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Authors: Diana Pharaoh Francis
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shops built of gray flagstone, bright Lady Day banners fluttering in the wind.
As she walked, the specters of Saljane and Juhrnus rose in her mind. She felt a certain amount of elation. She had finally confronted Juhrnus. And she had twice stood her ground and rebuffed Saljane.
Rebuffed the Lady, she reminded herself and suddenly her elation drained away, her shoulders slumping. She trudged on, her stomach roiling.
The ahalad-kaaslane were heroes, each and every one. With the noted exception of Juhrnus, she thought dryly. Each shop in Kodu Riik kept a small area set aside for the ahalad-kaaslane where proprietors would offer food and drink and whatever supplies might be needed. These gifts were given without reservation or hesitation. The ahalad-kaaslane were bound to take no more than need required, forsaking personal gain or possessions.
So did tarks! Reisil gave all she had freely. She tended the ill—human and animal alike. She was a healer, a midwife and a counselor. She could do no more as ahalad-kaaslane than she could as tark. Indeed; she would do less. What did such as she know of that life? She knew nothing of battles or weapons. She’d never hunted except for plants, never stretched a bowstring, never hurt anyone. She was a tark!
She shook her head, rubbing at the ache in her forehead. She had made the right decision. The only decision.
The crowded shops with their second-story residential apartments and rooftop gardens faded into imposing houses with tall trees and wide grounds full of flowers. There were few walls inside Kallas. Its dusky-pink curtain wall built upon imposing earthworks made it a fortress, but within it was open-aired, with wide streets and courtyards.
Snow never fell on Kallas. The winters brought warm drenching rains. The runoff ran into storm sewers, which fed into a marvelous natural formation called the Sink. During the summer it was merely a rivulet running through a ravine, disappearing into an underground cavern. The water reappeared half a league away in a large pool before draining into the Sadelema. Once, in an effort to discover how long it took the water to run its course to the pool, the mayor of Kallas had ordered a crimson dye to be dropped into the Sink. Almost a full day had passed before the red-dyed water had filtered into the pool. It still remained a mystery what lengthy path the stream took in its journey. Yet no matter how much rain fell, Kallas never flooded. The Sink absorbed it all.
Reisil glanced up at the sun and realized how late it was. She hastened past the commons and the Sink and through the main gate. She smiled a distracted hello at the gatekeep and attendant guards, then trotted out along the road, following it as it curved out of sight around the shoulder of the wooded hillside, then dropped in lazy switchbacks to the river bottom. She passed the path leading to her cottage and continued down to a narrow trail through close-growing woods. The shady walk lent Reisil tranquillity. Songbirds twittered in the canopy and the sweet scent of carnillions, lupine, honey-roses, and starflowers wound together on the warm breeze. The Sadelema sparkled at her through the trees, last fall’s crunching leaves beneath her feet adding a tangy fragrance to the air.
The path ended in a clearing where a small croft nestled. Tumble-stone fences hemmed in a kitchen garden and two paddocks, where grazed an assortment of chickens, goats, pigs and a milk cow. A hive of bees hummed merrily in one corner, and butterfly wings winked from wildflowers. Smoke curled from the chimney, the shutters and door closed despite the warmth of the day. Reisil knocked on the green-painted door. Moments later it swung open and she stepped inside, squinting in the gloom.
“It’s about time,” a wiretwist of a woman said, gray hair caught behind her head in a strict bun, black eyes snapping. Her wrinkled skin was dark, as if she was not native to Kodu Riik, but she had been a fixture of
As she walked, the specters of Saljane and Juhrnus rose in her mind. She felt a certain amount of elation. She had finally confronted Juhrnus. And she had twice stood her ground and rebuffed Saljane.
Rebuffed the Lady, she reminded herself and suddenly her elation drained away, her shoulders slumping. She trudged on, her stomach roiling.
The ahalad-kaaslane were heroes, each and every one. With the noted exception of Juhrnus, she thought dryly. Each shop in Kodu Riik kept a small area set aside for the ahalad-kaaslane where proprietors would offer food and drink and whatever supplies might be needed. These gifts were given without reservation or hesitation. The ahalad-kaaslane were bound to take no more than need required, forsaking personal gain or possessions.
So did tarks! Reisil gave all she had freely. She tended the ill—human and animal alike. She was a healer, a midwife and a counselor. She could do no more as ahalad-kaaslane than she could as tark. Indeed; she would do less. What did such as she know of that life? She knew nothing of battles or weapons. She’d never hunted except for plants, never stretched a bowstring, never hurt anyone. She was a tark!
She shook her head, rubbing at the ache in her forehead. She had made the right decision. The only decision.
The crowded shops with their second-story residential apartments and rooftop gardens faded into imposing houses with tall trees and wide grounds full of flowers. There were few walls inside Kallas. Its dusky-pink curtain wall built upon imposing earthworks made it a fortress, but within it was open-aired, with wide streets and courtyards.
Snow never fell on Kallas. The winters brought warm drenching rains. The runoff ran into storm sewers, which fed into a marvelous natural formation called the Sink. During the summer it was merely a rivulet running through a ravine, disappearing into an underground cavern. The water reappeared half a league away in a large pool before draining into the Sadelema. Once, in an effort to discover how long it took the water to run its course to the pool, the mayor of Kallas had ordered a crimson dye to be dropped into the Sink. Almost a full day had passed before the red-dyed water had filtered into the pool. It still remained a mystery what lengthy path the stream took in its journey. Yet no matter how much rain fell, Kallas never flooded. The Sink absorbed it all.
Reisil glanced up at the sun and realized how late it was. She hastened past the commons and the Sink and through the main gate. She smiled a distracted hello at the gatekeep and attendant guards, then trotted out along the road, following it as it curved out of sight around the shoulder of the wooded hillside, then dropped in lazy switchbacks to the river bottom. She passed the path leading to her cottage and continued down to a narrow trail through close-growing woods. The shady walk lent Reisil tranquillity. Songbirds twittered in the canopy and the sweet scent of carnillions, lupine, honey-roses, and starflowers wound together on the warm breeze. The Sadelema sparkled at her through the trees, last fall’s crunching leaves beneath her feet adding a tangy fragrance to the air.
The path ended in a clearing where a small croft nestled. Tumble-stone fences hemmed in a kitchen garden and two paddocks, where grazed an assortment of chickens, goats, pigs and a milk cow. A hive of bees hummed merrily in one corner, and butterfly wings winked from wildflowers. Smoke curled from the chimney, the shutters and door closed despite the warmth of the day. Reisil knocked on the green-painted door. Moments later it swung open and she stepped inside, squinting in the gloom.
“It’s about time,” a wiretwist of a woman said, gray hair caught behind her head in a strict bun, black eyes snapping. Her wrinkled skin was dark, as if she was not native to Kodu Riik, but she had been a fixture of
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