She stood back, bowing slightly; her eyes going to Caewyn in confusion.
On inspection, one arrow had stuck high in the shoulder, and as far as Conn could see, it would not be fatal if it was attended to. Another had grazed his arm, leaving a gash that would require stitches. He also had a gash in his head from when he had been unfortunate enough to land on a rock as he fell. The rock probably saved his life as the attackers had thought him dead. He was sure to have a very bad headache in the morning. As Conn assessed the wound, he regained consciousness.
Caewyn introduced her companions.
‘Conn il MacLeod – this is Derryth, and that is Elva. Please do what you can for Derryth; he will surely die before we can get him back to our village.’
Conn requested boiling water, and Caewyn sent Elva to light a fire. He told Derryth to stay still, as he cut and stripped the clothing from around the arrow head, which luckily had a straight edge. Meanwhile, using bamboo acupuncture needles as pain relief, Conn carefully pulled the arrow from Derryth’s shoulder. A deep flesh wound, there was a tear in the subclavian artery that was causing significant bleeding, and needed to be stitched. A trained paramedic, it took an hour for Conn to clean, stitch, dress and bandage all the wounds. Derryth should make a full recovery, albeit he would not be using that shoulder for some time.
Caewyn had spent the entire time looking over Conn’s shoulder.
‘For a great wiga, you are an excellent medic, Conn il MacLeod. If I can judge your work, I would think that Derryth might live.’
‘I believe so too, but he will need to rest for a day at least, so that the stitches do not tear. We do not want him to start bleeding again. How many days ride is it to your home?’
‘In his condition over three days; we have been travelling up the valley to find another Priecuman, who is a trader, and a friend to the Twacuman. His name is Abrekan. He was running late this year so I came to find him. Instead of us finding him, you found us, so it is a strange circle. But I did not expect to encounter the Rakians. I do not understand how they made it into the valley.’
‘Rakians?’
‘The Priecuman men that attacked us; they are from the south – from a land called Rakia.’
Conn feigned understanding. ‘Anyway, a day is too far with his wounds. My camp is an hour away. We should rest there, at least for tonight.’
With his work complete and Derryth resting, Conn stood; and had his first chance to look at the two females in detail. The Twacuman were clearly human – Priecuman – but they didn’t call themselves that. They were shorter than him, with slim physiques, light brown skin, dark brown or black hair and black eyes. They had very elegant and sensual faces. Elva was particularly beautiful, tall and sleek, and although dressed as a warrior, there was a lot of woman under the armor.
They were both wearing a heavy weave but loose fitted linen trousers, and a simple blouse that finished at their hips and was covered by a leather bodice laced to the front; cut low, it either compressed or promoted their breasts. A thick belt was tied around their waists, and carried a dagger and a pouch. Elva was also wearing light shoulder pads and leather vambraces.
As for their ages, he couldn’t really tell – but Elva had to be at least thirty.
They were all a huge contrast to Conn, and he found Caewyn studying his face.
‘You have the strangest eyes – they are bright blue – just like the sky or the lake’, she said, and giggled. ‘Are you sure you can see through them?’
Conn assured her that he could. He was about to return to his horse when Caewyn grabbed his hand. ‘There is something we need to do,’ and she turned him to face Elva. ‘Elva is a cempestre.’
Elva sank to one knee and bowed her head. ‘I wish to make a life pledge. I am indebted for all our lives, and I will gladly repay my debt with my life.’
Conn had no real idea what a cempestre was, but he assumed it was some kind of warrior – later he would learn that it was a term for female warriors. The males were called wiga. As Conn watched, Elva withdrew a dagger from her waist and cut a small incision on the end of her finger. As the blood oozed out, she held her other hand out to Conn and he instinctively gave her his hand. She turned it over and with the blood she drew a symbol on his palm.
‘That is the symbol for life; a heart, and you now hold mine in the palm of your hand.’ She let go of his hand and stood and they studied each other.
Conn didn’t really know what to say so he nodded. ‘I should deal with the bodies.’ Digging a shallow grave, he stripped the corpses of valuables, and buried them in their linens. The Rakians were shorter than the Twacuman, or at least these five were. Whilst they also had black hair, they had lighter, narrower eyes, and their skin color was more Asian than African.
Elva found their horses hidden in a nearby thicket – ten in total, five being pack horses, and she brought them for Conn to load the “booty”. Conn then constructed a travois from bamboo and rope, fitted it to the Lusitano, and had Elva help him load Derryth onto the frame. The stallion then calmly headed back to camp. It was slow going; the travois by necessity would bump its way over logs and rocks; each jar causing Derryth pain.
By the time that they arrived “home”, it was getting late and although he tried to warn Caewyn about his dogs, she walked straight up to them and didn’t get bitten.
Conn was nonplussed; ‘Some guard dogs’, he muttered.
She fussed with the animals. ‘They are so beautiful – are these some kind of white wolf? – they are huge!’
‘I suppose some kind of distant cousin to the wolf. They are called Maremmas – I have yet to hear any wolves.’
‘There are few – but they hunt on the other side of the mountain. We did not want them to eat our goats so we agreed not to kill them if they agreed not to hunt in our valley.’
She said it so nonchalantly that Conn chose not to react in surprise. All he could think to say was ‘Well, that would be why then.’
They put Derryth to rest in the yurt, and Conn went to take care of the horses. The girls followed him over.
They stopped suddenly. Conn looked back and then followed their gaze.
‘You have an Elfina? How is that possible?’
Conn looked confused. ‘What is an Elfina?’
Caewyn didn’t answer but walked forward to one of his horses. Conn had four pack animals – three horses and one donkey. One of the horses was a black and white pinto mare of just over 15 hands. The mare stuck her nose out to Caewyn as she arrived, and Caewyn hugged her. She turned back, her face sad.
‘She isn’t an Elfina – but she looks like one.’ She looked at Conn in his confusion. ‘The Elfina is a special horse –said to have been created by the Gyden for the Twacuman. For hundreds of years we rode them – but they have all died out in Halani. Perhaps they have returned.’
‘The Rakians called my stallion an Ancuman horse. What did they mean?’
‘Just as the Elfina is only ridden by Twacuman, the Ancuman have always ridden horses like your stallion – golden horses. No-one else is allowed to ride them on pain of death – but I doubt that any will be brave enough to ask you to hand over your stallion.’
As well as his buckskin Lusitano and the pinto mare, Conn had three young stallions; a steel grey Anglo-Arab, a dun colored Poitevin, and a tall Mammoth donkey that was taller even than the Pinto; they represented a diverse genetic pool of talents to be exploited.
With the ten extra horses – helpfully all mares – to be settled for the night, it was quiet late when he finished, despite Elva’s help. The cempestre seemed very unpleased with the whole turn of events – and hardly spoke to him, whereas Caewyn seemed surprisingly unperturbed about it all.
When Conn and Elva finally returned to the fire, it was almost dark. Conn prepared a meal for them all from a rabbit that Caewyn had caught, and they sat and ate in the flicker of the iron box. Caewyn sat to face the grove behind them, now pitch black, and she wondered out aloud.
‘Why did you choose this place to make your camp?’
‘No reason’ he replied cautiously, ‘it provided protection from the wind – and the winds are cold. Have I done something wrong?’
‘No. I think that grove is what is called a holtwudu; I have never seen one before, but I have heard of them. They are very special. Perhaps there is a reason…’ she stopped before continuing. ‘I didn’t know that there were four kinds of people.’
‘Four kinds?’
‘Yes, in all of history, Meshech has only seen three peoples; the Twacuman, the Ancuman, and the Priecuman, and now there is you. You are unlike all of us so you must be another kind of Priecuman. Nothing has ever been said of a fourth kind of people.’
‘I do not know the answer to that question.’
Caewyn smiled. ‘I think that time will answer that for us. It is strange though – you are so new to me, but you seem so familiar.’ She moved and sat beside him. ‘Do you have any questions?’
He did – a lot. ‘I do, can you tell me why the Rakians were trying to kidnap you?’
Caewyn shrugged. ‘They were going to make us theow. But it has been some time since that happened. It is strange to see them here. No one has made it over the mountain unnoticed for many years – until today.’
Conn led the comment slide; ‘It is a lot of effort and risk for a theow.’
Caewyn answered matter of factual. ‘A Twacuman theow is highly regarded and consequently very expensive. If they had been successful – they would have more money than they could ever need.’
Conn was still confused. ‘But who would be the purchaser? Surely a slave taken as such is illegal.’
She nodded. ‘True, but there is still one place where the laws are ignored, and that is Rakia. Not all things are as they should be. Anything else?’
‘I don’t understand why I can understand what you say and what the Rakians said despite the fact that I don’t know your languages. You also understand when I speak.’
‘One of the many gifts of the Gyden was that all should understand each other, even if our mother tongue is different. The Priecuman speak four different languages; but there is no need for them to learn each other’s language, though many Priecuman speak more than one of their languages. We have always spoken our own language as well as Silekian – a Priecuman language that we use to communicate with all Priecuman. Twacuman is the only language that is not understood by anyone else – except for you, that is.’ She paused. ‘That is why I was surprised – it is very strange that you can understand it.’
She paused while Conn contemplated the answer.
‘So you are from a place call MacLeod??’
Conn didn’t have a real home to speak of – at sixteen he had joined the British army, and later he was an elite sportsman and academic, and he had spent most of his life on the road. ‘No – that is just my name. My family is from Taransay.’
‘So, Conn MacLeod il Taransay, you are a curiosity.’
Taransay was a small island off the coast of Scotland in the Outer Hebrides, and was one of the historic homes of the MacLeod clan. His father had mentioned it to him as a child – his grandfather, Conn’s great grandfather, was one of the last to live on Taransay, before leaving to join the army; another of a continuous line of MacLeod soldiers. Conn had even visited the island; and he remembered it as deserted, cold, and desolate. It was however the first thing that sprang to mind; and he was now stuck with it.
The girls retired for the night; moving in beside Derryth in the yurt. Conn stayed outside to think; he had too many thoughts running around his head to sleep anyway. His first full day had been surreal – he had killed five people – and yet he didn’t feel bad about it. He had killed before – as a soldier he was responsible for the deaths of many in the two wars that he had been involved, and he had been involved in fights since he was ten – first to survive and then to compete; boxing, several forms of full contact martial arts and even cage fighting . Still, this was different; this was very personal and very final.
As night settled the stillness became eerie, as if the grove behind them sucked in all sound until everything was totally silent. Conn, however, felt strangely comfortable and at home. He had never felt at home anywhere before so this was very unusual. He patted the dog that sat at his side.
‘You know, old girl, this is all very strange. Here I am sitting in a place I have no right to be in, having killed five human beings, and with three people who don’t call themselves humans, and yet I feel fine. How bizarre is that?’
When Elva made him go and sleep when she relieved him after midnight, he still didn’t have any answers, and he was no better informed when he rose at dawn. Derryth was now alert but still weak, and had a monster headache that Conn gave him a herbal draught for. It would also help relieve the pain in his shoulder. Derryth was desolate about failing to protect Caewyn, who it appeared was their duty to protect, and also pledged his life to Conn, tracing the symbol of a heart on his palm in blood.
Outside the yurt, he found Elva watching the grove.
‘Is there anything wrong?’ Conn asked though he didn’t expect a response. He was surprised when she answered so easily.
‘No – Caewyn went for a walk in the holtwudu. I am waiting for her return.’
‘Is that safe?’ Conn still felt a feeling of antipathy coming from the grove.
Elva nodded. ‘No harm will come to her in a holtwudu.’ She saw Conn looking curiously at her, so she continued. ‘A holtwudu is usually home to the feldelfen.’
‘What is a feldelfen?’ Conn felt silly asking simple questions but he had no choice.
‘They are Gyden but they are not...’
‘Gyden? I’ve heard Caewyn use the term but I ...’
She laughed dryly. ‘For one that seems to have much knowledge, you seem to understand little. The Gyden are the beings that are in us, in everything around us – they are the essence of life because they created and nourish us. It is said that they speak to us and they guide us – should you be listening and wish to hear.’
‘There is more than one?
‘Perhaps.’
‘Are they worshiped?’
She shook her head. ‘Twacuman do not worship Gyden – we honor them and heed their counsel should they speak. It is said that the Priecuman and Ancuman are a little devout in their rites and rituals...’
Conn returned to the grove. ‘And a holtwudu is very special...’
She looked at the grove and nodded. ‘Holtwudu are said to contain the secrets of every single person ever born – and the feldelfen protect the groves from those that might want to gain access. If you have the need, there is much power in the knowledge inside a holtwudu. It has been a long time since anyone has ever seen a holtwudu, and I have never heard of anyone going into a holtwudu.’
Conn didn’t know what to say; a twelve year old girl just went into something that no one has ever gone into before.
‘And yet...’
Alva shrugged. ‘Caewyn is Caewyn. She is very special – and she is much older than her years.’
Caewyn indeed returned safely less than an hour later and said nothing. Conn was curious but couldn’t find the right words to ask – so he said nothing as well.
With Derryth’s condition stable, they packed and headed for home – which Conn’s improvised sun dial indicated was north. The travois had been improved with more padding, and with Derryth loaded on the frame, they headed slowly downhill.
Elva led the convoy of almost twenty horses, with the Poitevin now towing the travois, and Conn riding alongside. It was mid-afternoon when they first saw the small group of riders and donkeys in the distance. Caewyn was confused.
‘That is Abrekan and his sons. It is strange that we missed him – we passed through here yesterday.’
Elva immediately rode ahead to greet them, and almost simultaneously a group of over twenty Twacuman wiga arrived in some haste from the direction of the lake. Conn looked at
Caewyn curiously.
The young girl blushed. ‘They are from our village – they will be looking for us.’ She smiled. ‘I suspect that they will be annoyed at me…’
‘Why…’
‘I didn’t tell anyone where I was going …’
CHAPTER 02
Elva returned with two wiga, who, despite their initial shock at seeing Conn, spent their time admonishing the young girl for leaving the village. Or at least tried – Caewyn said sorry and smiled sweetly and they immediately forgave her. She was hard to stay mad at. Elva stayed crosser for longer – it seemed that she had discovered that she had been misled by Caewyn, but even she gave up being mad sooner than she should have.
Minutes later they arrived where Abrekan and the rest of the wiga waited. Caewyn dismounted and raced over to hug the elderly man who waited and watching them arrive. She then introduced him and his two sons – Eggar and Godric – to Conn, as merchants from Trokia, and old friends to the Twacuman. Clearly Priecuman, they were however not identical in appearance to the Rakians – the Trokians appeared more East Asian than South Asian.
After the introductions, Caewyn suggested that they stay there for the night. Everyone immediately agreed. For a twelve year old, Caewyn’s opinion certainly seemed to carry a lot of weight.
It was only after setting up the camp for the night that Conn found himself alone with Abrekan.
‘Conn il Taransay’, Abrekan began, ‘I must say that I am surprised to meet you. I have never seen the likes of you before – and I have spoken to merchants from everywhere in Meshech and they have never mentioned golden haired wiga on giant horses. Where is this Taransay you say you are from?’
Conn needed a story – and a good one too. As always, parts of the truth were always necessary to create a good lie. ‘It is a small domain in the land of Alba.’ That was true enough. ‘I was travelling with some companions from the keep of my King – a Healdend – and during our trip my companions and I were confronted by a huge storm. We were lucky that we found caves to shelter in – and I sheltered alone with my animals while my companions were in a nearby cave. After the storm, the valley was covered in a heavy fog, and when it cleared, I left the caves and found myself alone in these mountains – and my companions are nowhere to be found. It is most perplexing.’
The Aebeling Page 2
