Gods, she was thirsty. Hands shaking, she filled the bowl and drank her fill, the water blazing into every part of her body. She sank down cross-legged, panting, and rubbed her forehead. Night
had fallen. Knowing a cliff plunged away on all sides, she dared not move, not unless the horse was willing to fly at night, something an eagle could not do because they depended so heavily on their vision. She'd heard tales of eagles who could be fooled or forced into flying at the full moon, but she'd never had such luck with Flirt.
But as she sat with a sweet breeze steady against her face, she realized the mare actually had a kind of sheen to it that might be described as a glow. Its coat was not so much pale gray as luminescent silver. Indeed, the horse had an unnatural look, a ghost in truth, if ghosts flicked their tails and tossed their pretty heads.
Why did the cursed mare keep bringing her to Guardian altars? Her chest was tight the way a person gets when they don't want to breathe for fear of inhaling where they know there will be a noxious smell.
A Guardian altar. A winged horse. A cloak. A simple begging bowl. Light from her palm, if she needed it, and a patterned labyrinth through which she seemed able to speak across distances to others like her.
She knew the tale. She could chant the words or tell it through gesture, as every child could.
Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred. In the worst of days, an orphaned girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed that peace might return to her land.
A blinding light split the air, and out of the holy island rising in the center of the lake appeared the seven gods in their own presence. The waters boiled, and the sky wept fire, as the gods crossed over the water to the shore where the girl had fallen.
And they spoke to her.
Our children have been given mind, hand, and heart to guide their actions, but they have turned their power against themselves. Why should we help you?
For the sake of justice, she said.
And they heard her.
Let Guardians walk the lands, in order to establish justice if they can.
Who can be trusted with this burden? she asked them. Those with power grasp tightly.
Only the dead can be trusted, they said. Let the ones who have died fighting for justice be given a second chance to restore peace. We will give them, gifts to aid them with this burden.
Taru the Witherer wove nine cloaks out of the fabric of the land and the water and the sky, and out of all living things, which granted the wearer protection against the second death although not against weariness of soul;
Liu the Opener of Ways built the altars, so that they might speak across the vast distances each to the other;
Atiratu the Lady of Beasts formed the winged horses out of the elements so that they could travel swiftly and across the rivers and mountains without obstacle;
Sapanasu the Lantern gave them light to banish the shadows;
Kotaru the Thunderer gave them the staff of judgment as their symbol of authority;
Ushara the Merciless One gave them a third eye and a second heart with which to see into and understand the hearts of all;
Hasibal gave an offering bowl.
All she lacked was a staff of judgment, whatever that was. Really, a reeve who tallied up the evidence might suggest, against all likelihood, that these added up to an obvious conclusion: Here sits a Guardian.
Was she merely spinning and drifting on sweet-smoke, unmoored from the world around her? All she knew for sure was that she was being hunted by forces she did not comprehend, ones her gut — and Hari the outlander, if that was really his name — warned her never to trust.
She didn't know what precisely she was now, but she had been a reeve once. She could investigate. And it would help to figure out
where the hells she was, where her enemies were, and what they wanted.
'You might want to turn back,' said the old woman as she scooped nai porridge into Marit's bowl. They stood under the triple-gated entrance to a temple of Ilu, where Mark had come to beg for food. 'Once you ford the river and cross through West Riding, you'll have left Sohayil.'
'Merchants will trade, and beggars will beg, and laborers will seek work wherever they can find it.' The nai's richly spiced aroma made Marit's mouth water; it was all she could do not to bolt down the food right there.
'In the old days that was certainly true, but not anymore. We can't be so easy about things in these days.' Morning mist rose off the river and curled in backwater reeds. A last gust of night rain spattered on the waters, and stilled. On the grounds of the temple, an apprentice trundled a wheelbarrow full of night soil to the temple gardens, while a pair of children carried an empty basket to the henhouse. A trio of elders even older than the gatekeeper paced through the chant of healing from the Tale of Patience, their morning exercise. From the round sanctuary rose the sonorous chanting of male voices. 'I don't mind telling you, for your own good, really, that we've recalled all our envoys who've been walking the roads from here to Haldia and Toskala. Sund and Farsar and Sardia aren't truly safe, although some still make the journey.'
'You must have envoys carrying messages to the Ostiary in Nessumara, to the other temples of Ilu. Not to mention your work as envoys.'
The old envoy was spry, comfortably plump, and nobody's fool. 'Think you so? Why are you headed that way? If you don't mind my saying so, your clothes and walking staff mark you as a beggar or a laborer down on her luck — and the gods know we've seen enough of them in these days — but your manner doesn't fit. The cloak's nice. Is that silk? Good quality.'
Her interest was genuine. She was envious, in an amused way. She didn't trust Mark, not in these days with any kind of traveler out on the roads and every sort of awful rumor blown on the winds. The region of Sohayil remained a haven of relative calm probably
only because of the ancient magic bound into the bones of the surrounding hills as a fence against trouble. But on the other hand, a lone traveler wasn't likely to cause much trouble unless she was a spy scouting for-
She glanced away, as if troubled, and the contact broke.
'For what?' asked Marit.
'Eh!' The envoy laughed awkwardly as she looked back at Marit. 'For what? If I could find silk that good quality, I'd get a length of blue and make a wedding wrap for my granddaughter. But not white, like that. White is — White's not a color for weddings.' White is death's color, but any decent person is too well mannered to mention that to someone who clearly has nothing else to wear against the rain.
'My thanks, Your Holiness. My thanks for your hospitality.'
'Blessed is Ilu, who walks with travelers.' Her smile remained friendly, but it was pitying as well: Especially poor kinless women like this one, alone in the world. No one should have to be so alone.
Shaken, Marit retreated from the temple gate and from its neighboring village of Rifaran. She walked back to the glade where she had concealed Warning. She slurped down the porridge, the spices a prickle in her nostrils, but the comforting nai did not settle her. She worked through a set of exercises with the training staff, but the martial forms did not focus her today. Even the delicate shift of the wind in trees flowering with the rains did not soothe her.
She'd never been a loner. She liked people. But perhaps she liked them better when she didn't have an inkling of what was really going on in their heads.
She sank down on her haunches, grass brushing her thighs. Red-petaled heart-bush and flowering yellow goldcaps bobbed as the breeze worked through the meadow. White bells and purple muzz swayed. Everywhere color dazzled, and the scent of blooming made the world sweet.
'Great Lady,' she whispered, 'don't abandon me, who has always been your faithful apprentice. Let me be strong enough for the road ahead. Let me be strong enough to stop thinking of Joss, to let what was in the past stay in the past. Let me be wise enough to know that what we shared then, we can no longer share. My eyes are open, and there are some places and some hearts I do not want to see.'
Tears slid from her eyes. She wiped them away. 'Hear me, Lady. I'll stay away from him. In exchange, please watch over him even though he belongs to Ilu. Surely we are all your children. I'll follow this road, wherever it takes me. I will always act as your loyal apprentice, as I always have. I will serve the law, as I always have. Hear me, Lady. Give me a sign.'
