Finding the Way and Other Tales of Valdemar by Mercedes Lackey Page B
Authors: Mercedes Lackey
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sure I understand this. As long as a person wholly condemns something with an unpleasant adjective, it’s perfectly acceptable to close her mind about it?:
Evita knew she was treading on thin ice. :As long as it’s truly . . . bad.:
:So, if I declare that horses sporting flaxen manes are bad, it’s all right for me to hate them.:
“No!” Evita caught herself speaking again. :Because horses with flaxen manes aren’t actually bad.:
:By whose standards?:
:What?:
:Who gets to decide what’s actually bad?:
Evita wondered if she had condemned herself to a life of arguing with a horse. :Everyone just knows. Flaxen manes have nothing to with good or bad. Weapons are . . . just bad.:
:Weapons have saved the lives of many Heralds and Companions. I don’t think you could find five other Heralds who agree with your statement, never mind this elusive ‘everyone.’.:
:And I doubt you could find any Herald who believes that flaxen manes make a horse bad.:
Camayo nodded. :Which brings me back to my original query. Whose definition of ‘bad’ takes precedence when determining whether or not we can close our minds to something?:
Evita knew when she had lost an argument. :Fine. I’ll keep an open mind about the Collegium. Including . . . : She could not help making a bitter face as she finished, : weapons training.:
:That’s all I’m asking.: Camayo closed his eyes.
But I don’t have to like it. Evita snuggled against Camayo’s legs, using his side as a pillow. Within seconds, all discomfort from the argument left her. She found her mind suddenly at peace, as if she had spent all of her life searching for the missing piece of a puzzle that had come to her at last. She could not remember a finer pillow or a more comfortable bed. This, I could definitely get used to.
True to his word, Camayo kept the trip to Valdemar slow. They slogged mostly through woodlands, stopping to cavort on the open meadows or just sitting for hours staring at the sky. They splashed through creeks, chasing water birds into the sky, sending frogs leaping in all directions, driving fish into silver flashes of hurry beneath the water. Birds of every color and combination flitted through the trees, scolding them or regaling them with brilliant song and plumage. Woodland creatures appeared around every turn. Evita knew many of them, but as the terrain changed from the familiar broad-leafed trees of home to squatter conifers and gnarled older-growth forests, she made delightful new discoveries as well.
As they rode, Evita became more comfortable with Camayo and his irascible nature, as well as Mindspeech. But as the month wore on, she found herself craving human contact and the sound of spoken words. She missed her parents and Bruno more than she expected, and she found a void she thought Camayo had completely filled. Her pack had become uncomfortably empty, even supplemented by the berries, stems, and roots she gathered. :What do you say we ride through a town today?:
Camayo hesitated, as if the thought had never previously entered his mind. :Are you sure you’re ready?:
The question seemed nonsensical. :Ready for what? Do you think I’ve never been around people before?:
:Not astride a Companion.:
Evita could only see that as a bonus. She wanted people to see her sitting proud atop Camayo, one of the Chosen. :Will that matter?:
:Greatly.: Despite his obvious concern, Camayo did not seem afraid. His voice came through strong, with just a hint of discomfort. :There are still a few places where Heralds are mistrusted, even hated. Some would kill the Gifted on sight.:
Evita suffered all the dread Camayo removed from his sending. :Is this one of those places?:
:No. Here, Heralds are loved and respected.:
Evita clutched her chest. As the fear drained away, outrage replaced it. :Then why are you trying to scare me?:
:I’m just preparing you for the variety of people that exist in Velgarth.:
:In their hearts, all people are the same.:
Evita knew she was treading on thin ice. :As long as it’s truly . . . bad.:
:So, if I declare that horses sporting flaxen manes are bad, it’s all right for me to hate them.:
“No!” Evita caught herself speaking again. :Because horses with flaxen manes aren’t actually bad.:
:By whose standards?:
:What?:
:Who gets to decide what’s actually bad?:
Evita wondered if she had condemned herself to a life of arguing with a horse. :Everyone just knows. Flaxen manes have nothing to with good or bad. Weapons are . . . just bad.:
:Weapons have saved the lives of many Heralds and Companions. I don’t think you could find five other Heralds who agree with your statement, never mind this elusive ‘everyone.’.:
:And I doubt you could find any Herald who believes that flaxen manes make a horse bad.:
Camayo nodded. :Which brings me back to my original query. Whose definition of ‘bad’ takes precedence when determining whether or not we can close our minds to something?:
Evita knew when she had lost an argument. :Fine. I’ll keep an open mind about the Collegium. Including . . . : She could not help making a bitter face as she finished, : weapons training.:
:That’s all I’m asking.: Camayo closed his eyes.
But I don’t have to like it. Evita snuggled against Camayo’s legs, using his side as a pillow. Within seconds, all discomfort from the argument left her. She found her mind suddenly at peace, as if she had spent all of her life searching for the missing piece of a puzzle that had come to her at last. She could not remember a finer pillow or a more comfortable bed. This, I could definitely get used to.
True to his word, Camayo kept the trip to Valdemar slow. They slogged mostly through woodlands, stopping to cavort on the open meadows or just sitting for hours staring at the sky. They splashed through creeks, chasing water birds into the sky, sending frogs leaping in all directions, driving fish into silver flashes of hurry beneath the water. Birds of every color and combination flitted through the trees, scolding them or regaling them with brilliant song and plumage. Woodland creatures appeared around every turn. Evita knew many of them, but as the terrain changed from the familiar broad-leafed trees of home to squatter conifers and gnarled older-growth forests, she made delightful new discoveries as well.
As they rode, Evita became more comfortable with Camayo and his irascible nature, as well as Mindspeech. But as the month wore on, she found herself craving human contact and the sound of spoken words. She missed her parents and Bruno more than she expected, and she found a void she thought Camayo had completely filled. Her pack had become uncomfortably empty, even supplemented by the berries, stems, and roots she gathered. :What do you say we ride through a town today?:
Camayo hesitated, as if the thought had never previously entered his mind. :Are you sure you’re ready?:
The question seemed nonsensical. :Ready for what? Do you think I’ve never been around people before?:
:Not astride a Companion.:
Evita could only see that as a bonus. She wanted people to see her sitting proud atop Camayo, one of the Chosen. :Will that matter?:
:Greatly.: Despite his obvious concern, Camayo did not seem afraid. His voice came through strong, with just a hint of discomfort. :There are still a few places where Heralds are mistrusted, even hated. Some would kill the Gifted on sight.:
Evita suffered all the dread Camayo removed from his sending. :Is this one of those places?:
:No. Here, Heralds are loved and respected.:
Evita clutched her chest. As the fear drained away, outrage replaced it. :Then why are you trying to scare me?:
:I’m just preparing you for the variety of people that exist in Velgarth.:
:In their hearts, all people are the same.:
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