“Yes, poor Vicar. It started there.”
“And those stallions, and the voice you heard today, Bren.” Jess’s hand went to the dagger in her belt, an unconscious protective gesture. “It said something was coming. The ghostie didn’t offer anything more helpful?”
“You know everything I do.” Brenna paused as Jess maneuvered her and Shann carefully around a root embedded in their path. “This voice was different from those I’ve heard before. Very pushy, might I add. But it helped us save Sam...”
Brenna’s voice drifted off and she stopped, peering at Shann in the ebbing light that revealed the shadows beneath her eyes and the sallow dryness of her skin. “Shann—hey. You’re not feeling any better, are you?”
“Not a bit,” Shann admitted.
“You’re sick, lady?” Jess’s brow creased, and she touched her dagger again. “How bad is it?”
“Jess, I told you she was looking tired weeks ago.” Brenna’s impatience was all for herself. Studying Shann now, she was appalled she hadn’t addressed her health sooner.
“Relax, girls.” The corner of Shann’s mouth lifted. “I’m touched, but fatigue is about the worst of it. I’ll catch up on my rest once we get a grip on what’s plaguing our clan. Come on. I smell a roasted boar out there with my crest on it.”
“I want to examine you after the council, Shann.” Brenna kept her hand on Shann’s arm. “No excuses. You really don’t look good to me.”
“I’ll thank you for it, Blades.” Shann smiled. “This is a bad time for Tristaine to suffer a weakened queen.” Jess met Brenna’s worried gaze and kept a supportive hand on the small of Shann’s back as they entered the village square.
The council that advised Tristaine’s queen had changed in the last year. The Amazons still mourned the deaths of Jocelyn and Dorothea, two of their elder members, taken by fever within days of each other. Shann’s selection of Dana to her inner circle was not greeted with universal joy. She had met privately with several women angered by the City soldier’s inclusion.
In addition to Dana, Kyla had been named to the council to represent the clan’s youth, a position Camryn had held before a crossbow bolt took her life. Brenna saw her standing near a bank of tables laden with fragrant platters of food.
Kyla seemed to feel her gaze, and her eyes lit when she spotted Brenna. She trotted over to the three women, nodding respectfully to Shann before taking Brenna’s hands.
“How is she, sweetie? Your sister?”
“She’ll mend, Ky, thanks.” Brenna smiled. “I can’t wait for you two to know each other. You’ve always reminded me a bit of Sammy. You’re both cheeky as hell.”
“Hey, I already know she’s from excellent stock.” Kyla gave Brenna a quick kiss on the cheek, then stepped back and regarded her and Jess sternly. “Lady? Would you please command these two idiots here to wear life jackets wherever they go now? You should have seen them pitch head over fanny into that river! I almost bit my tongue in half.”
“I’m just as glad Gaia spared me that sight.” Shann brushed Kyla’s hair off her brow. “And grateful you spared your tongue, adanin. We’ll need your voice tonight.”
“...and I will cheerfully tweak your colon with a fork, barbarian, if you dare refer to this sumptuous feast again as grub!”
They turned to watch the third new councilor, a voluptuous blond woman named Aria, as she wrapped steely fingers around Dana’s neck and escorted her on a forcible survey of the food laid out before them.
“What you slandered as pork chops is, in actuality, a savory and tender wild boar, slow-roasted with garlic and fresh herbs. Served with a reduction of wild berries, green onions, and the finest elderberry wine in Tristaine.”
“It looks great,” Dana stammered, obviously trying not to grin as Aria led her to the next platter. “Everything smells fantastic. Really. I meant to compliment—”
“And these are not spuds, churl. These are indigenous rrrroot vegetables caramelized slowly, slowly and to perfec-tion, and seasoned with pork fat.” Aria hit that last “t” with great precision.
“Your problem child’s in trouble again,” Jess told Shann, amused. “Young Dana’s developed a fine talent for rubbing her sisters raw.”
Shann nodded. “Stand by. This might call for someone brawnier than me. Aria,” the queen trilled, “what a delightful feast you’ve conjured for the delectation of our council!”
“Shanendra!” Aria released Dana’s neck and sashayed to Shann in a swirl of silk robes, pecking her affectionately on both cheeks. “Finally, a royal palate deserving of my unrivaled culinary talents. Hello, dear Brenna, and hello, you muscle-bound stud muffin!”
Aria raised high on her toes, wound her arms around Jess’s neck, and gave her a prolonged, sucking kiss full on the lips.
Brenna smiled politely. For the entire time. She refused to look at Shann or Kyla, who undoubtedly enjoyed watching her expression whenever Jess encountered Aria.
She was actually getting used to this behavior, for the most part. Brenna thought Aria was a complete treasure, and she accepted the fact that the woman was simply incapable, at a cellular level, of chastity in any form. She was Shann’s age, and when she was eighty, Aria would still be sexually irresistible to any butch with half a pulse on the planet.
Finally Aria’s lips detached from Jess’s with a wet pop that echoed through the trees like a faint thunderclap. Jess grinned down at her curvaceous elder and gave her an appreciative wink.
“Yech. Brazen strumpets.” Sarah was the oldest Amazon on the council. The moonlight gleamed off her bald scalp. Her voice was harsh and cracked—not so much from age, as from the pipe always clenched between her teeth. Her dark eyes were shrouded in a fine web of wrinkles, but they glittered with a sharp intelligence that had guided Shann well. Brenna loved and honored Sarah and tried devoutly to avoid her notorious temper.
“The seven Amazons of Tristaine’s council are gath-ered.” Shann drew the attention of the group as naturally as she drew breath. The traditional invocation fell pleasantly on Brenna’s ears.
“We serve our clan as the living legacy of the Seven Sisters who gave it birth,” Shann continued. “We call on their ancient wisdom, and the benevolent guidance of our Goddess, to preserve Tristaine through this long winter. But first, we invite them to join us for this lavish feast!”
The queen rubbed her hands together in gleeful greed, and Brenna’s shoulders relaxed at the soft laughter that followed.
“Just let the uncouth among us,” Aria said, eyeing Dana, “remember that only good little warriors get dessert.” She swept to the altar in the center of the square and indicated the seven wooden bowls grouped on its surface. “In this case, a fiendishly creamy egg custard with fresh blackberries—”
Brenna was moving before any conscious thought registered, her eyes pinned on the altar. She brushed Aria roughly aside, snatched two of the bowls, and set them quickly on the rocky ground.
“Bren?”
She heard Jess, but for the second time that day, she ignored her. Brenna lowered another two bowls to the ground, then urgency stung her, and she swept the last three from the altar with her arm. Bowls bounced, and custard splattered over the rocky earth.
“Brenna.” Jess was beside her, a hand on her shoulder.
“This is not a dessert tray.” Brenna couldn’t take her eyes from the ancient symbols carved in the altar’s surface.
“Little sister?” Shann’s touch was cool on her flushed face.
“This is a dark chancel,” Brenna whispered. Her fingers trembled as they hovered over the glyphs. “We stand on blighted ground.”
“Brenna!” Jess had heard enough. She took Brenna’s shoulders in a firm grip and turned her from the altar, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Look at me, lass.”
Brenna blinked. The fierceness in Jess’s eyes broke through the fog clouding her mind, and she looked up at her in confusion. “What’s a chancel?”
“Lady.” Aria watched
Brenna with dismay. “Please know I meant no disrespect to this place.”
“Of course you didn’t, adanin.” Shann pressed Aria’s hand, her eyes keen on Brenna’s face. “Blades, are you all right?”
Brenna tore her gaze from Jess and crossed her arms as a shiver swept through her. She saw the six women circling the altar regarding her with a mix of worry and fascination. “Shann, I have no idea where that came from.”
Shann’s tone was low and calm. “Tell us what you remember, dear one.”
“Did you hear that voice again?” Kyla’s eyes were huge.
Dana stepped closer to her. “You look really strange, Brenna.”
“No.” Brenna shook her head. “No voice. Just a feeling when I saw those bowls...such outrage and fury...”
“I knew I should have made fruit pies,” Aria whispered.
Brenna wiped her palms on her denim pants, and her mouth filled with saliva. “Hoo. This was a new one, folks. It wasn’t...very pleasant. Excuse me.”
She touched Jess’s arm, then walked swiftly toward the trees lining the square. She was halfway there when the belly cramps struck, and she bent double and emptied her stomach violently.
Jess’s arm was fast around her waist, and her callused hand brushed Brenna’s hair back as she retched again. Brenna made the requisite indelicate spitting sounds until she could stand erect.
“Just breathe, adanin.” Shann rubbed a small circular caress on her back.
“Yech,” Brenna gasped. “Have I told you lately how—erk—much I hate throwing up, Jesstin?”
Jess looked too worried for a cavalier reply. “What ails her, lady?”
“Yet I keep doing it,” Brenna finished, and spat again.
“It’s to be expected, Jesstin.” Shann wound her arm through Brenna’s and walked her carefully back to the circle of Amazons around the altar. “Whatever strange force propelled Brenna to this altar had to be powerful indeed. Our young seer had no time to prepare herself, and her system took a bad shock. The body simply rebels at such invasion.”
“But didn’t she get invaded even worse earlier today?” Dana caught herself and looked around, but the faces turned to her were open and attentive. She swallowed. “That bully voice yelled at her to jump in the river, and she didn’t get any advance warning then, either.” Dana looked to Kyla for affirmation. “Right?”
“Yeah, Bren, and you weren’t shook up like this afterwards.” Kyla folded her arms, a characteristic sign of her worry. “You were cold and drenched, but you didn’t have this—haunted look.”
Brenna’s internal percolations had subsided enough that she could speak normally again. “That voice was nothing like this, Ky. This was pure rage, and there was nothing human in it. Or even animal. It was an energy I’ve never felt before. That’s all I could catch, Shann.”
“It’s a beginning, Blades. Well done.” Shann’s finely veined hand moved over the rock surface of the altar. The Amazons fell silent as their queen’s fingers brushed each glyph. “Many of these sigils are known to us,” she murmured. “Others are alien to our clan.”
She touched a familiar image, the crude two-headed ax that was an all but universal symbol of Amazon spirit. Near it were the simplistic circles within a circle of a bull’s-eye target. Farther down the craggy stone were the intertwined ovals representing sexual love between women.
The altar held symbols for each of the seven guilds of Tristaine and more. The arrows in flight that Jess wore on her shoulder, marking her as a warrior. Other glyphs for healing, weaving, tilling the soil, spirituality. The intricate swirl of the artists’ guild that Kyla wore on her flat stomach. The images weren’t all identical to Tristaine’s designs, but they were recognizable.
“What’s this odd little corkscrew, lady?” Aria’s perfectly manicured nail tapped one small carving in the stone. “Or this shooting flame thing?”
“We can only guess, adanin. I’ll need our wisest historians to decipher them.”
“Shift your bones, overgrown weed. She means me.” Sarah tapped Jess’s arm impatiently. “I’m the wisest historian Tristaine’s got, madlady Artemis help us.”
Jess moved respectfully aside to allow Sarah closer access to the altar. She bent stiffly and peered at the symbols in baleful silence.
“All these are star glyphs,” she said at last, her gnarled finger thumping the stone. “They stand for individual clans.” Sarah squinted up at Dana. “Like our Seven Sisters, sprout. That star cluster up there that houses the souls of Tristaine’s mothers.”
Dana nodded, searching the dark sky for that well-loved array of twinkling lights. Kyla nudged her and pointed toward the opposite horizon, where she found them easily.
“Do you recognize any of these tribes, grandmother?” Shann asked.
“Not a one, lady.” Sarah drew on her pipe and winced smoke out of one eye. “There’s sigils here for magic, both light and dark. For queens and bloodletting.”
Brenna’s gaze fixed on those carvings, and she gave in to the persistent urge to step back from the altar. She noted the rest of the Queen’s Council kept a prudent distance as well. To her pitched nerves, the black stone seemed to shimmer like a dark and malignant battery, vibrant with power.
Another hour of discussion brought them no closer to understanding their enemy, but at least it found them well fed. Weary of conjecture and sated with Aria’s rich food, Shann’s advisors sprawled in various stages of repose around a crackling fire.
Kyla drew a small cedar comb slowly through her curls, her eyes troubled and distant as she watched the flames. Shann and Sarah sat in private council, the smoke from Sarah’s pipe wreathing their inclined heads.
Brenna lay with her head pillowed in Jess’s lap, delicately licking the last spices off her fingers. “Ah, wee piggy,” she burred, in a fair imitation of Jess’s brogue, “ye did not die in vain.”
Jess interrupted her constant scrutiny of the quiet square to reach down and ruffle Brenna’s hair. “You’re a marvel, Bren. From spewing your guts to wolfing down half a roast boar in less time than it takes our fire to burn low.”
It was true. Brenna’s stomach was pleasantly full, with no lingering trace of its earlier rebellion. It seemed she had purged whatever toxin afflicted her, messily but efficiently.
“Well.” Brenna fingered the collar of Jess’s thick jacket. “I’ve heard Amazons are fast healers by necessity.”
The gentle fingers in her hair lulled her, and Brenna’s eyes drifted closed. Then she remembered this was only a break in the night’s council, and she forced them open again. “Beautiful moon,” she murmured.
Jess lifted her gaze to the night sky. “Aye, Selene’s in her glory tonight.”
“With the rising of the harvest moon, sisters, our Lady readies Herself for the celebration of Thesmophoria.” Reclined on a warm fur near them, Aria followed their gaze. “Our festival menu will not include egg custard, in any form.”
“Damn.” Dana leaned closer to Kyla. “Is that Thesmie-whatsits some other Amazon big shot I’m supposed to know?”
“It’s an old rite of our Nation, Dana.” Jess’s hand slipped beneath Brenna’s hair and massaged the muscles of her neck. “We used to harvest our winter wheat at the rising of the Thesmophorian moon. It honors the goddess Demeter and her search for her kidnapped daughter, Persephone.”
“She’s the gal who ate the apple?” Dana’s brow furrowed. “And got captured by the god of hell?”
“It was a pomegranate, Dana.” Kyla snickered. “Persephone ate its seeds.”
“And her imprisonment royally vexed her peace-loving mother.” Aria smiled seductively at Dana, because that was how Aria smiled. “It’s an immensely powerful time for Amazons, young one. A three-night festival of debauched revelry.”
“A celebration might bring us together, Jess.” Brenna lifted her head from the warrior’s lap and sat up with a blissful stretch. “You think? A little dancing, a little wine...”
“Only a litt
le wine, querida.” Jess had gone back to scanning the square’s perimeter with restless eyes. “Our warriors don’t need much excuse these days to bash in each other’s skulls.”
Brenna nodded rueful agreement. She glanced at Aria’s flagon of elderberry wine nearby, then looked away. She had not imbibed, in spite of a powerful temptation. Alcohol had played far too important a part in Brenna’s life in the City, and she avoided it carefully now.
Gazing across the fire, she saw Dana staring down at the bench she shared with Kyla, her fingers curled around the small wooden comb Kyla had used earlier. Dana glanced surreptitiously at Kyla, then slipped the comb in her pocket and rested her hand over it. Brenna smiled.
She turned her head against the tree and studied the sculpted planes of Jess’s profile, then caressed the powerful swell of her shoulder. In her mind’s eye, Brenna could picture the glyph cresting that smooth muscle perfectly. She remembered the first time she had seen it, the night she met Jess.
The haggard Amazon prisoner, chained in a freezing cell in the City Clinic. Brenna’s first medical intake in the Military Research unit. The brutal clinical trials Jess endured that left her bloody and battered, but unshakeable in her loyalty to Tristaine. Brenna’s own hand, pressing the muzzle of a powerful stunner against the intricate tattoo on Jess’s shoulder and firing an agonizing burst of electricity into the muscle.
Brenna shuddered and buried her face against the soft sheepskin of Jess’s jacket.
“Hey. What’s this?” Jess wrapped one arm around Brenna’s shoulders. “You cold, lass?”
“Yeah,” Brenna whispered and burrowed closer to the solid warmth that surrounded and shielded her through the bitterest of nights.
“Ah, young lust.” Aria beamed at them with sentimental approval. “Jesstin, the sight of your macha self brings to mind, and to vulva, whole cadres of studly warriors who have heated my blankets—”
“Lady! Shann!”
Adrenaline sluiced through Brenna in a sick rush as they bolted to their feet. There was no mistaking the horror in that shouted alarm. She didn’t recognize Vicar’s voice until she staggered into the square, carrying a blood-soaked figure in her arms.
Tristaine Rises Page 6
