When Women Were Warriors Book I

by Catherine M. Wilson

  I woke just in time for the midday meal. Alpin sat next to me at the companions’ table. She managed to distract me from my troubles by keeping up a constant stream of conversation about everything under the sun. I noticed that she kept a close eye on her warrior, and when Cael rose to leave the hall, Alpin left half her dinner on her plate and followed her.

  I enjoyed Alpin’s company. I didn’t mind her chatter, and I found her attention to her warrior amusing until I recognized myself. I seldom left food on my plate only because I spent mealtimes eating instead of talking, but I always had one eye on Maara, and when she left the hall, I left with her.

  Suddenly I was lonely for her. Although she was only just upstairs, I felt as if Namet had taken her away from me. As the healing of the body takes time, the healing of Maara’s spirit would take time. How long would it be before Namet gave her back to me?

  I never allowed myself to think that Namet might fail. Maara had survived wounds of the body that should have killed her. Surely this wounding of her heart could not be past mending.

  One of the servants put a hand on my shoulder.

  “Namet wants you,” she said. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  I found Namet sitting at a table with the healer. When she saw me, she pointed to a stool opposite her, and I sat down.

  “I don’t know,” the healer was saying. “She may need to understand and she may not.”

  “Understand what?” I said, before I could stop myself.

  I had spoken out of turn, and I half expected them to ignore me, but Namet turned to me and said, “A healing may succeed whether or not a person understands it. Willow bark cools a fever, though the person who is ill may not understand its virtue. That isn’t always true for this kind of healing. Maara may need to understand, and I don’t know her well enough to know what certain gestures mean to her.”

  “It can’t hurt to try,” the healer said.

  Namet looked doubtful. “Sometimes it can hurt to try, but I think we have no choice this time.” She gave me a look of sympathy. “This child wants her warrior back.”

  Namet stood up and motioned to me to follow her. Together we went out the back door and down the well-worn path between the sheds that led to the place of ritual. This time we didn’t remove our clothing. I followed Namet down the ladder into the underground chamber.

  I remembered the silence. The cold was something new. When I had come into this sacred space the first time, the air was warm, despite the cold air of winter that hovered just above our heads. This time it was the warmth of springtime we left behind, and the cool air in the chamber made me shiver.

  Namet sat down by the wall farthest from the altar and patted the floor beside her. I sat down on the cold stone.

  Namet’s doubts worried me. I wanted to tell her things that would prove to her my warrior’s value and her strength of spirit, but Namet sat still, her gaze turned inward, and I was afraid to speak. Then little by little my worries left me, and I sat silent beside a woman whose wisdom I trusted, just as I trusted her good intentions.

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” said Namet.

  I gave a start. “What?”

  “You’re too young to remember the war,” she said, “but many were left motherless by it. Even so, there is something in your warrior I find disturbing.” Namet turned to face me. “Go back in your mind to the night you spent with her here. How did you feel about her then?”

  I didn’t know what she meant. “I felt about her as I always have.”

  “Did you trust her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she ever frighten you?”

  “No,” I said.

  “You were never frightened?”

  “I was,” I said, “but she eased my fears.”

  “Did you ever feel that she might do you harm?”

  “No.” Then I remembered the bruises on my wrist.

  “Not on purpose,” I said.

  A shrewd look came into Namet’s eyes. “What has she done?”

  I couldn’t lie to Namet. Reluctantly I pulled my sleeve up a few inches.

  “It looks worse than it is,” I said.

  “She did that?”

  I nodded.

  “When?”

  “Last night,” I said, “but she wasn’t herself. She would never have hurt me if she’d been herself.”

  “If she wasn’t herself, who was she?”

  Namet didn’t expect an answer.

  I looked away, and all at once tears filled my heart, although my eyes remained dry.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “If she pulled my hand from my arm, she would be welcome to it if that would make her whole again.”

  Namet took my hand and touched my bruises tenderly with her fingertips. “Such words should not be spoken lightly. The world may hear them and remember them, and someday you may be held to a promise you never knew you made.”

  Her words didn’t frighten me, although they should have. I remembered the warriors standing with drawn swords at the foot of the stairs while Eramet barred the way. I remembered Maara’s face when the Lady made my life the price of treachery. I remembered her challenge to Vintel.

  “Maara has put her life at risk more than once for me,” I said.

  Namet’s gentle hold tightened until my wrist began to hurt. A knife appeared in her hand.

  “I wouldn’t ask an entire hand,” she said.

  She held the blade against the second joint of my little finger.

  I stared at her in disbelief. A wildness had come into her eyes. Did she need this from me for Maara’s healing? If she did, I would find a way to bear it.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The knife vanished. Namet took my hand in both of hers and raised it to her lips. She blew on it three times, then kissed the back of it and let it go.

  “The world will be happy enough with that, I think,” she said, and smiled at me.

  I clasped my hands together to stop their shaking.

  “I admire your courage,” Namet said, “but you should temper it with prudence. A warrior needs her hands.”

  Namet thought for a few minutes before she spoke again.

  “At first I was inclined to let her heal herself,” she said. “A person may step into the past for a short time, to find something of herself she left behind or to understand the persistent ache of an old wound. Many times such a journey brings its own healing. At worst, she may simply put it behind her and go on.”

  “Will Maara’s spirit heal itself, do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, “but I think that in any case, a day or two from now her memories of the last few days will have faded, and she will appear to be as she was before.”

  “Appear to be?”

  “No,” said Namet. “I misspoke. I think she will be as she was before.”

  I was relieved to hear it, but something was worrying Namet.

  “If she is unchanged, then what happened once may happen again.”

  I hadn’t thought of that.

  Once more I feared that Namet had doubts about undertaking Maara’s healing. If Maara could be as she had been before the night of the spring festival, I would be grateful for even that much, but if Namet could help her change, so much the better.

  “Can’t you do something for her?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” she said. “But I must think carefully how best to do it.”

  Namet’s uncertainty puzzled me until she said, “Have you ever lanced a boil?”

  Then I understood. Sometimes a lancing lets the poison out and speeds a person’s healing, but if it is not done skillfully, it may only spread the poison, and then the person might die.

  Namet took my hand in hers. She leaned back against the stone wall of the chamber and closed her eyes.

  “Open your heart,” she said, “and let someone wiser tell us what to do.”

  We sat there hand in hand for a long time. I tried to do as Namet told me, but my mind
was full of doubts and questions. I tried to open my heart, only to find it full of fear. I knew I wasn’t being very helpful.

  Namet’s hold on my hand tightened. I turned to look at her. Her eyes were open, and tears trickled down her cheeks.

  “So simple,” she said.

  She must be listening to something that could be heard only by the wisest heart.

  “Will you entrust her to me?” Namet said.

  “Of course,” I told her.

  “The healer thinks it doesn’t matter whether or not she understands her healing. I think it does matter. I think it matters a great deal, and there is one gesture I know she’ll understand.”

  Namet turned to look at me, and her face was full of hope.

  “She’s a child who has lost her mother,” she said, “and I’m a mother who has lost her child.”

  The news went through the house like wildfire. No one spoke openly about it. It went from person to person in whispers. Before the day was out there was no one who hadn’t heard it. That Namet intended to take Maara as her daughter so soon after the loss of Eramet was surprising enough, but that she would take a stranger into her family was even more astonishing.

  “Why would she do such a thing?” Sparrow asked me. “She has no need for a daughter. Arnet is the head of her house, and Arnet has an heir.”

  I wondered if Sparrow’s heart might hurt a bit for Eramet’s sake.

  “She didn’t take Maara to replace Eramet,” I said.

  “I suppose not.”

  But Sparrow looked doubtful.

  “You may love someone else too someday. You still have love to give, even if Eramet no longer needs it.”

  “How can Namet love your warrior? She hardly knows her.”

  “Namet has been Maara’s friend since before midwinter’s night.”

  “Oh,” she said. “I didn’t know.”

  “This is something Namet needs,” I said.

  Though Namet had first thought of becoming Maara’s mother as a way to help Maara heal the wounds of childhood, I believe that her decision changed something in her own heart. Namet spoke to me about it that morning as if she had been offered a wonderful gift, and when she went to ask Maara for her consent, it seemed to me that she was a little apprehensive that Maara might not accept her.

  I had no doubt what Maara’s answer would be. I would have loved to see her face when Namet spoke to her, but that was a moment for them to share only with each other.

  Late that afternoon Namet sent for me.

  “Sit with your warrior for a while,” Namet said to me. “I have some things to do.”

  After Namet left the room, I sat down on the foot of Maara’s bed. She looked much better than she had that morning. She seemed almost her old self again, but I felt something new in her I couldn’t name.

  “You look well,” I told her.

  She met my eyes and gazed at me.

  I needed to hear her voice.

  “How do you feel?” I asked her.

  “I don’t understand,” she said. “Why would Namet care for me?”

  “She does,” I said. “Don’t you believe her?”

  “I do believe her. I just don’t understand why.”

  “What did she say to you?”

  “She told me she’s my friend. She said that will never change, but that if I’m willing, she needs a child as much as I seem to need a mother.” She chuckled. “Do you think I need a mother?”

  I smiled. “We all need our mothers.”

  “Warriors too?”

  “Warriors too.”

  We were silent for a while. It took me several minutes to understand what was different about her. There had always been a wariness in her that I noticed now only because it was gone.

  “Namet has made a strange choice,” Maara said.

  There was something in her tone of voice I didn’t like, as if she thought Namet had made a mistake.

  “I made the same choice,” I reminded her.

  She looked at me then as if she would have opened my heart and peered inside. “Why?”

  I didn’t know how to answer her.

  At last I said, “There’s no one else like you.”

  “Thank the gods for that!” she said.

  She was teasing, but I saw her hide a smile.

  “Do you care for Namet?” I said.

  She nodded.

  “Why?”

  “Because she’s kind. She’s wise. She listens.”

  “Many women here are kind and wise,” I said. “And most of them will listen, at least for a little while. Do you care for them as you care for Namet?”

  She understood what I meant. She laughed.

  “No,” she said. “There’s no one else like Namet. Or like you.”

  That night Namet took Maara down into the place of ritual. I had no idea what would happen there. I knew only that in the morning a mother and her child would emerge out of the earth. I was glad for Maara. I knew that Namet’s love would do her good, just as Maara’s love would do Namet good, but there was a feeling in my chest as heavy as grief. I didn’t understand it.

  Sparrow knew what I was feeling. At suppertime she sat beside me at the companions’ table. Once in a while she would lean her shoulder against mine or give my hand a quick squeeze.

  After supper we went together out to the bower. A few girls were sleeping there. We walked down the hill a little way, so that our talk wouldn’t disturb them.

  “I’m sorry for what I said today,” Sparrow told me.

  I had forgotten our conversation. “What are you talking about?”

  “About Namet and your warrior,” she said. “I was jealous, I think.”

  “Jealous for Eramet?”

  “Partly.”

  “What else?”

  “For a long time I was the only person here without a name. Then Maara came to Merin’s house. She was a stranger, as nameless as I. Now she will have a name, but I never will.”

  I didn’t know what to say. Instead of holding my tongue until the right thing occurred to me, I blurted out something foolish.

  “A name isn’t that important,” I said.

  “Only someone with a name would say something like that.”

  “You’re right,” I said. “I dishonor my own name by saying such a thing.” I took her hand. “But I don’t believe you will never have a name. Names can be earned, as well as given.”

  Sparrow smiled her teasing smile. “You’re so old-fashioned. That only happens in stories. No one earns a name by her deeds anymore. Anyway, I don’t mind. Once I’ve won my shield, the lack of a name won’t matter.”

  That afternoon a spring shower had cooled the air. The earth we sat on was damp and cold. I shivered a little, and Sparrow put her arm around my shoulders.

  I thought about how Sparrow must feel. Namet was Eramet’s mother, and Sparrow had been Eramet’s beloved. There should have been a bond between them, but it almost seemed as if Namet had given Sparrow’s place to Maara.

  “Was Namet disappointed when Eramet chose you?” I asked her.

  I felt her stiffen. “She wasn’t overjoyed.”

  “Namet didn’t know you. She should have trusted Eramet’s judgment, but no mother ever thinks her child has chosen someone worthy of her, no matter how great a name she bears.”

  Sparrow laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Namet is a good woman. She’s someone well worth knowing for her own sake, and for Eramet’s sake you might try to love her a little.”

  Sparrow sighed. “You would put the whole world around one hearth.”

  I think she meant that I would sooner see people at peace with one another than at odds. I thought to myself, Wouldn’t anyone? Then I remembered Bec, who at the first hint of an argument hastened to encourage the underdog, not for the sake of justice, but only to prolong the altercation.

  I yawned. Sparrow stood up and helped me to my feet.

  “Come on,” she said. “It’s pas
t your bedtime.”

  We went back to the bower. Sparrow spread an oxhide on the ground against the damp, then covered it with a soft blanket. I sat down and pulled off my boots and trousers. Then I lay back, and through the wickerwork of the roof, I gazed up at the stars. Sparrow lay down beside me and drew a light blanket over us. I could feel her watching me. After a moment she put her hand shyly on my shoulder.

  I found her nearness comforting, and I snuggled against her, but I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking of Maara, who was at that moment with Namet in the place where she had held my sleeping body through the night while I flew with the beings in the air. I wondered what would pass between them as they knit the bonds of kinship that would last for as long as they both lived.

  “Why can’t you sleep?” Sparrow whispered. “You must be exhausted.”

  “The world changes too much,” I whispered back. “I’m trying to keep up.”

  Sparrow brushed my cheek with her fingertips.

  “You can catch up tomorrow,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

  I felt her soft hand against my cheek, turning my face to hers. Her kiss didn’t surprise me. Her lips were warm and soft. They stopped my thoughts. They awakened in me, not desire, but a longing to be comforted. I turned toward her and put my arms around her.

  The touch of her body easily awakened mine. My body remembered her and trusted her. I felt echo within me the memory of what we’d shared, but this time I felt, not the spark of passion, but the comfort of a deep, familiar pleasure.

  Sparrow began to caress me. I had not forgotten the sleeping girls who shared the bower with us, and I tried to be quiet. I hid my face in the hollow of Sparrow’s shoulder. Her touch was soft and patient. She gave me a gentle pleasure, and as the pounding of my heart slowed, I floated just under the surface of sleep. I had to struggle to stay awake. When I would have reached for her, she stopped me.

  “Not now,” she whispered. “Go to sleep.”

  I slipped into the dark.

  The entire household gathered for the midday meal. It was unusual for everyone to be there all at once except on holidays, but they knew what was going to happen, and no one wanted to miss such an important event.

  Everyone remained standing. Even the Lady and the elders stood by their places at the high table. Usually on these occasions the warriors were impatient. Coughing and mumbling and shuffling of feet would signal their desire to have the formalities over with so that they could eat their dinner. Today they waited in silence, and an air of anticipation filled the hall.