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They still called him Pere and nothing would dissuade them. It
wasn't far from the main port to Prasynne; only the neglect of
the road and the rise and fall of a ridge of trees made it seem
so.
But today, Anyel wasn't watching for smoke or workers or
even the little dog. He had his eyes on the sea far below and
a mile away. His days of having nothing to look for had
passed. The falcon cried overhead and circled down to land on
the terrace rail.
"You saw him?" Anyel was irrationally flattered that she'd
changed hunting grounds to stay near him. The falcon bobbed
her head and sidled closer along the rail, so that Anyel could
pet her and scratch the itchy spot on her wing. For all that
he'd been raised with no religion other than the mysteries his
mother practiced, he had developed a fondness for Lochan, or
at least the idea of that the god was present. "We should go
meet him."
By the time Anyel made his way down to the cove where
the ships made landfall, he would be able to see the ship
coming in. To his surprise, he missed Berrit. He'd thought the
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attraction and the convenience of the relationship would be
the whole of it, but he'd been wrong. Monastery life had been
ill-preparation for such things.
The notes they sent by messenger bird sometimes
several a day had brought them closer together than Anyel
had expected. He found himself tracing the words with his
fingers as though he could feel Berrit's touch there. In his
head, he could hear Berrit's voice when he read the letters,
again and again. It never wore thin.
They had three horses in the stable and four fit for the
plough out in the paddock. They had ten cows and a bull, a
small herd of sheep and a ram, chickens that ran in the yard.
It was a tiny seed of an estate, but it would grow. In the
stable, Anyel saddled two horses while Pepy made a warm
nest in the hay on the floor. In a thick bag, he had hot mead
in a padded wineskin, meat rolls, and baked potatoes still in
their clay shells. It would be a decent meal, if he had to wait
a while. On the spare horse, he packed the food, a lantern,
and an extra cloak.
The monks' robes had long-since gone by the wayside. The
last time he'd worn anything like them, Anyel had been
bidding Berrit goodbye. Now, in warm silk and wool breeches,
high boots, and a thick tunic under a heavy cloak, Anyel was
dressed to ride, like any rural lord. He tugged on his gloves
and swung up on the horse he'd named Gall, for the gelding's
scarred knees. A lack of beauty hadn't swayed his affections
in years.
As he rode out, the falcon came down to perch on the
empty saddle. The stallion, Surrige, after the waves before a
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storm, put his ears back at her but didn't complain. Anyel
turned to see Vannes waving from the kitchen door. In a year
or two, they'd have gardens all the way along the road to the
gate. Prasynne would be like a garden within the garden of
Bisera.
The rising wind sang through the palta groves and the
pitayas orchard. Anyel was following the broken road around
a scrubby stand of cedars with tiquisque plants flourishing
around them, when he heard a distant yap. He whistled
sharply and the falcon took to the air. Pepy was huffing
furiously when she finally caught up to Anyel.
"Well." Anyel leaned over and held out his hands. "You
were the one who wanted a nap."
Pepy barked, but jumped into his arms anyway. She made
a good little travelling companion, sitting across Anyel's
saddle just in front of him with her nose peeping through the
part in his cloak. She was also a good hot water bottle on
cooler days. The morning had come in warm, but the wind
rode in from the sea like a herd of ghost horses, chilling
everything in their path.
By the time Anyel rode to where the broken road turned
whole again and came curving out of the cedar forest that
thatched the coastline, he could see white sails on a dark ship
running hard before the wind. He nudged Gall with his heels
and they clattered down the road with Surrige behind them.
The falcon swept by them and out to sea to meet the ship
coming in.
The piers were broken in many places and the pilings were
rotted and crumbled; except for one, the docks canted and
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dipped under the waves. But, for Anyel, one was good
enough. He stood where the pier met the shore, holding Pepy
under one arm and the reins for Gall and Surrige in the other
hand, waiting for Berrit's ship, Tagetes, to come in. He had
been waiting for this feeling for so long, for the wrong person.
The wind threw waves up onto the stone piers and the
wooden docks that remained. Tagetes shortened her sails as
she drew near, the booms banging as the sails were gathered
up and tied down. She was coming in so fast Anyel thought
his heart would stop, but then her bow swung out at the last
minute, the sailors threw bumpers over the sides and she
came to rest slowly, drifting to a halt with the wind pressing
her close against the dock.
Anyel was holding his breath for fear that all of this would
be some illusion that would fall to pieces when he saw Berrit
again. Pepy squirmed he was holding her too tight and so
he let her go run and sniff. He stood still, like he was frozen,
and waited until, at last, a man came down the gangplank
and broke away from the rest. Anyel didn't need to see his
face to know who it was. Even at a distance, he could tell.
"You're here." Berrit sounded almost surprised, but mostly
pleased. Thumbs hooked in his belt, he made his way toward
Anyel at a lazy pace. When he tossed his head to get his hair
out of his face, Anyel could see him smile. The work went on
around Tagetes, but it felt like they were alone.
Anyel swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Welcome
back," he managed to say.
Berrit drew near, looking serious. "Let me look at you."
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Anyel shook his hair out of his face and stepped back so
Berrit could get a good look at him. "Yes?"
"Just..." Berrit shook his head, still smiling. "It's good to be
back."
"I brought a meal, in case you were hungry." Anyel offered
his hand tentatively and Berrit took it without hesitation.
"Thank you." Berrit squeezed his hand gently. "I am
hungry," he admitted.
"Do you want to eat now? I can..." He got only that far
before Berrit reeled him in with a tug that nearly took him off
his feet and into Berrit's arms. "...or not."
Berrit kissed him hard, with a low growl. "Not hungry for
food," he corrected. "Gods, I left you a monk too long." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]