Flesh and Spirit Read online

  “Careful, the pavement’s broken.” And then, “Left.”

  In the distance behind me, the abbey bell rang. One peal. The first hour past day’s end.

  “Steps here,” said my guide, after a while. “Three downward, then stop for a moment.”

  Stone steps, not squared paving. Older, then. Out of the way. When I halted, my arm was released. Iron clanked softly—a latch. Oiled hinges. The hands took my arm again and guided me through the gate. We crossed flowing water on a sturdy plank bridge and then took a dirt path. The terrain leveled out, the damp tendrils of fog yielded to a cold dry breeze, and my guide picked up the pace.

  Strange to experience the night as a blind man must. Birds flapping away, disturbed from a nest in the grass. Scuttering creatures. Wet grass, stagnant pools. A loon crying out the world’s sorrow. The path had been well trod, a narrow trough in the turf, sticky mud in its bottom, its drier, sloping sides little wider than my big feet. So my guide’s feet must tread the grass, while I walked the path. Or perhaps…I listened. The light footsteps squelched and scuffed much as my own steps did. Ah, a cart track, then, two troughs parallel.

  Pleased with that deduction, I turned my attention to the person beside me. Listened more. Felt the hand on my arm shift to get a better hold, one finger now touching the skin of my wrist. I remembered. Inhaled. Considered. Felt my face crease into a grin. “So, Squire Corin, does the Thane of Erasku know you’re a girl?”

  She halted. Yanked her hands from my arm. Stepped away. Said nothing. If we hadn’t already startled the moorhens, the force of her shock might have done it.

  “I’ve not had this tonsure my whole life, you know,” I said. “And the world is not kind to girls on their own, so you’re not the first I’ve encountered in youth’s attire.” The world was little kinder to boys on their own.

  She held silent and left me standing in the middle of a stubbled grain field blindfolded, without anything to hold on to. I didn’t think I ought to reach for her. She was probably terrified enough already.

  “I’ll say, you had me mightily confused until today. But cutting your hair off might help. The braid leads a man’s eye into thoughts of touching—Uh…my eye, that is. Perhaps not others.” I shut my mouth and held out my arm.

  She grasped my wrist and elbow, more firmly than before, and strode out at a faster pace. We’d walked two hundred quercae before she spoke. “You’re wearing a blindfold.” Her unmuted voice was mellow and richly colored, more like a dulcian than a flute. I’d made a mistake. She was slight, certainly, but a woman grown, not a girl. “How did I give it away?”

  I considered the evidence. “Well, you and your friends aren’t monks. And after the abbot’s talk with me, I didn’t think your party belonged to any of our unsavory princes. That meant you were either someone altogether new or the thane’s men…Well, all right, I guessed. As for you in particular…You whispered when you truly wanted to yell at those men. That was part of it. And you trusted a monk not to hurt you. Which meant you’ve clearly not been at the game too long—you mustn’t trust anyone. And even when I was…suffocating…whenever you spoke, I thought Jullian was with us, though I knew at the same time he wasn’t. You see, in the refectory I sit next to Jullian, whom I’ll assume you know, and Gerard, the other lad. You don’t—please, forgive me if I offend you—you don’t smell at all the same.” Excitement would have only worsened the boys’ ripe stink.

  “I don’t smell—” She convulsed with laughter, as alive as the good earth around us. Only a moment; then she closed it all up again. “Sweet Arrosa, save me. Of all things.”

  “I won’t tell anyone. But you should be careful. You’ll give yourself away.”

  “Thane Stearc knows,” she said. “And Abbot Luviar and Brother Gildas.”

  “Ah…and the secretary…Gram…that’s who else was back there in the gardens, right? He knows.” Brutes would care no more for the commands of sickly secretaries than for the commands of pretty youths. And I’d smelled wintergreen, a medicament used for all sorts of ailments.

  “He knows,” she said. Her voice was well controlled, but she really shouldn’t be holding on to people’s arms if she wanted to keep secrets. I’d felt far less anger from the brutes pinning my wrists than from her slender fingers touching my sleeve.

  “And disapproves, I’d guess,” I said.

  “I cannot come to the abbey as a maiden. Saint Ophir’s Rule permits only vowed celibate women or matrons in company with their husbands to stay in their guesthouse. The abbot dares not except me, lest he be called to account. So I take on this loathsome disguise. If the thane grunts and growls a bit for allowing me to play his squire, so be it. I won’t be left out. And if Stearc and the abbot agree, the opinions of others do not matter.”

  I dearly wanted to ask, Why does his opinion make you so angry, if it does not matter? And, Is his grunting and growling the only price the thane exacts from you? But she was cocked like a crossbow again. Best avoid such personal matters until I knew her better.

  “As you can imagine, I am afire with curiosity about what I’m doing in the middle of the night with devious monks and mysterious maidens and people who insist I cannot look upon the lands of my home abbey. But Father Abbot bade me trust him, thus I’ve little hope of soothing that curiosity. So, another question…”

  Abbot Luviar had declared himself neutral in the royal war. I doubted that, preferring to believe in his “deviant” support of a Pretender. Yet even if the child Pretender was wholly myth and Abbot Luviar but a skillful liar manipulating me in service of one of the three princes, I could not believe his chosen lord to be Osriel the Bastard. More and more I needed to understand what I had seen and felt in that unnatural assault on Gillarine.

  “As you serve the Thane of Erasku, perhaps you could tell me something of Prince Osriel and his powers.”

  She gasped as if I’d planted my fist in her gut. “Holy gods! How—? Why would you speak of him…the vile beast…the damned soul? Here in the night…when we are unprotected.”

  She dragged me faster. Before I could ask what protection we might need, the path kicked steeply upward, as if a mountain had been roaming the fields and decided to plop itself at our feet like a friendly hound. A gust of wind swirled around us, billowing my damp cowl and flapping the hood in my face. Soon rocks gouged my feet. Roots. Evergreens. Moss. Where the devil were we? I could not imagine we’d come so far as the eastern ridge.

  I stumbled, flailing in the dark.

  “Careful…” She caught me before I fell and steadied me. Then she proceeded a bit slower. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s just that Lord Stearc is his own man. My lord bows to no master who sets himself up to rival Magrog in his cruelties.”

  “I didn’t mean to give offense. One of the brothers told me that Lord Stearc holds no allegiance to the Bastard Prince. I just assumed, since Erasku is an Evanori hold, you would know the truth of the cursed land and its sovereign. When he slaughtered the Moriangi at Gillarine, I saw such sights…faces in the night…”

  “Even the land cannot compel loyalty to a monster like Osriel of Evanore.” She spat as if the very taste of his name poisoned her. “Everything you hear of him is true. He twists magic into depravity, taints all that is good in the world. I’ll not speak of him lest my tongue blacken and rot.”

  We talked no more for a while. She was bound up in anger and fear and purpose. I was trying not to trip and crack my head on the shin-high rocks that seemed to have sprouted from the hillside like hedge beans.

  As the path leveled out, and the air spoke of damp pine, a smoky fire, and horses nearby, my guide halted. She released my arm and reached around my neck, tugging my head downward. “Let me get this off of you. We’re almost there.”

  As she untied the cloth binding my eyes, I inhaled deeply, her hair tickling my nose. No, nothing at all like Jullian. “Thank you,” I said most sincerely.

  “For what? Allowing our thick-skulled bodyguards to suffoc
ate you? Giving you a laugh at my inept playacting?”

  “I had a pleasant walk in the nighttime and an interesting conversation. My head remains intact. And I smelled someone who was not Jullian.”

  The cloth fell away. I blinked. Her hair shone bronze in the starlight. Her pale lips curved upward. And the eyes that gazed up at me…great gods…so deep…reflections of heaven…

  “Come, Brother Valen.” A slight emphasis on the Brother.

  The blood rushed from my tonsured head, and no logical thinking prevented it going where it had no place. Blessed goddess of love, what had I done to abjure such a gift, even for a season? I touched her cheek…cool, silken…and felt the heat rush to meet my finger. “Ah, mistress, you are…”

  Her breath caught and held one moment, suspending my thought. I bent my head toward hers…

  A distant bell chimed the half hour. She shuddered and jerked her head away. “Time runs, Brother. You must be back in the church by Matins.” Her voice was hoarse. She pulled up her hood and strode away. How had I ever thought her male?

  The path led between a stony bank and a forested gully, curving sharply upward. Slightly dizzy, aching with a need far deeper than lust—which great vice had most certainly tainted my soul as well—I watched her move as we walked. Had she led me into a blazing forest or a raging torrent, I would have followed.

  Chapter 15

  The Thane of Erasku awaited us with the impenetrable solemnity of a standing stone, the smoke of the small campfire curling about his solidity like the telltales of midsummer sacrifice. His thick arms enfolded the solid, leathery bulk of my grandfather’s book. Behind him, away from the fire, a gaunt, dark-haired man tethered a horse beside two others—Gram, the lord’s sickly secretary. No guards, tents, pots, or baggage were in evidence. No Brother Gildas in evidence, either, which surprised me. Likely he was yet suffering the effects of the Harrower lashes. The bruising always got worse before it got better.

  “I thought you would never come.” The lord was fair bursting with impatience.

  “We were delayed at the abbey, sire,” said the woman. “My apologies.” She bowed to the thane, and then moved around the fire to join him without acknowledging the secretary.

  I remained on the near side of the fire.

  “I am Stearc of Erasku, Brother,” said the thane. “I presume you know that. You’ve not endured too taxing a walk? My lad guided you properly?”

  I bowed. “Indeed he kept me on the straight-and-narrow path, sir. And I managed not to plague him to distraction with my questions, though they are legion. I was too busy trying to determine where on Iero’s good earth we were.”

  “And were you successful?” No excessive pleasantries here. The intensity that had shivered me to my boots at my first glimpse of him had not diminished. He was every quat a warlord; it was more difficult to imagine him a scholar.

  “I am turned hind end first, my lord. In a thorough muddle.”

  “You look a thorough mess. Mud, scrapes. Corin, is the monk’s courtesy hiding some mistake of yours? If such simple squire’s duties are beyond you, I’ll put you back to mucking stalls.”

  Woe to the man-at-arms who mistook this commander’s orders. Why would such a man ever permit a woman—? Ah! A flash of inspiration struck me. A step to the side, where fire and smoke could not obscure my vision, confirmed that the lord’s long braid took on a certain hint of bronze in the firelight. And the arch of their noses was identical. Sire, indeed.

  The woman lifted her chin as if weathering a familiar gale. “I was unable—”

  “My Lord Stearc, we suffered an unpleasant mishap tonight,” said Gram, as he joined the other two in the firelight. No mistaking his firm, rich tone. Hard to imagine my decisive savior from the hedge garden to be the frail secretary I had glimpsed being helped onto his horse at the guesthouse. “The two guards who accompanied Corin to fetch Brother Valen set upon him as if to make him a prisoner. Something in their orders charged them wrongly. I’ve restricted them to camp tonight in your name and will investigate thoroughly tomorrow. Surely this good brother’s generous and forgiving nature has brought him here after so rude a meeting.”

  I pressed a knuckle to my mouth to muffle a snicker. Generosity and forgiveness would never have brought me so far. But curiosity…Every moment with this odd troop—all of them angles and edges and raw passion—left me more enamored of their puzzle.

  “Is Gram’s assessment accurate, Brother?” Lie at your peril, Stearc’s tone warned.

  “It is more Abbot Luviar’s influence that induced me to come, my lord,” I said. “He intimated that your interests were of great importance to Navronne, which, of course, makes them of great importance to any loyal subject. And these two gentlemen were most sincere in their apologies.”

  He nodded. Not happy, but immediate fury tamed.

  The secretary had a convincing way about him with lords, brutes, and novices alike. As if to cinch my good opinion, Gram offered me a skin of ale he’d brought from his saddlebags.

  “Your abbot explained what we need from you?” The thane wasted no time.

  I was still relishing the robust ale, wondering if Gram would notice if I drained the skin completely. Reluctantly, I replaced its plug, yielded it to the secretary with a grateful nod, and returned my attention to the lord. “Only that you wished me to demonstrate what I knew of using the Cartamandua maps, which, as I warned Father Abbot, is little enough. And that I am to keep silent about this company and its interests.”

  “Good. We need not waste time with discussion. Sit here.” Stearc pointed to a fat log rolled near the fire and shoved the book into my arms. “Open to the marked page.”

  I’d not expected to be treated as a schoolboy. Hackles bristling, I sat on the log and opened the book to a place marked with a scrap of leather. The map filled the broad right leaf of the open book. Its features had been meticulously drawn in red-brown ink and delicately washed with green and rose. The emerald-green-and-black border had an exotic pattern to it.

  From the time I’d left the cradle, I had been taught the rudiments of maps: the concepts of distance and proportion, the common symbols, the uses of compass rose, cartouche, and key. I had trailed about Palinur in my father’s wake, marking straggling lines on tablets of wax, and pens and brushes had been stuffed in my hands as soon as I could hold them. The shapes and colors of maps had pleased my eye, and I liked to imagine that I could envision the grass and rock, cities and rivers they represented. But never was I taken on a journey of discovery beyond Palinur’s walls as my brother and sisters were, because I could not master the most mundane of a cartographer’s skills. I could neither write the names and distances, nor read nor write a traveler’s notes. Maps spoke with shape and color and symbols, but the key to their wonder was written words. Of which I had none.

  “What is it you wish to know, my lord?” I asked, suppressing long-festered bitterness. “I never used this particular map when I served Mardane Lavorile.”

  The thane stood over me like some oak tree out of Ardra’s ancient forests, craggy and thick and overpowering. “If you have used other maps from the book, then you should be able to use this one. We have brought you to a place that appears on this map. Here.” He placed a thick finger on an angular mark near the center of the map—a hill. “We wish to discover if you can find your way here.” His finger skipped to another spot on the far right-hand side of the page.

  I gaped up at him. “Now? At night?”

  He lifted his finger to reveal the symbol—a tiny waterfall—my grandfather’s common designation for a waterfall, pool, small lake, or any other watery landmark. The name lettered beside the feature would clarify which one it was.

  “If you can invoke the guide spell properly, you should have no difficulty, day or night. The distance is not far. Your abbot promised you would make the attempt. So do it, or end this before we waste more time.” He crossed his great arms and did not blink, his disdain as odorous as a pigsty. />
  Could I do what he wanted? Without knowing its bounds and scale, I could not judge distance from this map. Nor could I invoke a spell I could not read nor even discover what kind of water I was looking for without deciphering its name. But I had wits and other skills, and the lord’s game posed a challenge interesting enough to overcome my distaste for the family business. For, certainly, this whole evening was a game. These fine conspirators had brought me here blindfolded, assuming I could not judge distance or direction from the abbey, believing that the moonless night would obscure paths and landmarks. I’d wager they had staged the attack, just to throw me out of sense before we began. They expected me to fail.

  I touched the skin of my throat, abraded by their drawstring bag. They believed me a thick-skulled vagabond pikeman who had fooled a lord by pretending to use his magic book. Perhaps, with a touch of pureblood instinct and magic, I could do exactly that.

  Leaning closer to the blazing firelight, I examined the map—a simple fiché—more closely. Somewhere in its tangled mysteries of words, numbers, and symbols, a fiché would reveal place names and distances, compass headings, landmarks, and obstacles to travel. This particular map detailed a countryside of forested hills, a river and its side streams, one town and three villages, a few cart roads and common walking paths. A solicale designated some Karish landmark. Other symbols I was less sure of. Each mark had a neatly lettered name that could place it in this valley or far Estigure for all I knew. Dangling from the solicale was the impish aingerou my grandfather sketched into every map.

  So start with the solicale. It must certainly represent the abbey. We had walked briskly for perhaps an hour to get to this starting point. That gave me an idea of distance and proportion. And we had walked northeastward, in the main, more east than north; I closed my eyes and remembered the wind teasing my right cheek and the shaven patch on my head, a frost wind from the south. Only when we started climbing had we changed heading back and forth a number of times, but no matter, for I had but to follow the path back down to the base of the hill. The night was clear, so I could use Escalor, the guide star, to get my bearing. If the direction from the abbey to this hill was northeast, then the watery spot they wished me to find would be southeast, half again the distance we had come—leaving a conveniently short return to the abbey for a novice who must be prostrate on the church floor by Matins.