Warrior Witch

by J. D. Lakey

  Megan grabbed her hand before it touched the cloth and smiled. “Cheobawn. This is Mowatt and Distar. They have invited us to dinner.”

  Mowatt smiled down at her. “Ah. Another pirate? Female as well. Will wonders never cease.”

  Both the Elders laughed. Cheobawn frowned. What was so funny? She was going to ask about that and the other things but got distracted by the odd beauty of these people. The only way to tell Mowatt and Distar apart was that one of them had a round, shiny belly, a thing he was proud of, for all the times he ran his hands over it. Something smelled delicious. Che stepped closer. They were shiny because they were covered in nut-oil. Like all the other males standing around them, they wore there hair short, shorter even than a riverman. Their oily hair bristled from their skulls, the bronze skin underneath gleaming in the sunlight.

  Cheobawn had so many questions. She opened her mouth to ask about the significance of his well-oiled belly. Was it a mating ritual? Che never found out. Megan poked her in the ribs to stop her from speaking and pulled her towards the courtyards behind the houses where large clay ovens were being fed wood in preparation for baking bread.

  “Try being a little more polite, would you?” Megan muttered out of the side of her mouth.

  “I have to ask questions. How am I to learn otherwise?” Che pouted, still staring at everything around her.

  “OK, but try being a little more subtle,” Megan sighed in resignation.

  “Why? They were not. I am fairly certain they do not believe our pirate story.”

  “My time with the rivermen has taught me that if you tell a lie often enough, people will believe it,” Megan assured her.

  Cheobawn snorted. She was pretty sure the Elders did not believe a word Tam told them but they were just being polite. They were operating under the assumption that you had to humor crazy people. “You need to be careful. You are starting to sound just like the Lowlanders.”

  Megan laughed and went off to talk cooking with the Mothers.

  Dinner was a simple affair. The main course was fish, floured and deep-fat fried in pig lard. Connor swam back to the boat and brought back his catch. The oldmas thanked him and added his fish to the few fish they had held back from what they had caught that morning. Most of their catch had been sold for coins in Dunauken that morning--the coins bought flour and spices along with much needed fishing supplies, the women explained. The village did not have much but what they had was simple and filling. There was flat-bread, warm from the pot-bellied clay ovens, pickled red-vine fruit, and a drupe whose pit had been removed and the meaty flesh packed in brine. The gardens yielded leafy greens and late-summer gourds sliced thin and seasoned with a spicy pip that had been dried and ground into a powder. Megan helped in the open-air kitchens, asking many questions about the dishes being prepared and the nature of their ingredients while complimenting the women on their skill. Connor hovered nearby, looking like a starving puppy. He became their pet and they plied him with delicacies, much to his delight.

  Bored, Che retreated to the muddy shore where the children played. Shy at first, they came to Che’s side when she put up a fist and asked one of the carrion dragons to settle. She let each child hold it and answered all their questions about the strange little creatures. Red was not the color of the Lowland quills, she explained. It was the color of the deep cedar forests above the Escarpment. The children looked at her with wonder and awe. She must be a very powerful hedge-witch if she could call down the creatures from so high up, they said. Che laughed but said nothing more.

  Tam and Alain sat in conversation with Mowatt and Distar and the rest of the elder males. When the women came out of their kitchens burdened with platters and bowls, Che tossed the carrion dragon into the air and sent it back to the boat.

  The meal was delightful. Chairs and boxes and large chunks of driftwood had been arranged around two fire pits. The men sat apart from the women and children and were served first. Away from the men, the children chattered happily about their day while their mothers talked of cooking and gardening and the storms that swept up off the great shallow sea to the south, flooding the low spots and bringing new growth in the orchards.

  Tam glanced toward his Ears from his place at the men’s fire, a look of apology on his face. Megan waved it away. She was enjoying the company of women for a change.

  “It is good that he worries about your opinion,” said a white-haired oldma named Gurta to Megan, noticing their exchange of looks. “He will be more motivated to please you in your marriage bed.”

  Trying to hide her laugh, Megan broke into a fit of coughing.

  Cheobawn pounded her on her back. “Did you tell them you are married? What did they think? I have been leery of bringing up the nature of Highreaches bonding.”

  Megan got her breath back. “I find it keeps them at bay, letting them think I am already pair-bonded.”

  “Pair? What did you tell them? Who did you choose as your husband?” Che asked, giggling.

  “Tam, of course,” she sniffed regally. “He is the only one that seems old enough.”

  “Your time will come, little one,” Gurta said, her smile folded deep into the wrinkles around her eyes. She patted Cheobawn on the knee. “Never fear. There are plenty of single men in this village. Virile and strong and anxious to please.” She went on to describe the attributes of every single boy in the village.

  Che stared at the old woman, horrified.

  Megan laughed. “You should see your face,” she whispered in her ear. “Smile and thank her for the advice. It is the only way to get this to stop.”

  After the plates were cleared away, the men pulled pipes out of their waist pouches and smoked. Tam sneezed when they offered one to him, but he accepted. He took a deep drag and managed not to cough. The old men laughed as his face turned red.

  “Oh-oh,” Cheobawn said, getting a whiff of the smoke.

  “What?” asked Megan. “What is wrong?”

  “The weed. It is a Lowland version of Temple smoke. Not as potent but narcotic all the same.”

  Megan made to rise. Che stopped her. “We need to warn them,” the elder Ear insisted.

  “Why? We are safe. Let them have fun for one night,” Cheobawn said with a smile. “We are surrounded by a village of Elders who can protect us from any small threat.”

  Megan looked up at the sky overhead. “Maybe, but the lack of dome makes me cautious.”

  “I know,” Che nodded. “Think of the sky as one huge dome. That helps a little.”

  “Does it?” Megan snorted, amused. “Now my head is telling me that I am stuck in a dome full of Lowlanders and monster lizards. You are not helping.”

  Cheobawn laughed. “I felt the same way when I first came to Dunauken. The brain gets used to the infinite sky after a while.”

  The men sat and smoked long after the dishes were done and the children put to bed. Megan and Che sat by the women’s fire and sipped on thimble-sized portions of berry brandy with the old women as they talked about healing herbs and the best recipe for curing the seasonal run of a fish they called deens.

  The air had grown cool when Connor final pulled himself away from the men. He settled next to Che on a piece of driftwood with a contented sigh.

  “We are going hunting tomorrow,” Connor said. He had a delighted grin on his face.

  “We are?” She found herself matching Connor’s grin. Bloody mayhem sounded like fun. “What is on the menu?”

  “They have a problem with feral pigs. They get into the orchards and destroy the gardens. Tam has promised to bring back a fat boar. They will supply the weapons. Bow and arrows, mostly, but they have a giant knife called a ma-chett. Alain and I are going to practice with them tonight. We are sleeping on shore so that we can get an early start.”

  The boys stayed up late, smoking and talking hunting tactics with the elders. No one was sober enough to handle weapons. Megan and Cheobawn gave up waiting and climbed into the l
oft of the odd, ramshackle barn. One of the Mothers had spread a canvas tarp over the drifts of hay.

  Che opened the loft door and the carrion dragons swooped in, chittering amongst themselves as they found places to roost in the rafters. Megan and Che crawled under a fluffy comforter and curled around each other, asleep almost at once. Sometime later, as the moon Eiocha crossed the sky overhead, two precocious little girls climbed up the ladder, ignored the soft scolding of the scarlet lizards, and crawled under the blanket, to snuggle against the two Little Mothers. Che opened one eye and snorted in amusement. They had made friends already. Megan hugged one and smiled over her dark curls at Cheobawn. “I like this,” she whispered. “It has been months since I hugged a wee one. The Lowlander mothers do not bring their children down to the river for fear of the rough men.”

  Che put out a hand and touched her heartsister’s arm. “Woman and children. They are scarce among the rivermen. It is a harsh life and the women are kept segregated from it. I’ll bet half the pirates are women who have grown tired of men keeping all the fun to themselves.”

  Megan laughed and closed her eyes. “Very likely,” she sighed.

  Chapter 8

  Preparation for the hunt began at dawn. Breakfast was stale bread dunked in hot tea. Despite the cool air, the villagers wore only loin clothes and breast bands. The precious printed linen outer garments stayed home, far from the blood and gore of a pig hunt. The woman braided their loose locks and coiled that plait around the tops of their heads while the men were freshly oiled. Was it a form of protection, this oil?

  Tam handed out the ma-chetts to his Pack. These intimidating instruments were primitively forged long knives, the heavy steel making them oddly balanced. Cheobawn liked their length. They were like the short sticks she was expert at. She swung at a piece of driftwood and discovered it was honed with a deadly edge. Grinning, Cheobawn spun it around on her palm, trying to get a sense of its balance. It wobbled until she found its center of gravity, far up the blade close to the hilt. Unconventional but manageable. She wrapped her fist around the rope-twined handle and did a few short stick maneuvers, the sharp blade whistling around her body mere inches from her skin. Not a weapon you could carry thoughtlessly she thought. Easy to forget the whole length was a blade. She twirled it around two fingers and then stepped deep into a throw that sent it spinning end over end to bury its tip in one of the posts holding up the drying netting. The scarlet lizards, perched upon the eaves of the huts, chirped in admiration. Cheobawn grimaced. The throw had been pure luck. It could have just as easily hit butt-first and bounced away. Che went to retrieve the blade. Yanking it out, she turned to find the whole village staring at her.

  “What? Did I do something wrong?”

  Tam smiled. “No. I think you surprised everyone. We had forgotten how good you are with the short stick.”

  She shook her head. “This is not a weapon. It is a tool—a glorified ax at best. The throw was sloppy and foolish. Don’t admire what was merest Luck. I will try to do better next time.”

  The elders shook their heads in wonder, suddenly more at ease with inviting a group of children claiming to be pirates along on a hunt.

  According to Mowatt, the feral pigs had a favorite resting place—a dust bath dugout in the bush-land beyond the orchards. The children were not allowed to go outside the fence-lines because the boars were dangerous, their tusks lethal. But there were other more dangerous things lurking out in the wild.

  Tam pulled Blackwind Pack aside.

  “Mowatt warned us of something called Outlaws. Men of questionable character who lay in wait in the scrub oak forest beyond the orchards. The elders warned us not to let our women stray too far from our eyesight.”

  “Your women,” sniffed Megan, amused at the insult.

  “Outlaw. Is that like a pirate? A land pirate?” asked Che. “The one pirate I met was not so much lawless as desperate.”

  “Desperation drives men to the limits of themselves,” Connor said. “Do not discount how dangerous they can be.”

  Che looked at him, knowing he was talking about himself. Mora had played on his desperation and nearly destroyed Blackwind Pack not too long ago. It was a testament to the power of Connor’s heart that he stood here today. She nodded and looked toward the west. After a moment, she grimaced. “I have a ton of angry pig flesh between us and any other threat. It is hard to see around it to find these outlaws.”

  “We just have to be extra careful,” Megan said, settling her ma-chett deeper into its sheath on her hip. Cheobawn watched her. Self-assured confidence exuded from every pore of the tall Mother. It was not a bad thing but Cheobawn felt a wave of homesickness wash over her. She had missed her old life and wished Blackwind Pack to come to her, but what had come down the river was something new. Che shook that thought out of her head. It was a small thought unworthy of a warrior.

  A well-beaten path cut through the center of the garden plots and orchard groves. At the gate in the wire fence that led out into the wilderness of scrub, Tam stopped the villagers to re-organize their march. He insisted that Blackwind Pack take the lead. Content to let someone else take the brunt of the risk, the elder Fathers argued politely and then agreed, falling in behind them.

  It was late summer and the rains had not fallen in days so their feet threw up dust with every step, soon coating their legs from knee down to toes. Connor led the way, Tam following. Megan and Che were not far behind, the girls checking the ambient as they hiked. Alain took the tail position, watching his Pack as much as he watched the villagers who followed. Che sent the carrion dragons up overhead, to spiral in slow, lazy circles above the hunting ground.

  Beyond the well-manicured orchards and the sturdy fences made of metal mesh, a dense undergrowth of scrub oak and stands of brittle whip trees grew. The path turned serpentine, wending its way around the base of the stunted trees. Blackwind soon lost sight of the last villager, trusting that everyone was watching those closest for the signs of danger. When Connor could no longer see Alain around the bends in the trail the Pack started using the clicking sounds of Battle Trail to stay in contact as they spread out. The two Ears had different jobs. Cheobawn kept Connor on the track of the pig herd while Megan informed those behind her of the status of the hunt and the location of the leaders.. The deeper into the brush they went, the more Megan looked worried. Finally, she signaled for a stop and pulled Che aside.

  “These pigs are not like the grunters that the domes hunt. Nor have they been altered to be docile for domestic use by the Makers of the Living Thread. They are the non-native pigs brought by the first human colonists and they have had two thousand years to adapt to this new life. They have done so with amazing success. Do you not feel what we are walking into?”

  Che had been scanning the bush in wide, unfocused swaths—the only way to track a hidden herd. She pulled her awareness back and then found the spore of the most dangerous individual pig. Half the size of a grunter but still the weight of three good sized humans, it was male. She could taste the mass of him, the indomitable will in his heart, feel the long, sharp tusks that grew up out of the lower jaw—unlike a grunter’s tusks which grew down from the upper jaw. This male had honed his weapons, grinding the tips to points by jousting with boulders and trees. Its tiny brain knew only simple desires. Eat, mate, and kill all rivals. This was his harem they were hunting, and he would protect it against all comers.

  Cheobawn did not want to take on the male. It would be foolhardy, here in the scrub oak with no good place to get up off the ground and out of the way. Cheobawn blinked and looked up into her heartsister’s eyes with a big smile on her face. “Oooh, there are babies. Suckling pig, Megan. How long has it been since we have had suckling pig? What if I draw the male off while you take the rest of the party and go get us a half-dozen babies for dinner?”

  Megan looked interested and worried all at the same time. She flashed a fingersign at Tam.

  Tam clicked at Con
nor before he turned back to join the girls. Alain eased up beside them followed closely by Mowatt and Distar. Megan repeated their plan. Going after the piglets seemed like a good idea, everyone agreed. Che stooped and began drawing in the dust. “This is us. The male is here. The females are scattered throughout here. The mother with her babies, here. Encircle the mothers to keep her from running off. The babies will be vulnerable to arrows. Kill as many of the babies as you can, grab them and retreat while I keep the male distracted.”

  “This is a foolish plan,” protested Distar. “You cannot send this child to take on a full-grown male razorback by herself.”

  “She is the most powerful witch the Highreaches has ever produced. I think she can handle one paltry pig,” Tam said. “And I will be by her side to see that she does not come to harm.”

  “A witch?” Mowatt asked, his eyes gone wide.

  “From above the Escarpment?” said Distar.

  It felt like Tam was ripping the veils off her head. Che felt the panic begin to squeeze around her heart as she stared at Tam. Why was he telling them her secrets?

  He met her eyes. “What? I am tired of hiding. Let’s make truth our armor and our weapon.”