“It’s not that easy,” Kith-Kanan replied defensively.
“Why?”
The prince opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Why, indeed? Surely in the time that had gone by his father’s anger would have cooled. The gods knew his own anger at losing Hermathya had withered and died as if it had never been. Even now, as he spoke her name in his mind, no remembered passion stirred inside him. His heart would always belong to Anaya. Now that she was gone, why should he not return home?
In the end, though, Kith-Kanan always decided that he could not. “My father is Speaker of the Stars. He is bound by traditions he cannot flout. If he were only my father and angry with me, perhaps I could return and beg his forgiveness. But there are many others around him who wouldn’t want me back.”
Mackeli nodded knowingly. “Enemies.”
“Not personal enemies, just those priests and guild masters who have a vested interest in keeping things as they’ve always been. My father needs their support, which is why he married Hermathya to Sithas in the first place. I’m sure my return would cause much unrest in the city.”
Mackeli dropped out of his crouch. He swung his legs back and forth in the air. “Seems complicated,” he said. “I think the forest is better.” Even with the ache of Anaya’s loss in his heart, Kith-Kanan had to agree as he looked over the sunny clearing carpeted with flowers.
The Call struck him like a blow.
It was evening, four days after the prince’s discussion of Silvanost with Mackeli, and they were skinning a mountain elk. Neither Kith-Kanan nor the boy could explain why the griffon had flown two hundred miles to the Khalkist Mountains to catch the elk, but that was the nearest source of such animals. They were nearly finished with the skinning when the Call came.
Kith-Kanan dropped his flint skinning knife in the dirt. He jumped to his feet, hands outstretched as if he’d been stricken blind.
“Kith! Kith, what’s wrong?” Mackeli cried.
Kith-Kanan could no longer see the forest. Instead, he saw vague impressions of walls, floor, and ceiling made of white marble. It was as if he’d been lifted up out of his body and set down in Silvanost. He held a hand to his face and in place of his leather tunic and callused palm, he saw a smooth hand and a white silk robe. The ring on his finger he recognized as belonging to Sithas.
A jumble of sensations assaulted his mind: worry, sadness, loneliness. Sithas was calling his name. There was trouble in the city. Arguments and fighting. Humans at court. Kith-Kanan reeled as it came at him in a rush.
“Sithas!” he cried. When he spoke, the Call ended abruptly.
Mackeli was shaking him by his tunic. Kith-Kanan broke the boy’s grip and shoved him back.
“What is it?” Mackeli asked, frightened.
“My brother. It was my brother, back in Silvanost…”
“You saw him? Did he speak?”
“Not in words. The nation is in peril…” Kith-Kanan pressed his hands to his face. His heart was pounding. “I must go back. I must go to Silvanost.” He turned and walked into the hollow tree.
“Wait! Do you have to go now?”
“I have to go. I have to leave now,” Kith-Kanan insisted tensely.
“Then take me with you!”
Kith-Kanan appeared in the doorway. “What did you say?”
“Take me with you,” Mackeli repeated in a hopeful tone. “I’ll be your servant. I’ll do anything. Clean your boots, cook your food—anything. I don’t want to stay here alone, Kith. I want to see the city of my people!”
Kith-Kanan went to where Mackeli stood, still holding his skinning knife. With the muddle of feelings clearing from his brain, he realized he was glad Mackeli wanted to go with him. He felt closer to him than he had to anyone except Anaya—and Sithas. If he was going back to face who knows what in Silvanost, he didn’t want to lose that friendship and support now.
Clapping a hand to the boy’s shoulder, Kith-Kanan declared, “You shall go with me, but never as my servant. You can be my squire and train to be a warrior. How does that sound?”
Mackeli was too overcome to speak. He threw his arms around Kith-Kanan and hugged him fiercely.
“When shall we leave?” the boy asked.
Kith-Kanan felt the powerful tug of the Call. Now, now, now. It coursed through his body like a second heartbeat. He steeled himself against the insatiable pull. It was late and there were preparations which must be made before they departed. “Tomorrow morning,” he decided.
Day came like the cracking of an egg. First all was smooth, unbroken night, then just a chip of sunlight showed to the east. It was enough to rouse the eager Mackeli, who splashed water on his face and announced himself ready to go.
“Is there nothing you want to take with you?” Kith-Kanan wondered.
Mackeli surveyed the inside of the tree. The flint tools, gourd bottles, clay-daubed baskets, none of them were worth taking, he said. Still, they needed food and water, so they loaded a pair of wicker baskets with meat, nuts, berries, and water, balancing the weight so Arcuballis could carry it all. Alone of the three of them, the griffon was still heavily asleep. When Kith-Kanan whistled through his teeth, Arcuballis raised its aquiline head out from under one wing and stood on its mismatched feet. Kith-Kanan gave the beast some water while Mackeli tied the food baskets to the back of the saddle.
A sense of urgency spurred them on. Mackeli chattered incessantly about the things he wanted to do and see. He scrubbed the residue of paint from his face, announcing that he didn’t want the city-dwellers to think he was a savage. Kith-Kanan tested the harness fittings under the griffon’s neck and chest, and Mackeli climbed onto the pillion. At last, though, Kith-Kanan hesitated.
“What is it?” the boy asked.
“There is one thing I must do!” He cut across the flower-choked clearing to the slender oak that had been Anaya. He stopped two yards away and looked up at the limbs reaching toward the sky. He still found it hard to accept that the woman he loved was here now, in any form. “Part of my heart stays with you here, my love. I have to go back now; I hope you understand.” Tears welled in his eyes as he took out his dagger. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then reached up and quickly sliced off a four-inch green shoot, well laden with bright green buds. Kith-Kanan cut a small slit in the tough deerhide of his tunic, directly over his heart, and put the shoot there.
The elf prince gazed up at the young tree, then looked around at the clearing where they had been so happy. “I love you, Anaya,” he said. “Farewell.” Turning, he walked quickly back to the griffon.
Kith-Kanan swung onto Arcuballis’s back and settled himself into the saddle. He whistled and touched the griffon with his heels, signaling the creature to be off. As the griffon bounded across the clearing, its strong legs tearing through the new growth, great torrents of petals and pollen flew into the air. At last the mount opened its wings and, in a stupendous bound, leaped into the air. Mackeli yelped with delight.
They circled the clearing, gaining height with each circuit. Kith-Kanan looked down for a few seconds, then he lifted his face and studied the clouds. He turned Arcuballis’s head northeast. They leveled out at a thousand feet. The air was warm, and a steady wind buoyed Arcuballis, enabling him to glide for long stretches with hardly a wingbeat.
Mackeli leaned forward and shouted in Kith-Kanan’s ear, “How long will it take us to get there?”
“One day, perhaps two.”
They passed over a world rapidly greening. Life seemed to be bursting from the ground even as they flew by. The lower air was full of birds, from tiny swallows to large flocks of wild geese. Farther below, the forest thinned, then gave way to plain. As the sun reached its zenith, Kith-Kanan and Mackeli saw the first signs of civilization since leaving the wildwood. There was a village below, laid out in a circle, with a sod wall surrounding it for protection. A pall of smoke hung over the village.