Renegade's Magic

When Soldier’s Boy paused, I thought surely he would say that was enough journeying for the day. Instead, he caught his breath for a few moments and then asked, “Where does Kinrove’s kin-clan spend the summer? Where is his dance located?”



“He will be about a day’s journey from here, to the southwest. He has summered there every summer for many years, at a place that offers space, water, and food for his dancers.”



“Can you describe the path there for me?”



“Yes,” she began, and then suddenly shook her head. “But no. Not well enough for you to quick-walk there. No!” she repeated more emphatically at his look. “All know the dangers of a quick-walk when the path is not well known to the Great One. There are tales of two Great Ones who have simply vanished forever attempting such a feat. Unless you have your mentor’s memories to guide us, it is hopeless. We will need to walk the rest of the way there. It will be all right, Nevare. It is only one more night.”



I heard in her voice that even one more night seemed too many to her, but also her determination that Soldier’s Boy would not risk himself pushing on in ignorance. His own determination was as strong. “Very well. But we will continue walking in that direction, then. Southwest, you said?”



“Yes. But first we will go downhill for a ways. Then we will see a trail that goes in that direction. It will not be hard to find. His dancers have traveled with him and they will have trampled the path fresh quite recently. Come. Walk. But at a sensible pace. Remember, I am still your feeder and still have the care of you.”



Although they no longer quick-walked, she kept hold of his hand. When he would have hastened the pace, she held him back to a steady walk. As she had predicted, it was very easy to see where Kinrove’s dancers had gone. When they diverged on a trail to the south, Olikea and Soldier’s Boy followed them. She dropped his hand once, to leave the path and harvest several large clumps of mushrooms by the wayside. When she returned, she walked even more slowly. Even so, by the time the light was fading, his back ached abominably and his feet were very sore. He realized he was limping, and when they came to a small stream that crossed the path, he did not object when Olikea announced, “We will spend the night here.”



A hummock of earth shaped itself into a receptive chair for him. Olikea set to work immediately making a cook fire. He sat down and almost immediately realized he was far more tired than he had thought. Only the smell of the cooking food kept him awake. She glanced up at him once, to ask with a wry smile, “Are you glad now that I did not come away with nothing at all? We would be eating raw mushrooms tonight and little else.”



“You were wise,” he conceded, and for the first time in weeks I saw a genuine smile light her face.



The meal she made was simple, but it was hot and good. They ate together from the cooking pot, and had only fresh cold water to drink. The meal did not fill him, but then, no meal really ever had. It was enough to subdue the pangs of hunger. By the time they had finished eating, all light had fled the sky and the dark of night surrounded them. She fed the fire enough fuel to leave the flames dancing companionably, and then came to the couch he summoned from the forest floor. As she slipped under the blanket beside him, he felt a stir of arousal at her nearness. Before he could so much as touch her, she pressed herself against him.



She made love to him that night with the same uninhibited passion she had shown when first she had seduced me. They were alone, and with a common purpose, and perhaps that was all that was needed to make it seem, for that night, as if they loved each other. By the time she was finished with him, his weariness and aching joints had been replaced with a clean tiredness. She lay with her head on his chest and he stroked her long damp hair. Neither of them spoke; perhaps they were finally wise enough to know when words could only spoil something.



The dawn light through the young leaves overhead woke them. Olikea stirred the fire from the ashes and used the last of the food she had brought to make a hearty breakfast. She had saved the mushrooms she’d picked the day before and fed them to him now, and Soldier’s Boy felt their rejuvenating effect gratefully. They did not completely drive the ache from his back or the weariness from his legs, but he was able to rise without groaning. Olikea quenched their small fire with water from the stream and they journeyed on, the treasure bag slung over his shoulder.



By noon, they could hear the drumming and sometimes the occasional whoop or drawn-out, plaintive calls from Kinrove’s dancers. The magic, one of weariness and sorrow directed toward the Gernians, was like a cooking smell carried on the summer wind. “We draw near,” Soldier’s Boy said with relief, but Olikea shook her head. “Sound carries here, as does magic. I have heard that Kinrove chose the location for his dance carefully, so that the forest and the vales would amplify both the dance and the magic. We still have some way to travel, but we shall be there before evening.”