Witan Jewell

by Russ L. Howard

  Faeimp blew on her soup to cool it. “Then you should know, the Skull Worm plans to specifically eliminate two Herewardi leaders.”

  “Pray tell, it is not Sur Spear, is it?”

  Hickathrift shook his head. “No! It is Skull Worm’s mission to kill Kanarus. And the Cha’Kal has been given the assignment to kill Lord Sur Sceaf. Just before we left the Zonga we learned they cannot get any assassins into Apache Lands to kill Kanarus because he is surrounded by the Ndee in that formidable Apache stronghold. But you can bet they already have spies in Witan Jewell who will guide the Cha’Kal’s knife.”

  Faeimp chimed in, “And they have plans to meet with yet more spies somewhere up here in the High Desert. That is the reason we left the Taxus to get a message to Sur Sceaf as soon as possible. You are the first Herewardi we’ve come into contact with.”

  Prancing Owl declared, “I thought you two were more than just merchants. You seemed more Herewardi than Hickoryan despite your husband’s short hair.”

  “We were taught by skalds. Our sympathies are merely with the Herewardi and anytime we can pass on good information we do it.”

  Wose said, “The Ochoco tribe ranges far and wide. I will consult with them next. They will let me know where the Pitters are coming in at.”

  Seeing Wose’s bowl was once again empty, Prancing Owl motioned with her ladle. Wose declined.

  “All I have to say,” Bear Killer said, “is it is a good thing the Sharaka and Quailor have gone into the Stronghold of Witan Jewell.”

  “Eventually, I suspect you will have to follow. You do know your daughter is in Witan Jewell?” said the Wose.

  “Oh Bear, I can’t tell you how happy I am to know, our sweet Meny is safe in Witan Jewell.” Prancing Owl said with a furrowed brow.

  “She is indeed,” the Wose said, “The Sharaka are safely under the Herewardi wing now, but after hearing these reports, my concern is now for Sur Sceaf. I must let him know he needs to be vigilant as there are spies in his midst. And likely even assassins of the darkest hue.”

  Bear Killer’s eyes flashed with anger. “I will ask my contacts if they hear of any strange movements here in the High Desert.”

  Hickathrift said, “That would be helpful. From the gist of the conversations we overheard, they appear to be Sharaka.”

  “I believe that cannot be accurate or true,” Bear Killer exclaimed, “No Sharaka would ever betray the lord Sur Sceaf. Why, he was just chosen as chief of chiefs by near unanimous consent.”

  Prancing Owl said, “I agree. Mendaho said everyone was overjoyed to have him chosen as the chief of chiefs for the three tribes. No Sharaka would be so dishonorable.”

  Faeimp shrugged, “We only report what our network tells us.” A gust of wind sent dry powdery snow down the smoke hole and through the tipi flap whipping the flames of the fire and sending a refreshing wisp of snow to cool their faces. Prancing Owl grabbed one of the tipi sticks to adjust the smoke hole so as to block out the shifting winds.

  “Bear Killer, may I ask why the Klamath tribe did not go to Witan Jewell?” Hickathrift inquired.

  “My talking chiefs and Onamingo’s discussed this. It was felt we can stay and trade longer, but the day may be fast approaching when we shall have to flee to the wings of the Herewardi for our own protection as well.”

  Prancing Owl said, “Would anyone else care for more soup?” They all shook their heads. As she collected the bowls, she asked, “Have you seen my daughter lately, Wose?”

  “I saw her in the Blood Moonth. She looked as fit as a filly then.”

  “Has she taken a husband yet?” Bear Killer inquired hopefully.

  “Didn’t see her with a man or hear about one.”

  “We can’t help but wonder if we did the right thing by sending her away so young. Now that worthless coyote, Billy Weasel has returned to our people along with that Standing Bull. It is known how cheaply he treated Onamingo’s daughter and we don’t like his kind here.”

  Chief Bear Killer said, “The sooner that group of freeloaders leave, the better. They attracted all who are dissatisfied, all who are miscreants, and all who are discontent with wise counsel. Standing Bull may actually be doing us a favor by collecting them up and leaving with them.”

  Prancing Owl stood up and said, “Well, I think the rabbit is done.” She exited the tipi with a wooden platter to get it.

  Faeimp pulled her shawl more closely around her. “We were much impressed with Kanarus when we met him last year. He’s got some lovely wives. The one called Wilona, is as white as driven snow with yellow eyes like those of a panther.”

  “I’d say she’s whiter than Parian marble and as flawless.” Hickathrift added. “And did you notice how motherly she was to those poor Navajo girls? I should tell you, Wose, while we were in Kanarus’ lair, he struck a Pitter rat band that was taking their captives from the Arid Zone and from the Kalifornias. He freed numerous young female slaves amongst whom were these three darling little Navajo girls. It is a strange matter that everywhere we’ve been, the people tell us the Pitters are stealing young women and by Kanarus’ account they are being shuttled off in droves to the Witch Lands.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.” The Wose said, “For the past two moonths, I’ve been combing the mountains, deserts, and valleys looking for tracks of children stolen by the Pitters and found none. One of the Rogue chief Shug’s men thought they might have been taken to the Kalifornias. I’ve been looking in the wrong direction. I suspect they must have taken the girls to Newport and then to Frisco by sea and from Copperopolis they must be sending the children to the Witch Lands. Did anyone report seeing Quailor girls?”

  Hickathrift said, “No, there were girls from most every tribe in the West, but none report any Quailor or Sharaka.”

  Wose said, “It has been fortuitous that I have met you so on the trail. Sur Sceaf has three nieces he has a special fondness for and now I think we should be looking elsewhere for them.”

  Faeimp added, “It is always a great pleasure to bear good news. That is part of our mission.”

  “That is a luxury I have been ill-afforded,” said the wose. “I fear it is my fate to ever be the storm-crow of bad news and evil omens, for I have seen no good where the Pitters are concerned.”

  Prancing Owl returned with the rabbits. The smell of the cooked meat made Wose’s mouth explode with water.

  “I threw a little bit of bear fat into the pot along with some of that rosemary you traded us Faeimp. The bear fat will hold the food to your ribs and keep you warm in this biting cold weather.”

  As Prancing Owl went about serving the rabbit, Wose asked the merchants, “Do you mind if I accompany you to the DiAhman where I will split off to the north to the Ochoco while you make your way into Witan Jewell.”

  “We would be delighted.” Hickathrift said.

  “And Bear Killer, I will ask you for a couple of pigeons to message Sur Spear in Witan Jewell, if I may. It’s vital they get this information sooner than later.”

  Bear Killer said, “Consider it done, my friend, right after we devour these rabbits and we smoke a pipe or two.”

  * * *

  After escorting Taneshewa to her room at the inn, Sur Sceaf went straight away in search of the inn keeper. He found him at the ale house having a bit to eat. Orsini seemed to have put on a bit of weight over the past year, or else his tunic had gotten smaller.

  The inn keeper’s eyes lit up when he spotted Sur Sceaf. “Welcome home, Young Prince.”

  Sur Sceaf said, “Os-Frith! Orsini, you look like you’re well-fleshed these days.”

  Orsini patted his belly. “Indeed, we have a new Hickoryan cook. Makes the damndest, most delicious fried chicken you’ve ever eaten and a powerful dish of mud bugs over grits. But she’s hard as hell to understand.”

  “I must remember to tell the Hickoryans that came in with us. I came to visit my friend Hartmut Hagele, can you tell me which room he has taken up?”

  The inn keeper sai
d, “Number thirteen. That’s where the Mr. Hartmut is staying. A right fine gentleman he is too. Played with my children while I fixed a bench some young bloods managed to break with all their horse play and rough housing this afternoon. Said he knew you when you was nothing but a young blood yourself.”

  Sur Sceaf grinned. “I trust he didn’t tell you all the mischief we got into as young bloods, Mr. Orsini.”

  “No need to.” Orsini chuckled. “I remembered your wild antics here at the ale house. The time you took on that Hickoryan youth, who was making eyes at your Paloma. I grabbed you by the arms to keep you from killing him, but he took advantage of my restraining you and threw you a sucker punch. But you ducked! My nose has been crooked ever since. He was a might bit sorry when I let you go to tend my nose, though.”

  They laughed. Then Sur Sceaf took his leave, to Hartmut’s room. He knocked on the old oak door. Hartmut was traipsing around in his stocking feet.

  With a puzzled look on his face, he said, “I chust thought I’d lay back and kick my feet up for a short spell. Thou art a little early.”

  Sur Sceaf stepped in and Hartmut closed the door. “I need a favor from you, old friend.”

  “Anything, for thee, Surrey. Thou knowest that.”

  “I want you to escort Meny to the party this evening.”

  “No way!” Hartmut exclaimed. “That pesky girl and I have way too many problems. She and I are like unto a cat and a dog placed in the same box. She scratcheth and I barketh. It seemeth no matter how hard I try to avoid her, she ropeth me in like a calf, and before I know it, she hath tied all four of my feet and is ready to brand me a fool.”

  Sur Sceaf laughed. “I don’t see where that is a problem.”

  “Thou wouldst not. Problem is, I think I’m liking her way too much. Dost thou realize the problems that could cause for me amongst the dycons?” Hartmut flopped back on the bed and crossed his feet while propping his head up with his hands.

  “Hartmut, I’ve never known you to back down from a fight with those stubborn asses before. I’m asking you to do this favor for me. If you don’t escort her, that means she will have to be with Taneshewa and I all evening, and I was hoping for some time alone with Ahy, if you know what I mean.”

  Hartmut scowled. “Well, alright! I suppose I owe thee this one, as an old friend. Is this thy way of being an ehestifter?”

  Sur Sceaf sighed. “Would it matter if I were a matchmaker?”

  “Why do you Herewardi always answer a question with a question?”

  Sur Sceaf laughed. “What ever makes you say that?” Hartmut threw a pillow at him.

  Chapter 6 : Home Coming

  Sur Sceaf and Hartmut left the room at the Inn and walked down the planked porch to Ahy’s room. Just as Sur Sceaf was about to knock, the door opened, as if Ahy and Meny had heard their footsteps approaching. Ahy emerged first, looking stunning in a deep red dress accentuating her feminine form to the greatest advantage. Upon her shoulders hung the golden fawn hide Sur Sceaf had gifted her as a stole. “You look like a swan maiden. A faery goddess....You are absolutely, breath-robbing beautiful!” The intoxicating scent of rose perfume filled his nostrils and he was sure she had just stepped out of the Faery Realms.

  Mendaho followed Taneshewa out and she too seemed to have a divine glow to her. She said, “What do you think, Surrey? She made that dress just for you. Got the material from a Herewardi merchant who passed through the camp of Eloheh while you were in Salem and she’s been working on it ever since.”

  “I never meant for you to have to work so hard for me.” He said. Then turning to Mendaho he said, “But you are every bit as beautiful, Meny, in blue. You look stunning.” He elbowed Hartmut. “Doesn’t she Hartmut?”

  Hartmut’s eyes were wide. For a moment he appeared speechless. “Thou art magnificent.”

  Ahy winked at Meny.

  Hartmut seemed to find his tongue. “All these years I’ve practiced not looking at the beauty of women, but enough of that. Thou art beautiful!

  “It’s about one point of the medicine wheel before the party,” Sur Sceaf said. “What do you say we split up until then?”

  “That would be great,” Mendaho said as she tucked her hand into Hartmut’s elbow and towed him in the opposite direction, “I gotta see these vendors and merchants that are in the courtyard.”

  “They’re just beginning to arrive.” Sur Sceaf announced. “By the Yule there will be vendors from the thousands of settlements all gathered here and outside the fortress. Go ahead and you two take a stroll through them. Then we’ll meet here in one point after sunset.”

  As Hartmut and Mendaho walked out into the bustling street, the lamplighters were just beginning to light the oil lamps along the street. Bright light shown from the windows of the Shepherd Hall and the inn as they strolled along the Wisent Promenade away from the vendors plying their wares. Sur Sceaf made numerous stops to introduce Ahy to the people of his community. The women eyed Ahy curiously while the men, both young and old could not help but stare at her exquisite form, not that he could blame them.

  Leaving the thoroughfare behind, they strolled slowly over to a wooded area where the fallen oak leaves left their heady tea-like fragrance heavy in the air. “The only thing greater than being home, is being here with you, Ahy, and showing it to you.”

  As they walked between two stone obelisks carved in runic letters she pointed to the flach ahead and said, “Is that one of the places you pointed out to me before?”

  “Yes, it is one of my favorite places. May I escort you up?”

  She hiked up her skirts and he took her arm. They walked up a winding wooden staircase that led into the tree branches. To Ahy it seemed to float over the crowds. It was a sacred place to Sur Sceaf. He had oft come here to commune with his ancestors. The large wooden deck spread out before them with rows of benches in the center and along most of the edges. He led her through the rows to the railing and pointed below at the busy cobblestone street.

  “In the summertime, when the trees are fully leafed out, this is like nesting in the tree tops. Here is where the skalds conduct their classes in fair weather, but it will afford us the privacy we need and keep us above the hustle and bustle of the street.”

  Taneshewa put her hands on the railing and craned her neck forward to see over a hefty oak branch. A floral scent rose from her hair, which she had done in a thick Herewardi single braid, revealing the enticing curve of her neck along with long mother of pearl earrings. Sur Sceaf could not wait for the day that she would be completely his.

  “Look Surrey, you can see Hartmut and Meny down there. Don’t they look like they belong together?”

  “That they do. But if you think we had obstacles in getting together, wait till those dycons and Fromer get on his tail.”

  She scowled so fiercely, he had to stifle a laugh. “Can’t somebody just clobber that possum?”

  This time, he did laugh. “I’d love to, but for harmony sake we have to endure him, lock our hens up at night, and hope the egg sucking varmint doesn’t get inside any of our personal space.”

  “He makes my stomach churn with revulsion. Every time I see the mouse, I avoid him like vomit. At least up here it’s so peaceful, above all the entanglements below. Look over there, those poor axis deer had to move over to that dark corner because of all the people invading their parkland.”

  “They’re pretty much used to us by now, but I see that the wisents have moved out into the darkness of the park.” He watched the deer eating mast from the ground in the dim light of the street lamps.

  “From here the tree branches look like giant spiders, and all that moss and mistletoe makes it look like the trees are animals of some sort. We just don’t get all this mossyness up in the mountains.” Then turning from the railing to face him, she wiggled her fingers through his cravat and said, “You are a pretty fancy looking fellow with your fluffy white cravat and this leather cape and coat. You’re dressed like your father was this afternoo
n. On the way here, I noticed several other gentlemen wore clothing like this. Is this some sort of special uniform you wear?”

  “Not exactly. It’s the clothing the gentry wear for special occasions.”

  “Well, what exactly is this gentry, you speak of?”

  “It’s just the men who consider themselves to follow a code of dress and honor that distinguishes us as being mannerly and beneficent.”

  She rubbed her hand across his beard. “Well, I like it and I like the way you’ve trimmed your beard. It looks much softer now. You were starting to look like the Wose.”

  He laughed, and she leaned up to kiss him.

  When he realized he was returning her kiss with far too much ardor he pulled back. “Forgive me, but we’ll never leave here if I don’t stop right now.”

  She must have felt his man-bulge for she appeared to blush. “Standing Bull’s kisses were always awkward and demanding, sort of like he was trying to devour me. But your kisses are like a joining of the spirit. It’s hard for me to describe how I feel, but I feel both comforted and aroused at the same time by your tenderness.”

  “I feel the same way.”

  Upon the deck of the flach they gazed together at the purple and orange sunset of twilight. A companionable silence fell over them as they lingered in a pleasant fixation on one another’s eyes. A fallen crescent moon hovered over the western Arundelean Mountains like a silver sliver in the sky.

  “I am glad you brought me up here.” She said, “It all feels so right.”

  “This is where Paloma and I would come when we were counting to get out of the bustle and have time alone.”

  “Were you two madly in love?”

  “No, we were not madly in love,” Sur Sceaf admitted. “We both married out of royal duty and we were well-matched and liked each other very much. We knew we could eventually learn to love one another.”

  Taneshewa jerked her head back in shock. “Out of duty! That’s the last thing I would marry for.”