At the Queen's Command (22 page)

He smiled as he wrote. He imagined Bethany reading the words, tracing her fingers over the ink, perhaps reading some passages to her younger siblings, and others to her father and mother. He doubted she would share much with Caleb; and suspected Caleb would have little interest in what Owen had to say.

As pen scratched on paper, Catherine came again to his thoughts. Her sidelong glances, her little smiles, the way she would sigh and take his hand in hers, wishing aloud for a day when he could leave the army and they could be free to live as they wished. He loved her for all those things, and more.
I cannot wait to have her in my arms again
.

He finished a passage, then sighed loudly, wishing she was at his side.

The little Altashee looked up, read his face, then handed him one of her dolls.

He smiled at her kindness and admired the doll before handing it back to her. And she smiled, as if all was well with the world, and for once, Owen thought, just for a little bit, such a judgment might have been right.

That evening passed uneventfully. The presentation of the wurmscales to Msitazi pleased the Altashee elder. He ran his hands over them, studying the underside with its mother-of-pearl sheen. He then placed him on his shoulders like epaulets, and Owen suspected he might see them affixed there in the future.

After a dinner of venison and vegetable in a stew, Owen spent time cleaning and oiling his musket and pistol, quietly observing everything going on around him. Life seemed anything but hurried among the Twilight People. For the most part they seemed happy, smiling and humming as they worked. On the rare occasion a child cried out, the closest adult came to his rescue, and peace was restored.

He didn’t see much of Kamiskwa, but Nathaniel Woods had three children following him wherever he went. The two boys looked enough alike to be brothers and neither had reached his teens. The third, a little girl, appeared only a couple years older than the lass who had attached herself to Owen. The three of them got along well enough, with the two boys being solicitous of the young girl’s needs.

Nathaniel played with the children a little, laughing and joking with them, admiring things they showed him. He let the girl sit in his lap and tousled the boys’ hair. Though Owen couldn’t understand a word they said, hand-gestures, pantomime, and growls led him to believe Nathaniel was relating some story about hunting a jeopard. Others stopped to listen, and broad smiles suggested the story was a well-known favorite.

Owen also noticed his spending a certain amount of time, both separately and together, with two of the Altashee women. Given the beadwork and motifs on their clothes, they’d made Nathaniel’s clothing, the rifle-sheath, and bags. Owen also guessed that they were related to Kamiskwa, being the right age to be his sisters, largely because their clothes had bear paw prints beaded onto them.

And, because the children appeared to be a bit lighter in color than others in the camp, Owen came to the conclusion that they might well be Nathaniel’s offspring. Their previous conversation about Altashee marriage and mating customs held Owen back from assuming that Nathaniel was a flagrant womanizer. Tenderness characterized the way he interacted with the women and Owen saw none of the predatory aggressiveness so common with lechers.

As they sat together rolling cartridges, Owen turned to Woods. “The children are yours, by those women.”

“The boys is by Naskwatis and the girl by Gwitak. Ten, eight, and five.” Nathaniel shook his head. “And we ain’t married. Iffen you’re of a mind to tell me I’m going to Hell, save your breath, save your teeth.”

Owen measured out some brimstone. “Do you love them?”

“The kids, yes. Their mothers, sure, but not in Norillian thinking. Love is fine for fancy stories and songs. Ain’t much of a place for it in the world.” Nathaniel looked around the village. “You know the Altashee word for romantic love is the same word they use for madness.”

“I thought that was their word for greed.”

“The same. Romantic love is emotional greed. Lust the Altashee understand. Love between parent and child, that they understand. Being devoted to one person only, that they reckon is insane.”

“But they allow people to marry.”

“Guarantees children strong in magick.”

Owen glanced at the mothers of Woods’ children. “And they wanted your magick?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“This has something to do with why they call you ‘Magehawk’?”

The other man twisted the ends of the cartridge paper, and tucked it away in his pouch. “Don’t be setting much store in stories you hear in Temperance Bay.”

“Didn’t hear the term until Saint Luke.”

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Bethany Frost didn’t fill your ear?”

Owen smiled in spite of himself. “I gathered she found you odious, but she did not speak ill of you. She just cautioned me against you. Were you a bad influence on her fiancé?”

“Ira, no. He was a good man. Didn’t know him well. Seventh son of a seventh son. Strong in magick. Only ever met one man stronger. Always liked Ira. Sorry to hear he died.”

Owen nodded, then glanced at Nathaniel. “Why do they call you ‘Magehawk’?”

The Mystrian patted him on the shoulder. “You been in a fight or three? Heard men spin grand war stories?”

“I have.”

“Grand’s just another word for lie.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Some men, they needed themselves some killing. I obliged ’em. Folks what wasn’t there made something big out of it.”

A little shiver ran down Owen’s spine. “But that incident created this interest in your magick?”

Nathaniel slowly nodded. “The Twilight People understand the truth of things. Ain’t nothing like a woman doing for you to get a man back on his feet. Kids’ll do that, too. You got any?”

“No.”

“Strong buck like you?”

“My wife is young. There will be time later.”

“I reckon there’s truth there.” Nathaniel started working on another cartridge.” You’ll get started when you’re back to Norisle, when we’s just an adventure writ in a book.”

“I didn’t come for adventure.” Owen frowned. “I came to do my duty.”

Nathaniel chuckled. “And your wife, she didn’t never suggest you getting rich out of this?”

Anger flashed through Owen. “She loves me. She wants the best for me, and I for her. The Altashee might think love to be madness, but I don’t. Have you ever loved anyone?”

“I think, on this subject, Captain Strake, we ain’t gonna be sharing no more words. I didn’t mean to offend you concerning your wife. Needle you maybe, but offend, no. You’ve made your choices, I’ve made mine. Ain’t no good our jawing about them.”

“Agreed, and no offense taken.”

“Thing you have to remember, Captain Strake, is that this here is a brand-new world. What-all they think across the ocean don’t matter a whit here. Norillian tradition works, sure, but in a known land.”

“Known land?”

Nathaniel smiled. “Norillians been in Mystria for two hundred fifty years or thereabouts?”

“That’s about right.”

“Now your family, your stepfather’s family, they been around how long?”

“Since before the Invasion. Eight centuries.”

“And afore that there was the Remian Empire, then the Mohammadeans and the Haxians. A good long time.”

“Right.”

“So all them kingdoms and empires, they’ve done fought over the same land for a long time. They make up rules. They keep the peace when they want peace. They make war when they desire war. All because they have a tiny land and everyone wants it.”

Woods spread his arms. “Mystria is a big land. Bigger than you could imagine. We’re ten walks from the coast. The Mystrian continent is three hundred more walks westward. Maybe five hundred, just east to west, and that many north to south. Don’t nobody know. Ain’t nobody ever made it all the way. So all them rules what keep people content in a tiny plot of land, they don’t mean spit. Them rules is as useless as a law telling the sun, ‘Don’t shine.’”

“Then you think Mystria should become independent.”

Woods smiled. “It’s a notion. Keep things unspoiled, might be a good one.”

Owen frowned. “You think people should be allowed to do what they want? No government? No authority?”

Woods tapped a finger to his temple. “This land is for strong people. You have a right to what you can do, what you can produce. Bountiful land, too. Give me shot, powder, a firestone, and some traps, me and mine will make out good. What I can’t build, I trade for. Don’t need money or taxes or some Fire Warden or other telling me what I can or cannot do.”

“But what if a man comes along and decides to take what is yours? You’re not suggesting that if you’re not strong enough to hold it, he should have it.”

“Ain’t no need for a man to come take mine. Lots of empty hereabouts. He can just move on a-piece and make his own place.”

“What if he’s lazy? What if he doesn’t want to move on? What if he decides to take a place from someone who is weaker than he is? What if he plunders and moves on?”

“I reckon he finds himself on the outside of a musket-ball.”

“And if the shooter has made a mistake and hits the wrong target?”

Nathaniel shrugged. “Ain’t saying things is perfect. It’s just there ain’t no government should come and take away everything you’ve worked for just on account of some voters decided they wanted it that way. Now you’re gonna say that there’s courts to deal with that. I’d allow as how you was right, if you could tell me a flash of gold might not influence a judge a time or three.”

Owen laughed. “I will not argue that the current system is perfect, but at least it is a system. What you suggest is only a way that every man can die alone.”

“Mayhap you’re right, Captain Strake.” Nathaniel shook his head. “But I’m thinking that sometimes that wouldn’t be a bad thing at all.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

May 15, 1763

Saint Luke

Bounty, Mystria

O
wen slept in the long house alone, but close enough to the cook-fire and covered with a tanner pelt that he slept warm and comfortably. During the night he woke from two dreams in which he was talking to Bethany Frost. He couldn’t remember the conversation, but in one of them they were walking hand in hand along the river near the Prince’s wurmrest.

He wasn’t certain what to make of that. He’d normally have dismissed the dream as meaningless. He’d told countless soldiers who’d suffered nightmares on the eve of battle that they meant nothing and predicted less. At the time he’d firmly believed that.

But all that was before he’d come to Mystria. Just the experience of the winding path pointed to more magick being alive in the world than he’d ever before imagined. Maybe it
was
just the land, with magick bubbling up like warm water from a spring. Maybe it was nothing at all, an illusion, but whenever he thought that, he recalled Kamiskwa’s repairing the canoe and use of other magicks far more powerful than he’d been taught were possible.

He woke for the final time just after dawn and breakfasted on maize gruel. His hosts ground some maple sugar and mixed it into the gruel, turning the ordinary into a delight. The little girl sat next to him, eating as he did, smiling when he did, and giggling contentedly at nothing at all.

In the light of a cook-fire he wrote a letter to the Prince. He described the circumstances around the discovery of the journal and ring. He included his speculation that the circles represented phases of the moon. He added material on the background of Pierre Ilsavont, though found it difficult to code the name using
A Continent’s Calling.

Once that note had been completed, he wrote to the Frosts. He didn’t want to alarm anyone so he stressed the amazing things he’d seen. He described the beauty of the falls and the friendliness of the Altashee. He refrained from mentioning much about magick. Given that the Frosts were members of Bishop Bumble’s congregation, he wasn’t certain how news that the Altashee could be so magickally powerful would go over. He thought Bethany would marvel at the fact, but others might not be so inclined.

He finished the note less because he was finished writing than that the village began to liven and he had to prepare to travel. He thanked Bethany for her help in obtaining the journals and pens, her father for
A Continent’s Calling
, then folded and sealed the note. He addressed it to them and tucked it into the Ryngian journal.

As the three men packed, Owen discovered that Msitazi’s family had worked through the night to prepare two gifts: a leather sheath for his musket and one for his pistol. Each had a long strap so he could carry the weapons across his chest, and a separate thong allowed him to bind the pistol to his belt so it wouldn’t flap about while running.

Msitazi embraced Owen at the edge of the village, still proudly wearing the red coat. “May your walks be effortless, and may more Ungarakii die to build your legend.”

Owen withdrew and gave him a salute. “I shall sing the praises of Great Chief Msitazi of the Altashee to my Queen.”

Owen entrusted the journal, ring, and notes to Msitazi. “I will take your messages myself, Aodaga.” The Chieftain nodded toward the eldest of Nathaniel’s sons. “I shall have William accompany me. It is time he ventured out.”

“Are you certain, Msitazi?”

The elder man laughed. “You now sound like all my children. I am old, I am not dead. And there is much magick left in me.” His milky left eye sparkled as if it were not truly dead. “We will deliver your messages and I shall thank the Prince for his gifts.”

Owen raised an eyebrow. “You want another look at Mugwump.”

“The great warrior sees past the obvious.” Msitazi slapped him on the arm. “When you next return, we shall share great stories of our adventures.”

They each said their good-byes to those they were leaving behind. Nathaniel, who had not slept in the long house, hugged and kissed his children and their mothers. Kamiskwa made the rounds of the village.

The little girl came to Owen and offered him one of her dolls, the one she had given him when he seemed sad. He made ready to refuse it as politely as he could, but she remained adamant.