by Cat Bruno
“A strange song that the caged bird sings. Tell me, Ohdra, when did you last see land outside of these trees? Tell me, when did you last hear the sea kiss the shore? You are no more than a half-day’s ride from both the Sea of Mist and the Great Sea, yet I would guess you have forgotten them both. I know little of your people, but I know enough to remember that there once was a time when you lived in peace with Eirrannia. And the land was yours to roam.”
Caryss knew her words were truth, yet she could not decide if they were from her memory or Conri’s, especially since, moments before, she had known none of it. The mind-lock she had lived with for moon years, nearly half her life, was unraveling, as he had promised it would. Yet, this was something more. The knowledge of the fennidi did not seem to be memory; however the flush across the faces of those around was proof enough. Two of the males had their hands over their shoulders and clenched around the hilts of the curved swords.
She was not the only one who had noticed.
“Ohdra, we are unarmed, and came in good faith. Check your men,” Conall called, his voice deeper now.
“Good faith, you say, yet beside you stands a stronger weapon than any my men have. Do you think we have not heard the tales, Conall? Do you think we know nothing that happens outside of these hills and trees? You Wolves think us nothing but lesser kin. The Crows see us as more.”
“The Crows seek to use you for their own gains!” he hissed, “Once so used, you will be nothing to them and all promises forgotten.”
“Tell me why you are here then,” she answered, nodding toward her men as she talked.
Once the men’s hands were back at their sides and swords untouched, Conall said, “Beside me stands my brother’s orla, mother to his heir. We had hoped that the babe would remain unknown, and Conri will be ill-pleased to hear differently upon my return. We are not masterless, as you know, and my brother was without choice. It will be up to him to tell you fully what has occurred and what might occur, but you are aware that there has been a split among the Tribe. The Crows grow hungry and crave what the Wolves have long held. The Bears, for now, have little concern for the fight, but will ultimately have to choose sides.”
Pausing, he added, “As will the fennidi.”
None but Conall spoke, and he continued, “A battle will come. And if it is anything like the last one, it will be long and deadly. Caryss is no warrior, although the babe will be Tribe, and even half-blood, will be like none we have seen. I will let her explain to you why we are here, but I will remind you that the Wolves have long aided you and yours. When the lines are drawn, we would want you on our side. But that is a discussion for another day.”
“We have not been known for aiding mortals, Conall, but I will hear out the so-named orla.”
The look that Conall gave Caryss was akin to a threat, and she drew a deep breath, understanding more how dangerous and complex the situation within the Tribe was becoming.
Simply, she said, “A few moons ago, I was sent to Rexterra to heal the King, yet I have been unable to do so despite my moon years training as a healer. But I believe that you can help.”
“Usually when one seeks assistance, she will do so with a defter and more polite hand,” Ohdra murmured.
“With apologies. This is not a game I am used to playing. I do, however, think that we can help each other.”
A half-smile lined Ohdra’s face. “What do you have that my people need, healer?”
Again, she knew, not through memory, but deeper. With eyes clear and unmasked, Caryss let her answer fly like across the forest as if carried by the winds.
“Freedom.”
Silence came. Even Conall did not move.
“Others have promised the same,” the fennidi queen finally told her.
In that moment, Caryss understood how much she needed the fabled forest-folk, and, without their aid, Herrin would never recover. And she would never be able to leave Conri’s compound.
“None have promised you what my daughter can,” Caryss called.
“She will be of the North, but not as I am. She will be kin, Ohdra to all who call the North home. She will be the bridge between Tribe and Eirrannia, just as she can be the bridge for the fennidi. I know not of the war between you and my own people, but my daughter will not be a weapon. She will learn as I did the oaths of a healer.”
“A babe? One not yet born will free us from these woods? The same babe that the Crows will kill once they know of her?”
Caryss cheeks blazed red, but it was Conall who cried, “Any attempt on the girl’s life will be seen as war! Nox knows of the girl, and, if the Crows attempt such, he would intervene, which none want. In this game, we all must choose carefully.”
“They will find others to do it for them.”
Ohdra’s words silenced them all until Caryss realized what had to be done. She stepped forward, out of the reach of Conall, and fell to her knees. When she felt him move behind her, she raised a hand and shook him off, preparing herself for what next had to be done.
“I have no knife,” she whispered, suddenly remembering that the dagger was now in Otieno’s possession.
“Ohdra, can one of your men assist me?”
Without looking up, Caryss waited until one of the leather-clad men knelt beside her, then said, “Draw your sword.”
When he had done so, she continued, loud enough for all to hear, “Run the blade over the palm of my hand, enough so to make me bleed.”
She thought that Conall would intervene, but when he did not, she lifted her hand to the green-skinned man beside her, and dropped her eyes to the ground. The strike was quick and crisp, and as she felt the blood bubble from the slice, she brought her hand toward her, cradling her left hand beneath it. Next, she spilled the warm blood onto the cool ground, where minutes before her boots had left marks in the dirt. Then, with more ease now, she recited the words of the Great Mother, touching fingers to forehead, to chest, to her rounded stomach, before letting them rest, bloodied and black, on the ground.
Beside her, the man still stood, and through slitted eyes, she could see silver light reflecting off the curve of his blade, even though the moon was slight and faint clouds covered the stars. Leaning back on her heels, Caryss looked up and waited, knowing what would happen next and watching for reactions from Ohdra and Conall, who had yet to meet his niece, the one that the Wolves long awaited. As the darkness faded around her, shadows appeared in an arc around her, a black outline of the fennidi warriors.
Ohdra’s face whitened as the light reflected off of it and her silver hair glowed, as if the strands were shards of ice. Conall’s face was blank, expressionless, but his hands were clenched at his sides.
Let them all watch, she thought, and let them see their weapon.
The girl did not disappoint. Out of a burst of white flame, she came, more solid than she had ever appeared, as if she was blood and bone. Caryss longed to embrace her, but the girl was not as she had been when last she saw her, in the Cove, where she had been dressed as Luna herself. Now the gown was gone, and in its place was leather and armor.
Warrior. Weapon.
Caryss did not know whether to weep or rejoice.
Her arms were bare and a sweat and blood-stained vest was all that covered her upper body, tight pants tucked into high leather boots. Her hair, dark and sleek, was pulled back from her face, hanging long down her back. The black waves that marked her cheek were matched by black streaks that ran down her right arm from shoulder to elbow, scratched and painted black. In her hand hung the scimitar, similar to what had called her here. The girl’s face, older than before, but still younger than Caryss herself, was serious and stern, as it had never been before.
As if she had come expecting a battle. Or had just escaped one.
While the others stared, awed and intrigued at the girl, Caryss rose from the ground, wiping her hands on her now dirtied pants, and, breaking the spell that her daughter had created, called out, “Your freedom, Ohdra.”
In Ohdra’s eyes, Caryss saw desire. Deeper than memory. Deeper than belief. Deeper than vows.
Silently, the small woman walked toward the girl and dropped to her knees, placing her forehead against the ground. For a long moment, she did not move.
When she looked up, Ohdra vowed, “The fennidi are yours to command.”
The girl seemed distracted and waved at the bowing woman. “Rise, Ohdra, I have no time for such formality.”
To Caryss, the girl called, “Mother, tend to your hand. The soil is poisoned here, as Ohdra should have warned.”
When Caryss reached for her healer’s pouch, the girl turned, settling her gaze on Conall, who looked more unsettled than Caryss had ever seen him. His face was pulled tight, his teeth sharp, his eyes rimmed in shadows.
“Uncle,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “Your son sends his greetings, although he troubles me much, and I would send him to you if I could.”
In a voice rich with emotion, Conall called to her, “Your markings prove your courage, pup. Your father would be proud.”
With a half laugh, she replied, “The High Lord is rarely pleased with me.”
The corners of his lips turned slightly inward as he fought a smile, but Caryss found herself enjoying the interaction between her daughter and Conall, a man she was beginning to enjoy as well. As she poured a distilled, bitter-smelling liquid over her hand, pain seared through the gash, but still she listened quietly as her daughter continued.
“What has brought you to fennidi land, uncle?”
“It was your mother’s choice. She needs their help with the Rexterran king.”
With a furrowed look across her ash-smudged face, the girl said, “I had forgotten that he yet lives. Perhaps it would be best to send him back to the King’s City, mother.”
Her words were strained, as if she had difficulty speaking them, and when Caryss looked at her, the girl was staring at the ground. Her image was still solid, a gift of the magic-stained soil perhaps. Dark magic.
“What of my vows?” she asked.
“Not all can be healed.”
“One of his sons wants me dead and the other wants me captured,” Caryss explained. “Herrin is the only shield I have between the Royal Army and myself. I do not know how your time-walking works, but much has changed since last I saw you. Three Crows attacked us last moon, and all three are now dead. I have little choice but to remain in the Tribelands until Herrin can call off Delwin’s men.”
Shaking her head and rubbing at her cheek with dirt-tipped fingers, the girl mumbled, “Ofttimes I forget what I have seen and heard when I travel back. I have been warned that it will get worse the more often I do so. Mother, if Herrin dies under your watch, you will have all of Cordisia against you. If he cannot be healed by you or by the fennidi, hire mercenaries to see him home. Let him die there.”
“You forget the vows of a healer!” Caryss gasped.
“All of that matters little,” the girl said, looking toward the silver-haired woman who, even standing, reached just past the girl’s waist, “And will matter less if Herrin dies. Ohdra, will you give assistance to my mother in exchange for my help when the time is right for the North to rise?”
Before Ohdra could answer, Conall stepped toward his niece with raised hands, and called, loudly, “What madness is this, girl? You are Tribe and need not beg for help. The fennidi are few, and fewer still in your own time. Ohdra has no choice but to help. You should know not to bargain with them.”
With a shrug that caused her hair to catch in the wind, the girl told him, “My way is not the way of the Wolf.”
Coldly, her uncle asked, “What are your markings then?”
“Hard fought and earned. That is my way, as my allies know.”
Taking a step closer and dropping his hands to his side, he asked, “Not yet born, you were branded an enemy. The fennidi are friend to that foe, so what does that make them to you?”
Smiling broadly, which surprised Caryss, the girl answered, “I shall never understand how Blaidd lacks much of your wisdom, uncle. Yet, his charm far surpasses your own. When his smile can’t get him out of trouble, he calls for me. But he has long been more than kin, and I owe him much. It is the same with the fennidi. I have a debt to pay and forgiveness to seek.”
She seemed older now, just not in looks, but in the way that she spoke and carried herself. Not just older, but harder too, Caryss had to admit. The girl seemed lost for a moment, her image flickering. When it steadied, she turned toward the fennidi queen.
“Ohdra,” she said, softer, and, as Caryss looked again, she noticed the edges of the girl were beginning to ripple, “What does my uncle speak of? Have you drawn sides with the Crows?”
“We chose no side for we had no reason to until now.”
“And now?”
“My swords are yours.”
Reaching into a small pouch that Caryss had not noticed, the girl pulled out a leather cord, and from it hung a small metal rune. Unable to see what was engraved into the metal, she looked to Conall, who stared at the girl with focused eyes, smoky purple now and glazed. He appeared surprised, and again she remembered that he had never before encountered his time-walking niece. Caryss herself had seen the girl enough times that she had believed that little could surprise her. What happened next proved her wrong.
Throwing the rune onto the ground quickly, she called, “Ohdra, take the necklace. All who see it will know it for what it is. You are Wolf-vowed now, and, unless it harms my mother or her kin, you will answer to Conri. Where the two conflict, you will be my mother’s first. In exchange, I offer you peace. But, more, I will offer you the North to roam and hunt once again as your own did many moon years ago. Have we a deal?”
All standing in the clearing knew of what the girl spoke. For generations, the fennidi had been isolated and imprisoned in a small section of land, caught between Tribe and Eirrannia, friend and foe to both. Caryss did not know what had caused it to be so, but she knew enough to understand the significance of the girl’s promise.
“As the trees watch and the mountains listen, as the sea surges and the sun rises, the fennidi are yours,” Ohdra proclaimed, her words echoing off the trees and spreading through the dense forest, for all her kin to hear.
Ohdra bowed her head, as did her men behind her and reached for the necklace, examining it under fading light. Conall quietly watched, steps from both of them, until the girl addressed him.
“Uncle, remind my father of his promise.”
“Which?” Conall asked.
“He will know. There has only been one,” was all she answered before turning to Caryss.
The girl was nearly invisible in the darkness, more shadowed and less glowing than the other times that she had visited. Caryss gazed at her with a mother’s pride, nearly weeping at what the girl was becoming.
In a distant voice, as she trailed off, her daughter whispered, “Stay safe, mother.”
The small man near to Caryss shivered, which caused his long hair to catch the wind, tickling Caryss’s cheek. When she reached a hand to brush the silvery strands away, Caryss noticed the girl watching the man. Her daughter’s emerald eyes appeared troubled. When Caryss gazed back at the man, she noticed him shake his head, yet she knew not what it meant.
Looking away, her brandings stark against her pale skin, the girl proclaimed, “Tell Jarek to work harder on his parry if he hopes to best me.”
The laughter that followed sparkled and twinkled, as if the stars had fallen and landed softly around them. When the sound faded, they all knew that she was gone. For a long moment, none spoke. For Caryss, the girl had offered something more than peace. More than freedom.
She had offered hope.
It was Conall who cracked the silence of the forest clearing. “She is unlike any other, Caryss.”
Her voice shaky and low, Caryss asked, “What will the Tribe think of her?”
With a shrug, he replied, “She will lead them one
day, and it will matter little what they think as long as they follow.”
“How will she lead if they do not accept her?” Caryss pressed.
“By destroying all of those who don’t.”
For a moment, she nearly questioned his words. Instead, she welcomed them, knowing how little she understood the Tribe.
To Ohdra, she asked, “What have you decided about the King?”
Motioning to the man who had knelt beside Caryss, Ohdra said, “Gregorr is one of our finest healers, although we do not call them so among the fennidi. He has long served our people, and, if you would permit it, he will return to the Tribelands with you. He will see to your needs and those of this king.”
When the man stepped forward into the light of the moon, Caryss noticed that he appeared older than the rest. Deep lines cut across his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. His skin, like the others, was green-tinged, but he was darker than Ohdra, the color of pine. As all of the fennidi were, Gregorr was covered in leather, but, unlike them, across his back hung a large satchel. The sight made her smile.
To Ohdra, she said, “My thanks, lady. And my apologies for earlier.”
The blush that crossed her face remained unseen, and she walked to where Conall now stood. Without comment, Gregorr followed. Nothing further was said, except by Conall who called for Laysa.
When all three were on the back of the epidiuus, Conall whistled, and the animal lunged and leapt, just as she had done earlier. Caryss sat between Gregorr and Conall, who again rode behind her with his arms wrapped about her waist. As before, Caryss kept her eyes tightly closed, and tried to ignore the churning in her stomach. Drifting in and out of sleep, Caryss opened her eyes a final time and realized that Laysa was descending.
With clenched hands, she watched as the animal slowly curved her way to the ground, gliding from side to side until she hovered just above the soft grass where she had first found them waiting. Caryss half-feared that Conri would be waiting for them, and when Laysa’s hooves touched ground, Caryss exhaled, relief taking the place of nausea.
Wanting to waste little time, she jumped down, only to be interrupted by Conall as he said, “Conri must be told what has occurred.”
