by Aderyn Wood
Danael nodded. “How long do you intend to stay with us?”
“For as long as I need to.”
Sidmon leaned over and hissed directly at Danael. “She must give us a number of days, young Khanal. It is the lore.”
Danael gave him a curt nod. “I need a definitive time, Rayna.”
Rayna’s shoulders seemed to slump a little, and Danael felt sorry for her. She was a lonely old woman who simply wanted to spend some time with her family. What did the seer and his father have against that? And what threat could she pose to the clan anyway? This was more time-wasting. “I’m happy to give you time to think on it. If you return to me tomorrow to give your exact answer, that will be acceptable.”
“What are you doing?” his father hissed. “She deserves no such leniency.”
Danael looked at his father. The khanax’s eyes slanted in anger. Petar, Yana and Rayna… why does father begrudge them so? Danael ignored his father and faced Rayna once more. “Now, I am ready to hear your grievance.”
Rayna straightened her shoulders. “My granddaughter tells me the khanax murdered her ducks – three of them, in high summer.”
The khanax grunted.
Danael exhaled a slow breath.
“And the matter has not as yet been addressed by the khanassa,” Rayna continued.
No, mother has been busy with wars.
“This is ludicrous!” The khanax was on his feet. He turned to Danael and pointed at his seat. “Get up. The mote’s over for today.” Burning hostility shone in his father’s glower.
But Danael didn’t move. Something made him stay, to see the end of the mote. Or the end of his father’s limits. “No, Father. I rule today. It is my duty to draw the mote to a close.”
His father’s eyes widened, and his face had turned a dark shade of red.
Danael shifted his gaze from his father and spoke to Rayna, “Go ahead. Tell us all of your grievance.”
Rayna told him the story in full. Of course Danael knew about the ducks. Everyone knew. But to hear the way it was described by Rayna made him realise again how different his father was to his mother. Rayna claimed the khanax had murdered the ducks. And the way she described it, explaining how he’d butchered and bloodied them, and how he’d taken two mother ducks from their nests, it somehow seemed more grievous than it was.
The khanax shifted on his feet and mumbled during Rayna’s speech, whispering words of dissent and claiming she had no right to bring this before the mote.
Danael cleared his throat once Rayna had finished. “Is there something that would appease Yana, if we were to give her recompense?”
Rayna smiled. “It would appease her if two of the longhus’s new litter of piglets were to be given to Yana in recompense.”
“Nonsense,” Danael’s father spat. “One piglet is not the equal of a skinny duck.”
“And there’s one more thing,” Rayna said. “To repay for the cruel and barbarous way in which Yana’s ducks met their death, she wishes for the khanax to herd the piglets to her family’s rondhus himself. He must do it, not a hus-thrall.”
The khanax roared. “Who are you to walk into my hus and put judgement on me! You’re not welcome here, witch. Our gods cursed you an age ago—”
“I’ve never cared for your gods, you pathetic morsel of a—”
“You dare speak to your khan—”
“You’re no khanax to me—”
“Enough!” Danael shouted.
They both fell silent. Danael’s father was breathing heavily, and didn’t shift his gaze from Rayna. Once again Danael sensed the heavy cloud of history between them – a grave enmity. Danael had no knowledge of the specifics. He knew only what everyone else did. Rayna had been cast out years ago due to some wrongdoing, but she was allowed back to visit her family, as long as she agreed to present herself to the longhus and follow the lore of the clan while she stayed. Many also thought she was a witch – a natural born seer gone wild. But, like his mother, Danael refused to believe the hype of gossip until he witnessed evidence for himself.
Danael swallowed a hard lump. “I accept the recompense.”
“Nonsense!” his father bellowed.
“The khanax will herd the piglets to Yana’s family rondhus once they are weened. And that is the end of the matter.”
His father thumped a fist on a table then strode two short steps to stand over Rayna. She was nearly half his height, but she seemed to stand up to him well enough.
“You.” The khanax thrust a pointed finger at Rayna. “You will be gone in three days hence. That is the rule of the khanax.” He turned on his heel and strode out the doors.
Rayna gave Danael a nod before turning and leaving the hall.
Beside him, Danael heard the seer also take his leave with a hushed rustle as his black robes floated over the stone floor.
Danael sat alone on the seat of rule. He ran a hand over his brow and whispered to the goddess, “Aresja, finish this war and send mother back to us.”
Yana
Yana worked the loom, relishing the scent of wool and the lulling rhythm. She’d done well at the morning’s trading. The jars of honey and the duck eggs were valued more highly now wynter rapidly approached. She’d returned to their rondhus with a sack of dyed wool, a leg of goat, apples and a pot with no dents.
At noon, Grama had declared she’d best go and present herself to the khanax, finally, and Yana helped her mother chop the onions and turnips to make a hearty stew with the leg of goat. The stew had bubbled and broiled on their cook fire for the rest of the day. Yana’s mother added her herbs to it, and by dusk, the rondhus was filled with such a tantalising aroma that Yana’s stomach growled without pause.
Yana looked at the cloth so far. She used raw goat’s wool for one weave and a dyed brown for another. The weave was simple but neat. She hummed as she picked up the bobbin. It was good to have Grama home, and Yana was glad the old woman had done the right thing and presented herself to the khanax. Perhaps Grama would be permitted to stay for the entire wynter. A warmth rushed through her, but was quickly marred when she thought of her father, still away warring. Dread filled her as the vision of the knife in his back returned. She set the bobbin down and looked at the door, wishing again he’d walk through it. She’d sent a prayer to all the goddesses and even a message to the wishing star – something she hadn’t done since she was small.
The door opened bringing a rush of cold inside, but no Da. Instead, her grandmother bustled through into the rondhus.
“Yana, where’s your mother?”
Yana frowned, and opened her mouth to answer but her mother stepped down from the loft. “I’m here. Did you present yourself, Ma?”
Grama grabbed her satchel sitting by the door, and flew to the shelves beyond the table, muttering to herself. She handled clay jars and dried herbs, stowing various things in her satchel.
Yana and her mother both raised their eyebrows.
“Mother, what are you doing?”
Grama frowned as she handled a small pouch. “Parsley seeds?”
Ma nodded.
“Good.” Grama put the pouch into her satchel.
“Mother, stop! What are you doing?”
“He’s granted me three days only.” Grama didn’t pause her frantic packing as she spoke. “I’ve barely arrived and he wants me gone.”
“Gone?”
“Well I won’t give him the satisfaction. I’m leaving immediately. There’s much to do. Agh! I thought I saw fennel seeds here.”
“You can’t leave now. It’s dark out, and cold. Mother, please.” Ma put her hand on Grama’s shoulder. “Stay tonight at least. Get some sleep.”
“Please, Grama,” Yana added in Drakian. “Please don’t leave.”
Grama turned to stare at Yana.
Yana flinched. Some grave solemnity lingered in her grandmother’s dark eyes. Something dire weighed her down.
Grama put her satchel on the table and stepped over to Yana. Sh
e reached out and cupped Yana’s chin with her hand. “Yana, my dear, go attend your ducks for a few moments.”
Yana frowned. “I’ve already seen to them.” She switched to her own language.
“Just a few moments, dear. I need to talk with your ma. Here—” She grabbed Yana’s cloak that hung on a hook by the door and wrapped it around Yana’s shoulders.
Yana sighed. “All right.”
Outside, the night was already dark. The moon was a slither, as thin as a fish bone, and black clouds blanketed the stars. Yana stepped heavily toward the duckyard. Each duck resembled a vague white blob in the darkness, but she could see them clearly. Yana’s night vision was about the best in the village Da reckoned. She could walk the thickest part of forest on the darkest night and not trip once.
Just as expected the ducks were sleeping, so Yana closed the gate and passed the next pen where the goat-hus stood. The nanny bleated, and Yana shushed her before stepping out of the animal yard altogether. Night sounds of frogs and the odd hoot from an owl mingled with the gurgling stream.
A soft squawk came from the tree tops. The clouds parted and starlight lit the world a trifle more. Yana took a step forward and peered into the canopy. A black shadow landed on an old tree stump in front of the brambles.
“Rhast?”
Silence.
“Will you come to me the way you fly to Grama?”
Yana could just make out the raven’s outline. He bobbed his head as he quorked softly. She could somehow sense his indecision. “It is perfectly safe. I only want to look at your beautiful feathers.” She sent out a sense of calm to him, just as she did with her ducks and the goats.
The raven bobbed again, then he opened his wings and flew to her.
He was heavier than what she’d expected. Not as heavy as a duck though.
“That's it. I just wanted to look at you. Can I touch your feathers? You're lovely. I wish I could go with you and Grama when you return to the mountains. You might be leaving us soon. But I don't want Grama to go yet.” Her eyes prickled and she blinked the moisture away.
Come.
Yana glanced over her shoulder, but nothing moved. She studied Rhast with narrow eyes. She’d always talked to animals, but never had they talked back. She shook her head. She was prone to imagine things.
“Off you go, Rhast.” She lifted her arm and the bird flew off.
Yana walked back through the enclosure gate and closed it behind her. She stepped along the path through her mother’s garden, now mostly dormant, though a few plants remained heavy with seed. A soft glow emanated from the window shutters. Yana’s attention was drawn to the golden light that cast thin lines on the garden.
She stepped closer and the muted voices of her mother and grandmother permeated from within.
Are they talking about me again?
Yana squinted. A flicker of irritation flared. She wasn’t a baby. Far from it, she was a woman grown now. Why must they keep things from me?
She crept closer and put her ear against the wood of the window shutter.
“… I am not concerned about that now,” Grama was saying.
“Mother, you have insulted the khanax. Making him herd piglets through the village? He’ll be a laughing stock.”
Yana clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. The khanax herding piglets? That’d be a sight.
“What’s done is done. I tell you, there’s something about him. Something not right and I need to learn what. That’s why I need to leave, and the sooner the better. Bah, it’s Yana I want to talk of now, not the slow-witted khanax.”
Yana's eyes widened. Her breath seemed too loud. She crouched lower beneath the shutters.
“It is time for me to take her.”
“No.”
Grama sighed. “Ana, I will stay here tonight, but I must take her in the morn when I leave.”
Yana frowned. A strange knot of worry and excitement began to spin in her stomach.
“No, Mother, not like this. She loves her da and he will want to say goodbye properly. Please not yet.”
“Things have not worked out as I thought they would with Petar being away at battle. I'm sure if he were here he’d agree I need to take her.”
“He would agree to the forest-lore. He has no knowledge of the gift.”
Gift?
“And that is well. It’s best no one knows. I fear there’s one who does though.”
“No,” Ma hissed. “Who?”
“That bloody seer. I don’t like the way he sits and whispers in the khanax’s ear all day.”
Yana didn’t like Sidmon either. His black eyes and lips reminded her of a demon from the wynter altar, or one of the sagas Da liked to tell.
“She has a great gift, I tell you,” Grama continued. “Greater than mine.”
Yana’s eyes widened so much she could feel the cold night air in their corners.
“Mother, I know she has to go with you, but I’m not ready to let her go. Let me talk with Petar when he returns. The next time you visit, I promise she shall leave with you then.”
A pause stretched out and the only thing Yana could hear was her breath and the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
“Very well,” Grama said.
“Now, I’ve prepared us a fine meal. It is a cold night, I think Yana has been out for long enough, could you fetch her, Mother, and I shall serve.”
Yana spun and skipped over the garden bed toward her ducks. The raven now sat on a post, and when she looked at him he squawked a piercing cry and flew up in an arc to the night sky.
Yana’s sleep was a fitful one. Dreams of ravens, ducks and a strange-looking eagle filled the night. And there was a face, but it remained in the shadows, difficult to catch. It could have been Grama, or Ma, but other times it seemed like other women, strangers who shared the dark hair and fine features of her mother and grandmother. In one dream, a woman turned into a raven. Her black hair extending over her body and transforming into silken feathers. The raven flew straight for her, screeching out piercing shrieks that sounded much like, ‘wake, wake, WAKE!’
Yana sat up in her bed with a jolt, her breaths came hard and fast. She shook her head and slowed the rise and fall of her chest. Her rapid heartbeat steadied. The dreams folded back, neatly, to the darkness where they belonged, but the sense of alarm lingered in her blood. Yana got out of bed and pulled back the curtain to her nook to step into the main room. She opened the window shutter a hand’s width. It was raining, and the air was cold, though her skin remained warm, as always. A gloomy rose colour smudged the sky to the east.
Yana remembered the conversation last night between her mother and Grama.
What did she mean by my gift?
Perhaps she should run away with her grama to learn of her secrets. The idea excited and frightened her at once. But how could she leave her ducks? And her beloved parents. Just the thought of leaving them turned her stomach to stone. It’d be hard to leave the village too. She had no true friends here, but the villagers knew and accepted her, and they didn’t tease her anymore. Estr Varg was all she’d ever known.
Yana shook her head again and shrugged the thought off. No, Ma was right. I can’t leave.
Grama! A sudden panic seized her as she wondered if her grandmother had already left them, but her satchel remained sitting on the table, and Yana took a calming breath. She stepped lightly up the steps to the loft and peered over to her parent’s bed. Two bodies lay there. Grama hadn’t woken yet.
Yana went to the cook fire and added a log, then tiptoed to her chest at the foot of her bed to change. A moment later she stood outside and gently closed the rondhus door. She paused, wondering whether she ought to open it again and retrieve her cloak. Her parents were always reminding her to put her cloak on in leaf-fall and wynter, but in truth, Yana hardly felt the cold, even when the snows came. She stepped away from the door. She didn’t need her cloak. She wouldn’t be too long.
The rain had lightened to a
soft drizzle and the rosy glow in the east spread a smidgen more. Darkness still ruled, but it didn’t trouble Yana. She watched her step on the muddy village lanes with ease.
She passed the village circle with the huge oak tree, almost completely bare, and the trading market stalls, all empty now. The night lamps had extinguished long ago thanks to the rain, and with no nightwatch, they’d remained unlit.
At the escarpment, Yana paused to look out at the bay. The smell of fish and salt grew sharper. She had considered going down to the jetty, or up to walk the ramparts, but she decided to turn left and head to the finger instead. The finger was a steep wedge of rock that jutted out over the sea. The clan’s sacrificial altar was located at the very end, the most eastern point. It was a good place to look for incoming boats, and for watching the wide expanse of the sea. It was also a good place to view the sunrise. Her father always came to the water to think. Usually, Yana found herself drawn to the mountain forest when she needed to be by herself. But now, the sea called her.
Yana paused at the sacrificial altar. She stood only long enough to glance at the gruesome engravings of wraiths and demons on the ancient stone – Hador’s creatures. She disliked the animal sacrifices Sidmon performed every wynter to appease the evil ones. But the altar seemed harmless enough now, with only rainwater dripping from its corners, rather than hot, viscose blood. She climbed over the grey rock and stood on the very edge of the finger. Beneath her feet, the cliff dropped off and the waves crashed on the rocks far below. She lifted her eyes to watch the light bloom over the sea. The drizzle has ceased now, but a mist floated out there as the sun drew closer to the horizion. A ruby hue hovered over the water.
And something emerged from the fog.
Yana’s mouth fell open as she took a tentative step toward the edge of rock, squinting to help her focus. Something was out there on the water. A boat. The khanassa returning?
Gradually the shadow grew closer, clearer. Yes, it was a boat, but was it a war boat or fisher boat? It moved silently, as though powered from some otherworldly magic.
