the first time, she saw a glimmer of real regret in his eyes. “No,” he answered. “It stays locked in Colin’s office, where nothing can happen to it. He just asked me to expedite my translations not long ago, too… it’s truly terribly timing.”

“Sorry,” she told him, not knowing what else to say.

“Thank you,” he said, lifting his eyes to the archery range appraisingly. “I’m hoping the time passes quickly while I’m visiting. Maybe I’ll be back here before anyone else really misses me.”

Don’t be silly,” she said, scoffing. She picked up one of her arrows and inspected the tip, flicking the ends of her long, dark hair over one shoulder to allow her better access. “We’ll all miss you. The students love you.”

He watched her carefully. “Oh?”

“Of course!” she said, laughing. “You’re a fine teacher. Craestor’s going to be limping along without you.”

Bricot nodded. “I appreciate that,” he said slowly.

“I’m glad,” she retorted, “because it’s true.”

There was a significant silence, and then perhaps Bricot sensed she wanted to be left alone and get back to practicing, for he bent to lift his pack and sling it up over one shoulder. “Well—” he said.

“Well,” she replied, putting the arrow back down on the tamped ground. The long grasses near them had been flattened underfoot by Farax’s constant presence out in the field. All around the two master alchemists, waves of eborel swayed in the summer breeze, the sweet scent of it floating about them like incense.

Uncertainly, Bricot opened his arms to her. She hesitated, then moved closer, wrapping him in a warm hug.

* * *

It was something he’d wanted for a long time, but nothing could have prepared Bricot for the way her lithe body felt against his. He’d come to accept the form of her as strong and commanding because of her outlook and carriage, but her shoulders were soft, and her chest—

Her chest.

His blood sang.

To him, she smelled tender and wild at the same time, like a slippery, silky piece of roadweed fuzz that moves defiantly away with each tiny puff of air. Or like cinniswood. Or the rain. Surreptitiously, he took a deep breath of her and held it, memorizing the way it sat in his chest. He hoped to Calumn she couldn’t tell he was smelling her, and then felt her smile against his cheek in dismay.

She gave him a firm pat on the shoulder, squeezed him closer, and then released him.

Bricot’s face heated. “I’ll see you in a few months,” he murmured, wondering if he should keep staring at her dark eyes the way he seemed to want to—or if he should be avoiding them. Her eyes told him nothing. Did she feel nothing for him?

“See you soon,” she agreed with a warm smile. “Take care of yourself,” she added.

“You too,” he said quietly. And with a last glance at Farax Lucean, he left.

* * *

It was early morning—a grey, drizzly day—and Craix rose silently from her pallet on the hard-packed dirt floor. Little Amat was still snoozing in the corner, moisture having gathered at the corners of his tiny little eyes. Peaceful, she thought.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and sat that way for a few moments, watching the boy and his father sleep.

It was time for her to be on her way once more, and she’d be relieved to go. She’d do it, yes—she’d do anything if she believed in the cause strongly enough, but sleeping in a hut with two other people was uncomfortable for her.

Craix snorted with silent laughter.

If she took a blow for every time her work made her “feel uncomfortable,” she’d be dead for a certainty.

Climbing quietly to her feet, Craix pressed the heels of her hands into her tired eyes, then began to pack up her things. It only took a few heartbeats—she hardly owned anything, and traveled with even less.

The beginning of cold dawn was just beginning to show through the crack in the bottom of the scarred wooden door.

Before she left, Craix emptied a handful of paper marks and a few gold gems from her traveling satchel. She placed them on the worn table and threw a surreptitious glance at Centat.

Still he slept—good. This would be enough to get them both out of Liminey and to another village where Amat could have the medicine he needed. She’d made sure to count out enough for several bottles of it; and for food and lodging while Centat established a new position for himself.

She hoped it would be enough.

* * *

She’d packed everything she could carry comfortably and left the rest behind.

Evin felt a nervous trembling in the pit of her stomach. Both fear and gladness warred within her as she made her way quietly out of the Red Dove and down the streets of Craestor to the town square.

It was still morning, and hardly anyone was up. A soft, misty drizzle fell with monotony down on her, crystalizing on the strands of her unkempt hair.

She planned to go to the temple of the Divines first and ask for guidance. Evin wasn’t sure how she’d feel when she stood before Calumn for the first time since the death of her sister. She was still angry, and horribly sad. But this was an important step in her life—she was actually striking out on her own. She was broken but not ill. Heartsick, but not hopeless. She could do this.

Shouldering her pack, Evin took a deep breath of the dewy air and then exhaled, feeling her shoulders drop slightly.

The temple was quiet, but the great double doors stood open, beckoning passersby into the dark interior. Temples to the Divines were open at all times and during all bells, so that anyone who needed encouragement or aid would be welcome when they needed it. After all, the most horrible things seem to happen at odd hours, Evin thought to herself, deciding it was a rather apt policy.

She reached the stairs and placed a hand on the carved stone bannister, remembering suddenly meeting her new friend Ger here just the day before. Spooked, she turned about, making sure he would not suddenly sneak up on her again.

But the square was silent, and she ascended the stairs slowly.

The phenomenous way the constant drizzle floated about in the air outside rendered the paved shelter inside the temple strangely warm. The floor was inlaid with slate and the high cobbled walls towered all around her. As Evin moved forward, her shoes left faint damp footprints in the stone and clipped softly in the silence. Immediately upon entering, she became aware of the towering icons of the Divines. This temple was situated much like her own, back in her hometown of Liminey—most of them were laid out to be very similar, if not exactly.

She cast about for an attendant but saw no one inside the structure beside herself.

Calumn’s stolid gaze seemed to pull her in that direction, and she obeyed, glaring up at him. His carved stone eyes were trained on some subject over her head, and his great arms, ever outstretched, seemed to deal judgement rather than comfort those in need.

“You,” she said quietly. “You destroyed my life.”

There was a pregnant moment as the stone and memory around her absorbed the words.

“I worshipped you. I honored you,” she continued, feeling her face begin to flush. “I obeyed you. What more could you ask of a mortal? And what in Heladrith do you have against me? I’m no one.”

The silence stretched on between them, and Evin allowed it to sit in her ears until it became almost a deafening ring. She flexed her shoulders to ease some of the tension and looked around, wondering if anyone else was listening to her complain. But the temple appeared abandoned. It was still too early for the great throngs of people who usually flooded in for teaching and offerings.

So she kept going, feeling a little silly, but needing to talk this through. “I came here against my better judgement—” she said through gritted teeth, “because I thought you had sent friends to help me. I know I’m not qualified. I didn’t expect my own merit to be enough for Craestor. But I did trust you. And if this isn’t my path, I don’t know what is. So I’m leaving.”

Evin knew the truth of it as the words came out of her mouth.

“I’m leaving the village right now. And I’m leaving the faith too. I came—” and tears suddenly burned at her eyes. “To say goodbye. So, goodbye. I think you very cruel.”

Almost as soon as she spoke this last part, she wished she could call it back. A small part of her wanted to fling herself at the deity's feet, hoping he would scoop her up, father-like, and hold her while she wept in bitter disappointment. Which was silly. Because Calumn was carved out of stone.

Instead she pawed roughly at her own face, dashing the tears from her skin. She turned away from Calumn, ignoring the other gods and goddesses like the useless prigs they all were, and saw the first few temple goers enter quietly through the front door.

She shouldered past them uncomfortably, knowing cognitively that plenty of people wept when they visited the temple of the Divines, but somehow utterly ashamed at being caught.

Entering now were bent old women, strong men and fathers, young mothers toting children with them—all manner of Urdan citizen. They each had stories and concerns, Evin knew. She wasn’t alone.

Well, she soon would be—literally alone, that was.

Outside, the steady drizzle continued to fall down on the village of Craestor proper.

She took a deep, cooling breath of it and paused for a moment on the stair landing, trying to recall details of her arrival in the village when Tadyath had first brought her here. They’d glimpsed the university from beyond the trees before they’d ever reached the village. She took a guess, looking up at the sun, and decided to head south. If Craestor was set up like the town of Liminey, there would be entrances at each corner.

Evin muscled her pack further up onto her back and set off.

The streets were mostly empty, but some members of the populace had begun to stir.

Mostly tradespeople, she thought to herself. The nobility woke later in the day and would prowl about slowly in search of breakfast while everyone else continued to toil and sweat. At one time, she’d thought she might leave the life of a brewer behind her in favor of academic pursuits, but that hope was dead now.

No matter, Evin reminded herself. I’m no worse off than I was when I left Liminey, and I’m in better shape physically because of the quiet and rest.

She came to the south gate quickly with her mind thus occupied and passed through unobserved. A smattering of small huts and cottage stood on the outskirts of the village and bloomed in little rows just outside the gate. It looked like a pleasant way to live, and she wouldn’t have minded a simple dwelling of this kind as long as she could call it her very own.

Evin wondered idly what a little cottage might cost, and if she’d ever be able to afford one.

A little crest of a hill rose and she took it easily, picking up energy as she went. When the road forked and she saw a faded wooden sign for Utne, Evin smiled grimly. She was on the right track.

Of course, she’d know better than to stay in Utne again—she shivered, thinking again of the way the folk at the inn had treated Tadyath. No, she’d keep to the woods.

Just as the rain had begun to pick up in intensity, Evin reached the shelter of a weald of trees and ducked underneath them gratefully. The foliage was so thick that the trickling drops barely reached her, and the muted light of the grey sky did it’s best to penetrate the thick branches but was largely unsuccessful. It was dark under the thatch of forest. The loamy soil underfoot responded pleasantly to her tentative footsteps. Springy—it was packed tight with years of falling leaves, soil, and the sediment leftover from years of snow and precipitation.

She sighed, allowing herself to simply be as she walked.

She hadn’t been alone since—well, at all. And especially since Wynn’s death. Evin forced her mind to move on so as not to dwell on the painful event, but allowed herself to admit that she’d had no space to mourn or settle. True, she’d been left alone in the clean silence of her rented room—which had been given to her out of Tadyath’s kindness and generosity—she dismissed the pang of guilt she felt at this consideration.

The truth was, Evin needed refreshment of a different kind. She needed time to consider her own life. This was good. This was what she needed. She’d go back to Liminey and regroup. Then she’d pick up where she left off. Her talent as a brewer was undeniable—surely she would be able to find clients.

Far off and so faintly Evin was sure she imagined it, she heard her own name.

“Evin!”

Shaking her head, she dismissed it. It was ridiculous how exhausted she was emotionally that her mind could now conjure disembodied voices calling her by name.

But there it was again.

“Evin! Where are you?”

And she was forced to consider it. Suddenly, she thought of the note she’d left in Tadyath’s room that morning—a second one. This time, she hadn’t communicated simply that she’d be shopping in the market square if he needed her. She’d thanked him profusely, expressed her regret, and explained simply that she was leaving.

Evin glanced up at the forest ceiling, trying to judge the time from the muted way the light filtered down through the leaves. It was still early, and she knew he often slept late. Had he found the note already? Were they trying to track her down?

“Evin! Calumn’s feet—how could you! You come back here right now!”

That was clear enough. She was not imagining the panicked, angry note in his voice, nor the breathless way he shouted for her—as if he’d run a very long way to try and catch her up. With a sudden realization, she knew he pursued her—mostly like with Himes in tow.

Well, they would not drag her back. She’d made up her mind. If there was no hope for her pursuit of an education, she saw no need to stay trapped with them. If the two of them wished to hold her in Craestor—or wherever—they would be sorely disappointed. And outside of that, she couldn’t face them—she simply could not. What would she say? What would they say?

“I’m sorry I’m too stupid to get into the university,” she tried, muttering it under her breath as she picked up her step. “I didn’t mean to waste your time and money…”

That was inane. Simpler—and better—to outrun them.

Evin quickened her pace, hugging her pack straps tightly to her shoulders so it wouldn’t bounce around on her back, and began to run.

“Stop it! This instant!” Tadyath cried, and she knew he was close.

She refused to turn around and kept running.

“I’ve sighted her!” called Himes, also sounding winded.

Evin picked up her feet and lengthened her stride even more, her lungs beginning to burn in protest. Damn the two of them—she would have her way in this, and they would let her go. She had no idea how she might be able to keep up this pace against two grown men, and Calumn alone knew where they’d received the physical training they had, but she was ready to fight to gain her own freedom. Her eyes had begun to leak salty liquid and her chest had gone tight. She blinked furiously and made the conscious choice to breathe more deeply, absolutely refusing to be caught.

The give of the forested path was an obstacle now, slowing her with its thick slipperiness.

“Stop!” Himes shouted desperately at her. “Evin, please!”

From the sound of him, he was right behind her.

She didn’t see the twisted tree root, but it came out of nowhere and caught her ankle, tripping her hard. Her face hit the rich composite of the forest floor, tasting woody and bitter in her mouth. A sharp light cracked behind her eyes at the impact, and at the last minute, she’d flung her arms out to catch herself. The instant sprain her in her left wrist told her this had all been a terrible idea.

Himes’ thick hands closed around one of her ankles, and she sobbed once. Barely any sound emanated from her at all as she’d lost most of her breath in the fall.

She tried to draw her knees up tightly to her middle, utterly undone. The big ginger man’s grip on her held her legs steady, and she succeeded only in curling herself up into a little ball by bending at the waist.

Tadyath’s heavy footfalls approached them slowly. He was breathing heavily. The willowy man bent over with his forearms resting on each bent knee. He coughed heavily a few times and then expelled a bit of spittle out onto the ground.

“What,” he gasped at her, “were you thinking?”

Evin began to cry like a little mewling puppy, pulling her soiled hands up to her face so neither of them could watch it crumple.

His long locks had fallen forward around Tadyath’s handsome face, and she could see the sheen of sweat on his skin as she rolled over to gaze up at him. All thought had forsaken her.

“Truly,” he continued, his words still coming in short gasps. “I want to know. What made you think—this was a good idea?”

Himes still held snugly to her ankle, wheezing gently as he calmed. She felt trapped by his large palm.

Evin shook her head, refusing to answer her guardian.

Tadyath plopped down to his knees, peering down into her face. “Speak!” he prodded sternly, giving her a gentle nudge.

“I wanted to get away,” she croaked through her tears. “I couldn’t stand being there any longer after what—what happened.”

He shook his head at her helplessly.

“I just wanted to fade away, and pretend none of it happened,” she wailed pitifully. “I failed you all. You, Himes, Craix. I hate it. I just—hate it.”

Evin closed her eyes and shuddered. A chill moved through her when Tadyath let out a low chuckle. The sound was so unexpected.

“You didn’t—fail us,” he gasped.

“Of course I did!” she cried.

But Tadyath only shook his head and pulled out a dirty piece of parchment. “No. You didn’t,” he returned, smiling. He handed it to her, and Evin’s trembling fingers took it. It took some effort to unfold, but she managed it. It was another letter to the university.

The three of them fell utterly silent while she read it, then re-read it. And re-read it again.

She’d made it.

She’d made it into the university.

Her scores were low, but one of the other nine students had dropped out unexpectedly, and they’d found a place for her. Additionally, under the government funding program, they’d been able to find her tuition money and she wouldn’t need to supplement with her own funds at all. With stunned tears frozen on her face, she looked up at Tadyath.

He began to laugh, and she joined him, cackling until their voices rang crazily under the canopy of trees. She felt like a wild thing, but didn’t care how she looked or sounded anymore.

She’d made it.

Evin was going to Craestor.