Free Kirith Kirin (The City Behind the Stars) by Jim Grimsley Page A

animated. Kirith Kirin made my uncle show him the arrow-wound and Sivisal did so proudly. The Prince complimented his bravery and remarked that the wound appeared to be healing well. I hoped he would say something to me also, but he did not. Through the evening I watched Kirith Kirin, wishing for some excuse to talk to him. Uncloaked children are expected to be quiet and bother nobody at such gatherings, and adults are expected to ignore them. Still, once or twice his gaze fell on me.
     
    In the morning we formed for ride and crossed the bridge. The forest grew bright and open, the canopy lighter though the undergrowth was still sparse. I asked Uncle Sivisal about the change when we stopped to rest our horses. This part of Arthen was called “Tiisvarthen” or “Goldenwood”, and was a favored place for camp in the early spring before the chill of winter has entirely passed. At that time of year goldenflower trees blossomed here, heavy with petals and scent, and in late spring the blossoms would shower down from the branches and cover the ground. These trees were still budding.
     
    That evening we made camp for the last time in open forest. The white moon rose early and some stars were shining. We were close to a clear stream called Mithuun where I bathed while waiting for supper, amid clear light dying in the golden trees. I picked a spot far from the cookware, being shy of my own nakedness, but I lingered in the water once I was there. My mother had packed oil of elgerath for my journey; I used the last of it in the stream, the fresh smell lingering on my skin. The forest was hushed and still, full of early moonlight, the singing of wind in trees, shadows crossing and re-crossing. As I dressed in my clean tunic the newness of this world took me afresh, the strangeness of having bathed in a forest glade, of dressing by moonlight and listening to sounds from a camp full of strangers.
     
    When I returned to camp the place was full of bright sound, the smell of supper and spilled wine filling the clearing where we had settled for the night. Again, no separate fire was laid for the Jhinuuserret but for a long time Kirith Kirin did not come to supper. Neither did Lady Karsten.
     
    I got food for myself and found a seat in the shadows of the fire. Some of the soldiers had already drunk pretty deeply and in many directions one saw flushed faces reflecting firelight or heard voices tinged with the warm echo of good company and pleasant beverage. From beyond the blaze I could hear Trysvyn singing a song in High Speech. Though I couldn’t understand the words I heard the sadness in it, both in Trysvyn’s clear voice and in the song itself. I felt a sudden longing to know what she was singing. I heard the word Cunuduerum again and again.
     
    Uncle Sivisal sat with me. We drank to each other’s health and sat in the light with our cups balanced in our hands. We spoke pleasantly on many subjects, calm friendly conversation that made me feel less like a stranger to him. He told me then that my mother had taken him to visit the place where Grandmother Fysyyn’s smoke went up while he was on the farm. It was hard for him to fathom that his mother was dead. His last memory of her was from many years before, when she was still fairly young. When he talked about her I could see the child saying good-bye to his mother before riding away to the wild forest. She had told him he was bound for a life that would change him from boy to man maybe more quickly than plains life would have, and that he was destined for long service to a great lord. He was the forerunner, the first of her blood to return to Arthen. He must be credit to her. I could hear her voice in the words as he said them.
     
    I told him what there was to tell about her death. I guess it was clear she had meant a lot to me. We talked, also, about the soldiers Kirith Kirin had sent to keep watch on Kinth’s farm. He gave me sober advice. “Don’t think about it. There