"Come on Mac, we'll be late!" Chivvied his twin sister Caroline.
"So what if we are?" Mac mumbled sullenly, scratching his neck where the coarse cloth of his shirt chaffed.
"You'll get cold porridge." Caroline pointed out pragmatically. She did have a point there, and Mac increased his pace marginally. The refractory of the temple of Juros the Helper was always crowded. Whether it be with monks, and novices, the poor looking for a meal, the people who lived in Waydring or supplicants come to ask the aid of the charitable brothers of the Helping Hand, it amounted to one large crowd. And Mac hated crowds.
The temple was easily the largest and best-constructed building in the newly formed village of Waydring. Located almost exactly on the border between Valdemar and Karse, Waydring was officially only three years old, but already its inhabitants had developed a fierce pride for the place.
It used to be a settlement strictly of Valdemarans, their old village having been destroyed in a flash flood. Then Karsites came, fleeing internal strife, most of them because they would not uphold the strictures of Vkandis. There was enmity at first, but from what Mac had heard, instead of fracturing, the little community had only gotten closer during one of the longest and coldest winters anyone could remember. This tenuous balance was upset when Haradorn farmers, themselves fleeing the ongoing war with King Ancar came. Through some miracle, the village was untouched by pillagers and bandits. That was all the time that the cult of Juros the Helping Hand needed to firmly entrench itself into the life of this community.
Opinion differed over which people had brought Juros to Waydring, Mac personally believed that some do-gooder Valdemaran had come up with it as an excuse to start a monastery to promote goodwill between the diverse people. Havens forbid if Mac ever voiced that theory. That was his problem, he thought things through, sometimes too much, and as a result, some people thought him slow in the head. Even Caroline.
"Mac. I will go without you. Snap out of it!" She exclaimed and with a start, Mac realized he had been standing in the middle of the hallway, staring into nothing.
"Right, sorry sister, let's go get breakfast." He said guiltily. Mostly because he didn't want to go into the crowd alone.
They passed through the arched doors and into the large refractory, where the Hands of Juros served a free breakfast to the community. All the people of Waydring worked to support the temple and attached monastery, they contributed to the communal breakfast with whatever food they could. As a result, The Hands were never lacking in food or fellowship.
Mac lined up behind Caroline at the table laden with the daily offerings of his fellow villagers. He was not hungry, but he took an apple and some porridge, which was a typical breakfast food in these parts. Caroline, on the other hand loaded her trencher so much so that he would have thought all the food would fall off is she didn't do the same thing every morning.
They squeezed between Mistress Hathly, who was holding court, recounting some amusing anecdote about chicken and children, and Mistress Olna, a dour stick of a woman who baked good pumpkin pies. Caroline, being her perky self, engaged Mistress Olna in a conversation about the weather. The weather! What a ridiculous thing to talk about. Mac stared moodily at his un-bitten apple and thought about his life.
His parents had been Hands themselves. When the fever took them, the fully initiated Hands took the orphaned twins under their wings; it was, after all, the helping thing to do. And so they had lived all their lives at the Temple of Juros, not old enough to be full novices, but already they knew more about the workings of this temple than most first year Hands.
Chores would be the first order of the day, then a worship service where the Keeper of the Book of Aid would read and expound upon some relevant passage and the Keeper of Song would conduct the choir. Mac had never felt the fever to serve Juros that the others seemed to feel, even the Karasites had more faith than he did, and they were largely indifferent due to their forsewerance of religion where the priests might oppress the people. The cult of Juros was more a way of life, the community revolved around the temple and monastery. Mac supposed that that was to make people feel safe and welcome, but he just felt stifled.
After Service, there would be classes. And wasn't he just the star pupil. Before he could start brooding about how horrible school was going to be, the gong rang, signaling an end to breakfast. The noise level increased as everyone got up with a scuffing of skirts and shoes and goodbyes. For the day was started, and there was work to be done.
"Bye brother." Caroline said cheerily as she scuttled off to mend socks and gossip or something. It was Mac's turn to help split firewood. All the young men were supposed to take turns keeping the massive woodpile stocked, somehow, Mac ended up doing all the work for the boys in his age group. He didn't mind. Not much at least. It gave him a focus for his thoughts. And so, the hint of a smile on his face, he left through a side door and took up a leisurely stroll through the courtyard towards the large lean-to where the firewood was stacked. There would be hatchets there, sharp and oiled, ready to split logs.
A novice Hand was standing in the lean-to counting stacks of firewood and making marks on a clipboard. His name was Paul, and Mac didn't mind him. He was very smart, and sometime he would do Mac's homework for him if Mac did some of his chores. Paul was his age, but he was allowed to become a novice Hand a full year early due to his maturity or something.
"Morning Mac." He said amiably.
"Morning Paul." He replied in turn.
"Jerry and Kyle are on this rotation. But I don't think they'll come. You really have to stop doing their work for them."
"I don't mind. I enjoy splitting logs."
"At any rate, I'll make sure they know you're covering for them. It's always good to have favors in stock, yeah?"
"I suppose." Mac never did get Paul's obsession with gathering information and knowing what everyone was doing. Much the same as Paul did not understand that he preferred to do something productive, rather than sit around collecting secrets. Give him a tangible problem any day. He picked up a hatchet and left to take out his frustration from words unsaid on the logs.
Half an hour in he had completed his portion and was getting started on Jerry and Kyle's when the aforementioned slackers came running up to him.
"Mac! Mac! You have to see this!" Cried Jerry.
"Me doing your work for you?" Mac yelled back, but without rancor. The two boys slowed down and stood panting in front of him.
"In the woods, you'll never believe what we saw!"
"Yeah, we just stumbled across them, I swear!"
"And there was no one around so we-"
"Kyle wanted to see if we could help it but I said that we needed to tell someone." Mac's head ached trying to keep up with them as he planted the head of the ax in a stump.
"Calm down and tell me, what did you find?"
"A Companion!" Said Jerry.
"A Companion, really," He drawled. "And where was it's Herald?"
"She was lying all cold-like on the edge of the gorge. An' the Companion was lying just a little farther away bleeding something fierce." Kyle continued. Mac didn't want to believe him, but Kyle was fidgeting, he was only truly still when he was attempting to lie.
"Oh?"
"Swear it's true. We'll show you." Kyle insisted.
"No you won't, Kyle run ahead and tell the Healing Hand this; he'll know what to do. And Jerry, come, show me where you found them."
"Alright Mac." The two of them seemed content to let him take charge for now. The wood could wait, Mac decided. This was much more important. And if they were playing some joke on him- let the Hands deal with it. Jerry and Kyle sprinted off in different directions and Mac jogged at a steadier pace behind Jerry. Waydring bordered a small forest with a large ditch in the middle where water trickled through. When it rained, the water level rose, making crossing the gorge extremely dangerous. With a sinking heart, Mac recalled that it had rained yesterday.
Soon the two boys were in the forest, running easily through the well-trodden paths they both knew by heart. His breath caught in his throat when he saw the scene for himself.
There was a woman in Whites, half in half out of the receding water in the gorge, face a nasty shade of blue and head twisted at an unnatural angle. But what truly dominated the scene was a Companion, lying on it's side, right foreleg bleeding sluggishly, but thickly and at least two legs broken, twisted at equally unnatural angles.
"Oh my good Gods." Breathed Mac. He was certainly no healer, but it looked to him that it was a miracle that the Companion was even alive. He had heard that Heralds and Companions rarely outlived each other. Despite this, he knew some basic wound care, and if this Companion was even going to have the slightest chance at living, they would have to stop the bleeding.
"Give me your scarf Jerry." Without a word, the worried looking boy handed it to him. Mac approached hesitantly, but the Companion made no sign that it registered his presence. So he carefully pressed the scarf to the gash, dismayed at how quickly the scarf became saturated with blood.
All he could do was wait.
Perhaps five minutes later there was a commotion at the edge of the path. The Healing Hand, a balding, middle-aged man in charge of the health of Waydring hurried towards the Companion, shooing Mac out of the way. Other Hands followed, some gathered around The Healing Hand, others went to look at the body of the Herald. Mac stood beside Jerry on the sidelines and watched as the Healing Hand and the other Healers debated how to move the Companion so they could set its legs. One was suggesting a complicated sling system, another saying it was no use, the Companion would be dead soon, or have you forgotten it's dead Herald? The youngest of the healers, a 19-year old called Mary who was Mac's favorite of all the Healers suggested rigging up a pulley system and treating it here. They all agreed that was the best course of action.
Elsewhere, Hands were arranging the Herald's body solemnly on a stretcher. Mac knew that if someone didn't come to claim the body within three days, there would be a funeral service.
Mary approached them. "Are you two okay?"
"Yeah." Shrugged Jerry, Mac smiled thinly. They had seen plenty of bodies, death wasn't a stranger in Waydring, this year alone two had died, claimed by the gorge. But the sight of a broken Companion was much more disturbing than a dead body. Even if it belonged to a Herald.
"I will be." And Mac meant it. He knew the Companion was in good Hands. And while it might give up on the business of living, which Mac could barely fathom, the Hands would do all they could to save it's life. Still, he felt extremely worried, yet was more intrigued by the situation than anything in a long time.
Even if there was a dead Herald and a nearly-dead Companion to deal with, life went on. And while there might be less people there, Service still continued. Mac paid even less attention than he usually did, he was too busy thinking about the Companion. Why wasn't it dead? Mac had heard about the bond that Herald and Companion shared, living on would be like living without half of yourself. Of course, he wouldn't know what that felt like, but he could imagine. He wouldn't be able to get away till after dinner, but the resolved to go take a peek at the Companion the Healing Hands were still tending in the clearing.
The nine other kids his age paid just as much attention to their lesson on dividing fractions as he was, mainly, none. Everyone wanted to talk about the Companion and the Herald. Hand Harrold, who lived for numbers and calculations mostly ignored them and continued droning on. He was happy as long as he could hear himself.
"Mac, so you saw the Herald, yeah? Was she all bloody?" Jennifer wanted to know, fascinated to a disturbing extent with blood and gore. Somehow, it felt wrong to talk so glibly about the Herald whose name they didn't even know, lying dead on a slab in the funeral house. As he was hesitating, Kyle butted in.
"I saw her, she was obviously drowned, but crawled onto the bank and broke her neck."
"Don't be stupid Kyle, how could she just randomly brake her neck on the bank? If she had fallen sure, but she was half on the flat ground and half on the incline." Paul said scornfully.
"Then how did she die?"
"I bet the Companion tried to jump the gorge and slipped and they fell into the gorge. Even the best horse rider couldn't safely jump it. That's how she broke her neck." Jennifer said.
"Then how was the Companion lying clean on the flat ground and the Herald on the bank?" Paul said, ever the skeptic.
"They must have been in the water, the Companion dragged her out but she broke her neck and as the Companion pulled her out, tripped in the mud and pitched forward onto the flat ground, breaking it's forelegs." Caroline hazarded.
"But no one can get out of the gorge when it's full; the current's way too strong!" Paul continued.
"I hear Companions are way stronger than normal horses. And it obviously didn't want it's Herald to die so he used all his reserves to try to save her. But even the best intentions can go sour." Mac interjected thoughtfully. Finally talking. As one, the small circle of gossipers swiveled their heads to look at him.
"But that's just silly Mac! A horse can't be that devoted or strong." Paul said. Caroline nodded.
"But they aren't just horses are they? They're something more." Mac protested.
"Just bedtime stories about highly intelligent horses." Caroline added. Heralds rarely passed through the village, and Mac and his age mates only got glimpses of the Companions. Mac had seen no evidence that they were truly as smart as humans. But something told him it wasn't all just made up. Caroline looked like she wanted to talk further, but everyone else had already turned back to discussing whether a Herald would come to claim the dead one before three days or whether they would have a burial ceremony for her. Mac tuned them out and looked towards the window, and the trees in the distance where a Companion was hanging on to the last threads of it's life.
The sun was setting as Mac walked down the path to the clearing. He didn't want to disturb the Healing Hands, and he was fairly certain his presence would not be welcome, so he slipped into the trees, weaving around them much slower than when he was running to see the accident that morning. It was chilly and he pulled his coat closed. No one in Waydring really held with cloaks. They were damn inconvenient.
The flurry of activity had died down. The Companion was suspended from the branches of two trees so that it's legs didn't have to bear any of it's weight. And it's leg was tightly bandaged. Mary was sitting alone on a stump, chin in cupped hands, staring thoughtfully at the still Companion. Maybe it was a branch that he stepped on, or some half-dry leaves, but Mary knew he was there.
"Come on out Mac, it's only me." She called softly.
"Will the Companion be okay?" He asked without preamble, knowing Mary didn't like small talk.
"Physically? He should pull through. A damned miracle that's what. But in the end, it really only matters if he wants to live. This Companion will get better if he wants to live, if not, and I don't blame him. What does he have to live for?"
"Maybe he's stubborn, and just doesn't want to give up." Mac hazarded. "Or maybe he needs to relay a message."
"We'll have to wait till the Herald comes; a messenger had already been sent out to the nearest guard outpost."
"Will I disturb him if I go closer to get a better look at him?"
"I don't see why not, he's heavily sedated, once we started working on him. He started to thrash about horribly. The Healing Hand had no choice." Mac nodded, he supposed it was indecent, but he had always wanted to see a Companion up close. Slowly approaching, he ran his hand gently along the Companion's muzzle. Of a sudden, the Companion's eyes blinked open, and stared directly at him, into him.
He was lost in a veritable sea of sorrow. Why couldn't he die? Katie was dead and it was his entire fault. Death was so close he could feel it, but the way to it was blocked. Why couldn't he join Katie? An answer came to him out of a fog of pain and sorrow. Maybe he was still needed. But what possible use was he? He had killed his own Herald. It was too much, he just wanted to let go…
:No you don't. A foreign voice interjected into his downward spiral of madness.
:Who are you?
:I'm Mac.
:What do you want?
:You not to die.
:Why?
:Because it's wrong to just give up.
:I failed Mac.
:Course you didn't, no one can jump the gorge when it's full.
:I'm a Companion dammit! I should've been able to save her. But I didn't. And now look at me, I can't even die!
:Maybe that's for a reason.
:What reason then?
:How should I know? I barley know what I'm saying, or how, or even where I am! He was about to reply when he sensed the Foreign Presence leaving his drug fuddled head.
For a moment, despite his sorrow, Frey was intrigued.
"Mac! Mac! What are you doing?" A voice called, with a start, Mac lifted his hand from the Companion's muzzle. Where was he? What did he just say? Did he just talk with the Companion? As he adjusted to the material world once more, he became aware of his body, shaking and cold. Lucky Mary was there, because Mac fell into her arms. With a grunt, she dragged him over to the log.
"What were you doing to it? The Companion was all trembling, and you just stood there for a quarter candlemark!" Mac wanted to explain, but he barely understood it himself. And he was so tired, yet one thing seemed important.
"Frey." He mumbled.
"What?"
"Frey, the Companion's name is Frey." Mac elaborated, and slipped into unconsciousness.
Mac woke up in a bed much softer than his pallet in the children's' sleeping quarters. Where was he? Coherent thoughts came back to him, along with a faint headache. He tried to sit up, but found it only increased the pain. Someone blocked the light streaming form the window on the right.
"Nice to see you're awake." A voice that Mac recognized said.
"Caroline." He croaked.
"Mac. How're you feeling?"
"My head hurts."
"Herald Ulric says it was because of a reaction headache."
"Herald Ulric? I thought the Herald wouldn't come for at least three days!" Caroline looked at him oddly.
"I suppose you were delirious or something. You've been out for a week. We've all been worried sick." That brought to mind a certain suicidal Companion he should be worried about.
"Frey? What did the Herald say about him?"
"The Companion?"
"Yes."
"The Herald says that the fact that it's still alive means that it still has something to live for. He says that He and his Companion would stay here, because obviously Frey can't even move. It'll be weeks before we'll even know if he will walk or run properly!"
"Well then."
"What happened between you and the Companion?" Caroline asked curiously. Mac looked hard at his twin, to whom he had always told everything. Nevertheless, he couldn't bring himself to talk about it. So he shrugged his shoulders and acted like he was drifting off to sleep. Uncomfortable silence ensured.
"Well, I can see you're tired, I'll just leave you then and we'll talk later, alright?"
"Mm-hmm." Mac kept his eyes closed until he heard Caroline leaving the infirmary, empty except for him.
His next visitor was Herald Ulric himself.
"Hello lad." He said. "I know you aren't asleep." There was no point feigning it anymore, so Mac opened his eyes and propped himself up on the bed with a pillow.
"Are you going to take Frey away?"
"It depends on what happens."
"What could happen?" The Herald looked uncomfortable and deftly changed the subject; cutting to the heart of the matter.
"Listen kid, so far you're the only one that has been able to communicate with Frey. As soon as you're able, I need you to try to talk to him again. See what the deal is."
"I can do it now." Mac volunteered. Ulric laughed sadly.
"Steady kid, a day won't hurt anything. Rest up, I want you at your top capabilities to help us with Frey."
Mac could see the sense of that. So he nodded.
"Good boy. I'll see you later." As quick as he had come and talked, Herald Ulric left. Not one to mince words him.
People were watching him. The Healers and Hands, the Herald along with the Herald's Companion Lila and a few others. They all wanted to see what the Companion would say. Mac was sweating, what if he couldn't talk with Frey again? He hated when people watched him. And a small part of himself admitted he was terrified to once more go into the mind of Frey. With his heavy sadness and unfilled yearnings. Herald Ulric smiled encouragingly. Mac took a deep breath and approached the semi-lucid Companion.
Frey could sense people, lots of them watching him, He didn't care, he finally knew what he had to do. Why he couldn't join Katie.
:Frey, it's me Mac.
:Mac, there is a reason I'm not dead.
:You wanted to live?
:No, I'm still needed. People still need me.
:Who?
:You. Mac, I choose you.
:What?
:Will you chose me?
Frey could sense the boy's mind withdrawing, thinking furiously. When it returned, and answered, Frey felt a veil of sadness lift form his broken heart.
:Yes.
"What happened Mac?" Asked Herald Ulric. Mac stared at the crowd, for once in his life feeling complete, happy.
"He chose me." Mac said quietly.
"He what?" Herald Ulric's face was the perfect picture of shock.
"You heard me Herald. Frey is my Companion now." Everyone stared at him in confusion.
"Sorry 'bout this." Mac said abruptly. And for the second time in a ten-day, Mac collapsed into unconsciousness.