The Willow Branch

by Lela Markham

  Erik’s eyes flared wide while watching Gil.

  “How do you …?”

  “I’m Kin and the lumina stone reacts to my touch. The Wisdoms can make it shine like a lantern, but this is about all I can do.”

  It was enough light to reach the next globe.

  “Witchcraft,” Jarl spat when Gil kindled the third globe. They were within a sloping corridor thick with dust, walled and roofed by cracked stone. No doubt his temper was influenced by the close quarters.

  “I’ve no abilities that way. That’s Wisdom’s work. These systems were designed for ordinary Kin, including the byways.”

  “Byways?” Erik asked. His youth gave him a different view of this venture. His eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “You’ll see soon enough.”

  They were twelve globes in when the corridor opened into many. On the far right was the byway. Water seeped through the wall of the smallish chamber and pooled in a low corner. Two pillars stood before them with only a few feet beyond. The pillars were cast of a stone Gil had never seen before – blue and translucent, more gem than rock, decorated at intervals with lustrous orange stones set in bands. Gil placed a hand on each of the pillars and waited. As before, the byway opened slowly, but then the back wall of the chamber seemed to dissolve and a long highway corridor stretched into the distance.

  Jarl took a step backward, his lips disappearing into his reddish beard. Erik gasped and gaped. Both Vik laid hands on hilts.

  “Once opened, it will remain long enough to get a sizeable herd through. My presence appears to hold it open.”

  Erik had moved to the side of the leftward pillar.

  “There’s nothing on this side,” he reported, his voice hushed in awe. “How does it work?”

  “I’m not altogether certain. The Kin know of byways, but we were told they were inactive. I’m not interested in arcane knowledge, so I paid no attention until my employer showed me how they worked.”

  Gil saw Jarl’s glance, warning the kong-heir in some way. What aren’t you saying? Erik ran a callused finger over a beardless chin and shrugged.

  “Taking the summer kingdom has always been impossible because of those mountains. If magic brings us glory, then so be it.”

  “It’s not magic,” Gil corrected.

  Jarl moved to the right side pillar to see what Erik had.

  “Looks like magic to me, emissary. And, magic always comes with a price, Erik. Your father sent me to follow you and talk sense when sense is needed. Be wary of what we walk into. That’s all I have to say on it.”

  Erik frowned.

  “I see a problem. No horses. Or is the journey truly short?”

  “Nah, we’ll need horses. And I have more than enough.” Gil walked away from the pillars, leaving the two Vik to scramble after him, glancing over their shoulders at the still-open portal.

  Founding Year 1028/Kin Cycle 24578-

  Blue Iris Holt (The Present)

  Belsynsarala lay upon the stone, panting in the humid darkness as steam rose from her body. On the edge of her hearing were other Kin, talking of their daily tasks or the ability to control the elements, perhaps both and everything in between. They were a long way off, near the entrance to the bathing caves and unlikely to find her secluded alcove up near the ceiling.

  Yesterday had been her 21st breath day and Sarala’s mother had not shown for the celebration. It was not unexpected that she would find other diversions. Sarala could count on one hand the numbers of time her mother had acknowledged her breath day. Still, the 21st … it was meant to be momentous and yet ….

  The Wise who had essentially raised her had done their best to soften the blow. She’d gotten a fine mare from Gly’s herd and been honored as a student and community member. It should have been enough. It was not. How could it be? The circumstances of her birth tainted every good thing. In the nearly two five-cycles since her mother’s marriage, Sarala had hoped each breath day to lay aside the name that marked her with shame. Her mother’s mate had kindly offered his own name several times since the marriage, but Maryanara had never initiated …

  Calm down! You’re an adult now. Your name is your own to decide.

  The voice was Gly’s, speaking through the years, reminding her that the Kin never held the circumstances of birth against her. Only her mother’s shame had become her shame because she had clasped it to her chest. It was her burden only so long as she chose to carry it.

  It was rare for a Kin to change one’s name. It usually followed a period of repentance under goi’tan grey, but when the shame was not your own, the change was painless. It could be done on a solstice after a breath day. One simply stepped into the circle and announced the desire. There were several Denygal in the holt who had chosen their names. All that she must do is come up with one …

  Sarala knew that she was drowsing. The stone fell away from her and the warm air grew heavier. Although the baths were public, there were few places safer to drowse. Her alcove was on the edge of the dark passage that led to the men’s bathing area. She was essentially alone as she slipped deeper into sleep.

  The winter sky resided in his eyes, framed by dark lashes. Below him an army amassed, more rolling in from the horizon even as she became aware. A dark spot moved above the roiling crowds, bobbing slightly as a flight of arrows raced from earth to heaven. A beat like a heart tickled her ears and then died as the blob came closer to view, wings outstretched, legs splayed forward to touch the earth.

  Sarala’s hand splashed in the water and she jerked awake, back in her alcove once more. The beating was her heart, made bold by the heat. She rolled off the ledge to stroke to the cooling floor. The massive iron doors stood open to summer sky, but the floor was empty. Sarala sprang from the water to walk barefoot to the basket of towels and barrel of rainwater. The water tasted deliciously cool. One of the elemental Wise no doubt had been here while she drowsed. She sat upon a bench by the open doors and stared out across the valley. Far below were the horse herds, but she could not see them without leaning out and they could not see her at all. She used a hand rag to wash the heat from her skin and waited for her heart to stop pounding.

  The bathing pools occupied the lowest level of the kinholt, a watery subterranean cavern of warm water and low light. Near the entrance was a bathing station and on the far end the cooling floor, a place for the more adventurous to rest after a tiring swim through the steamy waters. Since you couldn’t see the bathing station, it might have been in a different cave altogether.

  Leaning back against the stone, Sarala drowsed again. A child lay limp in her arms. Not an infant, but a child old enough to walk and feed himself. Eyes as green as emeralds opened and then his body stiffened and flailed. His weight dissolved like crysal sugar in the rain and she saw him walking toward the winged creature, dwarfed by its massiveness. It lifted its horned head and opened its mouth. Huge fangs flashed white in the sun and ….

  Sarala jerked awake as Barana sprang up from the pool. Her foster mother grinned at her and dipped a drink of water before wrapping herself in a towel and sitting down. Sarala pulled the towel she’s been laying on across her torso to be polite.

  “Some days the baths are busier than others. I did not mean to startle you. What were you dreaming?”

  “Dragons,” Sarala admitted reluctantly.

  “Really? That’s interesting.”

  “Why interesting?”

  “Gly mentioned dragons – to do with Ryanna.”

  “If Ryanna saw a dragon it would be a real one and it would talk to her. I just dream them.”

  “Perhaps, but there is a feeling in the air – like something is holding its breath, ready to burst forth into life.”

  Silence lay between them for several heart beats.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Sarala admitted. She rose to slurp water, holding her unbound dark hair out of the barrel. “What if I wanted to walkabout?” she asked.

  Barana hesitated only a heartbeat. />
  “That would be your choice as an adult,” she replied. “Perhaps it would settle your thoughts. Where would you go?”

  Now there’s the thorn bush!

  “The basketlands.”

  Barana’s purple eyes widened.

  “That’s a concerning choice.”

  “I look Celt.”

  “Yes and a beautiful Celt you would be – as your mother was.”

  “Ryanna walked among them.”

  “With a sword, posing as a lad. You’ve no skills like that.”

  “My herbcraft --.”

  “Will not protect you from wolves. Please pray and consider before you make this decision. We cannot stop you, of course, but I pray you remember that we love you and hope you will think of the risks as well as the adventure.”

  She tossed her towel into the basket and dove off into the water, leaving Sarala to contemplate her future.

  Journey Begins

  Some say the Temple of the Moon came from Gawl, that women there were equal to men. Some say the practice sprung up here when women objected to the priests drawing us away from the Old Faith’s raw worship to more civilized forms. I cannot say which of these theories is correct, but I must say that the Moon is at its strongest in its dark phase.

  Dagvyn, priest of Bel, FY 834

  Founding Year 931

  Dun Manahan, Mulyn - Spring

  The babe stirred within her, actually visible under the thin material of her dresses. It wouldn’t be long before her child would be born into this world. And what a world it would be. Dark and powerful, full of promise and pain. She smiled as she felt the limbs of her child move under her skin. Burcan had no idea what she had planned and she meant to keep it that way. That was easier with him gone to the High City. She could work toward her own ends and surprise him later with the outcome. Her child deserved the effort it would take. Aye, her child deserved the world.

  Founding Year 1028

  Clarcom – Spring – (The Present)

  After Padraig enjoyed a hearty breakfast in the solitude of the family rooms, enjoying the fine company of Annan and Heledd, he and Tamys set out early from the inn and cleared the town gates before there was any warmth to the sun. Padraig paused outside the gates to look up and down the road. Here the town wall stretched along the roadside, forming one side of it. This was a king’s road, though long ago the maintenance had been taken over by Clarcom. As such, it was well-paved and higher than the surrounding plain. At Clarcom’s gate it ran north and south along the wall, but the broad breadth of the road turned west at the southwest watch tower. A smaller, lesser used track continued to the south. Padraig had come from the north. The road west would take them direct to Celdrya, but there were more ways than one to travel to the High City. Tamys waited patiently in the road while Padraig formulated his plans.

  “I said that I am bound for Dun Celdrya, and truly, that is my only destination this day, but I would not risk a man’s life. Is there a concern in the direction of travel?”

  Tamys raised an eyebrow in surprise before soberly pondering the question.

  “West is better than north and both are better than south, if only because that road wants wear.”

  “Used to be lovely farms down that way until the pirates began to take the farmers’ children,” Padraig told the lad, turning Joy westward. “Cunyr, the rig here, managed to put a stop to it, but the farmers haven’t truly returned as yet.”

  “I’m not looking for a farm,” Tamys reminded him. Inherent, yet unsaid was that he would eventually need to sell his sword to survive. Padraig rather hoped they would pass a truly inspirational farm along the way, but he knew it a sad hope. The lad rode a bay gelding with a warrior’s saddle which he sat with an ease that bespoke of many days of many years on horseback. Whatever his start in life, Tamys had been bred as a soldier and naught else. He would not find a farm to his liking. Padraig scanned the countryside ahead of them.

  “We’ll be traveling through a fair number of those,” Padraig assured him. “But you may ignore them if you wish, so long as you aren’t rude. Rudeness might cost me some custom.”

  “Aye,” Tamys grunted. Again, Padraig wondered about Tamys’ background, for the lad was more than a soldier, of that he was certain.

  The days were lengthening and the ground was thawing, but the nights were cold enough to frost, thus, they could not travel very far in a day and Padraig was not driven to do so. He thought mayhap he was to take this journey to make connection with Tamys and he spent a good deal of time merely observing the lad and praying for him silently. Tamys himself proved easy with a jest, though not forthcoming with personal information, so that he made a comfortable companion upon the road. Padraig had already liked him, but he found himself enjoying his company more with each passing hour.

  The road west from Clarcom was busy enough that they spent a good deal of time in the ditches as they passed farmers making their way to market with the young-born of Imbolc while shepherdesses with their dogs guarded the fields on either side of the road. The first night, they slept in a copse of trees a watch’s journey from a small village without a dun of its own. Tamys showed that he’d been in the field often enough, gathering wood and building a fire while Padraig sought water and dressed the game cock he’d taken with slingshot in the afternoon. They sat quietly by the fire and rolled into their blankets when it became dark. They set out just after dawn on the morrow. Padraig had to continually remind himself that he mustn’t travel too late in the eve as Tamys might object to not being able to see.

  Initially, they traveled through a prosperous and protected area. No one seemed in great want, even after the winter’s famine, and the folk didn’t seem suspicious of travelers, merely curious. Padraig had to admit that Cunyr had done a good job protecting his demesne, even if his taxes were higher than most folk wanted to pay. They occasionally passed warbands upon the road wearing Clarcom’s colors, testament to the provisioning that Cunyr had undertaken. Much as Padraig did not care for his brother-in-law, he had to admire his administration. His father had not done so well at protecting the countryside. Mayhap he had not thought it necessary. After all, they were mere peasants and not for a great lord to worry about. Cunyr, as vile as he might be, might actually have been an improvement over his father and Padraig was willing to accept that. Certainly, he wasn’t going to complain about the safety of the roads in Dublyn.

  Not that he thought it likely he need worry. He was traveling with a soldier and he himself was not untrained with the sword he wore, though truly he thought the long knife would be what saved him. While Padraig hoped not to encounter brigands (the only menace likely to bother them this far from the coast), he felt more comfortable with a fellow at arms riding near. There were times when Padraig wondered if he had truly left the warband as far behind as he thought. It seemed as if he were thinking like a soldier now and of that he marveled.

  The second night, the pair camped off the road in yet another copse of trees. The early evening was pleasant, so that they sat up past dark and drank tea by the fire. Tamys spoke more freely of Mulyn, though without enough detail for Padraig to puzzle out from where in Mulyn he hailed. Padraig told him a bit about Cenconyn and Denygal, not truly keeping any secrets other than that he was a Believer. He even let slip that he had spent a good deal of time among the elves. It was well dark when they rolled into their blankets, not exactly tired, but growing uncomfortable with the cold. The nights were still chill and neither wanted to sit up shivering by the fire when they had good woolen blankets to snuggle in. Padraig had been having a pleasant dream of sitting by an elven communal fire when somewhat awoke him. Heart thumping with unexpected fear, he thought to see torches flaring against the night and hear the snort of warhorses. Tamys sat up into the darkness beside him, reaching for his sword.

  “Somewhat comes,” the lad noted in a hushed tone, turning upon his knees toward the east.

  “Aye,” Padraig agreed, reaching for his long knife.. />
  Without discussion, in complete silence, they rolled up their bedrolls, stuffed their gear in the panniers and slung saddles upon horseback. Joy danced, stamping her foot impatiently as if she too sensed the danger riding their way, but she did not blow, as if recognizing the need for silence. A moment later Tamys’ bay tossed its head, jingling tack, but also not blowing. A seasoned warhorse, it likely heard afar off what they could not hear, but only sensed.

  “We’d best be going and quickly,” Padraig said.

  “Not by the road. Follow me,” Tamys said.

  He mounted and trotted his horse off into the darkness as if it were noon bright. Only Padraig’s part-elven eyesight allowed him to keep track of his companion, for his pace was quick and his course sure. Tamys paused long enough to lop a broad leafless branch free of a tree with his sword and tie it to the pony Earnest’s pack saddle to sweep the ground behind them clear as they rode. Tamys had apparently noted a lesser road due south that they could follow, for he set off down this. Occasionally he would stop, turn and stand in the stirrups, checking their back trail.

  “They’ve reached the camp site,” he announced. “We’d best leave this road altogether.”

  A moment later, their horses splashed into a stream. Tamys turned his bay downstream and they rode along for about a mile until he urged his horse up a bank beside a mill yard. He skirted the palisade and then dropped into a second stream that the miller had built for some reason of his own. A moment later, they swam into the mill pond. Across it, the bank opened onto a wood. There they waited, standing still in the dark.

  Not a sound, lass, Padraig thought to Joy. He didn’t know her thoughts yet, but he sensed her laughing at him. She was indeed quiet. Tamys held his horse’s head and Padraig held Earnest’s, trusting that Joy understood the gravity of silence. They were near-to the road, but far enough away to be hidden by the early spring leaves. They could hear riders upon the paving stones and the voices of men calling back and forth, meaning that they would be heard if they or their horses made noise. They stood there scarcely breathing until near-dawn, not speaking. Finally, Tamys relaxed visibly.