“What I wouldn’t give to soak my feet in those waters,” he said to Nyx, who stood nearby.
The Kethra’kai had certainly set a hard stride through their greenwoods. They moved tirelessly, including the old woman. And even then, Kanthe suspected they went slower to accommodate the pace of the lowlanders among them. Still, it had taken their party most of the day to reach the large lake. Frell’s estimation yesterday that their group could reach the Heilsa by midday was dashed by the reality of both distance and hardship. Their path here had been circuitous, avoiding known hazards, aiming for spots to collect rare herbs, or diverging to hunt for fresh game.
Faint ringing echoed across the lake from Havensfayre. The distant bells sounded haunting and forlorn, marking either the last bell of latterday or the first of Eventoll.
Jace reached to his boots, preparing to don them. Their day’s hike was not yet over. They still had to round the lake, which would take them near to the end of Eventoll. They currently waited for the Kethra’kai to finish some act of obeisance at the lake’s edge. Frell was down there with them, observing a ceremony that involved much bowing. Palms were dipped in the water and placed to cheeks. He heard faint singing.
Nyx stared toward them with her arms crossed. She had donned Jace’s cloak after it had dried overnight, but she had barely tied it, allowing glimpses of bare skin and the spotted wrap over her breasts.
Kanthe had caught Jace sneaking surreptitious glances her way as they trekked the forest. Not that he faulted the journeyman. Kanthe had done the same. And it wasn’t just the peeks at her flesh that likely drew their attention, even Frell’s—though the alchymist’s glances were more studious than appreciative.
Instead, with each league hiked, an air grew about her, gathering like a cloak to her shoulders. Her skin shone with more than perspiration. The golden strands in her hair brightened, while the rest of it darkened into shadows. It was as if she drew some strange vitality from the woods. Kanthe doubted she was even aware of it.
Certainly no one mentioned it, but they all felt it.
Even the Kethra’kai, who snuck looks her way and whispered among themselves.
Nyx seemed blind to it all. During the long trek, she had hardly spoken a word, clearly dwelling deeply on matters she was not ready to talk about. She cast glances often toward the Kethra’kai elder, but any attempt of hers to move closer was rebuffed, not forcefully, more like a wind that kept pushing the women and elder away if Nyx drew too close.
Jace also kept protectively close to her, gasping and panting to keep up. Kanthe had come to realize how much he had underestimated both the journeyman’s stamina and his boundless loyalty to his friend. The latter was certainly born of a stripling’s love, which had yet to be spoken. Kanthe had harbored one or two such affections in the past and knew how much it ached one’s heart, a wonderful anguish jumbled with hope, desire, and a large amount of insecurity.
Still, he sensed depths to Jace that, like Nyx, the journeyman was oblivious to. When Kanthe first met him, he judged the man to be slovenly, weak of muscle and wide of belly, stunted by his years of shelter at the Cloistery, truly no more than a man-child. But after these many days, he recognized the stinginess of his judgement.
And I should know better.
His ears rang with the many past jibes cast his way, by people who did not know him: the Tallywag, the Dark Trifle, and many other coarser titles.
Still, even with his newfound generosity for Jace, Kanthe sometimes wanted to slap him across his scruffy face. Like now.
Jace pointed to the lake after donning his boots. “It’s said the waters of the Heilsa hold miraculous curative powers. Many come here with dire ailments and swear that imbibing or bathing in these waters healed them.”
Kanthe closed his eyes, biting back a groan. He remembered Jaleek’s big grin and the word that the tribesman had spoken as he pointed to a bowl of powder. Kraal. The Kethra’kai apparently had a cure for what the skriitch inflicted.
A soft moan drew Kanthe’s eyes open. Nyx had stepped from her post near the log and toward the lake. Whatever magick had infused her fell from her shoulders, leaving her back bowed. He knew what she feared, the guilt it sharpened. The promise of healing waters opened a wound barely closed.
He crossed over to her and cleared his throat, seeking for a lightness that his heart did not feel. “It’s just legend,” he scoffed. “The scout I knew, Bre’bran, laughed at such stories.”
This was a lie, but one he knew Nyx needed to hear.
“The lake is no different than any other,” he continued. “Truly. The people of Havensfayre suffer just as many ailments as any other town. Sure, it’s pretty and all, but miraculous?” He blew sourly through his lips. “Preposterous.”
Jace sat straighter. “But according to Lyllandra’s Medicum Priz, the waters are said to be rich in—”
“In shite.” Kanthe cut the journeyman off with a hard frown and a meaningful look at Nyx’s back. “Flowing in from Havensfayre’s sewers. And I know those fisherfolk sailing out there have pissed many a time in that lake.”
Jace seemed to finally understand. He swallowed hard, his cheeks reddening, and nodded. “That’s probably true.”
“Then enough talk of miraculous waters,” Kanthe said. “We still have a long trek to reach Havensfayre, and the Kethra’kai are coming back.”
He waved to where the tribesmen climbed up the rise toward them, accompanied by Frell, whose face was flushed with excitement at observing a ceremony rarely witnessed by lowlanders.
Kanthe scowled at their approach.
If that skinny alchymist says one word about cures …
Still, the damage had been done. Nyx straightened, but she tightened the cloak around her body, as if she were suddenly cold. Or maybe she sensed the forest’s charmed mantle had been stripped from her by Jace’s ill-timed words.
Frell must have noted the shift in weather atop the knoll. He frowned around, saw nothing amiss, and waved back to the lake. “We should be in Havensfayre in another few bells.”
Kanthe nodded. “Then we dare wait no longer.”
As he followed the scouts of the Kethra’kai, he dragged his own shadowy fears along with him, which grew with every step. His hip ached from where the crossbow bolt had grazed it, a shot he had thought accidental, but now was suspect. He pictured the crimson-faced Mallik thrusting a sword at him. And the face of another vy-knight, the head of the detachment. Anskar would not sit idly by after allowing Kanthe to escape his assassination attempt.
Still, he cast a worried look toward Nyx. She had also survived an assassination long ago, one ordered by the same king. Maybe she was Toranth’s daughter, as reviled as a certain despoiled son. But Kanthe also knew she carried a dark pall of prophecy, of doom laid at her feet, a warning whispered in the king’s ear by a dark Iflelen. Kanthe had dismissed such divinations before, but he could not ignore a worry that had been growing of late, one just as rife with fear, especially with all that he had heard and witnessed these past days.
He stared over at Nyx.
What if that bastard Wryth was right?
* * *
NYX WATCHED THE Kethra’kai vanish into the mists.
The final bell of Eventoll rang from the shadows of the fog-shrouded town to her right. The tribesmen had honored their promise and delivered her and the others to the outskirts of the woodland town. The two groups parted where a rutted road led toward Havensfayre.