The Naming of Kinzel Read online

  "Get you home, then, you fool, and let us men be about our planning!"

  He didn't see the result of his last push, nor did he see Kinzel pick himself from his bruised hands and knees, stagger to the center of the square where he leaned palms against the side of the dry well and then push himself away resolutely and begin walking - directly away from his home and village.

  ***

  Moonrise found Kinzel well into the hills north of the village, his feet moving absently, yet surely, along the rambling paths.

  To the north and just a wee bit east, Siljan had told him, half a day's good walk.

  Kinzel had wished she were in the village to give advice or be his guide, but Siljan had been herb-gathering toward the marshes of the south, claiming this to be the best night of the year for such. Kinzel knew Siljan was touched with the Night Magic and her powers waxed and waned with the Moon. Her ways, always eccentric, grew beyond the ability of unmagical folk to comprehend as the Moon came to full.

  So Kinzel had faced the Moon in the night, twisted a bit to find the appropriate star, and begun his solo quest.

  As he walked he thought over his errors in the meeting hall, wondering over and over what it was that he had said wrong. His feet picked and chose their path better without his attention than with - and he let them follow the path they knew - so he had much time to consider.

  It wasn't as though they hadn't let him speak at all, though with his father's influence they might have sealed his lips ere he began. So it was ... had it really started when he mentioned Siljan's name?

  True, many times his brothers had laughed at him for attending the herb woman, but had they not chosen to use the cough remedy he'd had that they'd needed more than he? Hadn't he - the lackwit - helped collect and select the herbs?

  Mad Siljan. He had not considered the name before today, until now, with the air cooling about him.

  Did they truly think her mad, then, and he nothing more than her half-witted accomplice in strange and fanciful doings? Not that they needed such an opinion to see him as a fool. Didn't his father name him such to the village at every chance?

  Too, did not the farmers who would scarce let him cut a shock of wheat for fear he'd slice himself still ask him to be about to calm the mare if they expected a difficult foaling? And did not the men who laughed at Siljan's name sneak by in the evening to ask for this or that amulet, or cure, or herb of desire...?

  The hills got steeper, though he hardly knew it. He stopped at a poor frewberry bush and chewed on a slight handful of fruit, hardly noticing their lack of taste and vitality.

  On his way again, he tackled another line of thought.

  If he were the village fool, what of Mad Siljan? She was somehow a relative, though the way was murky to Kinzel's recall - not helped by everyone's disclaimer of kinship's meaning when it came to her - and she'd been Herb Lady since the former Lady had died nine years gone. All the villages had someone who knew herb lore and such, especially a village as pitiful as theirs, which might see a wandering mage once in a ten-year.

  Confused, Kinzel's mind ran the problem 'round and 'round.

  The men especially seemed afraid of Siljan. Perhaps that incident a spring or so behind them? Three men had left the village in shame ... but he could not be sure. No one had taken the time to tell him the right of it. For weeks afterward Siljan walked alone, with none but Kinzel speaking to her - and she refused to discuss it. Then had come the birthing months again, and her herbs were needed, and she regained ... usefulness? Stature? And when she said, "Do this and bring me valerian root if you have some about, and only spring water - none from that well in the town" - they all listened and rushed to agree with her because some foal or child depended on her.

  Yet they laughed to hear that Siljan was certain of a Unicorn Glade nearby.

  The day, already long and tiring, began to hang on him as he tallied his errors. Even the Moon did not recognize him as her own, it seemed; he'd walked long into the night and had yet to find the glade. Perhaps he should have waited on Siljan anyway, perhaps ... no, he should ... or perhaps he should sit and rest a moment on this bit of moss grass. So many mistakes. So tired.

  And he slept as the Moon spiraled distantly overhead.

  ***

  Morning was hard upon him, birds singing and sun warming his feet when he woke beneath the shadow of a small bush. It was a sorry, scraggly thing without thorns and nearly bereft of leaves, but Kinzel, in his first absent-minded stretch, managed to scrape his face against a stubby branch, tears meeting the pain.

  Around him was a thin meadow, not unlike others in the hills, where rocks outnumbered blades of grass; and the vegetation in the immediate vicinity was close kin to the bush that had shaded his sleep, yellow and on the verge of drying. The ground itself was baked brown in spots and cracking like old fire-bricks.

  The boy sighed and tried to ignore his thirst. He raised his eyes to the sun and began to turn slowly, trying to judge where, exactly, he was in relation to the village and Siljan's promised Glade.

  It was there! That must be it!

  A mere thousand paces to the northeast, up a slight rise, the grass grew suddenly thick and luxuriantly green; and beyond that impossible patch of color stood a close-grown stand of trees, full leafed and sturdy, promising cool escape from the already scorching sun.

  Drawn by this wonder, Kinzel ran up the hill, his feet missing the tripping stones, finding a path where there was but shifting rock.

  Then, suddenly, there was good dirt and weeds, and finally the green riot of carpet-grass.

  The trees grew very close together, indeed, standing near as solid as the defense wall of a keep. Kinzel hurried to this promising shade, slipped between two brown-gray trunks, and entered the cool quietness of the Glade itself.

  Kinzel felt unaccountably joyful; his feet seemed barely to touch the ground. He sensed the presence of other creatures and was somehow one with them, sharing his joy and partaking of theirs, yet remaining Kinzel, a Kinzel who would name his former self a mere shadow of this true and complete one.

  He moved without clumsiness or sound through the wood, following his nose and a barely heard murmur. There was water very near, and this new Kinzel thirsted as had the old, and it was as natural as everything else in this magical spot that he should seek the stream and drink.

  The trees stopped at the edge of an open space, granting room for a pond and the four streams that fed it.

  Kinzel paused for a moment in the shadow of the last tree and regarded the clearing, breathing the cool, damp air; then he crossed the thick grass - kin to the carpet outside the circle of trees - knelt down beside the pond, and carefully, reverently, cupped a handful of the clear liquid to drink.

  The hoof struck without warning, missing his ear by a spider's thread, slicing into the grass at his side. Kinzel inhaled sharply, mostly water; and, gagging and coughing, stood - to face the brightest white imaginable, a creature unseen by men in this century.

  The white was three times as tall as he was and looked not the least like a horse, although it did have four long, slender legs, wicked-looking hooves, and a smooth, silky fall of mane. The body was sleeker than a horse's body, strong and delicate at once - and never to be ridden - and the tail brushed the grass like a silver whisper.

  The head was long and fine-featured - certainly not a horses head, this! - and deepset intelligent eyes glared at Kinzel balefully, lightly shadowed by the horn - the horn which grew not between the eyes but centered well above them, just below the sharply pointed ears, and rose half Kinzel's height from that base. It looked dangerous, that horn, though it was delicately spiraled and covered with fine silver hairs - the tip was a diagonally clipped razor, as if it had been recently struck off with a clean blow from a hammer, or a rock.

  There was a tingling in Kinzel's ears, then a voice like a silver trumpet note demanded, "And how came you here, manling, unowed and impure, to drink at my waters in the heart of the Glade? Explain,
and quickly!"

  "Is it a crime to drink when one is thirsty?" asked Kinzel around his fear, pulling from an inner strength which surprised him.

  "Impudence!"

  The Unicorn struck the ground with one sharp hoof and fixed Kinzel, unmoving, in those angry eyes.

  "I asked you how you came here - here! - when there are preventions, when there are watchers! - to the very center of my stronghold. And I - I-" the trumpeting in Kinzel's ears lowered somewhat, and the Unicorn dipped that razor horn at him as if emphasizing his words, "all unwarned until I see you here!"

  A jab of the horn stopped just short of Kinzel's chest.

  "Explain."

  "I had need of ... water," Kinzel stammered, forcing words to lips that would have rather sealed against the terrible anger in the Unicorn's eyes.

  "Earth debt - where there is need, there is owing-" old words, heard and remembered, though not understood even now, out of Siljan's long ramblings.

  But the words seemed to make sense to the Unicorn; the horn lifted away from dreadful proximity to Kinzel's tunic; and when the trumpet voice sounded again it seemed, perhaps, not quite so angry.

  "Earth debt is not owing for misuse. Had you stayed where you belong, in your village, and not gone walking so far afield, you might have drunk the water there and avoided the need-"

  "Not so," said Kinzel, the words coming unbidden, despite his fear.

  The Unicorn tipped its head to one side. "Explain." The silvery voice sounded almost amused.

  Kinzel gulped and began, "There is not enough water - we cannot drink and water the fields, too. And drink we must. The crops will not grow, and we will all starve come the coldtime, if we do not die from lack of water before. And not just the village, the animals, too - the deer and the rabbits. The rabbit I mended just yesternoon - what good did it serve, when he will only die in a few days anyway because there is no water to drink, no dew on the grass."

  "Enough!"

  The Unicorn was angry again, and Kinzel knew he should stop, but the words seemed to be speaking themselves and he could not stop.

  "That's why I left the village and walked so far - to find you - to ask you - we are in need; we'll die for lack of water and you have so much!"

  Kinzel flung his arms out, as if he would gather the four quick-running streams and the still pond to himself; and his unbidden spate of words ended suddenly, like a sob.

  The Unicorn was very angry, thought Kinzel, as the silence stretched longer. He wondered, briefly, if he would be impaled, or merely trampled. Then the voice rang in his ears again, unexpectedly mild.

  "Why is it, manling, that you believe this tale to be a source of interest or concern to me? If men choose to gather in villages and forget the ways and balances of the world, and thus die together of thirst, what is this to me? My concerns are of simpler things that are born knowing and never question - Hold!

  "You say you mended a rabbit yesterday? How was this mending done? With typical man-clumsiness and wooden sticks tied to a chance-broken leg?"

  "No." Kinzel's voice cracked, then he cleared his throat and tried again.

  "No. I - I can feel when there is something not ... right. And I can take the pain - hurt - to me and give back health. I do this-" He stopped and looked at the Unicorn hopelessly, unable to explain his need. "Someone must," he finished lamely.

  "Someone must," affirmed the voice in his ears. "And do you know, with this healing skill of yours that this land is - how do you have it? - not right?"

  Kinzel looked up, hope stirring again.

  "The land around the village, around my father's farm - all the land outside of this place - is wrong and hurting and sick. It must have water."

  "Well and so," came the voice and then there was a pause.

  The Unicorn centered its gaze on Kinzel, regarding him silently, inspecting him. Then the creature shook his great head so that the mane flipped from side to side.

  "This is what you may do, manling. You say you must heal the wounds where you find them, and I believe you in this, for yestereve I saw one newly mended - and though the way was mine the healing was not.

  "You say the cure for the wounds you see in the land is water, and I shall bow to your seeing in this, for it is your home. Thus, manling, you may call to my streams for help. And you may take whichever of the four heeds your call when you leave."

  Kinzel stared at the magnificent creature, all his hope dwindling to dust.

  "You mock me!"

  "How so?" asked the silver voice. "You call yourself Healer. You claim Earthdebt - Earthdebt! - from me! And I will meet your payment though I am not the first cause nor is the debt squarely placed. Thought you I would allow jugs placed on my back so that I might trot like some draft-ox or herd-horse to your village and be your beast of burden? Or perhaps you thought I would allow a legion of men to come with buckets and basins to fill daily at my ponds? Do not be more stupid than your brethren, manling. The debt is paid - you may take one stream with you when you go. You will not return, ever."

  The unicorn turned, the vast whiteness somehow blurring at the edges, and faded away even as Kinzel stared.

  Sagging, Kinzel turned to look at the pond and four streams. It was useless; he would die, and the village would be dust, and the few animals - except for those who strayed here and stayed...

  His father was right, then. He was a fool. A fool to have thought of the idea, a fool to have told the meeting of the idea, a fool for having fled into the hills with no food and no thought of what he would say to his father should he fail. And he had failed!

  Perhaps the Unicorn should not have treated him so fairly for invading this glade...

  The knowledge came upon him like a hurricane.

  He had invaded the Unicorn's secret place. He'd spoken to the Unicorn! And the Unicorn had offered what his father never did: a chance to speak his piece, a chance to try.

  So!

  Kinzel faced the waters, saw the cool promise of life flowing all around him, felt the need from the grasslands and hills. This was right and necessary: one of the streams would come to balance the sun's power. That was it!

  Siljan would call it a matter of Balance.

  But how?

  Should he persuade? Should he call out loud? Should he demand? Why should it follow him? He was only a foolish boy....

  "No!" he denied. "I am Kinzel, Kinzel who heals rabbits and squirrels and newborn foals so that they shall live. I am Kinzel, granted a stream by the Unicorn himself!"

  How difficult could it be, after all?

  "Water!" he called, forcing himself to stand up straight and proud. He spoke with as much firm authority and dignity as a pudgy and begrimed twelve-year old boy could muster.

  "Water! Come! I bid you follow me home!" And he took two paces back the way he had come. Then he stopped and looked behind him.

  The pond was still; its surface calm. The streams ran merrily in their beds.

  "Fool," he berated himself. "It's what they call you. You are stupid, even if you can fix hurts, not to know how to call a stream...."

  He stopped suddenly, considering.

  The Unicorn thought it important that he could heal things, that he could tell what was right and what was ill. Perhaps that was what he should think upon, rather than to order and to demand. Maybe - just maybe - if he reached out to the land as if it were a hurt animal, touched the wrongness and knew it, and then thought of how water would heal those wrongs...

  He reached out, not with his body, as if to touch a beast, trying to recall what the land felt like when all was well, remembering the feel of water, cool on the face and body on a summer's day.

  Yes - here. And here. And again, here - what was needed was water in the now-dry bed on the west side of the village - the same water which filled the town well. If a stream again ran in that bed, the fields that bordered it would do well and the night mists would aid the morning plants - they needed so much dew - and the rabbits would come out in the ev
ening to feed off those plants.

  Indeed, Kinzel saw and felt pain as he stood by the Unicorn's pond, deep within that glade. It was exactly as if the earth around the village were an ailing beast. And he could, he would, make it well. Now.

  He began to walk back toward the dry stream bed he sensed so clearly. As he moved, he let his thoughts stray from the land and move out, much like a shepherd's crook, hook extended, and touch very lightly the stream nearest him.

  "Come," he said. And he moved on, not looking back.

  The sound of the stream touched his ears, the proper sound of a stream doing as it ought, flowing, providing water....

  Kinzel picked his way carefully, keeping his inner sight on the dry land surrounding his village - south, a bit to the west, south again. He detoured around piles of rocks and hillocks without seeing them. He never looked back to see the stream following, foaming a bit brown at the leading edge, a bare six paces behind.

  Kinzel did not falter, feeling the anguish of the land all around him and feeling, too, the immediate grace of hope as the stream touched roots and seeds. He thought only passingly of his father, distantly; not as his father, a bringer of pain and discord, but as a farmer; all farmers needed the water he was herding slowly to the village.

  For hours, Kinzel walked without hesitation, as if life itself flowed through him, investing him with a special strength. He felt as if he were sap in a tree, pushing to branch-tips to carry new green-growth to the world. The word "fool" never entered his consciousness.

  It was well after noon when Kinzel came in sight of the valley. On a hillside was Edlin, his beasts bleating as he drove them up, up, away from this mad apparition, this ginger-haired child, all brown and wild, who walked stately at the head of ... of what? A foaming, impatient, snakelike stream!

  Kinzel never noticed the trivial fear, still busy feeling the land, hearing its pain as well as the renewal being brought.

  Now, only a few short paces off, there was the dry stream bed. Kinzel felt a surge of impatience. It was so vast, the need and pain of the land, and he had brought the smallest stream.