(eng) Mindy L. Klasky by Season of Sacrifice

Author:Season of Sacrifice [Sacrifice, Season of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

10

Alana lifted her mug of steaming tea and gazed out the door of her cottage into the night, wondering why she bothered to watch after the children, why she bothered to fight any longer.

She had not felt this hopeless since she’d been called upon to serve as woodsinger. Then she’d been reeling from worry and fear, knowing that Sarira Woodsinger had died, but not yet certain that her own father was lost. She’d been overwhelmed by the Spirit Council, the Men’s Council, and the Women’s Council, all making her come to the Tree, all pushing for her to become the next woodsinger. She had argued that she wasn’t ready, that she wasn’t qualified, that she wasn’t right for the post, but they had ignored her. They had told her that the Tree would choose her or reject her, and she would have no say.

That was how she felt, watching Reade arrive in Smithcourt. She had no say. She could do nothing to stop the child, to make him step back from Coren, to make him remember the People who loved him, who missed him, who needed him here on the Headland.

She raised the mug to her face and breathed in the steam from her tea, trying to take some comfort from its warmth. As seen through Reade’s eyes, Smithcourt was overwhelming. It was a sprawling city, so different from Land’s End that Alana could scarcely comprehend its existence. The streets, the buildings, the hundreds of people…. What could one woodsinger do against all of that? What could the Tree, the Guardians, even the Great Mother do against Coren’s might?

Reade had fallen completely under Coren’s sway, dragged into the duke’s court by an unholy combination of lies and fear and awe. Maddock, who should have been the People’s greatest hope, had fled in terror. Both of them were lost, despite her attempts to work through their woodstars. Reade and Maddock gone, and Landon and Jobina as well, who had not carried bavins. She should be grateful that she could not experience directly the tracker and the healer’s decline.

The woodsinger stretched her aching back and raised her mug to her lips. As the fragrant steam swirled across her skin, she could smell mint, a traditional soothing plant. There were other things in the brew as well, things that she could not identify by scent. Shrugging, she swallowed Goody Glenna’s gift.

Part of the mixture was expected: the tiny flowers of everwhite for clear sight and bitter acorn for strength. But there was a surprise as well—redshell for wakefulness. The tea contained so much of the ground nut that Alana knew that even now, even with her bone-deep weariness, she would not sleep for the rest of the night. And hidden beneath all those familiar flavors, lurking under the canopy of mint, there was a darker taste. Alana rolled it around on the back of her tongue and dipped her head to the mug twice more, yet still she could not identify it.

“Heartswell,” whispered one of the woodsingers in her mind.

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