by Rachel Lee
“But some must, Ratha. Some must, or we would be but mindless sheep under the staff of the most ruthless among us. Even the Keh-Bal councils know this. And when they banish someone into the sands, they kill him as surely as if they drove a sword into his belly.”
“The Keh-Bal council acts according to the law,” Ratha said. “And its members act as a group. No one of them carries the full responsibility. It is different.”
“I sat on a council,” Cilla said. He looked up, ready to reply, but she gave him no chance. “They say that Keh-Bal erases an Anari from memory, as if he had never lived. It’s not true. I remember. I remember the look in his eyes as we passed judgment, the look in his eyes as he dismounted his horse in the desert and we rode away. The old ones told us not to look back, but I did. I saw his face, Ratha Monabi, and that face will never leave me. I killed him. Not the council. Not the law. Me. So do not mock me with words about a heart as white as the moon. You bear scars, Ratha. But you are not alone in bearing them, unless you choose to be alone.”
“Perhaps I do choose to be alone,” he said, angry at her rebuke, the more so because he knew it to be just. “If I choose to carry my burdens alone, what right have you to challenge that?”
She rose. “None at all, Ratha. None save this, that a man who carries his burdens alone cannot be loved. And I would that you could be.”
She turned and walked away without another word, leaving him with nothing but the dying embers and the echoes of her words. Neither brought warmth to the cold night. There was no warmth to be had.
16
Sara slumbered fully clothed beside Tom, beneath mounds of down-filled blankets. For some reason the cold seemed worse here in Anahar than it had at home in the Whitewater Inn. Perhaps, she had thought as she fell asleep, it was because the walls were made of stone, not wood.
But with Tom next to her and the down over her, she had grown warm enough to sleep comfortably. She was dreaming of standing in the kitchen next to her father, making bread as was the day’s custom, when suddenly a dark shadow fell across her dream, a shadow full of terror and stark grief.
Instantly awakened, she sat up in the darkness, her heart hammering loudly. What…?
Then she knew: Tess!
Scrambling from the bed, trying not to disturb Tom with her urgency, she found her boots and shoved her feet into them. In the front room, she grabbed her cloak from where she had draped it over a chair back, then whipped it around her shoulders as she stepped into the cold night.
The temperature had fallen dramatically. Even with warmth still permeating her garments, she shivered and felt her cheeks begin to ache almost instantly. Her hood provided little protection from the bite of a wind that refused to acknowledge any barrier.
She hesitated on the path, trying to hear Tess’s call, mentally calling out to her, but there was nothing. If Tess still lived, she was summoning no one’s help. But the shadow of trouble still lurked threateningly, and Sara could not ignore it.
Finally she began to run toward the temple. If Tess had gone somewhere freely, that would be the place.
The path to the temple was not that long, but its every curve made Sara want rage at its indirect nature, which slowed her progress.
But finally, panting, her lungs aching from the cold air, she burst into the temple plaza. There a door stood open as if it beckoned her. Without thought for her own safety, Sara ran up the two steps and into the anteroom.
No one was there, though the torches sprang to life at her arrival. Perhaps this was the wrong place?
Yet something drew her forward into the chamber of statues. For an instant she noticed only that the torches there were out and did not spring to life for her. Then she noticed the glow from a heap on the floor.
Tess. It was as if she were surrounded by a pale green glow that moved gently over her. She was clearly unconscious, and Sara caught her breath when she saw dark spots that could only be blood.
“Tess?” She spoke quietly, uncertainly. If someone had attacked Tess, that person might still be there, for the door to the temple stood open.
Sara listened, straining her ears, but heard nothing move. “Tess?” she asked, more boldly this time. She moved closer. “Tess?”
A groan answered her. At once Sara flew to Tess’s side and knelt. “Oh, Tess!”
The green light still covered Tess’s form, but somehow it did not frighten Sara. She reached right through it to cradle Tess’s head. “Tess, can you hear me?”
Another groan answered her; then Tess mumbled, “She killed my mother.”
Horror froze Sara. For long moments she could neither speak nor move. “Who?” she said finally, her voice a bare whisper. “Who killed your mother?”
“Her. Theriel.”
Sara’s shock deepened. “But…Theriel has been dead these many centuries, Tess. It cannot have been her. She was said to be of purest heart and would hurt none. It must be someone other….”
Tess moaned again and slowly sat up. “Touch the statue,” she said hoarsely. “Touch the statue of Theriel.” Then she looked at her hands, turning them over as if amazed they were still whole. “I was bleeding…my bones were broken….”
Sara, now seriously worried for Tess’s mental state, could think of nothing to do but touch the statue herself and prove to Tess that she must have dreamed the horror of which she spoke.
Rising, she stepped toward the cold white statue of Theriel.
“Be careful,” Tess said, her voice strengthening. “You may find something there you do not like. As I did.”
Sara nodded, but she could scarce believe she would find anything at all. Theriel had been dead for centuries, and the statue was merely stone.
Reaching out, she touched her fingertips to the statue’s face.
“Time is out of joint,” Tess said from behind her. She sounded almost as if she spoke from some kind of trance.
Before Sara could respond, she felt an electric tingle race from her fingertips through the rest of her body. Something about the statue…
“Look!” Tess said. “Behind you.”
Sara turned and gasped. The green light that had a little while ago surrounded Tess now formed upright in the middle of the room. It swirled as if it were alive and gradually formed into the vague shape of a woman.
Then a voice spoke, whether aloud or in her mind, Sara could not tell. “I am Elanor,” the voice said. “My daughters, welcome. As I once gave my protection to Theriel, I shall give my protection to both of you. You have many lessons yet to learn. The first of these is that your mothers did not die in vain, nor did they die against their will. When you have accepted that, return here for your next lesson.”
Then the green glow vanished in an instant, and the torches sprang to life. Elanor herself? And what did she mean, that her mother and Tess’s mother had voluntarily sacrificed themselves?
“By the gods,” breathed Sara, stunned.
“She killed my mother,” Tess said, struggling to her feet, every muscle quivering with shock and rage. “And now she wants me to follow her direction?”
She faced Sara. “Never.”
Morning returned warmth to Anahar, a reminder that this city lay in the south, where the climate was welcoming year-round. Cloaks and other outerwear were soon shed for cooler and more comfortable clothing in keeping with the natural season.
The streets bustled with light and life, but there was a grimness underlying the superficial normalcy, for the shadow of war had already fallen.
Outside town, both men and women were gathering to learn the art of war from Archer, Ratha and Giri. Little by little, as those willing and able to fight headed out to the training field, the traffic on the streets began to thin.
It was through this thinning traffic that Tess and Sara walked toward the temple to meet Cilla. Tess was still filled with so much anger that Sara was sure the air around her must crackle with it. Tess’s jaw was set, and her lips formed a tight line.
Fi
nally Sara could hold her silence no longer. “Tess, if you feel this way, why do you go to the temple?”
“Because I can learn in spite of her.”
“Elanor?”
“Who else?”
“The gods work in mysterious ways,” Sara said sympathetically. “Oft their reasons are not apparent to mortals.”
Tess faced her fiercely. “I held my mother’s dying body in my arms. I saw the light fade from her eyes.”
For a moment Sara seemed unable to speak. Finally she said quietly, “As did I.”
Tess froze. Then, slowly, she sagged. “I’m sorry, Sara.”
“No need. The wound is fresh for you now. I understand your feelings. I have felt them myself.”
“I know you have.” Tess looked shamed. “I am being selfish.”
“Aye,” Sara said with a small smile. “And you are entitled—for a little while, at least. But there will be much loss and much grief in the days to come, and you and I and Cilla must learn everything we can so that we might prevent needless suffering. At the very least, we must extend our powers of healing.”
Tess sighed and looked down at her toes. “I’m sorry,” she said yet again. “It’s just that…to truly remember my mother for the first time, and to remember her dying in my arms…”
Sara stepped closer and linked her hands with Tess’s. “I understand. To find my mother after so many years, and to find her thus…” She shook her head.
They shared a look of deep understanding, then slowly resumed their walk to the temple.
“It is to the future we must look,” Sara said firmly. “We cannot change the past.”
Tess nodded but did not speak. They came around a curve, and the temple Plaza opened before them. Very few people were about, and Cilla was awaiting them by the door.
“I am torn,” Cilla said by way of greeting. “I should be training with the others, yet I feel I must do this, as well.”
“If we learn,” Sara replied, “the hand of an Ilduin may yet do more than a sword.”
“It already has,” Tess said, remembering. “It already has.”
Before they could enter the temple, however, a clear crystal note sounded, followed by a ripple of equally clear tones. Then, from all twelve paths leading to the temple, lines of women began to appear, each leader carrying before her an ornate rack of crystal bells, which she gently shook.
At once Cilla drew Sara and Tess away from the door. “I did not know,” she murmured, “that all the clan mothers had been summoned.”
“What does it mean?” Tess asked.
“They are gathering to decide matters that will affect all the clans.” She looked at Sara and Tess. “I believe they will be deciding whether we go to war.”
“I thought that was already decided,” Tess said.
“By some clans, yes. But Sharwahi-Tel is not going to fight by itself, nor would the Gewindi or Monabi. All clans must agree. But I did not know they were going to do this by convocation.”
“Is that special?” Sara asked.
“It is wholly binding. Once a decision is made, it can be broken only on pain of death. That is why convocations are so rare.”
One by one, lines of clan mothers mounted the steps and entered the temple, taking their crystal bells with them. When the last had entered, the door closed behind them.
Cilla spoke. “Now no one may enter the temple, not even us. Not until they have reached their decision.”
Tess suddenly looked up at the surrounding hills and shivered with foreboding. “If the Bozandari attack now…”
She left the thought incomplete, but Cilla was already dashing off, calling back over her shoulder, “I’m going to the training field.”
Left to themselves, Sara and Tess exchanged looks.
Finally Tess spoke. “I don’t know why I thought of that.”
“I do,” Sara answered. “I feel the same…uneasiness.”
“Let’s get our horses. Now.”
Archer saw Tess and Sara riding toward him from the city along the south road. Nearby, Ratha and Giri were busy organizing the Anari who had thus far volunteered to become part of the army. At the moment there were several hundred; soon there would be many more. It was important for training as well as fighting purposes that units be formed. The units created today would be the kernels of a larger force. Command structure would already be in place.
For now, he mostly watched. He was willing to fight beside the Anari, to give them advice and even to die beside them, but he had sworn never again to lead an army, and he was not about to break that oath.
Turning, leaving Ratha and Giri to a task they were well prepared to handle, he wheeled his mount toward the approaching women. There was little doubt in his mind that they brought word of trouble.
He met them at a point well-removed from the hearing of those practicing for war. At once he noted the dried blood on Tess’s hands and tunic, and his heart squeezed. “My Lady! Why do you bleed?”
“’Tis nothing,” Tess said dismissively, apparently eager to plunge ahead with what she had to say, but Sara forestalled her with a wry smile.
“She had a disagreement with Elanor, I believe. But she is healed, and only the blood remains.”
“Elanor?” Archer could scarce believe his ears. “She abandoned the world when…when Theriel vanished.”
“Apparently not,” Tess said tautly. “From what she told me, she has been meddling all along. To no good, it would seem.”
From Tess’s expression, Archer could see that no disagreement would be tolerated. Nor did he have any basis for one, other than his belief that if Elanor had cared for Theriel, then as a god she must have some redeeming graces.
“But what brings you racing out here?” he asked, determined to find steadier ground in this conversation.
“A feeling,” Tess said, glancing at the mountain peaks around them. “The clan mothers have gathered. Can you think of a better time for an attack?”
He certainly could not. He was also annoyed that no one had told him about the convocation. “That creates serious security problems. Someone should have told me.”
“Apparently the clan mothers are accustomed to keeping their own counsel,” Tess said. “Even Cilla was surprised by their arrival.”
“Cilla?”
“Ratha and Giri’s cousin.”
He nodded, his memory jogged. It had been years now since either Ratha or Giri had mentioned her, but once they had spoken of her freely, indicating a longing neither of them had been prepared to admit at the time.
“We have sentinels at lookouts around Anahar,” he said, more to reassure himself than anything. But looking up at the frigid, glacier-covered peaks and remembering that Anahar had not been built as a fortress but as a place of gathering, he saw many possible problems.
“A word of warning would have been welcome earlier,” he said irritably. “Be that as it may, we must deal with the possibilities now.”
But even as he spoke, the warmth of the day vanished as if a cloud had covered the sun. A frigid wind, coming out of nowhere, howled across the valley. With its arrival, all the Anari froze in place, stunned by the viciousness of the cold.
Archer bowed his head, allowing his cowl to fall over his face for a few moments. When he looked up again, his voice was weary. “It seems he has found us again.”
Tess spoke, her tone pained. “Did he ever lose us?”
Archer merely shook his head. “Ladies, I pray you return to Gewindi-Tel lodgings. Whatever approaches, I would prefer not to have to worry about you, for if you fall into the enemy’s hands, I doubt we can survive the days to come.”
Tess looked as if she would argue, then bowed her own head and turned her mount back toward town. Sara followed, giving him a quick glance of understanding over her shoulder.
Then the wind bit again, like a ravening beast, blowing open cloaks and shoving back hoods, leaving the hundreds in the valley unprotected.
Grimly Archer
rode toward Giri and Ratha, trying to restore order among the shivering Anari before the storm broke fully.
Ardred had Ilduin; that was certain. But how many? And could these few that Archer had learn enough, fast enough?
There was little hope in his heart as his horse’s hooves crunched on grass that was already beginning to freeze.
17
Back in their lodgings, Tess and Sara huddled with Tom near a blazing fire. Someone had brought food, an elaborate collection of meats and fruits and vegetables that graced the table like a work of art. All of them ate, but mostly out of necessity, as they listened to the wind rage without.
“No one can stay outdoors in this,” Sara remarked. “The Anari are not accustomed to such cold. They don’t even have the proper clothing for this.”
“Does anyone?” Tess asked. As she stared into the fire and nibbled at a piece of sweet fruit, she realized she was feeling that darkling presence at the back of her mind again. So far it seemed to be just a hint, but she feared that through her it was collecting information. In the past it had felt as if it were claiming her, but now it seemed content to bide and perhaps watch.
The tattoo on her ankle almost seemed to burn, as if it were a brand to remind her of something. She only wished she could remember.
Reaching for the pouch around her neck, she grasped the stones and felt them begin to warm. As they grew hot, the oily darkness in her mind dimmed even more.
With a sense of relief, she tipped the stones into her palm and studied them. Some glowed with great brightness, but others seemed dulled by comparison.
“Do you suppose,” she asked, “that these darker stones are the stones of the Ilduin the Enemy has corrupted?”
Sara leaned over to look. “They do not appear as bright.” She lifted her eyes to Tess’s. “That is nearly half of them.”
