She had found that their ways of life, the vast differences in decorum, were unified in some key traits, however. Iseabheal might go on about the weather or the work, but never quite complained. No one did. Not the farmer whose ox had slipped and fallen to break his arm, not the Crone-Sister whose ancient bones withered within her, not the rangers.
She felt awful that these people bore their burdens with such dignity while she seemed like a lyre string pulled too tight, ready to snap at the lightest touch. Some days she cried alone in the woods or temple privy. Sometimes she wept before her sisters, unable to bear the tension and loss alone any longer.
But as the days wore on, their gentle concern began to drive the terror and pain to bay.
Davia’s relationship with the Maiden-Sister was likewise strong and blooming. Lilianna had been kind but firm with her, always willing to explain some custom or vagary. Moreover, she had become a mentor and friend, inviting the younger girl to her chamber to talk.
Her studies were a wonder to her. Knowledge came as through a dream. Davia learned that it was so for the others as well. Each time their mentor would ask a question about a leaf or root, bird or beast, the girls realized they already knew the answer, no matter how obscure. A gift of the Maiden, their mentor had explained, one of many.
Each day spent with her sisters was a series of revelations great and small. They had explored the caves below the temple and marveled at glowing moss and glass-clear crystal spires. They had traversed every acre of forest for a mile around, learning its secrets. They had read to each other from old books to learn new prayers and experience the lives of those who had gone before. Davia was pleased to find she could read them without tutelage, and soon picked the tongue up as well.
***
The rangers had meanwhile hovered like moths in the shadows at her back. They alternated duties, one always near the postulants, and the other keeping an eye on the inn.
The ten Archanians had expanded to fill all the rooms at the Ranger’s Rest, but had caused no harm as the days of Janeia wore on.
Few locals visited Tuomas without real business. Drinking was not a popular past time in Matharden, and for once, he was glad of it. Those who did drop in, however, received the subtle indication of body language that let them know the score. Tuomas would wave to greet his visitors with his left hand, and each retired ranger knew just what it meant. The other villagers may have thought it odd, but all knew to expect peculiarities of rangers. Too much exposure to forest spirits disjointed the mind.
The rangers themselves, of whom there were eight in Matharden, knew better. They merely had difficulty relinquishing their very different way of life.
One of them, a forester and bee-keeper had taken to leading some of the mercenaries out on hunting expeditions. The Archanians were glad of the distraction and happy to pay for the privilege. Thus they unwittingly colluded with the retired rangers, providing intelligence to Torchael in a thousand tiny ways. The forester would lead them from the inn to the south one day and the east the next, until all his compatriots had seen the enemy, watched them walk, cataloged their armament. He told them names of places like Three Toad Glade and the Bean-sidhe Bridge. He led them into conversation about their company and those who hired them.
And whatever he learned was shared with the others, until Torchael and the rest knew which mercenary was a coward and which had a bad knee.
As the twenty-ninth day of Janeia dawned, Tochael roused his apprentice from sleep. The boy rose, took in their quiet, misty camp, and stretched.
“It comes, boy. The Archanians have waited patiently for an opportunity. We cannot prevent it any longer.”
“What chance do they hang on?” Kestyrn asked.
“They wait for the girl to leave the woods.”
The apprentice nodded. “And she has to, doesn’t she?”
“Aye, she does.”
“Samhain,” the boy said.
“Just so. You know what will happen. The Crone Priestess will die tomorrow night, the Mother will take her place.”
Kestyrn nodded again. “And the Maiden hers, which is when the postulants become full Maiden-Sisters, yes?”
“Just so. I am sure the Archanians would try to interrupt the ceremony if we let them, which is why I will allow Lilianna to take the girls into the village today.”
“So the mercenaries can get at them before the ceremony, tip their hand?”
“Right again, lad. And they’re not just mercenaries. The woman in red leather may be, but the priest and the paladin are anything but. They’re dedicated, determined, and backed by holy might.”
“I don’t understand how.”
“Nor I, but the gods have their own business beyond the River of Worlds. We can’t concern ourselves with it. We have to focus on what we can do. The men in the village are ready. They will say nothing to Davia–nor will you–but they’re watching and prepared. We will ourselves stay near the temple today.”
“Shouldn’t we be in the village?”
“No.”
“But the farther away we are, the longer it will take to get to the priestesses! We musn’t let those Islanders get to them!”
“Oh, but we must.”
“Torchael, I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” the master said with a shrug. “But we act on the Crone’s advice. It would be foolish to do otherwise.”
“But–”
“Lad, listen. This is a matter of faith. Hold yours tight and trust in the will of the gods. Soon enough, the time will come to put strength, sinew, and steel to the test. Now, let’s clean this place up and get ready for trouble.”
The apprentice stretched once more, and took up his blankets.
***
At the temple, the postulants gathered for archery practice in a light rain. The wind was down, so Lilianna had insisted the training commence.
“Get those bows strung, now,” she instructed them. “We must hurry.”
Davia bent the wood and bone bow across her hip and slid the loop into place. She was worried.
Lining up with the others, they took aim at a row of targets set against the perimeter wall.
“Good stances. Iseabheal, lift your elbow. Good. Mairi, on your mark.”
A few long seconds passed, until Mairi whispered a prayer. “Maidenheart, I call on thee. Guide our arrows to your mark.”
All three girls loosed as one, and two arrows struck home. Davia’s flew wide to the left and snapped against the stone wall.
“Ready,” Lilianna instructed, and each girl drew another arrow, nocked it into place and took aim. Mairi was first to draw the line, by a breath. Davia steadied her arm last.
“Your mark,” Lilianna said again.
Mairi repeated her prayer, and they fired. Again, an arrow missed the mark.
“Davia, come here.” The Archanian girl went to stand under the great oak with her mentor. “Mairi, Iseabheal, go on.”
The Maiden-Sister waited a moment, hung on a long breath. “What is the matter, child?”
Davia shook her head; black hair stuck wetly to her cheeks. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think me likely to believe that?”
“I misspoke,” the girl answered with a sharp and sudden smile. “I cannot say which of my troubles is shaking my arm.”
Lilianna stifled a laugh and made pretense of a scowl. “We are going into Matharden after this. You have seen no one outside the temple in a month’s time. Do you suppose that might be heavy on your head?”
“Yes, I suppose it is.”
“What about it worries you?”
The girl sighed, willing some of her frustration away with her breath. “Everything?” She shook her head again. “I am sure that woman is out there, for a place to begin.”
“That woman? The inquisitor?”
“Yes.”
“She will not be alone, either.”
“I know. I know it in the pit of my stomach. But there’s so much mor
e than my guts to worry over!”
“Many things. But we will make the most of it, with goddess’s grace.”
“Will we? What if we don’t? I know what that woman can do. Worse yet, the church is capable of horrors beyond the grasp of my humanity.” She went on, suddenly hurried. “I just know something terrible is going to happen! Something deadly. And I know it will be my fault.”
Lilianna began to speak.
“I was standing there,” Davia cut her off. “I was checking my feet, and feeling my hips, and I drew, and I suddenly thought, ‘what if I missed in battle?’ What if I am sinning? And what if the gods–who cares which?–punish not just me, but others for it?
“Them?” Davia asked, pointing to her sisters.
“You?” Tears slipped from her eyes.
Lilianna took her by the shoulder, pulled the girl into her breast. “Shhh. Hush, now. I think my studies in Matha may provide a bridge between your understanding and the reality.
“You’re Archanian, yes? Settled so many, many moons ago by people from Gracia. ‘Sin.’ That’s a borrowed word, you know. It means something very different in the original language.”
Davia straightened herself, and her mentor stepped back. “What does it mean?” the girl asked.
Lilianna slipped an arrow from her quiver.
“To miss your mark,” she said, tapping the slim shaft against her palm. “It means for an archer to fail, nothing more.”
“But, in Archanian–”
“Yes, I know your language almost as well as my own. It means to act against the gods. But take heed: we have no sin here. We have mistakes and we have immorality. We have human nature and lives that are sometimes difficult. But we can do nothing to offend the gods, child. Our gods have handed down no laws, only ways. They’ve given us no ultimatum. We are hardly ‘born of the darkness,’ as the followers of Kruss believe.”
“But what if I am? My whole family is dead! It’s like a curse to live and run and know they will find you again! What is so very wrong with me?”
“Take up your bow,” Lilianna said, kissing the flat of the arrowhead and handing it to her pupil. “Come with me over here, that’s good. Take your aim, sister.”
For the briefest moment, Davia resisted. She did not see the point until noticing the other postulants looking across the open plaza. Lilianna had led her farther away from the targets, a dozen yards or more beyond the others. Suddenly, Davia drew back her bowstring and took aim.
Lilianna stepped between the postulant and the target. “Do not move,” she said, smiling down the arrow. “Close your eyes, and see not the target, but the stag. He is a great old beast, noble and wild and glorious. He is the strength in you, and in striking, you two become one. He does not die, but passes through the veil and back into you. He becomes you.”
“Open your eyes,” she said.” When Davia did, their gazes locked. “There is no sin,” Lilianna declared quietly, stepping aside.
“On your mark, Davia.”
At once, the arrow flew, somehow alive; more than an arrow. It struck the bull’s eye and clacked clearly against the wall behind it. Mairi gasped loud enough to be heard from afar.
“You see?” Lilianna asked.
“I see.”
CHAPTER SIX
The village was a beatific place, charming even in the downpour which had erupted from drizzle as the postulants finished their archery practice.
The girls followed their mentor from home to home, each bearing a little cauldron of holy water.
Matharden was supported by shared garden plots and three smallish fields. One villager tended a few cows, and another had swine. The whole arrangement, gathered ‘round the Market Green, was bounded by the forest. The High Road, which passed along the Green running north and south, was cobbled, but the rest of the roads were mere tracks, and the priestess and postulants walked along in wet grass to keep the mud from their thin shoes.
Arriving sodden at each home, they were welcomed in. Offers of food and drink were ubiquitous, as were welcoming smiles and cheery fires. Blessings were said over each hearth and threshold and the well’s holy water sprinkled into cauldrons and along window sills. A few villagers were sick or elderly, and the four priestesses helped where they could, offering as much aid in cooking and cleaning as in curing.
They hammered nails into sagging shutters, retrieved supplies from neighbors and the temple, and chatted over tea or caffe or broth. Every villager was interested in the three postulants. The dusky southern jewel fascinated them.
Davia was unused to such attention, but responded with grace, sharing the happier moments of her story and the wonders of her homeland. She often asked Iseabheal questions to divert attention to a more welcoming source, and the Mathean blonde was happy to oblige with news from the capital and tall tales of her well-to-do merchant family.
Leaving the last little cottage on their tour, at the northern reaches of the settlement, Davia cried out in terror.
Standing just down the High Road, between the priestesses and their sanctuary, stood a trio of Crimson Band soldiers. Their heads snapped toward the sound, and they too cried out. Theirs was a call to arms, however.
“We’ve found her!” the sergeant shouted with all his breath.
“So you have,” Lilianna replied, walking toward them. “To what purpose, one wonders.”
“She is to be returned to her homeland and punished as befits a heretic.”
“But she is no heretic,” the priestess explained, coming to stand before the armed men without fear, though she bore only a silvered dagger and faith. “She is a worshipful member of the Church of Morgaine, here in the Kingdom of Marien, where you hold no power to judge.”
“It is not my wish, but theirs,” the swarthy mercenary replied, nodding to the thin strip of forest beyond the north field as Donaro and Nicoletta emerged.
Davia, who stood near the cottage with the others, began to panic. She looked about for an escape route, desperation plain in her eyes.
“Calm yourself,” Iseabheal told her. “You are as safe now as you have ever been.”
The Archanian girl’s eyes shot to Mairi, who nodded. “We are guarded.”
Relaxing ever so slightly, Davia shrunk into the cottage’s overhanging thatch. When the door opened beside her, she reflexively drew her dagger.
“Easy,” Mairi cautioned.
Kohn, the resident and local bowyer and fletcher, stepped out with bow in hand.
“What’s all this, then?” he asked the postulants.
Iseabheal filled him in as the Archanians approached the road. The bowyer slipped an arrow from the thatch of his roof and nocked it, but did not raise the bow.
Behind the cottage, the rangers likewise prepared for battle. Stepping silently from the wood line, they took position behind two of the bowyer’s coppices, readied their bows, and drew. Breathing evenly, they held their aim on the Archanians. As agreed, the master targeted the Priest, and his student the Inquisitor.
Kestyrn battled his heart. It threatened to pound out of his chest and boom like a drum to alert his foes. He was furious with the foreigners, who seemed to think they could simply invade his land and do as they liked. Worse yet, they intended to kill a young girl, a sweet and beautiful creature, who had done them no more harm than believing differently. When the Priest spoke, he calmed himself enough to hear.
“You will hand Davia Mollari over to us,” he said with a hard-set jaw.
Lilianna took them in. Three soldiers, one of them a commander, well-armed and armored. The priest, a towering man bedecked in gold and arrogance. The woman seemed more like an assassin than a mercenary, and stood with her right hand on the pommel of a long, sleek blade.
“We will not,” she answered simply.
“Do not resist the will of Kruss, pagan. We are his soldiers on this divine mission.”
“As we serve our gods,” Lilianna said calmly.
“Your gods are false, woman.”
He tugged at the strap of his Gracian helm and drew his morning star. “The truth of it will be evident soon enough.”
“Hold your arm, Archanian,” Lilianna said, “lest you bear your folly unto death.”
Donaro stepped forward, unslinging his shield. Nicoletta moved to the side, drawing her sword, but motioning her men to hold their ground. The priest stepped forward again with the great shield close to his chest. Lilianna held her ground when the next step put him upon her, the shield pressing against her bosom.
“Turn away now,” she whispered.
The priest leaned forward, forcing the Maiden-Sister off balance. She stepped once, lowered her hips and put her open palm against the shield.
“Let us hear the voice of Aranda,” she called in a loud, clear voice as the priest raised his weapon.
The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Lances of earth erupted from the road, carrying heavy cobblestones into the shield and the bodies of the mercenaries. Nicoletta dove away and came up unscathed as Donaro reeled backward three steps before regaining his balance.
“You are rather worse off now than you were a heartbeat ago,” the Maiden-Sister declared loudly. Puncuating her words, three arrows flew in quick succession into the shield, all striking within twelve inches of the priest’s face.
Behind him, the mercenaries groaned and struggled to their feet.
“No,” Davia whispered under the bowyer’s eve as he nocked another arrow. “No, no, no.”
“All will be well,” Mairi told her quietly.
“It will,” came a voice from behind them, around the corner of the house. “Come with me, all of you,” Kestyrn said, offering his hand to the quivering Davia.
“But–”
“No buts, Davia,” Iseabheal said. “The ranger’s right; we should go.”
As they vanished around the cottage and into the woods, Donaro swung his morning star, crying out, “Lord of Light and Fire!” The weapon’s intricately carved head burst into a bright glow, steaming as its heat evaporated raindrops.
Lilianna dodged back, narrowly avoiding the arc of steel and flame. An arrow glanced off the priest’s helm as he stepped in to swing again. Focused on the long-armed priest, Lilianna was unaware of Nicoletta’s oblique advance. The inquisitor stabbed forward with her long blade into the priestess’s side and stepped through to come behind her.
The Canticle of Ordrass: The Wheel of the Year - Samhain Page 3
