Furies of Calderon (Codex Alera #1)

Furies of Calderon (Codex Alera #1) Page 14

"And that's what happened," Tavi said. "It all started with that one little lie. And all I wanted to do was to get those sheep back. Show my uncle that I could handle things without anyone's help. That I was independent and responsible." He picked up a rind from one of the bright orange fruits and threw it back into the plants at the water's edge, scowling, his thoughts in a turmoil.

"You don't have any furies at all?" the slave repeated, her voice still stunned. "None?"

Tavi hunched his shoulders against her tone and gathered the scarlet cloak closer around him, as though the fabric might ward off the sensation of isolation her words brought him. His voice came out harsher than he'd meant it to, defensive. "That's right. So? I'm still a good herder. I'm the best apprentice in the Valley. Furies or not."

"Oh," Amara said quickly. "No, I didn't mean to-"

"No one means to," Tavi said. "But they all do. They look at me like... like I'm crippled. Even though I can run. Like I'm blind, even though I can see. It doesn't matter what I do, or how well I do it, everyone looks at me the same way." He shot her a glance and said, "Like you are, right now."

Amara frowned and rose, her torn skirts and her appropriated cloak swaying about her ankles. "I'm sorry," she said. "Tavi it's... unusual, I know. I've never heard of anyone with that problem before. But you're also young. It's possible that you just haven't grown into it yet. I mean, you're what? Twelve? Thirteen?"

"Fifteen," Tavi mumbled. He rested his chin on his knees and sighed.

Amara winced. "I see. And you're worried about your service in the Legions."

"What service?" Tavi said. "I don't have any furies. What are the Legions going to do with me? I won't be able to send signals, like the aircrafters, hold the lines with the earthcrafters, or attack with the firecrafters. I won't be able to heal anyone with the watercrafters. I can't forge a sword, or wield one like a metalcrafter. I can't scout and hide, or shoot like a woodcrafter. And I'm small. I'm not even good for handing a spear and fighting in the ranks. What are they going to do with me?"

"No one will be able to question your courage, Tavi. You showed me that last night."

"Courage." Tavi sighed. "As near as I can figure it, all courage gets you is more of a beating than if you'd run away."

"Sometimes that's important," she pointed out.

"Taking a beating?"

"Not running away."

He frowned and said nothing. The slave remained silent for several moments, before she settled down beside him, wrapping the scarlet cloak around her. They listened to the rain outside for a few moments. When Amara spoke, her words took Tavi off guard. "What would you do, if you had a choice?"

"What?" Tavi quirked his head and looked up at her.

"If you could choose anything to do with your life. Anywhere to go," Amara said. "What would you do? Where would you go?"

"The Academy," he said, at once. "I'd go there. You don't have to be a crafter, there. You just have to be smart, and I am. I can read, and write, and do figures. My aunt taught me."

She lifted her brows. "The Academy?"

"It isn't just for Knights you know," Tavi said. "They train legates there, and architects, and engineers. Counselors, musicians, artists. You don't have to be a skilled crafter to design buildings or argue law."

Amara nodded. "Or you could be a Cursor."

Tavi wrinkled up his nose and snorted. "And spend my life delivering mail? How exciting could that be?"

The slave nodded, her expression sober. "Good point."

Tavi swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat. "Out here, on the steadholt, crafting keeps you alive. Literally. Back in the cities, it isn't as important. You can still be someone other than a freak. You can make your own life for yourself. The Academy is the only place in Alera where you can do that."

"Sounds like you've thought about this a lot," Amara said quietly.

"My uncle saw it once, when his Legion was on review for the First Lord. He told me about it. And I've talked to soldiers on their way up to Garrison. Traders. Last spring, Uncle promised me that if I showed him enough responsibility, he'd give me a few sheep of my own. I figured out that if I took care of them and sold them next year, and saved up all of my pay from the Legions, that I could put together enough money for a semester at the Academy."

"One semester?" Amara asked. "What then?"

Tavi shrugged. "I don't know. Try to find some way to stay. I might be able to get someone to be a patron or... I don't know. Something."

She turned to look at him for a moment and said, "You're very brave, Tavi."

"My uncle will never give me the sheep, after this. If he's not dead." The tightness in his throat choked him, and he bowed his head. He could feel tears filling his closed eyes.

"I'm sure he's all right," the slave said.

Tavi nodded, but he couldn't speak. The anguish he'd been trying to keep stuffed down inside rose up in him, and the tears fell onto his cheeks. Uncle Bernard couldn't be dead. He just couldn't. How would Tavi ever be able to live with that?

How would he ever face his aunt?

Tavi lifted his fist and shoved angrily at the tears staining his cheeks.

"At least you're alive," Amara pointed out, her voice quiet. She put a hand on his shoulder. "That's nothing to take lightly, given what you went through yesterday. You survived."

"I get the feeling that when I get back home, I'm going to wish I hadn't," Tavi said, his voice choking, wry. He blinked away the tears and summoned up a smile for the young woman.

She returned it. "Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Why endanger what you'd been working toward? Why did you agree to help this Beritte if you knew it could cause problems for you?"

"I didn't think it would," Tavi said, his voice plaintive. "I mean, I thought I could have done it all. It wasn't until nearly the end of the day that I realized I was going to have to pick between getting all the sheep in and those hollybells, and I'd promised her."

"Ah," said the slave, but her expression remained dubious.

Tavi felt his cheeks color again, and he looked down. "All right," he

sighed. "She kissed me, and my brains melted and dribbled out my ears."

"Now that I can believe," Amara said. She stretched her foot toward the water, flicking idly at its surface with her toes.

"What about you?" Tavi asked.

She tilted her head to one side. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged and looked up at her again, uncertain. "I've been doing all the talking. You haven't said a thing about yourself. Slaves don't usually wander around this far from the road. Or a steadholt. All alone. I figured that, uh, you must have run away."

"No," the young woman said, firmly. "But I did get lost in the storm. I was on my way to Garrison, to deliver a message for my master."

Tavi squinted up at her. "He just sent you out like that? A woman? Alone?"

"I don't question his orders, Tavi. I just obey them."

Tavi frowned, but nodded. "Well, okay, I guess. But, do you think you could come along with me? Maybe talk to my uncle? He could make sure you got to Garrison safely. Get you a hot meal, some warmer clothes."

The slave's eyes wrinkled at the corners. "That's a very polite way to take someone prisoner, Tavi."

He flushed. "I'm sorry. Especially since you probably saved my life and all. But if you are a runaway, and I don't do something about it, the law could come back to hurt my uncle." He pushed his hair back from his eyes. "And I've done enough to mess things up already."

"I understand," she said. "I'll come with you."

"Thank you." He glanced up at the doorway. "Sounds like the rain's stopped. Do you think it's safe to go?"

The slave frowned and looked outside for a moment. "I doubt it's going to get any safer if we wait. We should get back to your steadholt, before the storm gets bad again."

"You think it will?"

Amara nodded, the motion confident. "It has that feel to it."

"All right. Are you going to be all right, walking?" He glanced at her and down at her foot. Her ankle was swollen around a purpling bruise.

Amara grimaced. "It's just my ankle, not the rest of the foot. It hurts, but if I'm careful I should be all right."

Tavi blew out a breath and pushed himself to his feet. All the cuts and injuries twinged and ached, muscle protesting. He had to brace his hand on

the wall for a moment, until he got his balance back. "Okay, then. I guess it isn't going to get any easier."

"I guess not.' Amara let out a small, pained sound as she got to her feet as well. "Well. We make a fine pair of traveling companions. Lead the way."

Tavi headed out of the Memorium and into the chill of the northern wind blowing down from the mountains in the north and the Sea of Ice beyond. Though Tavi had kept the scarlet cloak from the Memorium, the wind was still almost enough to make him turn back inside and seek shelter. Frozen blades of grass crunched beneath his feet, and his breath came out in a steamy haze before his mouth, swiftly torn apart by the winds. There could be no more argument on the subject: Winter had arrived in full force upon the Calderon Valley, and the first snow could not be far behind.

He glanced at the slave behind him. Amara's expression seemed remote, distracted, and she walked with a definite limp, bare feet pale against the icy grass. Tavi winced and said, "We should stop before long, to get your feet warmed up. We could strip one of the cloaks, at least try to wrap them."

"The wrappings would freeze," she said, after a moment's silence. ''The air will keep them warm better than cloth. Just keep going. Once we get to your steadholt, we can warm them up."

Tavi frowned, more at the way her attention seemed fixed on things elsewhere than at what she had to say. He resolved to keep a close eye on her: Frozen feet were nothing to scoff at, and if she was used to life in the city, she might not realize how dangerous it could be on the frontier, or how quickly frostbite could claim her limbs or her life. He stepped up the pace a little, and Amara kept up with him.

They reached the causeway and started down it, but had walked for no more,than an hour when Tavi felt the ground begin to rumble, a tremor so faint that he had to stop and place his spread fingers against the flagstones in order to detect it. "Hold on," he said. "I think someone's coming."

Amara's expression sharpened almost at once, and Tavi saw her draw the cloak a little more closely against her, her hands beneath it and out of sight. Her eyes flickered around them. "Can you tell who?"

Tavi chewed on his lip. "Feels kind of like Brutus. My uncle's fury. Maybe it's him."

The slave swallowed and said, "I feel it now. Earth fury coming."

In only a moment more, Bernard appeared from around a curve in the road. The flagstones themselves rippled up into a wave beneath his feet,

which he kept planted and still, his brow furrowed in concentration, so that the earth moved him forward in one slow undulation, like a leaf borne upon an ocean wave. He wore his winter hunting clothes, heavy and warm, his cloak one of thanadent-hide, layered with gleaming black feather-fur and proof against the coldest nights. He bore his heaviest bow in his hand, an arrow already strung to it, and his eyes, though sunken and surrounded by darker patches of skin, gleamed alertly.

The Steadholder came down the road as swiftly as a man could run, his pace only slowing as he neared the two travelers, the earth slowly subsiding beneath his feet until he stood upon the causeway, walking the final few paces to them.

"Uncle!" Tavi cried, and threw himself at the man, wrapping his arms as far around him as they could go. "Thank the furies. I was so afraid that you'd been hurt."

Bernard laid a hand on Tavi's shoulder, and the young man thought he felt his uncle relax, just a little. Then he gently, firmly pushed Tavi back and away from him.

Tavi blinked up at him, his stomach twisting in sudden uncertainty. "Uncle? Are you all right?"

"No," Bernard rumbled, his voice quiet. He kept his eyes on Tavi, steadily. "I was hurt. So were others, because I was out chasing sheep with you."

"But Uncle," Tavi began.

Bernard waved a hand, his voice hard if not angry. "You didn't mean it. I know. But because of your mischief some of my folk came to grief. Your aunt nearly died. We're going home."

"Yes, sir," Tavi said quietly.

"I'm sorry to do it, but you can forget about those sheep, Tavi. It appears that there are some things you aren't swift to learn after all."

"But what about-" Tavi began.

"Peace," the big man growled, a warning anger in the tone, and Tavi cringed, feeling the tears well in his eyes. "It's done." Bernard lifted his glower from Tavi and asked, "Who the crows are you?"

Tavi heard the rustle of cloth as the slave dipped into a curtsey. "My name is Amara, sir. I was carrying a message for my master, from Riva to Garrison. I became lost in the storm. The boy found me. He saved my life, sir."

Tavi felt a brief flash of gratitude toward the slave and looked up at his uncle, hopefully.

"You were out in that? Fortune favors fools and children," Bernard said. He grunted and asked, "You're a runaway, are you?" "No, sir."

"We'll see," Bernard said. "Come with me, lass. Don't run. If I have to track you down, I'll get irritable."

"Yes, sir."

Bernard nodded and then frowned at Tavi again, his voice hardening. "When we get home, boy, you're to go to your room and stay there until I decide what to do with you. Understand?"

Tavi blinked up at his uncle, shocked. He had never reacted like this before. Even when he'd given Tavi a whipping, there had never been the sense of raw, scantily controlled anger in his voice. Bernard was always in control of himself, always calm, always relaxed. Looking up at his uncle, Tavi felt acutely aware of the sheer size of the man, of the hard, angry glitter to his eyes, of the strength of his huge hands. He didn't dare speak, but he tried to plead with his uncle, silently, letting his expression show how sorry he was, how much he wanted things to be right again. He knew, dimly, that he was crying but he didn't care.

Bernard's face remained hard as granite, and as unforgiving. "Do you understand, boy?"

Tavi's hopes crumbled before that gaze, wilted away before the heat of his uncle's anger.

"I understand, sir," he whispered.

Bernard turned away and started walking down the causeway again, back toward home. "Hurry up," he said, without looking back. "I've wasted enough time on this nonsense."

Tavi stared after him, shocked, numb. His uncle hadn't been this angry the day before, when he'd caught Tavi leaving. What had made this happen? What could drive his uncle to that kind of fury?

The answer came at once. Someone he cared about had been harmed- his sister Isana. Had she truly almost died? Oh, furies, how bad was it?

He had lost something, Tavi knew, something more than sheep or status as a skilled apprentice. He had lost his uncle's respect-something that he had only just began to realize that he had possessed. Bernard had never treated him like the others, not really-never shown him pity for his lack of furycraft, never assumed Tavi's incompetence. There had been, especially over the past few months, a kind of comradeship Tavi hadn't known with

anyone else, a quiet and unobtrusive bond between near-equals, rather than his uncle speaking down to a child. It was something that had been built slowly over the past several years, as he served as his uncle's apprentice.

And it was gone. Tavi had never really realized it was there, and it was gone.

So were the sheep.

So was his chance at the future, of escaping this valley, escaping his own status as a furyless freak, an unwanted bastard child of the Legion camps.

Tears blinded him, though he fought to keep them silent. He couldn't see his uncle, though Bernard's impatient snarl came to him clearly. "Tavi."

He didn't hear Amara start walking until he had stumbled forward, after his uncle. He put one foot in front of the other, blindly, the ache inside him as sharp and more painful than any of the wounds he had received the day before.

Tavi walked without looking up. It didn't matter where his feet were taking him.

He wasn't going anywhere.