by H. M. Long
Nisien paused. I considered Euweth in the pregnant silence, searching for signals in her face. She was straight-backed. Stoic. But she was also shivering, a deep tremor from her very core.
She realized it too. Slowly, so as not to startle the legionaries, she slipped forward and passed her son the torch. Then she retreated into the shadows, within reach of her short horseman’s bow.
Unsettled, I stepped back to join her. Our arms brushed and I heard her shuddering exhale.
“If they come for you, don’t fight,” she murmured in my ear. “Don’t you put my son at risk.”
I recoiled in indignation, but there was no time to respond. Nisien had nodded to the legionaries. Their leader raised a hand and the men relaxed, moving to unload the horses and pulling helmets from their heads. Faces appeared, most of them young and unscarred. Too young to have been on the Rim for long.
My brows furrowed. Not one of these pale creatures even had a beard – a day’s shadow, at most. They wore little more than arcs of golden, black and mild brown fluff upon their scalps. Like infants.
These were the great legionaries, subjugators of the world? Most of them were little more than boys, far from home and afraid of an unsettled sky – though, I had to admit, that fear was well placed.
Nisien turned to his mother and me, and I noticed how his close-shaven head reflected those of the Arpa. He hadn’t been among the legions for years, but he still wore his hair like them?
“They will stay with us until the storm passes,” Nisien said, careful not to show any reluctance. But before the legionaries came into earshot he added rapidly, “They and their gods do not hold Hearth Law. Take nothing they say for truth and do not lower your guard.”
I squatted at the fire and rested my sword across my knees, watching them settle in with a shuttered intentionality I had learned from Svala: no hostility, no fear, no curiosity. Simply vigilance. But when their eyes passed over me, my skin still crawled.
The legionaries’ leader and another man stepped up onto the ledge. They each grasped Nisien’s forearm in a practiced gesture while Euweth stoked the fire and set water to boil.
“Perhaps we should speak your language,” the leader suggested as he sat down and set his helmet aside. “For the sake of your mother and…”
Nisien’s eyes flicked to me. “Slave.”
I barely stopped my face from reacting. He knew the legions. I had to trust him.
The Arpa leader’s eyes trailed over me. His gaze was appraising and distasteful, even though his eyes were vivid as a summer sky, wide and lovely. His hair was longer than the others, dark brown curls pasted to his forehead with sweat and rain.
“A slave with a sword,” he commented.
“She’s Eangen.” Nisien seated himself beside the fire. “You know how their women are.”
The Arpa snorted, an action incongruent with his apparent authority. “Woman or no, I wonder why you’d trust any barbarian with a weapon?”
I glanced at him but managed to keep my expression passive. I knew the Arpa despised my people – this was no surprise.
“I trust her,” Nisien assured him.
“Well then, names?” The leader shrugged and rubbed open palms on his knees. “We should observe the local custom, should we not? Hearth Law? I am Castor, a captain of the Fourth. We are heading north to reinforce the Eangen border. This is my second, Estavius.”
The other man, pale-haired and paler eyed, looked between all of us – even me, I noted with interest – and touched his heart.
“Nisien,” Nisien replied, “and this is my mother, Euweth.”
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Castor said. “We were caught on the road during the worst of the storm. Two of our men were struck by lightning and died, including our commanding officer. I’ve taken his place.”
I sat back slightly. So Castor had not originally been in command of this frightened, rain-soaked band. That made more sense.
Then the rest of his words caught up with me. His comrades, struck by lightning?
Castor continued to explain, “Several more were burned when they tried to shelter under a tree – which, unfortunately, was also struck. Tell me, woman, are you a healer?”
Euweth shook her head and forced out a single, “No.”
I blinked at the Arpa. He spoke about the death of his men with obvious regret, maybe even a little grief, but not nearly enough fear.
Words spilled out of me: “Have you offered sacrifice to Esach for their souls?”
Castor cocked his head. “Esach? One of your heathen deities?”
“Esach is the storm,” I insisted. “If she struck your men, their souls will be bound to her unless you appease her. You are trespassers on this land and your gods may not have enough sway to intervene.”
Castor passed his gaze from me to Nisien. “Vocal, for a slave.”
His blond companion, Estavius, gave him a sideways look. The other man clearly understood Northman but had yet to speak.
“Yes. But she may be right,” Nisien offered. “It might be wise to offer Esach a sacrifice in the morning.”
I surveyed him. The Soulderni man’s back was straight and his expression calm, but he was cowed. ‘Mays’ and ‘mights’ did not suit him.
Estavius, still unspeaking, covered a hand that was raw and blistered with burns and, from the paleness of his face, he was likely hiding more. But he was admirably bright-eyed and the glances he cast me were more curious than anything else.
“Nisien,” Castor said, “you said you served in the Third. You must have participated in the Southern Campaigns?”
“I did.” A muscle in Nisien’s throat twitched, but there was a ghost of wistfulness around his eyes.
“Ah. What would you have been at the time? How old?”
“Fourteen. Until my twentieth. Then I was posted to the Rim.”
“Formative years to be hip-deep in blood,” Castor commented. His eyes traveled to Euweth as she added herbs to the pot over the fire. “What is that?”
She paused, then held out the pouch for him to inspect. “Sweet Tear. For your men’s nerves.”
Nisien clarified the name in Arpa and added, “Northman’s balm.”
Castor sniffed at the pouch, then nodded and handed it back. Euweth tucked it into her pocket again.
Estavius spoke up, asking something in Arpa. His voice was appealing, rounded and warm, and inquisitive.
“I’ve been on reserve for three years,” Nisien returned in Northman as he eased back onto one palm. That wistfulness I’d caught earlier had deepened now, and his gaze took on a distant quality. “My gratitude to my general is… was, well, I think of him daily. He was an admirable soldier – and the best of men.”
Castor gave a thoughtful nod, and memories flickered behind Nisien’s eyes until Euweth leant forward to stir the tea. His expression shuttered.
“I knew a captain from the Southern Campaigns, called Telios,” Castor said. “He had command of the cavalry, as far as I remember, but never… made general. Did you know him?”
Every line of Nisien’s body went taut. Whoever Telios was, Nisien definitely knew him. And he did not like him.
“Yes,” the Soulderni replied, his voice flat and emotionless. “He was one of my commanding officers.”
Castor’s eyes lingered a fraction too long on Nisien’s face. “Admirable soldier.”
Nisien nodded, but without feeling. “Admirable soldier,” he affirmed.
“Now.” Castor glanced back over his shoulder, something of the leader he was supposed to be slipping back into his tone and posture as he sighted his men. “Share some of our supplies. All we have are soldiers’ rations, but I’m sure you’re used to that.”
Nisien nodded again.
Food and tea were distributed and Euweth shared her portion with me. My stomach had not taken well to being jarred from sleep but I ate anyway, knowing my muscles would be sore come morning.
“Tell me,” Castor said at on
e point. “Do you travel from the north or the south?”
“South,” Nisien replied. “From the gathering at Oulden’s Feet.”
Estavius asked a question in his own tongue.
“Yes,” Nisien answered in Northman. “There was a disagreement between Oulden and an interloping deity.”
I stiffened. If these men knew about the unrest at the ceremony, they may also have heard about the Eangi who helped bind the interloper. They may even know that she traveled north into the Ridings, which made me more interesting than I wanted to be.
Castor put a chunk of stale bread in his mouth, gazing at me before he asked Nisien, “Did you see what happened?”
If Estavius was a dog, his ears would have pricked.
Nisien began to nod, then turned it into a disappointed shake. “Not much. I was near the back of the crowd. But I watched the waterfall die – that was… unnerving. Then everyone ran.”
“You too?” Castor asked him.
Nisien replied with a wry grin. “I’ve no right to interfere in the battles of the gods.”
“Wise…” Castor relented. “But what a tale that would have been.”
Estavius leant forward and produced a stream of questions, to which Nisien shrugged and replied in his own language.
I shifted uncomfortably. I hated this lack of understanding on my part, this blatant ignorance. All the peoples of the north spoke a common tongue, though our accents and dialects might make an outsider think otherwise. Only priests used more cryptic languages, harkening from thousands of years gone by, and I knew the Eangi’s. Yet now these men spoke right in front of me and I understood nothing.
I considered Euweth out of the corner of my eye. She had relaxed fractionally, her focus on the tea she was ladling out into the battered cups of one legionary after another. She gave no sign of understanding the men, either.
I fidgeted. I needed to stretch, to walk, but the rain continued to pour outside, and the cave was too thick with men. I forced my breath out through my nose and began to tend the fire, like a good slave.
The hours between the legionaries’ arrival and dawn were long. Once all the men’s bellies were full, they began to seek dry spaces to lay out their bedrolls. Several produced folding frames that proved to be cots, making their beds right over puddles and wet rock.
The cave filled with the smell of men and equine piss. My attention shifted from sound to sound; a snore here, a murmured conversation there, the rush of a horse relieving themselves and the steady rasp of a sword being sharpened.
When Nisien finally eased himself down beside me, I sat up. “What were you talking about?” I whispered.
“The north.” He drew a self-conscious hand over his beard. “They told me something strange.”
I waited for him to go on.
“They claim there are no Arpa in Algatt territory.”
I recoiled. “What? That’s absurd. They’re lying.”
Nisien turned his head reluctantly. “Castor insists the rumors of Arpa in the northern mountains are false and… Gods, I’m far too tired for this… I can’t figure out why they would lie. It serves no purpose, unless the invasion wasn’t sanctioned…”
“Or Castor just doesn’t know,” I offered, my dislike of the man plain in my voice. “He’s no war chief.”
Nisien shifted to brace his back against the wall. “Can you…” His voice lowered further, “Can you not look for a vision? Or ask Eang?”
“Ah, yes, master.” I nodded vigorously. “Right in front of the heathen Arpa.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m sorry about that. But you’re obviously Eangen and I’m rather famous among the Soulderni for not having a wife.”
I relented with a grudging nod. “Well… I can ask, but Eang may not answer. And I can’t just look whenever I want to. They say for every vision we call, an Eangi sacrifices a day of life. What we use, we must pay for – in strength or blood or life.”
Nisien’s chin drifted to one side in concern. “I… see. What about the owl?”
That was an idea. I scanned the darkness, but no eyes flashed back at me. I saw only horses and Arpa and the vague, gloomy mouth of the cave.
“She’s gone.”
SIXTEEN
By the time the first light of dawn drifted into the cave, we were ready to leave. While Nisien and I shouldered the saddlebags, Euweth untied the horses and led them past the sleeping soldiers. Few of them stirred, subdued by exhaustion and Euweth’s tea.
The air outside was fresh and crisp, still laden with Esach’s power. Storm clouds dispersed over the waving tops of the cedars, backlit by the pink and orange hues of the coming day. More than one nearby tree was blackened, their split and charred trunks glossy with rain.
No one spoke until the horses were ready and Euweth already up in the saddle.
“Thank you for your hospitality,” Castor said from the mouth of the cave, one hand on his sword. I wondered if he had taken it off. “Nisien, perhaps we will meet again.”
“Who knows the will of the gods?” Nisien replied as he mounted up. “Until then.”
Castor’s eyes drifted to me. “Until then.”
* * *
It was hard to shake the feeling that we were in flight. We rode harder than usual and didn’t stop until the sun had passed its zenith. Then, after only a brief rest we pressed on, crossing the river and breaking north-west.
“Let’s camp here for the night,” Euweth drew up her horse in sight of a small copse. The sun was still a full hand above the horizon.
Nisien reined in. “We can still reach home before moonrise.”
Euweth shook her head. “And risk the horses? No. We camp here. You know there’s no better shelter between here and home.”
Whether he agreed or not, Nisien dropped from the saddle. I followed suit and took up my usual role of unloading the saddlebags and clearing sleeping spaces while Euweth saw to the horses. Nisien unfastened a hatchet from his saddle and started off through the low trees in search of firewood.
“No fire tonight,” Euweth pulled the blanket and leather pad from her horse’s back with a little too much force. “I’ll not have those Arpa taking our ‘hospitality’ again.”
Nisien paused, caution in his eyes. “Mother, they won’t follow us. They’ll return to the Arpa roads.”
“No fire.”
Nisien took a step back towards us. “I know last night was—”
Euweth’s countenance darkened. “No fire.”
That was the end of it. We chewed on cold, soaked grain and smoked meats before turning into our bedrolls early. No one looked for conversation.
I couldn’t sleep. I turned from one position to another and prayed, but sensed that Eang did not hear. By the time the moon rose my thoughts had blackened. Sixnit and the baby. My parents. My sisters. Had East Meade survived, or was it a charred ruin like Albor?
In my mind, I walked again through the Hall of Smoke and crouched down beside Yske’s contorted body. I laid her out properly and closed her gaping eyes. I wiped the bloodied red hair from Eidr’s face and arranged him, too. I imagined the faces our children might have had, the warmth we might have shared, and the home we might have made. Those thoughts were so agonizing, so painful, that I couldn’t breathe.
I stood up and made for the edge of the copse, brushing unspent tears from my eyes and forcing even breaths out through my nose. In the light of the moon I unsheathed my sword, laid it to my palm, and let it well up with blood.
“Eang.” I looked down at its murky heart. My voice shook like a frightened child’s. “Let me see. Let me see East Meade and what is in the mountains.”
Moonlight glinted off red liquid. My palm smarted and I squinted, willing the rooves of my birth village or a glimpse of the high Algatt mountains to appear. Even if Eang herself was occupied, I should’ve had enough power in my Eangi blood to see something.
I did. I saw an Arpa shield emblazoned with the head of a great, maned feline,
its jaw wide and its eyes open in a lifeless stare. I saw a murder of crows lift off from a sea of blinded bodies. I glimpsed a mountain peak, imperious and isolated from its fellows in a girdle of black cloud. I saw bees swarming a tree laden with overripe fruit.
Lastly, I saw Omaskat. He waded into a lake so thick with minerals that it was the color of milk, his tunic floating around his waist. Before him, the regal peak of that same imperious mountain divided the clouds.
Reality slammed down upon me. I shook the blood from my hand and stared out across the rippling grasses, silver and palest green under the moon.
“Omaskat is in the mountains,” I whispered to Eang. “Or will be? Why? And what about East Meade?”
“Hessa.”
Euweth approached. Even before she spoke, the pile of saddlebags and blankets in her arms told me why she was here.
“You have to go,” she said, shoving the items into my arms and laying Nisien’s hatchet on top of them.
I wavered. My throat felt too thick to speak but I managed, “Why?”
“If my son takes you north, I’ll never see him again.” She spoke the words with utmost certainty. “And I will not lose him a second time, to the north or to the Arpa.”
My stomach twisted. “Euweth…”
The woman’s gaze was as cold as winter. “My son came home a shattered wretch of a man.”
I clutched my bundle tighter, trying not to drop the hatchet or bleed on the blankets.
“It took a full year for him to stop screaming in his sleep.” Her eyes flashed. “They used him and broke him, and they put a restlessness in him, girl. You saw it too. I will not let you drag him back into that life.”
I remembered Nisien’s face, that first night at the fireside; his devotion to his mother, the weight upon his shoulders. Then I recalled that subtle flicker of nostalgia that I had seen when he spoke to Castor.
“I understand,” I said, though it felt like a knife in my gut. I’d known all along that Nisien’s – and Euweth’s – companionship was temporary, but it did not make the idea of setting off alone, in the dark, any easier.
“Then take a horse and go,” Euweth said, turning away. “Nisien’s horse, Cadic – she will serve you best.”
