by Ru Emerson
20
“You worry unnecessarily; do not, my friend.”
Ylia started, the air going from her in a high-pitched little cry, and her hand halfway to her blade. It froze there. That voice, touching inner being as much as ear; that form.
“Eya?” Viewed with normal vision, a being out of Nedaoan and AEldran myth stood at her side: a dryad, four hands high, branch-brown and branch-slender, a narrow dark face surrounded by heavy mosslike hair. Eyes like young willow-leaves gazed out at her.
Seen with the inner eye, the Dreyz had no true form at all: a line of light flickered and flared blue-white. Ylia let the Power relax; she much preferred to see dryad, the light hurt her eyes. The dryad's voice was resonant, deep, tickled her ear. “I am Eya.” She stepped forward to lay a brittle-fingered hand against a human-arm. “We have kept what watch we could over ye, Nedao's Lady. This is the first opportunity ye have given us to speak with ye.”
That answered her most urgent—and rather resentful—question. Where were you when I needed you, you or Bendesevorian? When I found this sword, and when I found what it could do? “Because of people—, she began. Eya nodded.
“This man will not sleep much longer, so we must be brief. Always you are surrounded by your folk. This is a good thing for your safety, but a difficulty to us. To me.” Eya's hand went to the sword hilts. “We were aware, when her bequest betook itself to the Caves, and later, when ye found it. Had it been possible, one of us would have spoken to ye then, for we knew ye were troubled by it.” Ylia nodded. Betook?
“Betook itself?” she echoed. The dryad nodded.
What else. Shelagn was never in these northern mountains, and so when it was clear ye would be there a time, they went to you. There was no doubt among us, or in his mind, that the time she foresaw had come, and who would be chosen to inherit.” Silence. Eya moved a little forward to gaze down at the sleeping mountain-hunter. “It is good that he lives. There are things he will do, that he must do.”
“You—you know him?” she asked past a suddenly dry mouth.
“No. That he is Nedaoan, as ye are. More: that he has Power, and that it distresses ye.”
“I—it's unheard of, Lady,” Ylia whispered. “No one of Nedao has AEldra Power—”
“But it is not AEldra,” Eya said as the swordswoman hesitated. Ylia stared at her wide-eyed. “Like in certain ways, for the Nasath did not create what they gave your mother's long kin. They took what grew wild in these Foessa, tamed it so that folk could use it safely, and gave them that. What this man has is untouched by Nasath; it is wild.”
“Gods and Mothers.”
“By all rights,” Eya went on, “he should be unable to use it, as ye were, because of the block Plains blood puts upon Power. But this man is resourceful and strong, he has manipulated that block. And so he can do small things with the Power that even he does not think of as sorcery.”
“He called me.” Ylia cast a frightened glance at the unconscious hunter. He suddenly made her very nervous indeed. Another Lyiadd? She knew nothing of him, suspected a thing or two. There was violence in him, a strong temper. If he'd killed, left the Plain because of that—she brought her attention back to the moment with an effort. Eya had stepped back to her side, had a hand on the sword hilts again.
“It was good that ye answered his call.”
“You know—?”
“That much. And another thing. The sword is not safe alone. Ye do not understand the things yet as ye finally will. She did not, for long. There are three: sword, shield horn. The sword by itself can be a danger, ye saw that.” Ylia nodded. “The shield tempers its strength. Keep them together, that the sword not run wild, that it not take ye with it.”
“It would do that?”
Eya shrugged; her hair rustled, and a faint scent of moss and cedar teased Ylia's nostrils. “We do not know. Even she who bore the weapons before Shelagn did not know.” And as Ylia cast her a startled glance, “They are old. Older than ye had thought them, Shelagn also thought herself used when she was chosen by the sword. Does that ease your fear? She did not think so for long. Find what ease ye can in that, then.” The hunter stirred; the Dreyz shimmered, nearly vanished. He turned his face toward the fire, settled back into sleep. “A last thing. Do not let this man touch the blade.”
“I—I don't understand. I wouldn't, I don't trust him. But—not let him touch it?”
“Or let it touch him. What he carries has been building in him for long years, but it lies deep, where he cannot feel it or sense it. If he and that blade touched, it would release that. It might kill him.” It would change him.”
“He—"Ylia swallowed. He could become another Lyiadd. Perhaps. He has the strength and the will to pursue any course the Power set before him. It would depend upon him, the kind of man he is. But you know this?”
“I know nothing of him. I fear certain things, though.”
“Then by all means, keep the blade from him. Keep the shield with you, learn to use them together. The sword will not be such a burden.” The hunter stirred again, spoke aloud; the Dreyz vanished. Ylia cried out, stood and stared around her. The man at her feet rolled onto his shoulder, pulled the blanket snug against his chest and subsided again, but Eya was gone for good.
The hunter stirred again, drawing her attention; she tucked the blankets back around him, her own cloak over all, and settled back down across the fire from him; there was still meat on the skewers, and she picked at it. Hungry—but I'd better save him some of his own food, he'll wake up hungry as well. He. Who was he? She hadn't even a name to put to him, nothing save that his accent betrayed the North now and again, and the bow he'd given her at their first meeting was purely Teshmoran. Perhaps not a herder then; he'd held and used that sword, for all his exhaustion, like a trained fighting man. Perhaps one of Corlin's or Erken's, perhaps she'd been right the first time, he'd lost some lady to his stupid temper and left.
It didn't matter. After this, particularly after Eya's warning, she'd stay clear of him and if he got himself cornered by Mathkkra again that was his problem, not hers!
Moonlight cast a chill blue light on the tips of the cedar at the western edge of the clearing, moving slowly down until it cleared the eastern mountains. It glanced off the sword, so that for a brief moment her hands were clad in silver and pearls.
What have I done?” she whispered. Anger was beginning to edge the thought, pushing earlier fear aside at least a little. “I'm being used.” Never mind what the Dreyz said, it was still no pleasant thought. “Unfair,” she hissed, and drove a fist into the sod.
It was almost funny. Nisana had more than once accused her of Nedaoan fatalism. Cat, if you only knew! Deep down, she'd always believed in a way around fate, the fight of a man or woman to change the course of an oncoming thing and to so avoid it. But this! This thing cut across belief and sense both. If she believed half of what Eya had told her, a tenth of what she dreamed, then she'd been fated to hold this blade from birth. Or perhaps before that. Perhaps it went back to the day Scythia refused Lyiadd and chose instead to marry Brandt, lending an additional weight to Lyiadd's stack of grudges that finally tipped him over the edge and sent him into the Foessa. Perhaps—even before that. She slammed her fist into the ground again, harder. Against such a progression of events as that, how dare she believe herself to control her own fate? And what of Nedao? Would Shelagn's legacy put itself before her first duty to her people?
The mountain-hunter mumbled something, drawing her attention away from black thoughts, and opened his eyes. “Where are we?” He'd seen her, but after that first swift glance he would not look at her.
“At your campsite.”
“Not safe.”
“Safe enough. But I—”
“Those that attacked me?”
“Dead, all of them.”
“You know this for certain?”
“I know it. If there are others, I don't sense them, and they haven't attacked.” He cast her a sharp glance,
looked away and sat up. “Do you want water?”
“Yes.” She handed him the bottle, held out one of his skewers. He took it, tugged meat free, chewed. “It's overdone. How long have I been insensible?”
“By the moon, two hours. It's dry but edible. I've had some.”
“Oh. “He pulled more meat from the skewer, stuffed it into his cheek. He brought the hand down slowly, moved his fingers with care. “That—my arm was broken, there was a rock, I heard it break.” Dark eyes met hers squarely across the fire. “Your doing, isn't it?” He didn't sound much pleased.
“I healed you, yes.”
“I thought you dead. It was the last thing I remember thinking,” he said harshly. “That was all my last thought, that I'd killed Nedao's Queen. Nice thing for you to do to me.”
“Nonsense,” she cut in crisply. “You didn't kill me, no one did. My choice. I saw your need, and I came.”
He sighed heavily, clearly a man pushed beyond patience. “That's another thing, this about seeing my need—”
“I wasn't finished, quiet! I saw your need, but it was my decision to come here. I could have left you to the Mathkkra.”
“I see.” He didn't sound like he saw. “Well, then. So tell me again how I called you here.”
“No. Why should I bother? I don't understand it, anyway. I told you what happened. At first I thought another AEldra was calling, but obviously not.” Wild Power. She barely held back a shudder.
“Ridiculous,” he snorted. “There's no AEldra in me!”
“I can see that for myself, and stop interrupting me! That's what happened. Why, I don't know. I don't fully understand AEldra Power, I came to it late. And I don't understand these mountains. But one of those who came north with me has Sight, and for a time she could hear, AEldra fashion. Because of the Foessa.”
“I told you, I don't have Power,” he said stubbornly.
She sighed. “Whatever you say.” You certainly don't have manners! she thought furiously. “But the Foessa are strange, and strange beings inhabit them. But you must already know that.”
Brief silence, as though he wished to emphasize that he was not overriding her speech. Then: “You need not look at me when you say that. Strange beings.”
She gaped at him, open-mouthed. “I never did!”
He chuckled, and for the moment became quite human. “Got you! All right, I'll grant you that much. These mountains are strange. And my mother had the Sight, so perhaps,” he added more to himself than to her, “that could explain certain things...” He sat considering something for a while. His eyes strayed thoughtfully to the small fire, he held his hands to it. “I am in your debt,” he said finally. For some reason, this seemed to “I make him angry once again owe you blood-price. I will repay the debt.”
She shook her head. “If you choose to see it so. The healing was no danger to my life.”
“No,” he remarked sourly, “and neither’ were the Mathkkra, were they? Not much!” Another silence. “The matter of the debt is my choice, not yours. Even Nedao's Queen cannot gainsay that.” Another silence. He moved to push away the blankets, his hand hesitated on the fur-lined cloak. “That's none of mine. Did I also have your covering? Gods and Mothers, woman, but you shame me!”
“I was warm enough, and you needed it. There's no shame in that.”
He scowled but finally shrugged, fished some more meat free of the skewers and popped it into his mouth. “What was that creature, the thing that flew?”
“Thullen. They're not known in Nedao—”
“Thank the Mothers for that!”
“—or weren't. We've seen all too many of them since I came north and Village Telean killed two, not long ago.” He eyed her, mumbled something she couldn't quite catch. “They did. So much for your ‘stodgy’ herders.”
“That word is going to haunt me,” he remarked dryly, and turned aside to spit out a chunk of fat. “What are Thullen?”
“It's a long tale. Come to Midsummer Fest and hear it all then,” she said. And what do you make of that, exiled Plainsman? If he'd left Nedao for cause, as she half thought—"For now, you know all you need to of them: do not look at them directly, and they die on plain steel.” Not this time, she thought, and fought a shudder. Did he remember that? She couldn't tell, his face was giving away nothing at all. Save, still, that very faint offensive look, the more active displeasure whenever his eyes met hers or touched on her right cheek, and flinched away from what they saw.
“Midsummer Fest.” He caught at the words. “Why?”
She laughed. “Why, to test my blades. You offered once, remember? And I seem to recall you using yours for more than swatting your horse today. That's a proper skill you have!” Silence. “I haven't tripped over my sword in years.”
“Yes,” he groaned, “hold that against me, too. All my words come back to haunt me tonight!” he considered, finally shrugged. “Perhaps. Why not? If I'm not halfway to Nar instead.”
“Good enough. I'm going, then.” She rose to her feet. “It'll be my skin if I'm not in my bed before my women come to wake me, and that's with the sun these days.”
He stood, shook the blankets to his feet; held out her cloak with a flourish. She pulled it around her shoulders, suddenly grateful for its warmth. A light breeze was bending the grass, soughing through the trees. It ruffled her hair, chilled her exposed ears and nose.
“Well then. My thanks for your aid. I suppose I owe you that, besides blood-debt,” he said, suddenly stiff with formality. Nedao's Lady. He could have touched her; at the same time, he couldn't possibly have reached across the gulf that separated such as her and the likes of him. Black hell, he thought, savagely “Next time I call out your name, to come and die at my side, leave me be!” She stared at him. “I'd as soon die alone than take a woman's coddling!”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you do! Alone and certainly not missed! You're stubborn and fool enough, too! Just trap yourself against a ledge again, we've twelve-year-old shepherds who have more brain than that!” He drew in a deep breath and started for her, but whatever he bellowed out was lost as she bridged back to the tower.
“Damn!” She slammed the flat of her hand against the door jamb.
“Why?’ Nisana pushed through the partly open door and leaped to the flat railing.
“Nevermind,” she said grimly. “I'm going to bed.”
“Good. I don't like trying to deal with when you're angry and short of sleep both.’ But she accompanied the swordswoman down the hall. ‘That was amusing,” she added as Ylia strode into her chamber.
“What was?” She began removing one boot by digging at the heel with the toe of the other, but stopped abruptly. “You weren't watching me!”
'Why not?’ Nisana demanded reasonably. ‘I was keeping an eye out for more Mathkkra. You should appreciate that. But you know Malaeth would find it most inappropriate, that you were spending long dark hours, unattended, with a stray male.”
Ylia shoved the first boot aside with a kick, bent over to drag at the other. Her face was hot. “Why? He'd be the last to attempt my virtue!”
'So I noticed. All the same, there are forms. You know that as well as I, and your future mate should be pleased to know we kept you pure.’
“That's quite enough, cat!”
'Curious, too. I would have wondered where did such an uncouth Nedaoan get Power. She answered that.’
That brought Ylia back around, sword belt in hand. ‘You saw her too!’
'I was watching you, I told you. For your safety. I have spoken with Eya and others of the Folk, once or twice. She was never able to come to you because you were never alone.’
“She said that.”
'Yes. It's a pity the hunter is unlikely to return to his folk. I'd like to work with such as that, to see what he could do. Raw Power,’ Nisana added thoughtfully. ‘Think what someone without your narrow attitudes might do with all that Power!’
“If you saw us at all, cat, you know he wouldn't, e
ven acknowledge he has it.”
'So? You were the same, until recent.’ Nisana gazed at her measuringly. ‘That was a goodly bridge, the best you've managed so far. Fortunate you thought the matter important enough to do it.’
“Don't rag me, cat,” Ylia implored. “You didn't see what passed earlier, when I called on Shelagn and the blade answered. Look. Please!”
Nisana jumped onto the bed, padded to Ylia's side, reluctantly joined. She sat with her eyes closed a long time, pondering. ‘Odd,’ she said finally. Most odd. That the blade should have powers of its own, brought on by her name—who would have thought it? Was it forged so, I wonder, or did it come by them later, and at whose hand?’
“I don't care about that.” Ylia tossed the cloak across the foot of the bed, tossed the tabard on top of it and began unlacing the mail shirt. “I want to know what it's doing to me, that's all I care about right now.”
'You shouldn't let it frighten you. Remember what Eya told you.
Ylia gazed at her in exasperation. “Nisana, think! Think, how you'd feel to have such a thing in your hands, and not know which of you controlled the other!” She shivered as she dropped the long-sleeved shirt to the floor, untied the drawstring waist of her breeches, loosened the laces that bound them close to her calves: “Malaeth had me a nightshirt yesterday. Where did she put it?”
'Not a thing I'd know,’ the cat replied. Ylia sighed, retrieved her shirt and pulled back the bed furs to discover the long, pale blue woolen shift lying across her pillows. Nisana watched as she dragged it down over her head and pulled her hair free. ‘I still cannot believe that is a comfortable way to sleep,’ she remarked. ‘All tangled up in cloth. How do you stand it?’
