throwing a flickering light. The night was clean again. The orchard was just an orchard. Whatever it was had gone.
The boar was dead, stilled in the midst of its writhing so it seemed distorted and monstrous. The wildfire had burned it, and the sharp reek of singed hair mixed with the stench of its panic. She checked her shield again, and made a magelight so she could see the carcass. The sight made her gag. She had once seen a horse with colic, that had foamed at the mouth and twisted in anguish like this boar, and that had been horrible; but this was much worse. She turned away and walked about the orchard, circling every tree, looking for any clue to what had happened. Still nothing. She searched mechanically and thoroughly, not asking herself why she was doing this, even though her body was still racked by the tremors of aftershock.
Then she walked back to the house. She barred the door behind her and lit a lamp and stoked up the embers of the fire. She poured herself a cup of the strong blackberry liquor her mother made and crouched by the hearth, warming her freezing feet. It was still the small hours of the night, but she knew she had no chance of going back to sleep. She didn’t veil her listening: her ears were open, aware of every sound for half a mile about the house. For the first time she wondered why, despite her terror, she had gone out into the night: was it some kind of madness? She had been like some stupid insect blundering towards a flame. And she had only just escaped. She shuddered, drawing her cloak around her. Escaped what? She thought of the boar. The animal’s torment was branded on her mind: no creature should ever suffer so. Poor innocent beast, she thought. And then:
It could have been me
.
When Berdh, Selmana’s mother, rose before dawn to do her morning tasks, she was dismayed to find Selmana crouched by the fire. Her daughter was pale and haggard, with deep circles under her eyes, and she seemed to be talking wild nonsense. She told Berdh that she had to go back to the School straight away, and that there was a dead wild boar in the orchard that needed dealing with.
“But why now?” said Berdh, bewildered. “Your uncle is coming over from Derim, especially to see you. He’ll be very disappointed.”
“I know,” said Selmana. Huys was her favourite uncle, a village smith like her father had been, and she had been looking forward to seeing him. “But it’s important, Mama.”
“And what’s this about a boar?”
“In the orchard,” said Selmana. “It’s dead. But don’t eat it, it’s been sick. No, on second thoughts, leave it there, don’t touch it. Don’t go near it, it might be… Not until I come back… And, Mama, can Huys stay with you? I think you shouldn’t be alone in the house…”
“My dear, you know very well I can look after myself. The Light knows, I have all these years,” she said. “And Huys has his own duties to attend to.”
Selmana stared at her mother. “There’s something … bad happening. I don’t know what, but it’s bad. Mama, you mustn’t be alone.”
Berdh studied her daughter, catching her urgency. Even though she had the Gift, Selmana had always been the most practical of her children: she wasn’t given to nerves or flights of fancy. She patted Selmana’s shoulder. “Huys will be here later this morning,” she said. “Maybe he’ll stay the night, if I ask him. Now, don’t you worry about me. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I never do with Bard business. If you have to go, so be it.”
Selmana took Berdh’s hand and held it to her cheek. She wanted to curl up in her mother’s arms and cry, as she did when she was a little girl. She set her jaw: now was not the time. She dressed and washed her face and saddled her horse, and made it to the School of Lirigon in less than an hour.
She found Nelac in his rooms, eating breakfast. He raised his eyebrows at her breathless entrance, and asked if she
The boar was dead, stilled in the midst of its writhing so it seemed distorted and monstrous. The wildfire had burned it, and the sharp reek of singed hair mixed with the stench of its panic. She checked her shield again, and made a magelight so she could see the carcass. The sight made her gag. She had once seen a horse with colic, that had foamed at the mouth and twisted in anguish like this boar, and that had been horrible; but this was much worse. She turned away and walked about the orchard, circling every tree, looking for any clue to what had happened. Still nothing. She searched mechanically and thoroughly, not asking herself why she was doing this, even though her body was still racked by the tremors of aftershock.
Then she walked back to the house. She barred the door behind her and lit a lamp and stoked up the embers of the fire. She poured herself a cup of the strong blackberry liquor her mother made and crouched by the hearth, warming her freezing feet. It was still the small hours of the night, but she knew she had no chance of going back to sleep. She didn’t veil her listening: her ears were open, aware of every sound for half a mile about the house. For the first time she wondered why, despite her terror, she had gone out into the night: was it some kind of madness? She had been like some stupid insect blundering towards a flame. And she had only just escaped. She shuddered, drawing her cloak around her. Escaped what? She thought of the boar. The animal’s torment was branded on her mind: no creature should ever suffer so. Poor innocent beast, she thought. And then:
It could have been me
.
When Berdh, Selmana’s mother, rose before dawn to do her morning tasks, she was dismayed to find Selmana crouched by the fire. Her daughter was pale and haggard, with deep circles under her eyes, and she seemed to be talking wild nonsense. She told Berdh that she had to go back to the School straight away, and that there was a dead wild boar in the orchard that needed dealing with.
“But why now?” said Berdh, bewildered. “Your uncle is coming over from Derim, especially to see you. He’ll be very disappointed.”
“I know,” said Selmana. Huys was her favourite uncle, a village smith like her father had been, and she had been looking forward to seeing him. “But it’s important, Mama.”
“And what’s this about a boar?”
“In the orchard,” said Selmana. “It’s dead. But don’t eat it, it’s been sick. No, on second thoughts, leave it there, don’t touch it. Don’t go near it, it might be… Not until I come back… And, Mama, can Huys stay with you? I think you shouldn’t be alone in the house…”
“My dear, you know very well I can look after myself. The Light knows, I have all these years,” she said. “And Huys has his own duties to attend to.”
Selmana stared at her mother. “There’s something … bad happening. I don’t know what, but it’s bad. Mama, you mustn’t be alone.”
Berdh studied her daughter, catching her urgency. Even though she had the Gift, Selmana had always been the most practical of her children: she wasn’t given to nerves or flights of fancy. She patted Selmana’s shoulder. “Huys will be here later this morning,” she said. “Maybe he’ll stay the night, if I ask him. Now, don’t you worry about me. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I never do with Bard business. If you have to go, so be it.”
Selmana took Berdh’s hand and held it to her cheek. She wanted to curl up in her mother’s arms and cry, as she did when she was a little girl. She set her jaw: now was not the time. She dressed and washed her face and saddled her horse, and made it to the School of Lirigon in less than an hour.
She found Nelac in his rooms, eating breakfast. He raised his eyebrows at her breathless entrance, and asked if she
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