Findel's Embrace

Jareen stood in the center of the clearing, surrounded by a tight knot of the huddled followers of Vah. It was not clear to her whether they thought to find comfort in her presence or that their meager hundreds could somehow protect her if the Nethec company stormed the camp.

"There is no way that he can stop them. It is foolish to delay," Oreann said.

"I told you, I am not leaving without my son."

Coir leaned toward her ear, whispering in Noshian, though he could have shouted it. None of them understood Noshian.

"There is talk of carrying you off."

"If anyone tries to carry me off," Jareen proclaimed loudly in Vienwé, "then they can heal their own afflicted."

"Listen," someone said.

"What?" Selu asked.

"Listen!" The vien pointed toward the north. A hush fell over the throng. Someone was screaming in the distance. More than one. The shrieks were moving. It sounded like they were running as they screamed.

Jareen could feel the tense dread in those gathered around.

"What is that?" Liethni whispered.

"I've heard that before," Coir said. Jareen was thinking the same thing, but she said nothing.

What was she doing there? She couldn't stop Faro, but she could have followed him.

The screams only worsened, with more voices joining. A naked vien burst from the western trees, sprinting among the buildings, eyes wide, horrid cries tearing from his throat as fast as he could draw breath.

An arrow flew, catching the vien in the heart. He tumbled, tried to rise, and collapsed.

Jareen looked away from the body and saw another arriving, but this was one of their own sentinels. He crossed the clearing at a sprint, leaping over the naked body.

"The company is in flight!"

"How?" Oreann asked.

"The Daughter of Vah's son slew their liel and filled their minds with terror. Let all who are able come! We must pursue."

Now, the pipes of the Inevien scouts reawakened to north and south.

"Where is my son?" Jareen demanded.

"He is coming."

Jareen pressed through the crowd as the huddled forms pushed against their fellows to make way for her. Coir followed, but he could not keep up. She reached the opening to the western trail and stopped. She would wait there for him. In the distance, screams echoed in the night. Vien rushed past her, heading to the pursuit with their short bows and knapped knives. Compared to the real warriors of the enclaves or the Nethec, they were poorly equipped. The Nethec company would have crushed them.

What had Faro done?

Coir caught up to her and leaned on his stick. If Faro was coming, he took his time. Dawn arrived, before he emerged from the grey forest.

"Faro!" Jareen ran to him. His eyes looked sunken. The marks of the Change extended up his forearms. He didn't speak, but he stopped, letting her wrap her arms around him. Blood had stained the side of his robe from his waist down.

"What happened?" she asked. He didn't respond, but raised a disfigured finger and pointed to the clearing. With one arm around him, she walked with him, though she was not strong enough to truly aid him. Coir followed on the other side. They led him back to her house. He laid down on Jareen's hammock. Coir undid the thongs of his sandals, releasing his feet as Jareen tore the cut in his robe wider and examined the wound. She looked up and saw Liethni standing at the door.

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"Bring me clean water, linen, and needle and thread," she said. She poured a cup full of water.

"Drink," Jareen said, raising it to his lips. He sipped, waved it away, and covered his eyes with a hand.

"I will give you something for the pain," Jareen said.

"No!" The force of his answer startled her.

"The cut is deep. It must be sewed. There will be pain."

"No tinctures," he said.

Liethni returned soon with the supplies. The Voiceless Sisters rarely sutured wounds, but from time to time a Departing would fall as their conditioned worsened, especially those who suffered from sickness of the mind, and they would do what they could. Jareen did what she could, now, hating every stab of the needle. When it was done, she dressed Faro's hip with linen. All the while, he stared upward as if he didn't notice.

"We will talk after you rest," she said, after there was nothing left to do. "You have not been resting."

"I cannot sleep. I cannot rest."

"You must."

He shook his head once.

"I can give you something to help you sleep."

"I cannot take it. I cannot lose control. The Synod. . ." He trailed off.

"You must sleep. Then we will go. We will leave the Mingling and find somewhere safe. We can cross the sea and leave all this behind."

"That is what he wants."

"Who?"

Again, Faro shook his head. His breathing was shallow, and he kept his eyes covered.

She looked to Coir, and the human motioned for her to follow him outside. They closed the door behind, leaving Faro alone. Coir led her a few more steps from the house.

"He is not well," he whispered.

"He just needs sleep."

"There is something more than that. He is not as he was. It is not a sickness of the body."

"He has just fought a battle."

"You must know the story, Jareen."

"What story?"

"Of the last time two High Trees were joined, and the blessings of both passed to one."

"It has not been forty years! Tirlav must yet live. And we don't know if that story is truth."

Coir shrugged.

"Either way, it is safer to get him far from Findel's Wellspring. Going across the sea might not be a terrible idea."

"We can. We can figure out how, but he needs rest." Jareen hesitated, glancing at the shrine. "Watch over him," she said. "I will be right back. Wait with him."

"What are you doing?"

"Just wait."

Faro looked over as Coir lit a candle. Its low glow flickered in the house. He felt nauseous—not from the killing, but from the pressure.

"What did you plan?" he asked. He could have listened if he'd wanted, drawn the vibrations toward him on the air.

"Rest now," Coir said. "There will be time for speaking."

Faro couldn't help but smirk at the irony of the old human's confidence in time.

"Tell me."

"Perhaps it is best if you cross the sea."

"No, your plan." Faro motioned around. "For here. For them."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"Why camp here? It is not safe."

"We had to flee the enclaves. The quthli brought us here, but they left when the afflicted grew in numbers and the game grew scarce."

"It was not wise to stay so close, even with the Nethec withdrawal."

"No, it was not," Coir said. "But the afflicted come here to find your mother, and she worried what would happen to them if they arrived and she was gone."

"You could have left some here to tell them."

"It would be too late. Some afflicted are too weak even to make it here."

"So on behalf of the few, you put all at risk."

"I think. . ." Coir paused as if weighing his words. "I think your mother is tired of running."

"Is it better to die than to run?" Faro asked.

"I think everyone can reach that point," Coir answered.

"Well, it is not yet. Not for her."

The door opened, and his mother entered, carrying a small wooden cup.

"Here," she said. "I have brought you cold water from the stream." She crossed to the hammock and handed him the cup. He lifted up his head to sip. "Drink it all," she commanded.

"I am not that thirsty."

"Drink it! Your body still needs sustenance."

It was not a big cup, and rather than argue, Faro obeyed. He handed the empty vessel back to her, laying his head back on the hammock. It throbbed.

Jareen sat down on a chair near Coir. Faro forced a grin.

"So you will both sit and stare at me? I am not used to resting with an audience."

"We're worried about you," his mother said. Faro smiled. This time it was sincere.

"I've been worried about both of you. I didn't know what had happened."

"We didn't know what she'd done with you," Coir said.

"I was with the dhar, beneath the gulik, learning kulna with Miyaglanesht."

"What?" Coir asked.

"Miyaglanesht," Faro said. "She is coming in arveg to teach the bears music."

The room was moving. Something was wrong. What had he just said?

Coir looked at Jareen and frowned.

"Did you. . ?" he asked.

Faro's head was heavy and shadows moved.