The Queen and the Cure (The Bird and the Sword Chronicles #2)(10)
“You do not have to go into Solemn. I want only to see what is happening there so I can ascertain the risk. Then I will be taking my men and moving on. I have no wish to remain in Quondoon any longer than necessary. I want to fight beasts . . . not small minds.”
“I do not draw evil to me,” Sasha whispered, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. “I do not bring pestilence or fire. I do not cause suffering. But sometimes I know when it is coming.”
Kjell grimaced but didn’t silence her.
“I only tried to warn. But warnings unheeded often become . . . tragedies. And I was easy to blame. My master—Mina—told her brother, Byron, an elder who is well-respected among the people, about my visions. He told the other elders, and they started to blame me for causing the things I saw. When Mina grew ill and Byron came to see her, I told him what I’d seen . . . about the water.”
“This Byron—he didn’t believe you?”
“He acted as though he did. He told the elders. But he didn’t warn the village. Or if he did, they didn’t believe him either.”
“And he did not try to stop the villagers last night?”
“No. Maybe he didn’t know. But he was with the elders here, though he didn’t speak.” Her throat worked against the emotion lodged there, her betrayal evident, and Kjell guessed the “well-respected” Byron was the elder with the trembling hands and drooping skin.
“I don’t see everything. I don’t see most things. And I rarely see good things. I see pain. Fear. Death. Anger. Maybe because love isn’t as . . . dark, it’s harder to see. The terrible things put off a scent. A signal. Or maybe they send ripples through time.”
“Ripples?”
“Like ripples in a pond. You throw a stone into the water, and the impact sends waves outward in every direction. It is like I am on the shore, yet the ripples still find me, far as I might be from where—or when—it all occurs. I cannot control it. Most of the time, I can’t change it. I can only see it and do my best to warn of its arrival. Some ripples are just that . . . ripples, but some are huge waves. Sometimes we can catch the wave and ride the current. Sometimes we can dive beneath the churning, but we cannot keep the wave from coming. Sometimes it only brushes my feet, and sometimes I only observe, but the wave still comes.”
“And you saw me?”
“Yes. Many times. More times than I can count. I saw you, and I saw death.”
“Your own?” he asked. She saw him, and she saw death, yet she wasn’t afraid of him.
“Yes. And no. I saw the moments that came before. I felt the anger of the villagers. I saw my fear . . . and falling. I knew I would fall.”
“And you want me to help these people?”
“Some of them,” she whispered, and she tried to smile. “Maybe not all.”
“They will still hate you,” he replied grimly.
“Some of them. Maybe not all,” she repeated, nodding. “But not asking you to help them . . . when I know you can, would be like knowing the water is bad and not telling anyone. It isn’t about me. It’s about responsibility. The Gifts we are given are not given for our benefit but for the benefit of mankind.”
Kjell groaned inwardly, his dread growing by the second. This slave woman, this red-haired paragon of virtue and long-suffering, would be his undoing, and it would not be a sweet unraveling.
She followed him, her gait brisk, keeping pace with the guard as they entered Solemn on horseback. The village was an assortment of clay and stone structures, one blending into the next, rising out of the dust and butting against the cliff walls. Quondoon was a desert bedecked with the occasional rich oasis, and Solemn, sitting at an elevation that grew rocks and little else, was not one of them.
Kjell slowed and demanded that his men circle their horses around Sasha, shielding her from the eyes of those who might wish her harm. She was the reason he was here. He didn’t want her dragged off.
As they made their way along the main thoroughfare—the only street bigger than a mountain path—the villagers watched from their doorways and the sides of the street, their animus obvious, their eyes watchful and wary. Some of them even fell in behind the soldiers, their fear not as great as their curiosity, and by the time they reached their destination, a small parade had assembled behind them.
Jerick and the first group of soldiers, as well as the elders of Solemn, were gathered in front of an establishment hung with a sign that declared it an inn. Kjell didn’t suppose there were many travelers on the road to Solemn, but apparently there were a few. The building boasted three stories, forming a rectangular edifice complete with rows of perfectly square windows and topped with a flat roof. Some sort of garden was built on the roof, the trees and plants giving the establishment the appearance of hair. On both sides of the street, similarly styled clay structures stood in solidarity—a forge, a church, a stable, a tavern, and an apothecary. The apothecary was the largest building, and Kjell wondered if the owner had grown rich selling herbs and tonics to the sick people of Solemn.
“We have begun preparing a feast,” Syed said, raising his voice to be heard. The people grew quiet, their resentment palpable. “You can take your horses to the stable.” He indicated the structure and the enclosure across the way. “You are our guests. We will have our women prepare baths for your men, though it will take us some time to arrange quarters for so many.”