Ventus | Page 5

just joking. Come on, let's check on Willam. Then we'd better get back to work."
"Okay," she said uncertainly.
Willam and Ryman were still with the surgeon, and nobody knew what to do about the stone mother, so Jordan told the rest of the men to take an early lunch. He went to the kitchens and found a stool near Emmy. They wiled away some time near the warmness of the hearth.
Jordan had just decided to round up his men and get back to work, when he suddenly felt a horse under him, and saw grasslands sweeping by. A thunderous sound, as of many mounted men, filled his ears. This time, he was lost for what seemed a long time.
His hand gripped the reins tightly, only it was not his hand, but the sunburned hand of a mature man.
In an eye-blink the vision was gone, and he stood again in the kitchen. He hadn't fallen, and no one was looking at him. Jordan's heart began to pound as if he'd run a kilometer.
He waved at Emmy urgently. She was talking to one of the bakers, and ignored him until he started to walk over. Then she quickly intercepted him and whispered, "What?" in that particular tone of voice she used lately when her interrupted her talking to young men.
"It happened again."
"What happened?"
"Like in the stables. And outside. I saw something." Her skeptical look told him to be careful what he said. "I--I do think I'm sick," he said.
Her look softened. "You look awful, actually. What's wrong?"
"I keep seeing things. And hearing things."
"Voices? Like uncle Wilson?"
"No. Horses. Like in the dream I had last night."
"Dream? What are you talking about?
"The dream I had last night. I'm still having it."
"Tell me."
"Horses, and grasslands. There was a battle, and the Winds came. All last night, it was just like I was there. And it keeps happening today, too. I'm still seeing it."
Emmy shook her head. "You are sick. Come on, we'll go see the surgeon."
"No, I don't want to."
"Don't be a baby."
"Okay, okay. But I can go on my own. You don't have to come with me."
"All right," she said reluctantly. He felt her concerned gaze on him as he left.
The surgeon was busy with Willam's broken leg. Jordan stood around for a few minutes outside his door, but the sound of screaming coming from inside made him feel worse and worse, until finally he had to leave. He sat in the courtyard, unsure whether to go back to work or go home. Something was wrong, and he had no idea what to do about it.
He couldn't stay idle, though. If he went home, his father would treat him with contempt at dinner; Jordan always felt terribly guilty when he was sick, as if he was doing something bad.
He thought of the walk home, and that made him think of the forest. There was someone there who could help him--and maybe solve the problem of the stone mother too. It was a long walk, and he didn't like to be in the forest alone, but just now he didn't know what else to do. He stood up and left the manor, taking the path that led to the church, and the house of the priests.
* * *
The church lay several kilometers within the forest. Jordan relaxed as he walked, frightening as the forest was. Father Allegri would help him.
The path opened onto the church lands abruptly: Jordan came around a sharp bend where towering silver maple and oak trees closed in overhead, and there was the clearing, broad and level, skirted at its edges with low stone buildings where the ministers lived. In front of the church itself, a broad flagstone courtyard, unwalled, was kept bare and clean.
The priests' house stood off to one side, under overhanging oaks. It was a stout stone building, two stories high, with its own stable. Jordan had been inside many times, since his father helped in its upkeep.
With relief he saw that Allegri was outside, seated on the porch with his feet up, a news sheet in his hands. It must be something important he was reading. The priests received regular news about the Winds from all over the country.
Allegri looked up at Jordan's shout and quickly walked to meet him. Now that he was here, Jordan ran the last part, and appeared on the porch huffing and puffing.
"Jordan!" Allegri laughed in surprise. "What brings you here?"
Jordan grimaced; he didn't know where to start.
"Is something wrong? Shouldn't you be at work?"
"N-no, nothing's wrong," said Jordan. "We're taking a break."
Allegri frowned. Jordan shrugged, suddenly unsure of himself. He pointed to the paper Allegri held. "What's that?"
"Copy of a semaphore report. Just arrived." Allegri sent Jordan another piercing look, then sat, gesturing for Jordan to do the same. Jordan dropped on