The High King's Tomb
Page 47

Karigan had learned early on that many of her colleagues had interesting and sometimes eccentric pastimes outside of the messenger service. When Karigan had laughed at Mara’s explanation, the Rider had said, “What? I grew up on a lake, and during the winter skating was the easiest way to reach the village.” Karigan hadn’t been laughing entirely at the idea of Mara ice skating, but at the fact the accident hadn’t been related to some danger of the job, which was most often the case with emerging Rider abilities.
“How far back does that book go?” Karigan asked.
“Seven years. It’s almost filled up.”
Mara had been called to the messenger service about six years ago. Riders often did not make it to five years, some because an accident befell them, others because their brooches simply abandoned them.
Fergal flipped through a few more pages before growing very still. Though Karigan continued to stare into the fire, she could feel his gaze on her.
Slowly, as though gathering courage, he asked, “When will I come into my magic?”
The plaintive question caught her off guard, but she supposed she should have anticipated it. If she were Fergal, she’d be curious, too. “It’s hard to say. It’ll make itself known when it’s ready to.”
“I know. That’s what Ty said. What does it mean?”
Karigan rocked more slowly. What did it mean? Her ability had surfaced before she’d even known or acknowledged herself to be a Rider. She’d never gone through a period of waiting and wondering.
“There’s no easy answer,” she said. “Your ability will become apparent when it needs to. They seem to require a crisis or some trauma to emerge, something that endangers the Rider or those around him, like when Mara fell through the ice. She’d have frozen to death if her ability hadn’t arisen to help her build a fire.”
“And like when you were being chased by Lord Mirwell’s men,” Fergal said.
“Yes.” The floorboards beneath her chair creaked as she rocked harder.
“Ty said they almost caught you.”
“Yes.”
“He said you turned invisible to escape them.”
“Yes. Well, more or less.” She would have to speak to Ty about how much he told the new Riders. It felt strange to have people talking about her.
“What was it like?” Fergal asked. “How did it happen exactly?”
He meant the emergence of her ability, but it was so tied up with other things, bad memories, that it was difficult to talk about even now. She turned the rocking chair to face him. Despite her reluctance, it was probably better to get this over with now so he wouldn’t plague her about it the entire journey.
“It was raining that day,” she began, “and a thick fog had settled into the forest. I had in my possession a message the Mirwellians dearly wanted to intercept before it could reach the king. At that point, I really had no idea of what it was all about, and since this was thrust upon me unexpectedly, I certainly knew nothing of the special abilities of Riders.”
“F’ryan Coblebay gave you his brooch,” Fergal said.
“Yes. I didn’t know what it meant at the time.” She remembered the dying Rider on the road. She remembered him pleading with her to carry his message to King Zachary and the blood that saturated his gauntlets as he reached out to her. She shook herself out of her reverie. It seemed ancient history, but now that she recalled it, it returned with startling clarity.
“Pursuit followed,” she continued, “and their captain found me. Immerez was his name. I was—I was terrified. I was caught, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You cut off his hand, didn’t you?”
Karigan scowled. She would definitely have to have a talk with Ty. “That was later. This time I managed to escape. I wanted to disappear, I was so scared, and the brooch responded. I vanished from Immerez’s sight and that of his men.”
“But…what was it like?”
Karigan shrugged. “I didn’t feel any great change, and it took me a while to figure out what happened. When I became aware of it, I realized it was not so much the fog that dulled my vision, but the use of my new ability. I also get nasty headaches. Most Riders will tell you they suffer some ill effect from using their abilities. It’s like having to sacrifice something for the gift.”
“I don’t care,” Fergal said. “I just want mine.”
Karigan raised her eyebrows. Why did he make her feel ever so old? Only experience, she supposed, would show him the truth. Telling him of Captain Mapstone’s chronic joint pain or of Mara’s fevers—the costs of using their abilities—would not convince him there was a dark side to a Rider’s magic. He must fancy the idea of being able to walk through walls, or of molding fire in the palm of his hand, or even to fade from view as she could. She would ask him what he thought when his ability finally did emerge and he had a chance to use it.
Even if the subject made her uneasy, she was pleased he was at least willing to talk to her about it. He was looking at the logbook again, then glanced at her and handed it to her.
“An entry from F’ryan Coblebay,” he said.
Karigan took the book expecting to see nothing more than a date and his signature, but to her surprise, there was more: I make good time on the road, yet farther west I must travel, across the Grandgent and skirting Selium northward to Mirwell Province. I know not what I may encounter, but I fear this errand is not without peril. So to you my good Riders, should I fail in my duty, I say ride well for your king and your country; and for she who awaits me and in the garden dwells, watch over her for me. Tell her I love her.