Kaelyn stood on tiptoe, grabbed an apple, and twisted it free. Through the thick leaves of the orchard, in the last light of day, sat Mythnar. The towering fortification was impressive. The town clustered around it seem like children hugging the legs of a protective parent. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t gone the extra distance into town, but they hadn’t. And from where Mac had proclaimed camp, they could watch lights flicker in the tower windows.
But she trusted Mac, and if he didn’t want to spend the night in Mythnar, so be it. They’d still have to go into town to get supplies for the rest of their journey, but she was loathe to remind him of that.
She glanced at the moon, a silver orb cresting the horizon. Did she know any more about herself now then the last time she’d gazed up at that moon? It didn’t even feel like the same moon. It felt like a lifetime had passed, and yet it had been only a handful of days. Only a fortnight. How could something seem so slow and so quick at the same time? And all she knew was that she wasn’t the same person who’d begun this journey.
She shivered, not wanting to think about killing those men. Would she ever get back to the person she was before all this had happened, or would that person forever be lost to her?
Putting the apple with the others in the sling she’d made out of the front of her shirt, she started in the direction of their camp. Every muscle in her body protested and she cursed herself for standing in one place for so long. If there was one thing she’d learned over the last fourteen days, it was the need to stretch. Her whole body throbbed from Mac’s sword lessons each morning.
Mac had scavenged a sword from one of the bandits for her to do the exercises with. He’d said it was a light one and–not wanting to return to the scene of the fight to try another–she’d believed him. But now, after swinging the weighty piece of metal for days and pulling muscles she didn’t know she had, she was beginning to doubt him. Still, she had to admit that the cumbersome thing was a good way to crack Mac’s icy exterior. He’d seen a lot in his life, and once his sword was whirling in a familiar pattern, he’d tell tales about his past. It usually started with a story that pertained to the particular stroke they were working on, but soon he would digress and talk about anything: Meriduin, sailing, horsemanship.
After a couple of days of watching, Talar had joined in, drawing her attention to his strength and grace and beauty–and the ever-growing heat within her when he was near. It was a test in concentration, that was all. Besides, he was beautiful and she certainly couldn’t compare to women like the Lady of Newalden.
Their days consisted of wake, practice, travel, catch supper, and finally sleep. She took comfort in knowing that tomorrow would be very much as the day before it, and the day before that. It made her feel normal, whole. She sometimes felt like she could lose herself in the patterns she practiced. She could let go of the cloud in her mind, let her body take over, and step in rhythm to her heart. Her body knew who she was, she was sure of it. If she could only push that cloud far enough away she would remember.
But she never could, and would always come back to awareness to find the cloud enshrouding her mind darker and thicker than before.
She slowed her approach, not wanting to leave the stillness of the evening. What an odd group. An old warrior, a clansman, and her.
Checking her breeches, she ensured they were still secure–a habit developed out of necessity, since she’d started wearing Talar’s extra clothes. The first thing on her agenda when she convinced Mac to go into town were clothes that fit. That was probably what the men were talking about now. From the moment Talar had suggested going into the city Mac had protested, and, as they drew closer to Mythnar, he became more and more adamant.
“Apples for desert,” she said, stepping into the circle of firelight.
“We are not going into Mythnar,” said Mac to Talar, ignoring her.
She sat and poured the apples in a pile beside her.
“And we’re not going to make it through the White Pass without supplies,” said Talar.
“I’ve done it before.”
Cat stood, stretched, and stalked to Kaelyn’s side, then curled back into a ball.
“Do I get a say in this?” asked Kaelyn.
“No,” said Mac.
“Aren’t you my employee?”
Talar raised an eyebrow but made no comment at that.
“The only thing I know about the White Pass comes from a Mac Theselon tale. He traveled the pass without supplies and it was not a pleasant journey.”
“It was winter then,” said Mac with a growl.
“Listen, I’m not thrilled about the idea either. But the truth is that we will need supplies.” Talar rubbed his wrists. “Besides, our lovely lady here needs new clothes, or in the very least a belt.”
“In the very least,” said Kaelyn.
Mac sighed and turned his watery gaze on her. “Fine, but if anything happens do you know what I’ll do to Talar?”
She nodded. “You’ll make him go through this morning’s exercises holding my unbelievably heavy sword.”
“That’s it,” said Talar with a laugh. “Double for you tomorrow.”
“You’re not the master. It’s all up to my esteemed mentor.”
“If you weren’t wearing my only change of clothes I’d dunk you in a stream.”
She stuck out her tongue at him then realized how childish she looked and sucked it back in, focusing on the apples beside her.
She didn’t want to look childish. She wanted to look beautiful, and charming, and . . . and everything she knew she wasn’t.
#
Mac leaned back on his elbows. If he could only be young again. He’d had such adventures in his youth. He wondered when Kaelyn would figure out this grey shell of a man was what her legends were made of. Would she understand that he’d been a different person then, and that life didn’t make good stories? That bards and minstrels, like Talar, would take an almost good story and make it more exciting. How could he ever hope to be the Mac he’d once been. Even if he could be younger, he still wouldn’t live up to the legend.
Maybe he should give up. Winter was coming and they were traveling north. He’d never been fond of northern winters. Of course, where would that leave Kaelyn? Without a memory and still determined to find it.
She laughed at something Talar said and turned away with the group’s only blanket to make her bed on the other side of the fire.
Talar shifted closer to Mac. “How magnanimous of you to allow us to go into town,” he said, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry past their side of the fire.
“She would have gone whether I said yes or no. This just saves her from trying to come up with an escape plan.”
“It’s a pity she isn’t a boy. Her swordsmanship is amazing.”
Mac nodded, and let his gaze drift to her prone form. Her cat lay curled against the small of her back, snoring little high-pitched noises.
The fire crackled and sparks floated into the air on thin tendrils of smoke. Somewhere a cricket chirped and off in the distance he could hear the call for the night watch to change in Mythnar.
“What do you think she’ll be like when she gets her memory back?” asked Talar, breaking the quiet.
“The same as she is now. Except she’ll know how to do things.”
“Do you really think so?”
Mac sighed. “No. She’ll probably remember how she’s really supposed to behave. Her fire will still be there, but she’ll probably remember how to hide it. I wish I knew where she learned to fight.”
“I wish we could just steal her away to join the clans. At least there she’d be appreciated.”
“I’m sure she’d still cause a stir. The last time I looked, the clans weren’t encouraging women warriors, either.”
“But it’s been such a long time since the Goddess has manifested as a warrior.”
Hundreds of years in fact. But he wouldn’t wish something like that on anyone. It was difficult enough being a hero of legend, he couldn’t imagine what it would be like if religion got involved. “It’s not fair to turn her into a religious movement.”
Talar rubbed his wrists and matched Mac’s sigh. “No, it’s not.”
“Maybe we could turn her into a political movement, while were at it,” said Mac, letting all his sarcasm and bitterness color his voice. “We could convince whoever her father is that a marriage to a clansman would be beneficial to the peace treaty. I’m sure the Queen would pay handsomely for the service. Your men would probably be the only ones around who would take her, no one from Meriduin would. Her marriage prospects her are probably non-existent.”
“That’s disgusting. True. But disgusting nevertheless.”
#
Kaelyn waited until both the men’s breathing had turned to the steady rhythm of sleep before she rolled out of the blanket and slipped down the hill toward Mythnar.
Tears coursed down her cheeks as she stifled her sobs against her arm. She couldn’t believe those things they said, those things they’d tried to hide with their whispers. That she’d become a different person when she got her memory back. That no one would want her. No one wanted her now. Talar didn’t or he wouldn’t have agreed with Mac that no one would marry her.
She knew, deep down, that he hadn’t noticed her in the way a man was supposed to notice a woman. She knew that. Logically she knew that. But a part of her had still hoped he had. He hadn’t even stood up for her and neither had Mac.
Of course, she wasn’t what she was supposed to be. She shouldn’t be thinking and saying the things she was. Girls were supposed to be like the Lady of Newalden and her maids. Beautiful and gentle. She was sure the Lady of Newalden never ran around in boy’s clothing, or made her own fire pits. The Lady was graceful and quiet and perfect. She was what inspired minstrels to write songs and sing them. And she’d seen the way Talar had looked at her. No one would write songs about Kaelyn, or look at her like that. Certainly not Talar. She wasn’t beautiful. She was short and plain and she swung that wretched piece of metal around every morning.
It had seemed so innocent. Do what Mac did and maybe he’d talk to her, be her friend. But now she knew that wasn’t true.
She shuddered and stumbled over a rock hidden in the tall grass. She wiped at the tears that kept leaking down her checks. Maybe she was better off not knowing who she was. She could go somewhere, by herself, and start over. Become the person she was supposed to be. Mac and Talar wouldn’t have to worry about her any more. They could get on with their lives and forget that they had ever met her.
