He began picking, dropping the apples into his pocketed apron. The aroma of the fruit filled his head, sweet with lazy summer afternoons. He bit into one. The skin was tough, the flesh crisp, the juice a burst of honeyed tartness.
Valentina, the youngest, began a song in her sweet child’s voice, and Cerriana joined in. Eduin sang in a surprisingly good tenor, as did Carolin. Varzil, with no singing voice of his own, was content to simply listen. He kept his eyes on the apples and his mind on judging how much weight each branch could take.
Crack! Crash! came from across the orchard.
Thud!
Varzil grabbed the nearest branch as the ladder went tumbling out from under him. He wrapped his legs around the branch, even as the tree swayed uhder his weight.
“Carlo!” Cerriana shrieked.
Varzil, clinging to his perch, couldn’t see exactly what had happened. Cerriana and Valentina rushed to the other tree.
Varzil shimmied down until he could get a foothold on the lowest branch and from there, drop to the ground. By some miracle, he managed to land on both feet.
Now he got a good look at the tree where Eduin and Carolin had been picking. Eduin still stood atop his own ladder. His thin features were set and ashen, his blue eyes lit with an unreadable expression. A massive branch had snapped off and crashed to the ground.
Carolin lay unmoving under the thickest part of the bough.
8
Cerriana threw herself down beside Carolin’s half-hidden form. With one hand, she touched his bare, outstretched hand.
“He’s alive.”
She was a monitor, Varzil told himself, and would know from a touch. Still, his heart stuttered as he rushed over.
He wrapped his hands around the thick, splintered branch and pulled. It was surprisingly heavy. He staggered under its weight. Valentina tugged uselessly at one of the smaller offshoots. Cerriana made no attempt to help, but reached underneath, toward Carolin’s head.
With her other hand, Cerriana took out her starstone, a chip of faceted, blue-tinged fire set in a filigree of copper on a long chain between her breasts. It glimmered into life at her touch. Varzil could almost see a halo of laran sparks surrounding her hands as she worked.
Valentina sniffled, but sat quietly. Her round eyes took on the serious, inward-focused look that Varzil already associated with matrix work. She was following Cerriana’s mind.
Varzil felt Cerriana’s concentration, the surge of her laran as she examined Carolin. But Eduin—Eduin’s mind was a blank. Varzil glanced up to see the older boy climbing down, rung by slow, studied rung.
Varzil inhaled deeply, filling his chest, just as he’d seen men on his father’s estate do when faced with some feat of strength. Letting the breath out in a rush, he tightened his grasp on the branch and heaved with all his strength. Not straight up, against the weight of the dense-grained wood, but sideways, pivoting the branch. To his surprise, it moved.
“Let’s get him out!” Cerriana sprang to life. “There’s nothing broken—it’s safe to move him.” She grabbed one of Carolin’s arms and Valentina, the other. Together, they managed to pull him clear away. Varzil lowered the branch.
Carolin lay motionless, head lolling, eyes closed. Thick lashes curled over pale cheeks. One arm stretched at an awkward angle and the shoulder bulged unnaturally.
Varzil sensed a faint presence. Carlo? Can you hear me?
Silence answered him.
As Varzil knelt by his friend’s side, he felt Eduin’s approach as a prickle of the hairs at the back of his neck.
“He—he fell,” Eduin said. “There was nothing I could do.” He swallowed hard.
Through Eduin’s barriers, Varzil caught a tinge of intense emotion, fear and concern and an odd desperation, all blurred together.
Cerriana, once more in rapport with the unconscious youth, did not respond, but Valentina blinked.
“Don‘t—” Varzil began, meaning to say, Don’t distract her.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Eduin snarled. He circled the branch to crouch beside Cerriana.
No, shuddered through Varzil. He bit back an exclamation. What was wrong with him? Eduin was Carolin’s friend, and he had four years of Tower training.
Just as Eduin stretched out his hand, Carolin’s eyelids fluttered. He took a deep, heaving breath. Moaning, he raised one hand to his forehead. “What happened—?”
“Hush,” Cerriana said. “Lie still while I monitor you.”
“No, I’m all right.” Carolin lifted his head and struggled to sit up. The brief tint of color immediately drained from his face. He fell back.
Varzil took Carolin’s hand between his. “Let Cerriana finish her work. It will take only a few minutes. If you sit up too soon, you’ll faint and get Valentina upset.”
Valentina had been sitting, watching quietly without the slightest evidence of any distress.
Carolin’s mouth quirked upward at one corner, but he made no further attempts to rise. Cerriana continued her scan of his body. Eduin mirrored her from the other side.
Watching Eduin’s serious expression and the care with which he examined Carolin’s shoulder, Varzil felt ashamed of his suspicions. Had he held a stupid grudge against Eduin for having greeted him so rudely on that first morning?
“You managed to hit your head pretty hard, Carlo,” Cerriana said, sitting back. “There’s no bleeding inside that thick skull of yours and your neck is intact. Your shoulder’s dislocated, but that seems to be the worst of it. I’ve done what I can, short of compressing two weeks’ rest into five minutes. There’ll be no more apple picking for you today, I fear.” She laughed. “A rather extreme method of getting out of work, I must say.”
Cerriana helped Carolin to sit up. He gasped in pain and grabbed his injured shoulder. His arm hung at an odd angle.
“Ah!” Carolin winced.
“Alas, I have not the skill to set it back,” Cerriana said. “Fidelis tried to teach me, but I’m not strong enough and I kept getting the angle wrong. I doubt you’d appreciate me putting my foot in your armpit and pulling as hard as I can. No, we’d best put the arm in a sling and get you back.”
“By then, the joint will have swollen. Putting it back will be much more difficult,” Varzil said.
“How would you know?” Eduin demanded.
Cerriana looked at Varzil, assessing him. He’s so small, he must have grown up in a monastery. What could he know of such injuries?
Varzil shrugged. “The oldest son of my father’s paxman had his shoulder torn half out of its socket by a colt that had gotten into ghostweed.”
Memories rushed over him. He’d been watching from the pole corral, along with Harald and a few of the men. The horse had been one of a herd brought in from winter pasture for the yearlings to be branded, trained to halter, and then turned out for another season before being broken for riding. Kevan, Black Eiric’s teenaged son, had roped and haltered the colt.
The three-year-old, driven into a frenzy by the toxic weed, had thrown himself over backward to escape an imagined terror. Kevan’s hand had caught in the halter rope, spinning his body around and jerking his arm behind him before he could release himself.
Varzil had jumped into the enclosure a moment after Harald did. Harald had waved his arms to shoo the horse away. Squealing, the beast had shied and bolted for the other side of the pen, where it had stood, trembling and dripping foam from its nostrils. The other horses had whirled and bunched together at the far end.
Varzil had bent over Kevan, who clutched his shoulder even as Carolin did now. Kevan had cursed under his breath and the skin around his mouth had turned white with pain. The oldest of the stable men, Raul, had evaluated the damage with a few deft touches, the same care as he would use for a frightened foal. Raul himself was a wizened nut of a man, a head shorter than the others, his back bowed and knotted with years of bat tling bad weather and rough livestock.
“Slid your shoulder out of its socket, you have,
young Kevan,” he had said in a kindly voice. “But we’ll soon put it to rights. Now you watch this, Master Varzil. The usual way’s to stick your boot in the poor man’s armpit and haul away like crazy. It works but tears the muscles something fierce. Sometimes the cure’s worse than the illness. But see here, you can do it smart instead of strong.”
Raul had placed Kevan on his back and, continuing to speak in a soothing tone, had bent his arm, pulling gently at the elbow. “Ah now, I’m waiting for the moment when the muscles relax. Easy is best, with men as well as horses. Can you feel it start to give? There, now.”
He had slowly brought Kevan’s elbow to his side and rotated the entire arm so that the hand lay on the opposite shoulder. Varzil heard a soft pop! An expression of incredulous relief spread over Kevan’s face.
“Once it’s been out, a shoulder likes to wander,” Raul had said as Kevan got to his feet. “Like some fillies I’ve known, and more than a few husbands. With a shoulder, the trick is to get it back in before the muscles bind up.” He gave a wink to indicate there was no known treatment for either of the other offenders.
“I know about shoulders,” Kevan had admitted with a sheepish grin. “‘Tis the third time for me, but the puttin’ back’s always worse than the puttin’ out. Never had it so easy as this.” He had thanked the stable man and went off toward the main house to have his shoulder bound.
The puttin’ back’s always worse than the puttin’ out. The phrase stayed with Varzil, along with the memory.
“Let me try,” he said, gently pushing Carolin down.
“You?” Eduin demanded. “What can you do? Cerriana, this is a terrible idea—he has no monitor training—he could make the damage worse—”
“No,” Carolin said. “I trust Varzil. Let him try.”
Ignoring Eduin’s taunt, Varzil positioned his hands around Carolin’s forearm, exerting a steady, gentle traction on the shoulder. At first, he felt resistance, as if he were pulling on a tightly knotted rope. The muscles had already gone stiff with pain. Carolin’s face tensed.
Do not fight it, bredu, he spoke mentally to Carolin. I know it hurts, but can you place your arm into my hands?
Carolin, who had been holding his breath, let it out. Varzil felt the muscles soften and lengthen. Now was the moment.
Praying his memory was correct, Varzil drew Carolin’s elbow to his side, hand rotated backward. He felt something high in the arm begin to slide. With the next slow movement, Varzil moved Carolin’s hand toward the opposite shoulder, continuing to hold his elbow at his side.
“Ah!” Carolin cried.
Varzil sensed rather than heard the arm bone slide back into its socket. Warmth spread through the surrounding tissues. Varzil sat back on his heels, aware that he was sweating.
“Now, where is that sling?”he said.
Cerriana, eyes wide, went to get cloth from the picnic basket. Deftly, she knotted it around Carolin’s arm.
After Carolin declared he felt well enough to travel, Cerriana announced that she and Valentina would return with him to Arilinn.
“There’s no sense all of us leaving,” Eduin said. “Varzil and I can keep picking.”
With Carolin safely astride his fine black horse and Valentina on the mule, Cerriana bustled her little party back to the Tower. Varzil turned back to the tree where he’d been picking. He lifted the ladder from the ground.
“If you expect to be treated like some kind of hero, you’re going to be disappointed.” Eduin came up behind him.
Varzil suppressed his startlement. He didn’t like the glint in Eduin’s eyes, nor did the older boy’s words bode him any good will. His former unease returned.
“I just did what needed to be done,” he said quietly. “I don’t expect any reward.”
Eduin’s tone slipped toward an outright sneer. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay away from Carlo from now on.”
“What concern is it of yours?” The words burst from Varzil’s mouth before he could consider them. Anger pulsed through his belly.
Perhaps, he realized, he disliked Eduin because he sensed how much Eduin disliked him.
Why? He was no threat to Eduin’s position in the Tower, nor was he aware of any feud between their families. Zandru’s scorpions, he didn’t even know who Eduin’s father was! What difference could that make?
Eduin took a step closer. He was a head taller than Varzil, so that now he glowered down at him. His lips drew back from his teeth. He poked one finger into Varzil’s chest. It would have been an offensive gesture under any circumstances, but for telepaths accustomed to respectful physical restraint, it was an outright insult.
Varzil might be new to the Tower, but not so new that he did not catch the implication. He was acutely aware that they were alone together, that Eduin was not only older and taller, but heavier. He’d never been a fighter; if Eduin decided to enforce his point with fists instead of words, his only option would be to run. That would only delay the inevitable.
“Mind your own business,” Eduin said, biting off each word. “Nobody wanted you here to begin with, but since we have to put up with you, you’d better stick to your own place. Which is away from me and Carolin Hastur.”
Varzil’s thoughts skidded to a halt. Eduin was telling him that Carolin was his private preserve and that no outside friendships would be tolerated. They weren’t lovers; Varzil would have known if they-were, and Tower folk weren’t prudish. He’d realized that from his first night when Cerriana and Richardo had gone off together.
He’s nothing but a bully.
Varzil squared his shoulders and met the older boy’s gaze steadily. “I will associate with anyone I please. It is for Carlo to say who his friends are, not you.”
As for his own place, that was at Arilinn Tower. Something held him back from throwing the words in Eduin’s face. Perhaps it was the old habit of keeping his thoughts to himself, or he sensed that even a bully might have influence beyond his words.
Eduin was clearly a favorite, advancing rapidly through the ranks of Tower workers. If he fulfilled his promise, he would make a dangerous enemy.
What was really important here? Facing down a bully or following his own dreams, to be here at last at Arilinn Tower?
Or was this a grudge which would grow and fester until it escaped all bounds of reason? He had heard tales of such feuds, running for generations.
Instinctively, Varzil reached out to Eduin’s mind. If he could establish a primitive communication with a catman, who wasn’t even human, he might also be able to bridge whatever separated him from this young man.
Varzil met a wall, as smooth and blank as a polished shield. He drew back, astonished at the completeness of the barrier. Eduin’s thoughts seemed only to reflect, not to penetrate.
Polished ... as if from years of needing to draw apart, to keep secret. This was not just against him for this moment, Varzil realized, but simply the way Eduin habitually shielded his thoughts. Yet in the Tower, where men spoke mind to mind, what could be kept hidden? Why this desperate need for privacy?
And how terribly lonely he must feel. What could have happened to him, to produce so complete a rift?
Compassion washed through Varzil. He himself had felt compelled to keep secrets for most of his young life. A few early mistakes, like speaking of the Ya-men wailing beneath the moons, had convinced him of the danger of openness. Here in the Tower, he hoped he could finally be himself, among people who understood. How infinitely sad that Eduin, who had been here for four years, still could not trust anyone with the hidden recesses of his mind.
Ah well, that was truly none of his business. And if Eduin felt drawn to Carolin in fellowship and trust, it was better for him to have a single friend than to be so terribly alone.
Silently, Varzil went back to picking apples. His hands and feet moved of their own accord, climbing the wooden rungs, reaching for one green sphere after another. But as he worked, the lingering poison of Eduin’s attack contin
ued to eat away at him. He no longer smelled the honey-tart aroma of the apples. The colors of the day dimmed, as if a mist had passed over the cloudless sky. He emptied the pockets of his apron over and over into the panniers until four of them were full. Leaving the last stag pony for Eduin, he took the lead lines of the other two and trudged back to Arilinn.
9
Snow covered the turrets and courtyards of Arilinn when Varzil took his place as a member of a working circle for the first time. Ordinarily, this would have required years of training, but Varzil had shown aptitude and there was such need that his progress had been accelerated. This night, he was to join Fidelis and Cerriana as part of a laran healing.
A handful of families, left homeless and desperate after the last skirmishes between Alton and Esperanza, had tried to farm the Drycreek area. These broken borderlands, adjacent to the Hastur kingdoms, had been contaminated with bonewater dust a generation ago and deserted ever since. The farmers thought enough time had passed for the land to be safe, but after some months, their children sickened. As Midwinter neared, they came to Arilinn, half-starved and suffering from frostbite as well as bonewater poisoning. The Tower’s monitors separated out the less afflicted, but it would take the combined efforts of the two strongest healers, along with a full circle, to save the worst. Fidelis recommended that Varzil be included, young though he was.
Varzil arrived early at the designated chamber to compose himself and to calm his rising excitement at this new responsibility. Auster had placed great faith in him and he wanted to prove himself worthy.
Most monitors were healers, skilled in using the body’s own energy system to repair and rebuild. Some of the best were women, although no one had offered Varzil an explanation why. Everyone at Arilinn had basic monitor training, and all novices studied the energy patterns of the human body.
Varzil paused to catch his breath just inside the door. A row of cots had been set up around the charcoal brazier, bathed in its gentle warmth. One of the patients, a child wrapped in a thick white blanket, coughed fitfully. He blinked, not sure if he had seen a fine green haze in the air, or only felt the sickness of the children. Something—a smell, a taste like rotted meat—slithered up the back of his throat. The fine hairs along the back of his neck rose.