River Heart

Chapter Thirteen - Talents

The next morning, Arn had already left the wagon when Lyris stirred. She joined the Prince, Kit, Kelanin and Whisper for another quick breakfast of flatbreads, this time with fried cherries thrown into the middle. Without any additional sweetness the taste was tart and made her grimace and Arn laugh, pelting her with tiny cherry stones. She took the time to wash, enjoying the hot-water left over from the morning pots and scrubbing the last traces of her time in the cave out of her nails and off her skin; along with a reasonable amount of cherry goo. Her washing done, she asked Arn to empty the heavy buckets, only to ask the water to drench him. No matter how carefully he moved, the suds rolled wildly from side to side, and by the time he returned with empty vessels, he was soaked. It served him right, trickster. She grinned at him and he stared.

‘Did you-?’ He decided against asking his question, instead he stripped off his shirt and retreated behind their wagon to change. Not before his chest and torso had been laid bare. He was muscular, broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. But it was the dip beside each of his hip bones where his flesh slid beneath his waistband that left her mouth dry.

‘At least we’ll both smell a bit fresher.’ Lyris called after him, when she managed to regain her thoughts. She shook herself, making herself laugh although the sound was forced, pitched slightly higher in her unease. Had he noticed her gawking?

Lyris took the opportunity to change clothes herself; into a long deep blue skirt and paler shirt of the same hue, decorated with little embroidered waves at the collar. With her sleeves rolled up, she joined Kit on the driver’s bench as the caravan began to move.

The troop of wagons rolled steadily down the hill. Arn rode Storm, putting the horse through its paces but asking him to walk, trot and stop with subtle gestures with his hands and feet. Watching them closely, Lyris often didn’t see the Prince moving before Storm transitioned between paces or stopped without warning. The tempestuous beast seemed to respond far better to the young man than it ever had Lyris, and she struggled not to resent him for his easy to connection to the animal. Or all animals really. Whisper had a yellow bird that liked to sit among her hair and sing in the morning light, refusing to go to anyone else. But when the wagons pulled to a halt at the end of a steep descent, pausing for a lunch, Arnit had approached the girl. He explained that he was curious about the tiny canary and by the time the meal was over, it had hopped, much to Whisper’s amazement, across her hand and onto the back of his arm.

Watching the direction of her gaze, Kit laughed, ‘some people just have talent,’ he grinned and lifted the reins. The horse that pulled the green wagon took a plodding step forward. Arnit returned the bird to the girl and ran to catch up with them. His long legs carrying him quickly across the tall grass.

At the bottom of the mountain slopes soft hills rose and fell in decreasing mounds. The vibrant red’s and burgundies of the thick coarse tussock faded to a thinner type of grass, dotted with stems boasting tiny white flowers. They swayed in the wind so thick in places that Lyris could imagine the endless meadows as snowy fields. They passed through a village just after the mid-day meal and Lyris was astounded by the warm reception. Trying to remain inconspicuous she sank against the shadow of the wagon roof and watched as children ran out from their houses, waving as the caravan passed. Kit greeted them with a smile and a cheerful wave in reply.

Lyris could remember riding through the same village not four days before and the reception had been cold enough to raise hairs on her arms. A lone stranger on a pale horse had been viewed with suspicion. Even more fascinating than the reluctant smiles from busy men and woman, as they looked up from their daily chores, was watching Arnit. The Prince joined Kit in the occasional wave, hair ruffled by the gentle breeze that danced through the valley. His sleeves, like everyone else’s’ had been rolled to the forearm and his skin was becoming steadily bronzed. His gaze intent on the villagers. Lyris was left wondering how often he was able to ride through the countryside without an armed escort.

The wagons came to a gentle halt as the sun began to fade and the tasks were divvied out. This time the road was closer to the stream and sheltered by high rocks and boulders that looked as though they’d been stood up deliberately. Lyris fetched the water alone, filling up the same vessels as the day before and returning them to the camp. Behind the rocks, was a stretch of lonely forest of mixed fir and birch trees. Arn vanished with Kit and Hustom in search of firewood and returned, pulling what looked like an entire felled tree behind him. He looked as pleased as a puppy who had found the largest stick in the forest and had managed to bring it home. Kelanin’s son Keiran stripped down to the waist and set about chopping the dead tree into firewood and his wife looked on, bouncing baby Joshua on her lap.

Once the evening preparations were complete, the horses corralled and Kelanin began to cook the evening meal, Rafai and Kel drifted off, hand in hand and followed the gurgling stream down the slope. Their laughter drifted behind them. Lyris found herself watching from the steps of the green wagon as they became distant specks and wondered, not for the first time, if this life was a happier one. She could see the faintest sparks of their essence as they wandered close to the water, splashing on the banks as they dipped their toes in. It was an ancient trick for water-witches that grew stronger the longer she knew someone or if they were touched by more water; like a heavy rain. It was how her family had realised she should study with the Myst after all. She’d been lost as a small girl in the busy streets of Milany, an autumn storm raining hard enough to keep people running for shelter. She remembered standing on the paved streets, cold and damp, with rain running down her nose and tickling the back of her neck. She remembered crying, eyes red and puffy, fists clenched tight together. She also remembered a bright flare of red-light dancing in front of her, she’d tried to grab it in her hand but her fingers just curled around air and the light danced out of reach. She had stumbled after the blaze, laughing as it twisted and lurched and slipped always out of reach until suddenly it slipped beneath a door and trying to push open the heavy weight, she’d smelt the familiar rise of fresh baked bread and cakes. Her Mother had run forward, wrapping her in a dry blanket, crying into her shoulder. Her Father, a man with a soft voice had sat her in front of the fire and asked her, gently, carefully, how she’d found her way home.

Lyris shook herself, and lost sight of the trail Kel and Rafai had left, a final spark of their essences twisted in the light before vanishing. Her first memory of magic had happened a long time ago. She drew in a slow breath and tried to remember the last time she’d returned to the mainland without Morgalin.

Her thoughts returned to the caravan. The family of travelling folk seemed content, organised and cared for one another. It wasn’t a blissful ideal, Kit and Brun had had a disagreement about the order of precedence after lunch and Lyris had been certain it would have come to blows if Kelanin hadn’t threatened to throw a bucket of water over them. Lyris found herself looking around for Arn, tiny flies were rising out of the long grass where he stood, staring after Rafai and Kel. She couldn’t help but wonder if they were thinking the same thing, that this life was easier. As though he’d sensed her gaze, Arnit turned around. Before he could meet her gaze, she looked away. They both had responsibilities to return to in Issen. It was dangerous to dream too deeply of running away with the travelling caravan.