Duality

by Renee Wildes

  “Tegan didn’t choose. She’s just a child.”

  “She must have. She had to. The abyss cannot take. Whatever Jalad offered, she chose to accept.”

  She ground her teeth. “She couldn’t have known.”

  “Nay. They never do.” His face softened. “Mayhaps there shall be a way to bring her back. I have heard stories of banishments that leave a soul intact.”

  “But it’s not right for the Lady to just stand back and let Her world shrink to naught. She could stop it.”

  He shook his head. “Think, Dara. That is what the One Truth does now. Tells folks what they can and cannot do, wear, eat, think and feel. That is slavery.”

  She glanced down at the brand on her arm. “Don’t talk to me about slavery.” Despite her best intentions, she began to shake. “I will make him pay.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “We shall find a way to undo what was done. First we ensure Moira is home safe and the clans gather. Hengist’s folks know to join them there. You and I must head east. My…king must be made aware of the danger. We have powerful mages who can remove the abyss creature so Hengist’s army has a fighting chance.”

  Warmth. Strength. She relaxed, reassured by his touch, the conviction in his voice. She tucked her head under his chin. “Why would the elders interfere? ’Tis dangerous for your kind.” So much fear and hate and prejudice. She stared into the flames.

  “Too long have we been apart. Much loss from separation, much gain by reuniting. The Lady’s followers become fragmented by differences.”

  Hani`ena snorted, folded her long legs and sank to the grass on the other side of the fire.

  “Does everyone agree with reunification?” The beating of his heart in her ear lulled her. Dara yawned so her jaw cracked and looked up into his eyes.

  He shook his head, eyes sad but resolute. “There are reasons we elders stay behind barriers. The old men of the ministry do not handle change well. They shall argue for things to stay the same. But we must change with the times.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Then we all are doomed.”

  ***

  They broke camp early, eager to get started on their journey northward; Loren to find Moira and Trystan, Dara to find a healer, any healer. Seated sideways, Dara concentrated on taking shallow breaths. Despite a fresh black moss binding, she gritted her teeth against the pain as she jarred against Loren. His arms about her waist held her steady against his body. The muscles of his thighs shifted against her backside, sending a strange little dart of yearning deep within. Remembering the heat in his eyes, part anger, part desire, made the blood shimmer in her veins. Every breath he took skittered along her nerve endings until her fingertips tingled. Never had she been so aware of a man afore. It was ever-present, inescapable. She held herself rigid, staying as clear of him as she could get. After hours of fighting the temptation to relax against the heat radiating from his body, a cramp developed in the middle of her back. She was exhausted and cranky.

  They reached the foothills by late afternoon. “This is Badger territory.” Dara felt for the nonexistent amulet. “I wish I had Mag’s amulet so they’d know we belong to Moira. With all the hostilities breaking out, I don’t know how they’ll receive us.”

  “I do not think we shall have to worry about it.” Loren dropped the seeming he traveled with and reverted to his true form, an elder warrior sworn to the Goddess as Lady’s champion.

  He was almost too handsome. The shock of his transformation stole her breath. Those leaf-green eyes shone with every emotion, sometimes with a heat that made her tremble. It was disconcerting. She had to maintain control. She was a warrior, a thinker. This jumbled mess of emotion wasn’t her at all.

  “…they still revere the Lady and are a matriarchal society with ancient guest laws. We shall be safe enough.”

  Lord and Lady, she’d been so wrapped up in her thoughts she hadn’t even realized he’d spoken. Dara pinched herself on the arm. Time to stay in the here-and-now.

  Hani`ena picked her way among the rocks on the trail. She stopped, and her ears pricked forward as she snorted.

  “Someone is just beyond that curve in the road.” Loren looked up into the foliage. “They track us through the trees.”

  Dara tried to straighten. Their ordeal was almost over. Or just begun.

  Loren held his hands out from his sides, palms forward. “We come in peace. My companion requires a healer.”

  A middle-aged woman, weather browned and tough as cured hide, appeared to block their path with a bronze tipped boar spear. A couple of young men guarded her back with spears of their own, but she was their leader. Loren did not assume they were alone because they were all he saw. “I greet the scouts of Badger Clan.”

  The woman’s eyes widened and she bowed low. “Long way from home. We heard it go ill t’ th’ south.”

  He nodded. “We seek to help Moira.”

  “’Tis verra bad. Darkness an’ death spread like a plague.” Her eyes narrowed on Dara. “What o’ yer lady?”

  “She spent time with Jalad. I cannot heal others. Can you help?”

  She nodded. “We’ve healers, aye. Follow me.” She turned and walked down the trail. The young men took up positions behind Hani`ena, guarding their rear flank. They followed along for mayhaps an hour afore turning off onto a camouflaged footpath to their right and continued farther up the mountain to the mouth of a cave. The woman stopped and turned to them. “Ye wait. I’ll be back.” She disappeared into the cave, and Loren eased Dara to the ground afore dismounting himself and loosening Hani`ena’s girth.

  Dara flinched as she leaned against the mare’s warm side, trying to find her balance.

  The scout returned with a white-haired, wrinkled old grandmother of a woman carrying the staff of a shaman. The old woman stared at Dara hard. “I am Agata. In th’ absence o’ our Badger Clan mother Roisin I greet ye, lady-child o’ earth an’ fire. Long’s it been since yer kind walked these lands. Come in. Rest. This place is well protected.” She looked at Hani`ena. “My sister’s grandson has knowledge o’ horses, if ye’d permit? She willna be happy in a dark cave when there’s a fresh spring an’ a small sheltered clearing o’ grass.”

  Loren removed the saddle and packs. Tail flagging, Hani`ena followed a gangly teenaged boy. The shaman helped Dara into the cave while Loren followed. They waited while their eyes adjusted to the lowered light. The entrance tunnel made a sharp left turn, then a right for mayhaps a hundred paces, then another sharp left into an enormous cavern.

  Dara stared. The rock floor was dry and sand-covered, with majestic columns and scattered boulders. Stalactites and stalagmites gave the cave an otherworldly appearance, but Dara knew from her studies with Fanny a dry cave was a dead cave; no stone growth took place. So, sheltered from the outside weather, the interior a constant temperature, ’twas an ideal home for those who dwelled in the mountains. She counted a large central bonfire, with ten smaller fires. Ten families, then.

  The shaman led them to the central fire and helped Dara down into a soft bed of fleeced sheepskins and cured furs. “Rest, lass. I’ll fetch th’ healer.”

  A young woman brought a bucket of water and a dipper. “Fresh spring water. Be ye thirsty?”

  Dara smiled. “Aye, thanks.” She drained the dipper twice and lay back as Loren took his turn.

  “In the name of the Lady, I thank you for your kindness, youngling.” He inclined his head to the Badger woman.

  She blushed and retreated.

  The shaman returned with a middle-aged woman with short, greying brown curls and warm eyes the color of drenieval whiskey. “I’m Orla, lass. I hear ye spent some time wi’ Jalad. I’d like t’ make ye more comfortable.”

  Dara closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Orla knelt by her side and closed her eyes, extending her hands over Dara’s prone body. The warmth of scanning energy was familiar, but Orla’s was green rather than gold.

  “Bruising…broken ribs
…branding…an old sword…burn?” Orla’s eyes snapped open and she regarded Dara with an expression betwixt awe and fear. “Black moss? Iron poisoning?”

  Dara nodded. “I’m a healer also. Like Loren, I can heal myself. But Jalad’s chains were iron, and since then I’ve been unable to do anything,” she told the older woman, holding out her reddened, flaking wrists.

  Orla swallowed hard. “Well, lass, I can heal yer body. But I’m a simple herb-healer. I canna remove th’ iron poisoning. That takes th’ magic o’ a metal mage.”

  “Can you summon one?” Dara tried to temper the rising hope.

  Orla shook her head as she removed the black moss bindings and turned it over to Agata. “’Tis best disposed of by ye. Removing true-iron poisoning is a power beyond th’ world o’ men.” She turned to Loren. “If ye take her home, isna there any there who can help her?”

  “Mayhaps, but metal mages are not common.”

  The shaman Agata nodded. “The spirits o’ th’ forest tell me there be more’n one reason fer yer takin’ her home beyond our borders. We’ve sent a runner t’ Wolf Clan. Moira an’ Trystan shoulda be here by morning.” She placed a hand on Loren’s arm. “Come wi’ me, lad. Ye need a bath an’ meal. Michel canst show ye. Let’s leave Orla work.” She turned to the healer. “I’ll be back t’ assist.” Agata gathered up the black moss, careful to touch the outer binding cloth alone.

  Loren followed Agata away from the central fire.

  Dara bit her lip as she watched his long-legged retreat. A part of her yearned to follow him, an almost physical tug at her heart. She felt dimmed, as if he lit a torch within her that only burned in his presence. Why him? Why now?

  “Relax, lass,” Orla said. “Ye know healing canna take place in a troubled heart.”

  Dara pushed Loren to the back of her mind. She closed her eyes, felt the softness of the bed and the warmth of the fire against her skin. She took a deep breath of cleansing sage-tinged smoke, held it in, exhaled. Then again. Her racing pulse slowed to normal.

  “That’s it,” Orla approved.

  Agata returned with a small drum. “Let’s begin.” She began drumming and chanting under her breath. Her heart matched pace with the drum’s slow, steady beat.

  Orla placed a hand on Dara’s head and another on her belly. Warm, green energy flowed through her body like a spring mist. The firelight danced behind Dara’s eyelids, almost in rhythm with Agata’s low chant. She saw animals in the flickering shadows—a rabbit, a fox, a wolf, a badger, a deer, a bear and a great long-necked winged creature she’d never seen afore but almost recognized…

  Spirits of the forest and mountains, protective totems of the clans, Dara realized, grateful they’d help a stranger. Bruising faded, aches and pain dissolved like salt in water. Ribs fused, muscles reknit until she breathed without pain. The relief was so intense she wanted to shout.

  But she sensed something else. A darkness, insidious, like smoke. Nowhere, everywhere. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The healer spoke true. The iron was still with her. Orla withdrew. Agata’s chants and drum silenced. Dara swiped at the tears. “I’m sorry. I am grateful to you both. Thank you.”

  Agata inclined her head. “Ye were meant t’ come here, child. In a way, ’tis like a comin’ home. Your folk are from these verra mountains.”

  Orla looked tired. “I’m sorry I canna do more, lass.”

  “Nay.” Dara placed a hand on the healer’s arm. “Don’t think you failed. You did enough. The rest must follow in the Lady’s own time. You must eat something.”

  “Aye.” Orla swayed as she rose. “There’s bean soup in the communal pot, fresh baked flat bread an’ herbed goats’ butter. I’ll bring some. Ye need rest as well.”

  Agata returned with the promised food. “I convinced Orla t’ rest.” She handed a bowl to Dara. “Yer elder friend eats wi’ th’ hunters at th’ next fire o’er. A few o’ them have also scouted, so they share th’ lay o’ th’ land.” She shook her head and dropped cross-legged aside the fire. “’Tis no’ just folks fleeing north. E’en th’ birds ‘n’ animals want naught t’ do wi’ whate’er Jalad summons.”

  Dara’s gaze strayed to the next fire over. Loren’s silver-gilt hair shimmered in the flickering light. She resolutely forced her attention back to the old shaman. “A demon from the abyss.”

  Agata pulled her carved staff closer. “Moira an’ Trystan speak o’ war. As kin, Badger and Bear must march wi’ Wolf Clan. ’Tis a matter o’ honor. But against a demon?” She shook her head. “Sure an’ they march t’ their deaths.”

  Dara shuddered at the dark thread of doom wound through Agata’s words. “My father, afore he left this world for the next, said if the world ended I was to head east as far as the rising sun, that help lie from that quarter as well.”

  Agata’s face was inscrutable in the flickering shadows. “Mayhaps. Roisin’s harvestin’ willow bark down by th’ river. She shoulda return soon. Rest wi’ us this night. When Moira an’ Trystan arrive we’ll know better how go th’ other clans.”

  “I saw them, your guardian spirits. Animals like smoke and shadow against the flames.”

  Agata nodded. “Yer people come from these verra mountains, are kin t’ th’ life still here. ’Tis no small wonder ye sense their presence. They fer certain sense yers. Now rest.”

  Dara snuggled into the bedding and closed her eyes. The scent of sage smoke cleared her thoughts. A lingering green warmth still coursed through her body. She felt better than she had in days.

  Sleep didn’t come easy. All too used to sleeping alone, she noticed every little smell and noise. Her mind caught in the low sound of a flute and drifted away.

  A hand shook her shoulder. She opened her eyes. Shadows pulsed and flickered across Loren’s face as he loomed over her in the ever changing light. “Roisin is back, and Trystan has arrived ahead of Moira. You should get up.”

  Dara sat up, marveling at the lack of pain movement caused. She reached out a hand and Loren pulled her to her feet. Cleaned up and trance-healed, he looked different in clan garb. Less fey. More earthy and approachable. Standing this close to him, she recalled the feel of his mouth on hers, and trembled at the tingle that shot through her body. Of its own volition, her gaze dropped to his lips.

  His hand tightened on her hip, drawing her closer to the warmth of his body. His eyes darkened, seeming to reflect more of the shadows than the light. “What is this spell you cast on me, lady?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” she whispered. She felt complete when he held her, which in and of itself was troubling. Never afore had she this compulsive need to be with someone. Why now? Why him? She barely knew him. But she yearned to know him better, yearned to get closer. She caught herself leaning toward him and stiffened, pulling back at the sound of approaching footsteps.

  They turned and watched a broad-shouldered woman with a tanned, ageless face and alert grey eyes draw near.

  “Welcome t’ Badger Clan,” the woman said. “I’m Headwoman Roisin, sister o’ Moira’s mother Fenia. Ye’ve had a hard road. I bid ye t’ stay an’ rest afore ye resume yer travels.”

  Dara and Loren bowed. “Thank you, Lady Roisin,” Dara said. She glanced down at the giant black wolf padding up behind the Badger Clan leader. It regarded her with a steady intelligence in its not-quite-wolflike gaze. Her eyes traveled up to the man aside the wolf. A true warrior, she noted by his stance, war braids, scars and tattoos. But there was something in his piercing blue eyes, something reminiscent of the wolf itself. Something uncanny and wild.

  “I’m Trystan, Moira’s brother. Ye’d be th’ reason he—” he nodded at Loren “— snuck off in th’ middle o’ th’ night like a will-o’-th’-wisp.”

  “Time was a pressing concern.” Loren stepped forward to clasp the other man’s arm in greeting. “Well met again, Trys. You made good time.”

  Some secret flashed behind Trystan’s eyes. “So’d ye. Glad yer mission was a success. Moira an’ Fenia follow with
Rybyk an’ a few others.”

  “Come,” Roisin said. “Let’s sit ‘round th’ fire. Niadh,” she addressed the wolf, “wolf-kin, ye may stay as ye wish.”

  The black wolf curled at Trystan’s side. His coarse black fur shimmered almost silver-tipped in the firelight. Loren pulled Dara down next to him and curled an arm about her waist. She leaned into the reassuring warmth of his body and studied the two of them, Trystan and Niadh, only to find herself studied in turn. “What?” she asked.

  “Moira said ye’r th’ local healer, yet ’tis a warrior I sense afore me.” Trystan cocked his head. “Why’d ye no’ heal yerself once ye were freed?”

  Her cheeks flamed. “Jalad bound me with iron. That can’t be removed by healing. None of my healing or sensing will work until the curse is removed.”

  Trystan’s eyes blazed into hers. “Iron holds such sway?”

  “Aye.” Her gaze swept the entire group. Rolling her sleeve up, she revealed the slave brand. “I’ve as much reason to hate Jalad as any here. Count me in on any plans you make to overthrow him.”

  Trystan’s jaw tightened at the sight of Dara’s brand. “How many are marked so?”

  “All the surviving women. Most of the men slain, the women enslaved, and Jalad lording it over all.” Her blood boiled with suppressed fury.

  His eyes turned cold and deadly. Niadh growled low in his throat, a sound more felt than heard. If her own anger was fire, Trystan’s was pure ice. Dara wondered which of the two was more dangerous.

  “Wi’ th’ demon it willna be so easy,” Agata stated. “Th’ forest spirits can guide an’ strengthen our warriors, but t’ banish a demon takes more magic an’ Light than we alone can wield.”

  Loren shifted. “We have mages aplenty on the other side, and our priests and priestesses are the oldest in the land. They may have some knowledge of precedence.”

  “But would they help?” Roisin asked. “The elders ha’ always kept t’ their side.”

  “I believe as Lady’s champion, I might convince them.”