Renegade's Magic (The Soldier Son Trilogy #3)

I sat briefly in my chair, staring at Kesey’s dying fire, and then could not stand the squalor anymore. I went to the spring for a bucket of water and set it to heat. I told myself that when Kesey returned, I’d tell him that I had done it as a repayment for the good deeds he’d done for me. But the honest truth was that it pained me to see that my formerly tidy little residence had become such a sty.

So I scraped and washed the dishes and pots, and then swept a substantial heap of mud and dirt out of the door. In the process of putting the dishes back in the cupboard, I came across what remained of my possessions. Kesey had kept everything that I’d left there. My clothing had been carefully folded. Even my worn-out shoes were there. I shook out one of the shirts and then put it on. It hung loose all around me, and for a moment I marveled that it had ever fit me. I wondered why Kesey had not offered me the use of these clothes, and then was oddly touched that he had not. I refolded the shirt and restored it to its place. He’d kept my things, I realized, as a sort of remembrance of me.

Trying to change clothes had shown me how dirty I was. I heated water, washed, and even shaved using Kesey’s razor. Looking into his mirror was a revelation. I was pale as a mushroom, and the skin on my face was overly sensitive. I nicked myself twice and bled profusely both times. But the real shock was the shape of my face. I had cheekbones and a defined chin. My eyes had emerged from the pillows of fat that had narrowed them. I looked like Cadet Nevare Burvelle. I looked like Carsina’s fiancé. I touched my face with my hand. I looked like my father and Rosse, I realized. But mostly like my father.

Restlessness made me leave the cabin. I felt I could not sit still and wait. I put my rags back on and went out to Kesey’s woodpile. I chopped some kindling for him, until the uncallused skin on my hands protested this rough usage. I put what I had chopped in a tidy stack by his door and wondered how much time had passed. Would he ever return? Would Spink come with him right away or would he think it some sort of bizarre prank? The minutes of the day dripped by slowly.

I paced. I walked out to my old vegetable garden to find it a patch of weeds. Nothing useful there. Using the rusty sabre hilt with its bit of blade and one of the table knives, I successfully repaired the shutter so that it hung straight again. I paced some more. My old sabre still hung on the wall of the cabin. I took it down, hefted it, and tried a few lunges. It still wasn’t much of a weapon. It was notched and rust had eaten at it. But it was still a sword. At first it felt foreign in my hand, but after a few feints and then a solid touch on the door it felt like the grip of an old friend’s hand. I grinned foolishly.

After what felt like several days, I heard the sounds of someone approaching. But it wasn’t a lone horse, or even two horses. It sounded like a cart. I hastily put the sword back where it had been and walked to where I could look down the track that wound up the hill.

Kesey was riding his horse. Behind him, drawn by an old nag, Epiny was driving the most ramshackle two-wheeled cart I’d ever seen. Moreover, she was driving it one-handed. On the seat next to her was a large basket and her other hand rested inside it. In the basket, a baby was kicking and fussing.

CHAPTER THIRTY

REUNION

The world stood breathless around me as that cart slowly came up the hill. I had time to absorb every detail. Epiny wore a proper hat, but it had been donned hastily, unless it was the fashion now to wear it nearly sliding off one side of her head. Her hair had come unbundled and half spilled down her back. One of the wheels on the cart was wobbling so badly that I immediately resolved she could not go back to Gettys in that conveyance until we had secured it. But mostly I just stared at Epiny’s face.

As she drew nearer, I could see high spots of bright color on her cheeks. She was thin, but not as thin as the last time I’d glimpsed her in my dream. I could see her mouth moving as she spoke to the baby in her basket, and then suddenly I couldn’t stand it any longer. I began to run down the hill toward her shouting, “Epiny! Epiny!”

Epiny tried to pull in the horse, but my headlong rush toward it alarmed the poor old creature. Instead of stopping, he veered to one side, taking the cart off the track and into the deep grass. There the wobbly wheels refused to go any farther, and that more than Epiny’s tugging on the reins brought him to a halt. I reached the side of the cart in time to catch Epiny as she leapt from the seat into my arms. I hugged her tight and whirled her around, beyond joy at seeing her again. Her own arms went tight around my neck. Nothing had ever felt so healing as that simple expression of pure affection. Other than our kinship, Epiny had never had any reason to love me or to make the sacrifices and take the risks for me that she had. In so many ways, I’d brought pain and suffering into her life. But her honest embrace assured me that she still cared for me, despite how I’d damaged her. Her capacity for love humbled me. Kesey had reined in his mount and was watching us in consternation. Epiny, as ever, never stopped talking even as I spun her around.