by S. A. Hunter
“Did you have enough to eat, now, my lad?” asked Nan, archly ignoring the invitation.
Innic patted his lean belly. “Oh. Aye, lass. Enough to march a ten-day span, I swear. You be a fine cook, my dear.”
Nan smiled, “Oh now, that was nothing so much.”
“You be such a modest lass,” adjured Innic fondly, “and the best cook in the keep, to think. Better even than Goodwoman Tannis that’s been Cook these many years.”
“Oh? Do you think so, then?” Nan asked, her tone thoughtful and considering.
Thera’s jaw dropped. Nan’s reputation as an excellent cook was well promoted by Nan herself. The rivalry between Nan and Goodwoman Tannis had often reached epic proportions. Thera remembered recovering from a childhood illness and while having to be tempted to eat, their rivalry in creating savories and possets had almost done her in.
This type of dissembling was foreign to Thera. She had certainly seen her mother being playful with her father, and Fideiya did have a particular smile that was for Leon alone. However, Thera could not recall any occasion when her mother had pretended to be less than she was. Certainly, Thera thought, no man ever loved a woman more than father does mother.
Turning her head, Thera considered Jon as he was unpacking the night rolls. Beyond doubt he is a handsome boy, but he is so very vain. Also, he has very peculiar ideas of what kind of treatment is pleasing to me.
Thera sent grateful thanks to the Elanraigh, I would not wish to be the daughter of a poor man, with a duty to go with whoever contracted the most bride price. My happiness, Thera vowed, will never depend on how well I configure myself to suit some man’s wishes.
Yawning, she paused, mid stretch. Perhaps if I become the Salvai, I could work to change such things. She propped chin on fist as she thought about this. An impecunious young lover should be able to obtain a bridal price for his loved one from—who?—oh, the township perhaps. Or, even better; I, when Salvai, will establish a fund. Thera smiled, Yes, that’s it. The grateful young couple could then repay the bridal debt by services to Allenholme and Elanraigh.
It would be a departure from tradition, but it felt right to her.
At present, guilds that accepted a promising female apprentice would usually provide the girl’s family with a reasonable equivalent of bride price.
Captain Lydia’s case had been different, though. There was no such thing as a soldiers’ guild. Lydia had told her she had to put aside half her pay for five years before she was able to pay her father the same amount a chandler merchant had offered for her.
Thera considered this. My Salvai’s fund will also provide for women who do not wish to marry, the financial means to placate their families.
Satisfied with her idea, she smiled and briskly dusted the gritty sand off her hands. She paused as she remembered Chamakin’s vision of Maiya and Warrior working together with their people as teachers and leaders, and nodded to herself. It could be a useful and fulfilling life.
Yawning mightily again, Thera stood and said her goodnights. She doubted if Nan and Innic particularly noticed.
As she lifted the flap of her tent, swordsman Jon approached her.
“Is there anything I can get for you Lady Thera,” he asked, “some water, or an extra blanket?”
“No. I thank you.”
“I will be right here, then. You needn’t fear,” he smiled, even as he saluted.
Feeling her face flush, Thera nodded, and with considerable irritation, dropped the tent flap in his face.
* * * *
Thera caught herself nodding in the saddle. It must be near our noon halt, she thought muzzily, as her stomach rumbled. The drone of insects and heady scent of broom had lulled her.
Their route today had humped up and down ever since the tide last changed. In some places they had to dismount and walk the horses around the rocky outcroppings. The trail was becoming rougher. Some of the ancient crude-carved stone benches were crumbled, and whole segments had been broken to rubble by storms.
Nan was not an experienced horsewoman, and Thera read her increasing fear of the high black rocks that cantilevered out over the surf. Thera cleared her throat, about to suggest another dismount as if at her own need to Swordsman Innic.
Before the words were out of her mouth, however, Innic with the clear perception born of caring, rather than gift, was helping Nan off her pony.
“We’ll rest the horses and walk awhile,” he called back to Jon. He turned to Nan, clasping her hand, “Now lass, the trail goes down to the ocean again after the next bend and is a nice sandy beach for the next day’s ride. Will you be alright?”
Nan merely patted his arm and nodded. She turned to walk on, mopping at her brow with a piece of white linen.
Innic watched after her a moment, waiting for Thera and Jon to pass so he could tie Nan’s pony and Thera’s mare behind the pack mule.
The swordsman walked beside Thera. “Our Nan be weary, my Lady, but she doesn’t like to show it. Once we’re around yon bend, the trail descends to Shawl Bay.” He squinted skyward, “It be early yet, but by chance you wish to take mid-day halt there?”
Thera studied Innic a moment. He had the rough features of the veteran foot soldier he was. Thera could remember seeing him during festival games, wielding his sword with cool precision. He would distort his features into a rictus grin, meant to disconcert his opponent. It succeeded in its purpose with the novices, and was loudly admired by the other veterans.
The old soldier looked transformed, however, when his thoughts were of Nan. He need only speak her name, to gentle the craggy terrain of his face.
Thera blinked out of her reverie. She nodded in answer to his question.
“Indeed.” She smiled as she placed her hand on her midriff. “In truth my stomach has been growling like a bristlefang since Opal Fin Point.”
Innic’s deep carved features relaxed and he laughed, baring strong yellowed teeth, and strode forward to assist Nan.
Thera strolled along, admiring the colorful variety of starry flowers growing on the vines that netted the lichen-blackened rocks. She glanced back-trail, and laughed to see Mulberry dancing at the end of her lead and nibbling at the pony’s rump.
Their small party rounded the bend; the trail now steeply descending toward the roar of surf. It twisted past some sitka spars and turned to drive its way through more gorsgrass.
Thera sensed something. A chill…she looked up to see if a cloud covered the sun. No. The sun’s light ignited the washed blue of sky and she shaded her eyes from its brightness.
Clenching her hand on her dagger she pivoted to look back again. Jon appeared as usual, he had removed his skullcap helm and was wiping his arm across his forehead, but nothing altered his swinging stride or easy demeanor.
Thera’s gaze narrowed. The horses were uneasy. Mulberry’s ears twitched and her skin flinched, as if she were bothered with flies. Jon’s mount tossed its head, eyes rolling.
Ahead, Swordsman Innic walked alone, as the path was narrowing. He frequently turned, though, to talk to Nan. Thera could not make out the words they said, their voices were strangely muffled to her hearing as if spoken through heavy layers of cloth. Neither Nan nor Innic appeared alarmed.
Thera shook her head. Now she suffered a sense of smothering, of struggling to draw breath into her lungs. She sent her senses out groping for an answer.
It was the Elanraigh.
The Elanraigh was immensely angry.
Thera felt a sudden silence like an indrawn breath held ominous and tense, then rage gusted forth. Her hand rose to her throat where her pulse leaped under her thumb. Never had she felt such as this from the Elanraigh before.
It was as if an advancing army trod the air with pounding footsteps.
Her throat tight with fear, she tried to cry o
ut a warning. At the same instant, hundreds of crows burst voiceless into the air where they swirled in their unnatural silence, as if they feared to alight.
They must have seen each other at almost the same instant, the Memteth raiders and the party from Allenholme. The Memteth crew were bent over a freshly fallen sitka spruce they had dragged down to the beach. Their bright-bladed axes hewed away its branches and skin. Their gibing joviality indicated no awareness or regard for the spirit of the deeply shocked sitka. Their black-sailed ship lay at anchor some several horse strides from the beach.
The apparent leader stood to one side. His manner was both brooding and watchful. The armored head swung from side to side as he scanned the beach and his partially scaled hand clenched an amulet that hung around his neck.
The Memteth leader’s strident yell and Swordsman Innic’s clashed in the air as they both cried out alarm.
Chapter Thirteen
Innic spun on his heel. He grabbed Nan about the waist, half lifting her off her feet as he doubled back-trail to where Jon and Thera were attempting to control the panicked animals.
Sweat prickled out of Thera’s pores as she twisted her hand in Mulberry’s reins. The mare, her eyes rolling, attempted to spin around, dragging Thera with her. Her arm felt as if it would be pulled from its socket. Belatedly Thera realized Mulberry might be responding to her own terror—she had forgotten Teacher’s lessons.
Thera drew a deep breath, and visualized rain falling on a still pond, the water rippled and smoothed, rippled and smoothed. From this calm centre within herself, she sent soothing feelings to the mare. The mare’s eyes still showed white, but she settled enough for Thera to turn her. Nan’s pony biddably followed, Blessings be!
Jon turned the mule and with a swack on the rump, sent it back the way they came. The young soldier ran to join Innic, his sword ringing as he unsheathed it.
At Innic’s abrupt hand signal, Jon halted in his headlong run. He strained to see down the twisting path. A clamor of harsh commands and shouts reached their ears.
Innic swung Nan round in front of him, his hands clenching her upper arms. “Now, love,” his voice grated, “you listen close. You and Lady Thera run to the trees. You be safe in the Elanraigh, I vow.”
Nan’s face was ghastly, and she clung to him. “What do you think to do? You foolish man, you must come with us! They are too many!”
“I have my duty, as you have yours to Oak Heart’s Heir,” he said, shaking her slightly. The soldier’s features contorted in the grimace Thera remembered. “I will show those scum what they face from the men of Allenholme,” his voice softened, “and I will buy you time. So ‘tis not in vain, this.”
He pulled Nan to him, kissed her hard, then spun her up to Thera. “To the trees, my Lady,” he shouted, “and Elanraigh protect you.”
“And you,” choked Thera.
She stood erect, her hands gripped Nan’s. Thera braced herself as Nan cried out to Innic and flung herself toward him. Thera’s eyes met and locked a moment with Innic’s, then Jon’s. The soldiers bestowed on her the swordsman’s salute to Liege.
Then once again Innic flashed his fighter’s grin, and both soldiers turned to position themselves somewhat down trail, to where it steeply descended past two rock formations towering either side of the path.
Thera turned, and continuing to grip Nan’s hand she pulled her stumbling up the path. Nan was gasping. Thera heard her moaning Innic’s name. Thera focused only on the distance to the tree line. She too cried out, a litany of anger and pain, pleading with the Elanraigh, “Oh save my two brave men who face odds of six to one.”
Thera felt the Elanraigh respond with great frustration, it chaffed like a tethered and tormented beast at the tree line demarcation.
With an ice-water chill, Thera realized the Elanraigh could not affect the event about to take place. Though its anger built like the towering front of a thunderhead, it was held powerless at the exact edge of the forest.
The last segment of the twisting trail was the steepest. Thera had one hand wrapped around Nan’s forearm and used the other to grasp hand-holds on the rocks. Her shoulder muscles burned and her hand was soon scraped raw and bleeding. She paused, her breath rasping in and out.
The final bench of rock was just above them. Then it would be about twenty horse-strides distance to run, before they would reach the first stunted shore pines of the Elanraigh.
They both heard the clash of arms begin below them. The battle cry of Allenholme’s soldiers rang out.
Nan moaned and collapsed to her knees.
Wild eyed, Thera pulled Nan to her feet. “Just a little farther. Come Nan, Innic wished it.”
Nan slipped constantly. Her feet pained her much of the time anyway, and she was not wearing boots like Thera’s. Thera saw that Nan’s ankles were swollen and scraped.
Finally reaching the level shelf, Thera shifted her arm to around Nan’s waist and supported her as they stumbled on toward the first wind-twisted pines. To her inner vision, the barrier of the Elanraigh’s anger rose like a towering wave ahead. Like the still silent and anxiously circling crows, Thera almost hesitated to enter.
However, she heard her name urgently thrummed. This was a voice that would brook no discussion, and she was driven where the Elanraigh wished her.
As they entered the shelter of the trees, all sounds from behind them were cut off—as if a heavy curtain had dropped. All Thera could hear was Nan’s gasping. Her pasty color alarmed Thera. They needed a safe resting place. Now.
Thera patted Nan’s arm, her gaze searching, her senses alert. There would be time for words and grief when they were safe. Forcefully, the Elanraigh drove her on toward a large hemlock. The old tree giant was split some two pike lengths up its side and Thera could see a hollow niche beyond the very narrow opening. It was just large enough for the two women.
“Blessings,” murmured Thera, near exhaustion. Yet, she hesitated. She stared back toward the direction of the sea, where her men fought. Nothing was visible. It was like trying to see through a heat wave mirage. The air shimmered.
She felt an impatient pressure at her back, as if a hand insistently pushed her. Beyond any further resistance, Thera dropped to her knees and crawled through the narrow opening. The oppressive air weighed heavier and heavier upon her.
“Nan?” Thera’s vision darkened around the edges. “Hurry Nan.”
Nan held to the sides of the opening, she licked her lips, and sweat ran in rivulets from her temples. Her eyes pleaded with Thera. “I wanted only to see you safe, Button. Here, in the Elanraigh’s care. Blessings be. Nevertheless, I must see my Innic again. I’m going back. As you love me, do not try to stop me.”
Thera scrambled back toward the tree cave opening, “No! Nan! This is madness, you must not—the Elanraigh can’t protect you there!”
Thera grabbed at Nan’s skirts, but the tree cave aperture had so narrowed that even her slender form could not now slip through. “Nan!” she screamed. She clawed at the old tree like a wildcat in a trap. She raged in soldier’s speech at the Elanraigh. A warm weight inexorably pushed her down onto the deep humus of the tree cave. Darkness poured over her.
Chapter Fourteen
Once, Thera dreamt she awakened in the dark. She murmured Nan’s name and rolled her head. Night wind redolent of wild mint blew onto her heated face. She imagined quicksilver eyes watching her from the tree’s opening.
“Farnash,” Thera whispered. His glistening teeth shone. Then, either she simply closed her eyes, or the darkness was forced upon her again.
It seemed to Thera that she awoke weeping several times. Each time the Elanraigh and the old hemlock drove her back into the darkness.
Finally she was freed from sleep. She became aware of the weight of her arms spread out upon the carpet of needles, her fingers curled over her palm
s like fronds of baby fern. Her shoulders burned from long immobility. She licked her lips. Her mouth was very dry.
Outside the tree cave was the riotous bird song of early morning, and a brisk, soughing wind tossed the evergreen boughs in the forest beyond.
Thera moaned out loud, trying to sort dream from reality. She was here, and she was alone. “You could have stopped her,” Thera accused bitterly. “Nan was weak and tired. You stopped me readily enough.”
The Elanraigh offered no explanations. It waited, silent, at the edge of her consciousness.
Thera was surprised that she could close out the Elanraigh voice by her own will, but she had never before been angry at the Elanraigh. It was a bitter satisfaction; cutting off the Elanraigh was like losing a part of herself.
Thera could now easily crawl through the opening of the tree cave. She found a trickle of water that fed the hemlock’s roots and bent to moisten her lips. The water tasted of green fern and moss, greatly satisfying her thirst. Slowly, painfully, she stood erect, her eyes squinting in even this soft, ambient light.
Thera refused to allow her thoughts to alight yet on the thing she must do.
She moved several lengths away from her tree den to relieve her bladder. Methodically she brushed at her clothing. She became aware that tears were tracking along her cheeks and she brushed those away also. Kneeling, she unbraided her hair, ran her fingers through it to remove leaves and debris, then rebraided it. The familiar motions were comforting to her.
After all the small rituals of personal grooming were attended to, Thera faced seaward. No sound of waves. The tide must be in.
How much time has passed, she wondered. It is obviously now just past dawn. Clenching cold anger like a warding amulet, she sent terse words to the Elanraigh. “Do not attempt to stop me this time,” and began the walk back to the coast trail.
She paused at the fringe of shore pines, listening for any sound. Thera lightly touched the forest mind. The Elanraigh was emanating anxiety, but Thera perceived it to be concern for her peace of mind rather than fear for her physical safety.
