A Journey of the Heart

by Catherine M. Wilson

  "Whether the northerners had treachery in mind from the beginning no one knows. Perhaps they saw their chance to make good their losses at our expense. Perhaps they felt that, after all their suffering, the Mother might favor them and would give them what they had coveted for so long -- our crops, our animals, the land itself. Or perhaps it started with a drunken brawl over which warrior should take the best cut of meat. No one living now knows."

  Namet said no more. There was no need. I knew the rest. I knew the stories of the battles almost by heart. Namet's story helped me to understand things I had never thought about before -- how the northerners had come unchallenged so far into Merin's land and why the fighting had been so fierce. The northerners would have fought with the desperation of those who have closed the door behind them. They had little to return to and much to gain from our defeat.

  What I had missed I saw in Maara's eyes.

  "No," said Namet, answering the question Maara had not yet asked. "No one blamed me, at least not publicly, but that didn't prevent me from blaming myself."

  "Many shared the blame," Maara replied. "It wasn't yours alone."

  "I alone brought about that dreadful alliance," Namet said. "But for me, none of our misfortunes would have happened. The painted people would never have been a threat to us, so in the end we lost much and gained nothing."

  She turned to me. "And if not for me, your mother's sisters would not have died. Your mother would not have gone home to take her mother's place and you might never have been born." She smiled. "So you see, it is possible to pluck good fruit from an evil tree."

  My mind was a confusion of questions. How could just one person be responsible for a war? I didn't see how she could blame herself for the decisions of so many people.

  Maara spoke aloud what I was thinking. "How could you blame yourself? You could not have known what the result would be."

  "No," Namet replied. "No one could have known."

  Her eyes softened as she returned Maara's gaze. "I understand what you're saying, my child. I was only one link in a chain of events that led us into disaster. But you must look deeper for the truth."

  She turned to me. "Do you think I did wrong?"

  "No, Mother," I replied. "You thought you were doing what was best for everyone."

  Namet turned back to Maara. "Do you share her opinion?"

  Maara said nothing. The two women sat looking at each other until prickles began to run up and down my spine. The silence went on so long that I had to resist the urge to break it.

  "If I had known the outcome, would I have done differently?" Namet said at last. "That's the question behind the question. And the answer is, I don't know. Because of what I did, I had my husband back. I had five years with him I would not have had otherwise. I can't wish that undone. What I've never been able to decide is if I would have urged the alliance on our people even if I had known the consequences, to save my husband's life."

  "The answer to that question doesn't matter," Maara said. "It's a question you were never asked. You will never bear the guilt for even the most treacherous answer to it."

  A tear slid down Namet's cheek. Maara looked away, embarrassed, but Namet reached out and took her hand.

  "You are a gift," said Namet.

  The shadows of the stones stretched across the circle. I lay back in the grass and thought about Namet's story. Namet fell into a doze, still sitting up, with her back against the stone. I caught Maara's eye.

  "When you spoke of the question she was never asked," I whispered, "what did you mean?"

  "Has life never asked you a question?"

  "I don't think so."

  Maara chuckled softly. "Life asks you questions every day," she said.

  33. Innocent Birds

  The next day Sparrow came home. I was practicing with my bow when I heard the soft footfall of someone approaching me from behind. I thought it might be Maara, coming to see how I was doing. When Sparrow slipped her arms around my waist, I caught the scent of lemon grass.

  "Don't you know how to use that thing yet?" she asked me.

  I paid no attention to her teasing. I turned in her arms and hugged her tight. "I've missed you," I said.

  She let go of me and held me at arm's length. "Have you grown taller?"

  "I don't think so."

  She pulled me toward her, as if she were measuring my height against her own body. Then she bent and kissed me. "Will you come down to the willow tree?"

  "Now?"

  "Yes, now. When did you think?"

  I hesitated.

  "If you don't want to -- "

  "Maara might come looking for me."

  "Will she be angry if you're not here?"

  "No."

  "Then come on."

  She took my hand and led me down the hill. We slipped through the curtain of drooping branches and settled ourselves on the soft moss under the tree. I leaned my bow against the trunk. Sparrow had never paid any attention to it before, but the carved designs caught her eye, and she ran her fingers over them.

  "Where did you get this?" she asked me. "I've never seen a bow like it."

  "My warrior gave it to me."

  "Did she make this?"

  Although Sparrow's guess provided a reasonable explanation, I couldn't bring myself to lie to her.

  "No," I said. "She found it."

  To my relief Sparrow didn't question me further. I couldn't tell her the truth about the bow without telling her about finding the body of the man Vintel had murdered. Then she would know that this was the bow that had killed Eramet.

  "How was your journey?" I asked her.

  "Better than I expected," she said.

  "Did you see your mother?"

  She smiled. "I did, and I actually heard her say that she was proud of me."

  "Why wouldn't she be proud of you?"

  "She used to tell me I aimed too high. She used to be afraid for me, afraid I wanted too much."

  "Surely she would want as much for you as you would want for yourself."

  Sparrow gave me an indulgent smile. "You're such an innocent. Slaves who fly too high are often brought back down to earth in most unpleasant ways."

  "But you were not."

  "No," she said. "I was not. I was lucky."

  I knew she was thinking of Eramet.

  Sparrow caressed my cheek. "Don't be jealous."

  "I'm not jealous."

  And I realized that I truly was not jealous of Eramet. I would have wished her back again in an instant, both for Sparrow's sake and for Namet's.

  Sparrow pouted. "Not even a little?"

  I laughed. "Well maybe just a little."

  "I suppose that will have to do."

  We sat looking at each other. Suddenly I felt shy. So, I think, did Sparrow.

  "Tell me about Arnet's house," I said.

  "Well," she said, lying back on the mossy bank, "nothing much has changed there in the time I've been away."

  I lay down beside her and listened as Sparrow told me about Arnet's house and the people she grew up with. Many of her old friends had rejoiced to see her. She hadn't expected such a warm welcome from people who had known her as a slave and who now must accept her new position in life.

  When she finished telling me about her journey, Sparrow turned to me.

  "I missed you too," she said, and took me into her arms.

  That evening the sunset was so lovely that Maara and I joined many of the others who went to sit on the hillside outside the earthworks to watch. When the light had faded and the others had gone in, I would have stayed on to enjoy the twilight, but Maara surprised me by sending me to bed.

  "We're going to be up well before dawn tomorrow morning," she said. "We're going hunting."

  "Hunting?"

  "Bring your bow," she said.

  Her mention of the bow reminded me of Sparrow's questions.

  "This afternoon," I said, "Sparrow asked me where my bow came from."

  "What did yo
u tell her?"

  "I told her you gave it to me. When she asked me how you came by it, I said you found it."

  Maara nodded. "All quite true."

  I hesitated to ask my next question, but it had worried me all afternoon.

  "What if Vintel were to recognize the bow?"

  Maara shrugged. "Even if she does, I doubt she'll say anything about it."

  "But then she'll know we found that man's body."

  "Does it matter?"

  I thought it over. Could anything make Vintel more our enemy than she was already?

  "I suppose not," I said, but that wasn't what was bothering me. "Would she tell Sparrow, do you think?"

  "I don't know. She might." Maara saw the worry in my eyes. "Sparrow can't fault you for being less than completely honest with her. The Lady asked us to keep our knowledge to ourselves."

  "That's not what worries me."

  "What is it then?"

  "My bow killed Eramet."

  I had never before said it out loud. I remembered how I felt when Maara first handed me the bow. How could I have used it all this time without once thinking of the loss of Eramet?

  Maara turned to face me. "That troubles you?"

  I nodded.

  "Why?"

  Why couldn't she see what was so obvious to me? "My bow took the life of someone Sparrow loved. When I couldn't tell Sparrow the truth about the bow today, it was more to spare her that knowledge than because the Lady told us not to tell."

  "You would spare Sparrow the knowledge that the bow that killed her warrior is now in the hands of her friend?"

  "I would spare her the reminder of her loss."

  "Do you believe she doesn't remember her loss every day? Does she need to be reminded of it?"

  "No."

  "Your bow has taken life, a warrior's life. That makes it strong. If I were to choose a sword, I would choose one that has tasted blood over a blade brought new from the forge."

  "Why?"

  "Just like a person, a weapon that has been tested can be relied on."

  "So I can trust my bow because it has taken life?"

  "You must first trust yourself," said Maara. "But you can trust that your weapon has at least as much courage as its master." She looked at me appraisingly. "When you set your foot upon the warrior's path, had you not considered all that it entails?"

  "All the women of my family were warriors. It's the path I was always meant to take."

  Maara frowned. "Was it not your own choice?"

  "It was the path I wanted. I never wanted anything else."

  "You never considered anything else?"

  "What else is there?"

  "There is more than one path to power," Maara said. "You could have become a healer or followed the path of wisdom like Namet."

  "Namet was first a warrior," I reminded her.

  "That's true," she said. "And like Namet you may find that your true path lies elsewhere but that you must take the warrior's path to find it."

  I couldn't imagine that someday I might be as wise or as powerful as Namet. I thought I would be satisfied just to become a warrior, something that until only a short time ago I had suspected might not be within my reach.

  "In the meantime," Maara said, "you must understand that at the heart of power is the willingness to use it. At the heart of a warrior's power is the willingness to take a life, in order to preserve her own life and the lives of others. The taking of life is a responsibility you will have to bear, and before you become a warrior, you must decide if you're willing to bear it. When you go into battle, there will be no time to ask yourself that question."

  When you go into battle. A shiver of anxiety went through me.

  "Of course every path carries its own responsibility," said Maara. "A healer takes responsibility for the lives in her care. And Namet has certainly made choices that meant life or death for many. But to stand before a living person and take an action that may end that person's life is not something everyone can do. To be unable to do it is not a shameful thing, but you must be honest with yourself about it before you put lives at risk. Do you understand?"

  I nodded.

  "Every time you draw your bow, I want you to feel the power in it. Let your weapon guide you into an understanding of what it means to wield the power of life and death."

  She saw that I didn't understand.

  "Never mind," she said. "It's too soon for you to think about that."

  The next morning I was still sound asleep when Maara came to the companions' loft. I slipped out of Sparrow's arms without disturbing her and followed Maara down to the kitchen, carrying my clothes with me so that I could dress without waking the companions.

  "Wait for me here," Maara said, and she went back in the direction of the great hall.

  It didn't take me long to dress. While I was waiting for Maara to return, I made us each a bowl of nettle tea with honey. I usually had no trouble waking up in the mornings, but the night before I had stayed up later than I should have talking to Sparrow, and the sweet tea cleared my groggy head.

  "Who's there?" Gnith's voice came from the direction of the hearth.

  "It's me, Mother. Tamras."

  I went to sit beside her and offered her a sip of my tea.

  "You're up early," Gnith said.

  "I'm sorry I woke you, Mother."

  "Wasn't sleeping." She took a long drink of my tea.

  "My warrior got me up early today. We're going hunting."

  "Hunting? Hunting for what?"

  "I don't know."

  "Then how will you know when you've caught it?" She cackled at her own joke.

  I couldn't help laughing with her. "Maara knows what we're hunting. I imagine she'll let me know."

  "Mmmm," said Gnith, as she finished the last swallow of my tea. "Bring some more."

  I set another bowl to steep and brought her the tea I had brewed for Maara.

  "Would you ask a blessing?" she asked me. "A blessing on your bow perhaps?"

  I don't know what surprised me more, that she remembered my asking for her blessing or that she knew about my bow.

  "Little birds," she said.

  "What?"

  "Little birds come and tell me things."

  "Oh." Then I remembered that I had left my bow upstairs. I started to get up, to go and fetch it, but Gnith put her hand on my arm to stop me.

  "Your stranger's idea, was it?"

  "Yes," I replied. Before she could tell me I should learn to use a sword instead, I said, "It was a good idea."

  "Yes, indeed," she said. "A very good idea. How did she come to think of it?"

  "You'll have to ask her that."

  Gnith's thin lips puckered into what might have been a pout. "She never comes to see me."

  Just then Maara entered the kitchen carrying an armload of weaponry. She came over to the hearth where Gnith and I were sitting and set everything down on the floor. She had brought my bow, as well as another for herself, along with an assortment of arrows and two quivers.

  Maara sat down cross-legged on the cold stone floor and handed me one of the quivers. Then she picked up an arrow and inspected it, sighting along its length to see if it was reasonably straight and making sure that the stone tip was securely fastened. I followed her example and began to fill the quiver she had given me.

  "Is she the one?" Gnith's eyes were on Maara's face.

  "Yes, Mother."

  "Dark," said Gnith.

  Maara's hand paused for the briefest moment before proceeding to slip an arrow into her quiver. She gave no other sign that she had heard what Gnith said.

  It was the first time I'd known Gnith to be unkind.

  "She can hear you, Mother," I said.

  "Of course she can," said Gnith. "She has ears on her, doesn't she?"

  "What's that?" said Maara. She cocked her head as if she were listening for something. "A wind through dry leaves? Black water whispering down a cave wall?" She turned to look at Gnith. "No,
just the voice of a foolish old woman."

  I hardly believed what my ears had heard. When I turned to look at Gnith, I was astonished to see that she was staring wide-eyed at Maara, her face alight with a delighted grin. Then she began to laugh. Her laughter started as a whisper that did sound rather like the wind in dry leaves. Soon it was a chuckle, and then a cackle, and then full-throated laughter that I feared would wake the entire household.

  "Why was she laughing?" I asked Maara when the kitchen door had closed behind us.

  "She was laughing at my calling her a foolish old woman," Maara said.

  "But why did she think that was so funny? Didn't she think you were insulting her?"

  "She found it funny because she knew that I know better."

  "Oh." I still wasn't certain I understood her.

  "Do you believe she's foolish?"

  "No," I replied. "I think she's very wise."

  "Why?"

  "She's given me wise advice. More than once."

  "Oh?"

  I tried to think of an example to give her. I was going to say that Gnith had given me the binding spell, until I remembered that Maara didn't know about the binding spell. I doubted that I could explain it to her very well, so I said, "She told me how to ask the Lady for the apprenticeship I wanted."

  "Did she?"

  I nodded.

  "Then I am in her debt," she said.

  Whatever I had been about to say flew out of my head. Before I got over being surprised, I felt a foolish grin spread across my face and a warm glow begin around my heart. A nagging voice at the back of my head tried to spoil the pleasure her words had given me. The voice whispered, It's Namet she's thinking of. I ignored that voice. I wanted to believe something else.

  When we reached the bottom of the hill, we turned into a narrow lane. On either side of the lane were fields where the grain had just been harvested, and the hedgerows were alive with birds.

  The first light of dawn appeared over the eastern hills. The birds began to wake. The way they sang and twittered almost made me laugh out loud, when I thought of how like they sounded to the voices of the girls in the companions' loft.

  We came to a break in the hedgerow. Maara strung her bow and motioned to me to do the same. Her quiver hung from her belt at her left side where she usually carried her sword. She drew an arrow from it, but she didn't nock it. With the bow in her left hand and the arrow in her right, she slipped through the gap in the hedgerow.