Kushiel's Justice - Jacqueline Carey [90]
Around noon, Urist pointed to a stone marker along the roadside. It was old and worn, half covered in lichen, and I had to squint to make out the symbol on it, a spiral ending outward in a pointed arrow. "Taisgaidh," Urist said briefly. "Here we turn north.”
"That means the path we follow is held freely in trust for all the folk of Alba," Eamonn whispered to me in his helpful way. "No man may bar another from travelling on taisgaidh land, and no man may do violence to another.”
"I know what it means," I said. "I spent several hundred hours with the Daughter of the Grove learning such things. Would you care to know the fines levied against a man who bars another's passage? It varies depending on whether or not he was bringing cattle to market.”
"Sorry." He grinned. "I forgot.”
"It's not so much the fines as it is the heresy," Dorelei offered quietly. "The taisgaidh places are old, as old as the Cullach Gorrym. One does not violate the old ways unless one wishes to invoke a curse.”
"Oh, aye," Eamonn agreed. "That, too.”
I shaded my eyes with one hand as we turned northward. We'd left our fine carriages behind in Terre d'Ange, but the wagons bearing our stores and tribute for the Lady of the Dalriada creaked behind the plodding mules, wheels leaving damp ruts in the grass. The sky was a soft, luminous grey. Beneath it, unending greenness stretched in every direction, broken only by the occasional outthrust promontory of rock and the distant glimmer of an inland lake. I could discern no path, no further marker. "Well, there's somewhat the ollamh never mentioned. How does one avoid getting lost?”
Eamonn shrugged. "Practice.”
If it was true, Urist must have had a good deal of practice. We found a second taisgaidh marker before nightfall. An odd business, a squat stone column set in the middle of nowhere atop a shallow rise. This one was covered with moss. Urist had to scrape at it with his fingernails to bare the symbol. He sighted along the direction the spiral arrow pointed and nodded in satisfaction. "We'll make camp here tonight.”
It was the first time since we'd left the City of Elua that we'd made camp under the open skies; or at least that I had. In a way, it reminded me of happier times. We dismounted, staking the horses and mules, allowing them to graze on the abundant pasturage. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, several of the D'Angeline soldiers set themselves to erecting tents for their royal charges, while others spread out to gather firewood in a nearby copse. Armed with short bows, Urist's Cruithne set forth to shoot for the pot, bagging several hares, soon efficiently butchered.
A handful of campfires blossomed along the hillside.
From one, the familiar strains of a D'Angeline marching-song emanated. It had originated here in Alba, long ago, with a contingent of Admiral Rousse's men who dubbed themselves Phèdre's Boys.
"Man or woman, we don't care! Give us twins, we'll take the pair!”
"Name of Elua!" In the firelight, Phèdre looked dismayed and amused, and a good deal younger and more beautiful than she had any right to. Beneath a canopy of stars, we might have been anywhere. We might have been in Jebe-Barkal, making our way toward forgotten Saba. "Am I never to be free of it?”
"No." Joscelin smiled at her. "Not likely.”
My heart surfaced, aching. I watched them, watched her raise her face to his. Watched him kiss her tenderly, his lips lingering on hers. Once upon a time, after Daršanga, it had seemed to me that if what was broken between them could be healed, all would be right with the world. It still seemed true to me; only it hurt too much to feel it, because I hadn't trusted myself to love that strongly. So I pushed the feelings away, looked away, letting my gaze fall on the tribute-wagons, silhouetted