It was chilly at night on the open waters. I wrapped myself in my blanket and leaned against the wall of the forecastle, watching faint clouds scud across the stars. It wasn't just my mother I missed. All my life, I'd been grounded by the earth and surrounded by wilderness. Even in Bryn Gorrydum there had been the park, left to grow untamed, a green presence murmuring on the edge of my awareness, filled with the quick, flickering spirits of the small creatures that dwelled there.
Here there was nothing.
It wasn't true, I suppose. In the daytime there were birds and surely there were fish in the sea. But I couldn't feel them the way I could sense trees and shrubs and flowers, squirrels and deer and foxes.
I'd never felt more bereft and forlorn.
It all seemed very unfair. I'd never asked for a destiny. I wasn't some great magician from days of yore. I had only such modest gifts as were left to the Maghuin Dhonn, and a tiny ability to coax plants to grow.
I couldn't even take solace in bitterness and rail against my fate. Stone and sea, I wanted to! But every time my thoughts wandered in that direction, I remembered the vast sorrow in Her eyes and I knew, sure as the spark within me, that She would not have sent one of Her children across the sea unless it were truly needful.
Why, I couldn't imagine.
So instead I took what meager comfort there was to be found in self-pity. Alone on the open sea on a ship full of strangers from a strange land, I wept myself quietly to sleep.
I woke to early-morning sunlight and a knot of sailors watching me.
They startled when I opened my eyes, jumping backward and whispering amongst themselves. If they hadn't been staring at me, I would have called the twilight, but I was pinned by their gazes. I settled for giving them my mother's best glare.
They jumped back another step, pushing and shoving one another. All but one, a slight, golden-haired lad who couldn't have been more than fourteen. He elbowed his way through the gaggle.
"She's just a girl!" he scoffed. "She won't bite." He squatted a few feet in front of me, his expression less certain than his words. "You won't, will you? You're not going to….. change?"
"What?" I wasn't sure I understood him.
"Change," he said. "Into a bear."
"Oh." I rubbed my eyes. "No. I think that would be a very foolish thing to do on a ship, don't you?"
He grinned. "Aye, indeed. It's true, though, isn't it? You're a bear-witch?" .
"I'm of the folk of the Maghuin Dhonn," I said.
" I'm descended from the Chevalier Philippe Dumont," he informed me with considerable self-importance, then looked disappointed when I pled ignorance. "Surely you must know of him! He was the last of Phedre's Boys. He went with her and Joscelin Verreuil into Vralia to fetch Prince Imriel and the bear-witch's head."
"I know the story," I said softly.
"Damien!" Captain Renniel's voice cracked. The lad leapt up and scurried away, and the rest of the sailors dispersed. "My apologies, my lady." The captain offered a bow. "Pay the lad no heed. Every sailor born within a hundred leagues of Montreve claims descent from Philippe Dumont."
I shrugged off my blanket and stretched my stiff limbs. "Was he very famous?"
"Among sailors, yes." The captain eyed me. "Would you care to break your fast?"
I assessed the state of my belly. It didn't seem to be roiling with aught save hunger. I tried standing. The swaying motion of the ship was more tolerable today. Glancing around, I saw that Alba's shoreline was clean out of sight. There was only the distant shore of Terre d'Ange on our left, looking rocky and inhospitable. My heart ached anew.
Captain Renniel followed my gaze. "That's Kusheth province," he said. "You'll find the landscape more friendly in Siovale province, where we're bound."
"Siovale." I remembered that each of Elua's Companions had staked out a territory of their own, save one. "Shemhazai's folk, aye?"
"Quite right." He nodded. "If you'd care to join me, I'd be happy to tell you aught you might wish to know about Terre d'Ange."
I didn't want to. Trying to understand D'Angeline spoken by those to whom it was their native tongue made my head ache, and I'd sooner be left on my own with a bit of plain bread in a quiet patch of sunlight. But I had a bedamned destiny to find, and Old Nemed had said the seeking might be more important than the finding. Skulking around the ship and wallowing in self-pity wasn't going to help.
So I made myself smile at Captain Renniel. "It would be my pleasure."
By the time we made port in Bourdes two days later, I'd learned a great deal more about the history and culture of Terre d'Ange and the worst of my loneliness had abated. I'd also learned a fair amount about the storied life of the Chevalier Philippe Dumont, courtesy of the boy Damien, who seemed most insistent that I appreciate his famous ancestor.
To be honest, I didn't mind, since he was one of the only sailors who didn't eye me askance and mutter under his breath about bear-witches. Sailors, it seemed, were a superstitious lot. And as it happened, I wasn't wholly unfamiliar with some of the tales he told; it was only that I knew them from the other side of history. Cillian had been particularly fond of the story about how the Dalriada had helped overthrow Maelcon the Usurper to restore Drustan mab Necthana to the Cruarch's throne, then crossed the Straits to help drive an invading Skaldi army out of Terre d'Ange. And then there was a complicated tale of treachery and pirates, the tale of how the Master of the Straits was freed from a curse, and of course, the infamous tale of Berlik and Morwen of the Maghuin Dhonn.
I wasn't entirely clear on the role this Philippe had played, but it seemed he'd been there at nearly every turn, and that was enough for Damien.
"All the good stories are old stories," he said wistfully after finishing one. "Nothing exciting like that happens anymore."
"What about the new land discovered across the western sea?" I suggested. Cillian's tales of cities in the jungle and folk dressed all in feathers and jade had certainly sounded exciting.
Damien scowled. "Terra Nova? King Daniel's content to let others explore it."
"Oh?"
He lowered his voice. "They say there are fortunes to be made, too. But he's not even sent a delegation. The Aragonians are setting up trade in the south, Vralians and Gotlanders and the like in the north. Even your Cruarch's talking about the prospect of establishing permanent trade posts between the two. We're doing naught but twiddle our thumbs."
The words boggled me. "Doing what?"
He demonstrated. "It's just an expression, my lady. It means we're idle."
"Oh, aye." I thought about it. "Terre d'Ange is a wealthy country in its own right, is it not? Mayhap there's wisdom in being content with what one already has. Would that I'd appreciated it more ere I lost it."
That intrigued him. "What did you lose?"
I gazed at the open sea behind us. "Everything."
"Why?"
I shrugged. "Because the Maghuin Dhonn Herself has chosen a destiny for me. What it is, I've not the slightest idea. Only that I'm meant to seek it."
The lad's blue eyes glowed. "Take me with you!" he breathed. "Don't you see? If the captain will release me, I could swear myself into your service like Philippe Dumont and Phedre no Delaunay!"
It seemed unlikely, but I supposed there were worse things than a garrulous young companion if that was what fate willed for me. I consulted my diadh-anam and saw in memory the visage of Herself turning away in sorrow and regret. Whatever his ancestry, he was no more meant to accompany me than my mother had been.
"No," I said gently, touching his sun-gilded hair. "I don't think so, Damien. I'm sorry."
He pulled away from me. "It's not fair!"
I watched his retreating back. "No, it's not."
We made harbor at the port of Bourdes, navigating the estuary. A great statue of Shemhazai stood on the bank of the wide river-mouth gazing westward, an open book in one hand. I'm sure it was very fine and impressive, but it wasn't what pleased me the most. I stood in the prow of the Heart of Gold and breathed in the scent of soil and green growing things.
Vines.
This was D'Angeline wine country, terraced and tamed. It was rich, though. I could taste the air on my tongue, taste the pride in the burgeoning grape-clusters, a faint silvery sheen on every fruit. I was sorry when we sailed past the outlying islands and the inland fields to put in at harbor and enter the city proper.
Stone and sea, it was vast.
Bigger than Bryn Gorrydum, bigger than anything I'd seen.
I tried to find Damien to bid him farewell, but he'd made himself scarce. So instead I accepted Captain Renniel's offer of assistance. He led me through the streets of Bourdes, carrying my satchel while I carried the new bow and quiver Mabon had made me over my shoulder. The streets were wider than in Alba and filled with the clatter of hooves. This, too, made my head ache.
We found the stagecoach post.
"City of Elua?" The man behind the counter glanced up, then gave me a startled second look. "Departs on the morrow, an hour past dawn. The fare's five ducats or twenty silver centimes."
I counted out the money and he gave me a chit.
Captain Renniel escorted me to the adjacent inn and negotiated for a night's stay. After I'd paid in advance, I thanked him, wondering in secret if I might be able to steal out and pass the night in the stables. Appealing as the notion was, I supposed I needed to work harder at being at ease indoors.
"Moirin." He laid his hands on my shoulders. "Are you sure?"
I wasn't.
"Aye," I said steadily. "Very sure, my lord captain."
"Elua have mercy." His tone was rueful. "The gods be with you, child—yours and ours. At least I may tell Caroline I've done all I might. She took an odd fancy to you."
"I liked her, too," I said honestly. "Very much. And if you think on it, my lord, please tell Damien farewell for me. Whatever you might think of his tales, he didn't shun me and he made the journey easier to bear."
"I will," he promised.
He went.
I was alone again.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
On the morrow, I presented myself at the stagecoach post. An attendant took my chit and slung my bag into the coach, stowing it beneath the seat. The driver, a young man with black hair and darker eyes than I'd seen on any D'Angeline, gave me a courteous nod.
"May I introduce myself to your horses?" I asked him. They were beautiful animals, four matching bays with glossy coats.
The driver looked startled. "If you wish."
I approached the lead pair and blew softly in their nostrils. They lowered their noble heads and lipped at my hair. It tickled, making me laugh for the first time since I'd left home. Their warm presence was familiar and reassuring.
"That's a Tsingani trick. My grandfather taught it to me." The driver squinted at me. "Have you Tsingani blood?"
"No." I stroked the nearest bay's neck. "I know they like to get one's scent, that's all."
"So they do." That was all he offered. We waited a few more minutes to see if any last passengers would arrive, but none did. I was ushered into the stagecoach and the attendant made a show of closing the heavy curtains. As soon as he turned his back, I opened them. The driver flicked his whip and we were off, jolting over the cobbled streets of Bourdes.
Once we were clear of the city, it was better. The horses' hooves didn't make such a clatter without stone walls to bounce the sound back, and the motion of the coach wasn't so different from the swaying of a ship. We travelled along a river at a good clip. I put my head out the window to feel the wind on my face and gazed at the surrounding countryside.
The vineyards stretched forever in endless rows of green. Truly, Terre d'Ange was a rich country. I thought about the modest row of vines Lord Tiernan was cultivating and wondered if they'd bear a good harvest this year. They'd thrived since he'd had them moved as I'd told him to do.
I missed Cillian.
I wondered what he'd have made of this business of a destiny. He'd loved tales of magic and adventure as much as the boy Damien had. I wondered if Cillian would have offered to defy his father and come with me. I wondered if the Maghuin Dhonn Herself would have permitted it.
And in a guilty corner of my heart, I wondered if I would have wanted him to. Here and now, it seemed a wondrous notion and I would have given anything to have his company, but that was only because I was alone and far from home.
I'd never know.
That was the truth of it. I could drive myself mad wondering, but I would never, ever know. So I made myself stop wondering and settled for simply missing him.
The coach halted for the night in a smaller city. At the post station, the driver merely pointed to the inn across the street. I watched with envy as he set about unhitching the horses with a stable-lad's assistance. I'd sooner help him with the horses and spend the night in the stable than pass another night in another small, cramped room. But remembering the stern look Caroline no Bryony had given me, I sighed and went to seek lodging.
I drew more curious glances here than I had in Bourdes, a port city with a large number of foreigners. At least D'Angelines were a well-mannered folk. They looked, but they didn't stare and didn't intrude. In the common room, I was served a delicious meal of roasted capon flavored with an unfamiliar fragrant, piney herb. When I asked, the woman who had brought my meal told me it was called rosemary.