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* * *
The coin purse was nearly flat when four loaded kanks left the open pen of the borderland homestead. Zvain proudly, but somewhat anxiously, rode by himself with the provisions on the fourth kank. Akashia rode behind Ruari. She had not awakened at all during the long, hot walk from the city to the homestead, nor when they lifted her onto the kank's back and contrived to tie her to the saddle like so much precious cargo. With her cloth-bound head resting against Ruari's back and her hands resting limply against his thighs, she was no trouble at all.
And no help either.
"Which way?" Pavek asked.
The sun was sinking in front of them; Urik and the homestead were behind them. They'd gotten this far simply by retracing their steps along the Urik roads. Now Pavek looked out at the wilderness. Nothing looked wrong-how could it when everything looked the same? Nothing felt quite right either, and there was a dark hole in his memory where his home-Akashia's home-should have been.
"You don't know the way?" Zvain sputtered. "You're taking me out into the middle of nowhere to die?" Ruari answered first: "We know the way. We just can't remember all of it. Grandmother hid the knowledge away when we left for Urik. When we get to the Sun's Fist, then we'll remember."
They guided the kanks in a wide arc to the north and east. The sun set and they made camp. A crackling fire kept the night chill away and turned the food Zvain had provided into a simple feast. Yohan untied the cloth covering Akashia's eyes-over Zvain's objections that firelight would be enough to start the Laq burning behind her eyes again. But the savory aromas that set their mouths watering and made them impatient with each other and the cookpots had no effect on Akashia. Her eyes were open again, but she didn't seem to see the fire or anything else.
"She ate bread last night when I gave it to her," Ruari grumbled when an
other piece of journey-bread slipped unnoticed to the ground between her feet. "She's getting worse, not better."
Zvain nodded. "Laq," he said. "It doesn't take much sometimes. How far do we have to go? How much longer until we get there?"
"A few days." Yohan picked up the journey-bread, then threw it in the fire. He put another piece in her hand and, holding her fingers together, maneuvered the food to her lips. Her eyelids fluttered, she took a small bite and, very slowly, began to chew. "We'll make it, Kashi. Grandmother will be waiting for us. She'll take care of you."
Zvain nudged Pavek with his elbow. "Who's this 'Grandmother?'"
"The high druid." He couldn't think of a better description. "She's the one who says when it's time to take zarneeka seeds to Urik. She's the one who can cut the poison off at its root."
"She can heal Akashia?"
"In-" Once again he looked for the word and found darkness instead. "At home, Telhami can do just about anything she wants, Zvain."
"I don't think I want to meet her. I don't think she's going to like me."
"She doesn't like me very much either, but she's teaching me druid magic."
Zvain's mouth dropped open-from awe, Pavek thought, or possibly envy. They'd never talked about such things in the Gold Street bolt-hole. He didn't know if Zvain was one of those who dreamt of magic or one of those who feared it. When Zvain edged away from him and lapsed into morose silence, he decided it must be the latter and wondered if bringing the youth to... home was a good idea. Faced with a choice between druidry and farming, Zvain might have preferred to remain in Urik. He'd been doing all right for himself mere, apparently.
"What did you do after I left?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. "Not stealing every day, I hope."
"No, not stealing." The boy stared at his feet a long time, then looked up and said: "I'm tired. I want to go to sleep now."
He curled up in a blanket with his face toward the fire, eyes wide and staring at the flames. He was still staring when they wrapped Akashia in the thickest blanket and settled her between Ruari and Yohan, to keep her warm and to keep her from wandering off in the night.
Pavek laid Dovanne's sword across his lap and took the first watch. Guthay set early. The skies became darker and a handful of shooting stars streaked across the sky.
He leaned over to tell Zvain, to share this small magic with the city-raised boy, but Zvain's eyes were closed now, asleep with his fists tucked childlike beneath his chin and cheek.
The blanket had slipped. Pavek picked up a corner to pull it taut, but Zvain cringed and whimpered when he tried to tuck the cloth beneath those clenched fists.
Not stealing, he'd said. How many ways were there for an orphan youth to survive in Urik? Between what he'd known as a templar and what he'd lived as an orphan himself, Pavek figured he knew them all, and promised himself that he wouldn't ask any more questions.
Recalling Yohan with Akashia, he stroked Zvain's hair, murmuring a soft reassurance. But it seemed that his touch wasn't comforting. The boy started shivering, and Pavek simply left him alone.
* * *
They made their way home as steadily as they could when none of them knew exactly where home was. Akashia was a growing concern, for all, but thanks to Yohan's patience and determination, she neither starved nor grew parched from thirst. Otherwise her condition remained the same: unaware of everything, except sunlight if it chanced to touch her eyes. Then she would flail and scream.
At last, however, the dazzling white expanse of the Sun's Fist flooded their vision with shimmering heat waves, whirlwinds, and a beautiful mirage: a tree-crowned village in the middle of a swaying, green-grass sea. As the mirage drifted through Pavek's thoughts, into the dark hole, which it filled precisely, he breathed out the single word: "Quraite," He realized he had not spoken alone.
"Quraite?" Zvain asked. "What? Where?"
