There's a fervor in the village now. The readying for war increases, with men and women training all day and provisions for battle being made by all kinds of hands. Word goes out from the healers' circle about the need to take water only from the village source and to boil anything else. The news sets the village on edge, and there are many questions, but the threat of the Dominion waylays any immediate action: no one abandons the valley.
But Matisa believes they prepare for a war they cannot win.
I bury myself in my tasks, creating stores of salves and ointments, and spend my early mornings with Lea, before her war training, trying to ride.
This morning my body calls out its usual protest as I answer her curt knock on our door. Four days of riding and my body has never felt so broken; every muscle in my arms and between my shoulder blades screams out. My stiff legs twinge in agony when I'm not careful—as painful as my bad foot ever was. Early morning is an unpleasant time of day to be tortured, but I can't sit around and do nothing while everyone else trains.
Course, I might never ride a horse proper, neither.
My body creaks as if to echo that thought as I bump around the paddock, all unceremonious and full foolish-looking. Before me, the sun appears and burns away the blue of dawn.
"Keep your arms to your sides!" Lea calls from behind me. "Tuck your elbows, like this."
I throw a look over my shoulder. It upsets my balance, and I grab for the horse's black mane in a panic. The beast stops dead, and I near pitch off.
"Bleed it!" I curse. I right myself, my face flushed. "I told you," I say as Lea crosses the training paddock. "I can't be taught."
"It is not that," she says, shaking her head. She takes the horse's reins under his jaw and puts a hand on his white blazed brow. "He senses your fear. He knows you don't trust him."
I peer down at the ground from atop the enormous beast. "It's a long ways to fall," I remark.
"But that is the problem," Lea says. "You cannot think you will fall. If you think this, he will think it, too."
I raise an eyebrow at her. "Will he, now?"
She points to my leg. "You two are connected. You must act as one. This is why I tell you to look at where you want to go, not where you are going." She pats the horse's front shoulder. "If you trust, he will also trust. You need to feel the way he moves and move with him. Do not fight it." She gestures at the paddock. "Go again."
"You'll be needed at training," I remind her.
"I have time. Go again."
I click my tongue and squeeze with my knees, and the horse breaks into a quick walk. One more squeeze and he is jogging again. I keep my elbows pulled in tight to my sides this time.
"Give him his head," Lea calls.
I frown before I realize she means to ease up on the reins a bit—he's tugging at them, throwing his head forward now and again. I hesitate. Don't want to give control over like this, but I can also see that being held tight pains him. I loosen my grip, and my heart skips as the beast increases his stride from a trot to a slow run. I expect to pitch off straightaway—the ground is rushing past me at alarming speed—but all at once I realize that this pace is much easier to weather.
The hoofbeats pound out a regular, smooth rhythm instead of a jerky, three-beat trot, and I find my body moving in time with the gait, natural-like. I pull my gaze from the ground and do as Lea told me, fixing my gaze on the wall of a far lodge.
The horse lopes, following the fence line, and as the wind pulls at the loose hair around my face, I laugh with exhilaration. Instead of feeling like an unwanted companion perched atop, I feel us connected through my seat and legs—like we're the same big and powerful animal. The horse pulls us about, and we circle back to Lea.
I tighten the reins, keeping my hands low at the horse's neck as we slow to a trot and stop before her.
Lea grins up at me. "He could feel you trusting him."
I run a hand along his neck and give him a solid pat. He turns his white-blazed nose back toward me as if to acknowledge it. Can't stop smiling.
"You see?" A voice comes from behind me. I swivel. Matisa is leaning against the fence, smiling at us. "You just needed a better teacher."
Matisa waits while I brush the horse, telling me she will walk me back to our lodge to break our fast.
"Feel like I should name this beast," I say. Matisa flashes an amused grin. "Doesn't have one!" I say, defensive-like. "I asked Lea already."
"You sound like Daniel," Matisa says. "Always naming." I smile. Suppose I do sound like Kane's brother. He named Matisa's horses and acted like they were his own. The mare we found at Leon's Keep—he named her Lucky. It suited her; it was more than fortunate we found her when we did. Mayhap I should follow his lead.
I meet her at the gate and we leave the paddocks, nodding a goodbye to Lea, who is heading toward the training flats.
"He's so big," I continue. "I think Beast might be a good choice."
Matisa pretends to consider this. She nods. "A fine name. But then I think you should name your other friend, too."
I frown. "Who?"
She tilts her head behind us. I stop and look.
The dog is back. She lurks behind us like a mangy shadow. When she sees me looking, she pulls her head up and wags her tail. I sigh. The dog must take this as a good sign, because she ventures close, stretching out her neck to greet me with her muzzle. I stand still and let her get close enough to put her wet nose in my hand.
Matisa chews her lip, again in mock-seriousness. "But what could it be? Beast is already taken …" Her eyes light. "You should name her something that describes your bond."
"Our bond?"
"Yes. Her name could be Loyal. Or Love."
"It should be Hunger," I say, frowning again. "And I was not the one who fed her."
"She must have a bad memory," Matisa says, watching the dog nuzzle my hand. I snatch it away. She wags her tail. I sigh.
"Perhaps her name is Hope," Matisa suggests.
"I like Hunger." I offer my hand again, and this time, when the dog comes near, I scratch her head.
"Hunger," Matisa agrees.
Something buzzes at our feet. mopiyes?s again: the delicate bird with the red throat. There are small yellow flowers growing up around a rock on the ground, and the bird hovers over the blossoms.
I point to it. "Speaking on names."
Matisa snorts. "They call me that because I seem busy and distracted. But some things must stay busy in order to live."
"They called you that because, until Isi, nothing kept you still." I watch the bird hum over the flowers and fly away. "You're just as particular; those flowers weren't good enough. It doesn't pick just anything."
"That is because it knows the sugars within are not worth the effort," she says.
"Exactly," I say with a bright smile.
A laugh bursts from her. The sound is wonderful; it's been so long since I've heard it. I look at her close. Her eyes are shiny. "You're different today."
She nods.
"You have news."
She glances around us, like she's making sure we're alone. "I think I've figured out my dream."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
"Well?"
"I realized what I am searching for, in those woods." She takes a breath. "It's a new remedy."
"A new remedy."
"Yes, for the changed sickness."
I frown. "But …" I say. "You mean, you expect to find it before the Dominion arrives?"
"Yes."
I chew my lip. The remedy was discovered by Matisa's people by observing animals over many years. Finding a new remedy in our lifetime, let alone soon, seems impossible. But the look on her face …
"How—how do you mean to find it?"
"As I've always known; we will dream it."
"Matisa …"
"If we are patient, the answer will come." She reaches out and grasps my hand. "Our dreams will connect to tell us what the new remedy is." She searches my face, hopeful.
My heart twists. My dreams have been the same for weeks. It seems full unlikely they'll change. But …
The notion that my dreams foretell her death isn't one I like to think on. I straighten my shoulders. Does no good to be skeptical, just like it does no good to let fear rule my thoughts. Believing we'll dream a new remedy gives Matisa hope. Better to share that hope.
"All right." I squeeze her hands. "I'll be patient."
