Book of Water

Chapter 17

17

“What did you do?” shouted Astolpho. He raced past a dozen tents to where Rinaldo now knelt in the dirt beside Bayard and held Michaela unconscious in his arms. “What did you have her do?” Astolpho demanded. “What was wrong with this horse?”

Bradamante came running from her nearby tent. Jara trailed behind Astolpho and now held out her flaming torch so they all could see.

Astolpho’s shout had drawn other onlookers. Seeing them, he lowered his voice. “Tell me,” he said to Rinaldo. “Please. I need to know.”

Bradamante crouched in front of Bayard and ran her hand over his flawless leg. “It was a knife wound,” she whispered. “Deep and infected. This horse was dying.”

Even in the meager torchlight, there was no mistaking the anger on Astolpho’s face. “You have no idea what you’ve done.” He threaded his arms underneath Rinaldo’s and took Michaela’s limp body from him. Then he carried her back into Rinaldo’s tent.

For a moment Rinaldo, Bradamante, and Jara stood silently looking at one another. Then the murmured conversation of some of his men broke through Rinaldo’s stupor and reminded him of his duty.

“First watch,” he called. “Everyone on first watch, I’ll see you up at the pass.”

Some of the men began to disperse. Jara turned to join them.

Rinaldo held her back. “I’d like you to stay and help Astolpho. Brad and I will take the watch.”

Jara nodded. She hesitated for a moment. “Can I?” She drew closer to Bayard and tentatively smoothed her hand down his leg. Rinaldo could hear her soft gasp.

“Whatever they need,” said Rinaldo.

Jara nodded. “Of course.” She left the torch in a rack outside the tent and quietly slipped through the flap. Soon Rinaldo could hear the muffled sound of conversation from inside.

“Naldo,” Bradamante started to say, “what—”

“Not here.” He still felt shaken by the miracle he had just witnessed. He wasn’t ready to speak of it yet. He hardly had time to understand it with his own mind.

He patted Bayard’s neck. Just as Michaela had done. And she had spoken words to the horse, words in some language Rinaldo had never heard. Altala, he thought one of them was. Altala. Bayard had sighed then and relaxed even as Michaela wrapped her hands around the top of his tender, swollen leg.

Rinaldo shifted closer to them both then, the better to see. Some of the nearby torches had already been lit and their flames flickered in the slight wind. Shadow, light, back to shadow again. He wished he could hold a torch directly in front of Bayard’s leg, but he wouldn’t risk disturbing Michaela.

She continued murmuring in her strange language. Her eyes were closed. She gently began moving her hands down Bayard’s leg, ever closer to the wound.

And then—and this was the part that Rinaldo was replaying in his mind even now, trying to remember exactly what he saw—Bayard had snorted out a breath just as the edges of Michaela’s fingers touched the open flesh.

So quickly that Rinaldo dared not blink, the wound began to close. It healed from the center outward, like water filling a hole. Bayard shifted restlessly and tossed his head. Michaela managed to hold on for a moment more, but then her legs buckled beneath her and she sank toward the dirt.

Rinaldo caught her just in time. He could feel heat radiating all around her, the same way he had felt the heat from Bayard’s wound. Now that wound was gone and the flesh that had replaced it looked as though it had never been marred. Anyone comparing the two front legs would have no reason to believe either had ever been injured.

Astolpho had arrived then, shouting, and had taken Michaela into his arms.

Rinaldo stepped back. He heard his sister’s and Jara’s voices, but the words and the sound meant nothing. All he could do was continue gazing at Michaela’s sleeping face.

Where had she come from? How could someone exist in this world with the kind of power Michaela held? Was she some goddess, some angel, something divine sent down to earth?

As Astolpho lifted and carried her away, Rinaldo was suddenly overcome with such an immense wave of sorrow it nearly buckled his legs as well. Michaela was no goddess, she was a mortal woman, and Rinaldo had found her too late. The knowledge pierced him like a blade to his heart, but there was nothing he could do.

She and Astolpho were already bonded together. It was clear in every action Astolpho took. He held her now tenderly, protectively, and Rinaldo understood why. If fate had allowed Rinaldo to find her first, he would raise sword and shield and fist to protect her all the rest of his life.

Instead she had come to him second, and had saved his fading life. Not because she knew him or cared for him, but only because Astolpho had asked her to do it.

And then, for reasons Rinaldo did not yet understand, she had extended her priceless gift to heal this magnificent horse. Bayard now stood strong and well at Rinaldo’s side. All weakness and weariness were gone. But instead of feeling joy, all Rinaldo could feel was regret.

“Naldo?” Bradamante examined his troubled face.

“Not here,” he muttered. Not anywhere. He couldn’t share these thoughts with his sister. He wouldn’t reveal them to anyone.

Bradamante walked at his side as he led Bayard toward the northern edge of camp. One of the horse enclosures was there, as was the trail leading up to the pass.

At his first sight of the trail Bayard strained against his lead. Rinaldo understood why. They had both been idle too long, sick too long, and both were now perfectly, miraculously well.

He could feel it himself, the desire to run and run hard, to feel the strength in his legs once more. He could understand the kind of yearning a powerful horse like Bayard must have in this moment to set off at a wild gallop and never slow down.

“Will you tell me now?” asked Bradamante. He had almost forgotten she was there.

How much should he say? He understood now why Astolpho had described it in so few words. “She has a power. I can’t explain it beyond that.”

Rinaldo answered the question that he knew Bradamante was really asking. “It isn’t sorcery.” He chose not to tell her about the mysterious language Michaela had spoken to the horse. The words had seemed tender and reassuring, not sinister in any way.

“Then what is it?” Bradamante asked. They had reached the enclosure now, where Egalite already stood waiting near the edge to greet them. Bradamante reached underneath the mare’s dark gray forelock and scratched her light gray head.

“I don’t know,” Rinaldo answered, “but I know her power is good. She isn’t killing or conquering with it like Rogero. She’s using it to heal.”

“I want to ask Manat.”

“You can ask her,” Rinaldo said impatiently, “but I know what I saw.”

“Then tell me,” his sister said. “You’ve hardly said anything at all.”

Rinaldo tamped down his frustration. He understood Bradamante’s curiosity. He was sure he would feel it himself.

“It happened so quickly,” he said. “From the moment her fingers touched the wound. It all began filling in and the swelling disappeared. But it wasn’t just the wound, it was Bayard. She must have healed his fever at the same time. He looked… right again. As if he’d never been sick at all.”

“Like you,” said Bradamante.

“Like me,” he agreed. And now that he said it, he realized it was true. Michaela had not only healed all his injuries, she had returned vigor to his whole body. He might have been hungry and thirsty, but otherwise he felt perfectly well. In fact, he might even feel better than he did before the battle ever happened. It was hard to remember now, but he wondered if that were so.

“I’m going to give Bayard some water and feed. Then I’ll see you up on the pass.”

Bradamante scratched Bayard beneath his thick black forelock. She patted him on the neck and kissed the soft velvet of his nose. “I’m glad you’re well,” she whispered to the horse, and Bayard’s hooves seemed to dance in place. “But I’m still going to ask Manat,” she told Rinaldo. “Later tonight if I can.”

Rinaldo nodded. There was little point in arguing. He knew what he knew, and neither Bradamante nor her teacher would change that.

Michaela was a young woman of extraordinary power and compassion.

And Rinaldo was so much the poorer for only meeting her now.