Book of Water

Chapter 24

24

It’s only right, Rinaldo reasoned with himself as he walked across camp the following morning. I would show my gratitude to anyone, man or woman, who saved my life. And who saved Bayard’s.

It shouldn’t matter that she was with Astolpho. His heart had wrestled with it throughout the night. What mattered was that Rinaldo was deeply in Michaela’s debt and he still hadn’t done anything to thank her.

It was right that he should seek her out. That he should talk to her. That he should bring her some small gift and offer her whatever hospitality and protection a king’s commander could give in exchange for the miracles she had performed.

His hunters had returned from a successful foray the night before, and the cook had made a venison and turnip stew early that morning. While his men feasted, Rinaldo carried a bowl of the stew, still steaming, to Michaela’s tent at the far edge of camp.

He stood outside and called her name. And waited. Moments passed. He wasn’t certain she was even in there. He called again, and this time he heard rustling sounds within. Michaela finally emerged looking tired and disheveled and cross.

But in that first instant upon waking she also appeared so beautiful and unguarded, Rinaldo felt his breath seize inside his chest. She pushed her tangled red hair away from her deep brown eyes and looked at him directly for the first time. She seemed vulnerable suddenly, and unmasked, and he could feel his skin warming with the memory of her power surging through his body and healing all of the ways he was broken.

“I…” He had rehearsed what to say, but now the words all escaped.

“Get that away from me!” Michaela snapped. Her hand covered her face. And before Rinaldo could say anything more, she turned from him and sprinted toward the nearest trees, like a deer flushed from cover. Rinaldo watched in confusion as she scooped up a handful of pine needles from the forest floor and cupped it beneath her nose.

“She can’t bear the smell of it,” Astolpho said from behind him. He set down the two full buckets of water he had just carried up from the nearest stream. “Anything dead. It makes her feel sick.” He eyed the contents of the bowl. “Although I would be more than happy to eat that.”

Rinaldo passed it to him. He thought guiltily that he should have brought some for Astolpho in any case. He knew he owed this man his life. That fact remained, no matter how else Rinaldo felt.

He also regretted their quarrel over the healing of Bayard. He couldn’t remember when he had ever seen Astolpho so angry. Rinaldo understood, of course. Astolpho simply wanted to protect the woman he loved.

For now, though, Michaela remained alone in the distance, while Astolpho hungrily attacked the stew. For the first time Rinaldo noticed how lean the prophet looked. His ragged clothes hung on him. His beard covered a face much thinner than before.

“What have the two of you been eating all this time?” Rinaldo asked.

“Not very much,” Astolpho said, slurping back another mouthful. “Roots, berries, other forage. Whatever she wanted of whatever we could find.”

Rinaldo glanced toward the woods again. Michaela now sat with her eyes closed, her back propped against a tree. Her dark red hair stood out stark against the golden brown bark of the pine. Her face was lovely in profile. Rinaldo had noticed that before when he first found her sleeping in his tent.

Astolpho followed his gaze. “Next time try bringing her bread,” he suggested as he downed another bite. “Or porridge. Something warm made out of grain. Fruits or vegetables if you have them.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and returned the empty bowl to Rinaldo. “Although we might not be here to enjoy them. I promised her we’d leave as soon as she awakened.”

“Why?” Rinaldo asked with some alarm. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might not have a chance to speak with her at all. That she might leave before he had spent even a little bit of time with her. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

“Your horse is why,” said Astolpho. He gave Rinaldo a pointed look, although the anger seemed to be gone.

“I’m sorry,” Rinaldo said. “Not sorry that she saved him,” he added honestly, “I’m grateful for that. But I’m sorry… you disagreed.”

Astolpho sighed. “You still don’t understand.” He gestured toward the stream. “Do you know why it took me over an hour to fetch two buckets of water? Because apparently some of the men believe I’m the one who healed you.”

“Yes, I told them—”

Astolpho held up his hand. “I’m glad. It was a good lie. But it proves why we need to leave. I had four men in a row come to me to ask me to heal them. Sword wounds, a broken nose, one of them had been coughing blood… and then Orlando…” Astolpho shook his head.

“What’s wrong with him?” Rinaldo asked. Orlando had seemed well enough the previous afternoon when he came to see for himself if the rumor about Rinaldo’s extraordinary recovery was true.

“Nothing was wrong,” Astolpho said, “but he wanted to know how I did it. Specifically. In detail. And whether I thought I could do it again with other types of injuries.”

“What did you say?”

“That the power is my god’s, not mine. I only serve at my god’s will.”

“What did he say to that?” Rinaldo had never thought of his co-commander as a religious man.

“He wasn’t satisfied,” Astolpho said, “but it’s the only answer I’m going to give anyone who asks me.”

Rinaldo nodded. “Also a good lie.”

“But don’t you see?” said Astolpho. “If they knew it was Michaela, they would never leave her alone. She has no protection against them. If anyone came to her with a wound… well, you saw for yourself last night.”

“Are you saying… she doesn’t have any choice?”

“None,” Astolpho answered. “The power takes over. She couldn’t resist it even if she wanted to.”

A sick feeling swept through Rinaldo’s gut. The idea that he might have forced her in some way just by bringing Bayard near—it wasn’t at all what he intended to do. He had meant to show her Bayard’s wound, to ask for Michaela’s help, but then before he had the chance she was already out of the tent and at the horse’s side. It had all happened so quickly.

“And worse,” Astolpho continued, “once she’s healed someone, she loses all energy entirely. She falls into such a deep sleep, anyone or anything could harm her and she would have no way of defending herself. Do you see why I was angry? She was willing to save you because I asked her to, but there’s a risk every time. She was already weak, and then…”

“I understand,” said Rinaldo. He felt ashamed of himself. If he had known, he would have handled it all so differently. Was it any wonder Michaela had fled from him so abruptly? He was clearly not someone she could trust.

Now it was Rinaldo’s turn to sigh. None of this had gone the way he planned.

“Is she all right now?” he asked.

Astolpho studied her where she still sat with her eyes closed in the distance. “It’s hard to say.”

“What can I do to help her? To help both of you,” Rinaldo said.

Astolpho glanced toward his own tent. “A dry place to sleep and warm food. Exactly what you’ve given us.”

“But you’re still leaving?”

“It’s not what I want,” said Astolpho, “but it’s what she needs.”

Both men were silent for a moment. Rinaldo still tried to devise some solution that would keep them there.

“What if I post a guard?” he asked. “Promise to keep everyone away from both of you. I’m sure Brad would do it.”

Astolpho seemed surprised by the suggestion. “I… think you should ask Bradamante first.” He looked toward Michaela again and shook his head. “She wants to leave. She came here only as a favor to me. I can’t try to keep her against her will.”

As if sensing their conversation was nearly over, Michaela rose to her feet. Rinaldo noticed for the first time what she was wearing. Instead of her woolen shirt and skirt, she wore a long gray tunic top and brown leggings too short for her long legs. Jara must have given her the clothes. It was strange to see Michaela dressed like everybody else, when she so clearly was not like a single one of them.

He watched in fascination as she strode toward Astolpho and him. There was a grace and strength to her movements, a kind of nobility even, no matter that her feet were dusty and bare.

Rinaldo also noticed for the first time that she wore some kind of woven corded bracelets around each wrist and both ankles. It must be some decoration particular to the nomads.

“Will she listen to me?” Rinaldo asked. “If I offer her a guard myself?”

“You can try,” Astolpho said. “I wouldn’t mind a few more hot meals.”

But before Rinaldo could offer Michaela anything, she stood at a slight distance from both of them and asked for something herself. “I would like a horse,” she said. “Something small and fast.”

“Y-yes. Of course,” Rinaldo said. “We can find you one.” The request surprised him. He assumed she already had a horse.

Astolpho must have noticed his reaction. “We’ve both been riding Frontino.”

Rinaldo laughed. “Ferrau’s horse? The one with a back as wide as a table?”

“And hardly more comfortable,” Astolpho agreed with a smile. But then he sobered. “Tell me, is Ferrau…?”

“Alive,” Rinaldo said immediately. “Yes.”

Ferrau had been both of their friend. He had even shared lodging with Rinaldo in Abincort. Sometimes belligerent and overly aggressive, especially if he’d had too much to drink, Ferrau was nevertheless a loyal friend and a skilled warrior. Rinaldo would have preferred serving beside Ferrau up here at Monarch Pass rather than Orlando.

But when he killed one of their fellow commanders during the king’s tournament, Ferrau had become an outlaw. King Carleman assigned Rinaldo and the tournament’s new champion, Bradamante, the task of hunting him down.

“Brad and I were the blood avengers,” Rinaldo said. “But we kept losing his trail. It was surprising, since Brad is normally such a good tracker…”

He and Astolpho shared a look of understanding.

“So he made it safely to Ramath?” Astolpho asked.

“He did.”

Astolpho nodded, clearly relieved.

“What is Ramath?” Michaela asked. She had been listening, Rinaldo noticed, but without seeming particularly interested.

For the first time he detected her slight accent. The light roll to her “r.” She said so little in front of him. The most he had heard her speak was when she murmured softly to Bayard before she healed him.

Rinaldo had never met any of the nomads before. He did not know their speech. He hoped he would hear more of it.

So he was grateful for a reason to speak directly to her.

“It’s one of the king’s sanctuary cities,” he explained. “It’s where people can go for protection. The king’s law is that if you kill someone accidentally or while trying to defend yourself, you can seek refuge at any of the temples in the sanctuary cities.”

“I spent most of my life in Ramath,” Astolpho told her. “At the White Temple. It was where I received my training.”

But Michaela seemed to lose interest again. “I want to see the horses now,” she told Rinaldo.

“Of course.” He could feel her impatience, as palpable as Bayard straining at his lead to take off at a gallop after Michaela healed him.

“Be ready to leave,” she told Astolpho. Again Rinaldo heard the subtle roll of her “r.” “I’ll bring both horses and we can go.”

“All right,” Astolpho said. He gave Rinaldo a subtle shrug of resignation.

“Come with me,” Rinaldo told her.

He would not rush this, no matter how impatient Michaela was. This might be his only time with her, and he intended to make the most of it. Ask her questions about her life. Find out as much as he could.

And try to show her that she could trust him.

He could still feel Michaela’s power mixed within his blood. It was a sensation unlike any he had ever had. As though there were an invisible cord running between them now, tethering them together.

“How far?” Michaela asked as the two of them set out.

“Not far,” Rinaldo said.

There were five separate horse enclosures on this side of the camp. Orlando had his own five.

Rinaldo began walking toward the one where he kept Bayard. But he did not take a direct route. Michaela would have no way to know.

He was curious to watch his horse’s reaction when Michaela came around. Would Bayard feel that same connection, that same unseen tether between them?

Did everyone that Michaela healed feel this way toward her?

“I hope you were comfortable last night,” he said.

“Where is Jara?” she said, ignoring his question. “I need my clothes.”

“We’ll find her, too,” Rinaldo said.

The more tasks to stretch out their time together, the better.