Inya wondered when things had changed. She wondered why she hadn't noticed. She'd been busy—raising children, raising grandchildren, working on the farm— but how could she have missed what was happening around her?
She threw the message into the fire. The wet paper hissed, then burst into flames, turning to ash as she watched.
She found Jory by the river, ankle-deep in mud, leaning on his shovel and staring at the water. A wall of dirt and wood began upstream, beyond the house, and extended to where he stood.
The current swirled swiftly by, carrying tree branches, loose reeds, clumps of grass. Something that looked like a broken chair floated past. Inya shuddered.
Jory shook his head, splattering water around him. 'I can save the house,' he said. His voice was hoarse. 'But not the barn and the rest of the land. Not without help.'
'There won't be any help.' Inya told him about the mayor's note.
Jory brushed a hand across his dirt-streaked face. 'Doesn't surprise me. That's how people are, you know. Watch out for themselves first, and for everyone else if they have any time left over.'
But people weren't like that, Inya thought. Not everywhere. They hadn't been in River's Bend, not when she was a girl. She stared at Jory, not sure what to say. If he assumed people only cared about themselves, no wonder he wanted to move. One place was the same as another, if you saw the world like that.
An awful thought crossed Inya's mind. If the people in River's Bend didn't care, did that mean it was time to leave, to find a place where they did?
'I'll finish securing the house tonight,' Jory said. 'And see what I can do about the fields in the morning.'
Inya nodded. 'At least you've had Mariel helping you.'
'Mariel?' Jory squinted. 'I haven't seen her all day.'
'What do you mean?' Ice trickled down Inya's spine. 'Lara said she was with you.'
Jory shook his head. 'I'll go look for her. You talk to Lara.'
Inya hurried toward the house, boots squishing in the mud. She slowed down when her legs began to ache. Sweat trickled down her face, in spite of the cold. She threw the door open and went inside. Lara still sat by the fire.
'Where's your sister?'
Lara started. 'I promised not to tell.'
'Lara—'
'She's in the barn.' The girl's words tumbled over one another. 'It's not my fault. She made me promise.'
Relief washed over Inya. Of course Mariel was all right. She'd been silly to think otherwise. The girl had probably run off to be alone. Anara had done the same at Mariel's age.
'How long has she been there?'
'All day.'
Well, Inya would have to talk to Mariel about that. The girl had no right to send Lara into town alone.
'Don't tell her I told,' Lara begged.
Inya didn't answer. She gulped down a mouthful of warm tea and went back outside.
She found Jory in the barn, staring at the ground. Mariel was nowhere in sight.
'Look at this.' Jory's voice was strained.
Cold dread settled in Inya's stomach. She followed his gaze.
The muddy barn floor was covered with Mariel's boot prints. But there was a second set of prints, too, and those weren't human.
Hoof prints. Inya knelt to have a closer look. The prints were large, larger than any horse Inya had owned. She examined a print more carefully. Short, white hairs were scattered in the mud. They were bright and fine, and even hi the mud hadn't gathered any dirt.
Inya caught her breath. The Companion had left—and had taken Mariel with her. Inya smiled, though she felt a tinge of sadness, too.
'You see anything down there?'
'Yes.' She told Jory about the Companion, leaving out her own role in the tale. It was Mariel's story now, after all. As it should be.
Jory didn't smile. In a thin voice he asked, 'Do you think she's all right?'
Mariel was Chosen, Inya thought; of course she was all right. But she realized she didn't really know what happened after someone was Chosen. The Companion would head to Haven and the Collegium, but that was more than a week away. What would Mariel eat? Did she have warm clothes? Why had she left without saying good- bye?
Inya examined the prints again. They led out of the barn, toward the river. Mariel never mounted, just continued alongside the Companion. Didn't Heralds always ride?
Probably everything was all right. Probably Inya was just a crazy old woman, worrying too much. But probably wasn't enough.
'We have to find her. Bring her some food. Make sure she's all right.'
Jory nodded. But then he looked back toward the river, and Inya knew what he was thinking. If he went after Mariel, they might lose the farm.
'I'll go,' Inya said.
'That's crazy.' Jory brushed his hands against his breeches.
'No it isn't.' Inya spoke fast, afraid she might believe him if she didn't. 'On horse I can make decent time, even with my knees. What I can't do is keep the farm from flooding out. You can.'
'It'll be dark soon.'
'I'll bring a lantern. I can carry it and walk, once the sun goes down.' Inya didn't know how long she could manage on foot, but she'd worry about that later. She stared at Jory, hoping he'd see that she was right.
'I don't like it.' Jory looked at Inya through tired eyes. He needed to rest, much more than Inya did. He'd been building walls all day, after all. 'I'll take another look around the farm,' he said. 'Maybe she hasn't gone all that far.' 'I'll start packing,' Inya told him.
By the time she was ready to leave, the sun was low, casting gold light through the drifting clouds. Jory hadn't found Mariel—both her boot prints and the Companion's hooves followed the river, disappearing upstream.
Jory didn't argue any further. He saddled the dappled horse and helped Inya mount. Her knees ached, unused to being twisted out for riding, but she gritted her teeth and ignored the pain. Her hips complained, too, at the way they stretched across the saddle.
Inya reminded Lara to listen to her father, reminded Jory that there was some reheated soup on the fire. Then she left, following the tracks past the edge of the farm.
The sun soon dipped below the horizon, but the light stayed with her for a while. The moon rose above pink and orange clouds. Inya's breath came out in frosty puffs.
The scattered trees grew thicker beyond their land, until Inya rode at the edge of a forest. The mud deepened, and she had to slow down.
Inya stopped just as the last light faded. She didn't want to dismount, but she needed to rest and get something to eat. Better to go slow than to wear herself out.
She eased herself out of the saddle. Her legs wobbled as she hit the ground. She hadn't realized that getting off would hurt more than getting on.
She ate by yellow lamplight, munching on some bread while the horse grazed nearby. By the time she was ready to move on, the moon had slipped behind a cloud.
Taking the horse's reins in one hand and the lamp in the other, she started walking.
Inya tired much more quickly on foot. Every can-dlemark, it seemed, she had to stop, rest, and eat something.
Small swirls of water appeared in the mud, and the swirls turned into puddles. Mud coated her boots; water soaked through her socks. Cold air numbed her face and fingers. She pulled out the scarf and gloves she'd packed. The next time she stopped, she'd change her socks as well. She was glad she'd packed extra clothes. When she was younger, she probably wouldn't have bothered. But back then she could have managed, in spite of her foolishness. She didn't have that luxury now.
