by Anne Logston
“Ordinarily I give life through the navel, the seat of life,” Jeena said. “But I believe that would speed the growth of her children. Focus your energy at these two points whenever she wearies unduly. She must sleep, if we have to potion her to do it, and she must eat much red meat, as Dusk told her. Air and exercise will benefit her, but she must not become overtired. I will check her daily.”
“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Rivkah said, awed. “Our mages have been studying how to combine power, transfer power to each other, for years, and you do it as matter-of-factly as breathing.”
“Believe me,” Jeena said wryly, “it is hardly that easy, and it takes a Gifted One many decades to learn.”
“How long will it be until I bear?” Chyrie asked in a small voice. Jeena was obviously highly skilled, and her concern worried Chyrie in turn.
“Perhaps three moons, or even sooner,” Jeena said. “Surely no longer than four. I cannot be certain because the presence of two lives confuses me. Their sparks of life are very strong indeed, like those with strong gifts.” She smiled. “You may be the first elf in the long history of the Heartwood, Chyrie, to give two Gifted Ones to your clan.”
“I will be more than content to give two healthy children to my clan,” Chyrie said wryly.
“Can you tell if her children are male or female?” Sharl asked Jeena curiously.
Jeena raised her eyebrows.
“One is male, one female,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought they would like to know.” Sharl shrugged. “Most human parents would.”
“It is not important to us,” Chyrie said surprisedly. “I had never thought to ask.” She turned to Rivkah. “Is it a concern to you? Perhaps Jeena could tell you the sex of your child, if you wish it.”
“I’d like that,” Rivkah said shyly. “If Jeena wouldn’t mind.”
Jeena touched Rivkah’s belly, still almost flat, and smiled.
“You will bear a son,” she said. “He is small still, but very strong. Soon he will let you know what a fierce little warrior he is.”
“A son,” Sharl breathed unbelievingly. “I’m to have a son!”
“I suppose I’m to eat lots of red meat, too.” Rivkah grinned.
“Rich red meat is good for any woman bearing child,” Jeena agreed, “but your body asks for berries and fruit.”
“A son!” Sharl repeated.
“You will not have your son unless you feed your mate,” Jeena said gently.
“Feed her? I’ll have a feast prepared!” Sharl laughed. “Two feasts! A dozen!”
“We only just had a feast,” Rivkah reminded him. “Be reasonable. We need to store food against a siege, not squander it.”
“Some of the Brightwaters say they have a better kind of net,” Sharl remarked. “They’ve got half the elves weaving cord. They say we can triple the number of fish we catch.”
“Then we’ll feast on fish when the catch triples.” Rivkah laughed. “Come now, Sharl, and get out the map you drew, and have Jeena show you where the attack was, and estimate the number of soldiers. I want to talk to Crystal, the other Gifted One, about this elven talent for sharing magic.”
Jeena and the humans withdrew, and Valann and Chyrie, by silent agreement, sought their favorite quiet spot on the watchtower. Valann had half lied to Sharl when he told him that elves were accustomed to sharing their living space; for most elves it was true, but Valann and Chyrie had spent the better part of their lives living apart from the Wilding village, favoring the privacy and solitude of wide patrols and temporary camps. Now, with other elves sharing their room, Val and Chyrie usually sought the quiet of the watchtower in the evening. They had even taken to keeping their small clay firepot and some wood on the tower, so that Valann could continue the designs he was adding to Chyrie’s present ornamentation, even after the daylight was gone.
“Jeena’s words troubled you,” Val guessed, cuddling Chyrie close on their favorite seat.
“This is an ill place, she was right in that much,” Chyrie said, shivering. “I miss our kin, I miss the forest, I miss the feeling of green things around us. And every day I close my mind tight to the kitchen servants wringing fowls’ necks or the stable hand kicking a dog. And I fear...” She fell silent.
“What do you fear?” Valann asked gently. “Tell me.”
Chyrie ran her hand pensively over her belly.
“I fear that the children in my womb have human blood in them,” she said slowly. “I fear that the violence done to me, or the magic used on them, has turned them awry. I fear that I might die in childbirth, or in battle, and never live to see our children born.”
“For a woman bearing two healthy children, you are somber tonight,” Val chided. “Jeena and Dusk have assured you that all is well with your children, and there is a forest full of warriors and strong stone walls between you and danger.”
“I could die,” Chyrie persisted, turning to Valann. “Many females die in childbirth, and they bear only one child, not two. What would you do if I die?”
Valann frowned, taken aback by her intensity.
“You and I are one spirit, love,” he said gently. “Do you remember the day we were mated, when our souls first came together? How could I live without my soul, my fierce she-fox? I guard nothing with more care than your life, for it is my own as well.”
“And if you died?” Chyrie’s eyes were large and frightened. “What would I do?”
“Why, you would not let me die.” Val laughed. “You are so determined, my sword dancer, I believe you would pull my spirit back from the roots of the Mother Forest Herself to stay with you. Come, why this fear tonight?”
“I think of our people,” Chyrie admitted. “They live so close to the Dawn’s Edges, who were attacked.”
“Then send your brighthawk to our Gifted One tomorrow,” Val suggested. “See how they fare, and warn them again. Perhaps some of our kin will come here to shelter.”
“But it is so far,” Chyrie protested. “The brighthawk will not wish to fly so far.”
“He flew from Inner Heart to Blue-eyes,” Val said practically. “It is no farther from Inner Heart to Wilding.”
“But it is far from Blue-eyes to Wilding,” Chyrie said. “I do not think I can touch the hawk from so far away.”
“Then you will tell Dusk, and he will send a bird to them in your name,” Val said. “You are becoming like the humans, hoarding worries as a squirrel hoards nuts against winter hunger.” He pulled her closer and nuzzled the back of her neck. “Come, I know how to comfort you.”
“Love, can we not stay here tonight?” Chyrie asked, turning in her seat to slide her hands under his tunic.
“Why not?” Valann smiled. “We can couple here in the sky like two hawks on the wing.”
Chyrie said nothing, but sighed and pulled him closer.
Chapter Thirteen
The sun peeked shyly over the forest, staining the sky purple, then pink, then orange. Chyrie sat quietly on the battlement, watching the sun rise, while Val snored softly on the furs. When the sun was high enough, she called the brighthawk.
The bird responded sluggishly, having fed heavily the evening before, but at Chyrie’s urging it rose and flew northeast, its powerful wings lifting it higher to coast on the wind.
The air was still cool and crisp with morning dew, and the sun shone on the leaves below with that special brightness that only late-spring sun seems to give, and Chyrie thought poignantly that a flight had never been sweeter. She had flown birds before, although rarely anything as large as the brighthawk, but she had seldom gone above the green canopy of the forest. From such a height, she could marvel at the huge green expanse of the Heartwood, not flat as it always seemed to her, but rolling in gentle hills and valleys, broken here and there by stream, and in one place by the shimmering expanse of Moon Lake.
It was becoming more difficult to hold the hawk now. The hawk was not used to flying so far, and Chyrie was already fa
r past the greatest distance over which she had ever tried to maintain rapport with a beast. She pressed the brighthawk harder, poured more of herself into the bond between them, feeling her link to her body grow weaker as she did so. For a moment she was frightened—she had heard stories of foolish beast-speakers losing their minds into the minds of some beast they touched—but her resolve strengthened her, and she pushed on.
Suddenly warm strength flowed into her, and far behind her she could sense Valann’s presence. Reveling in her sudden feeling of power, of free flight, Chyrie reached back and pulled Valann in with her, drawing him in a breathless rush over the miles.
(You are as reckless as you are bold,) Valann thought, even as his joy poured over her like fresh water. (I thought you said this was dangerous.)
(Last night you said I was hoarding worries,) Chyrie teased. (Now you call me reckless. But with you here with me, I could fly to the end of the world and back.)
It seemed they were flying to the end of the world. Never having concerned herself with the rest of the Heartwood, Chyrie had had no idea it was so vast. The hawk was built for speed, not endurance, and it became more restive as it tired.
(The brighthawk must rest,) Chyrie thought regretfully. (I feared as much. I do not know if I can maintain the contact long enough. We must find another.)
Val hesitated, having never made the jump from beast to beast, and Chyrie sympathized; she had done it seldom enough herself. The brighthawk was tiring, however, and it was plain that it would oust them from its mind soon in any event.
They were over Black Feather lands now, slightly east of the altars. Chyrie cast about with her thoughts and found a spot-tailed hawk; it was smaller than the brighthawk, but still large enough to range a good distance. Before Chyrie could take time to doubt her ability to move both herself and Valann from the brighthawk to the spot-tail, she determinedly gathered her energy and reached, pulling Valann with her.
For a moment the world whirled around her as she was pulled tight, this time between her own body and the brighthawk’s, the spot-tail and Valann, but her will was stronger than the confusion, and she held on grimly until she was looking clearly out the spot-tail’s eyes.
The spot-tail, preying only on the smaller life of the forest, never traveled above the trees, and unlike the brighthawk, it had not been raised to accept a beast-speaker’s control so easily, so Chyrie did not try to force it higher than its inclination. Still, it flitted through the trees at an amazing rate, and within a short time Valann and Chyrie joyfully recognized the familiar landmarks of Wilding territory.
They flew past a wide patrol, and Chyrie felt her own and Valann’s delight as they recognized kin; but there was no beast-speaker among the patrol, and so after lingering long enough to drink in the familiar voices and faces, Chyrie turned the hawk west toward the Wilding village.
Unlike the Inner Hearts, Wildings did not build their homes on the ground, preferring the safety of woven-switch huts hung from sturdy branches or cradled close to the trunks of the great trees. Also unlike the Inner Hearts, there was no central firepit; the more secretive Wildings preferred the small braziers for light and heat, and built small, closed stone-and-clay ovens on the ground for cooking. Chyrie did not pause, but prodded the spot-tailed hawk directly to the hanging hut of the Wildings’ Gifted One.
Riuma was in his hut, as usual; the Gifted One had a weakness in his eyes, and the light hurt them, so that he seldom went out by day. When Chyrie coaxed the spot-tail past the half-open leather flap that hung over the opening to the hut, Riuma looked up from the paste he was grinding in a clay bowl, his large, dark eyes wondering.
“What have we here?” he asked, putting the bowl down slowly so as not to frighten the hawk. “Hello, little flier. Who visits me today?”
(Greetings, Gifted One,) Chyrie thought. (It is Chyrie who visits you, and I bring my mate Valann with me.)
(Chyrie, and Valann, too!) Riuma thought, his eyebrows raising. (But the Inner Hearts sent word that you had gone to the human city far to the west. When did you return to the forest?)
(We have not returned, Gifted One,) Valann told him. (My mate has grown strong in the use of her gift.)
(Strong indeed, to come so far, and to bring you with her,) Riuma agreed. (But how do you fare? The Eldest was enraged when he heard what befell you two, and it was only fear of our lands being seized by humans that kept him from sending every fit warrior to your aid.)
(We are well,) Chyrie thought. (Were you told—)
(That you are with child, doubly so?) Riuma shook his head. (I was hard-pressed to believe such a thing; but who would invent a lie so fantastic? And then I received your own messages, and those I could not doubt. Would that you could return to us. I fear for you.)
(Rowan thought it a blessing from the Mother Forest,) Valann thought doubtfully.
(It may be so,) Riuma thought, shrugging. (But little in this life is given for nothing, and for a blessing on our people, it may be Chyrie who pays the price. Can you not come back, little one, that we can protect you and tend you?)
(Our word was the price of our release from Inner Heart,) Chyrie thought regretfully. (And Rowan wisely saw the need for a beast-speaker in this place.) She hesitated. (Is there no hope that the Eldest might send some of our people here for safety?)
Riuma shook his head.
(There was a meeting of the clan,) he told them. (He would not ally with Inner Heart, but he put the choice to our females who were ripe or with child that they might journey to the city for safety if they would. Each chose to stay, to stand in defense of our lands. Only last night our patrols at the forest’s edge saw many humans to the north—near Silvertip lands—and soon it will come to battle.)
(How many humans?) Chyrie asked quickly.
(More than fifty, less than a hundred.) Riuma shrugged. (Who can count the fish in a school?)
(Would that we could add our swords to yours,) Valann thought angrily. (But we were given no such choice.)
(It may be as well you are where you are,) Riuma told him. (As Rowan said, Chyrie must indeed be protected. Her kin will fight the more strongly for knowing she and the lives she bears are safe, and that every human who falls to our swords will be one less to threaten her.)
(But tell us the tidings of the clan,) Chyrie thought eagerly. (What has passed since we left on wide patrol?)
(Your mother is well,) Riuma told her. (Leean is with the wide patrol who saw the humans. Jire, Mera, and Riss all bore healthy younglings, two females and a male. Mera has mated Arel. No one has returned to the Mother Forest since you left.)
The hawk was growing restive, unaccustomed to a beast-speaker’s prolonged presence, and Riuma felt its resistance.
(You must go before you hurt this little brother,) he thought. (But before you go, Chyrie, there is something I wish to show you.)
His thoughts reached out to hers, and Chyrie could only helplessly admire his skill, for he touched her as gently as a mother might clasp her child’s hand.
(Come with me,) he thought. (This is a teaching that the Gifted One before me gave to me, and today I will give it to you.)
He drew her gently away from the hawk and Valann, away from the hanging hut until they flowed into the tree itself, as easily as water flowed into a cup. Chyrie marveled at the slow pulse of life she felt, like the beat of a distant drum, sweet, warm life flowing upward from the roots to meet quicker, brighter life flowing down from the leaves.
Inward Riuma and Chyrie flew, through the concentric layers of the tree toward its center, and yet farther in and farther beyond that, until they touched a bright spark of burning life at the very heart of it all, and Chyrie felt a shock of—recognition?
(Follow an oak back to its very beginning and you find a seed,) Riuma told her as they bathed in the warm glow. (Follow a man back to his very beginning and you find a seed in a woman’s womb. This is the door to the heart of the Mother Forest, the seed from which begins all life. If you looked deep
within yourself you would find such a seed. That is the seed to which we all return, that we may grow once again. From this seed comes the life that feeds us, and a Gifted One learns to use this strength. You have felt the touch of it when you dance, when you touch the mind of a beast, and this is because at those times you touch the Mother Forest. Just as an acorn is the beginning of an oak, its leaves are its outer limit, and we—you and I, Chyrie, and every one of our kind, and each beast and bird, and every living thing that grows in the forest—we are the leaves of the Mother Forest. Do you understand?)
(I am not certain,) Chyrie thought hesitantly. (But I feel the truth of what you say.)
(Then that is enough,) Riuma told her. (Remember your way to this place when you need the Mother Forest’s strength, and She will give it gladly.)
(Why do we not go closer?) Chyrie asked eagerly. (I want to touch it.)
(That is the caution you must take,) Riuma warned her. (Those who return to the heart of the Mother Forest come here so they may grow again as a new life. Take care not to touch the seed, or you may lose yourself in the soul of the Mother Forest. You have felt this danger in the minds of beasts. Do not let the promise of life you feel here blind you to that danger. Now we must return.)
They surged up through the earth, through the tree, and Chyrie settled again gratefully against Valann’s comforting presence. The hawk was more than restive now; it was fighting desperately, frightened, and Chyrie held it just long enough for a last farewell touch with Riuma, then released it, glad of her renewed strength to pull her and Valann back over the great distance.
She fell back into her body as painfully as if she had fallen from a great height onto stone, and for a moment she could only lay where she was, panting helplessly while every part of her body screamed agony at her. Gradually her eyes creaked painfully open, and the blurred images above her slowly resolved into Jeena’s and Rivkah’s worried faces. The softness of furs under her and the stone ceiling above her told her that she had been moved back to their quarters.
