River Heart

Chapter Eleven - Mapping

Lyris and Kit woke Arnit for lunch. The tall man scrambled out of the caravan with his hair sticking vertically from his face, cheeks flushed with sleep. True to the caravan leader’s word, Kelanin ensured that they were given a share in the meal. It was eaten on the side of the mountain in golden light. The terrain rolled away into hills and lesser valleys. Kit pointed out the split in the road at the bottom of the slope.

‘We’ll be heading East,’ he stretched out his legs on the grass and threw a peanut into the air, leaning back to catch it in his mouth. ‘When we go to Milany, we follow the edge of the Great Lake when we can.’

‘Won’t that take longer?’ Lyris watched the trick with fascination as he repeated it. Catching every peanut in a string of five.

‘A day at most, the road is faster beside the lake,’ Kit shrugged.

‘You came through the central valleys and forests?’ Arnit peered at her, hair falling in front of his features. He moved a hand over the rough stubble of his growing beard, scratching his chin.

‘I tried,’ Lyris conceded, ‘I thought that I had a good understanding of map reading – but apparently not.’ The idea of travelling alongside the Great Lake excited her. It had been two years since she had accompanied Morgalin on an excursion. They’d spent a moons’ cycle in the town at the north of the lake in the summer, Toscan. It had been a busy, bustling crossroads on the border between Milany and Khama then Staven. To the North of the town, mountains rose in jagged peaks, impenetrable expect to those who’d lived among them.

‘What way did you travel here?’ The young woman turned to the prince and he merely smiled in reply and climbed to his feet.

‘Here Kit,’ he gathered a handful of peanuts, ‘catch,’ and threw them at the youth who shifted, trying to catch as many as he could as they tumbled through the air. He scrambled in the dry earth and collected the ones that had fallen and pelted them back at the blonde youth.

Lyris was left watching as Arn started to laugh and retreated, running down the hillside. Well, she reasoned, it was one way to avoid answering questions. She stretched out in the warm grass and closed her eyes. Later, she told herself, she’d ask him again later.

The borderland village they’d left behind was a good day’s ride away from the next village along and Kit had explained that the wagons were slower than horses and riders. So, by the time the Caravan rolled to a stop, they were still a few hours away from civilisation.

Lyris and Arnit had spent the afternoon either walking alongside the green wagon or perched on the seat beside Kit. Occasionally, Arn would ride Storm, circling around the caravan as it lumbered down the wide and dusty road. The grass was long, dry and filled with blue corn flowers that swayed in the breeze. As the mountain pass slipped away behind them, the threat of rain eased from the sky. Swallows darted overhead before all life seemed to vanish from the hillside. Scouring the sky, Lyris spotted an eagle, circling in search of prey. No wonder the smaller birds were hiding, their song fading from the bushes and scattered trees.

At the end of the day, the young woman was surprised at the speed and efficiency that the caravans were pulled off the road, towards a copse of trees. They were pitched in a semi-circle, facing the pathway and with a large fire lit in the centre. Kit and Arn were sent with the other young men and some of the hoard of children to gather wood. Lyris wondered if Kelanin and her family were always at the mercy of what they could find day to day, before realising that each wagon had a large storage box that hung beneath the living space. Many also had weatherproofed linen-wrapped bundles on the top of their roofs, perfect places to store wood. Kelanin gestured for Lyris to follow her, and they moved east in search of fresh water.

‘I figured you’d be a good judge,’ the grey-haired lady picked up her deep blue skirts and climbed nimbly along the slope.

Lyris followed with a smile. ‘I can sense water,’ she admitted, ‘well…it surrounds us always. Far below the surface of the ground most of the time.’

‘You know when it’s closer though? You’ll know when it will rain?’

‘Mostly,’ Lyris remained reluctant in her predictions of the weather. Judging rain also meant judging the wind and despite her studies, the air essence sometimes allude her. It was a fickle essence, changeable in a way that water wasn’t.

‘It’s contrary and prone to have mood swings, if you predict it then it’ll stop just to spite you. Or refuse to rain in the middle of a drought,’ she grinned. ‘No one will ever want me as a weather witch, that’s assured. This way,’ she gestured towards a lip in the hillside. In the quiet of birdsong and rustling grass she could hear the first trickle of water over rock.

‘Do you use this campsite often?’ Lyris glanced at the older woman. She suspected that Kelanin knew exactly where the spring was; this was just a test. At least she was used to tests and this was easy enough to pass.

‘Once or twice a year,’ Kelanin admitted with a smile, ‘it’s not often we venture so far in this direction.’

The stream coursed out from the hillside in a thin burble over gravel; too shallow to be of much use. But soon the trickle widened as it hurried on down the slope, between ancient boulders that had been worn down by its passing.

‘Does this go all the way down to Great Lake?’ Lyris knelt to fill the bucket’s she’d been given. Holding them against the earth as the water flooded into the wooden vessels. It rushed into them, splashing against the back and spraying her with sparkling drops of light.

‘It does,’ Kelanin smiled and sealed the water skein’s, slinging them back over her shoulder. ‘It becomes one of the larger tributes to the lake and we’ll be following it from now until Golden Fort.’

‘It’s good water,’ Lyris confirmed happy to have been helpful she straightened and hauled the buckets upright. Kelanin waited until she had her balance before the pair began tracking the path back towards the road and the caravan, careful not to make a second path of trampled grasses and flowers. ‘But I suspect you knew that anyway?’ She glanced once more at the Caravan leader.

‘I’ll never turn down the chance to ask a water witch about my drinking water,’ Kelanin replied without looking around, ‘besides if you pass your quest with the Myst, you might want to travel with a caravan across the world. See the deserts, the jungles, the wildlands and the cities you’ve only dreamed about.’

Lyris couldn’t help but laugh, ‘I’ll complete my quest first, before I start trying to work out what happens next. How long till we reach the Fort?’ It was a place that Lyris had heard of, but never visited.

‘Six nights,’ Kelanin squinted as she added the days, ‘if we’re lucky, on our seventh night we’ll break camp at the Fort. Your friend,’ the older woman lowered her voice as they crossed over the road and advanced towards the camp. ‘He doesn’t want to be known for his family?’ Picking their way over the loose stones they stirred a cloud of dust in the fading light. The fire was lit in the centre of the wagons. Large logs set in a star-shape to fight back more of the darkness.

Lyris answered the only way that she could, with a small nod. Afterall, she thought, it wasn’t her secret to share. Arnit had made a deliberate attempt to only be known as Arn among the travellers. ‘I guess,’ she watched him walking with Kit towards the camp, their arms laden with firewood. The dark-haired youth only reached the Prince’s shoulder, ‘it is his secret to keep,’ she murmured.

Kelanin nodded, ‘yet he seems to be free with yours?’

Lyris sighed and followed Kelanin towards the fire. She was glad to put the buckets down. Her arms felt as though they’d been stretched out by the weight and her hands were sore from the coarse rope she’d used to carry them. She bent to brush splashed droplets from the fabric of her skirts.

‘It’s like he’s…’ she searched for the word, ‘proud?’ The young woman reached up, pushing her fingers through the ends of her hair. Loose, it reached the centre of her waist and with some careful unknotting, was returned to its usual wave of inky black. ‘As though he’s proud to know me.’

‘But not of his own heritage?’ Kelanin set her hands on her waist. ‘This bucket,’ she indicated, ‘is for washing if you have any. The other is for cooking. You’ll find more buckets in the stow beneath your wagon, and soap if you need it. If you use the last of the water, you replace it. The same as for any firewood; understood?’

‘Yes,’ Lyris nodded, ‘thank you.’ The rules seemed simple enough.

‘As for your companion,’ Kelanin lifted her wiry shoulders in a shrug, ‘I’m sure he’ll share his reasons soon enough.’

Lunch had consisted of leftover bread from breakfast but filled with cured hams and gathered leaves from the journey. Although they were still delicious, Lyris couldn’t help but hope that dinner would be something more exciting. The sky turned the colour of burnt amber, and the smell of fresher cooking filled the air, making her mouth water and stomach growl, twisting in eager knots. Her hope was rewarded, she realised, flatbreads were off the menu.

The caravan gathered around the edge of the fire, with the children running between the wagons and the forest. Barefoot and fleet as wide-eyed deer in their movements. A thin blonde woman was bent over the firepit, adding spices to an enormous pot. Every so often she’d make a gesture and a man, Lyris could only assume was her partner, would rise to his feet and return to their wagon for a new spice pot. His steps were laboured and he grumbled at every request, but Lyris couldn’t help but think he enjoyed the task and the kisses he stole from the woman upon delivering the requested item.

Sat with her back to the wagon wheels, Lyris stretched out her legs and smiled at Arn as he dropped down to sit beside her. Together they made a game of counting children, trying to work out just how many were running like shadows between the wagons. In the end, Arn guessed eight including the three infants that were wrapped up with the second younger woman. She held a babe covered in blankets with a one toddler sprawled across her lap, the second was building towers from wooden blocks before systematically destroying them and shrieking with laughter.

Kit returned after helping the other two younger men rope off an enclosure for the horses to roam in. Storm was attached to a tether nearby, not trusted to mingle with the herd just yet.

‘Are these all your family?’ Lyris found herself wondering aloud as he stood beside Arn.

‘Of a sort,’ he pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘My Mum passed when I was five. Dad found Kel and decided to trade in a life as a medic, for that of a travelling healer,’ he grinned and offered Rafai a cheeky wave as the dark-skinned man looked up at him. The healer shook his head and sat down beside the woman Kit had named as Kel, with the babies at her knee.

‘They’re your half siblings?’ Arn sniffed the air and in eager anticipation of the coming meal, extended a hand to Kit who was happy to help him up to his feet.

‘Some,’ Kit grinned and pointed to two girls with jet black hair and skin that was a soft golden brown.

‘Fawn and Fola,’ he paused, searching the shadows before pointing to a boy with brown hair that lifted straight from his crown in thick ringlets. ‘Frederick,’ Kit named him, ‘then Fin playing with the bricks.’

‘Not the other baby?’ Lyris accepted the offered hand climbed to her own feet.

‘Joshua belongs to Daisy and Kieran, so do Barney and Isabelle, the blonde ones.’

It was then that Daisy twisted away from the fire, ‘Kelanin, dinner!’ The pale-haired woman hollered with a louder voice then Lyris was expecting.

‘Grandmother always eats first,’ Kit murmured as the three of them lingered.

‘She’s the leader?’ Arn stretched out his arms above his head.’

‘Yes…’ Kit grinned but left them wondering why he had paused, ‘but also it’s dangerous not to feed her first.’

‘She doesn’t strike me as a woman with a temper,’ Lyris protested and Kit laughed.

‘Pray, never stand between her and Daisy’s cooking. Anyone else’s and you’re safe, but not when it’s Daisy’s turn to cook.’ He licked his lips then and his stomach betrayed him with a familiar rumble.

Kelanin appeared from behind her wagon, the red-haired child at her side. With a bowl in hand she approached the fire and accepted the ladled stew from the pot. It was then that the rush occurred, children and adults approaching in a wave towards Daisy as she dished out the meal.

‘Who is that?’ Lyris nodded towards the pale girl with large green eyes. She seemed to hover around the edge of the main group and unlike the other children was quiet.

‘Whisper,’ Kit beckoned for them to follow as he approached the centre, bowl in hand. ‘Her Father was Kelanin’s oldest son. He died.’

The young man seemed to have little else to say on the subject, too busy inspecting his stew as he moved away. Lyris and Arn proffered their own dishes and had them pushed back into their hands, full.

They retreated to the edges of the camp and there was little to be heard other than the crackling of the firepit, and compliments thrown to Daisy for the meal. The blonde woman insisted that with a proper stove she could have made them soft bread, or with more time, some butter for their meal and was met with laughter and a general rolling of eyes. Lyris was left with the impression that Daisy was always too modest, yet easily upset if the compliments weren’t offered.

The children seemed to have spent their energy, and after dinner remained huddled among their parents around the fire pit. Whilst Kit had flopped onto the grass beside Arn and Lyris, the two other youths who lived in the yellow wagon kept their distance. Lyris suspected that one was another relation to Kelanin, as he shared the woman’s wide eyes and the high cheekbones of Kel and Keiran. He was checking over a wooden pipe, polishing the outside, as the second young man held his ear to a fiddle and adjusted the strings.

‘Who are they?’ Lyris couldn’t keep her question in any longer. Having come from a small family, the large and rambling mass of the travellers was fascinating to her.

‘Brun,’ Kit moved onto his front and with his elbows in the grass, propped his chin in his hands. Smiling at Fawn and Fola as they watched him from across the fire, and copied his pose.

‘He’s Kelanin’s youngest…and the man with the shaved head is Hustom. He appeared out of a winter mist one morning and he’s been with us ever since.’

Hustom drew the bow across the fiddle and a sweet note filled the air, lifting the hairs on the back of Lyris’s arms. Arn reached for the blanket he’d bought from the wagon and shook it out, offering to share it. Though the fire glow was hot on her face, the woman accepted the offering and tucked it around her legs as they sat and listened to the sound of a pipe and fiddle lifting into the air. They started with a lively song, that soon had the four elder children up and dancing, running circles around the wagons. Though their burst of energy was short lived and they dropped back to the grass and were wrapped up again.

The second song was a slow lament of high notes that drifted along the tree-tops. Stars appeared in the gloaming, and Lyris felt exhaustion creeping once more through her bones. Well-fed and feeling safe amongst the company, the young woman tilted her head back against the wagon and closed her eyes. Happy to enjoy the soft notes of fading music and the crackle of burning wood. She could smell woodsmoke and left-over meat stew. Warm and comfortable it was harder to remember why she had hated travelling to the border. It had been an entirely different journey.