The Restorer Page 9

  I held up my hands. “I will. I’m sorry.”

  He picked up a twig from the ground and pulled strips of bark from it, twisting it in his hands.

  “How did it happen?” I asked quietly.

  He was silent for a full minute. Then he sighed, keeping his focus on the stick he was systematically shredding. “Kendra and I had a disagreement. She saw the danger our people were in and wanted me to defy the Council.”

  I could see it was costing him to relive this story, so I stayed tactfully silent.

  “I guess I was being a little stubborn. I said some things I didn’t mean, and she was furious. She hiked to Blue Knoll to visit a friend. That’s where she met the Rhusican. He must have begun to poison her then.” He snapped the stick and threw down the pieces.

  “At first, I didn’t notice. She came home and seemed fine. The next day she went to Blue Knoll again. I offered to go with her, but she knew I was busy training some of the young guardians and getting ready for patrol. She said she didn’t need me along. I should have gone with her. I didn’t know whom she was talking to. But I should have noticed the changes.” Tristan’s voice cracked, and he stared at the path between us. “She kept visiting Blue Knoll. I was so busy that I didn’t bother to ask her about it. You know what it does. The poison. She began to go away inside herself. By the time I saw what was happening and got her to the healers, she was gone.”

  Frustration churned in me. “How can they allow Rhusicans in your towns? Don’t they see what’s happened?”

  “When they first came, the Council met with some of them. The Rhusicans offered an alliance. In no time, the Council had welcomed them to live right among us—in our villages. It’s against everything the Songs tell us, but,” Tristan shrugged, “the Council figures we need every alliance we can get.”

  “Yes, but once people started being poisoned, why didn’t they make them leave?”

  “The Council claims it has nothing to do with the Rhusicans. Not everyone who talks with them is harmed. They choose their prey carefully. So the Council says it’s just some new illness that damages the minds of those who are infected. Some of the healers are agreeing.”

  “That’s garbage! I felt it.” A shiver rippled through me. “I know the words got inside and twisted me. Why didn’t they sing the Verses—like Linette did for me?”

  “We tried. It was too late. The poison had been at work in her for days. She won’t be coming back.”

  “But . . .” I looked at Tristan’s face and decided not to push it.

  Despair colored his voice. “They won’t even let me get close to her. They think it’s too dangerous. She won’t be coming back.” Those words seemed familiar. Where had I heard them before? The thought slipped away as Tristan pushed himself to his feet. He held a hand out to me. I gripped it and let him pull me up.

  We looked at each other uneasily.

  “Susan, I never should have drawn my sword against you. I don’t know if you are a helpless fool or a Restorer, but either way . . .” He trailed off and shifted his weight.

  It wasn’t much of an apology. I sighed. “It’s all right. I understand.” Well, sort of.

  “At least the healer gave us an excuse to keep you away from Lyric for a while. It should give us enough time to figure out what you are doing here and what we need to do next. Let’s go home.”

  I was relieved to follow him down the short trail to Braide Wood, but my mind kept straying back to the poor woman sitting alone in a room—her mind tormented with lies.

  Tara had prepared a large midday meal for us. When we entered her home, I sighed with pleasure at the padded chairs, the table filled with food, and Tara’s genuine warmth. For the first time in days, I stopped feeling bombarded by hidden dangers, intrigues, and speculative distrust. Tara showed me to their washroom and gave me some fresh clothes that were a much better fit. I scrubbed my skin until it was red, wanting to rub off the slimy feeling of the Rhusican’s poison in my mind, along with the grime of traveling and camping.

  As I joined Tara and Tristan around the large table that dominated the common room, my stomach growled. I was actually hungry. Despite the shock of being in an incomprehensible place, my mind had begun to accept this situation as a new kind of normal. Even with the danger I had been facing from fanged lizards, mind poison, and a sword-toting guardian with a temper, I began to relax.

  Tara passed me a bowl of thick, creamy soup. A variety of vegetables swam in it, including some that I couldn’t identify. The warm steam rising from the bowl made my eyes water. There was a platter of small loaves, and Tristan and Tara each took one and tore pieces off to dip in their soup. I followed their example. The soup was delicious and peppery, and after several bites, my tongue tingled. I reached for the stoneware mug of water in front me to cool my mouth, but was soon digging in for more.

  “I sent Dustin to let your father know you’re here,” Tara said quietly to Tristan. “He’ll get word to everyone else to meet here tonight. In the meantime, you look like you could use some rest. How can I help?”

  Tara’s patience amazed me. If I were Tristan’s mother, I’d be drilling him for information like a KGB interrogator. Instead, she fed him soup. My eyes darted around the room, still trying to absorb everything, sorting out the familiar from the strange.

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Tristan looked at me thoughtfully for a moment. “If you could talk with Susan and keep her out of sight for now, maybe I’ll get cleaned up and get some rest.”

  “My pleasure.” Tara smiled at me.

  Tristan rolled his eyes. “You say that now, but wait until you hear how many questions she asks.”

  Tara’s laughter was rich and deep. “I’m sure she’s no worse than you and your sisters were as children. And I survived that.”

  When the meal was finished and Tristan had left the room, Tara and I settled onto two well-padded chairs with mugs of steaming tea. She smiled with genuine warmth. “Tristan said you live a long way from here. Do you have family back home?”

  “My husband, Mark, and four children: Jake, Karen, Jon, and Anne.” The sound of each name pierced me like the sound of the bell they tolled at church on New Year’s Eve to honor each person from the congregation who had died that year.

  I bit my lip. No. They weren’t dead, and neither was I. Somehow I’d find my way back. “Tell me about your family.”

  She beamed. “Payton and I have been blessed with three children. Tristan is the oldest. Talia is our second. She and her husband, Gareth, live here with us. My youngest daughter and her husband live in Lyric.” Her mouth tightened and she shook her head. Then she brightened. “Gareth and Talia have two children, Aubrey and Dustin. You wouldn’t believe how much fun it is to be a grandmother.”

  I thought of my gangly teenagers and laughed. “I’m not ready to find out.” I sipped some of the tea. “Have you lived in Braide Wood all your life?”

  “Of course.” She looked at me as if it were an odd question, then got up and walked into the kitchen area off the great room to ladle more tea into her mug. “Would you like more clavo?”

  I brought my cup over to her, and she filled it from the bowl resting on glowing tiles.

  “What are these?” I asked.

  “Heat trivets.” She tilted her head. “Where exactly are you from?”

  I hesitated, unsure how to answer.

  “Never mind. What else do you want to know?”

  Soon she was explaining every unfamiliar object I spotted throughout her cooking area. Tara answered my questions with so much patience that I began to have doubts that Tristan was really her son. I could see that some of my questions startled her, and some came close to causing offense, but she stayed calm and continued to clarify everything she could.

  In some ways, the people here reminded me of an Amish community I had once visited. In Braide
Wood, large extended families remained in tight circles. Respect for traditions and the Verses was of prime importance, while exploration, individuality, and change were minimized. Removed and somewhat isolated from the outside world, the clan necessarily gave priority to growing and preserving food. Skills in building and crafts were highly valued. There was little clutter, and most items were multifunctional. No radios, television, cell phones, or faxes raised distracting noises.

  But there was technology. I was confused by the juxtaposition of capabilities beyond anything I was familiar with, odd gaps in technology, and an emphasis on avoiding unnecessary progress. Convenience and luxury didn’t rule here because the people of this world seemed to recognize that other things held more value.

  I probed Tara about the possibility of talking to someone from a distance or sending a letter.

  She smiled. “How can the words be given to someone apart from the speaker? How can you judge the truth and the character of the words if you can’t observe the truth and the character of the one who brings them?”

  Once again, I didn’t know how to answer.

  We made our way back to the chairs, and the last of the tea in my mug had grown cold when I finally broached the subject I was most uneasy about. “Tell me about the Restorers.”

  “In every time of great need, a Restorer is sent to fight for the people and help the guardians. The Restorer is empowered with gifts to defeat our enemies and turn the people’s hearts back to the Verses,” she recited.

  “Yes, I’ve heard that. But I don’t understand. How do you recognize that someone is the Restorer? Where have the other Restorers come from? What happened to them?”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “What do your people understand about the One?” She seemed to choose her words carefully.

  I let my breath out through pursed lips. This would be a sensitive conversation if I were safe at home sharing muffins with a neighbor in my living room. In this world, it could be potentially deadly. “The One?”

  “The One who made our world.” Tara waited, gaze intent.

  “The Creator. He gives life to all people.” I spoke slowly, feeling my way. “We rejected Him, and brought death and suffering into the world. But He’s not only holy and powerful. He’s also full of love. So He chose one special nation and spoke to them. He gave them His promise that . . .”

  “A Deliverer will come!” Tara exclaimed. She sat forward on her chair in excitement. “Susan, that is the heart of our Verses. But I don’t understand. How can your people know this?”

  I was sorting through possible answers when the door crashed open.

  “Grandma! Look what I found!”

  “I found them first!”

  Young voices tumbled into the room, followed soon after by their bodies, which never stopped moving. Tara’s arms opened and two mop tops charged at her and wrapped dusty arms around her neck. When they untangled themselves, they opened grimy fists to show her some shiny orange berries.

  “Susan, meet Dustin and Aubrey,” Tara said.

  Two heads turned owl-like in my direction, wide eyes blinking.

  “Little ones, this is our guest, Susan. Tristan brought her to visit.”

  “Where did Tristan go? Can we play with him? Please?” Dustin and Aubrey had the same uncanny skill as my own children. Their two small voices could make the room seem filled with people.

  Tristan came in from the hallway, scratching his head and yawning. “I guess nap time is over?”

  “Grandma made you take a nap?” Aubrey asked, running toward him. Dustin joined her, and they tackled Tristan in a pileup of giggles.

  The scene reminded me forcibly of my own family. Mark always tussled with the kids when they were little. They’d charge into him as soon as he stepped through the door after work, resulting in a scramble of arms and legs just like this one. My heart clenched. Was Mark looking for me? Were the police searching our neighborhood? Once, I’d gotten home late from a church meeting on a snowy night to find he’d been pacing the house, filled with bottled-up anxiety ready to explode. He must be a wreck by now. I’d been gone two nights already.

  Mark, don’t give up. I’m going to find a way back.

  “Dustin,” Tara called. He climbed off Tristan and pulled himself away from the fun. “Did you find everyone I asked you to talk to?”

  “Yes.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Grandpa and Mother and Father and Bekkah and Lukyan. Grandpa and Father are coming in from the fields early. Mother said to tell you she’d be home in time to help with supper.” His head kept turning to where Aubrey was sitting atop Tristan’s stomach.

  Tara captured his chin. “What about Skyler?”

  “He said he has other things to do. Can I go now?” Tara released him, and Dustin made a running dive onto Tristan, causing a huge bellow and another volley of giggles.

  “I wish Skyler would come,” Tara said with a sigh.

  “Who is he?” The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had heard it.

  “Kendra and Kieran’s father. He has the keenest mind of anyone in Braide Wood. We could use his help.” She eased herself from her chair. “Well, time to get supper ready.” Tara rolled her shoulders with a bit of stiffness, then headed across the room on light feet. She pulled Aubrey and Dustin off Tristan and shooed them down the hallway to get cleaned up. “Aubrey,” she called after them. “Get some more work done on your three-pegging. Dustin, your mother wants you to finish your carving before Feast day.”

  Tristan lumbered to his feet and looked down. Orange berries were smeared across the front of his shirt. He wiped at them with his sleeve and shrugged. Pulling up the chair Tara had just vacated, he studied me for a moment. “You look better.”

  “It helped to talk with your mother.” I still felt like a small token in a strange board game, but at least now I knew some of the rules.

  “I want to explain something.” He paused. “I have to tell them what I know. This is my home. I won’t lie for you here.”

  I stiffened. “I don’t want you to lie.” Then I remembered he had already lied to Cameron. And he’d remained vague with his friends—introducing me as a lost traveler. Now he was planning to say a lot more about what he knew or suspected.

  I felt new worry wrinkles bunching on my forehead.

  “I want to be sure you understand.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Things could get—difficult.”

  Right. Because up until now, things had been so easy.

  Chapter

  10

  The evening began calmly enough. I suppose that should have been a warning of what was to come. Sort of like March coming in like a lamb.

  Talia arrived first and rushed through the door, tossing a pack into the corner. She crossed the room to give her brother a quick hug, but then pulled back to look at him. “Tristan, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” She was tall, with the toned muscles of an athlete and a profile as sharp as her movements. Her brown hair prickled out of a thick braid.

  Tristan turned her around to see me. “This is Susan. Our guest.”

  I smiled.

  Talia didn’t. She gave me a brief nod, then turned on her heel to join Tara in the kitchen. Her husband, Gareth, arrived next. His straight blond hair was a contrast to the rest of Tristan’s family, and he was only about my height. He had been tending the grain crops all day with Talia and with Tristan’s father, Payton. When Payton came in, he looked dusty and tired but lit up at the sight of his son. They shared the same stubborn jaw line and long tousled hair. I imagined that in twenty or thirty years, Tristan would look a lot like his father did now.

  Bekkah had spent time with friends all afternoon and seemed to be in a good mood when she showed up. In spite of her obvious eagerness to find out more about Tristan’s plans, she still avoided looking at me. After only
a day, she’d won my respect. My heart shrank, knowing I hadn’t earned hers. Back home, she was the kind of woman I would have loved to call friend.

  Chilled, I moved toward the corner of the room. This was far worse than the Christmas dinner Mark’s company hosted each year. There, I struggled to keep names straight, worried about saying the wrong thing, and fumbled my way through painful cocktail conversation with strangers, but at least Mark stood by my side. And none of his coworkers wore daggers or swords.

  Tara must have sensed how overwhelmed I felt. She left the kitchen alcove and came to stand near me just as the front door opened again. A white-maned man hobbled into the room, shoulders stooped. “That’s Lukyan. Now we’re all here,” she told me quietly.

  “Is he another relative?” I asked.

  “He’s the eldest songkeeper of Braide Wood. Everyone values his counsel.” She left my side to hurry forward and greet him. He straightened and touched Tara’s forehead gently, as if in blessing.

  I was delighted to see Linette slip into the house behind him and close the door. Lukyan leaned on her arm as she helped him to a comfortable chair. When Linette glanced around the room and spotted me, she smiled warmly. Her sweet acceptance eased some of my alone-in-a-crowd awkwardness.

  Talia and Gareth set out platters of food, and everyone gathered around the large common room table. I slipped into a chair beside Tara.

  Tara rested her hand on Payton’s arm. “Skyler didn’t want to come.” Resigned sadness echoed in her voice.

  He patted her hand. “You tried. We’ve done what we can.”

  Tara turned and saw me listening. “Skyler keeps to himself, but I keep hoping. He never forgave the village.”

  “For what?” I tuned out the conversations farther down the table to focus on my hostess.

  “He married a woman from Hazor. She renounced her citizenship, but it still took people a long time to accept her.” Tara tore her bread into little pieces, letting the crumbs pile up on her plate. “She died giving birth to Kendra, when Kieran was four. It destroyed Skyler. And now . . .” She sighed and pushed the crumbs around.