Vandien were going to return, he would have done it before; now it was too late. She was not really surprised that he had not come back; would anyone, given a choice between her world and this one? No, she was not surprised, but she found that she could blame him. A week ago she would have had the equanimity to accept it, to see his decision to stay over there as his only sane choice, not as betrayal or abandonment. Her cool logic would have told her that he had been given a chance for a better life, and had taken it. She would have felt glad for him.
But that was before Chess was lost to her. It changed everything. Where were her fine thoughts now, the words she had pelted Chess with? Regretted and swallowed, every one. But she could not call back the ones Chess had carried off with him. Like thistles in his skin, they would dig in deeper and spread their poison. Wasn't it odd, now that Jace had no weaker companion to exhort to acceptance and inner peace, her own had fled? 'I could accept it, I could lie down and die peacefully, if only I knew that Chess had also done so. If only I knew that he was safe from this world and beyond its corruptions, I could breathe out my last breath calmly. But I cannot do so, if it means leaving him here alone without aid. I can't. But I may have to.' Jace whispered the words aloud to the rough stones she leaned on. Her strength was nearly at an end. Much of the cool darkness that had leaked into this part of the city remained here still. Perhaps tonight she should stay here, and see if the day was diluted enough not to harm her; she feared that if she tottered back to the hovel one more time, come the next night she might not have the strength to leave it. She no longer hoped that Chess would return on his own. He had been driven forth too thoroughly, too callously. But the Gate might draw him back.
Jace slid slowly down the wall. She turned her eyes back to the Gate, hoping for his small shadow. The only caller this night at the Gate had been the Windsinger. Jace had watched her with dulled curiosity. She had understood little of what had passed at the Gate, save that the Limbreth had chosen to call Ki to their hallowed valley. Ki would be blessed by the Limbreth and given a vocation. She would pour herself into her newfound work with joy and vigor until her days ran out.
A little hunger nibbled at Jace's heart. Once she had dreamed she would be so called; she had fantasized that she would awaken from her sleep hearing the pure call of the Limbreth to take the pilgrim path to the Jewels. Some few there were who went thus, clothed in a plain white garment, bare of foot and head, with a smile of gladness that shone like the Jewels themselves. Those ones did not return, and no word was heard of them, save in rumors of a new and beauteous thing rising in some far part of the peaceful world. It did not seem fair to Jace that sometimes the Limbreth would hunger for ones from other worlds to enact a vision. The Limbreth would open a Gate and one of those rogues would enter, wild and violentand ruthless, until the spell of the Limbreth worked and the waters of peace soothed the outlander. But from those strangers came the works of awesome power that were sometimes seen, like the first bridge, which was no part of the peaceful world it decorated; it had been born in this world. It pleased the Limbreth and made him hunger for more extravagant minds and iron wills for such tasks. From what Chess had said of Ki, the Limbreth would like her. Yet it ached in Jace that for such a fancy she and Chess had been exiled from their world.
Jace let her head tip forward to rest on her huddled knees. Her pale green garment had gone brown, like dead leaves, and was rent and stained; her glossy hair was now coarse as a pony's tail. She rummaged about in herself for the will and the strength to rise, but found neither. Slowly she let the knowledge sink in. The Gate was too small to use. There was no chance of Vandien coming back. Even if she found Chess, they could never go home.
'Wake up!' The hand on Jace's shoulder was callused but not unkind as it shook her. 'It's nearly dawn, and you have to be the one from all he has raved. Hurry up, woman!'
Jace forced her weary head up. Her eyeballs felt dry, her lashes gummed and grainy. She stared up at the man who shook her so boldly. His heavy jowls bristled with black and grey stubble above a beard that fringed his jawline. His eyes were dark brown, his hair a willful tangle of loose curls that frizzed out on his forehead and bushed above his ears. A working man, she decided, but even Jace had been in the world long enough to see that his clothes were wrong for that part. They were too fine of cloth and cut, even though he wore them carelessly, not minding where dust or wine had left a blotch. They smelled of wine, but his eyes were sober and alert as he shook her again, and then dragged her firmly to her feet. She could find no resentment for the stout arm he put about her waist. She staggered along at his side. 'Come on, then. Boy needs you. He's sick. Just like a child, to stand tough as brambles through all hardship, then, the second he had a bed and a bite, to give up and go sick on me. Feverish. He raves a lot, and mostly he calls for you. It was hard for me to find out from his words what you looked like or where to seek you. But the dark Gate came into his talk so often that finally even my slow wits made the connection. So I came to find you. Odd. I thought you would know what to do for him, once I found you. But you don't look too healthy yourself. Like as not, I'll have the two of you on my hands and under my feet now.'
His words didn't convey any of the annoyance they suggested; Jace suspected him of enjoying this. She let her thoughts drift. Chess was ill, but in kindly if not skilled hands. So was she. She would see Chess again soon. The homely kindness of the man beside her soothed her bruised spirit. He clucked and nagged as he helped her along. There was a purpose to his movements that did not match his slovenly clothes. She sank gratefully down into the comfort of someone else taking charge.
Mickle wound up carrying her the last stretch of the road to his home. He moved silently through the rooms he kept darkened for Chess's sake, to settle Jace into his own soft bed. Then he hurried about the room scooping most of his debris up and trundling it out of sight. He hummed softly to himself as he floated a coverlet down over Jace and pulled a heavy curtain closer across the window. He touched the woman's lax face, but she didn't even stir. Well, he had chicken broth simmering on the hearth, and healing roots mashed and ready. He could bring them both out of this. He cocked his head, thinking he had heard Chess call from the other bedroom. But all was stillness in the snug little house.
Mickle bustled his way back into the kitchen, sighing with relief. His sigh was cut short as he gazed at Rebeke perched on his tall baker's stool, and he blew out the rest of his breath as a snort and started in on her before she could speak.
'A fine mess you've made of things, and no thought to the nuisance for me, I suppose. Here I am nowwith a house full of sick folk and no one but myself to care for them. I don't suppose you gave any thought to that, did you? And here you come to poke at them. Well , they're both run into the ruts of the wearies, and I won't let you trouble them. No, save your glares for someone they impress. This is my house, Rebeke. Bought with your money, perhaps, but mine nonetheless, and here I am master.'
'Do you forget to whom you speak?' Rebeke asked sternly.
'No. And neither should you. I'm speaking to that street brat Reby, who's gone from being under my feet begging for a sweet cake to barging in here and filling up my bed with sick folk. Look what you've done to an honest baker and a pretty little maid. Here I am a disreputable man of leisure, and you a grotesque spectacle and skinny as a rail. You must be hungry. What can I fix for you?'
Rebeke surrendered with a chuckle. 'Tea. And save your good-old-days routine; neither one of us would go back. You've found them for me, Mickle, and I thank you. I know they'd be in good hands until I need them. But I warn you, not out of harshness, but to save your tender old heart. Do not get too attached to these waifs. When I need them, I must take them from you. So cherish them and heal their hearts, as always you had a knack for. But don't tie their lives too tightly to yours, lest your heart bleed when I tear them away.'
Mickle had bustled about as she spoke, poking up his hearth fire and clattering mugs and filling the kettle so carelessly that water spattered the floor. If he had heard one word, he gave no indication. 'It's heartless you've become, Rebeke,' he scolded her. 'Heartless. Oh, you may remember an old man who was kind to you when you had no one, and so you throw him coins, more than are good for him. But I should like to know what's become of my little miss with the big blue eyes in her thin little face? I grew you up to be a lovely thing, and just when I thought I had you settled with that lad ... what was his name? Grew up and became the herbalist's apprentice?'
'Dresh,' Rebeke breathed unwillingly.
'Just when I thought I could look forward to babies crawling after crumbs in my shop, what do you do? Disappear one day without a word. Time passes, and I think you're dead. Then money begins to come to me, but no words to go with it, just a tragic rumor. That you'd gone to the Windsingers, even though all know that the Windsingers prefer to steal babies to grow up their own way, and you near a woman grown. Then a few nights ago, you give me the turn of my life when I walk into my kitchen and find you here. Nearly gave up drinking on the spot. Well, missy, just you know this.' He poured tea into the heavy mugs and set one on the table before her. 'I've done as you bid me. The honey's in that pot. But let me tell you, it wasn't the money you've sent me all these
