The time when she sneaked up as close as the tents to survey a camp was long gone. It may have been a display of some talent, but it had also been stupid. You did not get any good view that close and so low to the ground. And the closer you got, the smaller area to guard for those in the camp, the bigger risk to get caught. She had been extraordinarily lucky that time. She had had no intention to push that luck since then and favored smart before bold. So Avia watched the tents and the men she had followed from atop a giant boulder. The mountains amazed her. She had had this grand view and seen further than the vandals possibly could have reached. Yet she had almost stumbled into their camp where they had settled in a depression behind a ridge.
Up here in the north, the sun hardly moved under the horizon this time of year. Even though the mountains stretched up like a dark wall towards the sky, blocking the sun, it was still bright enough to move around without effort. It was like a never-ending sunset. The camp was dampened and quiet as any camp after a long day’s work. A faint smell of food was in the air, but she saw no sign of smoke or fire. To make a fire out here they had to bring their own wood. She sniffed in the air again. Perhaps they made those meek, slow-burning things with dung? It did not matter at all how they kept warm, more than her being curious. If she knew how they did it, she could perhaps keep herself warm in those conditions some other time.
They were maybe forty, armed with swords or spears. Who were they? She had not heard of any assemblage stealing children. At least not a whole group of them like they had. What was their goal? Though she had surveyed them for an hour at least, she had not figured out where they kept the children. Enter the camp with stealth not knowing where to go was a terrible idea. Such maneuver needed a clear mark to be successful. Not to forget that she wanted to leave with Putt alive. She climbed down from the boulder and sat down behind it. Other tactics were necessary. She needed to know who they were and what their inducement was. And the only way to gain that knowledge was to ask.
With her empty hands in clear sight, she walked up to the camp. She was still armed, but the string on her bow was loosened and hung on her back, swords and knife were safe in their sheaths. It was not the way to start a surprise attack. Soon she was halted. As expected, they asked her who she was instead of stabbing her the first thing they did. She requested to talk to their commander. It reminded her of the situation when she had got caught and was brought to the leader, only this time she had the advantage of coming to them in the open. And not to forget, over fifty more years of experience. Keeping her hands in plain sight, guarded by two men pointing their spears at her, she waited for the commander to arrive. He came, stopped a few steps away from her and watched her up and down as she gazed back at him. The ash blond hair had been combed into a lofty hairdo, but he was shorter than her. A trimmed beard, probably waxed. Leather clothes with bronze ornaments.
“What do you want?” he asked, without ceremonies or originality.
“My grandson.” If she had learned anything in all her years, it was that truth worked best. No one liked to feel cheated. To keep her goal hidden would likely make him feel fooled sometime during their meeting, and it would not do well on her life expectancy. He gestured for her to follow. She did, and he invited her into a tent, probably his, considering the guard outside of it and the wealth displayed inside of bronze, brass, and fur. A welcome warmth streamed from a polished copper vessel in the middle of the tent. The commander lighted a few more lamps in the tent.
“Sit down. Share a meal with me.” He gestured towards a low, decorated table with shiny inlays, surrounded by hides and woolen blankets.
“It’s in the middle of the night” she replied.
“So it is. Never the less, business is business, and those are best discussed sharing food. Don’t you agree?” She admired him. He was calm, open to options. She put her bow and swords by the opening of the tent. It was not good manners to wear weapons on negotiations, though she kept her dagger since her host kept his, and sat down opposite him. Both wanted to show civilized, polite behavior, she thought, but none of them trusted the other enough to be completely unarmed. He was a strong man, especially his hands. His arms were bare and exposed with plenty of tattoos, a display of manhood. There was gray in the blond. He was younger than her for sure, but that was as likely as being shorter than her. Old and tall were her traits. Cobalt blue eyes, shining of curiosity, were his.
“I’m Viseran.”
“Avia.”
A servant appeared with a tray with bowls full of diced fruit. Viseran offered her to taste. She took a piece and ate it. Fresh fruit from a pack of bandits far over the tree line. Impressive. Viseran served himself from the bowls.
“What do you burn in that pot?” she asked and pointed at the shiny heater. Her host dropped a piece of fruit in surprise. “I’m not familiar with fires this high.” Viseran chuckled.
“Animal waste. Dried. Did you want your grandson back?”
“If he’s still alive.”
“We don’t kill children.” He seemed offended, and Avia found it strange. They had just a few days ago burned down a village with the children’s parents inside the houses. Was it so odd to think that the children could be killed too? Though she did not say any of these thoughts aloud, she let her face speak of her skepticism. Difficult to be officially offended by something unspoken.
“You seem to me as a warrior, am I right?” he asked her. At her nod, he continued:
“Then you’ve killed people I’m sure.” She could not deny that she had.
“I don’t target children,” she pointed out.
“Exactly. Children are…” he lingered, considering. “They’re worth more than us.”
“How much do you want for my grandson?” Avia pushed the conversation forward.
“You expect me to want money? Is your grandson a mule?”
“Yes to the first. No to the second.” The commander grinned and his blue eyes winked at her.
“Do you know why we took the children? We could have left them there.” She shook her head. Viseran studied her.
“Does it matter to you if we took them to care for them and raise them as our own or if we plan to sacrifice them to our gods?” Avia considered him back in return. She had met a man once who came from a place where they sacrificed at least their first-born since it was considered the finest gift you could ever give the gods. Avia herself thought it strange to get a gift from the gods only to return it and think of it as good manners. Whatever gods they had would rather punish them for their rudeness. But on the other hand, she knew there was always twists and turns at everything when it came to man’s relationship to gods.
“No, it does not matter, not for our relation. I’ll not fight you in any case. I’m not interested in getting killed for something I cannot change. But!” and she put great emphasis on that word “I don’t think you’ll sacrifice the children.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“Because it’s not the best you can give the gods when you take someone else’s. Then it’s a gift you don’t care for.” Her host chuckled again. His blue eyes fixed upon her.
“You’re right. You are what we call a ‘mamasiente’, a woman lived long and used the years wisely.”
“Thank you.” She got to remember that word. It described all she ever wanted to be.
“Maybe you’ll be a ‘papasiente’ one day” she tried to return the courtesy.
“There’s no such word. We don’t expect to live that long or do anything wise with our time” he replied. “You can have your grandson if he’s among the children.”
“And the others?”
“They will be well cared for and bring much happiness. Many of our children died last winter. I myself need a son and heir.” The storage they had plundered would help to keep the children alive, too. The children’s parents had labored to have food when the winter came. Now they were dead, and their children were fed from their work. Avia did not bother to debate with
him about the right or wrong in what they had done. They had done it, and there was no way she could undo it or change his opinion about his right to plunder.
She followed him out of the tent and towards another, larger one. He peeked inside and gestured for her to enter.
“They’re sleeping,” he mumbled when she passed him. “Try not to wake them.”
She stood still inside the tent, listening to the calm breathing of several children, feeling the warmth from the copper pot on her face. Though they were all asleep now, she could smell the fear they felt. It gave a particular scent to the sweat. Her eyes got used to the darkness. They were ten to twelve, sleeping in a circle, covered with thick, soft blankets.
She bent down by the closest one. It was a girl. She moved to the next. All she saw was a mane of blond hair. Putt had hair like rust. She moved on. As she came to the second last child, she had almost given up hope. She studied the boy. It was something familiar about him. She had no clear image of Putt’s face, and it had been over a year since she saw him last time. Never before had she been in a situation where she had to pick him out from a number of other children. Neither had she watched him sleep much. The other kids had had nothing familiar over their faces even if they had dark hair. This boy must be Putt. How to leave with him? She had not carried him in a few years and then he had been awake.
“Have you found him” the commander whispered from the opening. She nodded and pointed. He stepped inside and lifted the boy with the blanket and all and carried him outside. Avia followed him back to his tent. He put the boy down on one of the furs. In the light from the burning flames of the lamps, Avia could see it was Putt she had found. Avia kneeled beside him and was about to wake him when:
“Go to sleep, ‘mamasiente’. In the morning, we break camp. We go our way; you go yours.” Avia nodded. Yes, she needed to sleep.
“Thank you.” The commander blew out the lamps and left the tent.
She fetched her weapons and lay down between the boy and the tent opening. She had no idea if Viseran would return to his tent later to sleep or if he left it for the night. Did he respect her that much? Maybe she instead should follow them, she thought, as she waited for sleep to catch her. ‘A woman lived long and used the years wisely.’ She wished she felt that herself. Yes, in a way she did, but her knowledge and her skills had been for her own use or amusement only. She had never worked for any greater good. Was it to be considered ‘wise’ to learn just because you wanted to, but not using it for some valuable purpose for the wellbeing of others? It would have been interesting to discuss these things with Viseran. Or would it? Maybe the men were as unwise as their lack of a ‘papasiente’ indicated. What a strange idea that it would make any difference what sex you had. You were who you were, and your gender was only one out of many factors. “Animal waste” she repeated for herself and studied the copper pot now glowing in the darkness. She got to try that someday. She fell asleep.
CHAPTER THREE
Company
She walked with Putt behind her. They had left Viseran and his men, the boy’s captivators, as soon as Putt had awoken. He had recognized her at once and hugged her and gazed upon her for comfort. He had been ready to leave with her without argument. It could have been profoundly worse, she thought. Considering what the boy had been through the last few days, she had prepared herself for any wild reaction. The one she got was one of the more favorable. Yet, all was not well. It was the lack of arguments that concerned her. Not much, since she was not someone who got worried about things, but it amazed her. The boy’s parents were killed, he had been kidnapped, and a few days later he wakes up with his grandma. One could expect some questions at least.
She had never trusted people who followed the mainstream to fit in. She wanted arguments, questions, and impugned behavior. How else would one ever learn for real, learn what was important? People who did what they were told without argument did not think; they just followed the crowd. If a student was ordered to read and learn the contents of a book it did not mean that just because the student did, and proved his knowledge, that he had actually learned something. He had learned what was in the book, but he had not necessarily understood why he learned it or how to use this new knowledge.
Avia had never been a good student in the eyes of her teachers. She soon learned that teachers did not want arguments, they wanted obedience. That did not stop her from questioning things, on the contrary. To be provocative was the only thing she could do that gave her any substance of value during a day at school. The teachers said she behaved as she was three years old. An age when a small child tests the limits. She was terrified to learn that most kids stopped testing this at such young age. Now, at old age, Avia thought she had tested limits all her life. Always pushed herself to learn new things, get past her fears, try another way to do something.
The other ten, eleven kids in the class had been so flat, so dull, so… stupid. That, she had learned, counted for most people, but they were not idiots, really. They were just normal. The ones the world was created to fit. She was the abnormal. Though that made some people uncomfortable, she enjoyed it herself. And she was not alone. People she could have intelligent, mind-challenging conversations with existed everywhere, in many strange places. It was a privilege to meet them, and there were few things she enjoyed more.
She turned her head and made sure Putt was still there and kept her pace. He had not said much at all since he woke up. What did go on in his head? Was it just shock, or was he just a quiet boy these days? It was alright to be quiet as long as it did not mean he was afraid of talking or did not bother to think. The Putt she knew had always had a lot to tell and show his grandma. On the other hand, she only turned up once a year at the most, and he made sure to keep her up to date with what had happened last time she visited. She knew little about his everyday life. The days they had spent together had been special for both of them.
She had found herself a child to take care of. It was over forty years since she had held Arica in her arms. Motherhood was for the young. But Putt was not a baby. He was a boy of ten and could walk, eat and answer the calls of nature all by himself. And he could tell her in words what he wanted or did not want. She threw an eye at him again. Would he? I got to give him time, she thought. Most people do not like changes in life, and this boy had been through more than his share.
When they found a good spot to camp in the afternoon, Avia was pleased to notice that Putt had not had any problems to keep her pace the whole day. At least not what she had noticed. Maybe not surprising since Putt was a package of muscles. He was short for his age and sturdy. At the age of three, he had spent hours just running around in the village. The other kids enjoyed playing tag with him because he tirelessly agreed to be the one chasing.
She put her swords down beside her thin pack and released her bow from her back. She fastened the string to the end of the bow, preparing it.
“I’ll go hunting. Can you collect some sticks and dry bushes around here for a fire in the meantime?” Putt nodded. “Don’t stray away now. Keep camp in sight.”
“I will.” He spoke. That’s something.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see the camp from pretty far away.” He shrugged.
“I’m tired.” She gave him a nod and walked down the slope towards the bottom of the valley where there were thick bushes. She hoped those fat birds she had seen during the day nested there. They could fly, but spent most of their time on the ground and she bet they wanted to be near water. She put an arrow to the bow as she walked. If she scared a bird to fly as she approached, she had better be ready for it. A rustle in the bushes and a deer gave itself away as it leaped up and away among the low vegetation. Avia’s arrow hit its mark and secured their dinner.
Putt made huge eyes as his grandmother came back with a whole deer across her shoulders. He stared at her gutting the animal with a mixture of disgust and fascination that Avia recognized from the fightings down in Posita. Fights people wer
e willing to pay to see. They could watch men and women stab each other to death with the same disgusted interest. Not that far from gutting a dead deer, though the humans fighting were still alive when they had their entrails spilled out. Strange way to find pleasure. On the other hand, it attracted something forbidden in you, and passing those barriers could be very rewarding, she knew from own experience.
She had once been one of those paid to fight. And the pay was what tempted her as well as most others at first. She had survived, apparently, but the tremendous satisfaction she felt afterward had terrified her, and she had left, never to return. Risking her life was part of a warrior’s life. But she was not eager to turn killing into something to long for, to enjoy. And especially not for money. It was so easy to confuse the ecstasy of surviving and being superior to your opponent for real pleasure. When blood pumped in a high tempo, body and mind were not itself. To survive such a fight could give emotions that could be mistaken for success, immortality and true happiness. It was neither. All it was, was a quick fix for a mind astray. But a quick fix is only a temporary solution. It never heals you. Sooner or later it has drained you. She had fled those fightings. Most who once started never did.
“Have you never gutted an animal before?” she asked Putt. The boy shook his head.
“Well,” she explained and pointed with her knife “this is the liver. We’ll bury it in the ember when the rest of the meat is done and bring it out before we leave tomorrow. These are the bowels. They are useful when you’re making sausage, but we can’t do that out here, so we’ll have to leave that to the scavengers. That’s the heart. We’ll bury it with the liver, but it’s a hardworking muscle, so it’s quite a fight to eat it. The liver is tender. It almost melts in your mouth. Can you start a fire, Putt?” He piled the dry sticks he had collected in an airy heap, splintered sticks into smaller pieces.
Caged Warrior (The Warrior and the Wizard Book 1) Page 2
