Chapter Five

The snow fell harder through the afternoon, the flakes large and wet. Caelan pulled up the hood of his cloak and searched the saddle pockets until he found a pair of gloves. His feet were freezing in their thin leather shoes, but he made no complaint. Concentrating on the patterns of warmth and well-being, he tried to make his toes warm. It didn’t work very well.

Beva swung his mount onto the imperial road, and Caelan followed. In silence they galloped along the empty ribbon of stone, hoofbeats echoing against the wall of forest on either side beyond the ditch. Clipping past the place where he’d been ambushed, Caelan found himself holding his breath. But no lurkers were in evidence today. Even the corpse had been dragged away, probably by wolves. The soldiers of course were long gone, with no trace of their passing except a series of fresh clearings off the road, with blackened fire sites and raw stumps sticking up jaggedly.

After about a league, the forest thinned to marshland. The imperial road rose up atop a levy, but a common road of frozen mire branched off from it, skirting the marsh and heading south toward Meunch. At this spot stood an immense archway of imported granite. Although plain of any curving or ornamentation, its architecture was foreign, exotic. The speckled stone seemed to speak of other lands, other customs, calling to travelers to seek them out. Strange letters had been etched into the base of the arch tall, spiky letters in a script as foreign as the stone.

Towering almost as high as the trees, the arch spanned the imperial road, testament to one of the emperor’s greatest achievements. The roads spanned the length and breadth of the empire, making every corner of it accessible. As for the archway itself, its sheer massive size stood as silent testament to the emperor’s power and long reach. Had the archway stood at the edge of a large town such as Ornselag, imperial troops would have maintained sentries and a check- post.

Beva reined up beneath the arch and gave the ponies a breather. He watched the forest and sky with extra care and seemed reluctant to venture out into the open marshlands.

“What’s wrong?” Caelan asked, thinking of the shadowy denizens said to inhabit the marshlands.

“We must gallop on,” Beva said. “We dare not stay long in the open. Come.”

“But—”

Beva spurred his mount, and the pony plunged off the paved road and down a short embankment to the crude track that led north. Caelan followed more cautiously, wondering why his father had not lit the healer’s lantern bobbing on the pole. Normally it was a signal to all robbers that this was a man of good traveling on a mission of mercy, lacking money to steal. Most bandits respected the lantern, and Beva had never been attacked in all his years of traveling. For him not to light it now, especially if he suspected danger, made no sense unless it was the unworldly he feared.

Caelan wrapped his cloak tightly around his chest and kicked his own pony to catch up. They rode hard and fast, the ponies’ breath steaming in long white plumes. Geese rose off the water with startled honking as they galloped by. More than once their path dipped into the semifrozen slush. The ponies leaped and plunged through it, kicking spray high behind them.

Beva never rode hard like this, but Caelan enjoyed it. Their pace was exhilarating. The sense of mysterious danger gave the adventure extra spice. He found himself watching land and sky as warily as his father was, his senses drinking in the cold outdoors that he’d missed while in school. The air was crisp and clean with scents of pine and spruce over laying the bog smell. The snow stung his face and malted his eyelashes. It was glorious.

Finally forest curved ahead of them. Beva dove into the cover of trees and undergrowth and drew rein beneath the sweeping branches of a larch. Breathless, his heart pounding, Caelan stopped beside him and let his snorting pony drop its head. Both animals were heavily lathered. Steam rose off their wet bodies into the cold air.

Around them the forest lay still, with only the soft rattle of falling snow through the branches. Occasionally a jackdaw could be heard in the sky.

Beva finally blinked and seemed satisfied.

“What is it?” Caelan asked softly. “Can we return to the road?”

“No. Too dangerous. We must stay in the forest, where there is cover.”

“But if we go this way, it will take twice as long to get home.”

“Better to be safe than quick,” Beva said, adjusting his gauntlets.

“If you’re worried about robbers, light your lantern.”

Beva shook his head. “Light will only call attention to us. We must take great care.”

“From what?” Caelan asked in bewilderment. “What kind of robbers do you fear?”

“Not robbers.”

Caelan waited for his father to continue, but Beva was looking into the forest, tight-lipped and plainly worried.

“I can’t help if I don’t understand,” Caelan said in frustration. “Why the secrecy?”

Beva shot him a glance, his face unreadable. He hesitated, then said, “Imperial troops are being withdrawn from the eastern borders.”

“Yes,” Caelan said impatiently. “I know thai. You aren’t afraid of them, are you? What happened to me was just a—”

Beva glared at him. “Some of the auxiliary forces are comprised of Thyzarenes. With their release from service, they have begun raiding—sometimes as far as the northern rim.

Caelan’s mouth fell open. Instinctively he ducked farther beneath the branches. “Thyzarenes!”

His mind churned with the thought of it. Thyzarenes were worse than devils. They were said to attack from the sky, riding huge winged monsters that breathed fire. They were merciless savages who pillaged and destroyed. There had been none in Trau in Caelan’s lifetime.

“But—”

“Quick hunt-and-strike raids,” Beva said grimly. “If the emperor wants to use them against his enemies, that is one thing, but he should not turn them loose on a peaceful and loyal populace.”

“But why are they raiding us? Are you sure it’s not just rumor to liven up winter days?” Caelan asked with a skeptical laugh.

“I have seen their work,” Beva said. “Two holds burned so far and one village. People slaughtered or carried off. The few survivors are in no shape to bury the dead, and that of course brings the wolves.” His mouth tightened with the little twist that always came when he failed to save a patient.

Caelan was ashamed now that he’d laughed. “But the army has moved on, hasn’t it? I mean, when I saw them they were marching fast, not living off the land or raiding as they went. Wouldn’t the Thyzarenes go with them?”

“Who is to say what such savages will do?” Beva asked. “Trau joined the empire for protection, not to be pillaged for sport.”

“When we get home we’ll have to open the arms room,” Caelan said. “We need to make preparations to fight if necessary. Did you bring weapons today for protection?”

Beva stared at him in disapproval. “The idea of fighting pleases you.”

“Well, I think we should defend ourselves, not—”

Beva turned his pony and rode on through the trees without another word.

Caelan scowled, feeling the dismissal as strongly as the blow of a proctor’s staff. His words, his opinions were not worthy enough to be heard. To his father, he remained a child of no standing. Resentfully, Caelan sat a long while, reining his pony when it tried to follow the other one.

Finally, reluctantly, he kicked his mount forward.

Fuming, he glared at his father, who refused to face reality. Beva wasn’t going to bend principle one tiny bit, not even to be practical. How could his father wander the forest unarmed and unprepared with these raiders bringing real danger to the area? How could Beva depend on inner harmony, on severance against barbarians who probably had never heard of such enlightened philosophies?

Maybe Beva wasn’t as wise as he’d always thought. Maybe Beva didn’t know everything. Maybe Beva was capable of making mistakes just like everyone else. It sure looked like his father was making some now.

When his pony caught up, Caelan glanced at his father’s stern profile. “I’m sorry your opinion of me is so low. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear what I have to say.”

Beva tucked his chin deeper into the folds of his hood. “It is actions, not words, that speak truth.”

Caelan frowned and tried to hold onto his temper. “Whether you approve of fighting or not, it doesn’t change the fact that we may be forced to defend our hold. What can we do to protect ourselves?”

“We have the warding keys.”

Astonished, Caelan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “They aren’t enough!”

Beva glanced sideways at him. “They are from the old ways, yes. While I do not approve of them, they do work. Someday, when all men are enlightened into the paths of severance, we shall not need warding keys or weapons.”

“But that day has not yet come,” Caelan said impatiently. “And until it does, we have to be strong and defend what belongs to us.”

Beva sighed. “I had hoped the school would tame this wild spirit inside you. This craving for excitement, for things beyond the ordinary. Why can you not understand that excitement equals danger, that danger destroys, that destruction takes away all that is good and harmonious, leaving only chaos and harm in its wake?”

“But, Father, when the danger comes to us, what are we to do? Just let it destroy us?”

“To admire danger is to summon it. You have been warned of this, boy.”

Caelan frowned. “So are you saying the Thyzarenes are my fault, that I brought them here?”

“Rebellion opens the gateway to darkness,” Beva said. “When enough hearts resist harmony, then darkness grows.”

Caelan slammed his fist against the pommel of his saddle. “I don’t believe this,” he muttered furiously.

“Elder Sobna told me you ran away from Rieschelhold, choosing night as your ally. You found only danger in your search for excitement, did you not?” Beva’s voice was cold, holding condemnation with no hint of concern. “You brought danger to others. The soldiers you admire proved their brutality by attacking you. Has this lesson taught you nothing? Fighting only brings more fighting, just as war begets war.”

“But how can a person learn if he doesn’t seek—”

“The search is inward, not outward. I have told you so many times.”

Caelan frowned. “But to sit and meditate ... I can’t do that.”

“Why?”

“I just can’t.”

“You mean you will not.”

“All right, then, I won’t!” Caelan admitted stubbornly. “I want to see new places, to travel, to have adventures. I want to see the world and all its wonders, not remain forever cooped up in a hold with my hands tucked inside my sleeves.”

“The journey must follow an inner road,” Beva said with a reproof. “Why do you resist this truth?”

Caelan gestured behind him. “And what of that imperial road, leading across the world?”

“Leading to ways of wickedness and error. This, you crave.”

“I just want to see how other people live. I’m tired of listening to stories, old tales that may be false. How can I judge the truth from the lies if I don’t see for myself?”

Beva bowed his head. “No change,” he said quietly, as though to himself. “All these months away, and there is no change in you at all.”

Caelan could feel his stubbornness growing, along with the anger. “That’s right, Father,” he said. “The masters failed to beat or starve my dreams from me. And now I’m going to live as I please. I tried to tell you I didn’t want to be a healer, and you wouldn’t listen to me.”

“There is no other path for you,” Beva said with equal stubbornness. “I tested you and saw the gift in you.”

“No, you saw what you wanted me to be,” Caelan said resentfully. “You’ve never cared what I wanted. It’s always been your plan, your wishes, your idea of how my life would be. Never mine.”

“You were born to be a healer,” Beva said. “As I was born to it. My blood is in you. My skill, waiting to be trained and guided.”

“Well, that’s over,” Caelan said with a shrug. “No more training.”

“How proudly you say it. You come home disrobed with the Ouon Bell rung over you. That means you are dead, boy, dead to all healers. You can never be one of us. You are outcast from the profession. Is this how you honor me? Is this how a son thanks his father? How am I to stand among my colleagues now? How do I point to my son with a father’s pride?”

Caelan frowned. After a lifetime of watching his father spurn emotions, these admissions were doubly bewildering. Caelan’s heart twisted. “You have no pride,” he said coldly. “You say that pride is a false emotion and to be avoided.”

Beva’s face burned with color. His gloved hands were clenched hard on the reins. “A father’s pride,” he said softly, “lies in knowing he has sired a strong, upright son, a boy of talent and keen mind, a boy in whom he can see himself achieve even more, become even more complete within the pattern, walk even farther along the inner road. That is a father’s pride.”

“All you can see is yourself!” Caelan cried. “All you think of is yourself. Haven’t you done enough, accomplished enough? You’re the best healer in all of Trau. Can’t that be enough for you? Why do you have to live through me, control me?”

“You—”

“Why can’t I be myself? Live my own life? Walk my own road? Why must everything be done your way?”

“Because my way is best.”

“For you, but not for me! Now it’s over. Face it, Father. I’m never going to be a healer like you.”

“Once you are purified, all will change,” Beva said.

Caelan stared at him, the blood draining from his face in shock. “I refused that,” he whispered.

“I have already made the preparations at home,” Beva said as though he had not heard. “It would have been better had the masters performed it, but I will do what is necessary. When you have recovered, I will personally begin your training once again.”

“No,” Caelan said.

“Of course you will never be able to achieve the rank of master this way. After all, the Ouon Bell has been rung over you. But when I am finished, you will be a competent and able assistant, and you will have forgotten these foolish dreams of becoming a soldier.”

“I said no,” Caelan repeated.

Beva did not even glance at him or indicate he heard.

Caelan drew rein sharply, and after a few steps Beva stopped and glanced back.

“I’m not going home,” Caelan said. “Not to that. I’d rather be carried off by Thyzarenes than face that.”

“Your fear shows the love of darkness within you,” Beva said. “Why else should you fear the enlightenment?”

“You want to sever me,” Caelan said, looking at him with horror. “You would do this to your own son.”

“I will do what is necessary,” Beva said, “to save you.”

“You would destroy me!”

“Only the shadows within you.”

“The shadows are in you!” Caelan burst out. “You don’t want me to find the truth. You want me to trot at your heels in blind obedience to a philosophy that’s as stupid as it is unjust—”

The back of Beva’s hand smacked against his jaw.

Caught completely off guard, Caelan went tumbling out of the saddle and fell flat in the snow.

Stunned, he lay there a moment. Astonishment flattened him more than the actual blow. His father had never struck him before. Never. His father did not believe in violence. His father always said his hands were a gift from the gods, to be used to heal, not harm.

Beva must hate him for what he’d done. Bitterness welled up in Caelan. He’d spent his life loving his father, wanting so desperately to measure up to his father’s high standards, yet torn by wanting to go his own way. Now he wondered why he had ever bothered to seek this man’s affection.

Above the treetops, jackdaws wheeled in the sky with their raucous call. The ponies jangled their bits impatiently and stamped in the cold.

“Get up,” Beva said at last. His voice had lost its anger. It sounded hollow and unlike him. “Get back on your horse. We have far to ride.”

Caelan rose to his feet and brushed the snow from his clothing. Nothing dealt him at the school had been this humiliating; not even the treatment from the soldiers had equaled this. His head was on fire; the rest of his body felt cold and detached.

“I’m not going with you,” he said.

“Don’t be foolish. You ran away from school without adequate preparation and came to grief immediately. How long do you think you would last out here?”

“I won’t go,” Caelan said, refusing to acknowledge his father was right. “I won’t go home to be purified. I won’t do it.”

Beva’s eyes narrowed. They locked stares—Beva’s cold and Caelan’s hot. Finally it was Beva who looked away first.

“Get on your pony,” he said in a voice like stone. “We shall settle the matter once we are home.”

Resentfully, knowing he had little choice, Caelan mounted and they rode on. Neither of them spoke again through the long cold hours until dark, when they camped in an ice cave at the foothills of the Cascades. The air held the crisp scent of the glacier far above. Outside, beyond the edge of the forest, the aurora shimmered lights of green and pink and yellow in a dazzling display that tilled the night sky. Caelan huddled at the mouth of the ice cave, far from the warmth of the tiny fire his father had kindled, shivering in his cloak and enraptured by the sight.

“Caelan,” his father said finally, breaking the long silence between them. “Come back to the fire. You have seen enough of the light spirits at play.”

Caelan said nothing. He did not move.

“Caelan!” his father said sharply. “Come here.”

Caelan ignored him, his gaze still locked on the beauty of the sky. How magical it was, as though the gods opened the veil between heaven and earth just enough for mortals to enjoy this glimpse of their wondrous world far beyond reach.

“The light spirits can dazzle your wits and draw you outside if you’re not careful. Don’t tempt the wind spirits into preying here.”

Caelan snorted to himself. He knew the aurora had nothing to do with the malevolence that flew on the winds during winter nights. His father didn’t believe the old superstitions either, no matter what he might say.

But defiance had a way of diminishing Caelan’s pleasure in the beautiful display. Abruptly he returned to the fire.

It was so small it hardly gave out any warmth. Ice caves ran deep into the Cascades. They were camping inside a long, tunnellike entry that was made more of stone than of ice. To build a fire deeper would be to start the ice walls melting. The ceiling could fall. But here they were safe enough, deep enough into the mountain to avoid detection by anything prowling the darkness, their fire glimmer further concealed by the branches pulled across the mouth of the cave.

Beyond the fire and their bedrolls, the ponies shifted restlessly. Their shaggy bodies gave out warmth in the narrow space to supplement what the fire provided. Overhead a few icicles dripped. Caelan shifted position to avoid them. He had already eaten, too hungry to refuse the rations his father offered.

Beva, as usual, ate only a tiny portion of the bread and cheese, picking at his food, tasting, nibbling, putting it down again. He studied Caelan, who pretended not to notice.

Gathering a handful of pebbles, Caelan tossed them one by one at the opposite wall.

“You have never learned to stand fast,” Beva said finally. “Your will is like a river, winding along the easiest path. Yet, like the river, you resist change and will not allow the channel you follow to be altered. This is not the way, my son.”

It wasn’t an apology. Beva was simply trying another argument on the same old line. Caelan ached with disappointment, but even that was nothing new. He went on tossing pebbles at the wall.

“They also told me you used severance to remove a warding key from the gate,” Beva said quietly. “That, more than anything else, shows me the strength of your talents. If you would just surrender to the true ways, you would surpass even what I have accomplished.”

Caelan frowned, refusing to look at his father. He did not like what he heard in his father’s voice. Admiration? Greed? Caelan shivered and said nothing.

All he’d ever asked for was simple affection, plain dealing, and freedom. All he’d ever received was cold  isolation, lectures, riddles, and philosophy lessons. Now he wasn’t sure exactly what his father wanted. All he knew was that the blow from his father had destroyed something necessary and vital between them.

Beva said something else, but Caelan didn’t listen. He was busy planning his next course of action. As soon as he reached E’nonhold, he would persuade Old Farns to unlock the arms room. He would gather weapons, provisions, and adequate clothing. If necessary he would break into his father’s strongbox and take his inheritance. He would see his little sister and give her a proper goodbye before he left her.

“Caelan,” Beva said again, sharply enough to penetrate his thoughts this time.

Caelan looked up, keeping his expression blank and cold.

Beva sighed. “Very well. If we cannot have a discussion, I will bid you goodnight.”

Caelan’s heart still thrummed strongly with anger. He met his father’s gaze, aware of all they would never have as father and son, all they would never share. His father had killed his love. It was finished.

“Goodnight,” Caelan replied and turned away.