I glanced at the huge stone fireplace that sat in front of a massive wood table at the far end, an inviting fire burning in the hearth. The massive timbers the table was constructed of reminded me so much of the table at the Meeting Spot on Father Stone in the Whispering Walls mountains. This would be where the Mother of the Cristea would work to address the concerns of her people, and where any conflicts would be resolved.
There was a young woman there who looked a lot like Elaineia, just a couple years older, with a young boy who had their backs to us, tending a large pot simmering over the fire on an iron hook. The look on Elaineia's face told me everything. That particular brand of mischief painting her face was the universal smirk all siblings shared as she brought two fingers to her lips and whistled shrilly.
The young woman squeaked out a surprised scream, and the boy spun around, wide-eyed.
Elaineia's smirk didn't leave her as she called out loudly with authority, “Mother! I bring guests from Old Home, come to aid the Cristea!”
I stared up as people of all ages started poking their heads out of rooms on all levels. At the top, a large, rugged looking man stepped to the railing, and a classically pretty middle-aged woman moved up beside him. She bore a striking resemblance to Elaineia, and Celeste and I both took a knee and said in unison, “Mother.”
Chapter 13 – Cristea
Time seemed to stretch as there was nothing but stunned silence in the tower. I chanced a glance up at the woman at the top of that spiraling staircase. Her hand was covering her mouth, then she was in motion, hiking her colorful skirts as she marched down the stairs with purpose.
This was apparently what everyone staring down at us were waiting for as they all started murmuring to each other as they fell in behind the woman, pointing and whispering. We stood, and Elaineia moved slightly in front of us in an almost protective manner, though I could see her shaking a little as the woman spiraled down toward us.
Though her eyes flicked to us, I could tell the bulk of the woman's attentions were on her daughter. She reached the bottom of the stairway and moved swiftly to us. Reaching out to pull Elaineia away from us and interposing herself between us.
I noted that many of the men and some of the woman starting to gather behind her were armed with makeshift weapons. Some had kitchen knives, some had bookends, and the large man with the Mother held a heavy iron fire poker.
She gave us a quick look before turning to her daughter and grabbing her arms and shaking her in concern. “Elaine, where did you run off too? Who are these women?” Then she froze, a look of horror on her face when she saw the blade on her daughter's hip. She whispered in pained resignation, “The blade of Mother Racina...”
Elaineia stepped back from her grip, again moving between the gathered people and us. I glanced around and took stock of them again. There were perhaps fifteen men and woman and five or six children still up on the second level stairs watching between the balusters. One was no more than three, and he clung to the skirt of an older girl.
The Gypsy girl stood tall, her hand on the hilt of the blade. “Someone had to don the blade. To try to do something. Our people are dying, and all we do is send Greva after Greva to their deaths to try to get to the Great Mother in Old Home. I would see no more die, doing what we should be doing as the ones they look to for wisdom, for support, for protection.”
She stressed the last word like an accusation.
I swallowed. Her mother hadn't known she had taken the blade, nor donned it, making her a Femeie de Sabie, an act which couldn't be undone.
Then before the elder woman could speak, Elaineia stood taller and pleaded, her brow creased and her eyes searching, “How many must die before we stand against Avalon?”
She looked around to the people there. “I took Mother Racina's blade, and I took a Greva and rode for the Gateway.”
There was a collective gasp, and she continued, “The wheeled patrol spotted us and gave chase, Emmiril was killed. But from the shadows of the forest, five riders came charging past like wraiths. A Greva like no other, one blurring like a ghost from the old stories. And with magik and with a blade, they killed the enemy patrol without taking any losses of their own. The metal beast lies dead in Geraldine and Harmon's field.”
Again she cut her mother off and stepped from in front of us and motioned with a sweep of her arm like a crier at Carnival. “They are Soras of the Lupei from Old Home. They come with troops to aid us.” Then she added, surprising me that she noticed or knew what they meant, “And they wear the stripes of the Great Mother of the People herself. This is Sora Laney and Sora Celeste.”
The gasps and murmuring were getting louder as people were all talking over each other and I caught the fragments of shouted questions to her and us. Some took a knee as I saw hope on some faces and distrust on others.
I felt awkward and then almost kicked myself as I gave a little wave from my hip self consciously. Celeste seemed overly amused at me.
The elder Cristea turned, and with but a single word, silenced the raising ruckus, “Quiet!”
They all looked to her, it was obvious she was well respected.
She looked at her daughter, giving her the universal mothering look that said you had a lot of explaining to do and don't think we won't have words later. Then she stepped past her to in front of us. She looked Celeste up and down then hesitated when she squinted at me like she was trying to focus.
“You are truly of the touched... the old stories.”
Then she straightened as I realized why she seemed to be straining to look at me and I pulled as much of the magik I could inside me, though I still didn't have enough control to rein it all in yet. It would have been far worse if my riding cloak hadn't muted most of it, but I could still feel wisps of it pouring from the burn scars on my cheek.
She asked me with the hope of a drowning woman being thrown a rope, “Are you truly from Old Home?”
I reached forward, trying to minimize the blurring afterimages I left in my wake and grabbed one of her hands between both of mine to assure her I was real as I nodded. “Yes, Mother Corrine, the Lupei have come to lend aid.”
She studied my eyes a moment like she was looking for the truth of it all, then she nodded once and said as she looked at us, “Then the Cristea welcome you and your Greva, and bid you have last meal with us. My eldest daughter, Heather, has prepared a stew.”
People cheered and seemed to relax and followed like a wave in our wake as she pulled us to the big table while the others started bringing benches and tables form various cubby holes to set up for a meal.
Under her breath, she asked Elaineia as she led us to some seats, “Where is Emmiril now?”
The equally hushed response was, “In the stables.”
Mother Corrine looked up to the man I assumed was her husband. He just nodded once without a word being said between them, and he headed out the way we had come in.
Then the woman said as we all sat, “That was reckless and foolish, Elaine. You could have been killed, and a good man was.”
The young Sora straightened and said with confidence that showed the kind of leader she would be one day, “Yet we were successful, and bring our salvation on the heels of that tragedy.”
They exchanged glares, and I again wondered why all mothers and daughters were so similar and so bullheaded? I know I had exchanged the same look with mother when she heard that Celeste and I would be leading this mission. And it told me one undeniable fact. They loved each other deeply.
We tried to assist in setting things up for the meal but Mother Corrine insisted that we sit with her as last meal was set up around us. She shared that the families bustling around us were all of her immediate family and that it was customary for all of the blood of the Mother to live in Journey's End until a new mother took her place.
I nodded in understanding, and looked over at Elaineia and her sister Heather, knowing it would be in Corrine's family for at least another generation since she h
ad two daughters to carry on her line. Gypsies were a matriarchal society as opposed to the patriarchal society of the Altii, where her young son, Adam, would have been the heir.
If a Mother has no mostenitors, no heirs, then at her passing, the wisest and most respected woman in the band would assume the mantle of Mother. There was no other hierarchy in a Gypsy band... there was the Mother, and there was everyone else. It was her job to care for, guide, and be the conscience of her people. The only person above a Mother was the Great Mother, whose sole purpose was to keep the peace between all the bands and bring them together in times of need.
I was feeling a little self-conscious, everyone seemed to be staring at me including Corrine who insisted we call her by name since I insisted they call me Laney. I had to resist burying my face in Celeste's shoulder to hide myself. I know it was the novelty of people who had never witnessed magik before, watching it spill out of me, coupled with the fact I came from the land they only heard about in song and stories. And the magik of the people could be seen by mundanes, unlike the magic of the Altii which only another with a magic spark could view.
My traitorous wife could see my unease, and she looked quite entertained by my discomfort, though she had a hand resting on my arm to console me.
Corrine kept chasing people away who came up to us and gawk and ask questions. She hissed out, “There will be time for questions later. Now we share our bounty with our guests and celebrate their arrival.”
Then she broke her own rule as she furrowed her brow. “How did Old Home know we were in need? Did one of our Grevas make it past the Gateway? We believed that Avalon had killed them all. They will not return the bodies to us. Instead, they display them on pikes around their base at the black pitch pits.”
I saw Heather stiffen from where she was helping everyone arrange the foods they brought back from their rooms to contribute to the meal. She had been purposefully not looking at us the entire time, her movements tense.
Celeste inclined her head and said with reverence in her tone, “One Greva did escape the crater last year, and they braved the perils of the Uninhabitable Lands. One heroic man survived against all the odds and reached our outer marker.”
As they spoke, I gave a tiny wave to the children still watching us from the upper landing. A couple giggled at me, and that made my smile bloom as I turned back to the conversation. My Lady shared, “Imagine our shock at discovering a man unconscious where no man should be, and wearing the colors of the lost fifteenth band of the People.”
Corrine sat straighter, concern in her eyes. “Unconscious?”
I nodded and said, “He was on death's door, but our healer was able to restore his health. And after I saw a vision of the Westlands here, the man awoke long enough to plead for our help, before drifting back into that unwaking sleep.”
She asked in earnest, “He yet lives?”
I nodded sadly, as it was not much of life. “Aye. Though he has not awoken except that one time, to plead our help and warn of the return of the Great Wizards of the Before to the world.”
I thought on that. Seeing what we have so far, and knowing their weapons were not magic, I tasted none, perhaps these were not the Great Wizards come to reclaim this broken world they left us thousands of years aforetime.
I almost jumped when a soprano voice beside me asked with all the hope in the world, “This man... you said he arrived at Old Home a year ago?”
Sora Heather was standing there wringing her hands in desperation that told me she knew someone in that particular Greva. Corrine laid a hand on her daughter's arm to comfort her, pain in her eyes for that desperation in her daughter.
Elaineia gave her elder sister a warning, in an obvious attempt to spare her sister any hurt. “Heather...”
I did not wish to be the one to crush that hope I saw in the woman as she asked, “Was he... was his name Alin?”
I shook my head. “I do not know. He spoke only what we have shared.” I tried to think, besides the dark curly hair most gypsies shared, was there anything that... “His neck. Below his left ear is a scar shaped like a crescent.”
She covered her mouth quickly, her eyes welling with tears as she dug into a pocket of her dress with her other hand and pulled out a paper which was smoother than any I have seen outside of the Library. Even this far removed and having to rebuild their own society again, the Cristea's artisans were more skilled than our paper and parchment makers.
She offered the folded paper to me with both hands. I felt a pit in my stomach threatening to overwhelm me. I didn't want to be the one to crush this poor girl's hope. I almost laughed at myself, she was only a couple years younger than me, but in my eyes, she was barely older than a child. Life had hardened me and stripped so much of my innocence that I would view her as such.
She offered as I unfolded the paper with Celeste moving in over my shoulder, her breath hot on my neck, “We were to be betrothed upon his return.”
I looked at a beautifully rendered charcoal sketch of Heather standing with a familiar tall and muscular man, who had the broad shoulders of a herder and not a warrior. I smiled at the handsome smile on his face, and I could feel my own tears threatening.
Come on now Laney, you are a Templar of Sparo, it would be unbecoming for you to cry.
I nodded my head, afraid my voice would crack. Heather collapsed into Elaineia's shoulder and sobbed in relief as Celeste voiced for me, “That is the man of the Greva. He braved the fire.” There was respect in her voice that was obvious to anyone listening. The man had beat all the odds to save the ones he loved.
Ok, I cried. Letting a single tear trickle down my cheek at the relief and joy in Heather. Even though her man was still unconscious, he was alive. I offered before Celeste could stop me, “Perhaps if we are able to free the Cristea, you could travel back to Sparo with us to see him.”
Heather perked up right away and looked to her Mother, her eyes sought out permission there. Corrine was more patient than me as she sighed out heavily, “We will see, daughter.” Then she added, “The trip is a long and treacherous one. Alin was fortunate to have survived. We will celebrate the rest of his fallen Greva.” To punctuate her concern, she added as she looked to us for confirmation, “I'm sure these brave women lost many of their number to come to our aid.”
Celeste's eyes widened, and she started to stop me, but my mouth was already in motion. “But we lost none. We have amazing airships that ride in the skies now, it was but a two-day trek for us to seek out the Westlands once we had amassed the ships, supplies, and men once we learned that this land existed.”
I heard gasps all around us and murmurs as the Mother's family spoke among themselves, eyes wide in incredulity. Corrine sat up, eyes wide in wonder as her husband joined her at the table, dirt on his clothing. My heart sank knowing what task he had completed while those damn lights from the checkpoints swept the village.
Corrine asked, her voice a whisper, “Airships? Is the magik of the people truly that powerful?”
Celeste chuckled, giving me a look that told me she would be having words with me later. But I was not feeling repentant in the least, the Cristea were of the Mountain Gypsies, they were our friends, and they needed our help. I didn't give one god damned about operational secrecy at that moment. She supplied, “No, not magic. Technology. Our people are slowly unlocking the secrets of the technology of the Before.”
Then she said what I knew she had already sussed out like me, “And those... Avalonians, are not using magic either, it is technology beyond even us. I tasted no magic in them or their weapons.”
This seemed to quiet the whole hall. Then Corrine whispered to the universe, “Two days? We lost eight hundred in the crossing. Only two hundred survived to build our New Home.”
Then she shook the pained shock from her and brightened, shooting us a winning smile. “Enough of this, you must be hungry after your journey, there will be time enough for questions after.” She clapped her hands twice above her
head, and everyone gave a little cheer and started lining up with plates at the hearth, as Heather scurried over and started ladling out some divine smelling stew.
I giggled at the children who all went into motion, the smaller ones being lead down by an older girl and the others all sliding down the curving banister to run to the hearth.
And before Celeste and I could stand, a man slid two deep plate-like ceramic bowls of stew in front of us. I smiled thanks as he winked at us and pointed toward the other foods laid out on the next table.
The man was as flirty as Alexandru. Was it some trait all Gypsy men had that made them all so charming? Though to be fair, I have met a few Gypsy men I would rather forget, just as there are some Altii I would gladly forget as well. I guess we aren't all that different after all.
We caught the celebratory spirit and then had a grand time sampling some exotic dishes as well as some time-proven staples of every culture I had visited. People pulled out flutes and lutes and sang. Just like our traveling bards, half the tunes were meant to get you to smile and want to dance, while half of them were designed to share important cultural history.
A couple I actually knew, some of the oldest songs of the People that predated the arrival of Highland at the Lower Ten, and the exodus of the Cristea to the four points of the compass. That made a new warmth gather inside me, that I was starting to recognize the half of me that was descended from the People, which I had not known until recently.
Then again, Rain was a minstrel in her prior life to the isolation of the post of Great Mother. And she loved singing to the children, and to us to teach us of the People. She doted over Misty so.
Through her songs, I had learned so very much about the people, from the times of infighting in the early days which divided the families and almost saw the ruin of the Mountain Gypsies, to the great peace they forged when the first Great Mother united the fifteen clans. To the Others, the young Altii, who came to them from a distant land.
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