Path of Honor by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page A

the width of her hand. Then it leaped upward and down, burrowing into her arm until it disappeared inside her flesh.
    “I’ll take that as agreement, then,” she said dryly, crawling stiffly to her feet. She sluiced herself off with a bucket of frigid water, drinking a few sips and chewing on some almonds. She dressed and filled her pack. It didn’t take much. Most everything was ready. Then she went to the door and opened it. Outside the sun had just risen. The sky was a panorama of pink and gold and white. Nurema drew a deep breath.
    Outside the door a man stood guard. She didn’t doubt he’d been there since she’d closed the door in his face. A rush of love filled her for this slow-speaking giant of a son. She didn’t think she’d see him again.
    “I’m going to Koduteel,” she announced.
    He glanced up at her, his felt hat rolled in his hands. “Alone?”
    She nodded.
    “When?”
    “Now.”
    He stood, towering over her, and she couldn’t help but smile at his frowning sorrow. “I want you to get married soon, Teemart. It’s long past time, and I know you’ve got an eye out for young Nivi. Don’t wait any longer. Bring her here and have children.”
    “You ain’t comin’ back.”
    “If I can. Doubt it, though. There’s things I’ve got to do. But I will if I can, and I expect grandchildren.”
    She stuffed a withered apple and some dried meat in her cloak pocket to eat on the path, and drank some tea with plenty of sugar. She wouldn’t get far this day, not after her fast and farseeing, but there was no time to waste. Teemart wrapped her in his big arms, and she hugged him.
    “Tell your brothers not to worry,” she said roughly, pushing herself free. “And mind what I say. You marry Nivi. Cottage is yours now. She’ll be a good wife for you.”
    And then she snatched up her pack and went off through the copse, heading south. Before she went to Koduteel, she was going to Mysane Kosk.

Chapter 5
    R eisil staggered off the path as a sudden pressure fastened around her scalp. Tears streamed down her cheeks at the unbearable ache. Black mist circled her vision. She tottered, grasping at the air for something to steady herself. She heard the ocean roar. Where was the edge of the cliff? Wind battered her, and she dropped to all fours. Pain sheared through her skull, and she grabbed the sides of her head with both hands, moaning.
    Then as suddenly as it came, it was gone.
    Reisil lingered, panting, and then slowly pushed herself up onto her heels. Her head felt tender and swollen. She brushed her gloved fingers over her brow. Was she getting sick? A cold dagger thrust through her gut. Was this the first symptom of the plague? She swallowed. No. It didn’t begin like this. This was different. Maybe her magic? She’d come to the bluffs to try to reach it again. It hadn’t worked. Or had it? Hope flowered in her chest.
    She remained sitting for several minutes, breathing slowly and waiting to see if it would come again. But her head remained clear, and there was no surge of magic. At last she sighed and clambered to her feet, hope withering. She was just hungry. She’d forgotten to eat lunch, and breakfast had been a cold boiled potato left over from the night before.
    She drew a deep breath of the chill, salt air and resumed picking her way down the slick path. Far below, the tide rolled higher on the shingle.
    After nearly two years in Koduteel, she still marveled at the deep water’s ever-changing moods, its coy secrecy, its paradoxical threat and promise. Spray bathed her face and she made up her mind. Reisil strode to the cliff’s rim, peering down into the steel waters. Her toes jutted out over the sickening drop. She flexed them, grinning. Once she would have remained a safe twenty or thirty paces from the edge, standing on tiptoe, never seeing the stark shore, the brilliant green moss growing in the crevices, the seals sliding through the waves. Even the stench of the cormorants was