SoJourner Read online

  “Thank you.” The light in his eyes died. “But I’m not sure I hope for Lof Yuel’s favor.” He opened the door and left her.

  Puzzling over his last remark, she retrieved a broom from behind the counter in the common room and swept the soiled rushes into a bucket. If the dogs were allowed in the inn, they’d have made short work of the mess, but Aunt Brynn couldn’t tolerate them near or she’d start sneezing.

  The door to the kitchen opened with a rattle of crockery, and her aunt came in carrying a tray of empty tankards. “There you be.” She tossed her head. “Wasting eggs, I see. Well, don’t be idle. There’s work to do.” She set her burden down on the counter and swept back through the doorway.

  Mara carried the bucket outside to empty it. The Kindren traveler had disappeared, but she heard voices from the stable. She tipped the eggshells and fouled rushes in a pile of kitchen scraps that would decay to feed the garden. Rand came out of the stable leading a chestnut horse of undeniable beauty, his cloak flaring in the breeze that ruffled his tawny hair.

  As he turned to mount, she hurried toward him. “Wait.” She’d called too softly, but he seemed to hear and wait for her. “I need your help, if you would give it.” She said to his leather boot.

  “Mara, look at me.”

  She lifted her head, and her gaze collided with his. “Take me to Torindan.” The words rushed from her.

  “Torindan!”

  “The High Hold of Faeraven.”

  “I know what Torindan is, but what does a maiden like you want—“

  “I will pay you — well.”

  His brows shot upward. “What of your parents? Do they approve of your making such a journey?”

  “They don’t know about it.”

  He whistled. “Do you have any idea how far away Torindan is from here?”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think so.” He pointed at the tallest of the snowy peaks rearing above the kaba forest in the south. “By horseback it lies several hard days’ ride beyond Maegrad Ceid.”

  “Please.” Tears stood in her eyes. “You have to help me.”

  “What are your reasons for leaving home?”

  “They are sound.”

  His gaze traveled her face. “All right. There’s an abandoned homefarm just east along the river. Do you know it?”

  “Aye.”

  “I’ll wait there, but only a little while. Mind you come in secret.” He stepped back, still holding her gaze. Rand mounted with agile grace and sent his horse into a trot that carried him along the river road and out of sight.

  Misgivings hissed through Mara. How easily the Kindren had agreed to her request. Shouldn’t he have refused or at least taken longer to convince?

  Hael came out of the stable and stood beside her, solid and comforting. She’d forgotten him. How long had he watched her with Rand? He angled a questioning glance at her. “What sort of words were you having with the Kindren?”

  She almost thought—could that be jealousy in his voice? Surely not. His brown eyes searched hers, and suddenly she wasn’t so sure. Not Hael, too. Isn’t it enough that Rohan has lost his wits?

  “Why so sad, Mara?”

  “’Tis nothing.” Her shaking voice betrayed her, but he didn’t press for an answer. She turned away without looking at him. “I should get to work or Brynn will go on about my laziness.”

  Mara slogged through the day with her body weary and her mind elsewhere. She went to bed certain sleep would elude her, but exhaustion tugged her into oblivion at once.

  She woke with a start. Something—yes, there! The gentlest brush‒a touch almost‒but not of a mortal hand. What—no who could this be? The quicksilver touch faded, leaving an ache. It felt as though she woke from a lovely dream never to return to it again.

  The possibility of sleep now gone, she left her bed, pulled on clothing, and braided her hair. Afterward, she pulled the blue velvet pouch from beneath the bed, untied its strings and tipped out the doeskin band with a sapphire at its center that Mam—Heddwyn—had given her two summers ago to mark her sixteenth birthday. She’d trimmed her lanthorn’s wick, but the star-shaped jewel at the gem’s center sparkled even in dim light. She hated to part with the one thing of value she owned. Mam had wanted her to save the band to wear at her wedding. The memory brought a lump to her throat. She couldn’t think about that now or she might change her mind about leaving. What was the use? If she stayed, Mam and Da would only pressure her to become Rohan’s wife. However pretty their arguments, she knew they didn’t want her around any more. Brynn’s criticisms must have turned them against her. Since she had to leave the inn, she’d rather do it without a husband.

  Swallowing against tears, she slipped the band back into its velvet pouch and tugged the strings tight. She would use the band to pay the Kindren tracker.

  She sheathed a hunting knife in one of her elkskin boots and, gathering the rough wool of her cloak about her, brought her horse bow down from its peg. With nothing more to delay her, she lifted the lanthorn from its hook, its swinging sent shadows jumping.

  Her chamber door creaked as she opened it, loud in the quiet. She listened with ears straining and pulse beating in her throat.

  Nothing stirred.

  She tiptoed down the corridor dividing the sleeping and living chambers, passed through the family parlor, and let herself out the back door.

  Moist air slapped her face, and the scent of water bespoke a gathering storm. She might not reach the homefarm before it broke, but she wouldn’t turn back now. The kitchen windows gaped sightlessly as she skirted the back of the inn. She turned the corner and crept to the root cellar door. As she pried it open, a musty odor arose. The narrow steps took her downward, and she filled several pouches with yellowroot, jerked elk, and apples. A Kindren tracker should have no trouble feeding them both, but she couldn’t be sure he would still be waiting. Besides, she’d rather rely on herself as much as possible. With that in mind, she pulled a small hand net from its hook before climbing the steps again. She’d used it many times to catch fish. A quick glance into the inn yard showed no one about. She slipped inside the stable, comforted by the familiar shuffling of horses. Hael would soon wake and come to feed them. She must hurry. As she neared her mare’s stall, Lilthe whickered. Mara fed her an apple to quiet her, and then went to collect her saddle and bridle.

  It was darker in the tack room, and she immediately stubbed her toe. She sucked in a breath to keep from crying out and managed to keep hold of her lanthorn. Why had she forgotten that Hael had pulled that saddle out from the wall to oil it? Blinking away tears of pain, she forced herself to keep moving.

  Lilthe’s tack hung in its usual place. She gathered it in her arms.

  “Mara?” Hael called from the doorway, watching her with his eyes too alert for someone who had just awakened. She tried to speak, but nothing came out. She tried again. “I’m to go to Havenhoe. Mam promised Verda I would show her my way of netting fish.” She held up the net she’d taken from the cellar as proof. It wasn’t entirely a lie, she persuaded herself. Mam had told the new mistress of Havenhoe homefarm she’d send Mara along to teach her to fish. Hael lifted an eyebrow. “Today?”

  “Aye.” Heat crept up her neck at the lie.

  He gestured to the net dangling from her hands. “You might have called me to help you.”

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “You must know I rise early.” He rubbed his neck. “But why must you make such an early start?”

  She cast about for a reason. “I-I wanted to get back in time to gather more dewberries.”

  “Did you not get enough the other day?”

  “That was for jam. I want to make some pies.”

  He stared at her as if to see inside her mind. “Well, then. I’ll saddle Lilthe for you after she feeds.”

  “All right.” Mara kept her voice calm, although she chafed at the delay. Lilthe whinnied, as if aware of her owner’s moods. Mara stroked
her neck to soothe her.

  “Mara?”

  “Aye?” She didn’t turn her head.

  “You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, if something was bothering you?”

  She swallowed. “If I could.” There! She hadn’t lied.

  “You always can.”

  Her lips curved in a smile. Dear Hael would say that. At the thought that she might never see him again, a lump clogged her throat.

  Lilthe stomped and snorted.

  Hael laughed. “Be still, I’ll feed you!” He took up a pitchfork leaning against the wall and delivered hay into Lilthe’s trough. “If only all fair maidens spoke as plainly.”

  He moved down the stalls and soon all the horses lipped hay. Mara gnawed at her lip, and fought the urge to tell him the truth. He’d never let her go if she did, not that she blamed him. Going off into the wild lands with a Kindren tracker could only be called foolish.

  After Lilthe finished her hay, Hael saddled her and led her into the stableyard, where he helped Mara onto her back.

  Hael stepped back. “Shall I see you safe?”

  “No need. Havenhoe’s not far.”

  He squinted at the sky. “Looks like a storm may blow up. Sure you want to go?”

  “Rain makes the fish bite.”

  “Well, then, guess I’ll look forward to some dewberry pie.”

  She rode away feeling lower than one of the stableyard puddles for tricking Hael into helping her run away.

  4

  STORM AND FURY

  Rand startled awake. Silence hung heavy in the darkness, and yet the touch of a hand had jerked him from sleep. He would swear to it. Watching the shadows, he pushed to a crouch, his dagger steadier than his breathing. “Who’s there?” He sounded strained, frightened, weary. A faint shuffling answered him. The hair on his arms rose with his certainty that the entity that had summoned him from sleep did not cloth itself in flesh and blood.

  A creature loomed black against the pewter sky. He knew the flapping sound its wings made from his early days at Pilaer. He’d loathed the giant raptor birds but had pretended to admire their savagery to please his father and avoid Draeg’s mockery. This one was a long way from its roost in the east of Elderland. The rider on its back provided an explanation for that but roused other questions. On what errand would his father send a welke rider? And did it have anything to do with his own?

  Rand held himself tensed and still, until the flapping faded into the night. The walls of the burned-out homefarm crouched against the underbrush threatening to consume it. Nothing stirred. Whatever uncanny creature had awakened him seemed to have retreated, perhaps frightened by the welke rider. However Rand doubted sleep would visit him again.

  He sat with his back to the wall in the caved-in section of the homefarm, feeling safer beneath the open sky. Walls hid him on all four sides, except where the collapsing roof had pulled down a section and moonlight streamed into the ruined building. Through this breech he watched the road that would deliver Mara to him.He should rejoice that she had fallen into his hands like a ripe sweetberry. Killing her here, away from the inn, would be easy—far too easy. Once he fulfilled his errand, he could silence his brother’s laughter and finally win his father’s respect. Maybe then his father would look on Mother with more kindness. Dread constricted his chest. The truth stared at him, real as a jaggercat stalking the forest. He couldn’t bring himself to crush her throat beneath his hands and watch the spark of life die within her. Nor could he bear seeing her face change when she realized his betrayal.

  Ignoring his weak thoughts, he hardened his heart. Becoming a warrior meant following instructions without question. But then the image of Mara looking up at him with sorrow yesterday morning arose to torment him. He groaned, and the dagger shook in his hand. His father would be angry. Draeg would batter him without mercy. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t bring himself to harm the maiden who had snared him like a fish trapped in a net. He’d heard tales of witches who with a glance could bring a warrior to his knees, but he’d never expected to fall prey to one. Now he saw why his father wanted her dead. He should want the same thing, if only to free himself from her enchantment.

  

  Thunder boomed above Mara, and the first raindrops pelted her face. Lightning jagged, sending Lilthe sidestepping.

  “Whsst, now,” Mara murmured. She guided her mare back onto the road.

  Hael had tried to talk her into remaining home to avoid the coming storm. If she had listened, right now she’d be safe and warm but no closer to solving her problems. She might be making a mistake. If, as Brynn said, Mam had stolen her from the high king of the Kindren, revealing the truth to him might cause trouble. She didn’t want to tell on Mam, but she couldn’t ignore that her rightful father had searched for his daughter and might still want her to live with him in Torindan.

  She had to believe she belonged somewhere.

  The road straightened out of a bend to reveal the abandoned homefarm haunched over like a hump-backed hermit, unsightly even when shrouded by rain. She couldn’t remember the whole story of why it had been abandoned, but according to Da, Kindren wingabeast riders had set it on fire during raids from Torindan. The unprovoked raids had happened long ago, but echoes of the anger they’d roused still separated the Elder and Kindren nations.

  A thunderclap sent Lilthe skittering. Mara reined too sharply. Her mare snorted and tossed her head. “Sorry, dear one.” Her thoughts made poor traveling companions while she needed to rely upon her wits.

  The heavens opened full force, hurtling rain into her face. She clutched her cloak at the throat and sent Lilthe into a gallop. The mare’s hooves kicked up a spray of muddy water but Mara didn’t care. The homefarm neared, and she slowed Lilthe even as the beating of her heart picked up its pace. Did the Kindren tracker wait within? The breech in the structure opened like a monster’s maw before her. She reined in Lilthe, all at once uncertain.

  A dark figure hurried toward her through the breech, Rand with his head bent against the rain. Lilthe shrilled and pranced. Mara called out to her mare, but the wind snatched her voice away. Lilthe’s hooves left the ground and pawed the air. Mara fought to stay seated. Rand rushed to the mare and Mara brought her down. Long shudders ran along the mare’s sides, and she needed convincing to follow Rand into the ruin. Mara could sympathize. Why had she ever agreed to meet in such a place?

  The Kindren led Lilthe beneath the roof. His horse nickered and extended a muzzle to the mare. While the two horses greeted one another, Rand offered his hand to help Mara dismount.

  She glared at him. “You startled my horse.”

  “You needed help.”

  “I can handle my own horse.” Lilthe was normally docile, but Mara could admit that hadn’t been how it must have seemed.

  “Come now.” He spoke in the same tones he’d used to gentle Lilthe. Moonlight softened his face as his head tipped beguilingly.

  She took his hand and let him help her down but held herself poised against an uneasiness she couldn’t shake. Water dripped from her cloak and hair to pool on the remnants of a wooden floor. This must have been the parlor, for it was too large for sleeping quarters. Sadness touched her. The man and wife who had once made this their home had borne no children, so Mam had said. After their deaths, relatives in Westerland had squabbled over the homefarm, agreeing only to leave it neglected and alone.

  Rand released her hand and stepped away from her. “Did you come away from the inn without interference?”

  “For the most part,” she hedged. Something in his voice disturbed her, although she couldn’t name the reason.

  “Might someone have followed you?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m not certain.” She added the last part to appease her nerves. Letting him wonder whether Da or Hael would follow her couldn’t hurt.

  He strode toward the opening in the wall and stood looking out with rain drenching him. He turned back, water glistening as it ran from him in rivulets. �
��Would any think to look for you here?”

  There it was again—that strange note in his voice. “The stable hand might.” Hael would never look for her here, not after she’d informed him how much this place unnerved her. She wouldn’t let on about that to the Kindren, though.

  He joined her beneath the roof again. “Then we must leave.”

  “In a thunderstorm?”

  He pushed back his wet hair. “It seems so.”

  She gnawed her lip. This was what lying brought. “There should be time enough to wait for a break in the storm. Only a fool would stir in this downpour.”

  He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, relaxing his posture for the first time since she’d arrived. “I suppose you’re right.”

  She sent him a suspicious glance. Had he seen through her ruse? With his face in shadow, she couldn’t tell.

  Dark clouds passed overhead, cutting off the light. Rain pounded the roof. It must be full morning now. She wrung out the hem of her cloak and pulled the hunting knife from her boot. She straightened, hiding it in the folds of her cloak, just in case.

  He pushed away from the wall. “Tell me something.”

  She tried not to cower as he walked toward her. “What?”

  He kept coming.

  She stepped backward but fetched against the wall.

  With a deft movement, he caught her hand and twisted the knife from her grasp. “When did you think to use that?” he gritted out.

  “Let me go!” She kicked at him, wincing as her foot connected with his shins. He released her without warning, and she stumbled.

  Her knife, cradled in his hand, pointed at her heart. Shadows hid his features still, but the tilt of his head had her easing backward. “What are you doing?” The breathiness of her voice betrayed her fear.

  “Tell me why you seek Torindan.”

  ”’Tis my own concern.” She tossed her head in a show of bravery she didn’t feel.