Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (13 page)

Two more days passed as they weaved their way home. Soon it was familiar territory. Orion remembered clearings they passed through—the one where he first rode a kardja, the one where Kerry was born and bequeathed to him. The long clear summer twilight, the deep icy star-studded nights of winter, life with a profusion of playful kardja racing, grazing, kids playing around him. He missed his mother and couldn't wait to see her again.

He imagined her kissing his wound and making it disappear like she always did. This time there was no kiss big enough.

Another day's travel brought him home. As night was falling with thighs sore from a long day's ride, and Kerry favoring her left foreleg, they arrived at the cabin. Terror smote him. As if a bolt of lightning had struck, the scene was forever seared into his mind. The cabin, dark, no smoke rising, with the door standing on one hinge, open. His mothers cupboards broken in a heap in the front yard. And next to the cabin, in a gently sloped mound, the grave.

In the cool of the early morning Orion traipsed through the woods, Kerry left behind to rest. His thoughts were too confusing to sort—the night had lasted too long. Desperation to get away from the whirling, circling re-living of recent events made sleep impossible. Even now, it was all he could do to make one foot step in front of another.

He tripped on a branch and fell hard into the ground. He lay there for a moment, the vortex of pain tearing at his brain. Gritting his teeth he rose on all fours like a kardja then stood upright. Willing himself to think of nothing but his steps. The tree in front. The path below.

He didn't know where he was going. Gravity, or habit, perhaps, led him downhill and the trail proved irresistible. He had never gone to Darach without a reason before. Perhaps there was a reason: however, he knew it not.

A mop of bright red hair entered his blurry vision at Darach. “Orion! There you are! You look awful.” Enda's voice arrested him. He stopped walking and just looked at her. The brown eyebrows he always found strange for being darker than her hair. The open mouth, a thin ridge of red encircling it. The eyes.

Her darning had dropped, forgotten, on the ground in front of her. She ran and hugged him. “I'm so sorry.”

Orion stood there, leaning on her as one leans on a fence post. He felt nothing. Then, slowly, her chest started heaving against him. Her breath quivered then she began to sob into his shoulder. His arms found their way around her back and clasped her to himself. Her tears prompted his and together they stood, rocking back and forth in a daze. Their salty flow hurt, but with a good hurt.

It was too much, too fast. Soon there were no tears left. Dry-eyed, the two neighbors settled back onto their own feet and looked at each other. Orion felt like he would never cry again. There was no more worry, no more fear. Everything of his had been taken, ripped away from him, and there was nothing left.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded.

“We buried your mother as best we could. We wanted to wait for you, but that would not be right.” Her voice broke. “If only I knew the spices to keep her body well, you might have seen her one last time.” She cried for another minute.

His right hand stroked her back.

“Where did you bury your father?”

“The mountain will bury him,” he said, with finality. Then he jerked back from her. “How did you know?”

She jumped, frightened. “Ramona told me. Oh, bother, I don't know if I'll get it right. It's just...”

“How did she die? How did she know?” Orion felt anger at the girl rise in him.

“She died when he did. At least that's what I think she meant.”

“What? Why?”

“Please, sit down. And be patient, I don't understand it myself. And,” she looked around, “perhaps inside.”

Still annoyed Orion suffered himself to be led away from the half-dozen villagers that had gathered in the past few minutes. He hadn't even noticed them until Enda mentioned it. They walked to the smithy and went around the back, leaving Kerdae, from the sounds of things, fiddling with something in the forge. The sound calmed Orion, combined with Enda's warm hand gently pulling him along.

Her soft hand reminded him of his mother: how he hated being limited to her reach when he was a young child! He longed for freedom, to run and play where he would, and rued the wave that called him back to her side.

They sat at the table. Orion flashed back to when he was here not six weeks ago: he thought they had lost everything then. How wrong he had been. Then he had lost nothing.

“I'm sure I'll forget some things. Let me speak as I remember, though, then together we'll try to make sense of it, okay?”

He nodded.

“I stayed with your mother until they, I mean, you, um they and you left. That night when father came for me she insisted we eat there. The next day she came to visit us and helped me catch up with cleaning.” The words continued on. Orion stifled his impatience, remembering she was one of his few friends left. He watched her fingers play among themselves, her jaw ripple with the words, and her eyes, welling over in pity, punctuate.

“Then after that, that would be two? No, three days ago, she had a sharp pain. At least that's what it looked like though I saw no wound.

“She tried hard to speak. No words came at first. Then I found out your father had,” Enda gulped, “died. She spoke as if to him, not to me. As if she saw him.”

Orion sat there, hardly breathing. “You mean there was no wound? No accident, no fall, no fever?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

“Then it seemed as if her vision faded. She reached out after him then fell against me. She then said your name. 'Orion, Orion! Tell Orion.'”

“Tell me what?”

Enda shut her eyes. “Take. Ring. Queen. Oh bother, the last one was strange. A sparrow. That's it, a sparrow. Take ring queen a sparrow.”

Orion screwed up his face in thought.

“You don't know what it means?” she asked.

Orion was about to answer when the trampling of hooves caught his here. “They're here,” he whispered fiercely.

“Who?” At the look in her face a split second later Orion knew he didn't need to answer. “Why? We're safe here.”

“We need to hide. Leave.” He pushed her away as he heard footsteps hurrying up to the door. They left Kerdae to his own confusion and fled into the woods.

“One more thing, Enda. Did my mother have a ring on her hand when you buried her?”

“No, why?”

His heart sank. “Was there a visitor in Darach?”

“No.”

“And you made everything nice when you buried her.”

“Of course. Orion, what's wrong?”

“Someone tore the cabin apart. It's gone!”

Eleven

“What?” Enda crouched behind a tree stump. Orion had his back against another nearby.

“The ring. My mother's ring.”

“She had a ring?”

“She hardly wore it. Most of the time it was hidden. A lot of good that did.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, Orion. It would have been nice to remember her by.”

“You don't understand. It's the ring she mentioned.”

“What?”

“The thing I'm to take. The thing that will prove who I am in Avallonë.” They had been crouching behind a tree throughout this back-and-forth. With a sigh Orion sat down against a rotting log. He put his elbows on his knees and stared at his clasped hands. “Without it I'm a homeless wanderer.”

“Oh.”

The sounds changed. The pair listened as the horsemen roused Kerdae from his work. Orion felt Enda pinch his arm at the elbow with her grip. “Orion. What are they doing? They didn't bother him before.”

She thought he had the answer for that? My father killed one of their horses. Kerry knocked Riley out cold and outclassed them on the slopes. They can't hurt him anymore and they can't find me, so your father's the next best. He sighed.

It would sound even worse out loud. His troubled mind tried pushing away yet more unanswered questions as he tried to ignore the ring and merchant.

He focused on the tumult. It grew quieter as the raucous band left the blacksmith. He breathed out, relieved. They weren't mad enough to endanger the blacksmith. Yet. Just him.

And Enda, if they found her unprotected.

Some time passed. Orion crept back towards the smithy. “They're gone for now.”

She joined him at the edge of the forest. “What are you going to do now?”

“I don't know. I thought I'd sleep in your attic, if it's okay.”

She smiled. “Oh of course. I mean now with them here and the ring gone?”

“I don't know. Hide, I think.” His head throbbed with take ring queen a-sparrow to the beat of hooves. What did his mother mean?

Supper tasted horrible. Some dried meat, bland vegetables, and broth that was mostly water. How could the meat be too dry and too wet at the same time? At least it was hot.

Kerdae told them what happened. “They're looking for you, Brian. Said a lot of things about you and your father. I don't know what's gotten into them, but you better not let any of them see you.”

He nodded. “Stupid horse.”

“What's that?”

“There was an accident, daddy. A horse died when Devlin did, or something like that.”

“Oh.”

That night Orion tried sorting everything out. He couldn't imagine leaving Darach now. His parents lay buried, further than eye could see apart, but he couldn't let them sleep. His father's death was a freak of chance. Why him? Why not one of the others? Why now? Was there any sense in it?

But his mother's death was worse. It had no explanation, no cause.

He played her last words over in his head. How could she know? Had she not spoken, the mystery would not have been so dark. But to know that she saw Devlin's death—Enda could not have known—that made it impossible to understand. He'd heard of people dying in their sleep. Older people. But that, strange as it was, could make sense.

He felt he couldn't bear to leave his parents. Shock immobilized him. But as he thought some more, he realized he must leave their bodies behind. How else could he lay them to rest? His father—so close, so trusted, yet the father he knew wasn't a man to draw dark looks. His mother—of a different people, dying with his father.

Was that what she meant when she flirted with Devlin? “My life is yours and only yours.” Could her love be so strong that she could not, would not live without him? He'd heard that sort of thing in ballads around a cozy campfire. It sounded good and well then, but did those lovers have any children? It seemed horribly selfish now.

If he knew one thing, though, his mother was not selfish. Something else must be going on, and the Queen would know. That much he did understand: take the ring to her. She had to know. There was no one else.

Orion's thoughts shifted from rushing crosscurrents to a single stream growing deeper and stronger as the moments passed. Sucking him toward the very edge of his world. He had to leave. He couldn't stay. The unknown would gnaw at him relentlessly. The strengthening stream pulled him on. For a few moments he floated, at peace with his decision.

He felt himself falling down a waterfall, merchants and rings falling around him, his parents rising upward, beyond his grasp. He looked down and saw a city below him like a honeycomb. A spire-topped building rushed up at him and he threw his arms up.

He jerked, head to foot. He lay trembling, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He was laying on his side on the edge of the husk-filled fleece. His arm felt above him for the wall and descending ceiling. He breathed, rolling back onto the bed, husks rustling beneath him.

He lay there a few moments. He couldn't remember when thinking stopped and dreaming began. Though the dream had come clothed in his worries he felt less scatterbrained than before. Maybe it wasn't so complex after all. Maybe it was just difficult. He couldn't bear his thoughts anymore, so he started humming to himself. Slowly he calmed down and sleep came once more.

He awoke, mind still replaying his mother's last words. Takering-queen-a-sparrow. Tapering queen a sparrow. Tearing keen a farrow. Tinkling king aspara-gus. He smiled. Then he shivered. Aspara. Hespera.

He imagined his mother saying it, nearly breathless, panting out each word as her life's blood failed her. It was not so different. Hespera, the evening star. How often had his mother pointed it out to him?

It was a game when he was little. She would ask him where it was and he would point out the wrong star. She would laugh and squeeze him in a hug until he weaseled out of it. Then he would try again until he gave up and pointed out the brightest light on the western horizon.

Once she picked him up and sang him the bedtime song. “When you grow old and wander far into the mountains, remember the star. It will bring you back home.” She kissed him and then sent him off to bed.

Orion always thought she meant home to her. But perhaps there was more to what she said then he realized then. Perhaps he was to find a new home, away in the far west.

In the morning's early light he crept away from Darach, back to the cabin. Kerry was there, still groggy, nipping at grasses here and there as if food was not something to be taken seriously. He grabbed a brush and went over her coat. Briers and leaves and twigs were stuck everywhere in its curly hairs. He started at her shoulders and worked his way down, then grabbed a smaller brush to attend to her neck and the tender parts of her feet.

She shied away a little when he brushed her left foreleg. “Easy, girl. I know.” He massaged it with his hands, watching her reaction, then led her in figure eights. A little stiff, but nothing serious.

He walked inside the overturned cabin and stared blankly at the shelves. His stomach growled. Oddly enough, he felt more homesick here, in his own home, than he had in the mountains the few days since his father's death. He tossed what was rotten then, in desperation, decided on oatmeal. He went to the creek with the pot and a bucket.

He got to the creek and sat down, pot and bucket forgotten. His parents' death hit him once more in the silence made more silent by the gurgling water. He had always wondered how someone could live in a city—Darach was large enough—but now he felt he was learning why. To be alone with your thoughts, without even someone's silent presence for for hours upon hour. Torturous. The change wasn't much: a comment as to which pasture to graze, his mother's greeting on their return, and short evenings with parts of tales told, new and old, or nothing at all.

Kerry whistled. He jumped up. All the dew burned off by the sun and the seductive warmth that held him creekside now precipitated a light sweat. He ran at an easy pace back to the cabin, not knowing what he'd find. Every sense strained to gather little tendrils of information: a strange scent, an unfamiliar sound, a flash of color. A kardja keeper learned to trust his animal's senses more than his own, and that whistle meant danger.