Chapter 6
“Good Morning, Mistress Hawk,” Moira said as Kestrel rose from her bed in the wagon. She reached out, helping her daughter free herself of the animal hide blankets piled on her pallet. “What kept you out so late?” She asked, trying to keep her irritation and her own late-night out of her voice.
Kestrel rubbed the blur out of her sleepy eyes and turned away stiffly. Moira’s eyes narrowed. She dipped a rag in a bucket of cool water, wondering why the question threatened the girl.
“I was just out watchin things,” she said, taking the soft wet cloth Moira offered. She swiped it across her face before continuing. “You’ve huddled with those of dreams and visions from the other clans since we got here. Most everyone else is busy setting up booths for the Kalayani Festival,” she said with a shrug. “You forbade me to go into Four Corners alone… I became bored, so… I watched.” A look of accusation flashed in her daughter’s eyes as she returned the cloth.
“Watched?”
The girl shrugged once again. “Is there anything to eat?” She asked, wiggling her way past Moira and reaching for the backboard.
“Watched what, Kestrel?” Moira asked. “Watched is a large word in an even larger world, my young Hawkling,” she said, putting her hand on her daughter’s shoulder to stop her.
With a sigh, Kestrel turned back to her mother. “I was practicing my scouting skills, marking the hither and thither of the two farlanders.”
“Now, was that so hard?” Moira said with a chuckle, trying to lighten her daughter’s mood. “Which two farlanders would you be talking about?” Her meeting with Marley the night before came to mind as she waited, her gaze searching her daughter’s face.
Kestrel huffed, but after a moment nodded and said with a dramatic sigh, “Your arrow flies true. The two that joined our wagons this last evening. A short little box of a man, with a bristling beard of silver and soot. And a little boy with long dark hair all done up and flowing down his back.”
She grinned at Kestrel’s description and followed her out of the wagon. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” Her daughter turned back to her and Moira touched the tip of her finger to the girl’s slender nose. “The morning has all but fled, but break your fast with an oatcake and an apple.” She pointed at the bags hanging from the back frame of the wagon. “Then come, you can eat while we walk.”
The meticulously groomed dance circle lay sheltered from prying eyes by a thick stand of evergreens. Moira hesitated, thinking of the night before, and turned to Kestrel. “Stay here while I check a couple things.” She paced once about the spectator’s ring before slipping into the circle.
The breeze played across her skin, soft and teasing. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The spicy scent of wood smoke from the cook fires tickled her nose and beneath that, the rich loamy scent of soil, freshly turned for Kalayani planting. As she turned her concentration inward, the daily noise and clamor of the caravan faded to a background rhythm.
She swayed, turning like a leaf drifting in water- here fast, then slow, turning, turning. She sensed the whorls and flows of Tavir, the streams of it emanating from everything. From some things, an almost unnoticeable presence. But everything living or dead had a mark, a forever essence.
The currents around the dream-dancer pulled at her, tempting her to release herself to the dance with its visions and power. She stopped, pulling herself back from the temptation. Last night whispered in the back of her mind and she knew her daughter watched. Tonight, a novice dancer from Barrick Horse-Tamer’s clan would weave the dreams and release the visions for those who paid.
Moira didn’t want to taint the weavings with any that might linger. She opened her eyes, completing her inspection of the circle and with slow sweeping gestures she smoothed out the unseen eddies and whorls she disturbed. Then her gaze searched out Kestrel, and she smiled and waved.
From the edge of the glen, Kestrel watched her mah sway in the dance circle. Although the elders forbade the youth of the clans from the dream-dances until they bonded with a spirit-talisman, she often caught a snatch here or there of her mah’s practice. Never enough to bring dream-visions. Still, lately, she noticed strange swirls of colors or something spinning within Moira’s movements.
But her memory of Caussara, her great-mother, telling her of the time when the clansmen allowed the youth to attend the dances stopped her from looking deeper. Caussara said many were drawn into the dreams and became forever lost in the warp and weft of the visions. Although the swirls beckoned her to explore deeper, she blinked and stepped back. The spirit-talisman created an anchor and guide, so she would wait.
Her mah opened her eyes and stepped away from the circle. She acknowledged Kestrel with a wave. “Come, Little Bird. I have friends for you to meet.”
Surprised, Kestrel grinned, letting her mah draw her out of the glade. Then, almost as if Moira called them out of the Mists of Rana, the two farlanders came around the last wagon of the caravan.
Moira winked at her and smiled in welcome at the two farlanders. “Ah, Marley, my old friend. I am so glad you and Jayf have come. It gives me joy to introduce you to my daughter Kestrel Thorn.”
Kestrel shifted from one foot to the other under the weight of the older one’s scrutiny, but he smiled with genuine warmth. “The pass of years has brought many changes, I see.” He clapped Moira to himself in a big bear of a hug. “So this is Kestrel. She is an unexpected and pleasant surprise, Moira.”
A quizzical expression upon his face, he turned to her with impressive grace for someone so squarely built and sketched a courtly bow. “I look forward to learning more about you, Mistress Thorn.”
Marley stepped back, not waiting for her to reply, and Jayf took her attention. Kestrel gasped softly. Not the little boy she thought he was, she blurted out, “What are you?” before he could speak.
Her hand flew to her mouth and she felt her face flamed from chin to her delicately pointed ears. “Oh my, I am so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I just… I’ve met no one like you before.”
“No insult taken, young one,” Jayf said, his voice carrying farther than his small frame suggested. “We rarely wander far from our clans, at least on this side of the land. I am a Kithandar, one of the dragonkin, and I will be happy to call you friend.”
“You don’t look like a dragon.” She bit her lip, wishing she could pull back her words.
He winked at her. “And neither do you. I am glad to see you made it home… after last night’s journey…” he said, changing the subject. “I fear you could not go where I needed to go.”
His eyes, larger than any she had ever seen, swirled with deep shadowy blues and greens. His face, more angular than any espiare or human she knew, looked back at her with amusement dancing in those swirly eyes. She lowered her gaze, noticing his hands. His fingers, fine-boned and long, nonetheless looked strong. Kestrel’s eyes widened as she realized he only had three fingers and a thumb on each hand.
She turned to her mah in fascination and froze, a blush once more claiming her face. By the deep downward slant of Moira’s brows, Kestrel knew Jayf’s revelations would be a topic for later. She just hoped she could somehow abate the harshness of her punishment.
“He… he shouldn’t have seen me. I... I truly didn’t go far before I ended up headed back to the camp. I was a shadow,” Kestrel whispered to her mah. “Who-are-these-two, for it is true, he slipped past me as if shrouded.”
She glanced back at them, sure they heard her question. The bigger one, Marley Stonebender, looked on compassionately. But something about the little one made her feel like he knew more about her than she knew herself. He tugged at Marley’s sleeve and, although unexpected, they moved farther away. Kestrel was glad of the privacy, but still felt miffed and with a slight shake of her head, she raised it a little higher and waited for her mah to speak.
Moira gazed at Marley and Jayf, chewing her lip, and Kestrel waited while she considered her words. Her mah finally said, “Each comes to the clans with their own story. Your great-father once said that. When I asked a similar question about that self-same Marley Stonebender. If you want to learn who he is, spend time with him.”
She nodded her head toward the farlanders and continued. “This is the first time I have met Jayf, and tis true I know little about the dragonkin, but I doubt you will find anyone more honorable than the runesmith and bard Marley Stonebender.”
Like iron to a lodestone, Kestrel’s gaze swung back to the pair of farlanders. Bards were common enough among the clans, but a runesmith and a dragonkin. The very names spoke mystery, magic, and adventure to her ear. She hoped she didn’t sound over-enthusiastic as she suggested, “Perhaps we should invite them to sup at our fire, mah.”
Moira chuckled and said, “I am glad you are taking such an interest in my friends.” She hooked her arm through Kestrels. “I will let you do the honor of inviting them,” she said, pulling Kestrel toward the two farlanders. “And then, to your delinquent chores.”
Intent on avoiding the lecture and discipline Kestrel expected, she sped through her work. For although she deserved it, she would’ve given up her first-line at archery practice if Jayf would’ve stayed quiet about her following him. By the time afternoon slid into evening, a savory rabbit stew burbled in the cook pot. The blankets lay where they belonged, shaken and folded, and wood for the evening stacked next to the fire pit.
Her mah bent over the pot and gave the stew a taste test and, looking up, nodded her approval. She sprinkled in her special blend of spices and gave the pot a firm stir. Then straightening, a spoon in one hand and a spice pouch in the other, she pinned Kestrel with her gaze.
Her mah’s expression shifted through a handful of emotions and for a dozen heartbeats, Kestrel felt like the world held its breath as Moira looked upon her soul. But then everything shifted back into motion and she felt a settling in her spirit.
When her mah spoke, there was the slightest undertone of apprehension in her voice. “The stars are wheeling in the heavens and the Fates are dancing on their tips. Although my heart wants to say you are too young, I guess, it is time to allow this baby bird to try its wings.”
With a sigh, she continued, “If you will train as a scout, you must learn that scouts report to someone in charge. Whether me, your great-father or your great-mother, speak to one of us before you leave camp and remember, always take your bow and your knife and, if at all possible, a companion.
“Now, speaking of your great-mother, scout your way over there and ask her sweetly for a loaf of her wonderful bread.” Moira pointed at the shadow of their wagon stretching across the ground. “She said it would be ready when the shadows came full turn.”
Kestrel blinked back her surprise and pleasure for just a moment, allowing the implications of what her mah said to sink in. Then she let out a little whoop, trying to hold back the grin that threatened to split her cheeks.
She crossed to where Moira stood, and needing to feel her embrace, she hugged her. “I will make you proud, mah, thank you.”
After a few moments, she pulled away, trotting toward the circle of the clan leaders’ wagons. “I shall return victorious with a rich, plump loaf of warm bread for our feast.” She smiled as she heard her mah’s laughter follow her.
Dusk found Kestrel perched on a stump, balancing a bowl of stew replete with thick slices of her great-mother’s aromatic bread. Settled close enough to the fire to ward off the early kalayani chill, she concentrated on listening to the adult’s conversation while she ate.
Upon finishing the stew, Moira reached into a pack she had brought from the wagon and drew forth a flask Kestrel rarely saw. It was of a quality hide, but what made it special, in her eyes, was the topper crafted of silver in the shape of a cluster of flowers. The bard’s face lit up at the sight of the flask, and Kestrel assumed that he also thought it special, if for a different reason.
“Remember this?” Her mah asked, handing the flask to Marley. Merriment danced across his face, and laughter sparkled in Moira’s voice. “It has fulfilled your promise to never run dry.”
Kestrel watched the interaction between her mah and Marley, suddenly realizing who he was. He was the one that mentored Moira in her youth. The one that gave her the flask they passed. She had heard stories of him, but he seemed shorter. And she thought he would be older.
Marley Stonebender took the proffered flagon and with great ceremony removed the ordinate silver stopper attached to the flask by an intricate chain. He took a long swallow and a grin spread from eyes to lips. “It does hold a choice beverage.”
He passed the flask to Jayf, who, like Kestrel, sat back listening while the two old friends talked. The dragonkin took a sniff of the flask contents before taking a small drink, but instead of handing it back to Marley, he hopped up from his seat and, with a small flourish, held it out to Kestrel.
“One sip?” He quizzed Moira and when she gave a nod, he gave the flask to Kestrel. “One sip, young one,” he admonished, waiting for her to drink and hand back the flagon.
The viscous liquid clung to her tongue, tingling as it spread. With a harmony of flavors vying for her attention, it slid down her throat. And in that swallow, she could well imagine herself lazing in a sun-drenched meadow of wildflowers on a long tinandra day.
The warmth of the mead settled in her belly and she touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip, sucking in a stray drop of the nectar. She carefully handed the flask back to Jayf and after a moment pronounced, “It tastes like a hug.”
Jayf’s face split into a grin. His topknot bobbed up and down. “It does indeed, Mistress Thorn. It does indeed.” He passed the drink back to his friend.
After another quick swallow and with his thoughtful gaze trained on Kestrel, Marley put the stopper back in the flask and handed it to Moria. “Well, and well,” he said. “How long has Kestrel been this beautiful part of your life?”
Moira stirred the fire, putting on another small log. She poured more kala for their guests before she spoke. “A sorrowful wind blew out of the highlands of Rhoaddyn, not a double handful of days after you left the clans, eleven years ago.”
She glanced at her daughter as she sat and continued. “They found Kestrel, on the far side of the bridge at Northpoint Station. Clan hunters discovered her in a wagon overturned in a snowbank a half day’s journey from Urias Rift Crossing.”
Moira shrugged. “There was no sign of her parents. It was presumed they were attacked and killed or taken. Perhaps Kestrel was overlooked or hidden. Whatever the case she was found close enough to death that a few more hours and exposure would’ve taken her. She was a toddler, no more than three.”
Marley nodded. “To lose your family and be without kin or home is an onerous burden for anyone, let alone a babe. To lose both and hold no knowledge of who your ancestors are and where you are from is harsh, indeed.”
Kestrel always felt so uncomfortable when her mah talked about how she came to the clans. Her memories of that time were few. The one that cared for her, her Nonee, was now but a shadowy memory. And only small bits and pieces of memories from that time remained. A small crystal flute and a scarf of gossamer lace tucked away in their wagon amongst her things was the sum of her past before the clans.
She sighed to herself, hoping their talk would turn to the enchantments and adventure she longed to hear about. Shifting in her seat, she surveyed the camp, only listening with half an ear as her mah talked. Her gaze flitted across Jayf’s face and returned as she realized he watched her. So many questions dance in her mind.
His eyes seemed to dare her to do something about the conversation if she didn’t like where it was. Jayf winked at her and she turned back to Marley. And hoping to draw out tales of runes and magic and fantastical cities, she interrupted, asking, “What has brought you to our clan, are you seeking mystical artifacts at the festival or new deeds about which to sing?”
“My time with the clan is limited. We leave before the sun finds the morning.” He downed the rest of his kala before he continued, “The wind calls my name in the tongue of the dragon, Ymarii’s tongue. And the call is… relentless.”
Kestrel heard Moira’s sharp intake of breath and knew her own eyes had gone wide. She sighed. She loved the way he spoke and decided perhaps the life of a wandering bard was the life for her.
But the moment passed, Moira rose with an exclamation, “I think this tale needs something stronger than kala to accompany it.”
She retrieved a flagon of ale and poured a healthy measure into the runesmith’s cup. Her brow furrowed as she pondered her friend’s statement. “The Atheryl Guardian is calling to you?” She asked, her voice thoughtful. “Is it not Ymarii that holds your claim to your Vortryl heritage?”
Once again, Kestrel scrutinized the farlander. So he was a Vortryl. She combed her memory for all she knew about them. And decided she knew nothing, for she presumed from the talk of those more traveled than her that the Vortryl had three eyes. And unless one hid in the hair on his head or within his beard… he only had two eyes visible.
She considered asking him about it. But on second thought, she remembered one of her great-father’s sayings. Something about discretion and wisdom and knowing when to be discreet was a path to wisdom. Today, she concluded, was a good day to follow the wise path of discretion. And she hoped he would explain.
Marley rubbed his hand across his eyes and down the bridge of his nose, finally letting it settle in a grip on his beard. He took a deep breath and began speaking, but paused and took a healthy gulp from his cup. From the look on his face, Kestrel guessed he was glad it was ale.
“Aye, the dragon holds my stone eye as a mark for the boon I owe her. A double handful of days ago, a none too subtle messenger of hers paid me a visit.” He chuckled, glancing around. “A wind sprite with an... attitude.”
“And which way does this wind blow you?” Moira asked, her eyes bright with interest, also scanned the area.
When the wind sprite did not appear, Jayf said, “I trust her to keep her promises. She said, if we left in the morning, she would leave us alone for the evening.”
Marley humphed and glanced around once more before he continued, “South to her lair in the Bitterun Mountains.”
“You have met the dragon, Ymarii? What does she look like?” Kestrel asked, enthusiasm carrying her voice, her commitment to discretion forgotten.
He sucked down the last of the ale. “Well, and well, that depends on what she wants you to see. For most times, she holds the form of a dragon, both terrifying and beautiful. That is her true elemental form. Although her humankind form is pleasant to behold, I believe she perceives herself most vulnerable in this form and thus exposes herself only in the rarest of circumstances. The dragonkin say she has two other forms, but I was never privy to verify those claims.”
“Dragonkin! Were they like Jayf? Jayf, are you one of Ymarii’s children?” Kestrel’s voice snapped with excitement. She almost laughed out loud. Had she really been trying to follow in stealth a child of the Aetheryl Guardian?
As she sat admiring the irony of it, Jayf broke into her reverie with an answer to her question. “No, I am a Kithandar and Ymarii’s hatchlings, well they are hatchlings. They are from the dragon’s eggs, hatched upon this plane. The guardian’s hatchlings would still live with her in her lair. They’re also known as Kindarlings or the Kin.”
Sharing the lore of the elementals brought obvious joy to Jayf, and his eyes shone brightly as he continued. “On the death of a guardian, their hatchlings will leave the guardian’s warren to live out their lives, and if they are lucky, to have families of their own. Most of the Kin between the Calimir Ocean to the west and the Firasian Sea to the east settled in Windy Cove and along the Agastar coast. The Kith are descendants of the hatchlings, the Kin.”
Jayf paused, his small strange face apologetic, but Kestrel looked on, fascinated. She felt more confused than before and unable to hold back the questions she asked. “Then where do the true dragons come from?”
“To be born as a dragon instead of a hatchling, the egg must hatch on the elemental plane of its mother. Or, as with Ymarii, the hatchling must quest in their mother’s realm to win their dragon form,” Marley said.
“So Ymarii started out as a hatchling?” Kestrel asked.
“Aye, when her mother, Lamarii, the Aetheryl Guardian before Ymarii died in the battle of Kverka Mountain pass, Ymarii was the eldest hatchling. They say the wind called to Ymarii, requesting she find her mah’s heart and take it to Aetheryl. She returned as a full dragon and the new Guardian,” Jayf added to Marley’s explanation.
“I hate to bring the conversation back to your journey at hand,” Moira said with a pointed look, silencing Kestrel’s next question. “But do you know where Ymarii’s cavern is? Where are the Bitterun Mountains located?”
“Far to the south. A hatchling will meet me in Windy Cove and then south again on the Dragon Paths.” Marley shrugged as he finished the sentence.
Moira nodded, refilling his mug with ale. She moved to fill Jayf’s, but he placed his small hand on the top and stood.
Kestrel’s heart dropped as she realized Jayf was leaving and that probably signaled the end of this magical evening. “You are not leaving already,” Kestrel cried. She hopped up, helping her mah gather the bowls from dinner.
“We have pushed hard to get this far so quickly and must leave tomorrow. Tonight, Jayf has a letter to deliver in Four Corners and will again do a little scouting while we catch up.” He looked pointedly at Kestrel. “I would ask Moira’s permission for you to go with him, perhaps, you can pick up an extra trick or two.”
Kestrel felt her face warm, but excitement won out over the embarrassment and she grinned at her mah. “Can I?”
Moira smiled back and nodded. “I will take care of the dishes… tonight. Just be back in time to get a little sleep. And wear your clan cloak, I want all to know if they touch you… they touch the Thorn-wolfs.” She turned to the runesmith. “Have you a wagon, Marley?”
“Nay, we travel light and too fast for the likes of my small cart. We left what we couldn’t carry in my workshop at Northpoint Station.”
“Why don’t they sleep at our fire, Mah?” Kestrel asked, excited to spend more time with them.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking at Marley and Jayf. “Why don’t they?”
Marley returned the grin she gave him. “A splendid idea. I will get my saddle and bags from Dondorian’s wagon. After all the meetings this morning, I am sure he and Caussara have had enough of my words for another handful of years. I would enjoy your company, if you will walk with me, Moira.
Kestrel gave her mah a quick hug and a whispered thank you.
“Be safe my hawkling.”
“She will be. Jayf excels at what he does,” Marley said. “Missy, if you want to get your bow, Jayf will wait.”
With a quick glance back at her mah, Kestrel dashed over to their wagon, her feet dancing across the ground.