Codex Alera 01 - Furies Of Calderon Part 15

Bernard came back a few moments later, carrying another bowl under one arm. The Stead-holder lifted his eyebrows, his expression surprised. Then he scowled at her, coming over to stand by the table.

"Sir?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong?" "Sir?" she asked. "Did I do something wrong?" "Crows, girl," Bernard said. "I thought you'd still be warming your feet up." "Crows, girl," Bernard said. "I thought you'd still be warming your feet up." "You wanted me to peel these, sir." "You wanted me to peel these, sir." "Yes, but-" He made an irritated noise. "Never mind. Sit back, let me see your feet again. And your arm, while we're at it." "Yes, but-" He made an irritated noise. "Never mind. Sit back, let me see your feet again. And your arm, while we're at it."

Amara settled back on her stool, and the Stead-holder knelt down on the floor in front of her, setting the bowl to one side. He lifted her feet, grunted something, and then reached into the bowl, drawing out a small jar of some kind of pungent-smelling ointment. "You've got some cuts, from the hills," he said. "Doubt you even felt them, as cold as your feet were. This should help keep them clean and numb some of the pain, when you start getting the feeling back."

He smoothed on the ointment with broad, gentle fingertips, on both feet. Then he drew out a roll of white cloth and a pair of shears. He wrapped her feet carefully in the cloth and finally drew from the bowl a pair of slippers with flexible leather soles and a pair of grey woolen socks. She began to protest, but he shot her a glare and put both socks and slippers on her. "Big feet, for a woman," he commented. "Had some old slippers that should do for a while."

She studied him quietly, during the process. "Thank you. How badly off are they?"

He shrugged. "They look like they'll be all right to me, but I'm no water-crafter. I'll ask my sister to take a look at them when she's feeling better."

Amara tilted her head to one side. "Is she ill?"

Bernard grunted and stood up. "Move that cloak back and roll up your sleeve. Let me have a look at that arm."

Amara moved the cloak back from her shoulder. She tried to roll the sleeve of her blouse up, but the injury was high on her arm, and the cloth bunched too much to allow it. She tried anyway, and the sleeve pinched in on the wound. Pain flashed through her arm again, and she sucked in a shaky breath.

Bernard said, "That's no good. We'll have to get you another shirt." He lifted the shears and, carefully, started snipping the bloodied sleeve away, a little above the first cut in the fabric. He frowned at it and then at the scarlet cloth of the bandage. The frown only deepened when he unwound the bandage and found the cloth clotted to the wound. He shook his head, fetched fresh water and cloth, and began to soak the bandage and to pull gently at it.

"How did you hurt your arm?"

Amara used her other hand to brush at her hair, pulling it back from her face. "I fell, yesterday. I cut it."

Bernard made a quiet sound and said nothing more until he had soaked the cloth and teased it gently off of the cut without tearing it open. He frowned, and with the cloth and water and soap, cleaned it gently. It burned, and Amara felt her eyes tear up again. She thought she would break down crying, simply from the exhaustion and the constant, relentless pain. She closed her eyes tightly, while he continued the slow, patient work.

There was a rap at the kitchen door, and a nervous voice, belonging to the boy he'd called Frederic, said, "Sir? They're asking for you outside."

"I'll be there in a moment." "I'll be there in a moment." Frederic coughed. "But, sir-" Frederic coughed. "But, sir-" The Stead-holder said, voice hardening slightly, "Fred. In a moment." The Stead-holder said, voice hardening slightly, "Fred. In a moment." "Yes, sir," the boy said. The door closed again. "Yes, sir," the boy said. The door closed again. Bernard continued with the wound and murmured, "This should have had st.i.tches. Or someone to craft it closed. You fell?" Bernard continued with the wound and murmured, "This should have had st.i.tches. Or someone to craft it closed. You fell?" "I fell," Amara repeated. "I fell," Amara repeated. "Apparently you fell along the blade of a sharp sword," the Stead-holder commented. "Apparently you fell along the blade of a sharp sword," the Stead-holder commented.

He rinsed and dressed the wound once more, his hands gentle, but even so her arm throbbed and ached horribly. More than anything, Amara wanted to go somewhere dark and quiet and curl into a ball. But she shook her head and said, "Sir, please. Is the boy's story true? Were you really attacked by the Marat?"

Bernard took in a deep breath. He walked away and then came back to her and draped a soft, gentle weight over her shoulders-a blanket. "You're asking a lot of questions, girl. Not sure I like that. And I don't know if you're being honest with me."

"I am, sir." She looked up at him and tried to smile.

His mouth crooked up at one corner. He glanced at her before turning away to pick up a towel, hanging from a peg near the basin. "I've got a problem with your story. No one would send a slave that was hurt as badly as you out to run a message. That's insane."

Amara flushed. "He didn't... exactly know." That much was true, at least. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity." Amara flushed. "He didn't... exactly know." That much was true, at least. "I didn't want to miss the opportunity." "No," Bernard said. "Girl, you don't look much like most slaves I've seen. Particularly pretty young women in service to a man." "No," Bernard said. "Girl, you don't look much like most slaves I've seen. Particularly pretty young women in service to a man." She felt her face heat still more. "What do you mean, sir?" She felt her face heat still more. "What do you mean, sir?"

He didn't turn toward her. "The way you hold yourself. The way you blushed when I touched your leg." He glanced back and said, "Very few people disguise themselves as a slave, for fear they won't be able to get back out of it again. One has to be either foolish or desperate."

"You think I'm lying to you."

"I know know you're lying," the Stead-holder said, without malice. "It just remains to be seen if you're foolish or desperate. Maybe you need my help, or maybe you just need to be locked in a cellar until the authorities can collect you. I've got people to look after. I don't know you. I can't trust you." you're lying," the Stead-holder said, without malice. "It just remains to be seen if you're foolish or desperate. Maybe you need my help, or maybe you just need to be locked in a cellar until the authorities can collect you. I've got people to look after. I don't know you. I can't trust you."

"But if-"

"This discussion," he said, "is over. Now shut your mouth, before you pa.s.s out."

She felt him move closer and looked up just as he lifted her up again, keeping her unwounded arm against his chest. She didn't mean to, but she found herself laying her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. She was just too tired, and it hurt too much. She hadn't slept since... had it been two days ago?

"... going to be in here fixing dinner," Bernard was saying, "so we'll move you to a cot by the fire in the great hall. Everyone will be in here tonight, because of the storm."

She heard herself make a small sound of acknowledgment, but the ordeal of having her wounds cleaned, coupled with her exhaustion, left her in no condition to do more. She leaned against him and soaked in his warmth, his strength, drowsing.

She didn't stir until he began lowering her onto the cot. The door to the hall opened, somewhere behind him and out of her sight. Footsteps came toward them, but she couldn't see who they belonged to and couldn't work up the energy to care. Frederic's nervous voice said, "Sir, there's some travelers asking for shelter from the storm."

"That's right, Stead-holder," said Fidelias, his voice even, pleasant, using a relaxed Rivan accent as though he were a native. "I hope the three of us won't be an inconvenience."

Chapter 16

Isana woke to the sounds of wind groaning over the valley and the hollow clanging of the storm chimes hanging outside.

She frowned and rubbed at her eyes, struggling to orient herself. Her last memories were of being carried to her bed, after tending to Bernard. She must have slept for hours. She didn't feel thirsty, which was no surprise; Rill often tended to such matters on her own initiative. But her stomach growled and roiled with an almost painful need for food, and her body ached as though she'd not moved for days.

Frowning, Isana pushed aside the purely physical sensations, until she reached something deeper, more detached. And once she had isolated that feeling, she focused on it, closing her eyes to shut out the miscellaneous emotional noise she always felt around her.

Something was wrong.

Something was very wrong.

It was a quiet, nauseating feeling deep down, something that made her think of funerals and sickbeds and the smell of burnt hair. It felt familiar, and it took her a moment to track back through her memory, to realize when she had found such a sensation within her before.

Isana's heart lurched in sudden panic. She threw off the covers and rose, drawing a robe on over the shift she'd slept in. Her hair hung down past her waist, loose and tangled, but she left it so. She belted the robe and stepped toward her door. Her balance swayed, and she had to lean against the door for a moment, closing her eyes, until she regained her balance.

She opened the door, to find her brother moving quietly out of his room across the hall. "Bernard," she cried, and went to him, gripping him in a sudden, tight embrace. He felt warm and solid and strong in her arms. "Oh, thank all the furies. You're all right." She lifted her eyes to his and asked, anguish making the words tight, "Is Tavi-"

"He's all right," Bernard said. "A little banged up, not terribly happy, but he'll be fine."

Isana felt sudden tears blur her eyes, and she pressed her face against her brother's chest and hugged him again. "Oh. Oh, Bernard. Thank you."

He hugged her back and said, voice gruff, "Nothing I did. He'd already taken care of himself and was on the way home."

"What happened?"

Bernard was silent for a moment, and she could feel the discomfort in him. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "I remember setting out with him yesterday, but beyond that... nothing. I woke up in bed about an hour before sunrise."

Isana forced the tears back and stepped back from him, nodding. "Crafting trauma. Memory loss. Like when Frederic broke his legs."

Bernard made a growling sound. "I don't like it. If what Tavi says is true-"

She tilted her head to one side. "What does Tavi say?"

She listened as Bernard recounted Tavi's story to her, and she could only shake her head. "That boy." She closed her eyes. "I don't know whether to hug him or scream at him."

"But if we were attacked by one of the Marat-sis, this could be very bad. We'd have to take word of it to Gram." "But if we were attacked by one of the Marat-sis, this could be very bad. We'd have to take word of it to Gram." Isana bit her lip. "I think you should. Bernard, I've got a bad feeling. Something's wrong." Isana bit her lip. "I think you should. Bernard, I've got a bad feeling. Something's wrong." He frowned down at her. "What do you mean, wrong?" He frowned down at her. "What do you mean, wrong?"

She shook her head and knew that the frustration she felt showed in her voice. "Bad. Wrong. I can't explain it." She took a deep breath and told him very quietly, "I've only felt like this once before."

Bernard's face went pale. He was silent for a long minute before he said, "I don't remember any Marat, 'Sana. I can't take word of it to Gram. His truth-finder would know."

"Then Tavi will have to do it," Isana said. "Then Tavi will have to do it," Isana said. "He's a child. You know how Gram is. He'll never take Tavi seriously." "He's a child. You know how Gram is. He'll never take Tavi seriously." Isana turned and paced a few steps, back and forth. "He'll have to. We'll make him." Isana turned and paced a few steps, back and forth. "He'll have to. We'll make him."

Bernard shook his head. "No one makes makes Gram do anything." He shifted his weight a bit, so that more of his body fell between Isana and the door to his room. Gram do anything." He shifted his weight a bit, so that more of his body fell between Isana and the door to his room.

"This isn't anything to trifle with, or to let Gram's stiff neck-" Isana frowned and leaned to look past her brother. Without changing expression, he moved a bit more to block her view with his body. Isana let out an impatient breath and shouldered her brother a bit to one side, looking past him.

"Bernard," she said. "Why is there a girl in your bed?"

Her brother coughed and flushed. "Isana, when you say it that way-"

She turned to blink up at him. "Bernard. Why is there a girl a girl in your in your bed bed?"

He grimaced. "That's Amara. The slave Tavi helped. I was going to lay her down on a cot by the fire, but she panicked. Begged me not to let her sleep down there. Whispering like she was afraid of something. So I told her I wouldn't, and she just pa.s.sed out." He glanced back toward his room. "I brought her up here."

"To your bed." "To your bed." "Isana! Where else was I supposed to take her?" "Isana! Where else was I supposed to take her?" "Just tell me you don't think she's actually a lost slave who Tavi happened to rescue." "Just tell me you don't think she's actually a lost slave who Tavi happened to rescue."

"No," he said. "I don't. Her story didn't add up. It sounded all right at first, but I cleaned out her cuts and didn't give her anything for the pain. She got tired fast. Nearly collapsed."

"She's hurt?"

"Nothing to kill her, so long as she doesn't take fever. But yes. Her feet got cut up on rocks, and she's got what looks like a blade wound on her arm. Says she got them falling down."

"Clumsy girl," Isana said. She shook her head. "Sounds like she's someone. Maybe an agent of one of the Lords?"

"Who knows. She seemed decent enough. I suppose she could be what she says."

A quiet and desperate fear curled through her. Isana felt her hands start to shake, and her knees. "And she just happened to arrive that close to him?"

He sighed and shook his head. "I didn't like that part, either. And there's more. Strangers, downstairs. Three of them. They're asking for shelter until the storm blows over."

"And they just happened to show up today." Isana swallowed. "It's happening, isn't it." "And they just happened to show up today." Isana swallowed. "It's happening, isn't it." "We knew it might." "We knew it might." She swore softly. "Furies, Bernard. Crows and b.l.o.o.d.y furies." She swore softly. "Furies, Bernard. Crows and b.l.o.o.d.y furies." His voice sounded pained. "Isana-" His voice sounded pained. "Isana-" She held up her hand toward him. "No, Bernard. No. There's too much to do. How is Tavi?" She held up her hand toward him. "No, Bernard. No. There's too much to do. How is Tavi?"

He pressed his lips together for a moment, but said, "Not good. I was hard on him. Guess I was upset at not knowing what was going on. Worried."

"We have to find out what's going on. We must know whether or not he's in any danger." "We have to find out what's going on. We must know whether or not he's in any danger." "All right. What do you want me to do?" "All right. What do you want me to do?" "Get downstairs, to those strangers. Be polite with them. Get them some food. Get their shoes off." "Get downstairs, to those strangers. Be polite with them. Get them some food. Get their shoes off." "Their shoes-?" "Their shoes-?"

Isana snapped, "Have someone wash their feet, city-style. Just do it." She closed her eyes, thinking. "I'll talk to Tavi. And this Amara. Make sure they aren't hurt worse than you thought."

"She's exhausted," he pointed out. "Looks like she's been run into the ground."

"She shouldn't be up to telling much of a lie, then," Isana said. "I'll be downstairs to talk to the strangers in a bit. Do you know how the storm is shaping up?"

He nodded. "Not as bad as last night, but not pretty. Everyone should be all right if they're indoors, but I've called everyone into the Hall, just to be safe."

"Good," Isana said. "The more people there, the better. Don't leave them alone, Bernard. Don't let them out of your sight. All right?"

"I won't," he promised. "What about Tavi? He should know."

She shook her head. "No. Now more than ever, no. He doesn't need that on his head."

Bernard looked unhappy with her words, but did not gainsay them. He turned toward the stairs, but hesitated, looking into his bedroom, at the girl who lay on the bed. "Isana... the girl is barely more than a child. She's exhausted. She had a chance to do wrong, and she didn't. Tavi says she saved his life. You should let her rest."

"I don't want anyone to be hurt," Isana said. "Go on." "I don't want anyone to be hurt," Isana said. "Go on." His expression hardened. "I mean it." His expression hardened. "I mean it." "All right." "All right." He nodded to her and vanished silently down the stairs again. He nodded to her and vanished silently down the stairs again.

Isana went back into her bedroom and took up her bone-handled brush. She took it with her, gathering her hair over one shoulder, and knocked at Tavi's door. There was no response. She knocked again and said, "Tavi, it's me. May I come in?"

Silence. Then the doork.n.o.b turned and the door opened a fraction. She opened the door the rest of the way and walked into the room.

Tavi's room was dark, with no lights lit. Of course, he couldn't use the fury-lamps, she reminded herself, and he'd been inside since Bernard had come home earlier that day. With the windows shuttered and the storm gathering outside, the place held a surprisingly deep collection of shadows. She could just see him settling back down onto his bed, no more than a dim outline across the room.

She began to brush at her hair, giving him a chance to speak. He remained silent, and after several moments she asked, "How are you feeling, Tavi?"

"Why don't you tell me?" he said, his tone sullen. "I don't know any water-crafting, so how am I supposed to know?" "Why don't you tell me?" he said, his tone sullen. "I don't know any water-crafting, so how am I supposed to know?" Isana sighed. "Tavi, that's not fair. You know that I don't have a choice about what I sense from others." Isana sighed. "Tavi, that's not fair. You know that I don't have a choice about what I sense from others." "Plenty of things aren't fair," he shot back. "Plenty of things aren't fair," he shot back. "You're upset about what your uncle told you." "You're upset about what your uncle told you."

"I worked all year to get those sheep he promised. And this..." He shook his head, his voice tightening with anguish, frustration that pressed against Isana like the heat from an old fire.

"You made some bad choices, Tavi. But that doesn't mean that-"

"Choices," Tavi spat the word bitterly. "As though I ever had that many to make. It isn't like I'm going to have to worry about that again, now."

She tugged the brush at a tangle in her hair. "You're just upset. So was your uncle. This isn't anything to get worked up about, Tavi. I'm sure that when everyone's calmed down-"

The sudden surge of frustration and pain from Tavi hit her like a tangible wind. The brush tumbled from her fingers and to the floor. She caught her breath, though the intensity of the boy's emotions nearly robbed her of balance. "Tavi... are you all right?"

He whispered, "It's nothing to get worked up about." He whispered, "It's nothing to get worked up about." "I don't understand why these sheep are so important to you." "I don't understand why these sheep are so important to you." "No," he said. "You wouldn't. I want to be by myself." "No," he said. "You wouldn't. I want to be by myself."

Isana pressed her lips together and bent carefully to recover her brush. "But I need to talk to you about what happened. There are some things-"

Anger, real, vibrant rage rushed across the room along with the other sensations pouring from him. "I am finished finished talking about what happened," Tavi said. "I want to be alone. Please leave." talking about what happened," Tavi said. "I want to be alone. Please leave."

"Tavi-"

His dim shape rolled over on the bed, turning his back to the door. Isana felt her own emotions begin to drift dangerously toward what the boy felt, his feelings beginning to bleed into hers. She drew a breath, steeling herself against them and said, "All right. But we aren't through talking. Later."

He didn't answer.

Isana retreated from the room. She had hardly shut the door when she heard the latch slide shut on the inside and lock it closed. She had to take several steps down the hall before she emerged from the deluge of the boy's emotions. She couldn't understand it: Why was Tavi so upset over what had happened?

More to the point, what didn't she know about the events of the day before? Could they have any bearing on the arrival of so many strangers to the Valley at once?