“But—”
“Shh. We should sleep while we can. And I cannot bear to think any longer on what I must do.” He closed his eyes then, and wearied by more than his long day’s walk, he sank swiftly into sleep. I remained aware behind his closed eyelids. I felt Olikea’s deep and heartfelt sigh, and how she relaxed into his arms. She, too, slept, but I remained aware for hours longer, listening to the sounds of the People in the night.
I think the following spring morning was the sweetest of my life. Dappling sunlight through the trees, birdcalls, the smells of the forest as the sun gently warmed it, the deliciousness of being warm while the rest of the world was still chill; nothing in my memory can compete with it. For one long, luscious moment, I simply existed, unaware of the strife and troubles that still waited to be resolved. I was like an animal awakening to the glory of spring.
Then I tried to stretch and could not, and recalled all too abruptly that I was still a prisoner in my own body. Soldier’s Boy awakened and then Olikea stirred in his arms. She slipped quickly from beneath the blankets and busied herself around the campsite while he stole a few more precious moments of dozing with his body warm and his face touched by the fresh day. At the smell of cooking food, he stirred quickly enough, his stomach’s roaring more demanding than the reveille bugles at the academy had ever been. Olikea had made a porridge and liberally sprinkled it with dried berries. She brought him a bowlful, with a spiral of honey drizzled over the top. He ate it with a carved wooden spoon and washed it down with a mug of hot tea. While he was eating, his feeders laid out proper clothing for him, for the Specks would go clothed until they emerged on the other side of the mountains into the warmer days of spring there.
Olikea knelt before him to lace his feet and legs into soft knee boots after he had donned the supple doeskin trousers and simple woolen tunic she brought him. As soon as his boots were tied, he rose and lifted the sack of treasure to his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he told her.
“First, I must clean and repack our cooking vessels and the fox-skin robe we slept under last night. It will not take long.”
“Leave them.”
“What?”
“I said, leave them. I do not think we will have need of them again. I intend to quick-walk the entire day, to overtake Kinrove and to speak with him this night.”
“But—” She glanced about at their campsite, at the other feeders, the dirty pots and the rumpled bedding.
He gave way before her confusion. “Take only what you think you must have. The other feeders will bring the rest.”
I sensed that he didn’t care what she brought or didn’t bring. There was finality to this decision, one that bespoke a swift end to all things. He did not expect to need anything she had brought with her, and he himself carried only Lisana’s treasure. Did he intend to kill himself? That was the first thing that came to my mind, but I could not imagine why or how he would make such a decision. How would that benefit Likari? Or, once he had obtained the boy’s release with the treasure, did he foresee that as the only possible end for us? I toyed with the idea, and found it vaguely attractive, and then all the more frightening because it was no longer as unthinkable as it once would have been.
Olikea packed swiftly and sensibly, taking a blanket, food, and bare necessities. I sensed her eagerness to be on her way to her son. The other feeders accepted the Great One’s decision. Their equanimity in the face of his changeable actions reflected the status a mage had in the society of the People. The magic powered his decisions, and they were never to be questioned. They simply portioned out the goods that Olikea had been carrying among themselves and bade us farewell.
With little more ado, Soldier’s Boy took her hand and they began their quick-walk. He not only poured his magic generously into the quick-walk but also physically stepped along as swiftly as he was able. I was disconcerted at the level of effort he put into this; by midmorning, I was very aware of the physical strain on him, as well as the depletion of his magic. Olikea spoke of her concern at such a pace, her words fading and then recovering as they moved swiftly past the other kin-clans on their migration. “You will exhaust yourself. Should not you save some of your magic for confronting Kinrove?”
“I will have enough. Treasure and magic are not the only way to sway Kinrove.” He paused. Then, “I have something else he wants,” he added enigmatically.
By afternoon’s end, we had traversed the cavernous pass and emerged on the other side. It was pleasant to come out into a warmer place, one where the evening light lingered on the land. Spring seemed stronger here. The tiny leaves on the deciduous trees glistened in various shades of green. The challenges and replies of the birds seemed to fill the air around us.
