Free Path of Fate by Diana Pharaoh Francis Page B

against the base of a finger of white-and yellow-streaked rock that towered over the trees around. Reisil liked it because few could get lost trying to find her. Her greenhouse was connected to the cottage on this wall, and in the winter the sun-heated stone reflected back warmth to her plants. The kitchen fire did the rest, as the chimney wall joined the two buildings together. Her garden spread out from the greenhouse and was bounded by a wood fence overgrown with gooseberry vines. Fruit trees clustered between the finger spire and the bluff.
    When she’d returned to Kallas six months before, the council had offered her Kolleegtark’s house. But though she remembered her times there fondly, his home had proved too small and didn’t at all suit her needs. The townspeople had been so pleased at her appearance that they had not objected to her living so far outside the walls, and refurbished the cottage and built the greenhouse according to her specifications, donating materials and home comforts. Though no formal acceptance of her had been made, their generosity promised a future here, that they would provide for her needs as she would provide for theirs.
    “I belong here,” she told the twilight. “I am a tark. Nothing else.”
    Kek-kek-kek-kek.
    The cry came like an answering challenge.
    Reisil jerked out of her reverie, the strident sound reminding her of the barking wails of wild mountain dogs. She stared woodenly at the goshawk, who settled on the peak of her roof.
    “Go away,” she said at last in a low, adamantine voice. “I don’t want you.”
    ~ Stay.
    Chills like fingers of ice danced over Reisil’s flesh. That voice in her mind. It had the feel of steel, of fingernails scraping across slate. It no longer held any of the qualities that had seemed so dangerously enticing at their first encounter.
    “You cannot stay. I don’t want you. I don’t want you!” Reisil shouted the words like a child shouts at a monster in a nightmare.
    The bird’s head swiveled, eyes glowing orange in the sunset.
    ~ Stay.
    This time the word stabbed into Reisil like a jagged blade. Saljane bent down and snapped her beak at Reisil as if to tear her flesh from her bones.
    Reisil flinched and stepped back. Dismay and frustration balled in her stomach. Tears slid down her cheeks.
    After a moment the bird straightened, mantled, and shook herself from head to tail.
    Reisil pressed a hand to her lips, her breath shaking in her chest.
    She flung herself into the cottage beneath Saljane’s shadow and slammed the door. She pulled the shutters closed and latched them, as if by doing so she could get rid of Saljane and all she represented. Without lighting a lamp, she crawled into bed and huddled wakefully there all night.
     
    Reisil stumbled from her cottage at dawn, eyes deep-set and bloodshot in her pale face. Palpable relief coursed through her when she realized Saljane was gone.
    For good, she hoped.
    But she knew better. The goshawk had made herself clear the night before. Now it would be a contest of wills. Reisil squared her shoulders. It was a contest she would win. During the long night she’d gained control of her fears and uncertainties. Her refusal of Saljane, of the Lady’s gift, had been swift and instinctive. But none of the doubts that rose like phantoms in the night could tear from her the certainty that she had made the right decision. Her will was fixed.
    She prepared herself a breakfast of oatcakes with butter and honey and a compote of dried fruit stewed with red winter wine and walnuts. She washed the dishes in the hot water left over from her tea and then set off for Nurema’s her attention fixed on the ground in front of her.
    Nurema greeted her with a wave as she scattered corn for her chickens.
    “How is he today?” Reisil called from the fence. Nurema upended her bowl and patted the bottom for the last grains before joining Reisil.
    “Better. He drove me outside with his chattering. Like a squirrel,