a frown across Bersh's face told her it wasn't something he was used to. Probably still preferable to the presumption of using his name though. He blinked his way out of reverie quickly enough, at least. "Hm? Oh, sorry. What's up?" His voice was hoarse and stiff, with none of the resonance his barrel chest should have supplied.
She bowed her head. "Sorry, I know this isn't a good time. Atla mentioned your lady was injured." Still looking down, she wrung her hands together at her waist, trying to seem as awkward and apologetic as possible. A niggling tickle of unease somewhere just under her diaphragm made the act easy, but speaking just that little bit harder. "I need to make a trip to the Court, um, to see if Rel's there. I was hoping I could borrow Atla. Take over his training for a few days, if you like."
Now she did look up, not wanting to seem too shifty. She missed meeting Bersh's eyes, though, as the Guide turned to frown at his apprentice. There was no sense of chill in the air between them, though, except for the wind. Bersh frowned at her, just slightly, and said, "He's got a way to go before I'll pass him."
"I can't let the trail go cold, and I can't ask you to leave your town and family at a time like this." She didn't need to pretend any of the compassion she put into her voice. A half-step forward, on the other hand, was a calculated gesture of camaraderie, and she could see the slight shift in Bersh's cheeks as he relaxed. Pressing the gain, Pevan rolled her eyes and finished, "Besides, as people will insist on reminding me, I have some experience of working with unqualified Gifted."
That drew a dry chuckle from the Guide, and Pevan wondered if he could see the tension flooding out of her. Some of the warmth came back to his voice as he said, "Sorry about that. Wolpan's under a lot of strain right now."
"I can sympathise with that." Pevan smiled, leaned forward a little. "Let me tell you a little secret, something only Gatemakers travel enough to realise." She glanced back at Atla, jerked her head for the boy to step forward. Wouldn't hurt to let him feel included with the grown-ups. "Four Knots are as territorial as tomcats."
At that, Bersh outright laughed, close to roaring. Only the slight gasp at the end of the sound betrayed his exhaustion. "I'll take your word for it, lass."
"It's true." She straightened, folding her arms. "Dora's the same."
"Well, she and Wolpan definitely didn't get on." The Guide's face sobered, rounded edges flattening out, as he turned to face Atla. "Are you up to this, lad?"
Another unfortunate test. The boy really needed something to prop him up a bit. He cringed before answering, "I... uh, I hope so?"
Better not to let him stand on his own confidence just yet. Pevan shifted her feet slightly, moved a little way towards interposing herself between mentor and student. "I trained alongside a Guide, sir. I can look after him for a quick trip to the Court. The experience will do him good, don't you think?"
Bersh raised one eyebrow, and there was very little humour in the gesture. "It's your risk, love."
"I'll take full responsibility." She put a bit more weight into the words, let her gaze go distant, poking through the Guide. "I'm not messing around. We could all do with learning what Rel's been up to."
When she met his eyes again, she had him. He looked from the ruined house, to Atla, then back to her. His voice, when it came, was gruff, tightly-held emotions shifting in its depths. "True enough. True enough. Good luck to you both."
He didn't immediately turn away, so Pevan offered her hand. He shook, and she said, "Thank you. Best wishes for your lady, too."
At that, the conversation was over. She could tell by the way Bersh's attention went back to his house, leaving behind most of the brief burst of humour she'd drawn from him. Pevan shared a glance with Atla, and they withdrew as gently and silently as feathers on a breeze. As soon as they were far enough away for it to be polite, she accelerated, dragging the boy along in her wake.
She kept up the sense of urgency while badgering bread and a canteen of water out of the lady who was managing the town's food. The faster she went, the less chance Atla had to raise an objection or lose his nerve. As it was, he stayed quiet, simply nodding in mild bewilderment when people looked at him for confirmation that she wasn't a thief.
It was only as she asked for blankets that she realised Chag would present a problem. The stout, stone-faced woman in the refectory accepted the excuse of wanting a third for wrapping the food up in, even though Pevan floundered for a moment before coming up with it. The woman's eyes drilled into her as she left the old warehouse with the 'spare' blanket tied into a sling across her chest, bread and water tucked carefully inside.
The problem, though, was going to be explaining Chag's presence to Atla. Fingers of ice probed tentatively through the tangle of her guts as she wondered how the lad would react. Would he assume Chag was responsible for the catastrophe of the previous day? Try to turn them in? He had little enough foundation for trust, though he didn't protest when she led him into the old city rather than West towards the Sherim.
He didn't protest, either, when she didn't use a Gate to spare the mile or so of walking to reach the building where she'd left Chag. A clear sign of the boy's inexperience - anyone who'd worked with a Gatemaker regularly would have complained. Chag certainly did when she made him walk anywhere. Still, the walk bought her time to think.
It also justified the decision to pick up blankets as well as food. Along the unsheltered shorefront road, the wind tore in off the bay, laden with salt and cold mist, and even with a blanket pulled tight around her as a crude cloak, she could feel the heat being leeched out of her. Her cheeks and eyes began to sting, which only made it harder to think about broaching the subject of Chag with Atla.
Finally, the sight of the low row of gutted shops where Chag would be waiting brought her thinking time to an end. She stopped, and Atla, half a pace behind, froze instantly. There was fear in his voice as he said, "Is- uh, is everything alright?"
She took a deep breath and, despite herself, looked around before answering. Not the way to seem trustworthy, but there was something disquietingly attentive about the battered, lumpen, leaning towers of the old city. Meeting Atla's eyes was no more comfortable - the boy had definitely sensed something amiss. How to put him at his ease?
"I haven't told you everything yet." She held her voice steady by force of will, knowing it made her sound constricted and tense. Atla started to reply, but she shot up a single finger in the space between them and he paused. "I haven't lied, mind. We're going to the Court to find my brother and try to figure out what happened with the quakes. But, well..."
He stepped round to stand facing her, frowning. His eyes disappeared into shadow, which made it easier to press on. Trying to ignore how panicked she sounded in her own ears, she said, "There are factions among the Children of the Wild. Rel's caught up in a feud between two of them, and either one of them could have caused the quake." True enough, one way or another. She gave in to the tension that was pushing her words faster. Let Atla think she was afraid; in all fairness, she probably was. "At the moment, I just don't know enough to know which faction is on our side, if either of them are. We could be walking into anything at the Court. I was working with one of the factions, but now I'm not sure about them, and, well, I'm here with a... a colleague."
For once, to his credit, Atla didn't flinch. He did grow noticeably paler, though. "A Wilder?"
Now that she'd stopped speaking, it was hard to start again. The wind sucked away what little moisture was left on her tongue, and she almost gagged before she managed, "Worse. Chag Van Raighan."
"What-?"
"Caught up in the feud," she cut him off, somehow thrusting the words past her half-closed throat. Atla waited, ashen and slack-jawed, while she swallowed and licked her lips. "I'm not asking you to like what Chag's done. I don't and neither does he. But if you're going to be a Gifted, even this far South, you need to remember that dealing with the Second Realm is never simple. Until we get to the bottom of everything that's happened, I want you to treat Cha
g as a victim of Coercion. Understood?"
He didn't nod. Instead he swallowed, his gaze beginning to waver. "But..."
With the truth out, it was easier to summon up a glare. "If necessary, you can consider it an order." Atla blanched at the words, or maybe her tone, and she forced herself to soften, slouching just a little and folding her arms. "Look, I'm not asking you to like it. Give the man a chance. Right now, we need his contacts more than justice."
The words had the desired effect on the boy, but a vision of Dora's face rose in Pevan's mind. If she'd said the same in the Four Knot's presence, she doubted she'd have survived. If Chag turned out to be wrong, if Dora's judgement of the Separatists was fair, if Rel had almost destroyed the Realm, what then? How would Wolpan greet Vessit's next guest from Federas?
She almost missed Atla's muted, "Okay." He turned to look along the shorefront. "We're meeting him here?"
Concentrate on the task at hand. Don't think too hard about facing Dora again, wherever she was. Pevan suppressed a shiver, nodded in the direction of the old shopping arcade. "Over there. Come on." She set off, jaw fixed tight, face tensed against any sign of inner doubt. Atla needed a leader far more confident than Pevan felt.
***
About the author
R. J. Davnall has been