Thalgor's Witch
Page 11
Why did everything have to be a struggle with this man?
“Thalgor, I must go into the woods.”
“I hope you find it pleasant there in the middle of the night,” he grumbled, but sat up. “Tell me.”
“For several days I have felt danger, but too far away for me to see it clearly. In my dream, the Witch King…”
He drew a sharp breath. “The what?”
“The Witch King. He comes to me often in my dreams.”
She felt him shiver. “All your life?”
“Only since you captured me. Why?”
He unshuttered the lantern and looked at her intently. A strange mixture of fear and tenderness flowed through her at the look on his face. She was not sure she wanted to hear what he was about to say.
“Think, witch. A Witch King? What can that mean? There are no kings, and only women can be witches.”
Erwyn shrugged. “I’ve become used to it. He says that is who, what he is. And I feel…I feel I can trust him.”
Thalgor nodded and said, “Me, too.”
“You’ve seen him?” she gasped in surprise.
“He sent me after you when you went to the Sea Witches.”
“You told me it was your father.”
His eyes fell to the rumpled bed clothes between them.
“He is very much like my father. And I thought you might think a Witch King a false vision.”
They both sat in silence. She wondered how two could have the same vision, even a witch and her man.
And she wondered what Thalgor thought as he sat beside her, his mind cut off from her–by what?
“What did the Witch King tell you?” he finally asked her.
“That danger is close and I must fly to be able to see it.”
“Fly?”
“Come with me into the woods, and you will learn.”
“Why do you not go alone?”
“You threatened to tie me to your bed,” she reminded him with mock innocence, then her smile faded. “My body is vulnerable when I fly. If a panther or a renegade should find me…”
“And this must be done in the dark of night.”
He stood to pull on his tunic and picked up his sword.
“Of course.” She rose, put the herbs she would need into her bag, and threw on her cloak.
He stepped out of the tent first, to make certain no one was around, and they disappeared together into the night.
*
They walked in silence.
Thalgor was half asleep on his feet before Erwyn stopped at the edge of a clearing that formed a perfect circle deep in the woods.
The full moon filled the glade with eerie light. No bird or animal stirred. A rainbow of flowers covered the ground and filled the still air with their sweetness. Had he been less of a man, he might have fallen to his knees in awe at the beauty of the place.
“Make a fire.” Erwyn spoke in equally awe-struck tones and pointed to a flat rock in the center of the circle, its top already black from earlier fires. How many fires, over how many years? he wondered.
As he gathered wood, Erwyn took leaves from the trees around the clearing and mixed them with herbs she’d brought.
When a small fire burned, she motioned him to the edge of the clearing and laid the herbs and leaves on the flames. The fire almost went out, then began to burn with a thick white smoke that rose up straight in the still air.
Erwyn dropped the cloak she wore and all thought was wiped from his mind.
She wore nothing underneath it. She stood naked in the moonlight, her body only a gray shadow. The sense of wonder he always felt at the beauty of her bare flesh deepened into reverence.
She held her hands open in front of her in a gesture of supplication and began to chant. As she chanted, her body grew whiter, began to glow. Her hands lifted toward the moon.
Thalgor stepped deeper into the shadows at the edge of the clearing, overwhelmed by the power he felt course through that slender body, at once so familiar and so unknown.
Finally she fell silent and went to the fire. She circled it three times in each direction, then stepped across it.
He started to stop her, to keep her from burning herself, but the flames were buried under the leaves.
She walked through the column of pungent smoke four times, north to south, south to north, then east to west, west to east, where the moon stood. He saw her breathe in the smoke, but despite its thickness she did not cough. Instead her face became more ethereal and serene.
He half expected her to soar off on her upraised arms like a great silver bird, but she walked to where her cloak lay on the ground instead and collapsed with the small cry of a lover.
He rushed to her side. His heart pounded with dread.
“She flies,” said the voice of the Witch King. “Wait.”
Thalgor looked around him in a panic, but saw nothing. He covered Erwyn’s inert body with his cloak, then took one of her hands in his and cursed the day he ever captured a witch.
The fire didn’t burn down the way a normal fire would. Nor did it give off any heat. Only a dim light and the column of smoke showed that it burned at all.
He shivered in the night for a long time, half-hypnotized by the flame and the pungent smoke, practicing a patience that was far from easy for him.
He listened for the usual sounds of birds and small animals in the woods, but the silence was complete, the stillness total.
Suddenly the smoke vanished. Only a pile of smoldering ash was left on the rock. Erwyn stirred. She opened her eyes and began to tremble. He held her until the shaking stopped.
When it eased, he started to ask what she saw, but she gestured for him to remain silent. Slowly she got to her feet.
She was so weak she needed to lean on him as they made their way slowly back to the camp. The sky began to grow lighter. An owl hooted nearby, warning of sunrise.
When they neared the edge of the woods Erwyn, still very pale, mumbled a few words and swirled her arms around herself. Then she was gone. Thalgor blinked twice, stunned.
A familiar hand tugged at his and he realized she was still there but invisible.
If a leader reconnoitered before daybreak, he was a brave and dedicated warrior. If the same man returned from the woods with a woman, even his own, at the same hour he could easily be suspected of acts so obscene they had to be hidden from the others in his tent. And if the woman wearily leaned on him…
He almost laughed at her wisdom, but merely nodded at the sentries as he tried not to tread on Erwyn’s unseen feet.
She reappeared as they neared their tent in the sleeping camp, her face a mask of worry and exhaustion. By the time they reached their chamber, she could scarcely stagger.
He pulled off the cloak, and she fell into the bed, barely strong enough to say, “Call a council for midday” before she fell asleep.
*
“How could she see far enough to know this is true?” Gurdek scratched his head in sincere puzzlement.
“Why should we trust a witch?” Batte glared at Erwyn.
“It is full harvest. To keep our men ready for battle will mean less food for the dark time,” Gurdek’s second pointed out.
“If the raiding party Erwyn saw catches us off guard, it might mean no food for the dark time,” Rygar replied. “Or worse.”
“Surely our scouts will see them in time,” Batte’s second objected.
“Not if they come in many small groups, the way the witch says they will,” Batte replied.
Thalgor let the others have their say, as he usually did. He didn’t need to defend Erwyn. His men knew the truth of her visions, as much as Gurdek feared her and Batte resented her.
Today his lieutenants were driven by contrary impulses. Batte’s to distrust and to do battle, Gurdek’s to protect and to manage the camp’s food supply. Even Rygar was caught between his desire not to kill and his faith in Erwyn’s magic.
To think two ways at once was good practice for th
e day when one of them, probably Batte, became leader of this band in Thalgor’s place, or of his own band when this one grew too large and needed to become two. A day that would come soon.
Erwyn sat silent once she told what she saw when she flew. Neither of them mentioned the special nature of her vision. It was a gift few knew witches had, she told him, only those entrusted to care for them when they carried out the ritual and no second witch could do so. Her trust weighed on him more than he would have liked.
The conversation ebbed. Gurdek’s second was sent to Gee to bring food. When he returned Thalgor finally spoke.
“Gurdek is right,” he began with deference to the older man. “We cannot have all our men ready for battle at the peak of the harvest, even if the women and children help. But we won’t need all our men unless all of the enemy’s small parties make it to the rallying point on time and without any desertions or loss to marauders. Which is unlikely.”
His men nodded. Erwyn glared, but remained silent, wary as always of appearing to have too much power over him.
She would speak her mind fully enough, he knew, after the others left.
“Gurdek, your men will continue to harvest. You will also enlist the women, the older children, and anyone else who doesn’t have more important duties. Celebrations will be curtailed until the harvest is in, the danger past.”
Gurdek’s second began to protest, but Thalgor stopped him.
“You may inform the women that the men will help them preserve the food after the harvest is complete, so they will still be able to make their other preparations for the dark time.”
The man looked at Gurdek. Both nodded their agreement.
“Batte, you and I will keep your men and half of mine ready for battle at all times. Double the scouts, sentries, and guards. Gather the young men almost ready to be warriors. Let the men train them in the ways of battle, both in case they are needed and to pass the time while we wait. Rygar, when the battle begins, you and the other half of our men will go to the hill behind the camp and wait there until the tide of battle shifts.”
“I don’t want any of those marauders you’ve taken on in the half of your men who fight with mine,” Batte said darkly.
“No. They will harvest with Gurdek’s men nearest the point where Erwyn saw the attackers come and keep their weapons at hand. If more of the enemy makes it as far as the attack than I expect, they will be ready on our flank.”
Rygar, Batte, and his second all nodded.
“Do not alarm the camp. We have fought off many raiding parties. There is no need for everyone to know how many Erwyn saw in her vision or that the outcome of the battle was not clear.” Gee appeared with the food. “Eat. We have much to do.”
Soon a new problem appeared. A few of Thalgor’s men and some of Batte’s were reluctant to leave the harvest for a possible battle based only on Erwyn’s word. Thalgor, Batte, and Gurdek were discussing what to do when the leader of the marauders who had recently joined Gurdek’s men approached.
“We hear some of those chosen to fight prefer to harvest.”
Thalgor and Gurdek nodded.
“Go on,” Batte growled.
“We will fight with Rygar and the other marauders. Your men who wish to can have our places among Gurdek’s men.”
“A reserve all of marauders new to our camp?” Batte eyed the man suspiciously.
“We owe you our lives.” The leader stood straighter. “And we know you will care for our women and children if we are killed.”
Batte looked him up and down, then nodded slowly. “We will settle this easily, without Rygar’s reserve, in any case.” With those words he turned and walked away.
“Done.” Thalgor suppressed a sigh of relief and sent for Rygar to explain the change.
Thalgor ate dinner with the warriors and talked with them about the battle until late. The tent was dark and silent when he returned. When he slipped quietly into his sleeping chamber, he expected to find Erwyn either asleep or in a rage that he had discounted some of the danger she warned of.
He found her weeping instead. The solemn sound tore at him.
When he slid into bed beside her, she turned into his arms and wept more wildly. He held her and stroked her head, surprised at the power of his touch to ease her tears.
Finally she fell silent and rolled onto her back. He waited for her to explain why she cried, but she said nothing.
“Tell me,” he urged gently.
To his surprise she started to cry again and rolled back into his arms for comfort. But still she said nothing.
They fell asleep like that, her tear-drenched face buried in his shoulder, her arms clinging to him while his sheltered her.
He woke before dawn, troubled as much by her silence as by her tears.
As soon as he stirred, she woke, too, and stretched a little against the awkwardness of the way she’d slept.
“Have you seen more?” he asked, his mind clear now. “Have you seen me die? Or Rygar?” No other warrior’s death would make her weep so.
He heard the rustle of her hair on their pillow when she shook her head. But no words came.
“Tell me,” he said again. “Please.”
“I was with child.” He barely recognized the hollow voice. “Barely. I should have known, but I didn’t.” She turned toward him. “I swear to you, I didn’t know.”
With child. His mind was frozen on those words. Then another word crept in.
Was. Was with child.
Now he understood her silence.
There were no words for the shock and pain beyond those three.
He took her in his arms again. They lay locked in time, together yet alone with their loss.
“What happened?” he asked even though he feared no answer would comfort him.
She rolled to her back again.
“I didn’t know,” she repeated in the same empty voice. “I can’t say what I would have done if I knew, but I didn’t.”
“Thalgor,” Rygar called from the door to the chamber. “We meet with Batte.”
“Go without me,” Thalgor told him. “Tell him I am unwell. I will be along when Erwyn has given me some of her herbs.”
Disbelief radiated through the fabric that separated them.
He heard Rygar sigh. “I will tell him.”
None of the others dared distrust his word.
Thalgor turned toward Erwyn. “Tell me what happened.”
“The magic.” Her body trembled as she struggled to give voice to the black grief. “Magic is dangerous. For anyone. But especially for the unborn. That is why the Sea Witches must live without men. We are all told never to use our magic when we carry a child. The power is too much. Flying takes almost all the power I have. And the smoke has its own power. The child was so new it had no chance to survive.”
She turned to face him, eyes wet. “I didn’t know.”
He wrapped her in his arms as she wept, his mind whirling.
If she could not use her magic…He was not so reliant on her second sight and her wisdom that he could not lead without it, but he also knew he led better with it.
“Thalgor,” Batte called from the other side of the curtain that hid them. “You are not ill. I don’t know why you are still abed with your witch, but you are never ill.”
Erwyn went stiff. Thalgor eased away from her and sat up, rubbing his face, surprised his friend would challenge him so.
“A moment, Batte.”
“Don’t bother yourself. I just didn’t want you to think me a fool.” Batte stomped angrily away.
Thalgor looked down and stroked Erwyn’s tear-stained face. “I must go.”
She held his hand on her cheek. “I understand.”
“I don’t blame you.” His heart was full of other words, words he did not know how to say.
“I know,” she said.
He started to stand, but she looked at him as if he were her only shelter in the midst of a raging storm. It unnerved him to se
e her as only a woman. A grieving woman.
Would she grieve for him so? He pushed the question away.
“Thalgor.” Her voice was wet. “What am I going to do?”
Her pain was too raw for him to bear any longer. His helplessness in its face brought searing memories of his mother’s suffering, and his own when she was unable to protect him. Both fed this new, wordless grief.
“Not get with child again,” he told Erwyn and stood.
Her eyes clouded, then flashed with hurt and anger. She sat up, fully the witch again.
“Very practical advice.” Her voice was clear and icy.
There’s no telling with a witch, he thought as he pulled on a fresh tunic. Batte’s anger at least he understood.
*
To wait for an attack was hard. And the longer they waited, the more likely it was the whole raiding party Erwyn had seen would gather. But their scouts found no sign of them.
To make things worse, the days were growing shorter, the nights colder. They had to burn large fires in the camp at night so the women could weave after they worked on the harvest.
Erwyn wove late, too, and listened to the night birds, owls, and the other creatures that warbled, hunted, and scurried nearby without a thought of the cares of those inside the camp.
The other women were too tired to gossip, too worried to sing. When the patrols changed, the women followed their men home to bed, all of them too weary to do more than fall into a dreamless sleep and start all over again the next day.
Thalgor slept each night near the patrol on duty. Their bed felt empty without him, but it allowed Erwyn to practice the ritual of mourning she had learned from her mother when she thought Erwyn’s father dead.
That he still lived but had become a different person, a dangerous one, was as much to be grieved as his death, Erwyn realized for the first time.
The child she lost would have been male, so she performed the ritual for both of them together and gave the unborn child her father’s name.
One night as the candles burned low and their exotic scent filled the air, when the ancient words flowed from her tongue, Felyn appeared at the door of the sleeping chamber.
The child stood and watched silently with her cursed eyes. When Erwyn paused, Felyn spoke the name of her dead father, the lost baby. Erwyn looked at the sad little face and began the ritual again, patiently teaching it to the girl, as she had been taught.