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  “They’d look like the Followers. Men and women all dressed in long robes with that ridiculous flap of material hanging down from their necks.”

  “You could leave off the flap.”

  “The kimens are not going to look like Followers!” She bunched the skirt in her fist, and when she opened her hand, a winsome flower pattern dotted the plain cloth.

  Bardon shrugged. He started to object to wasting time in altering the color and pattern of the cloth. Fortunately, he recognized in time that this would be another thing that would irritate Kale greatly if he pursued the subject. His father-in-law had been correct when he said o’rant women were prickly during pregnancy.

  As he lined up the next piece to be cut, he admitted he wouldn’t be able to talk her out of this, nor did he really want to. Their friends needed help. Then again, with the pregnancy, she tired easily. The day had already been strenuous. He stole a glance at her and saw contentment on her face.

  Seezle tried on the skirt. Her small fingers rubbed against the coarse fabric. On an o’rant, or any of the larger races, the material would have been fine. But because of her size, the dainty kimen looked like she’d donned a feed sack.

  Seezle’s eyes shifted to catch Bardon watching her. He nodded quickly and put a smile on his face. “You’ll start a new fashion. We’ll call it shabby genteel.”

  Laughter bubbled from Seezle’s small mouth. An echo of giggles could be heard from the bushes surrounding them.

  “And we’ll rest tomorrow, before going on,” continued Bardon. “Celisse will need it.”

  Kale glanced at him, a knowing look in her eye. “I’ll be exhausted, as well.”

  Bardon winked at her. But we needn’t let our kimen friends guess. They’re uncomfortable enough imposing on us in their underwear.

  “Exactly, dear husband. You can be socially sensitive at times.”

  Not really. I picked up your concern for making them comfortable.

  “Ah, well.” She went back to shaping a tunic-type shirt for Seezle from the square in her hands. “What are wives for if not to clue in their oblivious husbands to the subtle skills of avoiding embarrassment?”

  Do you want a list? Bardon grinned at her, then winked, before deliberately putting on a mask of mock seriousness. I wondered before we wed how I would adjust to having someone beside me at all times.

  “Don’t you mean ‘underfoot,’ ‘in your hair,’ ‘nose in your business’?”

  Hush. Don’t interrupt. Now I wonder how I could function without you. “You are saying exactly the right things, Bardon.”

  ‘A fitting word spoken rightly seals the moment in treasured memory.’

  Bardon grinned as Kale squinched her eyes shut.

  “You should have stopped while you were ahead,” she muttered.

  He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You’re going to worry that piece of cloth in your hand until it is nothing more than a kerchief for Seezle’s head.”

  Kale returned her attention to her work. Fashioning the length for a narrow sleeve proved difficult, but at last, she was satisfied.

  Seezle lifted her arms, and Kale fit the loose blouse she had just made over the kimen’s head. With a couple of tugs, they had the tiny garment in place. Kale adjusted the shoulders with a touch of her fingertip.

  “There! That looks neater.”

  Seezle giggled. “Kimens are not known for looking neat.” She twirled in place, and her wispy hair fluttered around her head like a zillion feathers.

  Seezle stopped and frowned, her hands smoothing out the rough skirt. “The clothes are nice, Lady Kale, and I thank you. But I’d rather have my light dress. I can’t change the color of your cloth, and I can’t brighten the day, or become part of the shadows of the scenery.” She sighed. “This has never happened before. Do you suppose we’re sick?”

  Bardon leaned forward. “Have you ever been sick, Seezle?”

  “No, never. No one ever has.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I mean no kimen ever has.”

  “We’ll do our best to uncover the reason behind your loss. And with Wulder’s consent, we will rectify the situation.”

  Seezle curtsied and whirled away into the bushes.

  “Nicely said, Bardon.”

  Another kimen shyly approached, leaving the cover of a fortaleen bush.

  “But keep cutting. We have thirty-three more seminaked kimens to clothe.”

  39

  ENEMIES WITHIN

  For the next three days, the rain fluctuated between a steady drizzle and a downpour. Kale and Bardon erected a second and third tent to accommodate their expanded number. The sodden travelers entertained themselves with songs and games and recitations.

  Kale’s hastily fashioned new clothes made the kimens clumsy. They blamed the material, not the design, and repeatedly thanked Kale. The kimens laughed at their own awkwardness, and Kale tried to be cheerful about repairing the rips and tears in their clothing.

  Finding something different to eat became difficult. Kale could only produce a limited variety of foods from the hollows in her cape. Fortunately, the kimens apparently fixed their own meals or didn’t eat. Kale was too busy to seek answers to her many questions about the kimens’ way of life.

  Greer and Celisse truly rejoiced in the constant rain. The weather provided therapy for Celisse, and she soon threw off the effects of the strenuous ride and the black dragons’ poison. The heavy downpour massaged their skin. The light mizzle brought out a frolicking nature, and the two large dragons splashed in the puddles as they played in the grass-covered meadow. The little streams that carried the runoff had smooth rock beds. These delighted the dragons as well.

  On the third day, the rain poured down as if from watering cans. Kale and Pat worked on the talking gateway. The apparatus had become more and more unreliable. They had never been able to reconnect with Regidor and Gilda since he had urged them to rejoin their quest. Kale received crackling, interrupted messages from Namee and her parents. But from their topics of conversation, it was clear that none of Kale’s posts reached south.

  “Have you figured it out?” Bardon asked from the entrance of the tent. He stood dripping, waiting for Kale to dry him out.

  She turned from the open portal that showed no spark of life. With concentration, she drew the moisture from Bardon’s hair and clothing. A puddle formed at his feet, and she directed a stream to flow out from where he stood at the open flap.

  He removed his boots and sat beside her. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He gestured to Pat, who was working on the gateway. “So, what’s the story?”

  “Pat thinks there is a link between the gateway malfunctioning and the kimens losing their lights.” She sighed. “And I have another bit of bad news.”

  His eyes left their inspection of the portal and turned to study Kale. She tried to look nonchalant.

  “Well?” he prodded.

  “It seems some of my talent involving light is slipping.”

  He frowned. “And how is this manifesting?”

  Bardon’s choice of words cracked Kale’s apprehension. She giggled. “It ‘manifests’ by not lasting. Watch.”

  She held out her palm and produced a light orb. The sphere drifted up into the air, hung motionless for a few seconds, then popped, spraying drops of light much the way a bubble bursting splatters tiny beads of soapy liquid. The shower of sparks cooled and disappeared before landing.

  Bardon’s face grew impassive, an expression he used when perturbed. “The display is pretty. Perhaps it would entertain Toopka and the dragons. Maybe even the kimens. I hope you have a collection of lightrocks in your hollows.”

  “I do.” But she couldn’t bring herself to match the humor that underscored his words. “Have you recognized the depression in me, Bardon?”

  “Yes, I’ve felt it.”

  “At first, I blamed the melancholy on the pregnancy. I wanted to be home, not here. That seemed logical.”

&nbs
p; He nodded.

  “Then I thought it was the rain. Dreary weather has never bothered me much before, but I thought that, combined with carrying the baby, was responsible for the gloom I feel inside.”

  “You don’t think so now?”

  “I think the sadness is due to a lack of light within. I’m a light wizard, and I can’t explain it, but my energy, the energy that produces the light, is drained.”

  “By the baby?” asked Bardon.

  She shook her head. “From something outside.”

  Pat chittered.

  Bardon took Kale’s hand. “And Pat agrees. Do you feel bad? Ill? Having problems thinking?”

  “No.” She rested her cheek on his shoulder. “Just sad.”

  They sat in silence. Pat quit tinkering with the talking gateway and closed it up.

  “I don’t suppose,” said Kale, “that you know a principle for this situation.”

  “I know a hundred. You know them too.”

  Kale shifted to a more comfortable position, leaning against her husband. Pat curled up in her lap.

  After a while, she spoke again. “Lately, I’ve been worried about Toopka.”

  “Because of the growth in her chest? I thought Gymn said it wasn’t getting any larger.”

  “No, because I think she might be the one draining the light.”

  “Toopka?”

  Not only did Bardon’s tone tell her he thought the idea was ridiculous, but his feelings flowed right out of him and into her. They swept away the vague uneasiness she had about the young doneel. Toopka fabricated stories. She took advantage of her cuteness and sometimes manipulated those around her. She avoided chores. But she never showed a malicious streak. Stealing light, if the youngster knew how to do it, would be a cruel prank.

  “I don’t believe she would know how to steal light.” Kale squeezed Bardon’s hand. “What if she is doing it, but doesn’t know she is? What if whatever that thing is inside her has something to do with our light fading?”

  “On what do you base this, Kale? Be reasonable. You’re assigning guilt to comfort yourself.”

  She sat up. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that it is our nature to pin down a cause for things that happen. If there is no obvious reason, we will grab the next best thing. A theory.”

  “And a theory is bad?” She twisted a bit to face him. The movement jostled Pat. He grumbled sleepily, then settled himself stretched across her leg.

  Bardon looked her square in the eye. “If you act upon a theory as if it were truth, yes.”

  “I’m not going to do anything to Toopka just because I suspect she might be the root of our problem.”

  “No, you won’t. But mulling those thoughts over in your mind will poison your attitude toward her.”

  “I don’t think so. It’s not as if I dwell on Toopka’s possible duplicity all the time.” She glared at him and noticed the muscle in his jaw harden. “Are we fighting?”

  “Discussing.”

  “Why is this important enough to ‘discuss’?”

  “Presumptions, conjectures, a mere assumption can lead a whole civilization into the dark.”

  Kale rolled her eyes. “My wariness toward Toopka is going to lead Amara into wickedness?”

  “Your thoughts can lead your heart into darkness. Your attitude can influence those around you.”

  She started to defend herself, but the bond between them strengthened. She left behind her impulse to prove her position. Bardon’s view of her actions sharpened in her own mind to the point she wanted to close her eyes against the vision. Remorse tightened her throat.

  She saw the looks she’d given Toopka. She heard the inflection in her voice that wasn’t quite approving. She realized that most of the time, those reactions were not to what Toopka had actually done but were rather reactions to the motives Kale assigned to the doneel. She gasped as her heart opened to see her behavior in this objective light.

  Bardon rubbed the back of her hand as it rested in his clasp. “Will you do something for me?”

  “Of course.”

  “When one of those doubts against Toopka rises up and demands your attention, repeat the words Granny Noon taught you many years ago.”

  Kale stared at Bardon. How long had it been since she’d even consciously remembered those words? She spoke them now.

  “My thoughts belong to me and Wulder. In Wulder’s service, I search for truth. I stand under Wulder’s authority.”

  “You learned those statutes in order to protect yourself from dealing in mindspeaking with evil people.”

  “I’ve matured a lot since then.” Kale took in a big breath and blew it out slowly, accepting a truth she often skirted around. “And I’ve learned that sometimes the wickedness of our own insidiously selfish natures is much more damaging than a threat from a foe.”

  “We learn that again and again,” said Bardon.

  She nodded. “And again and again and again.” She smiled at him, a tender, loving smile. “Why do we have to repeat this lesson?”

  “A principle?”

  “Yes.” She laughed. “Give me a principle.”

  “‘The mind forgets the dark places in the heart. The heart hides a blemish in shame. The inward eye does not seek any festering. Between the deception of the three, a man thinks he is good.’”

  “And Wulder still tries to reach us with the truth. It’s amazing that He perseveres with such recalcitrant students.”

  “Why He does is a mystery, indeed.” Bardon scrunched up his forehead. “You never answered me. Why do you think Toopka might be connected to the loss of light?”

  “Coincidence.”

  “Explain.”

  “We noticed the problems with light about the same time we found out about the growth in Toopka’s chest.”

  “Interesting.” Bardon rested his chin on the top of Kale’s head. “A coincidence? Maybe not.”

  Kale sighed. “Did I get a lecture for nothing?”

  “A discussion. We had a discussion.”

  “You had a discussion. I got a lecture.”

  His head jerked away from resting on hers. She leaned back to look in his eyes.

  “I meant it as a discussion, Kale.”

  She smiled. “I know.” She stretched to kiss his lips. “When I’m not comfortable with what I’ve done, a discussion feels like a lecture. It’s not your attitude that needs a change, but mine.”

  “You do know I love you?”

  “Always.”

  In the morning, birds sang, soft breezes blew, and not one cloud darkened the blue sky. The sun shone with warmth and luster, and the world responded with a clean sparkle. Even the flowering bushes and the smallest animals seemed to abound with enthusiasm. The kimens cheered at the break of day. They sang with all creation and danced among the swaying grasses.

  The riding dragons stomped their feet in anticipation of renewing the quest. With everyone helping, they soon broke camp, packed, and took off, flying due north.

  They stopped for noonmeal and a rest. Greer groused about all the kimens running back and forth on him while he flew.

  “He finds it distracting,” Bardon said as he sat with Kale and they ate fruit from a tundra pear tree. “He’s not saying so, but I think their little feet tickle him.”

  “No, he wouldn’t admit to something like that. Do you think everyone is warm enough, Bardon? The air is much chillier in the Northern Reach than it is at home. And even colder when we fly.”

  “You have your moonbeam cape. Anyone who is cold can duck in there.”

  “Then we have the question of how many kimens can fit in a moonbeam cape. And will they be still? I’ll be the one they are distracting.”

  “We’ll fly this afternoon and set down early.”

  “I’ve been wondering about Sittiponder’s voices.”

  Bardon surveyed the scene around them. Dibl directed a game of blindman’s bluff. Currently, Sittiponder, without a blindfold, was the blind man
. He walked directly to three minor dragons, one after another, and caught them. He trapped Toopka and several kimens.

  Kale continued. “We’ve always assumed that his voices were kimens that Wulder assigned to protect him. But if that is so, where are they? Do they still follow him? Did they lose their light clothing? Did they have special light clothing that makes them invisible?”

  Bardon held up a hand. “Whoa! I don’t know the answers to any of those questions. But I assume the voices still guard and direct him. How else could he find his way in the world as he does?”

  Kale watched the game. Now Toopka was the blind man, complete with a blindfold. She approached Sittiponder’s back. He deftly stepped aside, and Toopka walked right past him.

  Kale tsked. “I saw no kimen warn him that Toopka was about to catch him.”

  “Neither did I,” said Bardon, rising to his feet. “But this is a mystery for another time. We should be off.”

  They mounted their dragon steeds and took flight as soon as possible. Kale decided the kimens were not likely to get cold, since they were in constant motion.

  As they flew over an open plain, they saw a group of black mounds.

  What are those? asked Kale.

  “Let’s fly lower and see.”

  Dead animals? asked Kale, when they were close enough to see better.

  “Dead tundra wolves. Looks like the pack attacked someone or something and didn’t survive.”

  Regidor and Gilda?

  “I think so.”

  The next day they flew over more corpses. A bear at one spot, a large predator cat in another, and three giant boars. Carrion birds picked at the exposed flesh. That night Bardon made sure enough guards were posted throughout the night, and Kale set up a perimeter alarm to ward off prowling beasts.

  A mist greeted them in the morning, but the sun burned it off. From the air, they spotted more carcasses. At noonmeal, Bardon and Kale speculated why the animals had attacked.

  “It looks like every time Regidor and Gilda landed, they encountered hostile creatures, normal creatures that belong on the plains,” Bardon said.