Bertrice Small - A Distant Tomorrow

“I will be worthy, I swear it,” Noss declared.

Lara then walked from the hall and out into the night. Above her the sky over the Outlands was ablaze with stars. “Aral change!” she said, and in her temporary form as a great plains owl she arose into the air to circle Camdene just once. And then, its great wings flapping, the night bird turned and flew towards the coastlands.

THE PLAINS OWL flew steadily through the night sky. On the earth below the grazing cattle gave way to grazing sheep. The invisible barrier between Fiacre lands and those of the Felan had been crossed. The owl flew on until it saw below the village of Adrie where Rendor, Lord of the Felan, made his home. Some few miles beyond the village lay the waters of the great sea of Sagitta. The great bird was tempted to fly out over the sea, but it was beginning to tire. With a whir of its wings the owl dropped to the land below. As its clawed feet touched the ground Lara said, “Aral change!” and was immediately restored to her own form.

“I thought you would come tonight,” Rendor’s voice said from the open door of his house where he awaited her. “Welcome to Adrie, Lara. Come in!”

“How did you guess?” Lara asked him smiling as he led her into his hall.

Rendor’s deep laugh warmed the hall, and he pointed to his high board where Andraste, her sword, and Verica, her staff, lay. “I knew if you sent them ahead that you would not be far behind,” the Felan clan lord chuckled.

Lara laughed in return. “I might have come on the morrow,” she said.

“You would never leave the sword and staff alone long,” he replied wisely. “Their sudden appearance quite startled a young maidservant clearing the evening meal from the table. She shrieked with her surprise, and the staff spoke quite sharply to her, causing her to faint dead away. I cannot recall when Rahil and I have laughed so hard,” he finished with a grin.

“Oh, I am sorry!” Lara apologized. “Verica dislikes magical travel, but as I did not choose to ride, it was the simplest and easiest way to transport him. He wanted me to fly the whole distance carrying him in the owl’s claws.”

“Come and sit by the fire,” Rendor invited her. He walked to a sideboard and poured two small goblets of wine, handing her one.

“I will stay with you but a few days,” Lara said. “I know you must soon depart for the Gathering.”

“My men and I will personally escort you to King Archeron,” Rendor said. “The king must be reminded that Lara, widow of Vartan, daughter of Swiftsword, is greatly honored among all the Outlands clans. For all his scorn of the City and Hetar’s government, Archeron is still Hetarian, and appearance is everything to him.”

“Is he aware of how well you understand him?” Lara asked Rendor.

“I doubt it,” Rendor replied. “He knows I am not a barbarian, but deep in his head, the doubts linger. If I were to come into his hall in furs, waving my sword, with helmeted warriors at my back he would not, I believe, be in the least surprised.” The clan lord chuckled. “I always feel he is just waiting for me to reveal my true colors and prove Hetar right, that Outlanders are savages.”

Lara giggled at the thought of Rendor in furs waving his sword. Then she grew serious. “We are far more civilized here in the Outlands than in Hetar with all its rules and mores.”

“Then why do you return to it?” Rendor asked her.

“It is that damned destiny I seem to have been given,” Lara told him. “I knew, and Vartan knew, too, that one day it would call me from the Outlands. I have no idea why I am going to the Coastal Kingdom, but that is where I am meant to be now. In the night I have asked Ethne, my crystal guardian, and she agrees. But Archeron’s realm and that of his brothers is not my final destination, Rendor. I do not yet know where I will go, but when it is time I will.”

He sighed. “I am sorry for it. We need you in the Outlands.”

Lara shook her head. “You are protected, and you are capable of managing the Hetarians, dear Rendor, that I know. Though I have taught you all, you learned the lesson best next to Vartan. The Outlands will be safe under your guidance.”

Rendor’s wife, Rahil, came into the hall. “Ah,” she said smiling, her warm brown eyes lighting with her pleasure at seeing their guest, “you have arrived, Lara. I bid you welcome. Did my husband tell you of the poor maidservant?”

“He did, and I am so sorry to have frightened the girl,” Lara apologized.

Rahil laughed. “Our people are not used to such magic,” she said. “Are you tired? I have prepared a guest chamber for you.”

“I am tired,” Lara admitted. “I have not shape-shifted in some time now, and I flew the distance between Camdene and Adrie without stopping.”

“And I do not doubt you have not slept well, if at all, since…” Rahil hesitated.

“No,” Lara replied. “I have not slept well since Vartan’s death.”

“Then come along,” Rahil said. “I will show you to your chamber.”

“Good night, Rendor, and thank you for your hospitality,” Lara said as she rose, and then followed Rahil’s comfortable shape from the hall.

Her chamber was inviting, with a small fire to take the chill off the night, and a comfortable bed. Lara bid her hostess good-night and, stripping off her gown, climbed beneath the coverlet. To her surprise she was asleep almost immediately, and she did not awaken until half of the next day had passed. She probably would have slept a few more hours but that Rahil entered the chamber bearing a tray of food.

“I have decided that you must be cosseted,” she told Lara. “For the moment you have no responsibilities but to yourself. You must regain your strength if you are to continue on your journey.” She took a bowl from the tray, plunked a spoon into it and handed it to Lara. “Eat,” she commanded the younger woman.

Lara did not argue. The truth was she was still tired, and felt weak. The bowl contained a delicious stew of meat and vegetables, which she savored slowly. When the bowl was half-empty Rahil tucked a slice of bread and butter into a corner of the bowl. Their eyes met, and Lara smiled. “Thank you,” she said, and then she continued eating.

“I have three daughters, and like their mother none knows when to rest. I see you are much the same,” Rahil noted. “Did Bera not see to your welfare in the days following Vartan’s murder?”

“Bera lost her reason after what she had seen. She could do nothing more than weep, and curse fate over what had transpired.”

“Then you did it all? The preparations for the departure ceremony? For all the guests? You sent the messengers out?” Rahil was surprised, and a little bit shocked.

“Noss looked after my children,” Lara said. “And Bera recovered enough to move from Vartan’s hall into a smaller house with Cam. I saw her settled before I left.”

“Liam now rules in that hall?” Rahil nodded almost to herself. “It was a wise and generous thing to do, Lara.”

“Our home was the finest in Camdene, and should be the lord’s house,” Lara replied. “He and Noss have taken Dillon and Anoush to raise with their sons. And Noss has had another boy, Alroy. He was born with red hair like Liam.”

Rahil smiled as she took the empty stew bowl from Lara and replaced it with another dish containing a baked apple swimming in rich golden cream. “So Noss will have three lads and a little lass to bring up. I have been told she is a good wife to Liam.”

“They are fortunate in each other,” Lara said. She spooned up the apple, licking at the corner of her mouth to catch a stray bit of the sweet.

“When you have finished you are to go back to sleep,” Rahil told her. “I have brought you a cup of wine into which I have mixed a sleeping draught. You should sleep until the morning.” She took the empty bowl that had held the apple, noting with pleasure that Lara had eaten every scrap. Setting the bowl on the tray she handed her guest the cup of wine.

Lara sipped it slowly. She was sated with the good meal, warm, and actually beginning to relax. “You are so good to me, and I thank you,” she told Rahil. “When I arrived last night I felt drained of all my strength. I am yet weakened by everything that has transpired in these last few months.”

“Whatever it is you are meant to do,” Rahil said, “it is for the good of us all, Lara. Whatever I may do to ease your burden, I will do.” She took the now empty cup from the younger woman, bending to kiss her on the forehead as she might a child. “Go to sleep now,” she said, and picking up the tray, hurried from the room.

Lara slept, as Rahil had predicted, until the following morning. She awoke to see through a small paned window to one side of her bed the sky colored with the coming sunrise. A gentle breeze slipped through the slightly open window. Lara stretched herself. For the first time in weeks she felt good. Her body no longer ached with sorrow and tension. She felt a faint excitement as she considered what might lie ahead for her. And she realized that she was looking forward to going into the Coastal Kingdom.

“Hetar.” She said the word softly. A place carefully divided into Forest, Desert, Coast and Midlands. A place where all roads led to the City at its center. Hetar, where appearance and possessions were everything; where each citizen’s life was lived by careful rules that dictated his or her place within society. And yet there were ways to advance if one followed the rules. She had not realized until she had begun her travels how stifling it had all been. She might have never known, had she not been sent from the City on that early morning over seven years ago.

She might now have been a Pleasure Woman in one of the City’s great Pleasure Houses. A creature of beauty, skilled in all the amatory arts, whose sole reason for being was to give and to receive pleasure. But if that had been her fate she should never have learned how to love, or to be loved. Or that her faerie blood allowed her to practice good magic. Or that her sire’s blood had given her the ability to be the great warrior she had become. She often wondered what John Swiftsword would think of his daughter now. Did he know she had played an important part in the Winter War?