Lightnings Daughter

by Mary H. Herbert

  Thinking of Athlone reminded Gabria of the bundle he had given her. She had not yet opened it.

  Quickly she pul ed the wrapped parcel out of her pile and untied the leather thongs that held it together. Several small items tumbled onto her lap, each one hastily wrapped in large pieces of woolen fabric.

  The young woman was pleased to see that each scrap of fabric was large enough to cut for mittens or to piece together for a small blanket. Best of all, a packet of bone needles was tucked into one of the parcels. Gabria began to unwrap the packages and found a little stone oil lamp, its wick hole plugged with wax to hold the oil, a pair of mittens lined with rabbit fur, a hatchet, and a warm cap.

  Last of all, she found a long, narrow package bound with a golden armband. The band was smal and solid, traced with an interwoven design of fanciful horses. It slipped over her hand and settled comfortably on her wrist. Armbands were a favorite gift among betrothed couples, and Gabria sensed the band was Athlone's way of reassuring her of his love. The thought pleased her.

  Finally she uncovered the narrow package. The gold wool fell away, and a dagger slid into her hand.

  Gabria gasped. The dagger blade was forged from steel, a rare, valuable metal crafted only in the city of Rivenforge in the kingdom of Portane. The handle was braided silver, formed to fit the hand and inset with small rubies and topaz. Red for the color of the cloaks of the Corin clan, gold for the Khulinin.

  Tears formed in Gabria's eyes as she turned the dagger over in her hands. The weapon was a priceless gift given from the heart. Women did not usual y carry such weapons, but she had owned another dagger once. It had been a gift to her father from Lord Savaric, and she had found it in the smoking ruins of her home. It had been her only physical remembrance of her dead father.

  Unfortunately, on that afternoon when she faced Lord Medb in the duel of sorcery, she had transformed her father's dagger into a sword to slay her clan's murderer. The weapon had been destroyed with Medb's body.

  She realized then that Athlone understood how much the old dagger had meant to her. The armband was his gift of love, but the jeweled weapon was his gift of hope that she could build a new life.

  Gabria wiped the tears from her eyes with a scrap of wool and carefully laid the gifts aside. She found her empty sheath, slid the dagger in, and fastened it to her belt. The weight of the weapon felt good on her side. She curled up in her blanket once more and watched the fire die to embers.

  As the coals' glow dimmed, Gabria promised herself that she would endure this exile. She would go back to Khulinin Treld in the spring and do everything in her power to build a good relationship with the clan and with its chieftain. She owed herself nothing less.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gabria did not realize how much the events of the previous summer had drained her emotional y and physically until she had time to relax. After only a few days at the temple, she caught a cold and came down with a fever and racking cough. For days she stayed in the smal temple, curled up on her crude bed, lost on the paths of her thoughts. She had barely enough strength to eat or fetch water and firewood. Nara kept watch over her and waited worriedly for the illness to pass.

  One cold night as Gabria tossed in a feverish, restless doze, she thought she heard the sound of Nara's hooves gal oping up to the temple. There was the soft thud of footfal s, then she sensed another person close by. She struggled to wake until a cool hand soothed her forehead and a familiar voice spoke softly to her. A cup filled with a warm herbal drink was brought to her lips. She drank without opening her eyes and settled down into a peaceful sleep.

  Piers stayed with her through the night and slipped away at dawn, leaving behind a stack of wood, a filled water jug, and a simmering kettle of soup. He did not come back after that night---he did not need to. His herbal drink eased Gabria's symptoms and his brief, comforting presence revived her interest in survival. Gabria was not sure how he'd known of her il ness. She could only thank her goddess that the healer cared enough to risk the visit.

  The food Piers had given Gabria sustained her through the days of her malaise. However, as her il ness eased and she regained her strength, she realized the supply of food was dwindling rapidly. She would need more than a few beans to keep herself alive. One cold, cloudy afternoon she forced herself to take her bow, mount Nara, and hunt in the hil s for meat. To her pleasure, her skil with the bow had not diminished. She brought down a smal deer, and that night she feasted on venison.

  The exercise and the meat were just what she needed, and Gabria felt stronger than she had in days. After that she went out every afternoon to ride Nara, or to hunt, fish, or gather food in the hills.

  Her health and her good spirits returned in ful measure. She was pleased to notice that, as she grew stronger, her intense grief for her family began to ease, taking with it the bitterness and anger that had burned within her during her struggle for revenge. She was left with a growing sense of contentment and release.

  As the last days of autumn passed, Gabria began to enjoy the solitude of the little temple, the peace of her thoughts, and the quiet companionship of the mare. She felt closer to Amara in this place, and each day she knelt by the altar in-the light of the rising sun to give thanks to the Mother Goddess for sustaining her.

  Nara, too, seemed to thrive in the peace of the temple. The foal within her, sired by Athlone's Hunnuli stallion, Boreas, grew steadily and filled out Nara's sides as she grazed contentedly on the dried winter grass of the hills.

  Although no one came to visit them, Gabria often saw Athlone at a distance, keeping a watch on her. His vigilance meant a great deal to Gabria, and she always acknowledged him with a wave.

  The only thing that began to bother Gabria as the time passed was boredom. She spent many hours every day gathering food and turning the stone temple into a more comfortable dwel ing. But there were times when she had nothing to do. Then loneliness would creep in, and she would long for the distractions of a busy treld. She wanted to find something that would keep her busy during those lonely, dull times.

  Then one rainy, cold night she found the answer. An autumn storm had blown in suddenly as Gabria was collecting firewood. By the time she'd made it back to the temple, she was soaking wet and chil ed to the bone. She dumped the wet wood in a corner to dry and quickly laid some kindling in the smal hearth she had built. To her annoyance she realized she had not banked the morning coals, and the fire was dead. Gabria tried to light the kindling with her flint and steel, but her hands were trembling with cold and she could not draw a spark. Her frustration grew with every failed attempt.

  All at once, an idea flashed in her head: she was a magic-wielder. She could use a spell to start a fire. All it would take was a single word.

  Gabria hesitated for just a moment. She had promised the council of chiefs that she would not practice sorcery, and under normal circumstances she would have kept her vow. Now, however, she was banished from the clans and dead in the eyes of her people. What she did during the time of exile was her own concern.

  She spoke the word of her spell, and a warm, cheerful flame leaped out of the pile of kindling.

  Gabria grinned like a mischievous child. At that moment, she decided to use her time to practice her sorcery. She had only learned the basic skills and rules of wielding magic from her teacher, the Woman of the Marsh, and had found little opportunity to use her powers since then.

  Gabria decided to begin her practice by perfecting one spell. After some thought, she chose a spell of transformation. Magic could not be used to create something out of nothing, though it could alter forms or change appearances. Gabria had used a wild version of a transformation spell to transform her father's dagger into a sword during her fight with Medb. That experience had taught her how powerful that enchantment could be.

  When her evening meal was over, Gabria found a pinecone and began to practice changing its shape. Her teacher had stressed that a spell had to be perfectly clear in the magic-wielder's mind o
r disaster could result. Gabria was a little clumsy at first. Her concentration would waver, the image of the spel would not focus in her mind, or she simply did not try hard enough. At those times, the pinecone would warp and twist from the image she had chosen for it. Sometimes she could not make it change at all.

  That night and for many days after, she practiced her spell until she was able to change the pinecone into any shape, size, or color she desired. In the process of her learning, a deep respect and curiosity for the endless powers of magic were awakened in her soul. Delightedly she took the next step in the progression: to transform the essence of an object, not just its appearance, into something different. Once again she chose a pinecone and began to try transforming it into her favorite fruit, a sweetplum.

  *****

  It was a few days before the end of the year when Gabria began to notice the gifts.

  The year, and three months of Gabria's banishment, would end on the night of the winter solstice.

  By clan reckoning the new year always began on the day when the sun resumed its journey back to the north. During the last days of the year, it was customary to present gifts to the clan priests and priestesses as thanks for special blessings that had been received during the year. Women, usually gave gifts to the priestess of Amara in gratitude for a healthy child, a pregnancy, a loving husband, or a fruitful herd. The gifts were small---food or handmade items that were given from the heart. The priestess used these gifts as part of her livelihood.

  One evening Gabria came back from checking her snares and found a bowl of eggs and a beautifully wrought leather belt lying on the threshold of the temple. Curious, she picked them up and looked around. The clearing and the temple were empty. She carried the things into the stone room and laid them on the altar. She could only imagine someone had brought the gifts for the goddess and had been afraid to enter the temple because of her. It's strange, Gabria thought as she cleaned a rabbit, gifts such as these are usually given to the priestess in person, not left in front of the temple.

  To Gabria's surprise more gifts were left by the door the next day while she was gone: a jug of honey, a pair of wool slippers, and a loaf of bread. Gabria gazed hungrily at the honey. She had not had anything sweet in months, but she placed the gifts on the altar by the others and ate her meal of rabbit soup.

  Seeing the gifts gave Gabria an idea. She owed her goddess a huge debt of gratitude for preserving her life and sheltering her these past few months. There was very little she could give as a gift, but as she stared at the pile of furs and skins on her bed, an idea formed in her head.

  The next night was the Night of Ending, the last night of a very eventful year. Snow fell heavily that day, so Gabria spent much of it working on her gift for Amara, cutting pieces of soft leather and stitching them together into the shape of a horse. She worked late into the night to sew a mane and tail, stuff the little body, and color it black with soot from her fire.

  When she was finished she set the horse on the altar and knelt to voice her thanks. It had been a very long year, and she hoped the next one would not be as difficult. As she raised her hopes to Amara, a cold gust of wind swept through the window, setting Gabria's fire leaping. She shivered. Hurriedly she banked her fire and crawled into her warm coverings. At dawn the priestess would be coming to the temple to perform the ceremony of prayers for the new year. Gabria did not want to make the situation uncomfortable, and she planned to be away before daybreak. She fel asleep to the sound of the wind humming around the temple.

  Gabria had only been asleep a few hours when Nara's thoughts brought her bolting awake. Gabria, the priestess comes.

  The sorceress frantically leaped to her feet and grabbed for her boots and cloak. Outside she heard Nara neigh a greeting to the Khulinin priestess and her acolytes. Gabria saw through the window that a faint golden light rimmed the hills to the east and glimmered on the snow that blanketed the ground.

  She stuffed her feet into her boots and shoved her belongings into the corner. She was about to dash out when the priestess and two young women entered the temple.

  The women's eyes widened when they saw Gabria. The priestess's gaze was turned only to the altar and the window facing the rising sun.

  Gabria knew she should slip out now, for most priestesses did not allow the uninitiated to attend this ceremony, let alone a woman under banishment. Yet she hesitated, drawn by the grace and beauty of the priestess at her altar.

  At that moment the priestess, without turning around, said, "Stay."

  The acolytes looked shocked when they realized who she was talking to, but the priestess had already begun the prayers and they did not dare interrupt.

  Gabria was pleased. She pressed back into her corner and knelt as the acolytes knelt.

  Softly at first, like the light that began the morning, the priestess chanted her prayers to Amara the Mother, goddess of love, life, and birth. As the light intensified and the stars dimmed, her chants grew clearer, more joyful. The priestess's green robes glowed in the morning light and swayed gently with her body while she sang. Her long grizzled hair flowed loose to her waist, like a maiden's.

  The fiery rim of the sun edged over the plains, and its pure light poured directly into the stone temple. The priestess's voice rose to a song of greeting, and the acolytes' voices joined hers with triumph.

  Although Gabria did not know the words of the prayers, she felt their meaning sweep through her mind and carry her to the heart of her feelings. As the light of the sun warmed her face, she raised her hands and hummed the tune of the invocation, sending her own thoughts of gratitude to the goddess who nurtured her .

  The prayers came to a last song of hope when the sun parted from the far horizon. Only then did the priestess lower her arms. Standing in the blaze of sunlight, she turned to face the other three women, her wise face still glowing with her joy.

  She gave a slight nod to the sorceress kneeling in a corner lit by the sun.

  "Thank you, sisters, for your help,” she said to the acolytes, then added, "Lady Gabria, Amara shines her light upon you."

  The acolytes gasped, and one said, "Mistress, remember the law." The priestess lifted her hands to the sunlight. "Here in Amara's temple, I am the law. Please go outside and wait,” she told them. "I will join you in a moment." The two women walked out, keeping their gazes firmly on the ground.

  Gabria slowly stood. "Thank you for asking me to stay."

  "I'm pleased you did. This only confirms my belief that you hold the goddess's favor." The priestess paused to study Gabria from head to foot. "You are looking well.”

  "I am feeling fine,” Gabria said eagerly, "although I was ill for a while. It was miserable. I didn't have the strength to leave my bed. I think I remember Piers coming once, but that time is rather blurred." She broke off, and her eyes went to the round window where the light was pouring into the room. "It's strange. It seems more than just a fever was healed within me. I feel as if a great weight has gone from my mind."

  The priestess nodded. "Your experiences last summer would have exhausted a seasoned warrior. I knew you were worn thin when you left the treld. Your voice was full of bitterness and defeat. I do not hear that anymore."

  "I don't feel it. It's ironic. The time I've spent in the temple was supposed to be a punishment.

  Instead, it has been the best healing I could have had.”

  "Lord Athlone wil be pleased to hear that,” the woman said, her eyes were warm with pleasure.

  "He has worried constantly about you and misses you sorely.”

  Gabria smiled to herself. "And I him." She colored slightly and said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to talk so much. It's just nice to see another person."

  "There is no need to apologize. I am glad to listen."

  "Before you go, could you tell me how the clan is faring?"

  The priestess caught the faint note of loneliness in Gabria's voice. "The clan does well. This mild weather has been a blessing. The herds are heal
thy and everyone is keeping busy." She paced to the window and looked out at the snow.

  "I haven't seen much of Lord Athlone lately,” the priestess went on. "He has been working with Lord Koshyn of the Dangari and Lord Sha Umar of the Jehanan to restore clan unity." Her wise face looked troubled. "Lord Medb did more damage than he ever imagined when he tried to conquer the twelve clans. Our people were not meant to be ruled by a single overlord. We're too different from one another. Now the people who sided with Medb are fearful and defensive, the ones who fought against him are angry and resentful, and those who ran are ashamed. Lord Athlone is worried that all of this will tear the clans even further apart. He has been communicating with every chieftain on the plains to help soothe the angry feelings. It has kept him quite busy."

  "I hope they can resolve some of these problems before the clans gather this summer at the Tir Samod,” Gabria said.

  "So do I. We do not need another war,” The priestess stopped as something else occurred to her.

  "There was another piece of news I heard. It's only a rumor, but Branth may be in Pra Desh."

  "Branth!" Gabria spat the name. "That murderer. I had hoped he was dead."

  "Apparently not."

  "Has Athlone said anything about Branth's whereabouts?"

  The priestess replied, "Not that I know of. He might be waiting for more reliable information."

  Gabria shook her head absently and stared at the floor while she pondered the priestess's news.

  After a moment, the priestess went to the altar and studied the gifts lying to the side. A knowing smile touched her mouth. She picked up the little black horse. "Yours?"

  Gabria looked up. "Nara is pregnant."

  "Indeed. Then I shal take this and add the mare to my prayers."

  The sorceress walked over to the altar. "Aren't you going to take the other gifts?"

  "Those, young woman, are for you."