Chapter 15
With the end of the dream-dance, the pyre flared and when it died out; it was again a piece of ground enclosed by large gemstones. Her mother’s body, gone. The keeper stood on the far side of the oval. In his hand, he carried a jewel. He strode across the oval, his feet never touching the ground.
By the time he stood in front of them, he was no longer an elderly man with a bald pate and soft linen robe, but now wore the shape of a comely young lady dressed in court finery. The keeper curtsied and when she rose; she was a girl with twin braids of yellow and a lambswool vest with calf’s skin britches.
“Place this gemstone amongst the others. Moira’s spirit is welcomed as one of the keepers,” she said. But the spirit handing her the gem wore the guise of a middle-aged man, dressed in rags, with a scar for one eye and a well-formed mouth. “She has earned her place,” he said.
Kestrel took the stone and looked over at Marley. She hoped he saw how confused she felt. She knew the stone had to do with her mother’s essence, but… Marley must’ve sensed her turmoil and stepped over, putting his arm about her shoulders. And she didn’t think she’d ever felt the need for a hug as greatly. He smiled and leaned in to speak.
“Worry not about the changes of shape this spirit makes. The Keepers, all of them, wanted you to know how welcome your mother is. But if too many gathered in the vale at one time, their power would destroy us. They give you great honor.”
“What is it for?” Kestrel whispered.
“The gemstones tether each of the keepers to this realm. It is their choice and honor to guard the Vale of Chimyra and serve the spirit realm gate guardian.”
Kestrel looked once more at the stone she held. It was a beautiful piece of fire opal. She smiled, just like her mah, she thought. She pulled away from Marley and walked slowly over to the gem-circled oval. The stones, in a way, resembled Moira’s dance circles, her last dance circle.
Just as she had seen her mother do only two mornings before and yet a lifetime ago, Kestrel paced out her mother’s circle. When she came about to stand once more next to the keeper, she stooped, placing the Opel in a spot she sensed belonged to Moira, the dream dancer.
She looked up and the Keeper now wore the guise of her mother. “I must hurry. The guardian’s call is strong. Take this sweet Kestrel, my little bird. And remember you have to spread your wings and take a leap of faith if you are to learn to fly.”
Moira disappeared then and the glowing gems winked out one by one, the fire opal last to give up its glow.
Although the night was fully upon them, the three agreed camping so close to the sacred grounds was not a good idea. They worked quickly, hitching the horses. Her mother’s stallion, still mourning, refused his oats. Kestrel could tell they were glad to be away from this place, for they too felt immense power here and it made them nervous.
Kestrel climbed up on the buckboard with Marley, and Jayf rode in the back rather than taking the Paths. The runesmith guided the horses slowly across the meadow, using what he called essence-globes to light the way. And although glad for their closeness. She was even happier they left her to herself.
The evening’s events still fresh, Kestrel stared off at the floating blue lights, hypnotized. Although she no longer saw the spirits, she felt them in this place. They crowded close, including her mother’s spirit. Memories flooded her mind until at last, she came to the last memory of her and her mother. Kestrel reached in her cloak pocket, pulling out Moira’s last gift to her daughter.
The piece of leather she held, unlike anything she’d ever seen, was the shape of a hawk, wings outstretched. Its head in such fine relief, it might have been a mask for a small avian face, each eye a tiny chip of fire opal. From the wings, four hawk feathers dangled from four silver clasps.
Intrigued but confused, she turned it over in her hands. As she studied it, she realized it was a hair clasp. A pin as long as her hand, from wrist to her first finger joint, pierced the leather wings.
She drew it out just as they stopped beneath a group of low-hanging trees and Marley hopped down. He headed for the thicket, saying he had to take care of some business, and then said over his shoulder. “We’ll camp here. The entrance is close and I can think of few places safer.”
“What is that, Hawkling?” Jayf asked as Kestrel held the pin up, trying to catch more light.
The dragonkin levied himself onto the buckboard next to her and she held the leather up for him to see. “I need Marley to look at this.” She motioned for him to follow and jumped to the ground, scanning their new campsite.
With his arms filled with firewood, the runesmith trotted out from the thicket. He made quick work of laying the fire before he turned to her and spoke.
“Come, let’s take care of the horses.” He said, brushing bark and twigs from his cloak.
“Wait, I have something to show you. My mother gave it to me before she disappeared.” She held out the leather in one hand and the pin in the other.
Curiosity lit his eyes. “What’cha got there?” He asked, taking the fanciful leather and pin. He slid the pin back into its place and walked over to the fire. Holding it up, he studied it and said over his shoulder. “You two go unhitch the horses while I examine this.”
Jayf shrugged and turned back to the wagon. “I will raid our supplies after we take care of the horses. We could all use a hot meal and tonight I am the cook.”
Kestrel smiled. It felt different, like the evening’s events muffled everything, including her sorrow. She bent to the work of unhitching the wagon. Her hands quickly ran over the mare that was partnered with her mother’s Theracan stallion, Plainstrider.
She let Jayf check their hooves, something they neglected that morning, while she scooped up a helping of oats for each from a side barrel. “We are down to the last of the barrel, but I guess it matters not when Plainstrider refuses to eat,” she said, heading back to the wagon with the grieving horse’s share.
Jayf finished with the smaller horse, walked over to stand next to Moira’s companion animal. He stroked the horse’s lowered head and stared up into his eyes. “Plainstrider is inconsolable and wants only to begin his journey to the Grieving Cliffs.”
“There will be no rebirth for the companion this time if he dies, and that is what the companion must decide,” Marley said with a deep sigh as he came up behind Kestrel.
Unwilling to think about losing her mother’s bonded companion, she swallowed hard, blinking back tears, and turned to wander back to the fire. She knew Marley followed behind and waited for him to speak. They stood in silence, staring into the fire until after a few moments Marley handed the hair clasp back to her and spoke in words, quiet and thoughtful.
“Remember the items we laid out when building the pyre? The necklace with the hawk feathers from her gyre hawk, the scarf, and the flask with the silver flower stopper.” He nodded at the leather in her hands. “All those items are there in the making of that. The eyes are chips of Moira’s essence and the silver traced glyphs etched into the pin used silver from the stopper, even the clasps for each of her amulet feathers are from there, and the leather is leather from the flask fused with the scarf.”
Jayf returned from the back of the wagon with a parcel of smoked venison and supplies for a stew. “Can you read the glyphs on the pin or the feather clasps?” he asked Marley as he set up a cooking pot and began preparing the meal.
Marley shook his head. “Those spiraling around the stick are unknown to me, but I think if you found one versed in the element of spirit weaving, you would find your answer. The glyphs holding the feathers in place are chance, choice, challenge and change.” He glanced at her as she pulled the pin from its slots. “Seems the Fates have touched you.”
She stared at the stick and leather and felt the power there, but didn’t understand it. Nor did she think she was ready to try. With a sigh, she put the hair clasp back together and secreted it away in her pouch.
Raising her head, her gaze sought Jayf on the far side of the fire. “Do I have time to talk with Plainstrider before dinner is ready, Jayf?”
The dragonkin nodded and she turned on her heel, leaving them both looking dumbfounded.
If nothing else, she wanted Plainstrider to know more than his companion loved him. Kestrel stood next to the stallion, resting her head on the horse’s neck, and whispered to him. After a while, she felt the horse relax and they stood in silence, remembering all their times together with and without Moira.
She returned to Jayf finishing the stew, but the runesmith no longer kept him company at the fire. Kestrel dug through the saddlebags and brought out bowls and scoops. Jayf filled her a bowl and picking up a hunk of dark, heavy traveler’s bread, she scanned their camp for Marley.
“I will return for mine in a moment,” Kestrel said over her shoulder.
She found him staring off into the night, deep in thought. In his hands, he held the collar and key he’d taken off Jayf. He looked terrible, his left cheekbone coloring with a bruise and a cut above his right temple. She had forgotten the extent of the pain inflicted on him the night before.
He turned to her, his eyes full of concern, and asked. “You know we need to leave the wagon behind, don’t you?”
She pressed her lips together, not willing to speak, and nodded. She knew they did, but the wagon was her place in the clan, the only home she’d ever known and all she had left of her life with her mother.
Marley must have sensed her turmoil, for he tucked the collar and key away and took her offered bowl and bread. “An interesting thing about this place, anything left within this vale comes under the guardianship of the keepers and will be tended and protected until you are ready to reclaim it. And when it is time, you will find this glade once more. Now, let’s go back to the fire and keep Jayf company.”
With a sigh, she followed him back to the fire where Jayf stirred the pot he’d propped on rocks. Kestrel stood and watched as a piece of wood popped and sparks flew into the air and flecks of ash floated down, some of them landing in the stew, no matter how hard Jayf tried to cover it with the spoon and a bowl.
“Take this before it is more ash than food,” he said, scooping the stew into a bowl. He handed it to her, his long ponytail stuffed in his tunic to keep it out of the flames and the gravy.
Kestrel took her bowl and sat on one of the saddles, glad for a place to sit, close enough for some warmth. Marley excused himself to pack supplies into packs to carry. She waved Jayf over to the other saddle after he dished up his bowl.
They sat lost in their thoughts as they ate, and Kestrel’s mind wandered to the yanzul. She still sensed her out there, but it was as if the essence of this glade warded against all but the slightest touch of what Jayf informed her was called mind-speak.
“How would we ask the Keepers to allow the yanzul entrance, I wonder? It is time, I think,” she paused, her words catching on their import, “that she and I meet.” A shiver slid down Kestrel’s spine as she spoke the last sentence. So much had happened over the past two days, but it was the time and the place for this, too. She was sure.
Jayf’s face, as enigmatic as always, his eyes, lazy swirls of shadows and shades in the firelight, said, “The yanzul is on her way in now, for the guardian spirits have heard and honor your request.”
With the dishes cleaned and repacked, she turned to search out the runesmith when the yanzul skimmed across the sky, landing a little way out in the meadow. Kestrel’s smile felt tight, and she tried to quiet her heart as her mind raced her pulse.
Wondering what the yanzul wanted and why now, she glanced up to find Marley, once more, approaching the fire. He looked tired and beaten, but resolute. On a whim, Kestrel grabbed an ale flask as she headed towards the yanzul and, passing by the runesmith, handed it to him.
Marley rewarded her with a surprised look and a delighted smile when he realized what she handed him. The satisfaction of that rare sight warmed and calmed her as she hurried to where the creature waited in the shadows.
Peace to you, child of the Tree.
The large golden owl eyes entranced her, reflecting her image from a world of mystery. “Your pardon, but I am a child of the clans.” Her voice, breaking as she spoke.
Not ready to let the creature into her mind, she steeled herself and continued, “I… thank you for your help back… the other night.”
Panic rose in her throat as she thought of the night before and she rushed on, uncertain the yanzul understood her speech. “What do you want with me? How can I discharge this life debt I have incurred with you?” She’d heard those words spoken at different times in the clans, but she never thought she would say them at her age and... like this.
The yanzul’s beak snapped. Her answer echoed in Kestrel’s mind as if the owly creature had spoken directly to her. There is no life debt when the Fates roll the runes.
Kestrel had the distinct impression the owl creature reprimanded her as the yanzul’s eyes blinked shut, turning her face into a mask of dark on dark.
“Why did you call me a child of the Tree?”
Because that is what your essence says you are.
Kestrel looked down at herself. She never considered reading her own essence. And aside from the color and the strength, she knew so little of what any of it meant. Or of what importance it was to her.
I am here with a message from one that would meet with you. The creature paused, her head swiveling to take in the vale. And perhaps with answers you do not know to seek. When you are ready.
Kestrel sidled back a little toward the fire and her friends. The events of the past handful of days crowded around her as she tried to absorb what the yanzul said. She shook her head, her arms folded across her chest. “Not tonight, I am so weary; the questions I would ask crumble half-formed.”
Sleep well, child, you are guarded in this vale and we shall wait for your inclination. Again the yanzul’s eyes blinked shut, leaving Kestrel to the night.
The glowing embers of the fire led her back with welcoming warmth, but she was glad Marley and Jayf slept and more questions would not be asked. Still, as she closed her eyes, those unasked questions tracked her through her dreams and far into the night.