by S E Wendel
Ennis’s face shone warmly in the firelight as she looked down upon her tiny adversary, adeptly avoiding each of his clumsy attacks. Twirling out of the way, she let their wooden swords clash and declared, “You dare challenge me, the fearsome Swordswoman of the North?”
Giggling, Kellen thrust again, and she darted away with grace Manek had scarcely seen in swordplay. Her style was poised and nimble, her stance airy and tactful. It was a style he’d only witnessed in Highcrest.
Swiping at her leg, Kellen only glanced her calf, but Ennis acted as if it was the hammer stroke. Collapsing, she declared, “How could anyone hope to defeat such a valiant swordsman?” before dying in dramatic fashion, hand on her forehead.
Kenna clapped and gushed as Kellen beamed.
Ennis stood, patting off her dress, and smiled. “You, sir,” she said to Taryn as he took another step into the house, “have the makings of a fine swordsman here.”
“A swordsman son for a swordsmith father!”
Taryn scooped up his boy and swung him about, revealing Manek still standing just a step inside the front door. He stiffened, feeling he was intruding.
Kenna’s warm smile reminded him to breathe again as he took another step in. He was determined to look anywhere but at Ennis.
“Well now,” said Kenna, “this is a surprise. I didn’t think you had time anymore for neighborly visits!”
“You and Taryn are always the exception,” Manek said.
Kenna looked over her shoulder at Taryn with a smirk. “Always knows what to say, this one.” Returning her gaze to Manek, she asked, “What brings you to our door?”
“Simply to see your beautiful face.”
“Oh bah,” scoffed Kenna with a wave of her hand. “You’ve come to talk swords. Don’t deny it.”
“What else could there be to talk about?” Taryn joked.
As Kenna turned to swat her husband, Manek finally dared a glance at the real reason he’d come. Ennis met his gaze. She stood stiff too, both of them awkwardly unaware of what to do with their arms.
Walking slowly around the table, Manek settled on placing his hands behind his back. Clearing his throat, he asked Ennis, “How are you?”
Her brows, dark and angular, arched up. “Fine.”
He bit his cheek, his heartbeat feeling irregular. He hoped his face didn’t look too panicked.
“You know Taryn and Kenna too, then?” she asked.
“Yes. How did you meet Kenna?”
“I delivered medicine for Kellen. Kenna invited me in like I was an old friend, like I was…” She looked down at her hands. “She was very kind.”
“They’re fine people. Though,” he chuckled, “giving Kenna secrets to keep is a dangerous gamble.”
She smiled, her face transformed, into something bright and warm. Manek swallowed hard.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” His voice was gruff even to his own ears.
“In Highcrest, most highborn women are taught the sword. Though,” her eyes crinkled at the edges, her face softened by a memory, “I daresay I had the best teacher.” Her eyes travelled to the belt pulled around his hips. “Would you…may I…?”
He didn’t think twice about pulling Ehman Courtnay’s fine blade from its leather case to give to his daughter.
“My now,” said Kenna on an exhale.
Ennis gripped the golden hilt tightly in her hands, fondly looking over the glinting steel as if it were an old friend.
“My father would always say Highcrest was forged with this sword. Our glory was hammered into its folds. So long as a Courtnay held it, we could never be…” She bit her cheek, eyes darkening. She looked back at Manek and handed it to him.
Her shoulders were taut, her face perturbed as he slid the sword back into its sheath. He opened his mouth to say something, but—
“I have to make something even better than that. Else I can’t hold my head high in this town,” said Taryn with a sigh.
“You make very good blades, my friend,” said Manek, a little relieved to turn away.
“Yes, but they could be better. I confess, they know something up north I don’t.”
“I believe your kiln is too small.”
All eyes turned to look at Ennis and she gazed back nonplussed, blinking into the silence.
“You’re a swordsmith, milady?” Taryn asked in mock surprise.
“No,” she admitted with a rueful smirk, “however, I’m from this north you speak of. And I say your kiln’s too small. The fire must be hotter and the steel better.”
Taryn frowned, almost affronted. “How now?”
Walking over to him, the bearish swordsmith and the highborn lady put their heads together over one of his swords, discussing flaws and improvements. In her opinion, a finer steel needed to be heated to a higher temperature and put through at least two more rounds of firing and cooling before shaping could begin.
“That will give you the flexibility of a Highland sword, and its strength.”
Manek watched as Ennis came alive, discussing something dear to her. Knowledge poured from her freely, and Manek listened just as keenly as Taryn. And as he listened, he thought of something he hadn’t considered before.
In Ennis’s head were centuries of knowledge, knowledge that could now be put to use in the Lowlands. She could be exactly what he needed. But she had to hate him for what he’d done; he knew he did. Why would she help him?
He was so lost in these thoughts that he barely heard Ennis promise to advise Taryn after he tested her initial suggestions. He almost missed her saying her goodbyes, taking her leave.
Taking a step towards the door himself, Manek looked at Taryn and Kenna with what he hoped was a convincing smile. “I’ll be going too, then.” He meant to follow her out, to catch her before she got back to the Haven, to say something he should have already.
Kenna stopped him with, “Manek.”
He turned back to see her giving him a pointed look, an eyebrow cocked.
“You be good to her.”
Unable to hide his surprise, he bowed his head to her and took his leave.
Ennis hadn’t gotten far down the road, hadn’t even left the square. Dashing after her, he touched a hand to her shoulder. She jumped, making him wince.
Giving him a fierce look, she took a step back, her hand over her heart. She pursed her lips, wary eyes narrowed.
For a horrible moment, he could only stammer. “I…I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the part I played. I’m sorry for what’s happened to you. I-I…” There was so much he was sorry for in the past years of his life, so much he could never atone for.
She only stared as his words hung between them.
“You aren’t as awful as I thought you’d be,” she said slowly.
He held his breath.
“It’s not you I blame.” Her face hardened once more as she said with bared teeth, “And should I get the chance, I’d gladly relieve Larn of his head.”
Leaning in close so that only she’d hear, he said, “That makes two of us.”
Seventeen
Though the mortals suffered greatly at the hand of the Deceiver, though violence consumed their hearts and sickness ate their flesh, Mithria would not abandon them. She coaxed from the earth witch hazel, willows, rosehip, and many other plants. These she gifted to the humans and, with Ceralia’s help, showed them how to soothe their wounds.
—Mithria’s Gift
“Lord Manek is always bringing back the nicest ladies for this Haven.” Lora smiled, blushing, as she tied off the ends of the bandage into a knot. Satisfied with her work, she looked up at her patient, a young farrier with hair the color of straw and a regrettable habit of getting kicked by horses.
“You’ll heal up perfectly,” she said, straightening, “but I’m afraid nailing on shoes is out of the question.”
“I’ll have to manage, then.”
“Yes, you’ll have to manage to rest.”
“If it’s a Sisterly order, then I suppose my
father can’t argue.”
“Well,” said Lora with a sly grin, “I’m not a Sister yet. But your father doesn’t need to know.”
Grinning ear to ear, the farrier stood as well, adjusting his arm and shoulder to the feel of the sling. He was tall and gawky, his head bowing down and his shoulders slumping unconsciously because of it. But he was kindly, and Lora liked how the corners of his eyes dimpled when he smiled.
As he walked from the small room to the front door of the Haven, the farrier stole a sidelong glance at Lora.
“Is there anything I can do to repay you? You’ve only to name it.”
Opening the door for him, Lora’s gaze drifted downwards. Perhaps in a different time, a different place, she would have continued flirting, but now…
“Say nothing of it. But if you truly want to, any gift to the Haven is greatly appreciated.”
His grin faltered, hoping for a different answer. But he took what he received with a new grin and bowed his head to her.
“Your name, lady? I-if I may ask, that is…”
“Lora,” she said. She swallowed her family name, and it retreated down her throat, hot and sticky.
“I’m beholden to you, Lora.”
“Take care about the hindquarters,” she said with one last smile, finally putting the closed door between them.
Turning around, she leaned the back of her head against the door with a sigh. She had the worst luck. In Highcrest, it’d been the Courtnay girls who received all the admiration, all the smiles, all the flattering eyes. Lora hadn’t minded much, had known her time would come someday. But now all the men she’d ever known were dead and it didn’t seem right to let her mind wander on a Lowland man, whether he was a soldier or a gangly farrier. It wouldn’t feel right, being courted without her father there to ask suspicious questions.
Lora closed her eyes against a familiar twinge of pain just below her fourth rib. Ennis hadn’t been the only one close to her father. If she tried, she could just feel the scratch of her father’s grizzled beard as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw Renata coming towards her from the bright front hall. She smelled of herbs and candle wax. Her eyes crinkled in a smile as she approached, making Lora’s gut clench. The woman wielded smiles as deftly as Ennis did a sword, and Lora was keen to only ever get Renata’s benevolent one. Those thrown at Ennis made her shudder.
“They’re rather chatty, these Lowland people. You did right—a woman on the path to divine daughterhood must start giving up earthly ties rather than make them.”
Lora nodded. Renata was keen in her faith, if a little overzealous, and while Ennis railed against it, Lora found it reassuring. Not as reassuring as Irina, who’d wholeheartedly forgiven Renata for her part in the conspiracy against Ehman Courtnay. Still, such a force of faith was something to hold onto in troubling times, and Lora was grateful for that if nothing else.
“He was just being nice.”
“Well, there’s nothing amiss with thankful patients—we’re dependent on them,” Renata said with a grin. Lora was a little unnerved by her unwavering gaze, knowing Renata easily read everything on Lora’s face. “Something troubles you. Ennis, perhaps?”
Lora rolled her eyes involuntarily and said with a laugh, “Ennis troubles everyone now and again.” She closed her mouth with a quick and horrified click, ashamed she was so quick to say such a thing.
“Yes,” Renata said slowly, “I’ve found her quite…determined. But I hope she hasn’t pulled you from the path with her.”
“No, Sister. I’m thankful to you and to the Haven. Ennis just doesn’t…express her gratitude the same.”
Renata coughed delicately. “I don’t think she feels any at all.”
“That’s not true, Sister, believe me. She’s strong willed, but she can be sensible. Just give her time. Let her come to you—she’ll understand soon enough.”
“I’ve been patient with her. This Haven is for the daughters of Ceralia, Lora. If she has no intention of becoming one, I—and the Mother, of course—will be very reluctant to see after her any longer.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lora forced a smile. “You shouldn’t worry. Ennis will find her way, in time.”
Renata pursed her lips, unconvinced.
“Perhaps give her tasks,” Lora thought to add. “She’s good with numbers and likes to work. Give her something to fill her days and challenge her mind.” Lora hoped this at least would buy Ennis a bit more time.
Renata nodded slowly, considering. “I’ll think about it. Thank you. And you must forgive me, Lora, for troubling you with this. I just worry over my novices. Ennis is fighting me, fighting the Mother, and I—well…none of that’s your fault, certainly. But as to filling one’s time, I’ve something for you. Come.”
Lora followed the Sister into the sitting room and stopped before the great hearth, warmly crackling, as Renata leaned over an open trunk. It’d once been painted deep crimson and lush green, but the colors had all but faded, the carvings dwindling from lifelike to mere glimpses of time gone by.
From the trunk Renata pulled a stack of misshapen parchment and handed it to her. Lora discovered they were notes on medicine and healing. She smiled as her fingers traced an old but exquisite sketch of an arm and the layers of muscle beneath.
“You have a knack for healing, Lora. We must nurture such a talent.”
Looking up from the gift, Lora turned her smile onto the Sister. In Highcrest, Lora had spent a good deal of time with her mother’s sister. Aunt Sylva had been a skilled midwife and healer, and Lora took such pride in watching her aunt nurse someone back to health or bring new life into the world. She’d started her third, most important year of apprenticeship with her aunt when…
Lora held the texts to her heart. “Thank you, Sister. I promise I’ll study hard.”
“I’m pleased you’re so interested. If you’ve a mind to heal, then I’ll do all in my power to teach you. You’ll be a credit to this Haven, Lora. Here, you can make something of yourself. I know Ennis doesn’t believe this, but there can be a new life for you here. You need only apply yourself. And open yourself to the Mother, of course.”
Eighteen
Ean raged throughout his father’s realm, causing chaos and suffering, and many mortals met their doom. The southern lands dried up into arid plains, the ground breaking into ravines and chasms wherever he stomped his feet. In all her grace, the Mother Ceralia touched an azure foot upon the dying land, and everywhere she stepped springs welled to the surface. Softly she did touch a hand to Ean’s face. “Your unhappiness pains me so, my son,” she said. “I am not your son,” Ean spat. And so not even the Mother could soothe the fire in Ean’s heart, and as he suffers, so too do we mortals.
—from The Sufferings of the Lost Son
“Why is all the bedding upstairs?” Renata looked up from her ledgers. “That’s where it’s kept.”
Ennis scowled. “Yes, but why? Surely it’d be simpler to keep it in the storeroom.”
“There’s no space in the storeroom.”
“We could make room. Move the wash basin out into the front hall—so many use it, we get crammed trying to wash in that tiny room. Move it to make room for the linens and we wouldn’t have to run up and downstairs to—”
“They’re kept there because that’s where they go. That’s the way things have always been.”
“But there’s a better way.”
Looking up at her with exasperation from the table she used as a makeshift desk, Renata folded her hands in front of her. “I put everything in its proper place when I came. It’s worked the years I’ve been here. I asked you to organize, clean the shelves here and there, not turn the Haven upside down.”
Now it was Ennis’s turn to feel the burn of exasperation. Biting her cheek, she left Renata’s room with her skirts swinging behind her. She made for her room.
Lora was in there, looking over a few scraps of parchment that�
��d seen better days. There were sketches of body parts and little lines pointing to different muscles and bones with names at the other end.
Rifling through the beaten trunk, she found the heavy cloak given to her in Highcrest. She’d only blushed a little when she’d hid it from Lora, who’d gathered all the other clothes given to them to return to Manek. She’d had an argument ready—a cloak was the least Manek could give up, considering; keeping his would save the Sisters from having to outfit her with one, and so on. In the end, she’d gotten no questions from Lora, but Renata had looked like she sucked a lemon.
“You’d wear his clothes?” she’d hissed.
“I’d be warm. Sister.”
Pulling it around herself and pushing her arms through the slits, she stood once more, accidentally catching Lora’s gaze.
“I’m going out.”
“Must you?”
“I’ll go mad if I don’t.”
“You’ve finished what Renata asked you to do already?”
Ennis scoffed. “Yes, but there’s no pleasing her.”
Lora opened her mouth to say something else, but Ennis was already from the room before she could utter a syllable.
“Ennis!”
Whole body grimacing, Ennis turned to face Renata’s open threshold. Without looking up from her writing, Renata said, “If you’re going to disobey me, at least make yourself useful. One of the washer women agreed to do some of our clothes in payment—pick them up from her. She’s on the northeast side of town. Red door.”
“Yes, Sister.”
She didn’t enjoy making deliveries or acting as Renata’s errand boy, but at least it got her out of the Haven. The other Sisters whispered about her, that she knew. They wondered where she went, why she went there, and why Manek would talk with her but not the rest of them. If any of them had bothered to ask her to her face, she’d be happy to answer—all but the last, that is. She hadn’t an answer to that.
The day was cloudy and cold, the trees rustling in a strong breeze. It was as if the forest itself shivered. Pulling the cloak closer, she buried her chin in the fur collar. She couldn’t believe how little snow the Lowlands got in winter. Snowfall was replaced with heavy rains from Ceralia, keeping the rolling hills to the east green and the forests to the west lush. By the time she got to the broad red door, the wind had strengthened, tossing the small wisps of hair along her temples about.
